Jan Irving's Blog, page 2
August 22, 2013
Sneak peek at Lonely Cowboy
I'm busy possibly moving house right now but I thought I'd give a peek at what I'm working on right now, my 'comfort myself while I'm moving story' which is tentatively called "Lonely Cowboy" or it might end up "Warrior Cowboy" in the series Uncommon Cowboys. Here is a little teaser. Enjoy!
Tate Stevens took a critical look at the quilt he was working on. He’d nicknamed it “Summer Patchwork” but another name for it could be pain in his ass. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. What the hell had he been thinking, coming to this small western town? That he’d be inspired as an artist? So far it hadn’t happened and he knew why.
He was heart sick.
He was lonely.
So yeah, what a genius idea, coming here where he was even more isolated than in L.A. Terrific. Maybe he could cosy up to the crickets currently chirping up a storm in the wild grass outside his tiny cabin.
Restlessly he abandoned the sewing machine that had travelled all the way from the city in the back of his vintage turquoise Volkswagen Bug. Not the new trendy Bug for him, but the kind you could keep running with chewing gum and a spare rubber band. He liked old things, which was what had gotten him into quilt making in the first place.
Tate had worked in his uncle’s junk shop all during high school. When people bought in Grandma’s patchwork on consignment, Tate did any repairs needed to the pieces by hand. He had just been drawn to pick up a needle and thread and do it because looking at quilts, at the homemade embellishment of words or flowers, at the choice of colors and patterns, he’d experienced a connection with the quilt maker. He’d dreamed up lives behind the blocks of patterns, dreamed what it might be like to sleep all his life beside a husband under a double wedding ring quilt.
So far he had lots of wedding quilts but no lover, not since his last boyfriend had ditched him. “You’re too much of a dreamer for me, man,” Jerrod had told him. “It’s like you want every guy to be the one, you know? You need to get over that romantic shit.”
Yeah, thanks. Dump him and also trash his soul. It was all his fault his boyfriend couldn’t keep it zipped whenever he was out. So why couldn’t Tate stop pining for someone in his life? Because he was a pathetic loser. He did fall in love at the drop of his pants. No, more like after the perfect kiss, not that he’d ever quite experienced that.
But he’d dreamed about it plenty.
Fantasizing about being gripped by urgent hands, the crush of lips on lips, the need singing through his body and into the body of his lover.
Which was not helping any since he was totally alone up here.
He pushed open the slider and let in the evening air, grimacing when his bare feet hit the rocks outside the cabin. Jesus, he’d forgotten to put on shoes again, so carried away working on his latest design. And he’d forgotten to shave and shower so his hair was still flattened on one side. Hell with it, he thought. No one to see him, even though lately he’d been a little spooked out here. But that was just because of the wolf he’d spotted by the stream a few weeks ago. Ghostly silver, horribly scarred, as if it had been burned, and so very still, watching him, seeing into him and then gone, nothing but swaying tall grass where it had stood a second before.
Tate had yearned for his camera. He wanted to try to capture those uncanny blue eyes in a design.
Since that glimpse, he hadn’t seen the big animal again but he’d felt as if it was nearby, watching him.
More, he’d felt as if it had been a sign, as if now that he had held the gaze of a wild, magnificent wolf, that his life would somehow change.
It was chilly out so Tate wrapped his arms around his bare chest, walking to the crude wooden bench near the dense patch of woods. He sat down, staring toward the stream where he’d glimpsed the wolf. It had been as large as a creature from a fairy tale. Why did he feel so blessed that he’d seen it? Since its appearance he’d glimpsed deer, rabbits and even a mountain lion once—though fortunately from a distance. But nothing had been as intense as that moment looking at the wolf.
His iphone rang and he didn’t need to check the number to know it was his agent, Sheila. “Hey, girl.”
“Hey.”
He caught the snap of gum and wondered if it was helping her kick her addiction to nicotine.
“What’s up?”
“Tate...you promised you’d get those galleys back for Quilting in the Smoky Mountains to your publisher by Friday.”
Tate sighed. Shit. “Yeah, I know. I’m glad you called because it’s...Tuesday, right?”
“Try Wednesday. Don’t you ever go into some kind of town? I mean, they do have towns up there, right?”
“Har. It’s Montana, not Mars. And not lately.”
“Are you eating all right?” Now her tone was motherly, though she was younger than he was, but he seemed to bring that out in women, a need to take care of him. It was probably his boyish looks—he knew he looked about seventeen, not twenty seven, with shaggy brown hair, olive skin and sad brown eyes. Not that he was sad, unless he’d gone a long time without someone in his bed. He might want love but he also loved sex, lots of it, and he was a cranky puppy without it.
“I had some peanut butter.” His favorite.
“Oh, good. Survivalist food.”
He laughed. “Hey, I’ll get those galleys done tonight, okay?”
“I’ll have Fed Ex there for a pick up in the morning.” Her tone was half warning, half affection.
“Ouch, cracking the whip.”
“It’s what I do best.”
He found himself grinning, some of his earlier dissatisfaction leaving him. “I’ll have to ask your husband sometime if that is true.”
“Please. He’s only allowed to talk if Mistress allows it.”
Laughing, he cut the call, then felt a little wistful he wouldn’t have more time to work on his latest art quilt, but being the boy-wonder of the quilt world with his talent for clashing colors and wild design paid for his lifestyle, which wasn’t rich by any means but was something he could call his own.
Tate was something of a maverick. He’d begun attending quilt shows when he was still in high school and started cutting and sewing—with scissors and no fancy rulers—his quilts in his spare time. He’d finally gotten up the guts to show a few of his pieces to some of the members of his local guild and they’d been astonished over his work. It was angry, it was energetic, it was even sexy, which was a new take on an old art form.
But mostly lately it was lonely.
Because, yeah, he was lonely.
“Time to change this song,” he muttered. But he stayed outside and watched as stars went on like light bulbs in the sky, until he felt a shiver climb down his spine, as if he was being watched.
******
Simon Morrison watched Tate.
He was close enough to touch him but of course, with his training, Tate couldn’t see him, but sometimes Simon thought he might sense him.
His nostrils flared as he analyzed Tate’s scent. Peanut butter for lunch again. And ink. And some kind of chalk, the stuff he used to draw over his quilts. And cotton, fresh, unwashed. And Tate hadn’t showered yet but that didn’t matter. Simon liked his musky natural scent.
He closed his eyes, imagining capturing the other man. With his background he could do it. Like an old time hermit, he could capture himself a mate, drag him up to the mountains and—
And that was crazy talk.
It was thinking like that, primal, that had made him flee to the hills. He couldn’t fit in. He forgot the most basic things sometimes because of his head injury. The black outs were the worst—he sometimes couldn’t remember what he’d done for days.
He couldn’t seek help from doctors and traditional medicine because of what he was, so he’d done the smart thing, the only thing he could do, and he’d removed himself from the picture.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone and he was dangerous.
