Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 357

Kishan Paul: How Writing Rocked Her Love Affair with Music (Contest & Giveaway!)

Be sure to read further for news about Kishan’s giveaway and the contest she’s running! ~ DD

Music and I used to have a special kind of relationship. I could usually see myself as the one singing or the one being sung about. I spent a huge chunk of my teenage years locked in my bedroom, belting out Against All Odds by Phil Collins with a hairbrush stuck to my mouth. I only stopped long enough to hit rewind on the cassette player, so I could make another attempt at getting the emotion and inflection just right.  Most kids outgrow this stage once they mature – not me. That teenager grew into a college girl, who drove around town singing along to Bonnie Rait’s I Can’t Make You Love Me on the radio. Sigh, those were good times. Once a random guy in the car next to me was singing the same song. Ours eyes locked as we mouthed the words to each other until the red light turned green. It was fortunate for my then-boyfriend-now-husband that my car had manual windows. If they had been power, I’d have pushed that button, lowered the glass, and professed my undying love to the stranger.

Once I started writing, music became less egocentric. Instead of imagining myself as the person in the lyrical story, fictional characters took my place. This was both freaking awesome but also sad, because I was no longer singing or dramatically acting out the song. Nope, just staring out lost in space as the creative juices in my brain flowed. In fact, many of my favorite scenes have originated from those moments. When I wrote my contemporary romance, Blind Love, Taylor Swift’s Treacherous came on in the car. Suddenly, I was transported into my female character’s world. It wasn’t until I heard the sound of brakes that I came back to reality, just in time to see the woman driver, whose fender was just inches from my passenger door, making the sign of the cross. Likewise with Phillip Phillip’s Gone, Gone, Gone. So many scenes for my male MC in The Second Wife were inspired by the emotions in that song, and yes several stop signs and red lights were run in the process.

Although I love that music inspires me in this way, I miss the dancing and singing. It was an outlet for me. As a therapist, I’ve suggested to many stressed out clients to sing along in the car, because it helps relax them as it once did me. With balancing motherhood, a counseling practice, and a new writing career, I need stress relief more than ever. It took me a while, but I am finally able to find the balance. Emotional songs will probably always belong to my characters, but Eminem and PIttbull—they are all mine. One day, I may create a character that is “the original gangster” or a “biggity boy” who’s a “doggity dog.” If that day comes, I will have to find others to take their place because the booty-shaking and fist-pumping I do when I’m singing with them are so very important to my sanity.

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About the Author

From daring escapes by tough women to chivalrous men swooping in to save the day, the creativity switch to Kishan Paul’s brain is always in the “on” position. If daydreaming stories were a college course, Kish would have graduated with honors.

Mother of two beautiful children, she has been married to her best friend for over seventeen years. With the help of supportive family and friends, she balances her family, a thriving counseling practice, and writing without sinking into insanity.

Her novella, Taking the Plunge, is currently available in the Love Least Expected Anthology on Amazon.

She can be found at:

Website: http://kishanpaulauthor.net

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KishanPaulAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/@kishan_paul

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/kishanpaul

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1JQBudd

Sign up for her newsletter at: http://mad.ly/signups/119110/join

*~*~*
Blind Love

 

She doesn’t need a hero. But a sexy Marine…that’ll work.

At twenty nine, psychologist Lauren Baxter has a successful counseling practice. Since becoming legally blind at fifteen, her world has been a blurry mess of colors. Her greatest fear is also her ultimate reality. One day that fuzzy realm will forever turn black. Refusing to let blindness define her, she builds a life for herself with her dog, Jack Sparrow, and best friend, Sunny Daye.

Lauren has no tolerance for pity or for Superman swooshing down and rescuing her. She is capable of saving herself just fine. That is until Gabe, the great smelling, former Marine, from Texas moves in next door. Her attraction to him is immediate and, unfortunately for her, mutual.

When Lauren’s ex-husband shows up begging for another chance, she is confused and fragile. She also finds herself in the arms of her secretive neighbor. Little does she realize that her decision for a steamy roll in the hay with Gabe will suck her into his mysterious past, thrust her ex-husband back into her life, put her in the middle of a murder investigation, and place her life in danger.

Gabriel Briggs has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Short term flings are all he can afford for more reasons than one – reasons he never plans to share. Until he moves in next door to the beautiful, green eyed, feisty, Lauren. One night with her and he’s reconsidering promises he made almost a decade ago. When a woman from his past is murdered, his world is turned upside down. Secrets are revealed and innocent lives are threatened. Can Gabe win Lauren’s love and save her life before it’s too late?

Product Warnings: Contains a blind therapist who doesn’t consider herself impaired; a meddling, erotic-novel-writing best friend; a hot ex-Marine with a shady past; and a loyal guide dog that howls “I love you” and is probably the sanest one of the bunch.

Add the book on Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1LDxXNx

Where to buy:

Publisher: https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5449/blind-love

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1JQAu8M

ARE: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-blindlove-1802895-149.html?referrer=5259b43e439d3

BarnesandNoble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/blind-love-kishan-paul/1121848544?ean=9781619229549

KOBO: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/blind-love-31

Ibooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/blind-love/id991255390?mt=11

Blind Love Trailer: http://bit.ly/1JQAVju

*~*~*
The Second Wife

 

If you want to live, you must let go of the past…

Twenty-eight-year-old psychologist, Alisha Dimarchi, is abducted by an obsessed client and imprisoned in his Pakistani compound for over two years. Forced to change her name and live as his second wife, her life is filled with trauma and heartbreak. Thrust into a world of violence and oppression, Ally must fight not only to keep herself alive but to protect the lives of the people she now considers family. At night, she retreats into her memories of the only man she has ever loved—a man she believes no longer loves her.

Thirty-four-year-old handsome surgeon, David Dimarchi, has spent the last two years mourning the disappearance of his wife. After a painful and isolated existence, he begins the process of healing. It is then he is visited by a stranger, who informs him that Ally is very much alive and needs his help. In a desperate attempt to save her, David enlists the help of a mercenary. Together they find themselves in the center of more than just a rescue mission. Will he be able to reach her in time, and if he does, will she still want him?

Add the book on Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1JgPBTF

Trailer for The Second Wife: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zH8RRevEE4&feature=youtu.be

Where to buy:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1WJsSd8

Barnes And Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-s...

ITunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1040692792

KOBO: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/the-second-wife-5

*~*~*
Taking the Plunge

Kishan Paul’s Novella, Taking the Plunge is FREE

Since graduating high school, Eve Cambridge has dropped ten dress sizes, became an RN, and dumped her jerk of a boyfriend—all on her own. So when her high school crush shows up in her life, she does what any normal self–reliant woman would do—pepper spray him.

Since inheriting the family plumbing business, Pete Russo has tried to make the best of a career he never planned for. He’s made his share of mistakes, but he’s worked hard to learn from them. Now that he’s run into Eve, he’s not so sure he isn’t making another one. After all, she did almost blind him.

When logic and emotion don’t agree, which path should they follow?

Add the book on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27270259-taking-the-plunge

 Where to buy:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Taking-Plunge-Kishan-Paul-ebook/dp/B0172DZ2YG/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

Barnes And Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/taking-the-plunge-kishan-paul/1122845075

ITunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/taking-the-plunge/id1051985092?mt=11

KOBO https://store.kobobooks.com/en-ca/ebook/taking-the-plunge-8

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Rafflecopter Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Frannie and The Private Dick — Chapter One (Contest)

I have a new-old story out! One of the stories returned to me by a former publisher. I’ve been working hard to get them all revised/expanded/refreshed so that I can share them with a brand new audience.

This time, it’s Frannie and The Private Dick! If you’ve read the rest of the Night Fall stories, then you know what to expect—humor, some suspense, and lots of sexy bits. Frannie has an extra pinch of humor. I’m sharing the first chapter here for you to sample. I hope you enjoy it—my gift to you!

