Mari Carr's Blog, page 69

Screaming Orgasm Sneak Peek

This week of partying has been extra fun for me because as we’re celebrating the release of Bachelor’s Bait, I’m writing the final book in the series, Screaming Orgasm. I’ve been waiting to tell Jayne and Elias’ story since the beginning. The story has been in my head for well over a year so to say it’s a relief to be able to put it down on the page is an understatement! LOL. Interestingly enough…I’m visiting Jayne Rylon’s blog today to tell a “cocktale” on her! Hee hee.

Today’s drink recipe is for a Screaming Orgasm and I thought I’d share a sneak peek at what I’m working on. Enjoy!

Screaming Orgasm

1 oz vodka

1 1/2 oz Bailey’s® Irish cream

1/2 oz Kahlua® coffee liqueur

Pour first vodka, then Bailey’s, then Kahlua into a cocktail glass over crushed ice. Stir.

Caution: use only high quality vodka. Cheap vodka can cause the Bailey’s to curdle. Test your brand of vodka by mixing 1 Tsp each of vodka and Bailey’s first.

Sneak peek (please forgive any typos, grammatical errors as this is completely unedited):

Jayne Kent stepped behind the quiet bar and sighed heavily. It was almost closing time at Books and Brew. While their Thursday crowd was usually larger thanks to an evening book club meeting, the snow seemed to have scared away most people. Glancing out the window, she guesstimated about three inches had fallen, with at least six more being predicted.

Ordinarily, she loved snow, the peace that descended on the city whenever the white stuff fell. Tonight, the silence simply added to her loneliness.

“Good night, Jayne. We left the tip on the table.”

She smiled and waved goodbye to two of the last customers as they walked out. Looking over, she spotted Elias in his usual chair in the corner, his nose buried in a book, oblivious to the world. They shared that unique ability to lose themselves in the words printed on the page. Or at least, they used to. Lately, she couldn’t put aside the melancholy consuming her enough to concentrate on any book she picked up. She’d lost her talent for disappearing—just when she needed it most.

Reaching for a tumbler, she filled the glass with ice, then reached for the Glenlivet Scotch. It was Elias’ favorite drink. She never drank usually, but tonight she felt the need for something stronger than her usual Shirley Temple.

“What are you doing?”

Elias’s deep voice cut through the quiet and startled her. “Oh.”

He rose slowly and walked to the bar. She admired his smooth elegance. She’d never met a man quite like Elias. A research scientist at a local facility and an adjunct professor at a local university, everything about him fascinated her. Stephanie teased her about her crush on him, but what she felt for Elias felt too strong to be given such a juvenile description.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He claimed a stool at the bar across from her. Even though he’d been coming to Books and Brew since they’d opened, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him sitting at the bar. He always opted for the out-of-the-way leather chair.

“You didn’t. I knew you were here. I was just zoning out there a bit. What did you say?”

“I asked what you were doing.”

She looked down at the glass of Scotch she’d poured. “Having a drink.”

He gave her a slight smile. “You don’t drink.”

She shrugged. “I do tonight. Thought I’d see what all this fuss is about with this Scotch of yours.”

He didn’t speak as she lifted the glass, silently toasting him before taking a sip.

She gasped. “Oh my God. That’s terrible.” She put the glass down, quickly looking around for something to kill the taste.

Elias’ grin grew and she realized she didn’t see him smile often. It wasn’t that he was miserable. Quite the opposite, he was very nice, genuinely friendly. While she’d always found him attractive, the full-fledged smile took his face from handsome to freaking hot in an instant.

“I should have warned you. It’s an acquired taste.” He rose and walked to the end of the bar, gesturing at the hinged entrance. “May I?”

She nodded. He lifted the wood and joined her. It was a night for all sorts of out-of-the-ordinary occurrences.

Elias reached for a clean glass and began to mix together several ingredients. Stirring, he handed her the new drink. “Given your love of coffee, I think you may find this more to your liking.”

She raised the glass with caution and sniffed at it. Elias’ face proved he was amused by her reticence.

“Trust me,” he said.

It was all she needed to hear. She took a drink. The liquor was smooth and creamy and quickly erased the lingering foul taste of the Scotch. “Delicious. What’s it called?”

Elias moved a step toward her. Jayne’s breath caught. They’d never been so close or alone. “Screaming Orgasm.”

She swallowed. Because of his nearness, Jayne was forced to look up. She’d known he was tall, but she’d never realized how great the difference in their heights until now. He topped her short, five foot four frame by at least half a foot, maybe more.

Yet another big disparity between them. Another roadblock. She’d been surprised to learn from Stephanie that Elias was forty-three to her thirty. While her friends perceived that age difference as too great, Jayne wasn’t sure she agreed.

“Screaming Orgasm,” she repeated. She gave him a sad smile. “Never had one of those before.” There was a double meaning behind her response. In the past, she never would have made such a revealing remark to him, but tonight, she felt too weary to shield her words.

His eyes narrowed slightly and she flushed.

Shit. Way to go too far, Jayne.

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean, Jayne.”

The Cocktale Party continues!

In addition to counting down the days until the release of Bachelor’s Bait, I’m also anxiously awaiting the coming of another new book! Fix You is the first story in my Second Chances series and it will hit the virtual bookshelves on Dec. 11.

I’m also visiting Rhian Cahill’s blog today with a “cocktale” about her. Hee Hee.

Today I thought I’d share an excerpt from the book.

Rob stared down at Zoey’s face as she slept. Her eyes were still puffy from last night’s tears. Neither of them had moved from the couch. Instead, he’d lain down next to her and held her as she silently wept. Pinpricks attacked the arm he’d wrapped around her, his hand numb from lying in the same position for so long. He didn’t bother to move. It felt too good holding her like this.