But gradually he’d been getting better. His head didn’t hurt as much. He had more long stretches of clarity and he couldn’t remember his last black out.
Simon rubbed the jagged scar on his temple, left over from a sniper in Afghanistan. He remembered he’d been there. He’d been a warrior.
Mostly though when he tried to remember, he got a handful of faces he didn’t remember, flashbacks, and a head pounder of a head ache.
It was easier to live as the wolf though even as the wolf he didn’t function normally anymore.
The wolf didn’t feed itself anymore. It didn’t hunt.
Instead, lately, Simon had found himself lurking around Tate’s cabin, watching him. Sometimes Tate came out onto the porch and rocked on one dilapidated rocking chair while he hand sewed quilts.
Simon was fascinated. The colors, the swirl of patterns... one quilt was the shades of sand under a desert sunset, vivid peaches and oranges and browns and another reminded him of the misty Pacific Northwest, all weeping greys and sad blues. It was like Tate was a magician, pulling out toy after toy, bright and shiny, distracting Simon from himself and the worries that he was half a man, half a wolf.
Tate frowned and looked directly at Simon. Simon closed his eyes. Prey could sense when you were looking at it. It was instinctual. And though Simon no longer had it in him to hunt, he was still a predator.
“Huh, too much time spent alone,” Tate said, shaking his head. He got to his feet and carefully crept across the debris of his front yard and back into his cabin. But Simon caught the click of the dead bolt. Tate had locked himself in.
Simon could have told him it wouldn’t help. When Simon got hungry, he helped himself to Tate’s food. And sometimes, even knowing it was creepy and he shouldn’t do it, he stood just outside Tate’s bedroom door, listening to the soft sounds he made as he slept. The creak of the mattress as he turned over, the pale arm or leg that flopped over the end of the bed. He wanted to go in and lick that skin.
He wanted to wrap himself all around Tate and have Tate wrap himself around Simon.
Tate Stevens took a critical look at the quilt he was working on. He’d nicknamed it “Summer Patchwork” but another name for it could be pain in his ass. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. What the hell had he been thinking, coming to this small western town? That he’d be inspired as an artist? So far it hadn’t happened and he knew why.
He was heart sick.
He was lonely.
So yeah, what a genius idea, coming here where he was even more isolated than in L.A. Terrific. Maybe he could cosy up to the crickets currently chirping up a storm in the wild grass outside his tiny cabin.
Restlessly he abandoned the sewing machine that had travelled all the way from the city in the back of his vintage turquoise Volkswagen Bug. Not the new trendy Bug for him, but the kind you could keep running with chewing gum and a spare rubber band. He liked old things, which was what had gotten him into quilt making in the first place.
Tate had worked in his uncle’s junk shop all during high school. When people bought in Grandma’s patchwork on consignment, Tate did any repairs needed to the pieces by hand. He had just been drawn to pick up a needle and thread and do it because looking at quilts, at the homemade embellishment of words or flowers, at the choice of colors and patterns, he’d experienced a connection with the quilt maker. He’d dreamed up lives behind the blocks of patterns, dreamed what it might be like to sleep all his life beside a husband under a double wedding ring quilt.
So far he had lots of wedding quilts but no lover, not since his last boyfriend had ditched him. “You’re too much of a dreamer for me, man,” Jerrod had told him. “It’s like you want every guy to be the one, you know? You need to get over that romantic shit.”
Yeah, thanks. Dump him and also trash his soul. It was all his fault his boyfriend couldn’t keep it zipped whenever he was out. So why couldn’t Tate stop pining for someone in his life? Because he was a pathetic loser. He did fall in love at the drop of his pants. No, more like after the perfect kiss, not that he’d ever quite experienced that.
But he’d dreamed about it plenty.
Fantasizing about being gripped by urgent hands, the crush of lips on lips, the need singing through his body and into the body of his lover.
Which was not helping any since he was totally alone up here.
He pushed open the slider and let in the evening air, grimacing when his bare feet hit the rocks outside the cabin. Jesus, he’d forgotten to put on shoes again, so carried away working on his latest design. And he’d forgotten to shave and shower so his hair was still flattened on one side. Hell with it, he thought. No one to see him, even though lately he’d been a little spooked out here. But that was just because of the wolf he’d spotted by the stream a few weeks ago. Ghostly silver, horribly scarred, as if it had been burned, and so very still, watching him, seeing into him and then gone, nothing but swaying tall grass where it had stood a second before.
Tate had yearned for his camera. He wanted to try to capture those uncanny blue eyes in a design.
Since that glimpse, he hadn’t seen the big animal again but he’d felt as if it was nearby, watching him.
More, he’d felt as if it had been a sign, as if now that he had held the gaze of a wild, magnificent wolf, that his life would somehow change.
It was chilly out so Tate wrapped his arms around his bare chest, walking to the crude wooden bench near the dense patch of woods. He sat down, staring toward the stream where he’d glimpsed the wolf. It had been as large as a creature from a fairy tale. Why did he feel so blessed that he’d seen it? Since its appearance he’d glimpsed deer, rabbits and even a mountain lion once—though fortunately from a distance. But nothing had been as intense as that moment looking at the wolf.
His iphone rang and he didn’t need to check the number to know it was his agent, Sheila. “Hey, girl.”
“Hey.”
He caught the snap of gum and wondered if it was helping her kick her addiction to nicotine.
“What’s up?”
“Tate...you promised you’d get those galleys back for Quilting in the Smoky Mountains to your publisher by Friday.”
Tate sighed. Shit. “Yeah, I know. I’m glad you called because it’s...Tuesday, right?”
“Try Wednesday. Don’t you ever go into some kind of town? I mean, they do have towns up there, right?”
“Har. It’s Montana, not Mars. And not lately.”
“Are you eating all right?” Now her tone was motherly, though she was younger than he was, but he seemed to bring that out in women, a need to take care of him. It was probably his boyish looks—he knew he looked about seventeen, not twenty seven, with shaggy brown hair, olive skin and sad brown eyes. Not that he was sad, unless he’d gone a long time without someone in his bed. He might want love but he also loved sex, lots of it, and he was a cranky puppy without it.
“I had some peanut butter.” His favorite.
“Oh, good. Survivalist food.”
He laughed. “Hey, I’ll get those galleys done tonight, okay?”
“I’ll have Fed Ex there for a pick up in the morning.” Her tone was half warning, half affection.
“Ouch, cracking the whip.”
“It’s what I do best.”
He found himself grinning, some of his earlier dissatisfaction leaving him. “I’ll have to ask your husband sometime if that is true.”
“Please. He’s only allowed to talk if Mistress allows it.”
Laughing, he cut the call, then felt a little wistful he wouldn’t have more time to work on his latest art quilt, but being the boy-wonder of the quilt world with his talent for clashing colors and wild design paid for his lifestyle, which wasn’t rich by any means but was something he could call his own.
