Tracey Cramer-Kelly's Blog, page 3

A Better Forever: Opening Scene

A high-pitched squeal shredded what was left of Connor’s nerves. He watched as another woman—a short, buxom blonde in an Emerald evening dress clutching a Gucci handbag—fawned all over his rock-star brother.

Maybe meeting Ben and Carly for dinner in Minneapolis was a bad idea.

Connor rubbed his temples. It wasn’t Ben’s fault he could play the guitar like a god and drag people under his spell with his voice. But why couldn’t he have stayed on the Range and played in the local bars on weekends? Instead he was friggin’ famous…

Connor pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. He knew it wasn’t fair to blame Ben for his good fortune, but geez, Connor was the only Lawson sibling with a ‘normal’ job.

A boring job.

Heck, even Carly saved lives as a ski patrol member.

He turned to his sister. “I’m going to head back to my hotel.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m stuck with him.” She jerked her head toward Ben, who was busy signing the woman’s shirt—above her breasts.

“My condolences,” he said dryly.

“At least this time we got to finish our food,” she said.

He stood and bent to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Tell Ben I’ll catch up with him later.”

It was easy enough to slip away when everyone only had eyes for Ben…

Fresh air wrapped around Connor as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. He’d left the company car in the Hyatt parking garage, but it was considerably colder now than when he’d walked over. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled in the direction of the hotel. It was a clear night, but here in downtown Minneapolis he couldn’t see the stars.

Not like at home…

It’d been a March night just like this when he’d first met Melina. Senior year at Wheaton College in Illinois, too broke to go anywhere over spring break, he’d come back to Minnesota for a week—and had fallen for her. He’d been so idealistic then, even turning down job offers in Minneapolis to stay on the Iron Range.

Now, twelve years of marriage and two kids later, he missed the intimacy they’d shared in those early days.

Especially the sexual intimacy.

The last time he’d attempted that kind of connection, she’d claimed she was too tired. The thought of what he’d done after that caused guilt to prickle his skin.

You could watch it again right now…

He squashed the shiver of anticipation the thought gave him. Instead, he focused on Mel. He hadn’t texted her once today; he’d been too busy trying to figure out where four hundred thousand dollars had gone. No matter who’d screwed up—it sure as hell wasn’t him—he was the one on the hot seat when it came to the board of directors.

“Hey mister, you got a dollar?”

His head jerked toward the voice. The speaker stood hunched under the awning of a pawn shop. He wore an old Army jacket and tattered jeans.

Homeless.

Connor looked away.

“I didn’t think so,” Army jacket said.

The guy reminded him of the veterans Mel volunteered with at Haven for Heroes; he’d met some of them when Mel roped him into helping with the last fundraiser. She often said they were just plain lost as well as homeless.

Connor stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and pulled out his wallet. He extracted a twenty-dollar bill and held it out toward the man. “You got somewhere warm to stay tonight?”

The man’s surprised eyes lifted from the bill to Connor’s face. “Yeah, I got a place,” he said.

A place could mean anything from a temporary shelter to a car to a sleeping bag in an underpass, but Connor didn’t press. “Good,” he said.

The man hesitated.

“Take it,” Connor said. “It’s yours.”

The man reached for the bill as if he expected Connor to pull it back at any moment. “Thanks, man,” he said.

Connor nodded and headed for Fourth Street. His family had been poor at times—that’s the way it was in mining country—but they’d never been homeless.

He had a sudden urge to talk to Mel. Ignoring the cold, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed her number.

Unfortunately, it was her voice mail that greeted him. “This is Mel. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you!”

“Hey, honey,” he said. “Busy day in meetings. Just finished having dinner with Ben and Carly. I guess he’s going back out on tour in another week. Anyway, just wanted to touch base. Say hi to the kids for me. Love you.”

He stepped through the automated doors of the Hyatt Hotel and glanced at the hotel bar. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, and he hadn’t finished his drink at dinner. And frankly, a drink was probably safer than too much time alone in his hotel room.

He headed for the bar and was surprised to see Jorgen Peterson, CEO of Mesabi Fabricators (and his boss) perched on one of the stools. He hesitated, but Jorgen turned and caught sight of him. “Connor!” he said. “Have a seat! Let me buy you a drink.”

Connor studied the other man. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Jorgen was more than a little tipsy.

“Jameson’s your drink of choice, am I right?” Jorgen said.

Connor nodded.

Jorgen signaled to the bartender. “Make it two.”

Connor took the stool next to Jorgen. He and Jorgen would never be bosom buddies, but he respected the other man and had shared many meals and drinks with him.

His Jameson appeared in front of him and he took a sip. Beside him, Jorgen did the same.

“Ah, that’s good,” Jorgen said. “You have good taste.”

Jorgen slurred slightly on the word taste, and Connor realized his first impression had been right. How many drinks had Jorgen had?

“Did you find the forty thou?” Jorgen said.

Four hundred thousand.

Connor didn’t correct his boss. “Not yet, but I will.”

Jorgen nodded. “I know you will.”