Some truths were crashing down on him. He’d been an ass, living his life like he had all the time in the world. Their time on this planet was far from infinite, and yet he’d squandered years of it, working on his career, focusing solely on making it big.

For what? Fame? Money? Why the hell did he need that shit?

He’d always taken it for granted that Zoey would be here for him. How the fuck was he supposed to go on without her? The moment she’d told him about the cancer, the light had gone on.

I’m in love with her. Christ. I’ve been in love with her since the first day I laid eyes on her.

Zoey stirred. Rob’s heart began to race as her eyes opened slowly. He wasn’t wasting a second more. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

She was disoriented for a moment before she lifted her gaze and smiled.

With his free hand, he stroked her face softly. “Zoey.” Her name fell from his lips on a hushed whisper, his chest constricting under the weight of every emotion under the sun—love, fear, happiness, panic, a raging case of nervousness.

What if she didn’t feel the same way?

“Yeah?”

He took a deep breath. Fear wasn’t going to hold him back another second longer. “I’m going to break my promise.”

“What promise?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he bent his head and kissed her. Time froze as their lips met. Rob was transported back to that day in the park, to the truth that should have been obvious all those years ago. He’d been a blind, inexperienced boy back then, but now…his eyes were wide open.

It was her. Zoey. For him, it had always been her.

The kiss was a gentle touch at first, but when Zoey’s lips softened and accepted his, he deepened it. Her small hand cupped his cheek, exploring his face hesitantly before growing bolder, stroking it.

The smell of cinnamon enveloped them, her candle still burning from the night before. He knew in his heart that from now on, that scent would always make him think of her. Of this moment.

His heart lodged in his throat when he realized the magnitude of what was happening, of what he wanted to happen next. He was kissing his best friend. And she was kissing him back.

Encouraged, he opened his mouth, stroking his tongue against hers. The kiss grew harder, hungrier. For several minutes—hell, it could have been hours for all Rob knew—they simply kissed, learning each other’s taste, texture. Her skin was soft beneath his fingers as he caressed her delicate cheek. Her breathing grew heavier, the heat of it warm against his skin.

When he finally moved away, she was there, looking at him, studying his face. Hers was the picture of confusion, wariness…and desire. He latched onto the last like a dying man clinging to life. She wanted him.

“Still weird?” He needed the joke, needed to get his bearings. His emotions were too raw, too new, too close to the surface.

She shook her head slowly. “No. Not even close.”

“Good. I’ve been practicing.”

She laughed uneasily. “You’re insane. What the hell prompted that?”

He knew her. Knew she’d try to twist this into something innocent, funny. He wouldn’t let her. He ran his hand through her dark hair, overwhelmed by the need to touch her. “Just figured it was past time. You mind if we talk about this after?”

“After what?”

He let his body answer the question. Turning so they lay face to face on the couch, he placed his lips back on hers. He didn’t want to push her. After all, she’d just received life-altering, horrible news. He’d keep things easy, let her set the pace.

She didn’t resist his kisses. Her hand traveled along his shoulders and down his arm before landing on his chest. Her lips pressed against his harder. Then she moved away, an infinitesimal distance.

“Touch me,” she whispered, her hand fisting in the cotton of his shirt.

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands roamed along her sides, drifted beneath her T-shirt.

She shivered when he caressed the bare skin of her waist. He stoked her arousal, kissing her harder as he explored every bit of bare flesh he could reach beneath her shirt. He forced air into his lungs, fought to keep his hands steady as he touched her.

The slight tremor in his hands seemed to distract her. She was the first to pull back. “Robbie, are you sure—?”

“After,” he repeated. He gripped her hip, dragging her closer. There was no way she could misconstrue how far he’d go if she was willing. His cock was hard, ready.

She bit her lip and he could sense she was struggling to make a decision. He wouldn’t force her into anything she wasn’t ready for. Hell, he’d be perfectly content to spend the next dozen years or so simply kissing her. Making up for so many wasted years. “Zoey—”

She shook her head and closed her eyes, but not before he read the hungry need there. Then she lifted one leg and wrapped it around his thigh. She thrust closer. It was an outright invitation. “After,” she whispered, her voice steadier than he expected.

Fix You is available for presale at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Because Rob is torn between his love of music and Zoey, I think today’s drink is aptly titled.

I give you…the Rockstar.


2 oz Bacardi® Limon rum

2 oz cranberry juice

fill with Sprite® soda

Put 2 oz Bacardi® Limon rum and 2 oz cranberry juice in shaker. Strain over ice in old fashioned glass. Fill with Sprite® soda.

Read more: Rockstar recipe http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink20u9t35.html#ixzz29yJMW9gp

Saturday Snippet

Today’s theme of Frenemies could definitely apply to the second book in my Cocktales series, Screwdriver. Things get a little sticky when best friends, Gabriel and Casey, both fall in love with the same woman. At least…that is until they decide that sharing could make things twice as nice. If you’re participating in my “Cocktale” Contest, today’s recipe is in honor of that second book. Remember, you simply need to check back each day to gather the seven drink titles in order to enter the contest. Details can be found on my Nov. 1 post.

Screwdriver recipe:

1 ½ oz. vodka

6 oz. pulp-free orange juice

Pour the orange juice into a glass with ice then pour in the shot of vodka.

Stir and serve.

Screwdriver snippet

Casey looked closer at the AC unit. “Damn. I was afraid of that.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I was hoping it was an issue with the belt, but the motor bearings are shot. I’m going to need to order a part.”

“So it’s not getting fixed today?”