For a chance to win a free copy of one of Frannie’s prequel books,

tell me how you plan to spend your Saturday!

Hope you enjoy this peek inside! ~DD

Frannie and The Private Dick

Bent on catching her cheating fiancé in the act, Frannie Valentine got sidetracked by a little thing like dying. When she awakens, Frannie learns her pampered life will never be the same, so she turns to the man responsible for her undeadness and demands he take on the responsibility of giving her a little job training—in the PI biz.

Niall Keegan never intended to make himself a mate, but Frannie’s string of minor disasters, which ended with her dying in his arms, took the decision right out of his hands. While the mating part isn’t bad, making the disaster-prone Frannie a PI may just be the death of him.

FREE FOR KINDLE UNLIMITED SUBSCRIBERS!

Get your copy here: Frannie

Chapter One

Francesca Valentine had died and gone to hell. No other explanation made sense. She swam back to awareness through a molasses-thick void to find herself suddenly spat out from a dark womb into a cold, hollow space. Blind, and so still she knew she didn’t breathe, her mind turned over like a sluggish engine before revving into high gear.

Quickly, she assessed what she knew. She lay on a hard surface, covered with a scratchy square of thin fabric, unable to move a muscle. A low whine, like that of an air-conditioner, came from the opposite side of the space. Harsh light shone from above, warming her face, but hurting her closed eyes. So, she probably wasn’t blind after all. But she was definitely dead. Stone-cold. Her chest wasn’t moving in and out, but she didn’t feel starved for air.

She knew who she was and what had killed her, but hadn’t a clue what new fix she’d landed herself in. From nearby came the scrape of footsteps and a tentative humming, then…

“Bee-ooot-ee-foll Dreeeeamer, wake unto me…”

She was in hell all right. A demented spirit hovered over her, emitting an off-key warbling that set Frannie’s teeth on edge. By the rusty sound of the grating voice, her tormentor must be an ancient female, and the she-devil was trying to remove the skin from her face in slow, abrasive circles with…apricot-scented facial scrub? Frannie’d had a chemical peel the week before. The last thing she needed was a dime store product applied to her professionally maintained skin.

God must be punishing her for the sin of vanity—for all the hours she’d spent being teased, plucked, painted, and waxed. Each moment endured to make her the perfect trophy for Vinnie to parade around his “business associates” for them to kiss, pinch, and swat.

Now she wished she’d gone to Mass more often, or hadn’t lusted after the young Irish priest, or hadn’t snuck out her bedroom window to canoodle with Vinnie. Especially that.

Her mother had predicted just such a fate when Frannie got engaged to Vinnie Ricchione, and had even sworn to wear black to the wedding.

But Mama had described the fire-and-brimstone version of the ultimate southerly location in vivid detail. Obviously God hadn’t designed hell as a one-size-fits-all-sins destination.

“Star-liiiight and dooo-drops are waiting for thee…”

She could almost see her mama now, shaking her finger at Zia Grazia. “What did I tell that girl? Vinnie’s no good.”

Zia Grazia would nod her gray head and masticate on her slipping dentures, too deaf to care about Donatella Valentine’s latest tirade.

But that wouldn’t stop Mama. She’d scoot closer to shout into her aunt’s ear. “Do you think a daughter listens to her mother? Now look at me. No daughter. No grandbabies. I told her Vinnie’d come to a bad end—and her along with him!”

Well, Mama had only been half-right.

Paralyzed, forced to submit to a facial flaying and the demon’s ear-shattering trills, Frannie’s penance had a certain poetic justice.

She was dead because of Vinnie.

While her death hadn’t been precisely his fault, she’d never have followed him if he’d been the faithful sort of fiancé.

He’d said he was meeting the boys. “Don’t wait up, hon. We got shipments comin’ in.” But Frannie had known better. One time too many, he’d come home smelling of cheap whiskey and even cheaper perfume. This time, Frannie would catch the cheating bastard in the act.

That night, she’d teetered on three-inch boot heels on a wooden crate behind his shipping company office, peering into a darkened room. She’d almost decided Vinnie had slipped the noose when she heard a commotion coming from beneath the window where Vinnie’s desk sat. At first, she hadn’t understood what she heard, then the sounds had grown louder—punctuated by groans, bumps, and slurps too large and energetic to be two mice doing the bunny-hump.

Irate, she’d screeched and toppled off the crate. But falling into the trash bin wasn’t what killed her.

“Sounds of the ruuude world heard in the daaaaay…”

She’d crawled backward out of the dumpster, glad the only things clinging to her hair were bits of packing peanuts, when she heard a door slam and footsteps entering the alley. She brushed herself off, picked up her purse from beside the overturned crate, and stalked toward the street.

“Hon, what the hell are you doin’?” Vinnie shuffled toward her, tucking his shirt into his pants. “Now, baby, I can explain—”

She raised her chin, held out her hand, and stomped right past him, proud she kept her chin from wobbling. The bastard’s not gonna make me cry.

“Frannie—honey, wait!”

She quickened her pace and turned the corner onto the sidewalk. As luck would have it, a taxi was driving straight toward her. She started to run, waving frantically at the car, but it didn’t slow. She stepped into the street, but her foot tilted on the edge of a gutter, and her ankle turned. The heel of her boot snapped, and Frannie threw out her arms as she stumbled into the path of the taxi.

But the taxi hadn’t killed her either.

The cab screeched to a halt, and the driver flung open his door. “Lady, you okay?” He was a big, burly guy—Irish, she’d have guessed, by the look of his dark brows and square, rugged jaw if his faintly accented speech hadn’t already given him away.

“Please!” She held out her hand in his direction.

“Francesca! Honey, don’t move,” Vinnie shouted.

She didn’t have to force a tear into her eye. Her ankle throbbed. She stared at the driver and gave him what Vinnie called her “diamonds-or-flowers” look—the one guaranteed to make a man do her bidding.

The Irishman straightened his shoulders and pushed back his shirtsleeves, revealing thick wrists and muscled forearms. “Is this man botherin’ you, ma’am?”

She nodded and let her chin wobble.

The driver bent down and swept her easily to her feet. Frannie let herself lean against his broad chest just long enough to test the depth of his indrawn breath. She could tell a lot about a man’s attraction from a telltale gasp, and she needed this man’s attraction to flare long enough for Vinnie to notice.

The driver’s chest expanded, and the arms that held her tightened fractionally.

“I’m not a man—I’m her husband,” Vinnie shouted. “Get your hands off her!”

“You’re not a husband until we share joint checking and a last name!” she shouted back. The driver hesitated, and she clutched his sleeve. “Please, help me! I swear he’s not my husband.”

“Near enough!” Vinnie said.

Looking up at her rescuer from beneath her lashes, she added softly, “I have to get away.”

His gaze locked with hers for a moment before swinging to pin Vinnie to the spot. “Looks like your lady doesn’t want anything to do with you at the moment.” The driver gently pushed her behind him. “Ma’am, you go ahead and get inside.”

As she limped toward the cab, Frannie looked over her shoulder.

Vinnie’s face was a mottled red. “Now, look here—”

“I think you’d better back off.” The burly Irishman clenched his fists.

Vinnie peered around the mountain-sized man at Frannie as she ducked into the back seat of the taxi. “Frannie, you come back here. We gotta talk. What you seen wasn’t nothin’, I swear! It wasn’t even me!”

Frannie pulled the door shut and waited for the driver to back his way to the taxi.

Vinnie stood in the middle of the street, his shoulders drooping. She almost felt sorry for him, until the door to the company office swung open. Raeline Curtis, Vinnie’s secretary, hurried down the street, tugging at the seat of her tight skirt.

