Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 460
March 13, 2013
New Call for Submissions — Sex Objects: An Anthology of Erotic Romance Stories
NOTE: Don’t let the title confuse you. This is a new call for submissions. The previous “Sex Objects” has been renamed “High Octane Heroes.”
Sex Objects: An Anthology of Erotic Romance Stories
Editor: Delilah Devlin
Publisher: Cleis Press in Spring 2014
Deadline: July 1, 2013 (although sooner is better!)
Sex Objects: An Anthology of Erotic Romance Stories is open to all authors.
Editor Delilah Devlin is looking for hetero stories for a romantic erotica anthology tentatively entitled Sex Objects: An Anthology of Erotic Romance Stories.
H igh powered, high ranking…and in high heels.
The term “Sex Object” brings to mind a curvaceous starlet on a casting couch or an iconic, bee-stung-lipped beauty being pursued by a powerful, capable man. Turn that concept upside down by allowing the woman to objectify a handsome, sensual man, using the concepts of role reversal and power play but from a female perspective, and you have the makings of something evocative and fun for the feminine, romance reading audience.
Imagine powerful women unafraid of going after the men they want…
* A beautiful divorcee stepping out for the first time as a single woman with a paid male escort.
* The movie producer using the casting couch to lure the latest movie heart throb into a torrid affair.
* A university professor calling a male grad student into conference to discuss his “thesis.”
* A worldly corporate boss asking for “dictation” from her personal assistant.
These women will be masters of their own domain, in charge and proud…capable of using sex for pleasure’s sake…but ultimately succumbing to the pull of desire created by the ”objects” of their desire.
Sex Objects will seek contemporary stories, although the editor is open to a futuristic or historical. Exotic, international settings will be considered. Traditional themes/tropes can be used, but writers are encouraged to create tales that surprise. Delilah seeks unique stories from authors with strong voices, and above all, she’s looking to be seduced by tales filled with vivid imagery and passion.
Published authors with an established world may use that setting for their original short story.
Keeping in mind that this volume is targeted at women, the editor seeks mainly hetero stories, but will consider bisexual or lesbian encounters and polyamorous relationships. This is erotic romance, so don’t hold back on the heat. Stories can be vanilla or filled with kink, but a deep sensuality should linger in every word—and don’t miss describing the connection between strong-willed individuals learning to trust and love one another. Keep in mind there must be a romantic element with a happy-for-now or happy-ever-after ending. Strong plots, engaging characters, and unique twists are the ultimate goal. Please no reprints. These must be original stories.
How to submit: Prepare your 1,500 to 4,500 words story in a double-spaced, Arial, 12 point, black font document with pages numbered (.doc, NOT.docx) OR rich text format. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (regular double spacing, do not add extra lines between paragraphs or do any other irregular spacing). US grammar (double quotation marks around dialogue, etc.) is required.
In your document at the top left of the page, include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address, and 50 words or less bio in the third person to realsexobjects@gmail.com. If you are using a pseudonym, please provide your real name and pseudonym and make it clear which one you’d like to be credited as. Authors may submit up to 2 stories. Delilah will respond in December 2013. The publisher has final approval over the stories included in the manuscript.
Payment will be $50.00 USD and two copies of the published book upon publication.
About the editor: Ms. Devlin has published over a hundred and twenty stories in multiple sub-genres and lengths with Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Kensington, Kindle, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing. In Fall 2011, she debuted her first anthology with Cleis Press, GIRLS WHO BITE. Since then, she has published SHE SHIFTERS and COWBOY LUST. SMOKIN’ HOT FIREFIGHTERS and HIGH OCTANE HEROES release in summer 2013.
Direct any questions you have regarding your story or the submission process to Delilah at realsexobjects@gmail.com.
See what’s coming next…
I was supposed to have a guest here today, and she still might send me something to post, but since I had the blog free this morning, I thought I’d tell you about things I have coming soon!
04/?/12 – STROKES, VOL. 2 (Kindle/Smashwords) — This is a second self-published volume of short stories to follow the first Strokes. Seven naughty nibblets you should enjoy! I have to get busy putting it together. I already have a gorgeous cover for it, which you can see on my Coming Soon page.
05/??/13 – TWICE THE BANG (Samhain) — This is the fourth Delta Heat book! It’s the silent, enigmatic Beau McIntyre’s story, and it’s hawt—just as you’d expect, with plenty of play with his closest friends. This one’s written and turned in. I’ll be sure to update the exact date of release when I have it!
06/04/13 – LOST SOULS (Montlake Romance) — If you haven’t read the prequel, Shattered Souls, be sure to do it before the next full-length installment of Caitlyn O’Connell’s spooky adventures. It’s already available for pre-order, and I’ve included an excerpt below for your reading enjoyment!
06/25/13 –THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF QUICK AND DIRTY EROTICA (Running Press) —I have two hot short stories, “Quick Draw” and “All About Me,” appearing in this volume.
07/16/13 – SMOKIN’ HOT FIREMEN (Cleis Press) — My next collection for Cleis, for which I got to select the stories and do the initial edit, includes my homage to Magic Mike, “Johnny Blaze.” You won’t want to miss this anthology!
07/??/13 – A LONG, HOT SUMMER (Samhain) — This isn’t written yet. I actually start it this week. But it’s the last of the Triple Horn Brand books (yesterday’s release, In Too Deep, was book #2) and features a May-December romance. Brother Tommy is the younger partner here. 
08/13/13 – HIGH OCTANE HEROES (Cleis Press) — HOH has gone through many names, “Super Alpha Heroes,” “Sex Objects,” but now it’s finally got a name that fits this collection of hard-charging stories about men who know how to fight and how to handle a woman. When I have the final cover, I’ll be sure to share that too!
And that’s all that’s pretty much set in stone for now. In the meantime, enjoy an excerpt from my June release, Lost Souls! It’s an unedited snippet, so forgive any typos. Don’t you love the cover?!
Fan favorite Delilah Devlin delivers her second paranormal romantic thriller featuring unforgettable heroine, Caitlyn O’Connell. This time, the psychic PI joins her police detective ex-husband to find a demon pulling women into the past to commit their murders in a seedy Memphis hotel.
Private Investigator Caitlyn O’Connell is tapped by Memphis PD to discover who has been using a Memphis hotel as his killing ground. Women are going missing, and their bodies are found inside the walls of the hotel. But the bodies themselves? They appear to have been murdered in the distant past. With ghosthunters and cops crawling all over the crime scene, Cait and her detective ex-husband Sam Pierce race to find the demon responsible before he kills again.
Darkness sank as murky as the sultry summer air, as heavy as a blanket pulled over a child’s head to hide the monsters lurking in a shadowy closet. Street lamps popped and sizzled, darkening then lightening, but failing to flare bright enough or long enough to chase away deep pockets of inky black. Cait was creeped out, since all she had were glimpses of silvery light from a full moon rimming buildings and casting deeper shadows to cloak alleyways and doorway stoops.
Another full moon. An event she was acutely aware encouraged monsters, both human and supernatural, to come out and play. Edgy and beyond bored, she almost wished for something out of the ordinary to happen, but then quickly changed her mind. The last time her job had given her a real challenge she’d battled a demon in an attic while a wraith latched its freezing fingertips around the man sitting beside her, slapping him around like a rag doll.
For just a second, she relished that last memory. At least Jason had been awake.
For the umpteen thousandth time that night, Caitlyn O’Connell sighed. This time exaggerating the sound. Loudly. Actually, more of a groan than a sigh. A sound that invited Jason Crawford, lying back in the seat beside hers, to wake up and keep her company. She was bored as freaking shit. Surveillance was the one part of her job she truly hated. In fact, she thought she might like having her ingrown toenails cut better than sitting in a dark alley waiting for something to happen.