Tate was something of a maverick. He’d begun attending quilt shows when he was still in high school and started cutting and sewing—with scissors and no fancy rulers—his quilts in his spare time. He’d finally gotten up the guts to show a few of his pieces to some of the members of his local guild and they’d been astonished over his work. It was angry, it was energetic, it was even sexy, which was a new take on an old art form.
But mostly lately it was lonely.
Because, yeah, he was lonely.
“Time to change this song,” he muttered. But he stayed outside and watched as stars went on like light bulbs in the sky, until he felt a shiver climb down his spine, as if he was being watched.
******
Simon Morrison watched Tate.
He was close enough to touch him but of course, with his training, Tate couldn’t see him, but sometimes Simon thought he might sense him.
His nostrils flared as he analyzed Tate’s scent. Peanut butter for lunch again. And ink. And some kind of chalk, the stuff he used to draw over his quilts. And cotton, fresh, unwashed. And Tate hadn’t showered yet but that didn’t matter. Simon liked his musky natural scent.
He closed his eyes, imagining capturing the other man. With his background he could do it. Like an old time hermit, he could capture himself a mate, drag him up to the mountains and—
And that was crazy talk.
It was thinking like that, primal, that had made him flee to the hills. He couldn’t fit in. He forgot the most basic things sometimes because of his head injury. The black outs were the worst—he sometimes couldn’t remember what he’d done for days.
He couldn’t seek help from doctors and traditional medicine because of what he was, so he’d done the smart thing, the only thing he could do, and he’d removed himself from the picture.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone and he was dangerous.
But gradually he’d been getting better. His head didn’t hurt as much. He had more long stretches of clarity and he couldn’t remember his last black out.
Simon rubbed the jagged scar on his temple, left over from a sniper in Afghanistan. He remembered he’d been there. He’d been a warrior.
Mostly though when he tried to remember, he got a handful of faces he didn’t remember, flashbacks, and a head pounder of a head ache.
It was easier to live as the wolf though even as the wolf he didn’t function normally anymore.
The wolf didn’t feed itself anymore. It didn’t hunt.
Instead, lately, Simon had found himself lurking around Tate’s cabin, watching him. Sometimes Tate came out onto the porch and rocked on one dilapidated rocking chair while he hand sewed quilts.
Simon was fascinated. The colors, the swirl of patterns... one quilt was the shades of sand under a desert sunset, vivid peaches and oranges and browns and another reminded him of the misty Pacific Northwest, all weeping greys and sad blues. It was like Tate was a magician, pulling out toy after toy, bright and shiny, distracting Simon from himself and the worries that he was half a man, half a wolf.
Tate frowned and looked directly at Simon. Simon closed his eyes. Prey could sense when you were looking at it. It was instinctual. And though Simon no longer had it in him to hunt, he was still a predator.
“Huh, too much time spent alone,” Tate said, shaking his head. He got to his feet and carefully crept across the debris of his front yard and back into his cabin. But Simon caught the click of the dead bolt. Tate had locked himself in.
Simon could have told him it wouldn’t help. When Simon got hungry, he helped himself to Tate’s food. And sometimes, even knowing it was creepy and he shouldn’t do it, he stood just outside Tate’s bedroom door, listening to the soft sounds he made as he slept. The creak of the mattress as he turned over, the pale arm or leg that flopped over the end of the bed. He wanted to go in and lick that skin.
He wanted to wrap himself all around Tate and have Tate wrap himself around Simon.
June 28, 2013
New books
I have news of new books.
First, my first new m/m in a while will be out in December/January.
It's called Shady and it's a dark and sexy suspense novel set in the near future:
Can a dark, tormented cop and a warm and caring hustler fall in love while trying to stop a murderer? Created to be the perfect killer, Shade has done some 'shady' things in his past but when he meets Nick, a sexy and honorable part time painter, Shade is drawn to possess him. And Shade is very good at getting what he wants, using any means necessary...
My hero Shade is very dark. He will do anything once he falls in love to protect his lover, and with such a man, I mean anything, lie, cheat, steal and yes, kill.
Shady will be available for pre-order on December 20 from Total E Bound.
I also have two books in my firefighters series near completion, the Men of Station 57. The first, The Shy Dominant I sent in recently and the second I'm half done with, called The Protective Dominant. I'm totally in love with the one I'm doing now as two survivors of trauma are finding their way to loving. I really like writing such stories.
The first book in this series, "Forbidden Fire" may have a change in title to "The Forbidden Dominant." This is a particularly great thing for my publisher to do since it's time and trouble for them.
The books all feature light BDSM. I'd go so far as to call it almost cuddly.
So be back soon with more dates and covers as they are revealed to me.
Okay, I was asked for a wee snippet of Shady so I'm providing it. It's NSFW. Enjoy!
Shade pulled out a pair of sneakers, some jeans and a t-shirt. Danvers had an interesting
wardrobe. Expensive clothes, all black, which Shade assumed were for work and then paint splattered and unattractive (since no way were they form fitting) t-shirts and jeans.
"Will this do?" He held the items up, catching Danvers staring at a holo picture of himself and the vic. His eyes were damp again. He nodded silently.
Shade turned his back. “Get dressed. The team has already been through here so if you
need more clothing, you can take it now."
Shade was hyper-aware of the rustle of Danvers getting dressed. That slight, lean body, the cool elegance. He was way above a cop’s touch. After a moment, Danvers touched his arm lightly.
"Can I take this too?" Danvers indicated the image of him and Appleton.
"If you want. You were close."
"He saved my life. I had no one, was going nowhere," Danvers whispered. "Shit!" He covered his eyes. "I'm a fucking mess!"
Shade picked up the holo picture and handed it to Danvers. When their hands met, the connection arched between them. Instant, physical, gut wrenching.
Next thing he knew, Shade had his arms around him. He leaned his forehead against silky hair, breathing in freshly showered scent while he rubbed Nick’s back in awkward comfort. For once, he wanted to try to be nice but he didn’t know how. Was he doing this right, or was he holding on too tight, too possessively? He knew how to gut someone in an alley, leave them to bleed out, but he didn’t know how to give comfort.
"All right?" he asked.
"I never do that, just lean on someone I don’t know." Danvers avoided his eyes.
Shade forced himself to step back. What was he doing, touching Danvers, who was a witness, a possible suspect? Sure, he bent the law when it suited him but--
"Nick!" a new voice interrupted.
Shade spotted a slight man around the same age as Danvers in the bedroom doorway. He had
tousled dark hair and snapping black eyes. He glared at Shade.
"Jonathan,” Danvers said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
"Who are you?" Shade demanded.
"Jonathan Spenser, Nick's boyfriend."
"Hey, no need to lay it on so thick,” Danvers chided. The way he placated Spenser pissed Shade off.
"Uh huh." Spencer held Shade's gaze.
"I kind of...fell apart." Danvers shoved back some of his long spiky blond hair.
"Well, good thing I got here, baby, ‘cause you only get to do that with me.” Jonathan stamped a possessive kiss on Danvers's lips.