Frizzy, over-bleached blonde hair, broad hips, and cheap shoes—Vinnie’d cheated on her with Raeline? Confused, Frannie peered through the back window as the taxi drove away, Vinnie’s swarthy, slender face and slumped shoulders growing smaller in the distance. He’d wait at home—and be truly, miserably sorry for the pain he’d caused her. And she’d probably forgive him—after her pride had been soothed with lots of groveling and gifts.

But tonight, she needed to make the snake sweat.

“Where can I take you, ma’am?”

“To another life?” she muttered. Louder, she said, “Drop me at Lizards ’n’ Suds.”

“You sure about that? That joint’s kinda rough for a lady like you.”

“A lady like me?” I live in sin with a man whose “business associates” send Christmas cards from the federal penitentiary. Frannie sniffed. “Thanks for your help back there, but I’ll be just fine.”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Whatever you want. It’s your dime.”

What she’d wanted was something she’d never have now.

“Lull’d by the mooonlight have all passed awaaaay…”

That’s me all right—all passed away. A tear trickled down the side of her cheek.

“Well, that’s one for the books,” the quavering, aged voice said. “Wouldn’t think you’d have any juice left.”

Something soft and spongy swept away the tear, and then the sponge was back with the familiar smell of makeup. A cheap musty foundation, if Frannie’s nose was any judge. This place was hell all right.

“Such a shame. You were a pretty little thing. And that man of yours is cryin’ buckets over you.”

As well he should—the lying, cheating bastard! She hoped he was very, very sorry, that his privates shriveled to nubs, and that he’d be haunted by her beautiful face for the rest of his life.

Then maybe he’d feel a tenth of the hurt she’d felt as she’d tried to drown her sorrow at that skeezy bar. The first beer had tasted sour, and the bubbles made her burp. She’d looked around to make sure no one noticed, but the music was so loud she quickly lost her inhibitions and burped again. The second beer was much sweeter, but her tummy pressed against the waist of her skirt and everything felt tighter.

Especially her engagement ring.

She’d glared at the shiny solitaire and tried to tug it off her finger, but couldn’t get it past the first knuckle. After a stealthy glance over her shoulder, she dunked her hand into her icy-cold beer. Perhaps the chill would make her skin contract.

“You know, most people drink their beers.”

Frannie blinked and glanced to her right.

The taxi driver slid onto the stool beside her.

She glared. “Are you following me?”

He grinned. “I was due a break. Decided I’d hang around and see if you needed a ride home.”

His smile was killer—white teeth, full lips framed by dimpled cheeks. She hadn’t noted much about his appearance before—just his immense size. But even in the subdued light shining from behind the bar, she could see he was a very handsome man—if you were into black-haired paddies with blue eyes. His hair was on the long side and scraped back into a ponytail. The dark-blue shadow on his jaw added to his rangy, masculine appeal.

She realized she’d been staring. “I don’t need a ride—in your car, that is.”

Oh God, she’d just said that out loud.

His lips curled at the corners, but he looked at the bartender and raised a finger. A cold brew was deposited in front of him, and he took a long draw before setting it down. “Is there a good reason your hand’s in your glass?”

“Oh!” She pulled out her hand and dried it with a napkin. “I was just trying to get this off.” She tugged the ring again, but it still didn’t budge.

“Let me try.” His large hand enclosed hers, and he pulled it toward his face.

Frannie’s heart fluttered, and then heat swept across her cheeks. Was he going to kiss her hand?

Instead, he opened his mouth and swallowed her finger.

She was so surprised she yelped and tried to draw back her hand.

His grasp tightened. Then his gaze never left hers as his teeth closed gently around the ring and slid it slowly off her finger.

Sure she was well on the way to melting into a puddle at his feet, Frannie sighed with relief when he released her tingling fingers.

The diamond sparkled brightly between his white teeth as he grinned. He plucked it from his mouth and dipped it in his own beer before handing it back.

Frannie clasped her hands firmly in her lap. “I don’t want it,” she said, her voice flat.

“You’re just angry. You’ll want it later.” He slid it over the tip of his pinkie finger. “I’ll keep it for you—for now. What’s your name?”

Frannie jumped. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just in case I lose you in this crowd—I’d like to know who to return the ring to.”

Frannie watched his expression closely for a clue to his true intent. The explanation sounded reasonable enough, but Frannie knew every guy had an ulterior motive for every good deed—and it usually had something to do with sex.

He held up both hands. “Honest. I’m not askin’ for a date—I don’t go for almost-married ladies.” He wiggled the finger with the ring. “This doesn’t look like a knock-off. When you’re over bein’ mad, you’ll want it back.”

Frannie sighed and stuck out her hand. “Francesca Valentine.”

His much larger hand swallowed hers, but he gave her the gentlest squeeze and let her go. “Niall Keegan.”

Frannie felt a reluctant smile tug at her lips. “I knew you were Irish.”

He lifted one dark, perfectly shaped eyebrow and grinned deliciously. “Must have been my stunning good looks.”

That she couldn’t deny, but she’d be the last woman to feed another man’s ego. “You’ve a trace of a brogue in your voice,” she said, imitating his accent.

“Me mother would be mortified, she would,” he said, exaggerating the lilt. “She sent us all to school to learn to speak like Americans.”

Frannie tilted her head. “Why? I think your accent’s lovely.”

“She didn’t want us taken for every other Irisher straight off the boat.”

“That’s kind of an archaic sentiment in this day and age. Who in this city isn’t right off the boat? In your profession, especially—I don’t know when the last time was I caught a cab with someone who could actually speak English.”

Niall shrugged. “Well, it was a long time ago. Things were a little harder in her day.”

“She sounds like Zia Grazia.” At his quizzical expression, she added, “My mama’s aunt. Now, she was straight off the boat from Italy. Literally.” She started to raise her glass again, and then remembered the places her hands had been tonight. She wrinkled her nose and set it down.

“Would you be wantin’ another beer?”

Frannie sighed. The man wasn’t going to leave her alone to wallow in her misery. “I suppose so. But I’ll buy my own. This isn’t a date.”

He waved at the bartender. “Another beer for the lady.”

Frannie pulled out a ten, quickly laid it on the counter, then gave him a warning glare.

Niall stared at the bill. “Don’t go gettin’ nervous, now. I’ll let you pay.”

“I’m not…nervous, that is. It’s just—”

“I know. This isn’t a date.”

The bartender replaced her beer, and an awkward silence fell between them.

“So, you want to talk about what happened back there?” Niall asked quietly.

Frannie didn’t have to guess what he was talking about. She supposed it was pretty obvious what had happened at the shipping office, what with Vinnie half-dressed and Raeline slinking away. But admitting to this man that her fiancé had cheated on her was too galling. She stared at her glass, at her lacquered fingertips—anywhere but into his knowing eyes. “Nothing happened.”

“All right. I can take a hint.” He leaned close, and his voice dropped. “But I’m a good listener. You’d be surprised the things I hear.”

Her mind went momentarily blank as she breathed in the spicy scent of his aftershave. “Oh yeah. I suppose taxi drivers hear plenty.”

“See plenty, too.”

She glanced up to see a wicked gleam shining in his eyes. And that was all it took. One wicked gleam, and she relaxed—and forgot about the louse waiting at home. The man sitting beside her was too tempting, too large to ignore. His warm, deep-timbered voice and navy eyes seduced her into letting down her guard. At least, that was the excuse she gave herself for gifting him with a smile.

His eyelids dipped, and his gaze fell to her lips. Then he drew a deep breath and glanced away. “He’s a bloody damn fool,” he gritted out.

The roughness in his voice had Frannie squirming on her barstool, recognizing his awareness, feeling excitement pricking the tips of her nipples and an unexpected curl of warmth settle in her belly. She felt almost giddy with this sudden sensual dawning. She hadn’t known this feeling since her earliest days with Vinnie. And she couldn’t recall it ever being this intense or urgent.