The weather irritated her even more. Although she’d stripped down to a tank top and jeans, the insides of her boots were damp from the oppressive summer heat. Not a trace of a breeze stirred, and they’d shut off the sedan’s engine to be able to hear vehicles approaching, so the AC sat silent.
What good was having magic if she couldn’t even muster up a spell to start a breeze? She’d tried waving, punching, wiggling her nose, but nada. Worse, she’d tried to come up with a poem to appease The Powers That Be, but hadn’t found a line that sounded even remotely elegant with “wheeze” tacked on the end.
She supposed she’d used up her last favor asking for intervention with Worthen’s monstrosity, the Civil War–era demon resurrected in his tomb, for which she’d had to beg The Powers and a certain sorcerer for help defeating. Or perhaps they didn’t like how she’d ignored Morin since she’d fought the demon and won. Whatever. She was a PI, not a witch. And right now, she had a job to do.
So why couldn’t she and Jason be watching the Peabody Hotel? Or any of the nicer hotels in the downtown area? The Deluxe Hotel was anything but deluxe. The marquee above the entrance was missing a few letters and read, Deluxe Ho, which on second thought appeared apropos for the sleazy dive.
The whole area had an aura of neglect. Trash overfilled bins and cluttered the gutters. Worse, a small tattered sign was taped to the hotel’s glass door: AA Meeting, 9 pm Saturday.
Mocking her. The very thing her ex-husband, and now sometimes boyfriend, had been nagging her to locate.
And worse yet, the car she sat in reeked of stale onion-and-anchovy pizza. If she didn’t know him better, she might have thought her partner had ordered it on purpose. But he’d munched away happily, while she’d chosen to drag in the scents from the overfilled bin they’d parked beside. Better unknown trash than fishy-smelling onion breath.
Her cheeks billowed around another harsh exhalation. How the hell could Jason sleep through all the noise she’d been making? She aimed a scowl his way, caught the quick lowering of his eyelids and a twitch at the side of his lips.
She gave a grunt and turned back to watch the entrance of the seedy old hotel where Mrs. Oscar Reyes was scheduled to meet up with her boy-toy. Or so Mr. Reyes had informed them this morning after hacking into his wife’s Facebook account.
“Get me pictures of the bitch,” he’d said, clearing his throat when Cait had given him a narrow-eyed glare. “I won’ believe it ’til I see.”
She’d eyed his oily hair, brushy mustache, and stocky frame and wondered why he was so surprised his wife had sought the attention of a lover who called her his “mariposa rubia.”
“Blonde butterfly,” Jason had translated under his breath since Cait’s Spanish was limited to curses.
Oscar Reyes was the typical slimy client they attracted—spouses seeking ammunition for divorce court, employers wanting an employee followed for proof they hadn’t been injured badly enough to warrant workmen’s comp.
Since Oscar had already done the legwork and found cyberproof of his wife’s infidelity, Cait wondered why the hell he’d hired them to snap the shots. A $500 retainer plus their hourly fee would rack up quite a bill in no time. But she’d refrained from asking him.
The nice fat check they’d gotten from the Memphis PD for helping find her first partner’s killer and three young women who’d been kidnapped by a demon hadn’t lasted long. So she and Jason were back hustling for smaller fish.
Which reminded her again of the half-eaten pizza in the backseat.
Ready to pitch the box into the trash bin, she paused when headlights flared as a car turned onto South Front Street. A low-slung sedan stopped in front of the hotel.
Cait waited for the beams to extinguish, and then raised her camera with its night-vision lens and took a look. Just as Oscar had predicted, Sylvia Reyes stepped out of the car, her bleached-blonde hair neon bright in the viewfinder. She wore an ass-hugging mini-skirt, four-inch heels, and a top that rode the curves of her full breasts.
Cait clicked off a couple of shots of the woman entering the hotel, then reached out and backhanded Jason’s belly. “Time to move.”
“Mmm, wha’?” he said, pretending to waken from a deep sleep.
She rolled her eyes. “Like you’ve been sleeping? It’s Reyes’s wife. Let’s see if we can catch her with her boyfriend.”
“Sound grumpy.” Jason flashed her a smile. “The anchovies gettin’ to you?”
She shrugged, pretending the stench hadn’t made her slightly nauseous. “It’s your car. The smell’ll be here for a week.”
With quiet moves, they opened their doors. Cait quickly replaced the special lens and hung the camera on her shoulder before jogging to the entrance. She pushed through the grimy glass, lifted her head in a vague nod to the clerk at the reception desk, and walked to the elevators, eying the red digital numbers above the doors. There were two elevators. Only one was moving, and it stopped and held at floor three.
She elbowed past two men and a woman laden with cameras and equipment bags. One held out a device Cait thought might be a light meter, but she changed her mind when a red light beeped on the top and it clicked like a Geiger counter.
“Do you see that?” the chubby man with a Fu Manchu said, elbowing the skinny dude beside him. “We’ve got something here.”
“Told you there’s lots of activity in this old place.”
Activity? She eyed them again, read the logo on their bags, and rolled her eyes. Reel PIs: Paranormal Investigators. As if. She stuck her finger in the elevator button, doing her best to ignore the morons. She hadn’t heard so much as a whisper or a wail since she’d entered the hotel.
“Faster goin’ up the stairs,” Jason said, pulling her arm with one hand and pointing toward the stairway door. He flipped the door handle and pushed through. “After you,” he said with a flourish of his hand. His grin said he knew how much she disliked racing up three flights.
She gave him the stink-eye and started the climb. When she reached the third-floor landing, she glanced through the door’s rectangular window, saw no one in the hallway, and opened the door.
The corridor smelled as bad as it looked—urine to complement the yellowed beige walls, mildew to enhance the brown-and-green plaid carpet.
Gasping to catch her breath, she looked left, then right, and caught a flash of impossibly blonde hair a moment before Sylvia Reyes turned the corner farther down the hallway. Cait hurried after her, on the scent of a woman about to cheat on her husband. She turned the corner, entering a hallway marked by a door frame for a double door that no longer existed. The corridor was empty. No room doors along the short hall closed to indicate where their target had gone.
Jason drew up beside her, his eyebrows rising. “What now? Listen for moaning?”
Giving him a shove, she took a step past the hallway door frame, and then halted, some instinct keeping her from pushing forward. Or maybe what stopped her was the yellow police tape covering one of the doors. Not something she had time to ponder right that moment because a strange hum sounded. A bulb popped, plunging the hallway into darkness. The hairs on her arms lifted a second before electricity arced from a light switch, sending out a bolt like lightning that shot toward the ceiling, then turned, traveling toward her, hitting doorways as though searching for ground. The jagged dagger of electricity darted, then blinked out, but not before she saw a figure, one in four-inch hot pink heels, her eyes rounding in terror—a figure she could see straight through to the piss-yellow wall behind her.
Darkness took the figure. Then another hissing arc flared from the light switch, brightening the hallway again. Sylvia Reyes was gone.
Jason grabbed her arm, pulled her back around the corner, and flattened her against the wall with an elbow digging into her belly.
The white bolt flickered past the corner, then dove to the floor, sparking out with a fizzle.
“Bad wiring?” he whispered.
She shook her head, shoved away his elbow, and stepped into the hall again. The faint smell of something burning lingered in the air. The hall was once again empty. And dark.
Cait held still, listening, and then she heard the sound. A soft wail. Like a distant echo. “Hear that?” she whispered.
