Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 235

A Favorite Quote

This will be my shortest post ever because tonight I’m thinking that tomorrow will be a perfect day. I’ll be in the company of my family as we head to the theater to watch Avengers: End Game. I think I’ll dream happy dreams.

Follow your bliss. ~ Joseph Campbell

Contests! Last chances to enter!

These contests are still open!

Be sure to check out these posts and enter to win the authors’ contests!

Michal Scott: “Put It in a Book” from STRANDED (Contest) — Closes Saturday! Win a free download!
Sam Heathers: “Too Deep” from STRANDED (Contest) — Closes Saturday! Win a signed copy of a book!

Genevive Chamblee: Relaxing Beauty

One thing I love to do to relax is sneak away to a candlelit bubble bath with a good book. I adore soaking in all those glorious scented bubbles while indulging myself in a sexy romance or high-spirited romcom. I even enjoy action/adventure. And if I can’t have a bath, I enjoy curling onto a cushy sofa with a thick throw and warm cup of hot chocolate—unless, of course, it’s summer in which the throw must be ditched and the hot chocolate replaced with a cool Mimosa. Or if I’m feeling exceptionally frisky, I may substitute the mimosa for a cosmopolitan or a good ol’ Southern Hurricane. However, a winddown I recently rediscovered is makeup. Yep, cosmetics. To explain this, I have to recap briefly my high school days.

Like many little girls, I dabbled with glitter makeup and my mother’s lipstick when I was in grammar school. I didn’t try to apply it in any meaningful way until junior high—which actually was the beginning of high school. See, the school I attended consisted of an elementary school from kindergarten to sixth grade and high school from seventh grade to twelfth grade. No distinctions were made for middle school or junior high school. Although to an untrained visitor, the elementary school may have appeared as five buildings, it was actually one structure that expanded one city block and connected in a series of internal and external stairways and underground passages. That may sound bizarre or like an uncanny version of Hogwarts School of Magic, but the explanation is actually unremarkable. The school was built in the 1800s and run by an order of nuns. A section of the school (the convent) housed the nuns. To move around in inclement weather, the nuns used the tunnels to travel from the convent to the main areas of the school. Since the nuns spent much time in meditation and prayer, the tunnels, as well as the inner stairs, allowed for privacy from the public. More importantly, at its inception, the elementary school wasn’t “elementary”. It was an all-girls school for students in kindergarten to twelfth grade.

As you’ve probably guessed, this meant that the high school was the original all-boys school. It was several miles away and not as large, as it did not have a monastery. It was run by priests. When the schools were made coed, they were split into what is now designated the elementary and high schools—well, sort of. The original high school burned and was rebuilt on a different parcel of land, and the original elementary school was sold to the city as a cultural art building when the order nuns moved from the convent. Instead of being a three-story half-block, the new high school was one-story and a quarter of the size of the original. But I digress. (You know how us southerners are.)

My point is, as a tweenie, I was exposed to and traveled in a circle with the high schoolers. We shared the same hallways, bathrooms, classrooms, locker rooms, and teachers. Naturally, I wanted to emulate some of the more popular upperclassmen, who in my preteen mind were gorgeous. I remember when the homecoming queen, who lived up the street from me, visited a neighborhood playground. She never did this, and I don’t know why she did that day. It was a usual humid southern day, and I was seated on the merry-go-round and covered in dust. (Actually, I think the technical term for the equipment was roundabout, but we called it a merry-go-round.) There was a “baseball” game happening at the time. (They called it baseball but they were using both metal and wooden bats with a softball but pitching it like a baseball—playground shenanigans and kids who didn’t know any better.) I was too little (and lousy) to play, and the other kids shooed me away from the game. Honestly, I didn’t blame them, and my feelings weren’t hurt. I’d rather swing or teeter on a todder than embarrass myself striking out or being belittled for not being able to field a ground ball. I’d never had anyone to teach me to play, let alone play using their janky rules. In any case, I was covered in dirt and dust because it had not rained in weeks, and all the grass around the merry-go-round was worn from foot traffic. Anytime I stopped or started the merry-go-round bolls of dust would formulate and engulf me like a sandstorm. I will never forget that on that day I was wearing white sneakers, white shorts, and a white T-shirt (like an idiot). My nails were ragged and my pigtails windblown out of their scrunchies. Then here comes this goddess in a yellow sundress, French manicured nails, Egyptian lace-up sandals, flawless skin with even more flawless makeup, and perfectly sculpted hair. If there ever was a moment that cussing was appropriate, that was it.