Never one to question an impulse, Frannie leaned toward Niall. “Would you mind kissing me?”

He drew back his head sharply and stared into her eyes. “I’m not goin’ to be your revenge, sweetheart.”

“It’s not revenge…not really.” Her cheeks flooded with heat. “It’s just I haven’t been with anyone but Vinnie for years, and I was…curious. I mean, what if I died tonight? I might never know the difference.”

“The difference between what?”

Frannie shrugged, feeling embarrassed and a little foolish. Perhaps she’d misread his interest. Before she lost her nerve, she blurted, “Between lust and love.”

His nostrils flared. “Sweetheart, there are kisses…and there are kisses. The kind I’d give you wouldn’t answer your question.”

She looked at him from beneath her lashes. Her “look” had worked before. “Try me?”

Some dark emotion flickered in his eyes, and he leaned close. He was so large and his expression almost angry that she felt a moment’s alarm. But Frannie closed her eyes tight and tilted her head.

His breath brushed her lips a moment before his lips briefly touched hers.

She blinked and opened her eyes, giving him a frustrated frown. “I’ve given Zia Grazia kisses more passionate than that.”

One dark brow quirked upward. “Oh, you were lookin’ for passion?”

“Well, you could have shown a little enthusiasm,” she muttered. She was a fool—a selfish, self-centered little fool. Just because Vinnie and Papa had told her there wasn’t a more beautiful girl in the whole wide world didn’t make it so. The Irishman probably thought she was an idiot. “This was a bad idea. I’m sorry.” She bent to reach for her purse on the ledge at her feet.

His hand closed over her arm. “I just needed for you to spell it out, sweetheart.”

Frannie shot him a startled glance, and her body tightened with desire at the flare of heat she saw in his eyes.

“Ah, you’re a temptation, Francesca Valentine. But if you’re wantin’ to experiment, it may as well be with me.”

She licked her lips in anticipation of another, deeper kiss.

He shook his head. “Not here. Not sittin’ at a bar. I’ll want to touch you.”

Oh, she wanted that too! But only enough to ascertain whether her attractions were universal. Seeing the woman Vinnie had chosen, and was willing to risk her affections over, had dented Frannie’s confidence. If she could tempt a handsome man like Niall, she knew her appeal wasn’t withering on the vine.

Not that she’d stand for anything too intimate—she was almost a married lady after all. A kiss with a little caressing wasn’t really breaking her vow. Besides, Vinnie had earned a little tit for his tat with Raeline. “Where then?”

Niall searched her face, shaking his head. “You’re a reckless girl.”

“Then you’ll just have to make sure you keep me safe.”

“I’ll kiss you outside…on the way back to my cab. Then I’ll take you home to that man of yours.”

Francesca let him help her from her stool with a light touch of his hand on her arm and leaned down to pick up her purse. Niall led the way out of the club and into the street.

Outside, the sky was cloudy, starless, and a mist reflected light in rainbow-hued halos around the streetlamps. His taxi stood alone near the corner of the street. Niall tugged her hand, pulling her toward it.

Frannie’s heart pounded fast and furious, and a trembling excitement tightened her stomach, making her slightly queasy. Funny, she didn’t remember lust making her sick to her stomach.

Just as they neared the cab, Niall pulled her within the shelter of a shop doorway. Into the shadows. Then his hands slid between the lapels of her leather jacket and parted the jacket to smooth over her breasts and around to her back.

Shock and delight made her body quiver. It was too much, too fast. I have to stop this now.

“Give me your mouth.”

Frannie decided that was just about the sexiest thing a man had ever said to her, or maybe it was just his tone—deep, resonant, wickedly masculine.

The extent of Vinnie’s romantic vocabulary was, “Why ain’t ya in bed already?”

She leaned toward Niall, yearning for his caress. His face was hidden in shadows, his body loomed, large and blatantly male. Frannie reached to slide her hands across his chest. The broad expanse was so hard she couldn’t resist squeezing the muscle she found there. At the ripples that rolled beneath her palms, her heart hammered faster.

His hands settled on her bottom. Before she had a chance to so much as give a startled squeal, he dragged her up on her toes. As Niall’s head descended, Frannie’s breath left in a rush.

Now this was a kiss! What Niall’s mouth did to hers couldn’t be described with such a short, innocent word. His lips molded hers, drew hers into his mouth where he sucked and bit, first the upper then her lower lip.

Frannie gasped, and his tongue forged into her mouth, gliding along hers, tangling with it, until they surged together in rhythm with the movement of his hips as he pressed his long, hot erection into her soft belly.

Frannie’s hands clutched his shoulders, her nails raking upward, digging into his scalp to keep his mouth clamped right where it was.

His thigh pressed between hers, and Frannie’s heart galloped like a spooked mare. But she opened her legs and strained upward, rubbing the top of her mound against his cock. Damp lust spilled from her body to soak her panties. His hands tightened on her ass, holding her still with a bruising grip, and she rose higher to meet his shallow thrusts. Ohmygod! Ohmygod!

Niall groaned into her mouth.

Frannie began to shake, feeling near to explosion—and her with every stitch of clothing still intact!

Vinnie had cheated her of more than just his fidelity. Vinnie!

Frannie tore her mouth from Niall’s and stared at his hard, strained face, horrified.

If Niall lowered his pants, she’d be tempted to let him take her here and now. With a Herculean effort, Frannie shoved at his chest. “Let me go!”

Niall closed his eyes for a long moment, and then lowered her until her uneven heels met the ground.

Still shaking, Frannie backed away and wrapped her arms around her stomach.

“I’ll take you home now,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“No!” Good lord. Vinnie would take one look at her face and know something had happened. What had she been thinking? One little kiss did not erase three years of waiting for Vinnie to set a date. “I’ll catch another cab.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Mine’s right here.”

She backed away, afraid he’d touch her with one little pinkie and reignite the fire banked in her loins. “No! I can take care of myself.” She took another step backward.

Niall’s eyes widened. “Frannie, stop!”

She whirled and stepped out—and off the curb. A loud honk and a bright light were all she knew before she found herself flying through the air.

Only it wasn’t the bus that hit her—it was the Irish freight train behind her that knocked her to ground.

“Get off me!” she gasped, trying to suck air back into her lungs. Why was he sitting on her chest?

No, he was at her side, his forehead creased with concern. He lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the sidewalk.

Still she couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and from there her memories grew fragmented. She had the impression she’d slept for a time. She moaned and shook her head.

“Don’t move, sweetheart. I’m so sorry, love,” Niall said, his voice laced with regret. “You’ll only hurt for a moment.” Although his face was inches above hers, Niall’s voice sounded like it came from the bottom of a deep well.

“Don’t hurt,” she muttered. “Tired. Cold. Can’t…breathe.”

“Hold on, sweetheart.” He gently tilted her head to the side.

Frannie felt the heat of Niall’s amazing lips clamp on the side of her neck, followed by a pricking pain. Then her world narrowed as darkness closed around her.

No, the Q59 bus to Flushing hadn’t killed her.

Niall Keegan had.

Jennifer Kacey: Violet’s Shadow (GIVEAWAY)

I wrote a paranormal wolf shifter book. OMFG I loved writing it. Not gonna lie I wouldn’t do it unless I actually felt like I did the genre justice. I fell in love with the history behind the Swooning Shadow fable and this series is based on that story.

Violet’s Shadow – Book One is out now!!! And you know what that means…..A CONTEST!!! Comment below on what your perfect mate is. Man. Woman. What they look like. Sound like. Smell like. *swoon* Whatever creams your twinkie. Why are they perfect? And have you ever met this person???? I’ve met mine and he’s…..incredible.