“No. What do you hear?”
She swallowed. “Not anyone living.”
Then the faint sound of whispers rose, maybe half a dozen voices joining in chorus. Her hand dropped to the camera at her side. She flipped off the lens cap, raised the camera, and looked through the viewfinder. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than a really sleazy flophouse. Still, she clicked off a couple of shots. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t want to wait around until she leaves? A shot of the lady kissing her boyfriend good-bye would close this case.”
Cait shook her head, not wanting to voice what she suspected. Not before she was sure of exactly what she’d seen. “No. Let’s get back to the office. I have to look at something.”
Jason knew her well enough not to ask any more questions. The fact she was cutting the surveillance short told him they had a problem.
This time they took the elevator. The sooner she got out of here the better. Well, she’d gotten what she’d wished for. Something out of the ordinary had definitely happened.
Back at the Delta Detective Agency, Cait slipped the memory card from her camera into the slot in her computer. With a couple of clicks, she found the file of pictures and opened it.
There was Sylvia Reyes outside the Deluxe, her small cat-like features coated in too much makeup, her coarse blonde hair flattened to rest limply on her shoulders. Her expression was furtive, but excitement sparkled in her dark eyes. Another shot caught her too-tight skirt hugging her J-Lo butt. Then Cait clicked on the last two shots, unsure what she might see inside the third-floor hallway. Maybe nothing. Maybe something she didn’t want to see.
The shot showed an empty hallway. The photo was blurred, but the differences between the hall’s actual appearance and what was on the computer screen was startling. Gone were the yellowed walls and crappy brown and green carpet. In its place was wallpaper—a foiled gold-and-wine-colored paisley. The carpet was a solid blood red. The fixtures—lights, switches, brass plates on the door—were shiny and new.
“Where’d you take that?” Jason asked, hovering at her shoulder.
“At the Deluxe,” she said, closing out the file. She suppressed a shiver of dread.
“No kiddin’? How come I didn’t see that?”
She didn’t dare look his way. He’d see her shock and ask more questions. Questions she didn’t have any quick answers for.
“Tacky as hell, but—”
She gave a sharp shake of her head. “That’s not the way it is.” At last, she shot an upward glance.
Jason pushed out his lips. His gaze settled on her, waiting.
She knew he wouldn’t let her up from the chair until she gave him at least a clue of what was going on in her head. “It’s the way the hotel was.”
His gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”
She rubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t know what I mean.”
A frown dug a line between his blond-brown brows. “I don’t think Reyes is going to pay us for those shots or our time since we didn’t get what he wanted.”
“Reyes is the least of our problems,” she muttered.
Jason groaned. “It was the anchovies, right? This is your revenge?”
Her mouth tipped up into a smirk. “You think this is all about you? Poor little rich boy.”
He shook his head, grinning, but the fine lines beside his hazel eyes deepened with worry. “Since this case looks like major woo-woo is involved, you have the lead. Where to first?”
Cait grimaced. Once again, she had no doubt they were headed straight down the rabbit’s hole. “I need to talk to Sam about that taped-off room.”
March 12, 2013
New Release: In Too Deep
You ready to get your cowboy on? In Too Deep releases today! It’s the second in the Triple Horn Brand “reunion” series. This time it’s the middle brother Gabe finding his one true love. Night Owl Reviews called it an ”unabashedly carnal read.” I hope you enjoy it. It’s a sexy story, so be warned! And if you have time to leave a review at Samhain or Amazon, this author would be most appreciative!
Some things never change. And some things change everything.
The TripleHorn Brand, Book 2
Gabe Triplehorn can think of no better getaway from his heavy responsibilities at the ranch, than to go back to a time and place where he didn’t have a care in the world. When there was just a campground, a river and a girl.
When he gets to Red Hawk Landing, the campground and the river are still there. He just never expected the girl would still be there too. Only now she runs the place.
Lena Twohig can think of no better place to raise her young son than the family-owned campground that holds so many memories. Especially the romance with Gabe that lit up one long-ago summer like a wild electrical storm. Now he’s back, with a ranch-hardened body she knows she shouldn’t want so badly.
No amount of lies or the years that have passed can tame this tidal wave of passion.
At a bend in the road, he saw the sign nearly hidden by bushes because it tilted at an angle. Red Hawk Landing. Open Memorial Day to Labor Day.
The crackled, worn paint on the leaning sign didn’t bode well, but he took the turn anyway, his truck bumping along an uneven gravel trail that worked its way down a steep decline, heading toward the river’s edge.
When he made the clearing, he heaved a sigh of relief. The place was still in operation. Kids in cutoffs and swimming suits took running dives from the pier. Cars and pickups were parked in front of roughhewn wooden cabins.
He hoped like hell there was still one vacancy left for him and pulled up in front of the small lodge house. The place was clean but showing its age. Looked like the owner needed another handy man to help with a broken spoke or two in the wraparound porch and a window frame that appeared to be rotting away.
He put his truck in park and pushed down on the handle to open the door, but halted the moment she stepped onto the porch.
Lena Twohig. Sweet Jesus.
His breath caught, nostalgia blurring her appearance in a golden light that masked the years etched lightly into her features.
Sure, her figure was a tad fuller, her roots darker, but the feeling he got just looking at her as she lifted a hand to guard her eyes against the brilliant sunshine was exactly the same as it had been all those years ago.
A slow throbbing built in his groin. His body stiffened, going on alert. His gaze swept her womanly frame again, snagging on the generous swell of her bosom, the long, well-toned legs displayed beneath the hem of her shorts. Ten years had been kind indeed.
Then something glinted on one of the fingers cupping her eyes. A flash of white metal.
He remembered a slender band he’d given her. His last gift. A promise he’d never fulfilled. The desire he’d allowed to build while he’d ogled her began to slowly unwind. Lead settled in his stomach.
Lena was strictly on the look-but-don’t-touch list. What a cryin’ damn shame.
And how awkward. He considered backing out of the lot and heading to the coast to Corpus Christi or Galveston, but he couldn’t work up the interest.
Would she even remember him? He wasn’t the same tall, lanky kid with shaggy hair, all elbows and knees and horny, burning need.
His hair was darker, cut short. His face was tanned and toughened by the sun, the blades of his cheeks more pronounced, the corners of his jaw sharper. His body was filled out by years of physical labor.
His hand let go of the keys, and he felt a smile tug at his lips. So maybe he couldn’t hope for a lusty trip down memory lane, but how much fun would it be to pretend he’d never met her, never been here before? While never touching, he could tease and flirt using his intimate knowledge of her, and she’d never realize he knew exactly what he was doing.
And the mister? Well, he’d keep the games well away from him. He didn’t want to stir up trouble. Just wanted to have a little fun—a challenge that didn’t have a thing to do with cattle or balancing the ranch’s books.
He reached for the cowboy hat on the seat beside him, pushed open the door to his truck and stepped down to the ground. Once there, he put on his hat and strode toward the porch steps.
Her gaze swung his way, swept him briefly head to toe. She pasted on a smile of welcome, although he noted caution dug a line between her brows.
“Howdy, ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his hat.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
Her voice was huskier than he remembered but still had a lilting quality that caressed his nerve endings. Damn shame she was taken. He’d like nothing better than to hear that voice greeting him in the morning from the pillow next to his.
The throbbing that had begun at his first glimpse of her tall, statuesque figure intensified. Inconveniently, because he couldn’t think past the urgency in his loins. He cleared his throat. “I was hoping you had a vacancy. One of the cabins.”
“I’m sorry. We’re booked up.” She gave him a polite smile. “All I have are a couple of rooms in the lodge.”