She glided across the field and measured the rusting metal picnic table with contention. She found a towel or something to spread across the bench before sitting with her legs crossed, back straight, and her foot effortlessly arched to point towards the ground. Every move she made was fluid and precise. Truthfully, that was the first time I ever considered my appearance, and I wanted to melt into that dirt. There was no way that I could clean myself up to look marginally presentable. Insert the Peanuts/Charlie Brown character Pig-Pen here, and that’s pretty accurate to the look I was achieving. And when my brother called me over, she eyed me with nothing but disdain. It hurt. I mean, it really hurt. I went home, and no one had to tell me to take a bath that night. But even after getting out of the tub, I didn’t feel pretty.

Some months later, I began experimenting … with cosmetics. (Yeah, I know some people’s mind went far left there for a second.) The problem was, my father, who I loved and adored dearly, was old-fashioned and didn’t think I should ever wear makeup. I know he was not intentionally being hateful, but his words about my application and color choices were harsh. This may have been offset if my mother had been willing to give me makeup advice, but she didn’t consider it to be important. Therefore, I plundered into the beauty world alone, making many drastic mistakes. But one does learn from mistakes, and I learned from mine. And I also learned by watching the upper-class girls in the restroom between classes, and especially after lunch. Now, I never became a connoisseur MUA, but I did alright over time. Problem was, by the time I really knew what I was doing, I graduated.

I continued with makeup during my college years, but college was drastically different from my high school. There were more people in my college algebra class than there had been in my entire high school including the teachers, janitors, and kitchen staff. Preppy/trendy clothes were thrown aside for comfort wear. Curve-hugging designer jeans were tossed for baggy shorts suitable for trekking across campus with the southern sun blaring down. Makeup was a waste of time, seeing how it was sweated off before I even arrived to my first class. By the end of my first semester, my everyday ritual of a full-face was reduced to lip balm—colored balm, if I was feeling frisky.

Skip forward to my first job. After graduating from college, I was hired in a “professional” position. No shade, but the dress code was ridiculous. No, it was stupid. I’m just going to put it out there. See, there were no uniforms, but we were instructed to dress professionally, which essentially meant no jeans. Don’t ask me what they had against denim because I’ve seen some jeans look better and cost more than suits. It also meant no T-shirts. Now, I know what many people reading this are thinking that’s standard policy and many workplaces. And I would agree. But… Yeah, there’s always a catch. See, women couldn’t wear heels, opened-toe or open heel, slick-bottomed, or sneakers and had to be appropriate for running. The dress code also included no dangly jewelry not form-fitting clothes, no-body hugging clothes, no leggings or jeggings, no crop tops, halters, spaghetti straps, sleeveless, sheer (even with a shirt beneath it), no logos, no short skirts, no shorts, no sweats, no jogging suits, no scrubs, and nothing expensive. The duties of this “professional” job included tasks that on any given day could cause one’s clothes to be stained, torn/ripped, soiled, or otherwise ruined with no reimbursement from the employer if damage occurred. Now, go shopping for that. Who wants to invest in a nice work wardrobe with odds of it being destroyed within weeks? Furthermore, fingernails had to be kept clipped very short, and hair had to be styled in a manner to minimize loss if pulled. Add to that low pay, being underappreciated, frequently belittled, and many times being in hostile/aggressive situations. I remember frequently joking (with little humor), if my home life was like my work environment, it would be a case of domestic violence/abuse. With these limitations and dress restrictions, I did not feel motivated to do my makeup daily, weekly, or even monthly. Only on special occasions would I doll up, which meant going years without makeup.

Looking back, I realize for a long while I had reverted to that dusty kid on the playground sensitivity. I didn’t feel pretty. I know. I know. Inner beauty, blah, blah, blah. I do appreciate intrinsic worth. But makeup made me feel appealing. Maybe it had a lot to do with media portrayals or social images of beauty. However, I think the real appeal was because it was fun for me to do. I enjoyed creating new looks and playing with colors. The makeup wasn’t about how others perceived me but how I perceived myself. It reflected my moods and made nonverbal statements.