I’ll pick my favorite to receive a brand SPANKING new e-book copy of Violet’s Shadow!! And please leave your email in your comment with some spaces in it. I’ve had a rash of winners that I haven’t been able to get in touch with and nothing is worse than trying to give stuff away and can’t. Here’s a taste of Violet’s Shadow while you think about the perfect man or woman you’re going to tell me about. And you never know…maybe it will show up later in the series….*GRINS*

Violet’s spent her whole life searching for where she belongs. When she finds it and her shadow comes to life, it’s only the beginning.

Two weeks alone in a secluded cabin is music to Violet’s ears, until she sees a shadow in the forest with red glowing eyes. Red eyes she’s seen in her dreams for as long as she can remember. Eyes that make her want to forget the rest of the world. But she doesn’t believe in fairy tales anymore.

Rayden was sent to protect her.  To keep her safe.  Nothing more than to guide her as she transitions into a Shadow and takes her rightful place in the pack.  What he finds instead is the mate he’s been unwilling to search for and a passion so fierce he’ll never be able to walk away.

Violet’s spent her entire life aching to belong and she finally finds it in the pack of Shadows she is destined to join.  Everything she’s ever wanted in life and love is finally at her fingertips if she’s brave enough to embrace…her Shadow.

The past. The future. Truth. Lies. Nothing is as it seems when two shattered hearts are finally given the chance to heal.

Buy Links

Amazon – http://goo.gl/dGhdfx

B&N – http://goo.gl/bZQHmK

Kobo – http://goo.gl/5Itoa5

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/599487

Are Café – https://goo.gl/WBQHP3

Ibooks – https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/violets-shadow/id1067180804?mt=11

Hope you love it!!!

Mwah!!

Decadently Yours,

Jennifer Kacey

Other Novels By Jennifer Kacey

Beneath the Pages

Elite Metal – Book one in the Elite Warriors Series

Elite Ghosts – Book two in the Elite Warriors Series

Final Surrender – The Surrender Series

Violet’s Shadow – The Shadow Mates Series

Aslan’s Stranger – Fantasies A-Z Series

Jennifer Kacey is a writer, mother, and business owner living with her miniman in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.

Website | Newsletter | Blog – The Decadent Divas | Facebook | Facebook Author Page  | Twitter | Amazon Page  | Goodreads | Pinterest

Jacqueline Brocker: Story transformations – Edras and the Dragon

Writers, they say, often dread the question ‘where do you get your ideas from?’ Neil Gaiman has a lovely post about how he used to answer it and how he does it now. For me, I usually have a fairly concrete memory of how an idea came about, and in the case of Edras and the Dragon, I can even point to the book that sparked it off.

But first, a bit of a history lesson. Aelian, a Roman writer of 2nd and 3rd centuries CE (AD) came up with (or, more likely, collected) this tale:

Of the Gratitude of a Dragon.

Patræ is a City in Achaia. A Boy there had bought a young Dragon, and brought it up with care, and when it was grown bigger, used to talk to it as to one that understood him, and played, and slept with it. At last the Dragon growing to an extraordinary bigness, the Citizens turned it loose into the Wilderness. Afterwards the Boy being grown to a youth, returning from some Show with other youths his Companions, fell among Theeves, and crying out, behold, the Dragon came and slew them; which stung some, slew others, but preserved him.

(If you really want, you can read more of the original here)

As you can see, it’s one small paragraph. But it was enough that when Roger Lancelyn Green, famous for retelling Arthurian myths, decided to put together a collection of dragon stories (A Book of Dragons – see on Goodreads), he chose this as one of them. He extended it beyond the limits of the original and made it a touching story about friendship and loyalty. He of course mentions of Beowulf and Sigurd and other more famous dragons, but Lancelyn Green’s retelling and embellishing made it one of the most striking tales in the book.

Now, give something like that to an erotica writer… well, the possibilities begin to emerge. For me,

it felt a good start for something, something potentially erotic, that married the comfort and warmth of friendship with the excitement of something new and definitely unusual. A man and a dragon – definitely a bit unusual. (Though in these days of dinosaur erotica, perhaps not so much…)

My original idea was to take the tale and essentially extend it. My editors had other ideas. Not that I blame them – the first version wasn’t great. Luckily, they saw something in it could be worked on. After a bit of hashing it out (and a full draft of a very different story that I put aside because it was too awful) we finally arrived at the idea of the boy – or rather, a young man – not living with his family, but rather alone in the moutains, hunting and gathering to survive, and the dragon arriving already fully formed as well. Rather than a youthful story of growing up, it became about the development of a relationship between two vastly different creatures.

The setting remained Greek, but I didn’t want it to be ancient like the original, nor especially modern. And I wanted a forest-like setting rather than the rugged, arid hills that the country is often known for. Internet searches yielded a territory called the Pindus mountains, so I chose that, and for an era I settled on that of the Byzantine Greeks somewhere between 800-900 CE (AD).

But enough of this history: what will you, the reader, get out of it? It’s a love story, yes, but it’s also a friendship between a lonely man and a curious, adventurous dragon. It’s about the dangers that arise from living off the land and outside society, and also the beauty and power of the natural world. A story about how life is more than just mere survival, but also, dare I say, about friendship and love.

Edras has grown accustomed to his life alone on the mountain, hunting and foraging and selling animal skins in the nearby town. When Dragon falls from the sky, almost dying, Edras chooses to take him in and nurse him back to health. What blossoms is a friendship, and more. So when Dragon tells Edras of the real reason he was flying over the mountain, Edras fears another loss in a long line of many. (M/M)

Buy Links

Publisher site for info and content notes

Fantastic Fiction Publishing

Excerpt

As he prepared to skin the rabbits he heard a rush of air followed by a heavy boom on the ground. Trees swished harshly, and there was a cry of birds and a flutter of wings.

Edras frowned. He’d never heard such a crash before. It couldn’t have been far from the cave, probably just near the copse. He picked up his spear and his short club, and left the cave, careful to replace the thatching once more.

Outside, the beech and fir trees of the copse were still swaying, needles and serrated-edged leaves falling, a strange sight for early summer. Rabbits dashed from the copse, birds continued to shriek – there was a deep sense that the world had been disrupted, everything running from its natural place. Edras trod lightly, prepared to defend himself if needed, and circled the copse to what he thought was the crash site.

There was something there, a kind of animal. It was camouflaged by the grass, lying across the rocks near the drop, as if it were part of the landscape. Edras came closer to get a better look, and halted. He’d never seen one before, but he knew from its shape and features, that it was a dragon.

Edras approached, every step measured, and circled it to get a better look at its face. The dragon’s head rested right on the edge of the cliff. Its head was long, and had two short, pale yellow horns. It had a nose like a crocodile and ears like a horse, and under its lulling jaw was a small beard. It was limp, and as Edras drew closer, he saw that its eyes were closed.

It was, however, still breathing.

Edras tried to recall what he knew about dragons, but his mind yielded very little. The only certainty was that they were magical creatures, and came from the lands south, beyond Mesegeios, the sea—Libya, was that what it was called? Apart from that, there were the various and contradictory tales he heard from travellers. He always thought dragons to be enormous creatures, the size of a rich man’s house, or even a mountain. This creature was much smaller. Its torso perhaps the size a small horse, though its neck and tail were both long and snake-like, especially its tail, twice the length of its body, and tapered to a point. One wing spread out from its body, about the same in length as the body itself but far wider. The wings were attached from what would have been its shoulder to half way down its back. The wings were bat-like, as he’d expected, but its skin was not especially scaly—more like that of a lizard than a snake. It was smooth, or seemed it. The other wing was tucked under its body, and from the angle, it looked like it was broken.

Some stories said dragons were peaceful. Others said they were cruel, and loved to eat human flesh.