She’s hoping I’ll pass. He returned her smile with a grin that stretched slowly across his face. “That’ll be fine then.”
“We aren’t fancy,” she said, eyeing his Lucchese boots. “I do provide meals in the dining room, but we don’t have a lot of amenities. Most folks come on weekends to float the river. The cabins have added features, their own barbeque pits and small fridges, but you’d have to take your meals in the dining room, and you’d have to share a bathroom.”
Gabe gave her an easy smile. “I just came to fish. Do you have poles to rent?”
She raised her brows a little bit. “Of course. And we can provide bait, worms and crickets. The gift shop has some fancy lures.”
“I’m hopin’ I don’t actually catch much.” He gave her a brief smile. “Fishin’s man code for bein’ lazy.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed.
Had it been his smile?
“Well, you can register inside,” she said, pointing toward the door behind her. “Kayla’s at the desk. She’ll get you settled.” She cleared her throat. “How long do you plan to stay?”
“A couple of weeks, ma’am.” He looked around the clearing and then swept her body with a quick glance. “That ought to be long enough.”
He could see the questions in her eyes. And a hint of anxiety.
He hadn’t meant to make her worry and wondered at its cause—unless she was feeling the same lazy heat that was burning through him.
Damn inconvenient she was married, because he’d have loved to entice her into his bed. Gabe wasn’t the least shy about going after what he wanted, and he wanted her. At least to see whether she was still as hot-blooded and adventurous as she’d been all those years ago when he’d been a boy not yet sure of himself, and she’d been a girl ready to take on the role of sexual tutor.
Again, he touched the brim of his hat and walked toward the door. He fought the urge to glance back and see if she was still watching him.
Best not take this little game too far. The last thing he wanted was to walk into the end of a shotgun held by a jealous husband. That had happened to him once, and he’d been damn sure ever since that any woman he pursued was completely free.
He stepped through the lodge’s door and pulled the scents of Pine-Sol and lemon oil into his nose. Neither could quite mask the lingering floral scent of her perfume. He shook his head, wondering why he’d insisted on staying. There was nothing for him here. He’d have been better off heading straight back to the ranch, but then he suspected he’d just be surlier than ever since his expectations hadn’t been met.
Still, for a moment when he’d first seen her, he’d felt something inside him relax. At the very least, if he stayed he could satisfy his curiosity about her life. And maybe he could finally let go.
March 11, 2013
Guest Blogger: C.A. Szarek (Contest)
Thank you very much for having me today, Delilah!
I would like to share with the world, my VERY FIRST book, Sword’s Call (King’s Rider’s Book 1).
This story is very close to my heart because I literally had a dream about it about thirteen years ago. I have been writing since I was a teenager, but over the years I would go back and forth, not really writing consistently. Until a few years ago when I decided to “get serious” about it and got back to this story, wrote, re-wrote, edited and finished it. Ultimately, I sold it to my AWESOME publisher, Gypsy Shadow Publishing.
Post a comment today and one lucky winner will win their choice of a swag pack (including a tee or totebag) or a copy of my book, in e-book format.
For generations, the Ryhans, ruling family of the Province of Greenwald have been keepers of a sword rumored to possess enough magic to defeat kings. Lord Varthan, a former archduke and betrayer of the king, covets the sword and invades Greenwald.
Lady Ceralda Ryhan, daughter of the murdered duke, gains the sword and flees, trusting only her white wolf, Trikser—magically bonded to her. Cera needs nothing more to aid in her fight.
Jorrin Aldern, half elfin and half human, left his home in the mountains of Aramour to find his human father who disappeared twenty turns before, but finds Cera with Varthan and his shades on her tail instead. His dual heritage and empathic magic will tempt Cera in ways she never thought she’d desire. But can he convince her trust and love can pave the path to redemption or will the epic battle end in tragedy and evil conquer them all?
“Tell me about it,” Jorrin encouraged.
“I pictured our magic as a rope and wrapped it around us. I stepped into him, making us one. I concentrated and I saw you. But then I saw me, too. My eyes were closed, and I felt like I was sitting beside myself. It was…unsettling, at first. But then Trik must have moved his head, because I saw into the woods…he turned, right?”
He grinned at her. “Yes, he did. You did do it.”
“His eyesight is so sharp. It was a wonder to see.” Their eyes locked and held. Air ruffled her hair, causing gooseflesh to rise on her neck as a substantial breeze kicked up.
Trikser made a noise in his throat but she ignored him.
Jorrin looked so wild and beautiful with the wind in his dark hair, his high cheekbones flushed with color to the tips of his slender tapered ears. Her heart skipped as his blue eyes darkened and she read intense heat there.
Last night he’d been in her dreams. Try as she might, Cera could no longer deny that she was attracted to him. That she’d liked that kiss he stole what seemed ages ago.
Would he kiss her again? Heat crept up her neck and burned her cheeks.
The way he was looking at her right then made her lose her train of thought and her worries.
“Tell Trikser to move.”
“What?” But Cera already sent the mental command. Her bond slipped off her lap with little encouragement. He’d caught sight of a rabbit, and took off after it.
Jorrin grabbed her hand and tugged forward. She fell onto his lap, moving to him instead of away, ignoring mental cautions that this wasn’t a good idea, despite her dreams, her admitted attraction.
Their lips met in heated rushed. Cera’s arms shot around his neck and she pressed closer. His body was hard against hers and a tremor shot down her spine.
Her breasts pressed into his chest as he pinned her against him. Jorrin shoved his tongue into her mouth and groaned. She clung to him, moving her mouth under his
When she touched her tongue to his, he moaned, his hands shooting down to cup her bottom.
Cera wiggled in his arms as an unfamiliar warmth enveloped her like an embrace. Jorrin’s erection pressed into her hip and she clutched his tunic with both hands.
When he kissed her harder, her head spun. Feeling his urgency, confusion rushed her. She moaned, fighting the sensation of his warmth, his strength as he squeezed her against him. Her desire for more. Her desire for him. She couldn’t lose control.
Yanking back, she panted against him.
Jorrin’s chest heaved into her breasts as they both struggled for breath. “What’s wrong?” he croaked.
WHERE YOU CAN FIND IT!
Gypsy Shadow | Barnes and Noble | Amazon |Amazon UK | ARe|Smashwords
About me:
Sword’s Call is C.A.’s first book, and is the first in the King’s Riders Series. C.A. also has a Romanic suspense, Collision Force, published by Total-E-Bound Publishing and will be released July 1, 2013.
C.A. is originally from Ohio, but got to Texas as soon as she could. She is married and has a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice.
She works with kids when she’s not writing.
She’s always wanted to be a writer and is overjoyed to share her stories with the world.
Where to find ME online:
Blog: www.caszarekwriter.blogspot.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/caszarek
Twitter: @caszarek
I LOVE to hear from readers: caszarekauthor@gmail.com
March 10, 2013
Guest Blogger: Heather Hambel Curley
I’m a history girl with a writing problem. Or, maybe a writing girl with a history problem; regardless, I have an out of control passion for the American Civil War. I am a Civil War reenactor. I like Civil War trivia. I like running around Civil War battlefields. My blog, The Rambling Jour, is actually named after an obscure firsthand account of the clerk of the provost marshal’s office in Harper’s Ferry during the war.
And I like writing about the Civil War.
Don’t get me wrong, there are things about the Civil War I don’t like. I’ve never read Gone with the Wind. Tactics and strategies put me to sleep. I thrive in the effect the war had on civilians and medical procedures. I’d rather read about the role of women and how that role changed as the war changed.