Presently, I’m rediscovering the world of beauty, which has changed so much. I’m back to making mistakes. I find myself looking at products and thinking, “what the fudge is this?” Makeup brushes now have numbers. Did they always have numbers? I don’t recall it. There are all sorts of primers. The only primers I was familiar with as a teen was exterior paints and stains for homes. And there’s bronzers, highlighters, finishing sprays, setting sprays, in the middle sprays… you get the point. A positive is that YouTube has lots of resources—only be careful. They can be overwhelming, not to mention the editing and lighting making looks and products to appear to be something they are not. Buying products can also break the bank if one isn’t careful. I used to think department store makeup was the good stuff, only to learn there are cosmetics more high-end than those.

In the last four months, I have purchased more makeup than I have for the last ten years. I created a bucket list of brands I wanted to try, based on YouTube influencers’ recommendations. I found myself relying on influencers for several reasons. The first and most prominent reason is that most of the shades and products that I’d used in the past had been discontinued or rebranded in a way that I could not locate. My foundation shades in Cover Girl, Almay, Mary Kay, and Clinique, all poof! Also, the beauty industry has been inundated with new brands and products, and I was clueless about their function or how to use them. Another heavy hitter was that many of the formulas changed, and the products I purchased on my own did not perform well in application or pigmentation. I’m not kidding when I say boasted a “where is it now look.” My eye palettes looked like chalky messes with more product on my clothes and cheeks than on my lids. Yet, it is unfair of me to blame everything on the brands. With changes in my skin, some products no longer performed the same on me. Additionally, I was used to purchasing most of my makeup from drugstores back in the days when choices were limited. And while that may have seemed a negative on the surface, it made finding a suitable color or shade easier. The drugstores I frequent do not have testers, and packaging sometimes obscures the true color. Or sometimes, the product dried down differently from the bottle or tube.

So, what is the point of all this rambling? It’s to stress to find what makes you happy. It’s to emphasis never let anyone steal your joy or twist what you find enjoyable into something not worth doing or feeling trivial. It means revisiting and rediscovering thing in your past that brought you comfort and contentment. It means just because something has changed does not mean it does not deserve a second chance. It may seem silly, but many times before seating myself in front of my computer to hammer out that next chapter, I treat myself to a facial or apply a favorite lipstick. (Not sponsored but hello Miss Becca. You’ve completely transformed my life and lips.)

Before ending, I must admit, my rediscovery of makeup hasn’t been all peaches and creams. For example, many influencers recommended using undereye cream. I ended up with a chemical burn. Another recommendation was to use a blurring facial primer. All that did for me was create craterous pores. Many influencers discussed “baking”, a technique that when I used made me look forty years older. And don’t always trust the makeup consultants in the stores. They are there to sell products, and not all will be truthful at the risk of losing a sale. I purchased one product that is absolutely useless to me because the consultant stated it was a best-selling product that would moisturize my skin and even out my tone. What it actually did was make me look like I fried chicken on my face. But in fairness, I’ve met some awesome beauty consultants. The ones at my local Ulta store are fabulous and will give you the real lowdown. If your face look like two busted trains collided and then a dump truck came along, they will not hesitate to tell you.

The last time I recalled seeing homecoming queen was shortly before her graduation. I do not know what happened to her if she went to college, got a job, or got married and had twelve babies. I didn’t talk to her that day or any day after. I’m positive that she has no idea the impact her presence that day had on my life, how it transformed me from not caring about my appearance to desiring to be a someone with self-pride. At first, I did attempt to emulate her look, which I couldn’t. In time, I came to realize what I had admired so much that day wasn’t her physical beauty but the confidence that shone through it all. Makeup can be quite empowering if one allows it. I know for me it can cause me to feel more feminine or ballsy or confident.

Makeup isn’t something needed or required. Some may view it as an antiquated, sexist throwback. It isn’t for everyone, but it works for me. Plus, at the end of the day, it all wipes off. Find what makes you beautiful and go for it.