Some of the tales told of dragons as if they had minds almost like humans, but others suggested they were like other wild animals, and wild animals were seldom safe when injured. As such, Edras wasn’t sure if he wanted to wake it or not.

He held his spear up and stepped closer. Cautious as he was, the creature dazzled him. Even in its fallen state, and despite being smaller than he’d have thought, it was strangely beautiful. Its very existence was amazing.

About the Author

Jacqueline Brocker lives and writes just north of Cambridge, England. Her short erotic fiction has appeared in anthologies such as More Smut for Chocoholics (House of Erotica), Best Bondage Erotica 2014, and Best Gay Erotica 2015 (both from Cleis Press). Her novellas Body & Bow and Gods Among Men, along with several short stories have been published by ForbiddenFiction. Originally from Australia, when not writing she is a Scottish Country Dancer and a dabbler in foreign languages (current dabblings being German, Korean and Spanish).

Links

Website: http://jacquelinebrocker.net/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jacqueline-Brocker/350975778281809

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ms_jacquelineb

PJ Sharon: Tips for Rabid Readers

Along with writers, desk dwellers, and gamers, avid readers have a hard time balancing their sitting life and their moving life. If you’ve ever engrossed yourself in a page turner, you know how hard it is to stop and put the book down. Reading is such a wonderful escape from the routine of our own lives, the temptation to slip into another world and someone else’s head for a few hours is simply too great to resist.

There are also those people who must read for a living—the involuntary rabid readers. Agents, editors, proofreaders and data entry folks spend hours a day pouring over digital material. Hobbyists may have more flexibility with their time, but some are prone to devour five to ten books per week, ignoring their screaming necks and their ever widening backsides.

Don’t worry. I wouldn’t think of taking away your right to read to your heart’s content, but consider these suggestions, straight from Overcome Your Sedentary Lifestyle (A Practical Guide to Improving Health, Fitness, and Well-being for Desk Dwellers and Couch Potatoes), my recent debut non-fiction book. I’m happy to bring relief to my reading warrior pals who live for the next “happily ever after.” #OYSL, as I’m calling it for my twitter community, is a holistic living, self-help book, written to get you motivated and moving toward a more balanced and active lifestyle.

PJ’s Top Five Tips for Readers:

1)            Find a comfortable, ergonomically supported place to read. Don’t get sucked in by the couch monster where you’ll find yourself sitting folded into a ball in the corner, your neck and back in agony at the end of an hour. Use pillow supports to keep you upright and rest your arms over a few pillows in your lap to support the book so it’s at eye level.

2)            Read in sprints. As I suggested for your computer/screen time, set a limit on your reading time. Commit to moving for at least ten minutes every few chapters or every thirty minutes—whichever comes first.

3)            Switch to audiobooks. Or at least alternate between print, digital, and audio. The variety will broaden your experience as well as giving you the flexibility to get your brain candy while you’re doing your housework, exercising, or even walking on the treadmill. Most treadmills have a shelf for your e-reader these days, so you can even read yourself to good health.

4)            Drink plenty of water (always have a water bottle nearby and refill as needed). This will force you to take bathroom breaks and discourage snacking.

5)            Snack healthy. Many readers love to snack as part of their “escape” mentality. The problem—beyond the unhealthy choices we make—is that we are so into our stories that we aren’t mindful about the quantity or quality of the foods we are putting into our bodies. Choose low calorie, nutrient dense snacks such as almonds, carrots, or apple slices rather than chips, chocolate, or ice cream. Pay attention to serving sizes and only have that amount on hand as you read.

Make these conscious choices ahead of time so you don’t fall prey to mindless eating or get sucked in by the couch monster.

Do you have any tricks for overcoming a sedentary lifestyle?

Is a sedentary lifestyle killing you? Are you gaining weight, developing neck pain, carpal tunnel syndrome, back problems, or other health issues that are interfering with your ability to achieve your goals or live life to the fullest?

Sedentary Lifestyle Syndrome (SLS) ™ is one of the fastest growing health care crises of our time. In this digital age of techno-overload, where most of our waking hours are spent sitting, or otherwise “connected” to some device, we are quickly realizing the negative effects. If you can answer yes to the following questions, you may be suffering from SLS.

Do you sit for at least 6-8 hours per day without adequate breaks?
Have you gained significant weight from lack of exercise and poor nutrition?
Do you suffer from headaches, fatigue, listlessness, and lack of motivation?
Have you been diagnosed with one or more health issues aggravated by prolonged sitting and lack of movement? (i.e.: Obesity, depression, heart disease, diabetes, metabolic syndrome)

Overcome Your Sedentary Lifestyle is the practical guide you need. Author and Holistic Health Care professional, PJ Sharon, includes tips to keep you healthy—even if sitting is in your job description. Ms. Sharon offers easy to implement solutions for proper work station set-up, exercises for injury prevention and treatment, and a practical plan for self-care success—whether you’re perched on the couch, or on the way to fulfilling your dreams.

Isn’t it time for you to stand up for your life?

PJ Sharon, PTA, LMT, CPFT

OVERCOME your SEDENTARY LIFESTYLE

(A Practical Guide for Improving Health, Fitness, and Well-being for Desk Dwellers and Couch Potatoes)

Available Now

www.pjsharon.com

Needing inspiration! (Contest)

I was looking for an inspirational quote from one of those inspirational quote books to begin my day. The book fell open to this one:

To live is to suffer,

to survive is to find meaning in suffering.

Viktor Frankl

That’s meant to inspire? Reading that might inspire suicide!

Here’s another:

The more the marble wastes, the more the statue grows.

Michelangelo

Okay, I get it. Kind of like a writer staring at a blank page has to find words to fill it, a sculptor has to find the shape living inside the stone. That’s better, but I need more quotes to pull out today when my attention begins to wane. Feels like that kind of day—it’s freezing outside, the sky is overcast, my bed looks way too inviting. I need a reason to stay at my keyboard.

So, that’s your mission today. Should you choose to accept it. Find me a quote, something that will keep my fingers on the keyboard, my mind pressing forward in the story! Best quoter (hmmm, my online dictionary says that’s not a word—well, it should be!) wins a small Amazon gift card! Okay, so that “best” thing can be intimidating, and I don’t care if your quote is corny or terrible, just fill the comments!

While you’re pondering, ponder these covers for stories coming very soon…

  

Bibi Rizer: Charity Anthologies

A great way for authors to build their brand while also contributing to a good cause is by publishing stories in charity anthologies. If you’re a reader, it’s also a great way to support good causes while satisfying your craving for hot romance.

This is why, if you’re a fan of Motorcycle Romance (or even if you’re not!), you should check out BIKER CHICKS. Not only will proceeds from BIKER CHICKS support the amazing charity BIKERS AGAINST CHILD ABUSE (the local chapter  where our editor AJ Downey lives), but BIKER CHICKS also seeks to bring biker romances into the 21st century (and beyond!), by telling stories about women who ride.

BIKER CHICKS includes stories by some awesome authors, both established romance authors and some new names. It comes out on Valentine’s Day but is available for pre-order now.

The romance is HOT, and the authors didn’t shy away from kink, gender fluidity, same sex or poly-romance, so you’ve been warned. Pre-order your copy from Amazon today, but meanwhile, here’s a taste from my dystopian City of Dark Pleasures story, Her Queendom:

Standing, I can see she’s as tall as me, the silver light of the moon makes her look metallic, hard and impenetrable. Magical, almost.

“You want to know what freedom feels like?” she asks. “So you’ll know, in case you ever find it?”

“I guess so.”

She takes my hand, leading me up some stairs from the river deck to the road above. There, parked in the moonlight, like a faithful transport bot, is a motorcycle.

“Wow. Is that yours?”

“That’s my baby. You like it?”