Connor’s chest swelled just a little; this was what made the stress of his job bearable. Jorgen believed in him, and so did the other executives. And as long as he did his job right, the 350 employees of Mesabi Fabricators could count on having a steady paycheck to support their families—unlike his dad, whose work in the mines had been on-again, off-again all through Connor’s childhood.

Jorgen stared up at the TV in the corner. “Something’s on my mind, Connor.”

“Something’s always on your mind.” Connor tried to lighten the mood; he’d never seen Jorgen this drunk. “That’s why you get paid the big bucks.”

“This is something I shouldn’t be telling you,” Jorgen said.

Then don’t.

Connor didn’t say it; he was too curious about what could cause the CEO to get shit-faced.

Jorgen’s gaze slid from the TV to Connor. “Mesabi Fabricators is being acquired.”

Connor almost laughed, but something in Jorgen’s expression stopped him cold. The man might be drunk, but he wasn’t joking. “By whom?”

“United Steel out of Seattle,” Jorgen said.

Connor made a mental note to look up United Steel ASAP. “When?”

“By fall,” Jorgen said.

Six months.

Connor glanced through the glass partition between the bar and the hotel lobby. “You make it sound like it’s a done deal.”

“It is.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Connor said, almost to himself. “We haven’t had a single unprofitable year. We don’t need them.”

“The board of directors hold a lot of stock options—and apparently they’ve received an offer they can’t refuse,” Jorgen said. “Since they write our checks, there’s not much we can do about it. Short of an act of God or the government, the acquisition’s going to happen. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Connor said.

“Between you and me…” Jorgen waggled a finger between them. “We could stop it.”

“I don’t see how,” Connor said.

“If the financial picture were different, the offer might not be good enough for the board to accept,” Jorgen said.

Connor blinked. “Are you asking me to…?”

“Numbers are manipulated all the time,” Jorgen said. “You know that better than anyone. And you’re one of the best. I should know—I supported your promotion.”

A chill ran down Connor’s spine. He and Jorgen butted heads fairly often; that was part and parcel of running a multi-billion-dollar manufacturing company. But this was different…

“What am I gonna do, Connor?” Jorgen said. “Executive jobs are next-to-impossible to come by on the Iron Range, and I’m fifty-five years old. No one’s gonna wanna hire me.”

“United Steel won’t get rid of you,” Connor said.

“Yeah, they will,” Jorgen said grimly. “And you, too.”

The chill spread outward to Connor’s limbs; he’d studied this subject in college and he knew the new company would be looking to eliminate redundancies.

How many of Mesabi’s employees would be considered redundant?

Jorgen took another sip of his Jameson. “A whole lot of other people will be out of a job too, when United Steel decides to move operations to Seattle.”

“They might not,” Connor

“They’ll say they won’t,” Jorgen said darkly. “But they will. It’s just a matter of time.”

Connor’s chest tightened. Good jobs were hard to come by on the Iron Range in Minnesota (so named for all the mining operations that were long past their heyday). But to do something that skimmed the borders of legality?

No.

Not happening.

And Jorgen would never have suggested it if he hadn’t been drinking—he hoped.

Connor tossed back the rest of his drink. “I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened.” His glass made a solid thump when he set it back on the bar. “I suggest you do the same.”

He’d only made it a few feet out of the bar when the craving surfaced, insistent, its whispered promises burning his ears and twining around his chest.

Ten minutes later he was four blocks over but a world away from the Hyatt Hotel.

The neon sign beckoned him, and he paused on the sidewalk, fighting the internal battle he’d fought so many times before. He loved Mel. He loved his kids. But he couldn’t keep his feet from taking him through that door.

Ready to keep reading? Get your copy now by Clicking here! (or buy Direct Here!)

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A New Way to Buy Books

Have you ever been part of a grand experiment?

That’s a little bit how I feel telling you about the fact that the ARMY RANGER TRILOGY is available for the first time ever as an NFT.

What the heck is an NFT?

That was my first reaction, too. In a nutshell, it’s a way to sell original creations (art, music, movies and books) that are ‘minted’ as collector’s items. For example, only 100 copies of the ARMY RANGER TRILOGY NFT will be sold!

It also allows me to add BONUS material. In addition to all three books in the trilogy (in several formats), the ARMY RANGER TRILOGY NFT also includes:

Three videos“Then and Now” with the charactersAn exclusive behind-the-scenes interview with a real-life Army Ranger

NFT (which stands for “Non-Fungible Tokens” – I know, too techy!) are already being used to sell original artwork and in some cases, movies and music. They are being used by some names you may recognize (William Shatner, Atari, Marvel) and now NFT is coming to the book world!

What does this mean to you as a reader?

You can own a one-of-a-kind collectible! Each NFT is a limited edition. This means you can keep it (who knows, maybe the author will be famous one day) or resell it as a collectible (and, unlike traditional print copies, the author gets a small 10% payback).

This is not going to be for everyone, but if you’re the type of person who wants to try new ways of doing things (or new ways to support your favorite authors), check it out here!