Enjoy sports romance? Check out my new adult romance, Defending the Net, released on November 10. It is the second in my hockey series and guaranteed to melt the ice. It will be sold at Kindle, Apple Store, Nook, Kobo, !ndigo, Angus & Robertson, and Mondadori Store. It is the second in my hockey series and guaranteed to melt the ice. Order a copy now at www.books2read.com/defending. Crossing the line could cost the game.

Missed the first in my hockey romance series? Don’t worry. Out of the Penalty Box, an adult romance where it’s one minute in the box or a lifetime out is available at http://amzn.to/2Bhnngw. It also can be ordered on iTunes, Nook, or Kobo. For more links where to purchase or to read the blurb, please visit http://bit.ly/2i9SqpH.

Life’s Roux: Wrong Doors, my steamy romantic comedy, is available at Red Sage Publishing. To order, follow the link to http://bit.ly/2CtE7Ez or to Amazon at http://amzn.to/2lCQXpt.

Copies of all my books and stories are available in paper, eBook, and audio on Amazon, iTunes, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble. The links are listed in my Writing Projects page (http://bit.ly/2iDYRxU) along with descriptions of each of my novels or stories.

NEWSLETTER! Want to get the latest information and updates about my writing projects, giveaways, contests, and reveals first? Click https://genevivechambleeconnect.wordpress.com/newsletter/ and signup today.

Finally, if you or anyone you know are interested in joining a college Greek life organization, check out my special series posted each Monday for everything you wanted (and didn’t want) to know about college fraternities and sororities. Visit Sorority Bible Table of Contents to view any or all of these posts.

Sam Heathers: “Too Deep” from STRANDED (Contest)

Yes, this is the same post appearing over at Delilah’s Collections,

but I didn’t want to miss this! DD

*~*~*

I am so excited to be included in Stranded: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology. For the most part, I don’t consider myself a fiction writer. I’m a lawyer. I started working with fiction as a way to improve my legal writing. But the more I do it, the more I love it. I saw the call for submissions just three days before they were due, and my mind started racing with different ideas. That night, I couldn’t fall asleep because I was mulling over scenarios and concepts, most of them involving heroines being professionally stranded.

Then, the nugget of an undercover officer popped into my head.

I wish I could say I had a classy, magical inspiration for the idea. I didn’t. It was a movie. A bad one. Like, one that’s so bad I’m a little embarrassed. It was 2 Fast 2 Furious. At least it wasn’t Tokyo Drift.

Fortunately, that meant that when the idea of an undercover officer came to me, an image of a heroine came with it—Eva Mendes’s character. I jotted down the idea (I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep if I didn’t) and laid back down.

As I waited for the bus the next morning, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to submit the story. I’d never done anything like this before, and I was nervous about trying to get a story together in just two days. But I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I figured I had to give it a shot. I hopped on the bus, pulled out a notepad, and mapped out the beats on the way to work.

My writing process wasn’t anything special either. After work, I sat down at my computer and started following my outline. It was a late night, but productive—I got the first draft done a little after midnight. The next day, my significant other read the draft and loved it. We chatted about ideas and edits, and I spent the second night fixing the draft up. The next morning, I did some fine-tuning and sent it in.

The one thing I would say was different about this, was how much fun I had. In a sense, I write for a living day-in and day-out. It can be difficult to come back home and keep writing. I’ve been in the middle of writing a few different novels for ages, and it’s tough to find the energy to return. But with an idea I knew I liked, a tight word limit, and a quick turnaround, I was excited the entire time. When I finished, I felt like I had a fun, enjoyable romp, which is everything I wanted from it.

Sam Heathers

Excerpt from “Too Deep”

When an undercover officer loses her handlers in the outside world, she must trust the top lieutenant of a gun-running gang to survive

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” I paced the park walkway with a burner to my ear, trying to will Frank to answer. Five rings. Ten. After the twentieth, the phone system cancelled the call. This had already happened twice in the last ten minutes.

Frank hadn’t shown up to a meet for three weeks. For the last two, his voicemail had picked up after four rings. This week, no voicemail.

I glanced around the park as I sat down. Normally, I opted for the cheaper flip-phone burners. But with Frank’s disappearance, I bought the more expensive smartphone and a data card.

After opening an Internet browser, I typed FRANK HASNA and hit search. Random results, nothing helpful.

