Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 492

Guest Blogger: Joyce Palmer

Seeds of Inspiration

First, let me take a moment to thank Ms. Delilah Devlin for inviting me to guest post on her blog. I cannot express enough my gratitude for her selfless support for those of us striving to amp up our writing successes. You’ve made all the difference, Delilah, and you are much appreciated.

Now, what I thought I’d talk about today are those triggers that spark our story ideas. So many times readers express their amazement on how writers come up with all these great story ideas.

I’m not sure why it baffles them so much. You’d think real life wasn’t strange enough to provide an endless stream of ideas. Really?

Anyway, I thought I’d throw a few of mine out there, and then maybe you could add some of yours. If nothing else, it should be entertaining. If we’re lucky, this conversation will spark something in those of us searching for our next great seedling.

My current WIP began when I watched a Sunday afternoon Lifetime Network Movie about a girl who pretended to be pregnant for a school project. Lately, the notion of broken couples reuniting has been a burning theme in my soul. Thus, Parent Project is born. This one’s still in the early stage, but you can probably imagine where I’m going with it.

Shaken Vows merely began with a brief conversation between our hunky sheriff and my husband at the gas pump while I sat in the truck observing, and conjured up all kinds of possibilities.

On another occasion, for hours I stared at a white page on a pathetically blank screen. Nothing seemed to be working that day. So, I thought about the books I’ve read, and what made the exceptional ones memorable. Searching through my bookcase, I pulled out a novel that I remember had brought me great joy. This was when they used paper with the printed words on the pages. Ancient, I know.

The scene opened with the hero walking in on his fiancé in bed with another. So, sparked Reckless Dreams. Of course, it’s my own story, with a completely different plot, but the seed came from one of my favorite novels.

Then, of course, we had a fire next door. A boatload of hunky firefighters, cops, and other officials came to the scene. Before the embers burned down, Familiar Flames began germinating.

That’s enough about me, and mine. How about letting us know what sparks your ideas. Who knows, it could boost those creative juices in all of us.

Hope you enjoyed my post, and I look forward to hearing what you think.

Thanks again, Delilah, for having me. It’s great being part of your circle of friends!

Please come visit me anytime at my place. I would love to have you:

Joyce

http://joycepalmer.net

Guest Blogger: Edie Ramer (Contest)

Thanks to Delilah for inviting me here today. I admire her so much. She not only writes a lot of books, she writes damn good books.

I just started a new series, Miracle Interrupted, and the first story, MUST WORSHIP CATS, is a novella that introduces the village of Miracle, Wisconsin, with a population of 629. Some of the quirky people of the town are introduced as well. It’s all in a cat’s point of view, so there are no sex scenes. But in the next story…

STARDUST MIRACLE is a contemporary with magical elements. There are a few sex scenes on the tamer side, but at one time I called it ‘the penis book,’ because I used the term so often. The frequent use of the word wasn’t on purpose. It just came up. (Pun intended.) It starts when the heroine, Becky, catches her minister husband with another woman.

I just counted and I used ‘penis’ 12 times and ‘erection’ 5 times. I’d changed some of the ‘penis’ mentions to ‘erection’ during a revision, because I really don’t want everyone to think of it as ‘the penis book.’ I’d much rather them think of it as the book they loved and can’t wait to read the next story in the series (which will be out in July).

Here’s an excerpt from STARDUST MIRACLE that shows the first ‘penis’ scene after Becky bursts into her husband’s office at church, with the intention to surprise her husband:

Sitting on his couch, wearing only his white shirt, Jim stared at her as if she were his worst nightmare. So did Diana Kellman, who wore nothing, her brunette head lifting from his lap. Her fingers wrapped around his erect penis.

Becky put her hand over her mouth. She wanted to puke. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But all she could do was stand there, a long, low moan ripping out of her throat. The sound of an animal in pain.

“Becky.” Jim put his open hand on Diana’s head and shoved her away from him. Diana fell on her butt on the gray and blue striped rug that Becky had found for Jim four years ago at an estate sale in Wausau. Diana squealed as Jim grabbed his pants and stood.

“It’s not what it seems.” Jim held his pants over his penis. As if Becky hadn’t seen it before.

Becky welcomed a hot rush of whirling anger. No, not anger. Fury. She took a deep, shuddering breath. The excitement was gone. The moan gone. The feeling that she’d been stabbed in the heart… Gone.

“You mean you weren’t getting a blow job?” she asked, and her voice only shook a little. She glanced at Diana, who was scrambling to her feet. Becky turned her head away and spotted Jim’s cell phone on his walnut desk. Instead of running out of the office, she crossed to the desk.