P.S. If this isn’t for you, would you please share it with someone else who might like it? Thanks!

Easy and safe:

Use Paypal or StripeTechnical support available7-Day no-questions-asked return policyFree membership in the first reader NFT marketplace (if desired) where you can earn collector points toward future opportunities

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The Longest Run: First Chapters

Carly jammed her ski edges into the side of the mountain to execute a ‘hockey stop.’ Snow cover was dicey this early in the season—heck, the Challenger area had only been open a handful of days so far in November—and the 22-mph wind was blowing straight up the mountain as if intent on blowing what snow there was, clear off the mountain.

The call had come over the radio only two minutes ago. She’d been closest, but she didn’t have the AED—a machine that deciphered a heart’s rhythm and delivered a shock if needed. It would be another two minutes until the other patrollers arrived with the AED and the sled. If the man was truly having a cardiac arrest as reported, brain damage could set in after only four minutes.

She stepped on the back of her bindings to release her boots from her skis. She yanked off her gloves and clipped them to an o-ring on her harness. Then she dropped to her knees next to a slight woman who was performing chest compressions on an older male. Her form wasn’t the best, but anything was better than nothing—and to the woman’s credit, she wasn’t hysterical.

“Thank God you’re here!” Tears streaked the woman’s face. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t even know if I’m doing this right!”

“It’s okay.” Carly laid her hand over the woman’s. “You’re doing a great job, but I need you to stop for just a second, okay?”

The woman scrambled off the man. Carly noted the ash-gray pallor of his face as she dug her fingers under his collar. She pressed her fingertips against his carotid artery as she leaned down to put her ear next to the man’s mouth. There were no audible breath sounds, not even a whisper of air coming from his mouth.

And no pulse.

Her own heart rate kicked up a notch.

She grabbed her radio. “Patient in full arrest!” she barked. “I repeat, full arrest.” Her coworkers would know exactly what they were walking into.

“Oh my God. Howard!” the woman wailed.

Wayne’s voice came over the radio. “I’m calling in LifeLink. I’ll have them meet you at the Diamond Hitch turnout.”

“Affirmative.” Carly dropped the radio. She yanked the man’s jacket zipper down, then placed her hands on his chest and started pumping. Getting through the layers of clothing to his bare chest would have to wait for help.

“This can’t be happening!” The woman said. “One moment he’s skiing along, and the next he’s… he’s—”

“Ma’am.” Carly kept her voice steady and firm. “I need you to stay calm. More help is on the way.”

The woman swallowed.

“What’s your name?” Carly said.

“V-Valerie.”

“Valerie,” Carly said. “Do you think you could…” She spoke on the exhale of each fourth compression. “Take his skis… and jam them into the snow?” She jerked her chin uphill. “In the shape of an X.”

By the time Valerie did that, her fellow patrollers would already be here, but it helped people to have a mission.

Valerie scrambled to her feet. Carly concentrated on keeping her compressions the right depth and speed.

Sure enough, by the time Valerie had both skis in the snow, Justin had pulled to a stop and was stepping out of his skis. “I’ve got the AED,” he said as he dropped to the ground on the other side of the man.

Justin had worked at a smaller ski resort in California for a couple years and had done well in training, but as far as Carly was concerned, he was still the new kid on the block—and a little too full of himself. “Take over compressions,” she said. “In five, four, three, two, one.”

Justin took over, and Carly yanked her medical scissors from their slot on her pack and cut though first one layer, then a second layer of clothing.

Her fellow patrollers arrived en masse and started prepping the backboard and rescue sled. In her peripheral vision, she saw Janine take Valerie aside. She pressed the AED pads to Howard’s chest, then hit the button that would tell the AED to analyze the patient’s heart rhythm.

“Clear!” she said.

Justin removed his hands from the patient. Seconds later the AED announced: “Deliver shock.”

Carly punched the button that sent an electrical current through the man’s body. As soon as it was safe to do so, she pressed her fingers to Howard’s carotid artery. She shook her head at Justin, and he went right back to pumping. Miles and Reggie moved in with the backboard, and the patrollers worked in tandem to get Howard strapped to the backboard—and then into the rescue sled—with no interruption in compressions.

Miles and Reggie took the long lines that would be used to control the rescue sled from behind on the steep terrain, while Patrick lined himself up at the front handles. “Ready when you are,” he said.

“Switch with me now,” Carly said to Justin. “Half-way down, be prepared to switch again.”

Justin nodded while doing the countdown. As he backed away from the patient, Carly straddled Howard, planting her knees firmly inside the rescue sled. “Go!”

Keeping up a steady rhythm of compressions was harder than it seemed in training, as her abdominal muscles worked continuously to keep her upright on the moving rescue sled. Thank God she’d worked with most of these guys for years and trusted them not to tip or “dump” the sled—along with her and her patient.

She was exhausted by the time Miles called out the mid-point. She rolled off the patient and Justin climbed on. She shook out her arms as she gathered Justin’s skis and poles, then stepped into her own skis where Justin had dropped them.