Mine, the gesture said.
Shade felt something primitive rise. He wanted to rip Spenser’s hands off Nick. He wanted to care for the blond himself.
"I'll speak to you again soon," Shade warned him. "Leave your whereabouts with Stevens on the way out."
Nick nodded. “Thanks, uh…”
Shade had a case to solve, he needed to—
Fuck, he wanted Nick Danvers.
He didn’t care that he was a beautiful hustler who specialized in older men. He didn’t care that he had a boyfriend already.
He’d find a way to have Nick.
First, my first new m/m in a while will be out in December/January.
It's called Shady and it's a dark and sexy suspense novel set in the near future:
Can a dark, tormented cop and a warm and caring hustler fall in love while trying to stop a murderer? Created to be the perfect killer, Shade has done some 'shady' things in his past but when he meets Nick, a sexy and honorable part time painter, Shade is drawn to possess him. And Shade is very good at getting what he wants, using any means necessary...
My hero Shade is very dark. He will do anything once he falls in love to protect his lover, and with such a man, I mean anything, lie, cheat, steal and yes, kill.
Shady will be available for pre-order on December 20 from Total E Bound.
I also have two books in my firefighters series near completion, the Men of Station 57. The first, The Shy Dominant I sent in recently and the second I'm half done with, called The Protective Dominant. I'm totally in love with the one I'm doing now as two survivors of trauma are finding their way to loving. I really like writing such stories.
The first book in this series, "Forbidden Fire" may have a change in title to "The Forbidden Dominant." This is a particularly great thing for my publisher to do since it's time and trouble for them.
The books all feature light BDSM. I'd go so far as to call it almost cuddly.
So be back soon with more dates and covers as they are revealed to me.
Okay, I was asked for a wee snippet of Shady so I'm providing it. It's NSFW. Enjoy!
Shade pulled out a pair of sneakers, some jeans and a t-shirt. Danvers had an interesting
wardrobe. Expensive clothes, all black, which Shade assumed were for work and then paint splattered and unattractive (since no way were they form fitting) t-shirts and jeans.
"Will this do?" He held the items up, catching Danvers staring at a holo picture of himself and the vic. His eyes were damp again. He nodded silently.
Shade turned his back. “Get dressed. The team has already been through here so if you
need more clothing, you can take it now."
Shade was hyper-aware of the rustle of Danvers getting dressed. That slight, lean body, the cool elegance. He was way above a cop’s touch. After a moment, Danvers touched his arm lightly.
"Can I take this too?" Danvers indicated the image of him and Appleton.
"If you want. You were close."
"He saved my life. I had no one, was going nowhere," Danvers whispered. "Shit!" He covered his eyes. "I'm a fucking mess!"
Shade picked up the holo picture and handed it to Danvers. When their hands met, the connection arched between them. Instant, physical, gut wrenching.
Next thing he knew, Shade had his arms around him. He leaned his forehead against silky hair, breathing in freshly showered scent while he rubbed Nick’s back in awkward comfort. For once, he wanted to try to be nice but he didn’t know how. Was he doing this right, or was he holding on too tight, too possessively? He knew how to gut someone in an alley, leave them to bleed out, but he didn’t know how to give comfort.
"All right?" he asked.
"I never do that, just lean on someone I don’t know." Danvers avoided his eyes.
Shade forced himself to step back. What was he doing, touching Danvers, who was a witness, a possible suspect? Sure, he bent the law when it suited him but--
"Nick!" a new voice interrupted.
Shade spotted a slight man around the same age as Danvers in the bedroom doorway. He had
tousled dark hair and snapping black eyes. He glared at Shade.
"Jonathan,” Danvers said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
"Who are you?" Shade demanded.
"Jonathan Spenser, Nick's boyfriend."
"Hey, no need to lay it on so thick,” Danvers chided. The way he placated Spenser pissed Shade off.
"Uh huh." Spencer held Shade's gaze.
"I kind of...fell apart." Danvers shoved back some of his long spiky blond hair.
"Well, good thing I got here, baby, ‘cause you only get to do that with me.” Jonathan stamped a possessive kiss on Danvers's lips.
Mine, the gesture said.
Shade felt something primitive rise. He wanted to rip Spenser’s hands off Nick. He wanted to care for the blond himself.
"I'll speak to you again soon," Shade warned him. "Leave your whereabouts with Stevens on the way out."
Nick nodded. “Thanks, uh…”
Shade had a case to solve, he needed to—
Fuck, he wanted Nick Danvers.
He didn’t care that he was a beautiful hustler who specialized in older men. He didn’t care that he had a boyfriend already.
He’d find a way to have Nick.
December 26, 2012
Seasons greetings and changes
I'm busy behind the scenes and have some news. First, my novel Sam's Reviews is not available at Loose Id now. I've taken it down and I'm going to do some updating of it and then republish it in 2013. I'll share here when it is available again.
I've been working on various stories. Some romance, some young adult with romance.
I spent a lot of 2012 working as a fiber artist, dyeing, spinning, weaving. I hope in 2013 to do more writing now that I've had some time to grow and explore.
I hope everyone is having a great holiday season and will enjoy a joyful and successful 2013.
I've been working on various stories. Some romance, some young adult with romance.
I spent a lot of 2012 working as a fiber artist, dyeing, spinning, weaving. I hope in 2013 to do more writing now that I've had some time to grow and explore.
I hope everyone is having a great holiday season and will enjoy a joyful and successful 2013.
September 1, 2012
Wonderful review of Subspace and update
The collection I took part in called Subspace from Total E Bound received a five star top pick from Elf at Night Owl Reviews. I can't tell you how pleased I was to be in this collection with these other writers.
Here's a portion of the review: Wow! A blazingly hot collection of tales that explore the steamy world of BDSM written by six very talented authors. This was a fascinating look at the different aspects of submission seen through the eyes of those who are familiar with the ‘Life’ as well as those who are being introduced to all of the joys that can be found with the proper guide. That elusive state of subspace can only be achieved under the right circumstances with the right person(s) and these sizzling stories give intriguing glimpses of various paths to that delightful goal. Particularly entertaining was the glimpse of people in all walks of life who choose to explore this aspect of their intimate encounters and the delightful experiences that are available to those who are brave enough to try new things although some situations require a suspension of disbelief. A nice selection of spicy tales that introduced me to several new authors while reminding me of how much I enjoy the tales of one of my favorites.
You can read the entire review here .
My story, His Landlady, I liked having a younger dominant man who is very confident of his life, possibly because he's very grounded in his martial arts practice.
Meantime, I'm busy writing a YA novel and I had an idea for tweaking a cowboy romance I worked on previously. It was that flash of inspiration that took the story into being something different for me, so I hope to write it sometime in future.