“Please, Becky,” Jim said. “We can talk.”

She heard the clink of his belt and without even thinking, as if something from above guided her, she picked up the cell phone, clicked on the camera, and whipped around, holding the phone like a weapon.

“Becky, no!” Jim shouted, one foot raised to put inside his pants leg, his penis not erect anymore but not completely flaccid, hanging in a curve like a tired rubber hose.

Diana was bent over, reaching for her panties, her butt toward Becky, but at Jim’s shout she glanced behind her.

Becky snapped the camera.

* * * * *

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. I’m curious. What would you do if you walked in on a scene like this?

One commenter will win a digital copy of STARDUST MIRACLE.

Edie Ramer

http://edieramer.com

A Question…

I’m on a roll with tons of pages to write today. So I’ll keep it simple…

If you were given a $100 gift certificate to spend in any store,

where would you chose to redeem it and on what?

Guest Blogger: Kathleen Irene Paterka (Contest)

LET’S TALK CHOCOLATE

Delilah, thanks so much for inviting me to stop by your blog today. I’m excited to be here! I think we all agree that it goes without saying that Delilah is a master (mistress?) when it comes to erotic romance. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about myself. I concentrate on Women’s Fiction, and you’ll find my books much tamer than Delilah’s. In fact, I only recently lost my virginity (when it comes to blog-writing, that is!).

Fatty Patty is my debut novel, released on May 15th. Patty Perreault is the overweight heroine whose childhood nickname was Fatty Patty. Though she’s now an adult, Patty still remembers the cruel childhood taunts from the very same school playground where she’s now a teacher. The novel deals with Patty’s struggle to confront her self-esteem issues, put down the fork and give her heart a try. But poor Patty has a real problem with food… specifically, chocolate.

So, let’s talk chocolate. It’s like a wonder drug, a magic elixir that tastes great. Chocolate soothes. Chocolate calms. And chocolate can also magically add an extra layer of fat to your thighs overnight. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. When I was in high school, I weighed 300 lbs. People back then said ‘You carry it well’, but I suppose that’s because I’m 5’11” and the pounds were spread over a larger frame. But facts are facts, and the fact is that for years, I wore size 28+ pants. I lost the extra pounds more than thirty years ago, and now easily fit into a size 10. How did I do it? I loved chocolate so much, I decided I’d be better off if I gave it up for good. But it wasn’t easy saying goodbye to one of my favorite foods. According to my research, chocolate is the number one food American women crave. Chocolate stimulates endorphin production, triggering happiness and pleasure. It also contains serotonin (an anti-depressant), theobromine and caffeine (stimulants), plus it’s loaded with antioxidants (protecting against aging).

Here’s a little excerpt describing some of Patty’s inner turmoil when it comes to dealing with chocolate.

EXCERPT FROM FATTY PATTY:

I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs. If chocolate is like a drug, I probably qualify for Chocoholics Anonymous. But first, I’d have to be willing to give it up. Which I’m not. I’m not an addict. Besides, everyone deserves a treat now and then. And I’ve been good for so long—how many days now?— and I’ve only lost four pounds.

Tyler offering me that cookie on the playground earlier this morning started the ball rolling. All day long, I couldn’t let go of the thought of chocolate. And instead of hitting the pool on my way home from school, I detoured to an out-of-the-way party store on the other side of town where I grabbed a six-pack of my favorite candy bars. Why? There’s got to be a reason. But at the time, I didn’t want to think about the why. I didn’t want to think, period.

I just wanted the chocolate.

The first candy bar was gone as soon as I hit the car, before I even fastened my seatbelt. I barely tasted it as it slid down my throat and it only whetted my appetite for more. I ripped into the lush caramel and rich dark chocolate of the second one as I nosed the car out of the parking lot. I gnawed through the third wrapper with my teeth as I pulled into traffic.

And now that Priscilla’s finally off to bed, the other three are waiting.

I creep up the stairs, school bag in hand, and slip through my bedroom door. I throw the lock, then flop on the bed in the darkness. Moonlight filtering through the window is my only witness as I peel the wrapper off the fourth candy bar, settle back in the pillows and savor the lush sweetness filling my mouth. I’ve deprived myself far too long. The second gooey bite is even better than the first. Chocolate bliss. I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Polishing off the fifth candy bar takes a little longer. The craving is gone and I force myself to finish. I’m in no rush to unwrap the sixth candy bar. My stomach feels queasy. Maybe it would be better to stash it somewhere and save it for later. But if I don’t eat it now, that one last candy bar will be staring me in the face tomorrow morning… a big gooey reminder of what I’ve done. I rip off the wrapper and stare at the chocolate. Tomorrow, I promise myself. Starting tomorrow, I’ll put myself on a brand new diet. Starting with breakfast.