She caught up to the team, which was moving faster now that the terrain wasn’t as steep. Still, it took several more minutes to reach the rendezvous point next to a seldom-used service road. From the higher vantage point, she could see the ambulance snaking its way up to them.

As the rescue sled came to a halt, Carly snapped out of her bindings. “Check heart activity again.” She dropped to her knees next to the patient; Justin was just as breathless as she’d been.

She reached for the AED. “Clear!”

The AED advised another shock, so she gave the patient one, reminding herself that a shockable rhythm was better than an un-shockable one. “Check pulse.”

She and Justin traded places again, and she watched his face as he checked for a pulse. As far as she knew, he’d never had a patient die on him, and she hoped this wouldn’t be his first. God knew she’d never forget her first.

His face registered concentration, then amazement. “I’ve got one! I’ve got a pulse!”

She placed her ear by Howard’s mouth. “We have air movement!”

The ambulance was pulling up. The paramedics jumped out and Carly stepped back to let them take over.

Less than two minutes later, the ambulance was on its way back down the mountain, siren blaring.

“Wow,” Justin said.

She dropped to the snow. Sometimes there just weren’t words.

The enormity of what had happened washed over her.

They’d done it.

Howard was going to live.

God, I love my job.

The post The Longest Run: First Chapters first appeared on https://www.traceycramerkelly.com.

Book Sales to Benefit Mighty Oaks Military Charity

Every year at this time, in honor of Veteran’s Day and all our soldiers and their families, I choose a veteran-focused charity to which I donate a percentage of all my book sales (usually more) during the month of November. This applies to all my books (although if you are a military romance fan, you may especially enjoy TRUE SURRENDER or the ARMY RANGER SERIES).

This year I’m pleased to again support the Mighty Oaks Warrior Programs, a faith-based organization that teaches combat veterans struggling with Post Traumatic Stress how to get beyond combat trauma and live their lives in the manner God intended.

As a former Army combat medic (and current EMT), soldiers and their families are near and dear to my heart; this is just one way I can help.

When you purchase any of my books throughout November, you not only get a great story, but you help veterans, too! So check out my books on Amazon or my web site and get started!

The post Book Sales to Benefit Mighty Oaks Military Charity first appeared on https://www.traceycramerkelly.com.

Stay Forever Sneak Peak: Opposites Attract

Sneak Peak: Stay Forever

I had a lot of fun with the “opposites attract” theme in STAY FOREVER.

When Amber blows into town, she doesn’t even own a car (just her motorcycle, which she calls Silver Bullet) and she’s staying in the trailer park she grew up in. The only money she has is what she might be able to get from selling her inheritance (which happens to be in the form of apartment buildings).

Trey’s made millions as a real-estate attorney, but he’s craving something… well, different. When an old friend asks him to help out his sister, he’s shocked to find the “little sister” is the biker chick he “rescued” on the parkway near his office (and then lusted after).

They’re from two different worlds, but the chemistry… well, you know what they say about Opposites Attract! The scene I picked to share with you – Amber enters Trey’s world for an evening – makes that pretty clear. (It’s also a turning point for Trey, as you’ll see.)

*************************

As country club charity events went, this one was pretty much standard. Amber turned out to be an amenable partner and adept at small talk with those he introduced her to. She looked dynamite in a thigh-length green dress that matched her eyes, and he couldn’t help sneaking peeks at her and wishing they were somewhere else.

And then the inevitable happened.

“Treyson!”

Amber’s head swiveled so fast he thought she’d get dizzy. He took her arm (just in case she decided to bolt) and turned to face the voice. “Amber, I’d like you to meet my parents,” he said. “Torben and Heather Jordan.”

To her credit, Amber managed not to look surprised.

“Mother, Father, this is Amber Morell.”

Amber took their hands in turn. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you as well,” Heather said. His father nodded but said nothing.

“So,” Heather said, “How do you two know each other?”

Trey could practically see her brain working to try and place Amber. “Do you remember Daniel Morell?” Trey said. “I played football with him in high school.”

“Oh, there were so many players,” Heather said. “I don’t remember him exactly.”

“Amber is his sister,” he said. “I’m helping her and Danny with some real estate issues.”

“She’s a client?” His father addressed his question—more like a statement—to Trey rather than Amber. Of course his father would jump in now.

Amber beat Trey to a reply. “My late father owned some real estate.”

“Her dad passed away recently,” Trey said. “Daniel is a US Marine stationed in Iraq, so he’s not able to help.”

“I see.” Torben Jordan frowned. Was it because he thought Trey was dating a client? Or did he sense something else?

“And I’ve been helping Trey with his motorcycle stuff,” Amber said.

Both parents’ eyebrows shot up, and an uncomfortable silence followed Amber’s comment. Oops. Trey should have seen that one coming. After all, motorcycles were a big part of Amber’s life.

“Motorcycle stuff?” Torben said.

“Oh, there’s Francis Caldwell,” Heather exclaimed. It was an obvious change of subject, and Trey held his breath; would his father let it pass?

Heather Jordan took her husband’s arm. “Tor, we simply must go ask after her sister’s health. You will excuse us, Trey? Amber?”