I drew a deep breath and added…OBITUARY.

The first link delivered a nightmare. The article was from three days ago. Frank was dead.

Shit.

I dialed the number for the local Bureau office. “Agent Drew Bowers,” I said before the operator finished answering.

After some clicks and annoying hold music, another voice answered, “Vice Unit.”

“Agent Bowers.”

“Agent Bowers isn’t with the Bureau anymore.”

Frank hadn’t told me that. Why the hell hadn’t Frank said anything? “Where did he go?”

“Can I help you?”

“You can tell me where the fuck Agent Bowers went.”

“I’m not at liberty to—”

I hung up.

Shit. I was stranded.

Stranded. That’s what we call it when an undercover cop is left without contacts. When I went undercover, I gave up everything. What I got in return was a new identity. New social security card. New driver’s license. New rap sheet. The point was to make the old me disappear.

Two people knew who I really was: Frank Hasna and Drew Bowers. Frank was my primary contact—my old Captain. Drew, my Bureau contact. If anything happened to one, I could reach the other. They were the only two people who could get me back to my real life.

But once in a while, agents’ contacts died, leaving the agents to fend for themselves. Sometimes, they made it back alive. Other times, the script stops being an act—the undercover embraces the life and is lost. And sometimes, the jig is up. That’s when we get killed.

My other phone buzzed and brought me back to reality. I looked at the burner, hoping. No such luck.

Meet at the warehouse in an hour.

I put my phone back in my pocket, took the battery out of the burner, and threw it in the last trash can on the way out of the park. I carried the burner another block and tossed it in a dumpster.

Shit.

Get your copy of Stranded: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology here!

Contest

Head to Delilah’s Collections to enter to win a signed copy of this book! 

Rogues: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology!

Just a reminder not to miss this!

Hey, I just wanted to pop in to remind you that I have this other website: Delilah’s Collections. It’s dedicated to the anthologies I edit and the many authors who’ve been a part of them. Right now, we’re having fun promoting the latest release in the A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology series, Stranded. We’re posting excerpts, giving away books, and talking about what inspired our stories, so be sure to head on over there!

Stranded: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology

Get it in Print or eBook!

What I’m working on now! (Jigsaw)

This is what I’m working on now! Do you think you’ll like it?

Get STRANDED for free! Plus, contests you don’t want to miss!

A reminder!

These contests are still open! Enter to win before they close!

Diana Cosby: The Beauty of Spring (Contest)
Reina Torres: Getting It On & Getting Off (Contest)
Michal Scott: “Put It in a Book” from STRANDED (Contest)

*~*~*~*

I’m just popping in to tell you that STRANDED is now available in Kindle Unlimited for FREE! So, if you haven’t purchased a copy but would like to read it, pick it up now! Although, I do think the $0.99 price is very, very, very low!

And I hope that once you’ve read the book, that you’ll take a minute or two to post a review. Readers trust other readers to steer them right! Let them know how much you enjoyed it and what stories you loved best! I did my utmost to curate stories from a wide variety of genres and from authors with unique voices. I hope you found an author or two you’ll want to follow.

Click on the cover to get your copy now!

Michal Scott: “Put It in a Book” from STRANDED (Contest)

Note from DD: My scheduled guest was a no-show today, so I’m recycling a post from the Collections website that appeared there yesterday. I’m sharing excerpts from all the stories in Stranded to help you make the choice to purchase a copy of your own! There’s an amazing variety of themes, genres, settings, but all are very, very sexy. Enjoy the excerpt, enter the contest, then head on over to the Collections site to read more about this anthology and meet the authors! ~DD

*~*~*~*

My writing journey resembles a spiral that took me from writing for newspapers through seminary and ministry to writing romance in retirement. I have a journalism background and worked as a stringer for awhile. Writing fiction during that time had always been a way to make the world come round right after a day of covering stories when everything in the world was all wrong. When I became involved in the church, writing remained a hobby, but I did it less and less.