“Where did you get it?” Motorbikes have been outlawed in the Free City and the Pleasures for years, since before I was born. The only way I know about them is from contraband magazines, stolen out of the ruins.

“I built it mostly. Bits of this and that.”

I admire the bike as we get closer. An elegant love child of leather and steel, its large black tires seem eager to get into motion, almost as though it’s unhappy being stationary. “Is it self-driving?”

The woman snorts a laugh. “No way! Where’s the fun in that? Hop up.”

She invites me into the rear seat. The soft leather seems to welcome me, cushioning my ass and thighs like it was molded to my shape.

“Thermo shaping foam,” the woman says.  “Also,” she clicks a switch and welcome warmth rises up into my numb flesh. “Heated seat. Warm up those shrunken testicles.”

Warmth shoots down from my face too. I’d forgotten all about my sex parts. Up to this moment I was as emasculated as a Cull, but with the warmth of the seat my cock and balls wake up, tingling, as though reminding me of their presence, reminding me that they, and I survived the Expiation that so many did not. I wasn’t killed. I wasn’t culled. I became one of the Alphas, a reluctant harem husband with a small party of brides I never particularly loved.

They gave me children I loved though. And they’re safe. My children are safe.

The woman turns, swinging her leg over the seat in front of me, her round ass, pressing into my newly awakened manhood.

“What’s your name?” I ask. I just feel like it’s something I should know.

“Spark,” she says, rising up onto the kick starter. The bike bounces as she slams the starter down, then roars to life. “Hold on to me, or the back rest,” she shouts back at me, cranking the throttle. The tires squeal as we blast into motion.

 

Bibi Rizer

Bibi Rizer (http://www.bibirizer.com) is a mom, blogger, teacher and writer living in the Pacific Northwest. While she’s been writing professionally for many years, romance and erotica are relatively new pursuits.

Bibi likes writing about strong kinky women and brave willing men living in realistic and imperfect worlds.

In her spare time Bibi sings Karaoke and hangs around on film sets with child actors. Having the the firm belief that no one can be too weird or too funny, she happily admits that most of her favorite people and characters are both.

Also by Bibi Rizer

Electrify Me: A New Adult Novella http://amzn.to/1NApcDE

Objectify Me: A New Adult Romance http://amzn.to/1NApiv1

The Obsidian Stairway: The City of Dark Pleasures – Book I http://amzn.to/1Ns6Zdk

The Amber Columns: The City of Dark Pleasures – Book II http://amzn.to/1YllJTJ

Conquests: An Anthology of Smoldering Viking Romance http://amzn.to/1k5u7UC

The Shield Maiden’s Revenge http://amzn.to/1QvYxNX

Morag’s Honor http://amzn.to/1OzvHWX

By Bibi Rizer and Gabrielle Prendergast

Cover Your Dreams: Tips for Indie Authors to Help Them Get a Book Cover They Love http://amzn.to/1NApBpu

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9854368.Bibi_Rizer

https://www.facebook.com/Bibi-Rizer-845707895448516/

Edie Ramer: Love & Murder (Contest)

A huge thank you to Delilah for having me as a guest. Before I was a writer, I was a reader — and I still am. I have three loves in reading: romance, mystery, suspense. I also like humor. My favorite humor is the kind that sneaks up and surprises you. I like smart, strong-minded women. And I like smart and strong men, too. Compassionate men and women, too. In my books, someone is always in trouble. Compassion is needed.

The books in my Love & Murder series have all of that. They also have bad guys (or gals), but the bad guys in my books might surprise you. They aren’t always the usual.

Right now, all my Love & Murder books are on sale for only 0.99 each at Kindle. If you’re a Kindle Unilimited subscriber, they’re free. If you don’t have a Kindle, you can download their free app, which works on every device. You can find the three books here:

An excerpt below is from Book 1, TRUTH ABOUT LOVE & MURDER. All the books are stand-alone, but Truth is set in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and the other two are in Door County, Wisconsin. I’m giving away a mobi or epub file of RULES OF LOVE & MURDER (Book 2) to a commenter. (Or one of the other two books; I’m easy.) Just tell me what are your favorite things in a book.

*~*~*

The truth is that life is uncertain.

Meg Quinn hasn’t been to war, but her father has, and it changed their lives for the worse — and for the better. Now she has a sharp tongue and a mind to match … and she doesn’t trust easily. The best person she knows is losing a fight with death, and Meg is guardian of her friend’s seven-year-old son.

Easy MacLean, the co-guardian, is Meg’s dying friend’s brother. The former Marine has been hibernating in his Colorado mountain home, and Meg lets him know that he needs to be by his sister’s side in Milwaukee now.

Easy is attracted to his sister’s clever friend, but life gets complicated when he gets involved in a search for a missing veteran. After living alone with his rescue dog for so long, Easy and his dog are now sharing a home with a beautiful woman, a boy, and a cat. Even as he watches his sister die a little each day, he’s finding out the truth about life and love … and murder.

Excerpt:

“Bedtime,” Meg said.

Though she was looking straight at Ollie in his sister’s small living room, Easy half smiled, thinking it would be nice if she were saying it to him. Real nice. They would make a good fit, physically and emotionally. She was smooth with rough edges. He was rough with smooth edges.

But they were co-guardians, and it would be a bad mistake to get involved. Involvement would invariably lead to a time of disinvolvement on his part. And maybe hers. She seemed … capable. Independent. And smart. He had the feeling she’d taken one look at him and had seen the cracks and fissures in his soul, the cuts and the bleeding. The damage that not even all the duct tape in the world could stick together.

It made him think she had a few cracks and fissures and cuts and bleeding, too.

In any case, it would lead to complications and bad feelings, so just better not do it.

A lot of his life was like that, avoiding complications. The reason he was called Easy. Why strive for trouble when a little forethought would keep trouble at bay?

Ollie kissed and hugged Meg good-night then came to Easy, looking up at him, his arms out. Feeling awkward, Easy bent and hugged him. Ollie’s head leaned against his chest, his small hands holding on to the crooks of Easy’s elbows for a few seconds before he pulled back. “’Night, Uncle Easy.”

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Easy said.

“That’s what my mom always says.” Ollie’s eyes were big, then he turned away. “Don’t let bedbugs bite you, too!”

Getting to his feet, Easy laughed softly. That’s what he used to say to Jules every night. Their mom had worked full time, done most of the housework, and she’d cooked their meals. She’d been busy or tired, while his dad had been emotionally unavailable. Easy had learned the bedbug saying from watching TV, and he’d started saying it to Jules every night until they were in their teens.

“What are you thinking?” Meg asked.

He frowned as he heard Ollie’s footsteps pound on the stairs that led to the bedrooms on the second floor. The house was a mid-twentieth-century two-story, and Easy liked the way his sister had furnished it. The couch was a sturdy material that looked as if stains could easily be washed off. It was a bronze color, and the tiger-striped cat looked queenly on it, while the recliner was a light orange, making a pop of color.

Meg stepped two feet in front of him. “Why is it that men have such a problem answering that question?”

“What question?”

“Never mind.” She waved her hand in the air. “I asked what you were thinking, and obviously that’s too difficult to ask a man. In the future, that question will never pass my lips.”

“I was thinking how much I liked your snark.”

“Awww. You’re so … weird.”

He laughed. “I was really thinking that since dinner was on you, I should do dishes.”

“There’s no dishwasher.”

“I’m not planning on being a hand model.”

“Oh? What were you planning on modeling?”

“Now, that’s a leading question.”

“Leading where?”

“A place you might not want to go.” He was standing close to her, about two feet away. Maybe too close. “I believe you’re flirting with me. I thought you didn’t like me.”

“What’s liking you got to do with it?” Her gaze met his, her full mouth twisting in a smile.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He wanted her. Wanted her badly. He liked her honesty even more than he liked the way she looked. And he really liked the way she looked.