His dad’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

“Certainly.” Trey knew he hadn’t heard the end of his choice of dates as far as his father was concerned, but the glance his mom gave him as she led his father away contained an expression Trey couldn’t fathom.

Mentally he let out a breath.

Then he caught sight of Amber’s face. “Your parents?!” she hissed. “You didn’t mention having to meet your parents!”

“Didn’t I?” he said. “Oversight on my part.” He offered her his arm. “Let’s find our seat and then I’ll get us a drink.”

“Good idea,” she muttered. “Lord knows I need one.”

“Pardon?” He felt a smile tugging at his mouth.

She was the picture of innocence. “Nothing, dear. Run along and get that drink, will you?”

He laughed out loud.

*********************

If Trey had seen him coming, he’d have taken a different route to the bar—but it was too late when he turned from the counter to find his father had boxed him in. On his father’s arm was a striking blonde woman who looked sleek and sophisticated in a long, form-fitting gown.

“Treyson, I’d like you to meet Julia Christianson,” his father said. “Her family owns Christianson Vineyards.”

Oh, he knew exactly what his father was up to. The only thing Trey had going for him was the fact that both hands were occupied by wine glasses. Nevertheless, he responded automatically. “Pleased to meet you, Julia,” he said.

“Julia is working with the Red Cross in L.A.”

In other words, she was a wealthy socialite. Trey nodded. “Superb.”

His father took one of the wine glasses from Trey’s hand and offered it to Julia.

Trey clenched his jaw to keep from saying something he’d regret; this situation wasn’t Julia’s fault, after all.

“Excuse us,” he said to Julia. He took his father by the elbow and practically pushed him into the hallway.

“Dad, I came with Amber,” he said. “And that was her drink.”

“Ah, yes, Amber,” his father said. “She’s certainly different.”

He didn’t mean it as a complement, and it took an effort for Trey to keep his voice level. “Your point is?”

“Look, son,” Tor said. “You can sow your wild oats with the biker girl, but marry someone more appropriate. I’m just trying to help you along a bit.”

Trey’s jaw tightened. Appropriate? That’s what marriage was supposed to be?

He’d had enough. “It’s true Amber’s not rich in terms of money,” he said. “Not rich the way you brought me up to think about money. She doesn’t own a car, and she lives in a trailer park.”

He saw the distaste on his father’s face, but he plowed on. “But she’s richer by far than you or me, or anyone else I know. She’s rich in her relationships, in the people she cares about and who care about her—”

He stopped short of saying what he was thinking: the way she gives without reservations, without commitments, without a sense of obligation…

“Do you hear yourself, Trey?” his father said. “You’re not making sense.”

Oh, but he was. For the first time since high school, he had a friendship—maybe even something more—that wasn’t based on who he was or what he did for a living. He had a sudden desire to get back to Amber as quickly as possible.

He straightened. “You’ll have to excuse me, dad,” he said. “I’m neglecting my date.” And he left his dad to deal with Julia Christianson.

Amber looked up as Trey approached their table. His eyes had gone from their usual warm brown to a stormy dark chocolate. He held only one wine glass, which he set down on the table.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“Dance with me.” He held out his hand.

She glanced at the glass, then at the dance floor; this was definitely a foreign definition of dance to her. But she didn’t want to be left alone again, so she took his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

In one smooth motion, he wrapped one arm around her waist. He caught her right hand in his left and brought it up and out. She placed her other hand on his shoulder as she’d seen other women do.

That was a mistake; he’d left his suit jacket hanging on the chair and it was impossible to ignore those solid shoulder muscles through his dress shirt.

He began to sway as if it took no conscious thought on his part. It was surprisingly intimate, this type of dance. It was so easy to give him the lead, so easy to get just a little closer…

Pressed against him, she looked up into his face. He was closed off. Distant.

Crap. This night was rapidly going downhill. How was she going to make it through another two hours of this? How soon could she fake a headache or exhaustion?

*********************

Amber’s hand made slow circles over Trey’s shoulder blade as she moved with him, coaxing his muscles into releasing the tension held within them. The delicate lilac scent of her perfume threatened to overload his senses.

His father was right about one thing. Amber was different—and everyone in the ballroom knew it. He could tell by the way they looked at her. But it wasn’t a bad thing; it was a good thing.

As much as he liked the feel of her body against his, he wanted her all to himself. Not here, where she was obviously not comfortable. “Want to blow this joint?” he said.

She nodded, her relief almost palpable.

Trey collected his jacket and they made their way to the foyer. The valet nodded to Trey. “Your car will be right around, sir.”

“Where are we going?” Amber said.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Oh, really?” she said. “I didn’t take you as the type for surprises.”

He undid his tie as he watched the valet pull his car into the drive. “Maybe that needs to change,” he murmured.

She didn’t respond and he wasn’t sure she’d even heard him. He held the passenger door as she slipped into the car, making sure her dress also made it fully into the seat. He had a momentary urge to remove the clips that held all that red hair piled atop her head.