Then I became an X-Files fan, and I entered the heady fun-filled world of fan fiction under the name Rev. Anna. I really enjoyed myself making up stories again. A challenge from my mother-in-law to put my energy into writing my own characters came at the same time the radio program “This American Life” did a segment on Romance Writers of America national meeting in NYC. Jeanette’s challenge and that segment lit a “Why not?” fire in my writing soul. I joined RWA in 2003, joined chapters, entered contests, won a few, and finally got published in 2008. By then, I’d attended a retirement seminar that encouraged us to start thinking now about what we wanted to do in retirement. Another “Why not?” flame ignited, and now here I am an erotic romance writing retired minister.

Michal

Excerpt from “Put It in a Book”

Trapped in a book by a sorcerer for rejecting his sexual advances,

an ex-slave’s daughter discovers one hope of rescue – a nosy thief

Aziza, if you want to hide something from Black folk, put it in a book.

If her father had said this once, he’d said it a hundred times. As the daughter of a freed slave, Aziza Williams had resolved with every book she’d read, with every bit of content she’d memorized, no one would hide anything in a book from her.

How ironic the adage was being used against her now that she lived in the Free and Independent Republic of Liberia. Only someone as evil as Dulee Morlu could leave her stranded in a book.

Each time he removed The Story of Aziza from its shelf in his library, he’d badger, cajole, even plead with anyone present to read it.

“This book will change your life,” he’d say in a tone, always enticing, sometimes seductive, but never serious enough for anyone to take him up on the offer.

When they’d gone, he’d pressed his mouth to her image on the flyleaf. “No one will ever read your story,” he whispered with snake-like malice. His laugh bruised her heart each time he congratulated himself on his ingenuity. “You will remain hidden in these pages until you give yourself to me.”

Never had been her answer when he’d propositioned her a week after she’d arrived in Liberia. Never was her answer when he’d caught her pleasuring herself by the river’s edge after her morning swim. Never remained her answer from the day she’d awakened entombed within the pages of her own story to this.

How often had hope flared at the possibility of someone opening these pages and setting her free?

Too often.

How many times had Morlu’s possessive grip caressed her prison’s spine, his wet thumb sliding down the edges of its pages?

Too many.

“Everyone I’ve imprisoned yielded within a day. You’ve resisted for thirty,” he exclaimed. “I must dedicate a chapter to your resilience.”

He splayed his fingers across her prison’s pages, too accurately mimicking the spreading of her thighs. Her captive limbs shuddered. His calloused finger slid along the book’s gutter. Her inert hands tensed, unable to shield herself from the erotic—albeit vicarious—chafing his touch provoked.

“Your opposition makes your eventual capitulation that much sweeter.” He slid his finger faster, deeper between the pages. “And make no mistake…you will surrender.”

Each time he placed her back on the shelf, he planted a cold kiss on the book’s spine. Aziza quivered against the chill, unable to staunch the revulsion roiling in her throat—or at least, where she imagined her throat might still be.

“Until then,” he whispered.

Her spirit cringed at those words. She’d escaped from plantation owners eager to punish her for secretly teaching slaves to read. Her spirit had remained unbowed after fourteen harrowing weeks crossing the Atlantic. Even the hardships that had killed more than three-quarters of all who had emigrated to Liberia hadn’t vanquished her. If neither threats to her life nor dangers at sea nor the high mortality rate could defeat her, she’d be damned if this self-serving sorcerer would.

Still…

Her imprisonment seemed an unending stream of consciousness, punctuated only by Morlu’s uninvited intrusions. Thirty days. This sudden awareness of time weighed on her spirit and threatened to undo her.

How much longer could she hold out?

Get your copy of Stranded: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology here!

Contest

Comment for a chance to win a copy of Michal Scott’s eBook,

Better to Marry Than to Burn.

Reina Torres: Getting It On & Getting Off (Contest)

I’ve always heard “there’s a time and place for everything.” Well, in romance… every time and every place is how it can work… but it’s not always easy to make it happen. Bedrooms… Well, they have beds. Houses, lots of flat surfaces.

But what happens when the right moment put you in a place that isn’t so easy to make it work. (Felt like I channeled Tim Gunn for a minute).

When I was writing Playing With Fire, I had a lot of fun, but part of the fun was finding my characters in a rather unconventional locale—the heroine’s old model VW Rabbit.