“I’ll see if I can rig a workaround for the time being.” He stood and stretched. “God bless it, Jordan. I apologize if this offends you, but it’s hot as hell in here.” Reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, he whipped the thin cotton over his head and fanned himself with it.

Her now-familiar blush returned and Casey felt compelled to prod, to see if his suspicions about Jordan’s underlying naughty side were true. “Just so you know, I absolutely will not be upset if you decide to follow suit and work shirtless for the rest of the afternoon.”

The twinkle in her eyes let him know she enjoyed his joke. “I’m fine with my shirt on.”

“You sure?” he teased, taking a step closer. “I don’t mind helping you peel it off.” He reached out but she darted away, her smile widening.

“Casey,” she said, swatting his hands away. She dodged behind the AC unit and he followed.

The two of them played a quick game of cat and mouse as Casey chased her around the storage closet.

He’d just captured her, Jordan squealing loudly, when the door to the closet opened.

“Jordan? Are you okay?” a deep voice asked from the hallway.

Gabriel peered around the door and Casey wondered what his best friend thought he was seeing. They certainly presented a risqué picture—Casey shirtless, his arms wrapped around Jordan from behind while she laughed.

“Hey, Gabe.” Casey released Jordan and pulled his shirt back on. “What are you doing here?”

Gabriel’s response was slow in coming as his gaze traveled from Casey to Jordan. “I was checking on your progress.” Gabriel’s eyes landed back on Casey’s face and they narrowed angrily. “Looks like you’re making some.”

Shit. Casey’s suspicions about Gabe’s feelings for Jordan were confirmed in an instant. His friend was hot for the accountant.

Problem was…so was Casey.

“We were taking a break,” he explained.

Gabriel looked at Jordan, his expression softening. “You’re blood-red, Jordan. You need to get out of this heat.”

Casey glanced at her face. Gabriel had made the same mistake he had. Jordan wasn’t hot. She was blushing. Big-time.

“I’m okay, Gabe. No worries,” she answered. “I can see why you two are friends. Casey’s cure for the heat wave is going topless too.”

Gabriel’s expression darkened even further as he snapped his gaze to Casey once more. “Topless?”

“Actually, I think we’re done for the day,” Casey said, anxious to change the subject before Gabriel pulverized him. “I need to order a part before I can fix the unit.”

Jordan frowned and he sensed she was surprised by his sudden retreat to safer territory. Gabriel had never referred to Jordan as anything more than a pal, but Casey could read between the lines—even if his oblivious friend couldn’t.

“Um, yeah. That’s right. We were just wrapping things up. It was nice of you to come by and check on us.” Jordan’s gaze drifted to Gabriel’s face and she smiled.

Crap. The pure longing on Jordan’s face told Casey all he needed to know in regards to her feelings for Gabriel. It told him more than he wanted to know.

Jordan’s cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID. “It’s Steph. We made plans to do a late lunch. I should take this.”

She walked toward the door as she answered the phone. Gabriel stepped aside and let her escape. Casey suspected he wouldn’t be freed as easily.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Gabe’s question was murmured, but even in the quiet tone, Casey detected the anger. A small part of him was thrilled to hear any emotion at all from his friend.

“I told you. Taking a break.”

“With your clothes off?”

Casey shot him a dirty look. “I took off my shirt to cool down. I’ve been in this godforsaken sweatbox for nearly two hours. Besides, what the hell are you so pissed off about? I’m here because you asked me to fix the air conditioner.”

“Why was Jordan in here?”

And now they were getting to the heart of the matter. “I asked her to help me.”

“Since when do you need an assistant?”

Casey was hot and tired and annoyed. Not a good combination. Gabe was poking the bear. “I spotted a gorgeous woman and an empty closet. Come on, Gabe. You’re a smart guy with a degree in finance. Put two and two together. I’m not averse to mixing work and play.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You’re not playing with Jordan.”

His friend’s vehemence tweaked Casey’s temper. “Last time I checked, you weren’t my keeper. Or Jordan’s.”

Gabriel rubbed his neck wearily, and for the first time, Casey noticed the dark circles under his friend’s eyes.

When he spoke again, Gabriel’s voice was calmer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I saw you with Jordan and I…shit, I guess I lost it.”

“Why? I’m not an asshole to women. You know that.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I know. She reminds me of Annie in a lot of ways. Somewhere along the line I’ve become a bit protective of her.”

Annie was Gabriel’s only sibling, and no little sister had ever been loved more. Casey wasn’t sure how to respond. Gabe’s initial reaction screamed of jealousy, not brotherly instinct. “I can see why. Jordan’s very sweet.”

Gabriel didn’t seem to appreciate his answer. “So sweet you felt compelled to strip off your shirt and corner her in a storage closet?”

Yep. Definitely jealous.

Screwdriver is available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Ellora’s Cave, Sony, All Romance Ebooks, and Kobo.

Want more snippets?

Rhian Cahill

Shiloh Walker

McKenna Jeffries

Taige Crenshaw

HelenKay Dimon

Lauren Dane

TJ Michaels

Jody Wallace

Five for Friday

Today’s Five for Friday is helping me continue my “Cocktale” Party Celebration. Next Tuesday, Nov. 7, Bachelor’s Bait releases. It’s the third book in the Cocktales series about four friends who have opened up my dream business, Books and Brew. Because they are dedicated to making their venture a success, they’ve had to make sacrifices in their lives–working weekends and never quite finding enough time to date. Until now…that is…

Each story is named after a cocktail and the recipe for the drink is included in the front of the book. The first book, Party Naked, is available now. Here’s the second recipe for my “Cocktale” party contest, Party Naked, and the first five pages of the story it inspired!