My recently completed novel, Anything You Ask of Me, is about all three of those key elements. In 1862, a society girl turned spy must decide which is more important: the married general who asks her to risk everything for him, or the man tasked to stop her at any cost.
There is a monument in Gettysburg, near the copse of trees on the third day’s portion of the battlefield, inscribed with a few simple words: Double canister at twenty yards.
Canister shot. Canister shot is basically a tin can full of golf ball sized steel balls; it turns an artillery piece into a giant shot-gun. Double canister is two rounds of canister shot jammed into the barrel of the piece.
The effect of the human body is devastating. These are the men listed in the ominous “missing” column in the ranks of casualties. These are the men who simply disappear in a pink mist.
We have a nasty habit of referring to the Civil War as “the last gentleman’s war” or the last war before the initiation of modern warfare. But this is so far from the truth. Soft lead bullets, like the Minié ball, enter the body the size of a quarter but come out the size of a pancake. If a soldier survives his wound, it is more than likely he will die of infection. In the 1860s, we could see bacteria under microscopes—we knew it was there—but we didn’t understand how it impacted the human body. This was the cusp of medical breakthroughs. The war forced us to understand.
This is why I write historical fiction.
I’m a twenty-first century girl. I drive an SUV to work. I sit in front of a computer all day long. I listen to Swedish Death Metal (I know, this actually surprised me too) on my iPhone while I edit my novel on my laptop. I talk on a cell phone and wear jeans and eyeliner and take for granted all of our modern conveniences.
But I’ve also been cinched into a corset. I’ve ridden in the back of a temperance wagon and marched in a temperance parade. I’ve sat in a dry goods store and hand sewn a quilt by kerosene lamp and sewn on a period treadle sewing machine. I’ve felt the rumble in my chest when a 12 pound light gun howitzer artillery piece was fired near me. I’ve done archaeology of an antebellum house and held shattered pottery in my hand, textiles not handled by a human since, in one moment one hundred and fifty years ago, it broke and was discarded. I’ve been touched by the past and it haunts me. I refuse to forget the sacrifices of those who came before us and stared death in the face—and chose to march forward anyway.
This is why I write historical fiction. Because those who are remembered, never die.
Heather Hambel Curley is just a hot momma writing a novel about (what else?) the Civil War and the brutally hot men who fought it. And she likes cupcakes. For more, she can be found at http://heatherhambelcurley.wordpress.com or http://www.facebook.com/heatherhambelcurley
March 9, 2013
Saturday Snippet: City as Setting (Contest)
Today’s theme is “City as Setting.” And what does that mean? Well, writers always try to paint a picture of where the story is set—enough so the reader can climb into the scene and live with the characters. Sometimes, a setting becomes a character itself, in the sense that the place has its own tone and personality. Just after Katrina hit, in the days when the city was filled with people who’d come to help put it back together, NPR and the TV news ran stories incessantly about the cleanup and what New Orleans looked like. I’d been to New Orleans several times before the storm hit, so I knew what it was like before, and it wasn’t hard for me to picture the dismal atmosphere during the months following the storm. In Silent Knight, I created a hero just as depressed and dismal as the city streets he walked—someone equally in need of rescue. Take a look…
If you post a comment today, you’ll be entered to win
a free download of this book!
“…The perfect holiday read! Delilah Devlin took a Christmas tale to a whole new level when she crafted SILENT KNIGHT.” ~5 Stars, Heather, eCataRomance
“…[SILENT KNIGHT] is a sizzling hot vampire story that will take you on a short escape — the perfect read for a busy holiday season. Sexy and fun, make sure Silent Knight is on your holiday “must read” list!” ~4 Kisses, Romance Divas
“Erotically decedent and thrillingly carnal, Noelle and Magnus’ story is enough to make a person self-combust with want.” ~4 Roses, A Romance Review
In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, Noelle Moyaux questions her gift of sight until a chance encounter with a mysterious stranger sets her on a path to save his soul.
Magnus Thornton is a millennium-old vampire who has found evidence of an old foe’s evil at work in the demolished city of New Orleans . Weary of the fight, he decides to greet the coming dawn after a night reveling in his favorite things–a bottle of Bordeaux and a willing woman.
Noelle seems the answer, but she quickly creeps into his heart-the vampire, so jaded from life he never speaks, must now persuade Noelle to flee the city before it’s too late.
Noelle Moyaux flicked off the battery-powered Christmas lights that ringed her metal cart, folded her purple tablecloth into a small tidy square and tucked it and the folding table inside the cart before latching the lid closed.
She wheeled the cart across the busy street and waved to her friend Gerard, the owner of a small Cajun restaurant. Continuing around the back of the eatery, she stowed her palmistry kiosk in the storage unit she’d rented from Gerard since before the troubles.
Today’s earnings were slim, despite the unseasonably warm weather that allowed the thin-blooded residents of the city to roam the streets in light jackets. No one believed in a future amid the chaos—and some questioned her ability since she’d received no divination of the coming catastrophe. Indeed, Noelle questioned her gift daily as she sat beneath her umbrella in front of the embroidered cloth advertising “Noelle’s News”.
If not for the little nest egg of money she’d saved from substitute teaching before the flood, she’d be in dire straits.
Clutching her purse close to her side, she headed down the street toward home.
One last night. One last chance to lose myself in The Hunger, a fine glass of wine and the body of a willing woman. Before my last sunrise—the first I will see in nearly a thousand years…
Noelle heard the quiet, fleeting thought as she passed through the crowd ambling along Bourbon Street and spun to find the owner. The inner voice that accompanied the thought was masculine and raspy. Added to the familiar spark of connection when her skin had brushed against his was a wash of the blackest melancholy she’d ever sensed. It nearly drowned her in despair.
But whose? No one stood out among the evening crowd of construction workers, disaster-junkies and uprooted residents looking for diversion from the daily serving of desolation New Orleans had become. Was he an out-of-town contractor lonely for his home and family during the holiday? Or a N’awlins native who’d lost his friends and community to the terrible storm with the pretty name?
Whichever, she had to find him. She’d spent months second-guessing her place in the world, wondering if her gift served a higher purpose or just provided a distraction from true contribution. This brief glimpse into another’s pain seemed the answer she’d been seeking.
Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, she reminded herself God didn’t give away special gifts without expecting extraordinary sacrifice. The man was clearly demented. He believed himself a thousand years old. And he meant to end his life—with a sunrise?
Perhaps he only felt a thousand years old, so great was his sadness. And maybe she hadn’t understood the flash-burn of light and the acrid scent of singed flesh that accompanied the dour thoughts. But if someone intended to blow himself up or set himself ablaze, it was up to her to save him. He’d touched her. Now his fate belonged to her.
She walked back the way she’d come, letting her hand drift out from her side, skimming the tourists and garbage collectors, finding nothing darker than desire for the buzz of alcohol and a quick, illicit screw. Then she touched him again and instantly recognized his painful soul.
She paused, suddenly overwhelmed. Dark, erotic pictures blurring like an out-of-focus film spooled through her mind—limbs sliding sinuously apart and together, lips and fingers gliding over sweat-slick skin, powerful, full-shaft surges into warmth so tight and hot Noelle’s nipples beaded in response to the lustful images.
A finger trailed down her cheek, taking away her breath, and she blinked back into focus. He stood close. Large, black Spanish boots, polished so well they reflected lamp glow, were braced apart.
Afraid to look up, she swallowed, tempted to continue past and forget all about trying to save his soul from a terrible sin.
Then he lifted her chin, dragging up her face until their gazes clashed.