Now, I will admit to a certain affinity for this diminutive car. My first vehicle was a 1981 VW Rabbit (I bought it in 1991), and the poor dear wasn’t in the best shape, but it got me all over California during my last three years in college. And while Jefferson Automobile and I had a good time together, I thought it might be a challenge for my hero (six-feet-plus) to attempt a little sexy time in such a petite auto.

So what does any author do when confronted with a question?

That’s right… LOOK IT UP!

Sooo many articles online… Even one that gave suggestions for positions based on Auto Model that included SOUNDTRACK suggestions… *wink* So when you’re planning the “spur of the moment” sexy times…be prepared…

Playing With Fire

St. Raphael, CA Book 2

When Finley tells him that she’s given up on love and done with men in general, Jackson sets out to prove that he’s not only the man she was meant to be with, he’s a firefighter who knows how to heal her heart and soul. Is he Playing With Fire?

Get your copy here!

Excerpt

Finley slipped her hand between them, and curled her fingers into her pocket, withdrawing a small foil packet held loosely between her fingers. “We don’t want to waste this, do we?”

She felt him stiffen against her, and it wasn’t just the hard ridge in his jeans; it was every single inch of him and she smiled. She’d turned the tables on him, taken his impromptu admission to heart.

“Finley, this isn’t the place-”

“It’s the perfect place,” she argued back, taking a quick look around, “there’s no one out here, and even if they were, the trees are so overgrown no one could possibly see us.”

She worked her hand over his length. His open-mouthed groan muffled her soft satisfied laugh.

“You can’t do this to me, Fin.”

“To you? I’m hoping to do it ‘with’ you.” Her next pass along his length brought his zipper down with it, and he leaned into her touch.

It was addicting, she decided, having this power over a man as strong as Jackson. And as she released the button on the waistband of his jeans she heard him swear under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” she asked him in a sweet and playful tone, “I didn’t hear that. What did you say?”

“Dammit, Finley,” his voice ground out between his teeth as he drew in one breath after another, “don’t tease me. There’s no way we’re going to fit in your car.”

“Well,” she flattened her palm over his stomach and slid it down under the waistband of his briefs, “you fit on the drive up here.”

He turned them, bracing his hands on the top of her car on either side of her body. The shift in their positions added enough friction to make him hiss. “That stick shift is going to make one of us very uncomfortable.”

“You have to think creatively.” She leaned closer, pressing her lips against his chest, and wondered if that was really the speed of his heart or her own. “Or you could put yourself in my hands.”

She felt him swell against her palm and licked her lips. “Then again, looks like you already have.”

Reaching out with her free hand she tugged open the passenger door. A moment later she was busy fiddling with the seat. Behind her, Jackson leaned heavily against the car his jaw tightly clenched.

“Finley?”

She heard the impatient edge in his voice and couldn’t help but smile hoping he couldn’t see. “Just a minute.”

“Hurry up.”

The snap in his tone made her laugh outright. “If you want to hurry so much, you could get rid of those jeans.” She heard the rustle of fabric and turned a moment later to find Jackson gloriously naked in the moonlight. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth, enjoying the sharp brush of her teeth against the soft flesh. “Wow.”

His shoulders rose and fell as she looked at him, from head to toe and back again, with a long curious pause in the middle.

“Why did you take off the shirt?” Mentally she kicked herself. One didn’t question a panty-melting man about why he took his clothes off. One just enjoyed the view and said, “Thank you.”

Oh my god. “Did I really say that out loud?”

His broad grin was answer enough. But then he opened his mouth and made her go weak in the knees. “It’s going to get hot in your car, Finley.” He gestured at her with a gleam in his eyes. “I think you might want to get rid of all of that.”

She reached for her waistband and pulled it down over her hips, her panties caught up in the motion ended up tangled at her feet. The long hip-length tunic she wore kept her covered in shadow.

“That’s not fair,” he growled the words and moved closer, his hands reaching for the hem. “I think it’s only fair that I get to see all of you too.”

She wanted to cross her arms over her chest and back away, but that would be silly given the number of times they’d been together over the last few weeks.

Once you’ve had a man naked in your kitchen, your legs wrapped around his waist as you tumble half the spice rack into your sink, it’s silly to hide yourself from him when you’re alone and in the dark.

Jackson reached over and slid his fingers under the hem, brushing the back of his hand against her stomach. “Need some help?”