Party Naked

As a mixed drink:

1 shot of rum

½ shot of Southern Comfort

½ shot of Razzmatazz

½ shot of peach schnapps

Pour in a glass with ice and fill with 7-Up

As a shot:

In a shaker with ice, add

½ shot of rum

¼ shot of Southern Comfort

¼ shot of Razzmatazz

¼ shot of peach schnapps

Shake and strain into chilled shot glass.

Chapter One

“Goddamn, motherfucker, son of a bitch on a cheese cracker!” Stephanie Harper looked at the mass destruction around her feet and felt the overwhelming desire to smash every bottle in the damn bar.

“What was that?” Her best friend Jayne’s head popped up from where she was bent over, stocking new-release books on the shelf.

“Just me redecorating the bar area with broken glass.” Her tone betrayed the fact she was finding no humor in her clumsiness.

“Trip on the mat again?” Jayne’s question—laced with a giggle—told Stephanie her friend was finding humor in the situation.

“Yes, Miss Unhelpful. I tripped on the motherfucking mat again.”

“Uh oh. Two MFs in under a minute. You really are having a bad day.”

Stephanie took a deep breath and tried to take stock of the damage. “You can say that again. I just broke two bottles of vodka, one of Jack and a brand new Beefeater.”

Jayne approached the bar, crawling on a stool to peer over at the mess Stephanie had made. “What’s Beefeater again?”

“Gin. Jesus, Jayne. You’ve worked in this bar nearly two years now. You’d think you’d pick up some of this stuff.”

Jayne shook her head, plopping her ass down. “I work in the bookstore. You work in the bar. And I don’t like alcohol.”

Stephanie shook her head in mock disbelief, though Jayne’s distaste for the strong stuff was a well-known flaw in her friend’s character. “Yeah, well, you don’t know what you’re missing. Nothing like a splash of Beefeater with Sprite and a twist of lime in the summertime. Very refreshing.”

“Lemonade serves the same purpose. I take it the gin was important.”

“No, not really. However, the loss of that particular brand of vodka was deadly. Books and Brew isn’t gonna open at all today without it. Your Romantic Hearts book group likes their special Screwdrivers.” Stephanie moved toward the corner to grab the broom, while Jayne walked behind the bar to inspect the broken glass.

“Tell you what. I’ll clean up the mess and you can run to the liquor store for more. Maybe the drive will clear your head a bit. Not quite sure what’s thrown you out of whack, but the fresh air might do you some good.”

Stephanie gratefully relinquished the broom and dustpan, but she didn’t think a drive was going to help her escape the dark cloud she’d woken up under. “Maybe I should just say ‘screw it’ to everything, go home and crawl back in bed. Hope for better luck tomorrow.”

Her friend placed a consoling hand on Stephanie’s shoulder. “Just go get the vodka. You really don’t want me to have to man the bar.”

Stephanie imagined Jayne with her nose buried in the bartender’s guide, trying to figure out how to make a scotch on the rocks, and grinned. “True that.”

Jayne started cleaning up the shattered glass and liquid, while Stephanie grabbed some money out of the cash register to pay for the booze.

“Don’t forget to tell Jordan you took that money, and bring back a receipt. You know she goes mad when she can’t account for every penny in the cash register.”

Stephanie waved her hand briefly in response. She’d been a thorn in her accountant friend’s side since she, Jordan, Jayne and Sophie opened Books and Brew two years earlier. Owning their own business had been a shared dream for the four women since they’d graduated from college and, so far, their joint venture was a relative success. Books and Brew was a twist on the coffee shop/bookstore idea. Stephanie wasn’t a fan of coffee, but she could see the beauty in sipping a cold glass of wine while perusing the shelves for new reading material.

Because of their diverse interests, they each managed to bring something unique to the table. Jordan was using her B.S. in accounting by taking care of the store’s finances, and the information Sophie had gathered in her marketing classes was put to good use in advertising for the store. Even Jayne was applying her liberal arts education—using her knowledge of literature and history to stock the bookstore and hold weekly reading groups.

In the meantime, Stephanie was sitting on a psych degree while tending bar. A fact her mother, Beverly, managed to bring up during every single conversation they’d had since Stephanie’s graduation from college. Beverly considered her daughter’s chosen profession a stage she’d outgrow, which made Stephanie all the more determined to make the business a success.

She loved her job, using her degree in a rather unique way, and she adored the patrons of the store. People loved to unload their problems to bartenders and, while she certainly wasn’t trying to practice her profession, she liked being able to provide an ear and perhaps some words of comfort or advice. Stephanie joked she’d traded a barstool for the couch. She’d found her niche, and she refused to give all that up by caving to her mother’s constant nagging that she open a “respectable” practice and hold down a career her mother felt was brag-worthy. Apparently telling her friends at the country club that her daughter was a bartender wasn’t cutting it for good ol’ Mom.

“Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She grabbed her purse and car keys.

“Anything I should know before you get back? Expecting any deliveries? Hank coming by?” Jayne wiggled her eyebrows as she asked the last question.

“Do me a favor. Don’t mention Hank and ‘coming’ in the same sentence.”

“So he’s still driving you crazy?”

Stephanie shuddered at the mention of their beer distributor. “The guy doesn’t get it. He calls to ask me out and I say no. He calls again and I say no. You’d think after twenty-or-so calls, he’d figure it out. One moment of weakness and it’s like I’m going to be punished for life.”

“I think it was more like three moments,” Jayne teased.

“Wow. You’re a regular laugh a minute today. We should call The Daily Show and see if they’ll give you a job co-anchoring with Jon Stewart.”

“I’d love that. I think he’s hot.”

“Of course you do. You go for that brainiac type.”

Jayne didn’t deny the truth of Stephanie’s assessment. “You know, I’d like to say I know your type, but I can’t pin you down. You never seem to go for the same kind of guy twice or for longer than a month.”