Here's a portion of the review: Wow! A blazingly hot collection of tales that explore the steamy world of BDSM written by six very talented authors. This was a fascinating look at the different aspects of submission seen through the eyes of those who are familiar with the ‘Life’ as well as those who are being introduced to all of the joys that can be found with the proper guide. That elusive state of subspace can only be achieved under the right circumstances with the right person(s) and these sizzling stories give intriguing glimpses of various paths to that delightful goal. Particularly entertaining was the glimpse of people in all walks of life who choose to explore this aspect of their intimate encounters and the delightful experiences that are available to those who are brave enough to try new things although some situations require a suspension of disbelief. A nice selection of spicy tales that introduced me to several new authors while reminding me of how much I enjoy the tales of one of my favorites.
You can read the entire review here .
My story, His Landlady, I liked having a younger dominant man who is very confident of his life, possibly because he's very grounded in his martial arts practice.
Meantime, I'm busy writing a YA novel and I had an idea for tweaking a cowboy romance I worked on previously. It was that flash of inspiration that took the story into being something different for me, so I hope to write it sometime in future.
August 9, 2012
Wonderful review of A Pastry Princess and news
I haven't been on in a while. Sorry about that. I've been pretty busy and anticipate I'm going to be for a while. I'm writing, but I don't want to share just what yet since I've been working on a few projects lately and I'm not sure which one will reach the finish line first.
A Pastry Princess was a top read from Night Owl Reviews recently. A snippet from the review: This is a well-written, highly erotic, and well-executed futuristic tale that will leave you satisfied. See it all here .
All my Loose Id titles are temporarily unavailable on the site due to their creating a new one so you can find A Pastry Princess and the rest on Amazon, All romance Books, Barnes and Noble.
As always, thanks for reading my books,
Jan
A Pastry Princess was a top read from Night Owl Reviews recently. A snippet from the review: This is a well-written, highly erotic, and well-executed futuristic tale that will leave you satisfied. See it all here .
All my Loose Id titles are temporarily unavailable on the site due to their creating a new one so you can find A Pastry Princess and the rest on Amazon, All romance Books, Barnes and Noble.
As always, thanks for reading my books,
Jan
June 28, 2012
Making it Real--guest post by Lisabet Sarai
I've always been so impressed by Lisabet Sarai's body of work and common sense in the writing world. It's my pleasure to welcome her again to my blog where she shares details about her upcoming m/m release Quarantine.
Every romance novel incorporates a substantial dose of fantasy. Readers choose the genre precisely because they want to escape from the worries and complications of the real world, into a realm where deep, abiding, satisfying love is not only possible but inevitable.
Of course, some of us are fortunate enough to have relationships as happy as anything in a romance. I count myself among that lucky number. Still, love outside the pages of romantic fiction, happy though it may be, lacks the certainty one finds in our books. I'm acutely aware that my beloved could be taken from me at any time. I don't dwell on that fact, but I can't pretend it's not true.
We authors walk a fine line. Although “love forever after” may not be realistic, we have to make readers believe the opposite. If our characters don't seem real, though, our charade is unmasked – they're revealed as nothing but empty fictions – and readers will feel cheated. So our heroes and heroines must be attractive (so readers will like and identify with them) but not perfect (so readers will find them plausible). They've got to have faults, secrets, annoying quirks. And even if the primary fictional threat to the relationship is external, there needs to be at least some conflict between the protagonists.
No real world couple gets along all the time. There are always stresses, misunderstandings, and awkward lapses in communication because one member of the relationship feels insecure, suspicious, or neglected. To make our fictional couples (or triples, etc.) real, we have to allow them to disagree, to distrust one another, or to project their own weaknesses on their partners.
In my new M/M novel, Quarantine, the whole world is out to get my heroes, Dylan and Rafe. In some ways, though, the biggest threats to their happiness stem from internal conflicts. Dylan is not the most honest individual. He's an opportunist, not averse to using other people to gain his objectives. Rafe, in the meantime, fights against a lifetime of conditioning to despise gay men. He has to reconcile his prejudice and homophobia with the fact that he has sex with – even falls in love with – another man.
The excerpt below illustrates some of these conflicts.
Quarantine is science fiction, but I believe it describes an all-too-possible near future. I've worked hard to make the book feel real – even though it's a romance with a happy ending. I want my readers to wonder, to worry, how Dylan's and Rafe's love will manage to survive.
Blurb
WHEN LOVE IS FORBIDDEN, THE WHOLE WORLD'S A PRISON.
DYLAN MOORE WILL DO ANYTHING FOR FREEDOM. SEVEN YEARS AGO, A GAY PLAGUE SPREAD TO HETEROSEXUALS, KILLING MILLIONS AND SPARKING BRUTAL ANTI-GAY RIOTS. THE GUARDIANS ROUNDED UP MEN WHO TESTED POSITIVE FOR THE HOMOGENE AND IMPRISONED THEM IN REMOTE QUARANTINE CENTRES LIKE DESOLATE CAMP MALHEUR. SINCE THEN, DYLAN HAS HACKED THE CAMP'S SECURITY SYSTEMS AND HOARDED SPARE BITS OF ELECTRONICS, SEEKING SOME WAY TO ESCAPE. HE HAS CONCLUDED THE HUMAN GUARDS ARE THE ONLY WEAKNESS IN THE FACILITY'S DEFENCES.
CAMP GUARD RAFE COWELL IS H-NEGATIVE. HE FIGURES THE LUST HE FEELS WATCHING PRISONER 3218 MASTURBATE ON THE SURVEILLANCE CAMERAS MUST BE DUE TO HIS LONELINESS AND ISOLATION. WHEN HE FINALLY MEETS THE YOUNG QUEER, HE DISCOVERS THAT DYLAN IS BRILLIANT, BRAVE, SEXY AS HELL – AND CLAIMS TO BE IN LOVE WITH RAFE. DESPITE HIS QUALMS, RAFE FINDS HE CAN'T RESIST THE OTHER MAN'S CHARM. BY THE TIME DYLAN ASKS FOR HIS HELP IN ESCAPING, RAFE CARES TOO MUCH FOR DYLAN TO REFUSE.
DYLAN'S PLAN GOES AWRY AND RAFE COMES TO HIS RESCUE. SOON THEY'RE BOTH FUGITIVES, FLEEING FROM MILITANT SURVIVALISTS, MURDEROUS ANDROIDS, HOMOPHOBIC IDEOLOGUES AND A POWERFUL MAN WHO WANTS DYLAN AS HIS SEXUAL TOY. HIDING IN THE PLAGUE-RAVAGED CITY OF SANFRAN, DYLAN AND RAFE LEARN THERE'S FAR MORE THAN THEIR OWN SAFETY AT STAKE. CAN THEY HELP PREVENT THE DEATHS OF MILLIONS MORE PEOPLE? AND CAN RAFE TRUST THE LOVE OF A MAN WHO DELIBERATELY SEDUCED HIM IN ORDER TO ESCAPE FROM QUARANTINE?
“I’VE GOT TO GO RELIEVE MYSELF,” DYLAN SAID, HOPPING OFF THE WARM METAL. “YOU, RAFE?” HE HOPED THAT THE BLACK MAN WOULD TAKE THE HINT.