Amid the bustle, called greetings and the jazz blaring from several bars, a blanket of quiet fell around her, around him, as she stared at his stark, rugged beauty. She blinked, unable to hold his steady blue gaze and instead let hers drift over him.
Lamplight reflected against curling brown hair with glints of gold interwoven in the shoulder-length strands. His height and the breadth of his shoulders made her wonder how she’d ever missed him in the crowd. Clad in black from head to boot, he must have seemed like one big shadow. A square jaw and blunt nose emphasized the strength evident in his frame.
But those blue eyes disturbed her most. Bleak, wintery blue that pierced the space between them, drawing her closer like a fishing reel—only she was the trembling catch.
When she stood so close his breath stirred her hair, she drew a shaky breath.
His gaze dipped to her mouth, and Noelle felt the heat of his glance lick a searing path across her lips. She touched them with her tongue, half expecting to feel blisters.
His eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, and his hand slipped around her wrist.
You’ll do.
His lips hadn’t moved but she read his intent. His head dipped and she found herself incapable and unwilling of resisting while he dragged firm lips across hers.
Eyes wide open, she shivered, unable to break the spell holding her immobile. A shallow gasp broke from her lips and he deepened the intimate caress, rubbing his lips on hers, sinking strong fingers into her hair to bring her face closer still.
When he drew away, she realized they stood with bodies pressed as close as lovers, a thick-muscled thigh thrust between hers, anchoring her quivering frame. The heat of that masculine thigh pressed through her cotton skirt and she rocked her hips, rubbing on it like a cat.
Come.
Suspended on that thigh, she stood limp in his arms. “I will,” she whispered, and realized he may not have heard her. “Don’t stop.”
Not here. Where?
“Close, I’m close.” And she was. Warmth pooled between her thighs, her breasts tightened against his solid chest.
He chuckled—not a lighthearted sound, but dry and raspy as though his voice was seldom used.
His thigh slid from between hers, and he snagged her wrist again.
Now.
Swaying on her feet, Noelle fought the haze of desire that fluttered around her body and mind like a wispy curtain. How had he done that? Made her forget herself and her mission?
Then she remembered—he’d wanted a willing woman for one last night.
Despite the sensual languor he’d built, she pulled free of his hold and straightened, lifting her chin. “Not so fast, mister.”
He stood still as stone, the slight breeze lifting his hair the only motion. You followed me.
“I thought you…” Wait a minute. She stared at his lips. They hadn’t moved—and she wasn’t touching him.
Don’t think too much. I won’t harm you.
She shook her head, a frisson of fear prickling her spine.
Even without the physical connection, his voice slipped inside her mind like a stealthy wraith. You followed me. You want this too.
She shook her head again. Her gift led her to him. “I wanted to…save you.”
A mirthless smile curved his lips. Too late. I’m already damned. He stepped back and gave her a short bow. I’ll not keep you.
That old-fashioned courtesy struck her as odd. As did the sadness tightening the smile on his lips. As he turned to leave her, the quiet that had enveloped them lifted and the jarring sounds surrounded her again, disconnecting her from the compelling figure disappearing into the crowd.
Then she remembered the deep searing pain she’d felt when she’d first encountered his desolate soul. This last night she’d been placed in his path to find him. Just because the saving might require an intimate surrender to slip inside his walls, she shouldn’t be dissuaded from her mission. And she was honest enough to admit he’d stoked her curiosity as well as her libido.
“Wait!” she called out to his rapidly disappearing figure. “Don’t go!”
He halted but didn’t look back.
Slowly, her steps faltering as her heartbeats increased, she reached him and slid her palm along his. Only when his fingers curved around her hand did she take a deep breath. Enveloped again in warmth and the odd quiet, she let him lead her down the street.
* * * * *
Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:
Leah Braemel
Caris Roane
Eliza Gayle
McKenna Jeffries
Selena Blake
Taige Crenshaw
Felicity Heaton
Shiloh Walker
Myla Jackson
Lauren Dane
Jody Wallace
March 8, 2013
Guest Blogger: Anne Lange
Worth the Risk was written in response to a submission call looking for stories with a Canadian theme. Since, I’m a Canadian, I figured, hey, I can do that. I can even throw in a few “eh’s” and “aboot’s” (just kidding, we actually say “about” like everyone else 
).
The underlying premise of my story was inspired by something that happened to me more than a few years ago. But, no spoilers are being given away here, so instead I thought I’d provide a little history lesson around the Canadian weekend during which Worth the Risk takes place.
Origins
May 24th, or the Monday before May 25 is officially known as Victoria Day.
The holiday, named after British monarch – Queen Victoria – gave royal assent to Confederation. She was born on May 24, 1819, ascended to the throne in 1837 and ruled until 1901 – holding the longest reign in British history. This is also how the term Victorian era was coined, a period of significant change in many areas for the British Empire. Parliament declared her birthday a statutory holiday in 1845.
When Victoria died in 1901, the day officially became known as Victoria Day. Through the years, however, the birthdays for the reigning King or Queen was also celebrated. That’s a lot of cake! Apparently, continuous improvement and process efficiency are not new ideas, for in 1952 a decision was made, and proclamation passed, to declare the Monday before May 25th as the official day to celebrate both Victoria’s and the current reigning sovereign’s birthdays. Party poopers.
Today in Canada, May 24 signifies a few things. Winter is over, and summer is just around the corner. We can start planting our veggies and flowers without the risk of frost. More importantly, it’s the traditional long weekend when we open camps and cottages, and for those in the north, it signifies the start of summer Blackfly season. Believe me, they are horrible little bugs that get in your hair, your eyes and they love to feast on little children.
The reference to ‘two-four’ rather than ‘twenty-fourth’ is a Canadian inside joke referring to the obligatory case of 24 bottles of beer. Provincial parks and camp grounds begin officially accepting visitors, and community parks and outdoor patios are thriving. You’ll see fireworks in all major cities, and many small communities. The barbeques are hot, friends and family are near, and the pool is being prepped.
We’ve got nicknames for it: May Two-Four, May long weekend, May Long or even Firecracker Day. But for most Canadians, this particular weekend starts things rolling for the next few months. And regardless of the weather (cause quite often it’s cold and wet), WE DON’T CARE! It’s time to party!
So, here’s Worth the Risk. I hope you enjoy your weekend!
Even the hottest sex might not be enough to ease the pain of the past…
Molly Simpson arrives at a beautiful provincial park, ready to spend the May Two-Four holiday camping with friends. This weekend is the highlight of her year—or it was, until Tanner Daivies showed up. Her high school crush is all grown up, sexy as sin, and he’s demanding answers—answers Molly isn’t sure she can give him. She had her reasons for leaving him all those years ago, but now, sex with Tanner is scorching, and when they’re together, it’s clear they were never meant to be apart. But the past doesn’t want to stay buried, and Molly isn’t sure reliving it is worth the risk…
Excerpt : (if you’d prefer – just use the hyper link which goes back to my site)
It was really him. Curiosity got the better of her, and she glanced back over her shoulder. Memories assaulted her as he removed his six-foot-plus frame from the car to stand in the center of the welcome circle. Her friends were all talking at him, their voices filled with excitement. Judging by his glazed expression, their reaction left him a little overwhelmed.
Ten years. She rubbed her chest, thinking back to the invisible ache that had bothered her earlier on the drive here. She’d struggled the entire two hours to keep her focus on the road and not on painful memories from her past.
She flexed her fingers. Maybe the cause of her earlier distress was the fact that this year served as a milestone. Ten years since graduation, ten years since she last saw Tanner, and ten years since…fuck. When did she start counting? Molly searched the area for possible escape routes.