He slipped the valet a tip and settled himself in the driver’s seat. “Top down?” he asked.

She grinned. “Absolutely.”

He pressed the button and the top began to roll away. He gunned the engine. “Let your hair down.” The words came out in a rasp, as if they wanted to caress her hair as badly as his hands did.

She reached for the clips in her hair—and he pressed the accelerator.

*************************

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Not a Kindle user? You can still get “Let Me Love You” in the Special Collection boxed set LEANING IN! Click here!

Let Me Love You Sneak Peek: The Price of Fame

Sneak Peek: LET ME LOVE YOU

I don’t know about you, but when I read a “Hollywood romance” (or a “rock star romance”) I want to see how the other half lives. I want to be invited into the lifestyle of the rich and famous.

I want to see them hounded by paparazzi…

… lamenting about how lonely it is at the top…

… or – in the case of Zac and Gina from LET ME LOVE YOU – dealing with a celebrity stalker.

If you like that sort of thing, I’ve got a treat for you: a scene from Zac and Gina’s “life in the fast lane” that takes place just before the premier of their movie.

Zac’s stalker is still out there…

*************************

There was no excuse for the fact that she was five minutes late. She’d spent the night tossing and turning, feverish with wild, sexual dreams of Zac that mixed with images of him from the hospital, the biker party, and the film shoot. When she entered the café, he was staring out the window and didn’t see her right away. He was wearing that green shirt again, and when he turned toward her, those blue-green eyes jumped out at her. Her.

He wanted her.

He smiled, and her heart stopped. God, he was sexy. On screen and off, although it was a different kind of sexy. She was in serious lust with this man.

Yeah, you and forty thousand fans.

That thought brought her back to earth as her feet took her toward him. He stood and held out his hands. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

His hands folding around hers sent warm liquid flowing up her arms… and down to other places. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He gestured to the table, and she sat. He slid into the seat across from her.

“I’m sorry I came down on you,” she said. “It was really sweet of you to believe in my story. I guess I need to believe in it more myself.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything. His eyes telegraphed his desire, but he said, “What are the girls up to these days?”

A safe topic.

She told him about Christine’s new boyfriend (not the same boy she went to the dance with) and Allie’s horseback lessons. It felt good—too good—to be the reason for the smile on his face.

Then he sobered. “Gina.” He started to reach for her hands.

“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice came from behind her. Gina looked up to find a 30-something woman standing over their table, staring at Zac. Gina hadn’t even heard her approach.

“You are Zac Davies, aren’t you?” The woman said.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Zac’s face before he schooled it into his actor’s mask.

“You are!” The woman’s voice rose. “Oh, my God, you’re Zac Davies! I am such a fan! I’ve got to get your autograph. No, a picture! Could I get a picture with you?” The woman started digging for her smart phone.

“Zac Davies is here?” Another voice said. In the span of seconds, there were several women surrounding Zac, hemming him in, sucking all the air out of the space around him.

He kept his game face on. “Ladies, I’m trying to have a quiet breakfast here.”

The response was more squealing from near the café entrance, then the sound of pounding feet. The first woman reached out, as if to grab his arm, and Zac came up out of his seat.

Gina stood, too. As if in slow motion, she saw the woman reach for Zac’s left arm—and Zac fend her off with his right.

Gina knew how sensitive he was about his fistula. But what could she do, short of yanking on the woman’s hair? This was the price of fame, after all. “Keep your hands off him!” she said.

“Ladies, ladies!” The café manager pushed his way into the throng of women. “Don’t make me call the cops! Be orderly and ask nicely or you’re out of here!” He turned to Zac. “I do apologize, Mister Davies.”

“Not your fault,” Zac said tersely.

“Maybe we should leave,” Gina said.

“No,” Zac said. “I would like to finish my breakfast.”

Gina shrugged and sat, willing her heart rate to return to normal. It had been awhile since she’d been close-up on a fanatic fan.

“No photos,” Zac said. She watched as he made quick work of signing autographs.

The café owner hovered over the women. “You got what you wanted from Mister Davies,” he said. “Now leave him in peace!”

Grumbling, the women headed for the door, and Zac finally took his seat.

“Fame,” Gina said shakily.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought signing would be the least disruptive.”

“Not your fault,” she said.

It took him a moment to catch on, and then he gave her a relieved smile. He looked at his watch. “I have to go,” he said. “I’ve got a radio interview this morning. Sylvester will kill me if I’m late.”

“Guess you don’t get to finish your breakfast after all.”

He sighed. “I don’t care about the food.”

She swallowed at the implication. “I think I’ll stay and finish mine,” she said. “Now that your fans are gone, that is.”

He stood, obviously reluctant, and placed several bills on the table. “I hate to leave like this.”

“I’ll see you at the premier,” she said.

“Yes.” Zac hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more. Instead he just nodded and turned to go.

She couldn’t tear her eyes off his ass. The dreams were back again, too; she felt herself grow wet at the thought of Zac’s hands on her…

She hadn’t wanted a man this way in a very long time. It wasn’t just that she hadn’t had sex in a long time. It was him.