“That’s because my time is too valuable to waste. And I’m a fast learner. For example, a few nights with Hank proved weightlifters are not my cup of tea.” Hank had a major self-esteem issue which manifested itself in his obsession with outward appearances. After a couple trips to the gym with him, she’d discovered the same held true for quite a few of the uber-muscular men in his social circle.

“Seems sort of narrow-minded. What if the next weightlifter is cool and you never give him a chance?”

Stephanie shrugged, not wanting to admit her friend had a valid point. The whole argument was moot anyway. Dating anyone seriously was a luxury she simply didn’t have time for.

Luckily Jayne was a good friend. She let her off the hook easy. “You’ll just have to keep looking.”

“Maybe, but regardless of who I date, let’s get one thing straight, Jayne. I’m not looking to fall in love. Lust? Definitely. Sexual attraction? I’m in. Red-hot, set-the-sheets-on-fire fucking? Hell yeah. Forever? No way.”

Jayne looked at her thoughtfully. “I kind of think forever would be nice.”

“Ha, that’s because you weren’t raised by Beverly Harper Price Fitzgerald Warner, the queen of the five-minute marriage.”

“Agreed. Your mom’s giving Elizabeth Taylor’s record a run for the money. Which husband is she on now? I lost track after the second.”

Stephanie sighed and pretended to count on her fingers. “Four.”

Jayne winced. “Wowza. Well, you shouldn’t let your mother’s missteps lead you astray. True love does exist, Steph. You just have to keep your eyes and your heart open.”

Stephanie smiled. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels. They’re rubbing off on you. Unfortunately, it’s not like Portland is crawling with hot guys who frequent bookstores and right now, this bar is the only place I’m likely to meet someone. I can’t remember the last time you and I hit the nightclubs together.”

To make their store a success, Stephanie and her friends had made quite a few sacrifices—the main one being social lives. Because of the bar component, weekend evenings usually found the store open for business. To keep the profits high, they’d decided to do most of the running of the store themselves rather than hire outside help. Stephanie hadn’t had a day off in nearly five months.

“So obviously you grabbed one of the few available men to darken our door and had sex with the beer distributor.”

Stephanie shifted her purse on her arm, grinning widely. “You have to admit, he’s easy on the eyes with all those muscles and that rich, golden tan, even if he is kind of dim.”

“Dim might be an understatement. I think it’s all those steroids he swears he doesn’t take.”

Jayne’s laughter was contagious and Stephanie giggled before flexing her muscles and deepening her voice to mimic Hank the Tank. “Feel those guns there, baby. All natural.”

Jayne feigned a girlie swoon.

Stephanie’s laughter gave way to a heavy sigh. “Christ. I really am pathetic.”

“Not really. At least you’re getting laid occasionally. I’m living a life more celibate than a nun.” Jayne scooped up a pile of broken glass and dumped it in the garbage pail.

“There’s a big difference between getting laid and getting laid well.”

“Is this why Hank’s history?”

“One of the reasons. His insecurity was the main one, though. We couldn’t have a conversation. It was like pulling teeth to get him to talk about anything other than how much he could bench press. After a few dates, it felt like I was spending more time counseling him than trying to build any sort of relationship.”

Jayne leaned the broom against the bar. “You know, Jordan seems to think we’re getting more financially secure. Maybe we could consider hiring a second bartender so you can at least attempt a social life. We’ve been at this for two years and I think it’s obvious Mr. Right isn’t going to come walking through that door for any of us. We need

Hee hee–that’s where it ends!

Party Naked is available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Ellora’s Cave, Sony, All Romance Ebooks and Kobo.

Want five more? Check these out.

Jambrea Jo Jones

Bianca D’Arc

Lila Dubois

Rhian Cahill

Lexxie Couper

AND…while you’re over at Lexxie’s blog, be sure to check out my “cocktale” about her.

Cocktale Party Contest

In honor of the release of the third Cocktales book, Bachelor’s Bait, next Tuesday, I thought I’d hold my traditional week-long “Cocktale” party to celebrate. And what better way to celebrate than with a prize?! I’ve attended a couple of fantastic fall conferences and gathered up some pretty cool things. I’ll create a Cocktales care package and throw in a signed copy of my latest print release, Scoundrels.

The contest is an easy one. Simply check back each day to read about the featured cocktail. I’m sharing recipes! All you need to do is record the drink titles, then on Tuesday, Nov. 7, send the list of drinks to my email addy (carmichm1@yahoo.com). There will be seven drinks in all. No need to dress up, just come as you are and enjoy!

Oh! And as part of the celebration…I’m telling “cocktales” about some of my girlfriends over on their blogs. So…be sure to check those out. Today, I’m hanging out with Lila Dubois.

But first, to start the party off in style, I thought I’d share a short snippet from Bachelor’s Bait. Fancy something hot and spicy?

“There are a million things I want to do with you. Tie you to my bed. Blindfold you. Gag you. Use dildos, butt plugs, nipple clamps on you. I’ll take you from behind, upside down, sideways. I want to fuck you in a pool, a car, on a mountainside, at a football game.”

She laughed. “I hate football.”

“We wouldn’t be watching the game. So what do you think? Feel like spending a few weeks—or months—exploring your naughty side with me?”

Hee hee–I’m not sure what Sophie’s going to say, but Mari says HELL YEAH!

Now…how about a little drink to cool off? In honor of Marc’s desires, I thought we’d start off the party with Sex on the Mountain. Here’s the recipe:

1.5 oz peach vodka

1 oz pomegranate juice

1 oz orange juice

Build cocktail over ice in an old fashioned glass. Add vodka then pour pomegranate and orange juices from separate containers at the same time to create a swirled effect in glass. Garnish with orange.