Colleen’s gentle shake brought her back to the moment. “Brad texted me earlier and said he took the afternoon off. He also said he was bringing a surprise with him. He’s been dating somebody new. I just assumed—”
“Um…yeah. I wouldn’t have expected Brad’s surprise to be Tanner either. It…ah…caught me off guard. That’s—” Oh, crap. “I just need a few minutes.”
“You’ve got no color in your face. I’m sure it will be OK. Awkward, yes, but probably fine.”
Molly’s heart palpitated. Colleen’s mouth moved, but the buzz in her ears drowned out the words. She swallowed hard. Air, she needed air.
“Besides, the others won’t let him cause a scene. You’re the one we’ve stayed close to over the years, not him. Our allegiance is to you, honey.”
Molly swung her gaze to where her childhood friends had gathered around the car, effectively pinning Tanner against it. Sam and Olivia, a couple since they were in diapers, were married now, and both glowed like beacons.
Violet, a transplant from Toronto when her parents divorced, hovered close, waiting for her turn to say hi.
Brad and Tanner had been best friends through grade school and high school. Brad had been pissed when Tanner left town without a word to anyone. Looked as though he got over it.
Molly had never told anybody why she and Tanner broke up. She’d stressed over it at the time, deflecting comments from friends about him disappearing days before graduation. She hated the thought of being subjected to the pity she’d see on their faces if they knew the truth. Everybody just assumed the breakup had been his doing. She never corrected them, just implied she’d agreed with his decision.
Colleen’s words began to cut through the insistent noise. Molly nodded. “Thank you. That means more to me than you know.” Unshed tears burned her eyes. She opened her mouth and sucked in a shaky breath, but at least she had oxygen in her lungs now. “You’re right. It will be…fine.” She gulped. “Why don’t you go over and say hi?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m going to wait here for a few more minutes.” She began calculating the odds of sneaking past her friends and making a quick getaway before any of them noticed. She made a mental note to back her car in next time.
“OK.” Colleen gave her a final squeeze and walked over to join the others.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Molly closed her eyes, wishing for a paper bag. A really big one. She so did not need this in her life right now.
Author BIO:
Anne Lange grew up with a love of reading. In fact, if you take a close look, she’s got a book with her where ever she goes, and will usually sneak in at least a chapter or ten whenever she can spare a few minutes. She reads many genres of fiction, but prefers to write sexy romance with attractive men, strong females, and always a happily ever after.
While embarking on a career as a romance author, Anne juggles a full time job and a family. She grew up in Southern Ontario (Canada), but now makes her home in Eastern Ontario where she lives with her husband and three children, and Rocky the bearded dragon.
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March 7, 2013
Guest Blogger: Lynda Kaye Frazier
I have always loved to read. I lean towards the suspense genre, but I love a good erotic story. Who doesn’t? But I found out fast that reading and writing a sex scene are two different things, and I suck at writing them.
In my first book I have one sex scene. I swear I wrote it with the lights off. You see I grew up in a strict Irish Catholic home and went to a catholic school. My mother never mentioned that word in the house and the nuns would send us to confession if they even thought we had those ideas in our head. I will admit I spent many hours in confession. :smile: I just felt guilty, but once I got older I realized god was not reading over my shoulder.
Now I want a story to grab me, pull me in, and make me feel like I’m part of the scene. That’s what I want from a book I write. When I was younger I would blush and skim over the parts that described the anatomy. So when I made an attempt at a short erotic story it was like an anatomy lesson. Part A touches part B Then puts C into D and so on. I had 2300 words written when I stopped to read it. I laughed for hours at how funny I sounded. It was like I was in confession trying to explain my sins. Boy do I need a support group. I decided to scrap that attempt. I’m not going to quit trying. I am determined to get one hot, sweaty sex scene that will pull you in and make you wish you were the one tied to the bed.
Like I said, in my first full length novel I have one sweet love scene. There is heavy petting, even with the description of body parts, yah me. But towards the end we fade to black and I let your imagination finish the rest. Sounds like a copout but it was the best I could do at the time. I decided it was time to come, (no pun intended), to terms with my past and take a class in erotic writing and BDSM. I know, I’m jumping in pretty deep and there is a reason. My character, Davis, is a by the book FBI agent with a secret and it has to do with a lot of bondage and an undercover assignment that will take him to the dark areas of a life no one knows he has. I know, you’re all laughing thinking I will need a ghost writer for that one. It was not my idea, it was his. We all know our characters write their own story, or do they?
Did you ever have a problem writing a scene, and if so what was it and what did you do to work past it?
I think someone should write a book called…Writing erotic for dummies. I learn better with a little guidance and a lots of pictures. 
My new release, Rescued from the Dark, published through Black Opal Books.
FBI agent, Jason Michaels goes undercover with the Irish Mob to get information on their gun smuggling ring. While on assignment he realizes they have joined forces with a known terrorist group manufacturing drugs. He searches for information to tie the two together when he finds out they have kidnapped a fellow agent, and the only girl he has ever loved. Jason soon realizes their using Mercy to perfect their dosage and that his cover has been blown. He knows he has to save her so takes off on a journey that will take him up against his enemies, peers and the Agency that he loves, but willing to give up to bring Mercy back to him.
She has no memory of their love…
Kidnapped by terrorists and sent into a drug-induced coma, FBI intern Mercedes Kingsley awakes with no memory of her ordeal—or the intimate interlude that left her pregnant. Convinced her child was fathered by her fiancé, she walks away from the only man she has ever loved, determined to make things work with her ex, a man the FBI suspects is implicated in her abduction.
He knows the truth, but no one will listen…
FBI undercover agent Jason Michaels remembers what Mercy can’t and those memories are breaking his heart. Forced to keep his distance from his lover and their unborn child, Jason risks his life to protect Mercy from a cell of international terrorists who have vowed to get the secrets locked in her memory, no matter the cost. Can Jason convince Mercy to trust him until she remembers their past, or will he lose her to a man who will trap her in a nightmare world of darkness for which there is no escape?
An explosion ricocheted behind Jason Michael’s eyes as the pressure mounted in his head. The rush of panic consumed him. He struggled to move, tried to swallow, but nothing. His throat burned as the flames engulfed his lungs. He needed to breathe but couldn’t. Shit. He strained to make out the muffled voice, but the pounding in his ears erased all hope. His head started to spin and he succumbed to the realization, this was it, the end. He won. The flames dampened and his heartbeat slowed as the drums subsided, then the voice became clear.
“Give it to him now you son of a bitch. What were you thinking? We still need him.”
In a split second, Jason sucked in a breath, causing stabbing pains to shoot through his chest. Every muscle fiber burned as the cold blast of air shot through his lungs releasing the oxygen his body craved. He arched his back, raising his chest up to pull in more air when his head snapped to the side and the crack from his neck echoed in his ears. The pain ripped through his jaw, racing across his cheekbone. Before he could gather his senses, intense burning set his face on fire. What the hell?
The slap against his cheek stung, and his eyes snapped open. He wrenched upright, hitting his head on the roof of the SUV. His gaze darted back and forth looking for something familiar until he locked onto the ice-cold stare of the devil himself, Shaun Flanagan.
Damn, that was close. Jason could not blow his cover, even if it meant he would die as David Logan and not Jason Michaels.
“You’re finally awake, my boy. We almost lost you,” Shaun cold, emotionless laugh caused Jason’s blood to boil. “You stopped breathing, I think. It’s hard to tell with this new stuff. I hope you’re not too injured. We’ve got work to do.”