“YEAH, PROBABLY A GOOD IDEA TO TAKE A LEAK. BE BACK IN A MINUTE, MS LONG.”
THEY STROLLED OFF TOGETHER INTO THE BRUSH. RAFE’S HAND WENT TO HIS FLY. DYLAN SLAPPED IT AWAY. “RUN!” HE SAID. “THAT WAY!” HE POINTED WEST. “WE’VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE SHE COMES LOOKING FOR US!”
“WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WE’VE GOT A GREAT RIDE, ALL THE WAY INTO THE CITY, AND YOU WANT US TO SPLIT? YOU’RE CRAZY.” RAFE DELIBERATELY EXTRACTED HIS PENIS FROM HIS TROUSERS AND AIMED AT THE GROUND.
“NO, PLEASE, RAFE! SHE’S TOO SMART. SHE’S GOING TO FIGURE OUT THAT SOMETHING’S NOT RIGHT ABOUT US. THE FIRST CHECKPOINT WE ENCOUNTER, THERE’LL BE TROUBLE. AND BEFORE YOU KNOW IT, WE’LL BE ON OUR WAY BACK TO THE CAMP, IF NOT WORSE.”
RAFE LET LOOSE A STRONG STREAM. THE URINE HISSED AS IT POOLED ON THE DRY EARTH. THE PUNGENT ODOUR TICKLED DYLAN’S NOSTRILS. “I’M NOT RUNNING ANYMORE, DYLAN. I’M TOO TIRED. AND I TRUST THIS WOMAN. SHE WON’T TURN US IN, EVEN IF SHE REALISES WHAT YOU―WE―ARE.”
“DON’T BE SO NAÏVE! WE CAN’T TRUST ANYONE. PLEASE, BABY…”
RAFE TUCKED HIS PENIS AWAY AND ZIPPED UP. “YOU GO IF YOU WANT. YOU RUN. THAT’S WHAT YOU PLANNED ALL ALONG, ISN’T IT?” HE CROSSED HIS ARMS OVER HIS MASSIVE CHEST. “WELL, ISN’T IT? I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT. ABOUT US. YOU’RE SO QUICK, SO CLEVER. YOU NEVER PLANNED TO WAIT FOR ME. YOU WERE GOING TO RUN OFF AND LEAVE ME BEHIND. SIMPLE, STUPID RAFE, WHO BELIEVED IT WHEN YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME.”
“I DO LOVE YOU, BABY.”
“MAYBE NOW YOU DO, OR THINK YOU DO. BUT NOT NEARLY AS MUCH AS YOUR OWN SKIN. SO, GO AHEAD AND RUN. I LOVE YOU, AND IT’LL HURT, BUT I’LL GET OVER IT EVENTUALLY. YOU’RE TOO GOOD A LIAR, DYLAN. I’LL NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU’RE TELLING THE TRUTH.”
DYLAN FELT DIZZY. HE REACHED FOR RAFE’S STRONG ARM. THE OTHER MAN SHOOK HIM OFF. “PLEASE, RAFE, LISTEN TO ME…”
“IF I HADN’T LISTENED TO YOU, I WOULDN’T BE IN THIS SITUATION. AN OUTLAW. A PERVERT.”
“PLEASE…”
“RUN, DYLAN. GO AHEAD. LEAVE ME BEHIND AND RUN.”
DYLAN’S LEGS BUCKLED. HE SANK TO HIS KNEES IN FRONT OF THE PROUD EX-GUARD. “I CAN’T,” HE WAILED. “I CAN’T GO WITHOUT YOU.”
“SURE YOU CAN. YOU’LL FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO FUCK AND FLATTER, PRETTY BOY THAT YOU ARE. WITH YOUR SILVER TONGUE, YOU CAN SNARE ANYONE YOU WANT. SOMEONE WHO CAN DO MORE FOR YOU THAN I CAN.” RAFE TURNED HIS BACK AND HEADED BACK TO THE ROAD.
“WAIT―RAFE―COME BACK!” THE OTHER MAN SLOWED BUT DID NOT STOP. “RAFE, IT’S YOU THAT I WANT. YOU.”
DYLAN HELD HIS BREATH. RAFE LOOKED BACK OVER HIS SHOULDER.
“I WON’T LIE ANYMORE. I PROMISE. I’LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING. AND YOU CAN MAKE THE DECISIONS, WHERE WE GO, WHAT WE DO. JUST DON’T DESERT ME.”
RAFE WAS BACK, CROUCHING AT HIS SIDE. “IT WAS YOU WHO WERE DESERTING ME, DYLAN.”
DYLAN THREW HIS ARMS AROUND RAFE’S NECK. “NO, NO. I’LL STAY IF THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT.” HE PRESSED HIS LIPS TO RAFE’S, TRYING TO WORK THEM OPEN WITH HIS TONGUE. THE OTHER MAN RESISTED BUT FINALLY GAVE IN.
****
I want to thank Jan for having me as her guest. Quarantine will be released on the 9th of July, but you can preorder your copy now. And from the 6th through the 24th of July, I'm running a blog tour where I'll be giving away an ebook to one commenter at each stop on the tour. I'll post the schedule next week, on my website and blog.
Bio: More than a decade ago LISABET SARAI experienced a serendipitous fusion of her love of writing and her fascination with sex. Since then she has published four single author short story collections and seven erotic novels, including the BDSM classic Raw Silk. Dozens of her shorter works have been released as ebooks and in print anthologies. She has also edited several acclaimed anthologies and is currently responsible for the altruistic erotica series COMING TOGETHER PRESENTS.
LISABET HOLDS MORE DEGREES THAN ANYONE NEEDS FROM PRESTIGIOUS UNIVERSITIES WHO WOULD NO DOUBT BE EMBARRASSED BY HER CHOSEN GENRE. SHE LOVES TO TRAVEL AND CURRENTLY LIVES IN SOUTHEAST ASIA WITH HER HIGHLY TOLERANT HUSBAND AND TWO COSMOPOLITAN FELINES. FOR MORE INFORMATION ON LISABET AND HER WRITING VISIT LISABET SARAI'S FANTASY FACTORY LISABETSARAI.COM OR HER BLOG BEYOND ROMANCE .
Every romance novel incorporates a substantial dose of fantasy. Readers choose the genre precisely because they want to escape from the worries and complications of the real world, into a realm where deep, abiding, satisfying love is not only possible but inevitable.
Of course, some of us are fortunate enough to have relationships as happy as anything in a romance. I count myself among that lucky number. Still, love outside the pages of romantic fiction, happy though it may be, lacks the certainty one finds in our books. I'm acutely aware that my beloved could be taken from me at any time. I don't dwell on that fact, but I can't pretend it's not true.