Would she be using him if she took him to bed? He’d made no secret of the fact that he desired her. It would be two consenting adults getting what they wanted.

What she craved. What she deserved. She was tired of fighting this crazy attraction. She could have him now, while he was still beautiful.

A one-night stand. That’s all it had to be. It’s not like she hadn’t done that before. No one would ever have to know…

She stared out the window, imagining those intense blue-green eyes raking over her body, followed by his hands…

And then she saw Sasha.

*************************

Purchase on Amazon! Click here.

Not a Kindle user? You can still get “Let Me Love You” in the Special Collection boxed set LEANING IN! Click here!

My Very First Lady Biker Character

Motorcycles are a big part of my life. I’ve been riding for over 30 years, and I’ve worked in the industry for over 17. I often use my motorcycle to escape the stresses of work, family and home. I enjoy riding with my hubby, and both kids have “grown up” riding with us. We’ve met wonderful people and have enjoyed many dinners, charity rides and social events with other riders.

But how did that translate into writing about motorcycle-riding ladies?

After my second novel came out (TRUE SURRENDER) friends asked: “why don’t you write bikers into your stories?”

Truthfully, I was a little intimidated by the idea.

There’s a lot of alpha-male, gang-style MC romance out there, and that isn’t really my style. I like to create characters I can imagine meeting and knowing (and I like to explore hidden vulnerabilities in my male characters).

When I started writing the book that became LET ME LOVE YOU, I knew that Gina (the Hollywood director/single mother heroine) rode a Harley-Davidson, but I didn’t emphasize the fact.

Then a funny thing happened – one of those twists in life that you know (as you look back) was more than a coincidence.

I was finishing my second music video, “Cool Rider,” which tells a girl-meets-biker / girl-wants-biker / girl-gets-biker story (it was great fun, check it out). I had this idea of incorporating real-life biker photos into the video, so I posted on some women-rider forums.

I got stories and pictures from women all over (see just a sample below), and I realized: the heck with my personal hesitations. It was time to write women biker characters.

That’s how Gina became the first LADY BIKER. Her Harley now features prominently in her romance with actor Zachariah Davies, as well as Zac’s personal journey. (That’s Gina and Zac above)

Get the Series Here!

 

Stay Forever: Chapter 1

Treyson Jordan shifted his BMW M4 convertible into third gear and pressed the accelerator. His father didn’t suffer fools lightly, and Trey wasn’t in the mood to hear a lecture on being late for their weekly tennis match.

The car in front of him slowed, and Trey swerved into the left lane.

HONK!

He lightened up on the accelerator as he glanced in his rearview mirror.

A motorcycle roared past him, the rider giving him what he imagined was a dirty look, though he could see no features through the dark-tinted face shield.

Crap. He hadn’t even seen the bike!

As the motorcycle pulled in front of his BMW, Trey couldn’t help but notice the auburn tresses flowing down the rider’s back, strands randomly lifted by the wind. The rider’s back was slim and tapered to hips that were decidedly feminine.

A biker chick.

His embarrassment was replaced by intrigue. What did she look like under that helmet? What would it be like to be with a woman like that?

Trey’s lips curved into the semblance of a smile. Yeah, maybe that’s what he needed. Forget the society mavens his parents were always setting him up with and take a walk on the wild side…

That would certainly get his dad’s dander up.

His eyes were drawn to a pickup truck in the opposite lane ahead.

Don’t do it, man.

His silent entreaty went unheard, and the driver started his turn—directly in front of the motorcycle.

Trey hit his brakes the same moment the rider did. He watched as the motorcycle’s back tire fishtailed first one direction and then the other as its rider fought for control. She almost managed it; instead Trey watched as bike and rider toppled in slow motion.

Thank God she wasn’t going too fast by that time.

Trey punched the button that activated his hazard lights and stopped in the middle of the lane behind the rider.

He jumped from his car and jogged to the motorcycle. “Are you all right?”

“Goddamn cage drivers,” the biker muttered as she untangled her legs from the machine and picked herself up.

Trey was relieved to see she appeared unharmed. He touched her shoulder and spoke more authoritatively. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

She looked at him, and her eyes went wide. Green eyes in a delicate heart-shaped face… a face that was turning a darker shade of red. “I’m, ah…”

She looked down as if studying her legs. She brushed a hand over her leather chaps. “I appear to be in one piece.”

He glanced in the direction the pickup had gone, then at the traffic making its way around his convertible. This wasn’t a high-speed freeway, but it was busy enough during this time of day.

When he turned back to the rider, she was kneeling to survey the damage to the bike’s crash bar. He bent too. “Are you okay to ride?”

“I’m fine.” She positioned herself next to the bike, and he realized she was attempting to pick it up.

“Let me help.”

“I got it,” she said.

Quickly he removed his suit jacket and laid it on the hood of his car.

“Really, I got this.” She sounded irritated.

He decided to take a lighter approach. “Well, then, consider my fragile male ego.”

It had the desired affect; she glanced at him in surprise. “What?”