Jason’s vision blurred, but his other senses were sharp. Shaun had known exactly what the drug would do and the burn in Jason’s throat was a harsh reminder. Shaun’s sarcastic tone spoke volumes to him. He was evil and did not play by anyone’s rules but his own. Jason had spent the last two months undercover, playing their games and doing their dirty work to buddy up tight to this family. He’d earned his spot with Thomas Flanagan, but his son Shaun had issues trusting anyone, even his own father.
Jason’s anger burned inside of him, but he couldn’t afford to make mistakes, not now. He was too close. It’s time to step it up, but first the drugs had to stop. He rubbed his aching jaw with one hand, clenching his other into a fist to hide his visible shaking. He had to get control of this game before he lost everything.
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March 6, 2013
Guest Blogger: JoAnn Ainsworth
The older I get, the more I believe we live a life of self-fulfilling prophecies.
I grew up with grandparents who used to quote from the old version of the King James Bible (Proverbs 23:7): “As you think, so shall ye be.” I thought the idea was a bunch of hooey at the time. More and more, I find I use goal visualization as an essential part of daily living. Visualization is how I stay focused while writing and marketing.
Here’s how I do it. I create in my mind’s eye the result I want to accomplish. I then decide on the “baby” steps needed to get to the goal. I’ve learned to be patient and wait for the process to work itself out. I use these visualizations to keep stress off my shoulders. With specific goals in mind and taking the steps needed to reach the goal, I can’t ask more of myself. No need to stress out.
At some point, I started wondering how I could use “self-fulfilling prophecy” in a love story where my heroine wants to find an ideal mate. One thing I decided right off was that, if she is what she thinks, she can’t obsess over all the wrongs done to her by men. To obsess would fill her mind with everything she doesn’t want to happen. According to the self-fulfilling prophecy, those obsessions would come true.
She’d instead have to look for all the things she loves about men and decide which of those she’d like rolled into one “ideal” male. My heroine’s biggest challenge would be to stay focused on that “ideal” male package and not let contradictory, negative thoughts interfere—whether from her past, her friends and family or from the media. Negativity would bounce her out of her vision. Her eyes would be blinded so she wouldn’t be able to recognize her ideal man if he was in front of her nose.
Years ago I read that it takes ten positive thoughts to wipe out one negative thought. I made a commitment to be as optimistic about my writing goals as I can be and not have waste time overcoming those negative thoughts.
In the novel, despite the passage of time, staying positive and focused on what she wants would be my character’s biggest challenge. Sadly, I never wrote the novel, but I did start using visualization in my own life.
For example, if I’m giving a talk on writing techniques, I don’t think of all the things that can go wrong. I think instead of what I want the audience to get out of the talk. If I assign a writing goal to myself as I go to bed, I don’t wake up in the morning and go over a list of things in my head that could go wrong and get in the way of accomplishing that goal. I wake up focused on the goal and believing I can accomplish it. In most cases, this turns out to be true.
Of course, sometimes life gets in the way. I then re-align the goal and re-focus. What I don’t do is whine about how something always gets in the way. That’s self-defeating. If I did that while believing in a self-fulfilling prophecy, that’s how my day would end up–something would always be getting in the way. Instead, I focus on my adjusted goal and keep striving ahead, not fretting that there is still a lot of road to travel.
Optimism must work. I have a contract in hand on my fifth manuscript. With this sale, I will have sold every manuscript I’ve ever written.
I recommend optimism, visualization and staying focused on the goal no matter what you do in life.
What about you? How do you achieve your goals?
JoAnn Smith Ainsworth
MATILDA’S SONG (ISBN: 978-1-60504-195-7)
OUT OF THE DARK (ISBN: 978-1-60504-277-0)
POLITE ENEMIES (ebook ISBN: 978-1-61160-636-2) release Sept. 2013
THE FARMER AND THE WOOD NYMPH (ebook ISBN: 978-1-61160-660-7) release Dec. 2013
http://www.joannsmithainsworth.com/
Visit JoAnn Ainsworth on Facebook and Twitter.
Duty requires sacrifice…but the heart will not be denied.
At the time, pretending marriage to her middle-aged widower cousin seemed like the best way to escape a politically motivated betrothal to a brutal knight. Now, her journey toward a new life has landed her in hot water—she’s been waylaid by a local Norman baron who’s mistaken her for a real bride. And he demands First Night rights.
Hot water turns to steam in a scalding night of passion…passion she has never known. And now must live without.
Lord Geoffrey is entranced at first sight of the Anglo-Saxon beauty and finds that one night in her arms is not nearly enough. But all he can offer the low-born Matilda is a life in the shadows—as his mistress.
Her head warring with her heart, Matilda resigns herself to her duty in a masquerade of a marriage. It’s a choice that could cost her life.
For the knight who first sought her hand is back with murder on his mind. Now it’s Geoff who’s faced with the ultimate choice: which is more precious…his estates or the love of the one woman who can heal his soul?
Warning: Warning, this title contains the following: a Norman baron who teaches an Anglo-Saxon beauty the medieval mambo in the bedroom. Men fight to the death for this lady’s honor.
When author JoAnn Smith Ainsworth carried wood as a pre-teen so her Great Aunt Martha could stoke up the iron stove to prepare dinner, she wasn’t thinking, “I could use this in a novel someday.” Yet, the skills she learned from her horse-and-buggy ancestors translate into backdrops for her historical romance and paranormal suspense novels.
Believing it’s never too late to create your dream, she resurrected a desire to write when in retirement. Her debut medieval romantic suspense novels, MATILDA’S SONG and OUT OF THE DARK, received 4 stars from RT Book Reviews. Her two historical western romance novels will be e-published by Whiskey Creek Press (POLITE ENEMIES (EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-61160-636-2, Release date September 2013 ); THE FARMER AND THE WOOD NYMPH (EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-61160-660-7 , Release date December 2013)). Both will be published in print a few months later.
Her agent (Dawn Dowdle of Blue Ridge Literary Agency) is currently marketing a paranormal suspense series.
Among JoAnn’s achievements are Chief Clerk of a U.S. Senate Judiciary Subcommittee, database administrator for an international law firm and a 3 1/2-mo. trip around the world. She is a graduate of the University of California, Berkeley with a double major in English and Social Science. She has her Masters in Teaching from FairleighDickinsonUniversity and her M.B.A. studies from PepperdineUniversity. She’s most proud of becoming an author as a senior citizen.
To learn more, check out her website: http://www.joannsmithainsworth.com. Visit JoAnnAinsworth on Facebook and Twitter.
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March 5, 2013
A Question, After the Interruption…
“We interrupt this program…”
I used to love that opening message I used to hear on radio or TV (for some reason I picture a man cupping an ear and speaking into a big silver microphone). It was ominous. You knew it wasn’t an advertisement, but something you needed to pay attention to. And who was the “we”? I imagined green aliens with long needle-like fingernails, standing behind the bespeckled announcer as he read his lines. Yeah, I know, it began early with me.
So I don’t have anything really important to announce. And I’m not sure why I led with that line, but I go with what pops into my head, and that was it. Maybe because last night I dreamed that my daughter gave birth to an alien with large slanted eyes and an elliptical-shaped head? And it was huge. half-grown, and already shooting lasers out its eyes.
I should remind you that I have a new book coming out in exactly a week. It’s a lazy, summery, fuckfest. Yeah, I said that too. If you’re needing your FF fix, look no further than In Too Deep! Oh, it’s got a cowboy. Nuff said?
Here’s your question today. Just because I know you have a burning need to share…
What is your favorite kind of party? A wedding, birthday, hens or stags, New Year’s Eve, Star Party, or tailgate? And what do you like to do for your fave?