We authors walk a fine line. Although “love forever after” may not be realistic, we have to make readers believe the opposite. If our characters don't seem real, though, our charade is unmasked – they're revealed as nothing but empty fictions – and readers will feel cheated. So our heroes and heroines must be attractive (so readers will like and identify with them) but not perfect (so readers will find them plausible). They've got to have faults, secrets, annoying quirks. And even if the primary fictional threat to the relationship is external, there needs to be at least some conflict between the protagonists.
No real world couple gets along all the time. There are always stresses, misunderstandings, and awkward lapses in communication because one member of the relationship feels insecure, suspicious, or neglected. To make our fictional couples (or triples, etc.) real, we have to allow them to disagree, to distrust one another, or to project their own weaknesses on their partners.
In my new M/M novel, Quarantine, the whole world is out to get my heroes, Dylan and Rafe. In some ways, though, the biggest threats to their happiness stem from internal conflicts. Dylan is not the most honest individual. He's an opportunist, not averse to using other people to gain his objectives. Rafe, in the meantime, fights against a lifetime of conditioning to despise gay men. He has to reconcile his prejudice and homophobia with the fact that he has sex with – even falls in love with – another man.
The excerpt below illustrates some of these conflicts.
Quarantine is science fiction, but I believe it describes an all-too-possible near future. I've worked hard to make the book feel real – even though it's a romance with a happy ending. I want my readers to wonder, to worry, how Dylan's and Rafe's love will manage to survive.
Blurb
WHEN LOVE IS FORBIDDEN, THE WHOLE WORLD'S A PRISON.
DYLAN MOORE WILL DO ANYTHING FOR FREEDOM. SEVEN YEARS AGO, A GAY PLAGUE SPREAD TO HETEROSEXUALS, KILLING MILLIONS AND SPARKING BRUTAL ANTI-GAY RIOTS. THE GUARDIANS ROUNDED UP MEN WHO TESTED POSITIVE FOR THE HOMOGENE AND IMPRISONED THEM IN REMOTE QUARANTINE CENTRES LIKE DESOLATE CAMP MALHEUR. SINCE THEN, DYLAN HAS HACKED THE CAMP'S SECURITY SYSTEMS AND HOARDED SPARE BITS OF ELECTRONICS, SEEKING SOME WAY TO ESCAPE. HE HAS CONCLUDED THE HUMAN GUARDS ARE THE ONLY WEAKNESS IN THE FACILITY'S DEFENCES.
CAMP GUARD RAFE COWELL IS H-NEGATIVE. HE FIGURES THE LUST HE FEELS WATCHING PRISONER 3218 MASTURBATE ON THE SURVEILLANCE CAMERAS MUST BE DUE TO HIS LONELINESS AND ISOLATION. WHEN HE FINALLY MEETS THE YOUNG QUEER, HE DISCOVERS THAT DYLAN IS BRILLIANT, BRAVE, SEXY AS HELL – AND CLAIMS TO BE IN LOVE WITH RAFE. DESPITE HIS QUALMS, RAFE FINDS HE CAN'T RESIST THE OTHER MAN'S CHARM. BY THE TIME DYLAN ASKS FOR HIS HELP IN ESCAPING, RAFE CARES TOO MUCH FOR DYLAN TO REFUSE.
DYLAN'S PLAN GOES AWRY AND RAFE COMES TO HIS RESCUE. SOON THEY'RE BOTH FUGITIVES, FLEEING FROM MILITANT SURVIVALISTS, MURDEROUS ANDROIDS, HOMOPHOBIC IDEOLOGUES AND A POWERFUL MAN WHO WANTS DYLAN AS HIS SEXUAL TOY. HIDING IN THE PLAGUE-RAVAGED CITY OF SANFRAN, DYLAN AND RAFE LEARN THERE'S FAR MORE THAN THEIR OWN SAFETY AT STAKE. CAN THEY HELP PREVENT THE DEATHS OF MILLIONS MORE PEOPLE? AND CAN RAFE TRUST THE LOVE OF A MAN WHO DELIBERATELY SEDUCED HIM IN ORDER TO ESCAPE FROM QUARANTINE?
“I’VE GOT TO GO RELIEVE MYSELF,” DYLAN SAID, HOPPING OFF THE WARM METAL. “YOU, RAFE?” HE HOPED THAT THE BLACK MAN WOULD TAKE THE HINT.
“YEAH, PROBABLY A GOOD IDEA TO TAKE A LEAK. BE BACK IN A MINUTE, MS LONG.”
THEY STROLLED OFF TOGETHER INTO THE BRUSH. RAFE’S HAND WENT TO HIS FLY. DYLAN SLAPPED IT AWAY. “RUN!” HE SAID. “THAT WAY!” HE POINTED WEST. “WE’VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE SHE COMES LOOKING FOR US!”
“WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WE’VE GOT A GREAT RIDE, ALL THE WAY INTO THE CITY, AND YOU WANT US TO SPLIT? YOU’RE CRAZY.” RAFE DELIBERATELY EXTRACTED HIS PENIS FROM HIS TROUSERS AND AIMED AT THE GROUND.
“NO, PLEASE, RAFE! SHE’S TOO SMART. SHE’S GOING TO FIGURE OUT THAT SOMETHING’S NOT RIGHT ABOUT US. THE FIRST CHECKPOINT WE ENCOUNTER, THERE’LL BE TROUBLE. AND BEFORE YOU KNOW IT, WE’LL BE ON OUR WAY BACK TO THE CAMP, IF NOT WORSE.”
RAFE LET LOOSE A STRONG STREAM. THE URINE HISSED AS IT POOLED ON THE DRY EARTH. THE PUNGENT ODOUR TICKLED DYLAN’S NOSTRILS. “I’M NOT RUNNING ANYMORE, DYLAN. I’M TOO TIRED. AND I TRUST THIS WOMAN. SHE WON’T TURN US IN, EVEN IF SHE REALISES WHAT YOU―WE―ARE.”
“DON’T BE SO NAÏVE! WE CAN’T TRUST ANYONE. PLEASE, BABY…”
RAFE TUCKED HIS PENIS AWAY AND ZIPPED UP. “YOU GO IF YOU WANT. YOU RUN. THAT’S WHAT YOU PLANNED ALL ALONG, ISN’T IT?” HE CROSSED HIS ARMS OVER HIS MASSIVE CHEST. “WELL, ISN’T IT? I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT. ABOUT US. YOU’RE SO QUICK, SO CLEVER. YOU NEVER PLANNED TO WAIT FOR ME. YOU WERE GOING TO RUN OFF AND LEAVE ME BEHIND. SIMPLE, STUPID RAFE, WHO BELIEVED IT WHEN YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME.”
“I DO LOVE YOU, BABY.”
“MAYBE NOW YOU DO, OR THINK YOU DO. BUT NOT NEARLY AS MUCH AS YOUR OWN SKIN. SO, GO AHEAD AND RUN. I LOVE YOU, AND IT’LL HURT, BUT I’LL GET OVER IT EVENTUALLY. YOU’RE TOO GOOD A LIAR, DYLAN. I’LL NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU’RE TELLING THE TRUTH.”