Read more: Sex on the Mountain recipe http://www.drinksmixer.com/drinkn2m0631.html#ixzz29yDIvysl

Happy Halloween

Happy Halloween! Just wanted to let you know that I’m celebrating the holiday today over at the Wild and Wicked Cowboys blog. This lovely group of authors invited me to join them in their love of all things western! I’m completely thrilled and honored to be included! Today, I’m the blogger in charge on the site, so I thought I’d share the link with you. Hope you’ll pop over to check out my cowboy treats. No tricks, I promise!

Have a wild and wicked day!

Quote of the Day

“Time you enjoyed wasting is not wasted time.” – Bertrand Russell

A new Jess Dee book!

My good friend, Jess Dee, has a new short story out and I thought I’d share the news in case you are looking for a quick, short read on this quiet, fall Sunday. It’s called The One that Got Away and at .99 cents, it’s a steal.

Sometimes its impossible to know whether he was the one who got away or the one you’re definitely better off without…until he comes back into your life.

Lily Kember never dreamed a causal introduction to a friend’s friend would change her life, but three days after meeting Kai Jettison, she’s fallen deeply and irrevocably in love.

Kai falls just as hard, yet minutes after telling her as much he has no choice but to rip her heart to shreds, leaving whatever has blossomed between them lying in tatters on the ground.

It’s been five months since that fateful day. Five months of no contact. Now Kai is attending the same end of year bash as Lily, and bumping into him seems unavoidable. Lily’s choices are limited: either steel her emotions against Kai or risk losing her heart to him all over again.

Excerpt

“I thought I’d never get you alone.” The deep voice shattered her solidarity.

Lily froze.

God, she didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to face the person standing behind her. But turn she did, eventually—after taking three or four deep, silent breaths—and raised an eyebrow in studied surprise. “Kai?”

Hah. She sounded brilliant. As though she’d had no idea he was here, as though she hadn’t taken one look at him and bolted from the room like a terrified, confused teenager. She could so do this. She could pretend he hadn’t changed her world in three days and destroyed it in three minutes.

He nodded. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.” She shrugged and then lied, “I didn’t know you were here.” No, she wouldn’t stand up. Wouldn’t give him the respect. She angled her head so her neck didn’t cramp while she stared up at him.

“Really?” Without an invitation, he took a seat beside her, instantly making the rock fifty times smaller than it had been five seconds before. “The way you looked at me earlier, with eyes wider than a fifty cent coin, I kinda figured you did.”

Shit. He had seen her after all.

Lily forced herself not to cringe visibly. “I didn’t know you were in Sydney,” she amended, doing her best to save face. “Last time I saw you, you were on your way to Melbourne.”

“Last time you saw me I was a lot of things,” he muttered.

Oh, she was so not going there. So not picking up a conversation that she wished to God she’d never had to be a part of in the first place.

Awareness settled in her stomach like a tiny butterfly, flitting around, lost and alarmed. Kai sat beside her. Close, but not touching.

Close enough that the heat from his body radiated from him, warming her altogether too much for a summer evening.

“You look good, Lily,” he said softly.

So did he. Good enough to eat. But then Lily wasn’t up for another severe bout of food poisoning. One round with Kai had been enough. Or so she told herself. Her heart argued that a lifetime with Kai wouldn’t be adequate.

“Thank you.” That was all she said. She refused to make this easy for him. No way was she going to make an effort, talk or ask him questions. She wouldn’t trap herself in a conversation, because she knew, just knew, that if she did, she’d never want to stop.

Saturday Snippet

Today’s theme is things that go BUMP in the night! I’ve written several romantic suspense stories, so I thought I’d share a snippet of my latest, Because You Love Me.

Snippet:

“Well, well, well. What a surprise. You’re out late, Lyle.”

Fuck. Her breathing picked up when she recognized Judge Thompson’s voice. This was bad. Very, very bad. She sank lower, her back pressed against the rough crate. She forced herself to think. There had to be something she could do to protect her friend.

“Judge Thompson.” Lyle’s voice was steady. Bridget’s respect for her geeky friend went up several notches. “Didn’t expect to run into you here.”

“Didn’t you?” The judge’s question was laced with malice. “Surely you didn’t think your computer tampering would go unnoticed.”

“Tampering?”

Bridget’s breathing accelerated and her hands shook as she reached into her pocket. Pulling out her cell phone and her minirecorder, she struggled to hit the red dot. Perhaps she could capture the judge saying something incriminating she could use to barter for their freedom. Unfortunately, she wasn’t holding her breath the device would pick up much. She was too far away.

Quietly placing the recorder on the ground, she turned her attention to her phone, dialing 911. The operator’s voice sounded unbearably loud in the warehouse and Bridget froze. There was no way she could talk to the person on the other end without being discovered.

Lyle and the judge continued to speak, but Bridget found it difficult to make out their words as blood coursed through her body, pounding in her ears like a bass drum. The operator spoke again. Bridget was paralyzed with fear. She had to do something, say something, but she was too terrified to speak, even in a whisper.

As she peered around the crate, Bridget’s stomach plummeted to her feet. The judge had pulled out a gun. The men were still speaking and by their comfortable stance, she knew her presence was unknown. The judge and his accomplice were completely focused on Lyle.

“Who are you meeting here?” the judge asked.

Lyle put his hands out nonchalantly. “I’m not meeting anyone. Just taking a little nightly stroll.”

The judge’s henchman threw a punch at Lyle’s face. Bridget heard the cracking of bones and suspected he’d broken Lyle’s nose. Lyle made no move to defend himself or to fight back. He simply raised his hands to his nose, trying to stem the flow of blood.