She shook her head. “Get in the backseat and I’ll take it off.”

It took only a second or two for him to climb into the backseat of her car, tucked into the corner with one leg bent and the other leg stretched out the door.

Against the aged upholstery, Jackson sprawled like a mythological god. And when he held out a hand, crooking his finger to draw her closer, she grabbed the hem of her azure tunic and pulled it off, the beaded neckline brushing over her face, another layer of sensation prickling along her skin.

Ducking into the car, she ended up straddling his leg. The heat of his thigh between hers set her skin aflame.

About Reina Torres

Who would have thought that I’d start off as a painfully shy child writing stories and end up as a painfully shy adult writing books and publishing them for others to read? Crazy? That’s me!!

When I was a little girl, I read every book I could get my hands on and if I didn’t have one available to read, I’d get out my pencils and paper and write down stories and scenes. Waiting for my mom to finish working, I’d duck into the ladies’ breakroom and use the typewriter. I’d feel like Jessica Fletcher, happily tap, tap, tapping away until I got to ‘The End.” Couldn’t quite get the flourish after that and end up tearing the paper, but it was cool and scary to sit down and read the book or give it to my friends to read.

Now, my ‘typewriter’ doesn’t clack the same way and the I don’t even have paper to pull out of it with a nod of satisfaction, but I have the joy and excitement of sharing my characters and books with people all around the world!

I hope you’ll enjoy reading my books, because I’m going to keep writing as long as the characters are feeling chatty!

Amazon Page http://www.amazon.com/author/reinatorresromance

Bookbub https://www.bookbub.com/authors/reina-torres

Reina Torres Facebook Page https://www.facebook.com/ReinaTorresRomance/

Reina’s Readers https://www.facebook.com/groups/ReinaTorresReaders/

CONTEST

Tell me your favorite car/vehicle. Either one you’ve owned or want to own… and what was its name?/would be its name?

Prize—Two winners, for an ebook of Playing With Fire or any other of my St. Raphael, CA books

Diana Cosby: The Beauty of Spring (Contest)

©Diana Cosby 2019

Spring is here! Yes, I love the longer hours of daylight, how with each day it’s growing warmer, but most, I love the gorgeous flowers blooming.

When I take a break from writing, it’s amazing to step outside and see the wash of colorful flowers; pinks, purple, red, and so many more.

Then there’s the wonderful fragrance of flowers that fills the air. At times you only catch a hint of their scent on breeze, but if you stop, smell a bloom, you enjoy the full impact of their fragrance.

I love how flowers are not only in plain sight, but half-hidden between blades of grass, sprinkled within the hedges, and woven within the vines.

Although it’s sad when spring flower’s pass, with the approach of summer, a riot of new, gorgeous blooms will appear.

What is your favorite flower?

About Diana Cosby

A retired Navy Chief, Diana Cosby is an international bestselling author of Scottish medieval romantic suspense. Books in her award-winning MacGruder Brothers series have been translated in five languages. Diana has spoken at the Library of Congress, Lady Jane’s Salon in NYC, and appeared in Woman’s Day, on USA Today’s romance blog, “Happy Ever After,” MSN.com, Atlantic County Women Magazine, and Texoma Living Magazine.

After her career in the Navy, Diana dove into her passion – writing romance novels. With 34 moves behind her, she was anxious to create characters who reflected the amazing cultures and people she’s met throughout the world. After the release of the bestselling MacGruder Brothers series, The Oath Trilogy, and the first three books of The Forbidden Series, she’s now working on book #4, Forbidden Realm, of the five-book series, which will be released August, 6th, 2019.

Diana looks forward to the years of writing ahead and meeting the amazing people who will share this journey.

Contest

***ONE winner will be drawn from everyone who posts on my guest blog post about, ‘The Beauty of Spring,” on Delilah’s blog between 27 April 2019 – 4th May 2019. The winner will receive one of Diana’s mugs and a tote.

Diana Cosby, International Best-Selling Author

www.dianacosby.com

The Oath Trilogy

MacGruder Brother Series

Forbidden Series: Forbidden Legacy/Forbidden Knight/Forbidden Vow/Forbidden Alliance‒Aug. 6th 2019/Forbidden Realm TBA