*~*~*

Buy the books:

Truth About Love & Murder, Book 1: http://amzn.to/1MMS8Xa

Rules of Love & Murder, Book 2: http://amzn.to/1O1pFyH

A Christmas Love & Murder, Book 3: http://amzn.to/1MMSj4Y

Find out more about my $50 Gift Card giveaway and join my newsletter to find out first about new releases, special deals and sales.

Edie

Linda Carroll-Bradd: Libbie — Bride Of Arizona, Book 48 in American Mail-Order Brides series

I’m pleased to share my latest historical, Libbie: Bride of Arizona, that was part of an unprecedented author collaboration of 45 authors writing a mail-order bride story connected to each of the 50 American states!

Will a tomboyish outsider with unusual habits find a home with an Arizona rancher who has strict ideas on what’s appropriate in a wife?

Publisher:  Inked Figments

Release Date:  1/5/16

Alone for the first time, tomboyish Libbie Van Eycken accepts a mail-order proposal and travels across country to find a place to call her own. Arizona rancher Dell Stirling needs a wife but didn’t count on the eccentric creature that brings chaos in her wake.

Purchase Links:

Exclusive to Amazon:  http://amzn.com/B017L14VS2

Free in Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt:

“What do you have there?” Libbie stepped forward and angled her head, hoping for a peek at what the women had been looking at when she entered. But, as always, her short height thwarted her from seeing.

Sally glanced between the two other women and then reached behind her sister and stepped forward, laying a newspaper on the block table in the middle of the room. “Dora used to work at a textile mill in Lawrence which is about thirty miles away. Just recently, the place burned down, leaving approximately one hundred women without jobs.”

“Oh, that’s awful.” Not that she’d ever held a job, but Libbie knew many women in America worked in offices or factories to support themselves. “What will they do?”

“Well, Sally is my only family, and I’ve come to Boston to find a new job. I stayed in Lawrence for a week, hoping to find similar work but there’s naught to be had.” Dora glanced at the door to the main hallway and stepped closer. “Miss, please don’t tell your aunt I’m here. At least, not until I find work and can offer to pay for my room and board.”

“Yes, Libbie, please keep our secret.” Sally wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Although, now I’m thinking Dora should arrange for a husband through the gazette’s ads.”

Surprise jerked Libbie back a step. “A husband in a newspaper?” Then curiosity forced her gaze to the page.

“See? Grooms’ Gazette.” Sally pointed to the masthead then moved lower. “Elizabeth Miller works as a matchmaker in a nearby city. She prints and distributes this newspaper as a way to share information about men in other states and the frontier who are hankering for wives.”

A wave of gratefulness for her family, as far-flung as they were now, flashed through Libbie. Granted the trans-ocean travel by ship was long and boring, but she knew they’d be waiting with open arms at the end of her journey when her time at the Academy was completed. She scanned a few of the letters and then leaned both elbows on the counter, intrigued by the variety of situations the men were in. Logger, rancher, shopkeeper, doctor, farmer, miner, lawyer, professor, saddler, dentist, saloon owner—almost every occupation under the sun. Most sounded honest and upstanding, and also very lonely. Some were too specific in their requirements, which told her those men would not possess easygoing personalities. She straightened and waved a hand toward the newspaper. “Dora, are you considering this?”

“Several of my co-workers were writing letters to arrange matches when I left Lawrence. My friend, Grace Dickinson, wrote to a gentleman who’s a mason way out in Montana.” The young woman wrung her hands and shook her head. “I just don’t know if I can do this. Although having a home of one’s own sounds wonderful.” She turned toward Sally and her lower lip quivered. “But to move too far away worries me.”

“Tell her, Libbie, that coming from another country ʼtisn’t so bad.” Mary crossed her arms at her trim waist. “Sure, I miss the green pastures of County Cork and watching the ships in the harbor. But I like being warm and having a roof over me head even more.”

The cook spoke the truth. Although Libbie barely remembered her father’s older sister from the family’s visit when she was seven or eight, she was grateful to be staying with her aunt and cousins. After a month in Boston, Libbie still hadn’t adjusted to the large number of people living so close together, or the noise from peddlers in the street, horse-drawn cabs and trolleys, tolling church bells, and wailing fire sirens. “Every place I’ve lived has good and bad aspects. Only you can decide what town or situation is best for you, Dora. Maybe you should look for the locations of men living the closest to Boston.”

A smile creased Dora’s chubby cheeks. “I like that idea. Thank you.”

“Excuse me, miss, but yer aunt hasn’t yet rung for her tea.” Mary frowned and glanced at the pendulum clock on the wall. “Could ye step into the parlor and check on her?”

“Yes, Mary, I will do that on the way to my bedroom. I have been sent home with Mrs. Templeton’s specific instructions to practice my gliding.” She held out her arms straight and took exaggerated sliding steps. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted the women stood with hands covering their mouths, suppressing their laughter, and she gave them a cocky grin.

About the Author

As a young girl, Linda was often found lying on her bed reading about fascinating characters having exciting adventures in places far away and in other time periods. In later years, she read and then started writing romances and achieved her first publication–a confession story. Married with 4 adult children and 2 granddaughters, Linda writes heartwarming contemporary and historical stories with a touch of humor from her home in the southern California mountains.

Linda’s Links:

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Elle James: Gonna Have Fun on the Bayou!

A couple of years ago, my sister, Delilah Devlin, and I took a trip to Louisiana, getting to know the state a little more. We traveled through bayou country all the way down to Grand Isle, LA which is nothing more than a little spit of land surrounded by water and barely above sea level. Houses there are built on stilts, daring the ocean to reclaim them. We could see oil rigs off shore and the sunsets were to die for.

In bayou country we checked out the old plantation houses and took an airboat tour of an alligator infested bayou. We found great settings, and gained a better understanding of life along the bayous and the crazy but loveable people who live there. From the ladies dressed in period costumes leading tours through the old plantation houses while serving mint juleps, to the crazy coonasses insane enough to drag a ‘gator out of the water so we could pet it. (Yeah, I pet the 12 ft alligator. Call me crazy too!) Small towns, lots of water and great food added to the experience.

That trip was great fodder for my Cajun Magic Mystery series coming out this year, starting with VOODOO ON THE BAYOU available now! VOODOO FOR TWO (Feb 23) and DEJA VOODOO (Mar 22). They’re laugh-out-loud funny with suspense and sexy characters. Give them a shot while they’re only $2.99!

Voodoo on the Bayou

Book #1 of the Cajun Magic Mystery Series

by Elle James (aka Myla Jackson)

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From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Elle James, the 1st book in the Cajun Magic Mystery Series

Don’t piss off the Voodoo Queen…

Craig Thibodeaux’s tangled with the wrong person. Cursed by Bayou Miste’s notorious Voodoo Queen, he’s destined to be a frog by day and a man by night. If he doesn’t find someone to love him by the next full moon, he’ll remain amphibious for the rest of his days.

Elaine Smith came to Bayou Miste to investigate the source of pollutants and finds herself in need of a bodyguard when she gets too close to revealing the source. Though suspiciously absent during the day, handsome local Craig Thibodaux offers to be that bodyguard in her forays into the swamp at night.

Together, they discover the culprits and a magical desire neither expected to find in the blackest waters of the bayou.

Elle James Bio

Elle James aka Myla Jackson spent twenty years livin’ and lovin’ in South Texas, ranching horses, cattle, goats, ostriches and emus. A former IT professional, Elle is proud to be writing full-time, penning, sassy western romances, romantic suspense, thrillers, and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edges of their seats. She has over 100 works published! Now living in northwest Arkansas, she isn’t wrangling cattle, she’s wrangling her muses, a malti-poo and yorkie. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, out snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories.

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