“All these drivers watching us, wondering what kind of man I am to let you struggle with that machine alone.” He placed one hand on the bike’s handlebars. “Cut me a break?”

He caught a hint of a smile before she dipped her head in agreement. He positioned himself behind her and together they righted the bike.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Maybe we should park your bike at the side of the road for a bit.” Not only would he feel more confident that she was okay to ride; it would also give him an opportunity for proper introductions.

“I’m fine.” She straddled the bike and checked the gears and controls. She hit the starter button and the bike roared to life.

Seriously? She was just going to ride off? Well, what did he care anyway? Finally he said, “You sure?”

Almost as if she’d forgotten he was there, she turned to him. “Um… thanks… again.” Then she twisted the throttle and left him standing there.

© Tracey Cramer-Kelly

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US Marine Veteran Uses Dance to Heal Self and Others

U.S. Marine veteran Roman Baca was a classical ballet dancer before his enlistment in 2000. In 2005-6, he spent time in Fallujah, Iraq as a machine gunner and fire team leader. When he returned, he and his wife founded Exit 12 Dance Company in New York.

He discovered what I have suspected for some time: that the beauty of movement, the impact of music and the violence of war can be used together with sometimes devastating effects. He says: “Dance pieces about loss and brutality can cut to the heart of human experience.”

From the beginning, the artistic mission of Exit12 has been to use choreography as a means of communicating the diverse and nuanced experiences of military veterans. But it wasn’t until recently—after two of Roman’s veteran friends took their own lives—that Exit12 started holding workshops with active duty and retired veterans, with the goal of coaxing out creative expression through movement of the body.

For Roman—and for many others now (and hopefully in the years to come)—dance has proven to be a powerful tool in dealing with the emotional and psychological distress of war.

Baca’s unusual story is featured in a film, “Exit 12: Moved by War,” that is moving and inspiring (and happens to be 22 minutes along, an echo of the 22 veterans that take their lives every day).

Click here to view it: http://exit12danceco.org/video

When he crashes his motorcycle… Exclusive Interview (Dream Machines “Mercury Falling”)

I can’t wait to introduce you to all the motorcycle-riding hotties in the LAZLO’S DREAM MACHINES collection!

I’ll start with Kerry (Mercury) Dawson, because, well, his is the first story (“Mercury Falling”).

I asked Lucy what she thought of Kerry when she first saw him, and here’s what she said…

I hit the brakes when I saw the maroon Buick pulled over at the side of the road. A little old lady stood beside it, wringing her hands, her mouth agape, staring at a motorcycle in the road.

The motorcycle looked bad. Front fender smashed in, twisted chrome glinting in the falling light.

The man who’d been riding it didn’t look a whole lot better; he was sprawled in the middle of the street. No cops or ambulance yet; it must have just happened. As an E.R. nurse, I couldn’t just drive by. I pulled over behind the Buick, already dialing 9-1-1 on my cell phone.

When I saw one of the riders go to help the guy up, I nearly dropped the phone. “Don’t!” I shouted. Three heads turned toward me. These were big guys. Bad-ass looking, with tattoos and bandanas, leather vests with chains. I should have been afraid, but my focus was on the guy in the street.

He wore a leather vest, too, his arms bare except for a tattoo on his left arm. A blue bandana circled his temples, but it didn’t cover his head like the others’ did. Instead, his dark hair was tousled and the front was up-ended by the wind. A short beard covered the lower part of his face.

No helmet.

It figured.

One of the guys stepped into my path and growled at me: “We take care of our own.” How stupid is that? His buddy could be bleeding out in the street, and he wanted to pull that macho crap? Those three biker dudes and I squared off right there (I have no idea where I got the courage to do that) —

And then the guy on the pavement moaned.

It was a sound I’d heard many times in the E.R.

Pain.

I forgot about those bikers as I knelt beside him and did a quick assessment. He didn’t like me touching him, but how else could I see if he had any broken bones?

I pried his wallet out of his back pocket. Kerry Dawson.

“Kerry, I think you hit your head,” I said.

His eyes were blue, like the bandana on his head, and they glinted almost as much as the busted chrome when he told me in no uncertain terms that his name was not Kerry. It was Mercury. “Like Mercury Rising,” he said.

A gang name? (I didn’t know about his childhood then.) Whatever. I just had to keep him conscious, at least until the paramedics arrived. That meant getting him to talk.

“Tell me something about your life,” I said.

He didn’t respond. He’d already turned inward, toward the pain. His eyes were unfocussed but in the falling darkness I couldn’t tell if his pupils were dilated.

“Mercury,” I said. “Stay awake.”

He grumbled something incoherent, and my stomach clenched. I’d seen my share of head injuries in the E.R. Was there bleeding in the brain? Would he end up a vegetable?

“Stay with me, Merc,” I said.

“Lucy.” The sound rumbled up from his chest. “You’re giving me a headache.”

That’s when I knew.

I had to be the one to take care of him in the E.R.

Ready to Read Lucy & Kerry’s Story? Order Here!