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Judge Thompson sneered at Lyle.

Bridget was distracted when the 911 operator spoke once more. She needed to act, needed to do something before Lyle was hurt even worse. Keeping her eyes on the men in the center of the room, she lightly whispered the address to the warehouse. The operator attempted to ask more questions, but Bridget had already spoken more than she dared. None of the men had heard her whispers, and it gave her foolish hope. Perhaps the police would arrive in time. Perhaps the cops would burst in with guns drawn to capture the villains and save them.

“Give me the flash drive.” The judge held an outstretched palm toward Lyle, the other hand still holding the all-too-threatening gun.

“Flash drive?”

“Don’t be any more stupid than you already have been. I know what you have in your possession. You can give it to me now and try to beg for your pathetic, meaningless life, or I can take it off your dead body. Either way works for me.”

“Either way sounds like a death sentence for me.”

If Bridget hadn’t felt like beating the shit out of Lyle for his cavalier attitude, she would have cheered on his bravery. He wasn’t cowering or pleading. He was incredible.

As the seconds passed, Bridget prayed the night’s silence would be broken by approaching sirens. None came.

“Give it to me,” the judge demanded.

Lyle shook his head. “You didn’t think I’d actually bring it here, did you?” Bridget prayed that was true. If Lyle didn’t have what Judge Thompson wanted, surely that bought him more time.

The judge looked at his accomplice, jerking his head toward Lyle. “Check his pockets.”

Lyle didn’t put up a fight as the bruiser began searching his pockets. Bridget closed her eyes and released a silent curse when the man pulled a flash drive out of Lyle’s right pocket.

“You don’t think that’s the only copy I’ve made, do you?” Lyle’s voice rang out across the vast space, his words clear and welcome.

Yes, Bridget mouthed. Keep them guessing…and talking. Where the fuck were the police?

The judge shrugged as if unconcerned. A malicious smile covered his face and Bridget knew things were about to go as bad as they possibly could. The scene began to unfold in slow motion as the judge lifted his hand and fired one shot directly into the center of Lyle’s chest. There was no warning, no time for Lyle to run or dodge. One minute he was standing there, the next he was lying on the floor.

Bridget sat stunned, motionless. It was as if time simply stood still. She didn’t breathe. Her heart didn’t beat. Ice-cold numbness consumed her.

The judge’s voice broke the spell. “Search the rest of the warehouse. Make sure no one else is here.”

She was dead. Glancing around, she realized she’d placed herself in the worst possible position for escape. She was hiding along a far wall, and the only way to the lone door at the front of the building was by crossing the vast space where the judge stood, where Lyle lay inert on the floor.

Distant sirens pierced the night and all three living occupants jerked. The judge’s henchman gave up his search and the two of them hastily escaped. The sound of a car’s doors slamming, an engine starting, and peeling tires on the pavement told her they’d be long gone before the cavalry arrived.

Bridget picked up her minirecorder and phone, then rose from her hiding spot. She forced her legs to support her. As if treading through waist-deep mud, she fought her way to the center of the floor. She knew what she’d find there, knew what she’d see. Lyle had been dead the second the judge pulled the trigger, his life extinguished in the blink of an eye.

When she reached her friend, she dropped to her knees by his side. His lifeless eyes were still open, a slight look of surprise covering his frozen features. She studied his face, memorizing it, imprinting it in her mind and on her heart. She’d let him down. He’d trusted her with the information he’d uncovered. Only her. And she’d failed him.

Picking up his hand, she held it gently in hers. “I’m sorry, Lyle,” she whispered. “So sorry.”

The sirens grew louder, cars pulling up outside the warehouse. She didn’t rise to meet the police. Instead, she remained with Lyle and let them come to her. They entered with their weapons drawn and approached cautiously. Once they determined she wasn’t a threat, they took stock of the scene and called for a coroner.

Calmly, she answered all of their four thousand, two hundred and twenty- two questions. She saw the look of surprise on all the cops’ faces when she named Judge Thompson as the murderer. Finally, a million years later, they let her leave—with a police escort.

Climbing the stairs to her apartment with the rookie cop shadowing her ascent, Bridget made a silent vow to her friend. The judge would pay for tonight’s crime as well as all the others. She wouldn’t rest until justice had been served…for Lyle.

Because You Love Me is available at Samhain, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

Want more snippets?

Rhian Cahill

Shiloh Walker

McKenna Jeffries

Taige Crenshaw

HelenKay Dimon

Lauren Dane

TJ Michaels

Jody Wallace

Five for Friday

Today’s Five for Friday comes from Waiting for Wednesday.

Prologue

One year ago

“Lane?” Tristan looked down at the frail form of his best friend lying in the hospital bed and gently took her hand in his.

Her eyelids fluttered and one—the right one—opened slightly. Her left eye was bruised and swollen shut.

“Tris.” Her voice was hoarse, drawing his gaze to her throat where he could see the faint marks left by her abusive husband’s fingers.

“I’m right here, kitten. How are you?” He mentally chastised himself for the stupid question. She was a billboard for domestic violence, every inch of her pale, delicate flesh covered with bruises and cuts. In addition to her black eye, she had a split lip and several stitches above her brow. It hurt him just to look at her and he had to swallow back the murderous rage building in his chest.

“Oh, you know,” she said. “Pulled a double shift at work. Got a paper cut. Same old shit.”

He grimaced at her joke. It was so like her. Damn woman hated anything even resembling pity, but this time he couldn’t let her make light of her predicament.

“Dammit, Lane.” He dropped down into the chair by the side of her bed. “Don’t do that, babe. Don’t make a fucking joke of this.”