DYLAN FELT DIZZY. HE REACHED FOR RAFE’S STRONG ARM. THE OTHER MAN SHOOK HIM OFF. “PLEASE, RAFE, LISTEN TO ME…”
“IF I HADN’T LISTENED TO YOU, I WOULDN’T BE IN THIS SITUATION. AN OUTLAW. A PERVERT.”
“PLEASE…”
“RUN, DYLAN. GO AHEAD. LEAVE ME BEHIND AND RUN.”
DYLAN’S LEGS BUCKLED. HE SANK TO HIS KNEES IN FRONT OF THE PROUD EX-GUARD. “I CAN’T,” HE WAILED. “I CAN’T GO WITHOUT YOU.”
“SURE YOU CAN. YOU’LL FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO FUCK AND FLATTER, PRETTY BOY THAT YOU ARE. WITH YOUR SILVER TONGUE, YOU CAN SNARE ANYONE YOU WANT. SOMEONE WHO CAN DO MORE FOR YOU THAN I CAN.” RAFE TURNED HIS BACK AND HEADED BACK TO THE ROAD.
“WAIT―RAFE―COME BACK!” THE OTHER MAN SLOWED BUT DID NOT STOP. “RAFE, IT’S YOU THAT I WANT. YOU.”
DYLAN HELD HIS BREATH. RAFE LOOKED BACK OVER HIS SHOULDER.
“I WON’T LIE ANYMORE. I PROMISE. I’LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING. AND YOU CAN MAKE THE DECISIONS, WHERE WE GO, WHAT WE DO. JUST DON’T DESERT ME.”
RAFE WAS BACK, CROUCHING AT HIS SIDE. “IT WAS YOU WHO WERE DESERTING ME, DYLAN.”
DYLAN THREW HIS ARMS AROUND RAFE’S NECK. “NO, NO. I’LL STAY IF THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT.” HE PRESSED HIS LIPS TO RAFE’S, TRYING TO WORK THEM OPEN WITH HIS TONGUE. THE OTHER MAN RESISTED BUT FINALLY GAVE IN.
****
I want to thank Jan for having me as her guest. Quarantine will be released on the 9th of July, but you can preorder your copy now. And from the 6th through the 24th of July, I'm running a blog tour where I'll be giving away an ebook to one commenter at each stop on the tour. I'll post the schedule next week, on my website and blog.
Bio: More than a decade ago LISABET SARAI experienced a serendipitous fusion of her love of writing and her fascination with sex. Since then she has published four single author short story collections and seven erotic novels, including the BDSM classic Raw Silk. Dozens of her shorter works have been released as ebooks and in print anthologies. She has also edited several acclaimed anthologies and is currently responsible for the altruistic erotica series COMING TOGETHER PRESENTS.
LISABET HOLDS MORE DEGREES THAN ANYONE NEEDS FROM PRESTIGIOUS UNIVERSITIES WHO WOULD NO DOUBT BE EMBARRASSED BY HER CHOSEN GENRE. SHE LOVES TO TRAVEL AND CURRENTLY LIVES IN SOUTHEAST ASIA WITH HER HIGHLY TOLERANT HUSBAND AND TWO COSMOPOLITAN FELINES. FOR MORE INFORMATION ON LISABET AND HER WRITING VISIT LISABET SARAI'S FANTASY FACTORY LISABETSARAI.COM OR HER BLOG BEYOND ROMANCE .
June 8, 2012
Reviews
I had some nice reviews the past few weeks.
Evelise at Dark Divas Reviews reviewed A Cowboy in Ravenna: "The sex is explosive and Ms. Irving does a wonderful job of taking us through what mating heat feels like. Cowboy in Ravenna has a wonderful balance of foreplay, sex and the kinkier side of a human/shifter mating. I also suspect that we will see more of Calhoun and Sabin in the future, as the book leaves the door wide open for a future relationship. We will have to wait and see.
I have read all the books in the Uncommon Cowboy series and Cowboy in Ravenna does not disappoint. I highly recommend reading it." The Full review here .
Serena Yates reviewed An Alien in My Kitchen: "If you are up for another light, entertaining and funny read, if hot aliens from space and dark conspiracies are your thing, and if you like your bedroom scenes with a touch of mysticism, you will probably like this book--QMO Book Reviews." The full review here .
And Bobby at Bookwenches reviewed The Viking in My Bed: "If you had to distill Jan Irving’s fantasy novella The Viking in My Bed down to one word, it would be this: fun. This book contains a little bit of everything for a reader; it has sex and romance (of course!), action and suspense, and just enough paranormal “ew” factor to get your pulse jumping. Ms. Irving serves all this up complete with an irresistible humor that is guaranteed to make you smile." The whole review here .
I don't have much else to share. I have been working on a variety of different projects but I don't have anything solid to report. When I have news on what's next, I'll let you know.
Evelise at Dark Divas Reviews reviewed A Cowboy in Ravenna: "The sex is explosive and Ms. Irving does a wonderful job of taking us through what mating heat feels like. Cowboy in Ravenna has a wonderful balance of foreplay, sex and the kinkier side of a human/shifter mating. I also suspect that we will see more of Calhoun and Sabin in the future, as the book leaves the door wide open for a future relationship. We will have to wait and see.
I have read all the books in the Uncommon Cowboy series and Cowboy in Ravenna does not disappoint. I highly recommend reading it." The Full review here .
Serena Yates reviewed An Alien in My Kitchen: "If you are up for another light, entertaining and funny read, if hot aliens from space and dark conspiracies are your thing, and if you like your bedroom scenes with a touch of mysticism, you will probably like this book--QMO Book Reviews." The full review here .
And Bobby at Bookwenches reviewed The Viking in My Bed: "If you had to distill Jan Irving’s fantasy novella The Viking in My Bed down to one word, it would be this: fun. This book contains a little bit of everything for a reader; it has sex and romance (of course!), action and suspense, and just enough paranormal “ew” factor to get your pulse jumping. Ms. Irving serves all this up complete with an irresistible humor that is guaranteed to make you smile." The whole review here .
I don't have much else to share. I have been working on a variety of different projects but I don't have anything solid to report. When I have news on what's next, I'll let you know.
May 21, 2012
The SEAL in My Attic out today
New book out today! The SEAL in My Attic
here
.
April 30, 2012
New Book out
The Alien in My Kitchen is out now
here
. Enjoy!
April 28, 2012
Events
I'm the guest of the wonderful Lisabet Sarai today, talking about the role dreams play in my writing. You could win a copy of Forbidden Fire if you drop by and comment on your thoughts. See it
here
.
And I just put up an excerpt for the third in the Lightning Strikes series, The SEAL in My Attic on my website. Check it out with the new cover here . It's due out late May.
And I just put up an excerpt for the third in the Lightning Strikes series, The SEAL in My Attic on my website. Check it out with the new cover here . It's due out late May.