She winced at his words and he instantly regretted them when she closed her good eye against the tears gathering there. It took her several moments to compose herself enough to speak again. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Lane. Just tell me what happened.”

“I took your advice. Got up the nerve to leave. Apparently James wanted me around more than he let on.”

Tristan tightened his grip on her hand, trying to hide the fact his was trembling in the face of what she’d gone through. Her husband had always been distant, cruel in an emotionally abusive way, according to Lane. As she’d said once, she’d been miserable in her marriage since “about five minutes after the vows”. That’s when James had started criticizing every aspect of her personality, her looks, her housekeeping. She’d spent two years living in wedded hell with the man.

“I didn’t know he would…” he started, guilt crushing him. He’d been encouraging her to leave James for weeks. Trying to convince her she didn’t have to spend the rest of her life paying for one mistake. She’d simply fallen in love with the wrong man. With that love gone, he’d assured her there was no shame in admitting defeat and moving on.

“Oh no, Tris,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m not blaming you. Leaving was…” She paused for a moment. “Leaving is the right thing to do. I was a fool for not realizing how angry James would be, but I swear to you, he’s never lifted a finger to hurt me. Not once in these past two years.”

Tris nodded, wanting her to know he believed her. She may have stayed in an unhappy marriage because of her sense of responsibility, but she would never have remained in a dangerous home. “I know that.”

“I honestly, foolishly, thought he didn’t give a damn about me.”

Tris wanted to reassure her that thought was correct. No man would hurt his wife like this if he gave even the tiniest shit about her. Again, his temper spiked and he suspected if James wasn’t already in police custody, Tristan’s next trip would have ensured Lane’s husband would need similar medical care. Still, he worried about what her words meant.

“You can’t go back there, Lane. You can’t go back to that marriage.”

“I’m not,” she added quickly. “There’s no way in hell. I just wanted you to know that while I was unhappy the last couple of years, I wasn’t a battered wife or anything.”

He took a deep breath and fought the urge to disagree with her. James Bryce may not have hit his wife, but his words had beaten down and chiseled away her confidence for years. Saying so, however, would upset her, and he refused to add to the pain she was suffering.

“I know that.” If he’d ever once seen a bruise on her, he would have dragged her out of her home and away from the asshole she called a husband. “I was worried when you didn’t show up tonight,” he said.

Every Wednesday night after her nursing shift, Lane came into his family’s restaurant, Pat’s Irish Pub, where he was the bartender. She’d plop down at the end of the bar and they’d talk for hours while he served drinks and she sipped her white wine.

Originally, they’d talked about politics, sports, music, movies. For months they had chatted as acquaintances until at some point—Tris had no idea when, exactly—the relationship had evolved into a genuine friendship and the conversations had become much more personal. They’d talked about their childhoods and dreams for the future. He’d known from the first she was married and he’d respected that. Despite a reputation—according to his sisters—as a ladies’ man, he never hit on married women.

Lane was the only woman to ever test his resolve on that unwritten edict. He simply couldn’t resist the allure of standing—and yes, flirting—week after week across the counter of the bar from her. She was funny and sweet, smart and sexy. She drew him like a moth to a flame and somewhere along the line, she’d become his best friend.

“I thought Wednesday would be the best night to leave. It’s James’ late night at the store.”

He nodded. One of the reasons why Lane came to the pub Wednesdays was because her husband worked the late shift at a local business, not returning home until after midnight. He glanced at his watch. It was only a little past one in the morning. Too early for James to have wrought so much damage. “So what happened?”

“He came home early. Said he had a headache, but I think perhaps he suspected my plans. I don’t know.”

“You should have called me. I would have helped you pack up. Helped you leave.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew she would never have asked for help. She possessed more than her share of independence. Lane Bryce was determined to be a woman who took care of herself. Her childhood had molded that trait, set it in concrete, and he knew it was hard for her to depend on anyone.

She sighed heavily and he could see how much their conversation was zapping her remaining energy. “Are you in pain?” he asked. “I can call for the nurse.”

“She already gave me something. I think it’s kicking in.”

He’d called her cell phone several times when she’d failed to show up at the pub. A gut feeling he couldn’t explain had told him something was wrong. She’d never missed a Wednesday. Not once in almost a year and a half. She’d confessed once to waiting for Wednesday the way some kids waited for their birthday—with anticipation, excitement.

An hour earlier, she’d finally called and told him she was in the hospital. He’d told Ewan to take over the bar and he’d driven through the city, breaking every damn speed limit to reach her.

“I’m just so tired,” she said.

“I’m here now,” he said as she appeared to drift off to sleep.

“I knew you’d be worried,” she mumbled. “I don’t know what to do now.”

And it was that softly spoken admission that broke what small part of his heart hadn’t shattered upon first seeing her so battered in the bed.

“You don’t have to do anything, kitten. I’m here now. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

He was confused when her gaze refocused on him and he sensed her quiet tension. Then she nodded and he breathed a sigh of relief. Accepting help didn’t come easily to her, but she had to know, had to realize there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

“I’m going to go to sleep,” she said. “Why don’t you go on home for now?”

He shook his head, but she cut off his refusal.

“There’s no way you’ll fit on that tiny couch, Everest.” She’d jokingly begun referring to him by the pet name several months ago. He topped her by at least half a foot and a hundred pounds. “Go home and get some rest. James is in jail and I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

It was those words that reverberated in his mind when he looked at the empty hospital bed Thursday morning. She wasn’t there. She was gone.

Gone.

Waiting for Wednesday is available at Ellora’s Cave, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Sony and All Romance Ebooks.

Want five more? Check these out.

Jambrea Jo Jones

Bianca D’Arc

Lila Dubois

Rhian Cahill

Lexxie Couper