Food. Ugh. My stomach lurches and I drop the candy bar. My breath reeks of chocolate and I stumble into the tiny bathroom off my bedroom. I use my toothbrush like a weapon, attacking the enemy sugar on my teeth, scrubbing away the contraband. I swish water back and forth under my tongue, around my teeth, spit it in the sink. Somehow I find the courage to face myself in the mirror. It’s not a pretty picture. Hollow, bloodshot eyes; mascara staining my face. I don’t recognize this person.

What is wrong with me? Why in God’s name did I do this? What happened to my resolve? What happened to my dreams of being thin?

What would Nick think if he saw me like this?

No more chocolate. Never again.

I pull off my clothes, drop them in a heap on top of the bathroom scales. Pulling a cotton nightgown over my head, I shuffle back into the bedroom, flop on my bed, and set the alarm. School again tomorrow. If only I didn’t have to go.

If only…

If only I hadn’t given in. Why did I crack? Now I have to start all over again.

What a horrible feeling.

But not as horrible as knowing when tomorrow dawns, there’ll still be that one leftover candy bar taunting me from the bedside table. Suddenly I grab it, crinkle the wrapper around the candy so I won’t smell the chocolate, then toss it in the trash, burying it under some used Kleenex and an old magazine.

I hit the light and try to settle down. Nick’s face dances in the darkness. What is it with him? Why is he being so nice to me? I don’t know anything about men. The three guys I dated in college turned out to be losers. So what do I do now? I’ve never chased a guy in my life. And Nick isn’t just any guy. He’s gorgeous and available—the type who attracts women wherever he goes. Nick is in the big leagues and way beyond my reach.

Isn’t he?

I punch the pillow and flop on my side. If only I looked like Priscilla. If only I could lose ten pounds. If only I had the courage to try.

But I’ll never find it if I don’t get myself back on track.

And back on a diet.

Brand new diet. Brand new beginning. Brand new me.

Starting tomorrow.

I sit up straight in bed. Damned if I want to wake up tomorrow, knowing that last candy bar is hanging around to haunt me.

I fumble through the wastebasket in the darkness. My fingers snag the wrapper, then curl around the candy. I take one bite, force down another. The craving is gone. I’ve already brushed my teeth and the chocolate tastes like chalk. I choke down the last bite, throw away the wrapper, and head back into the bathroom for one more bout with my toothbrush.

This hasn’t been the best day. I’ve broken my diet, upset Priscilla, shamed myself… and all for what? Why did I buy that chocolate in the first place? It’s not like I even wanted it.

What I really wanted was cookies…

Amazon.com: Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) eBook: Kathleen Irene Paterka: Kindle Store

BARNES & NOBLE | Fatty Patty by Kathleen Irene Paterka | NOOK Book (eBook)

Smashwords — Fatty Patty — A book by Kathleen Irene Paterka

So, what about you? When it comes to chocolate, do you find it easy to merely ‘have a little taste’ and then stop? Do you turn to chocolate to help you cope when you’re having a bad day? Or do you indulge in other methods, such as a glass of wine, or maybe taking to your bed and throwing the covers over your head? I’d love to hear from you! Anyone who stops by and comments today will be entered in a drawing to win a digital copy of Fatty Patty. The winner’s name will be posted in the comments section at midnight tonight (eastern time).

Also, be sure to stop by my website http://www.kathleenirenepaterka.com, or connect with me on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/KathleenIrenePaterka. I love chatting with readers and fellow authors!

Sunday Report Card & a Sneak Peek!

Yesterday’s Winner!

The winner (by random number generator of the free download of Handy Men is…#6: Nina! Nina, send me an email to arrange delivery of your prize!

* * * * *
Sunday Report Card

Not a stellar week. I completed two chapters on my paranormal story and one chapter for the Samhain Western. I put together the After Midnight Fantasies newsletter and participated in a “Live Chat with the Pros” for ERWA. And I’ve been working on promo for my upcoming releases, She Shifters and Cowboy Lust.

This next week, I need a minimum of 4 chapters’ progress on the paranormal. Three chapters on the western. If I don’t, I have to do the walk of shame, because I’ll be boxed into a corner with my deadlines. So send those positive thoughts!

* * * * *
Sneak Peek at Fournicopia

First, isn’t it the greatest title ever?! How about this logline?

Here’s what happens when a cop meets the doughnut girl of his dreams…

and she’s a Domme…

Did it make you smile? Intrigue you? Then it worked!

How about this cover?

Not the handsomest guy, but I love that he looks like he’s surrendering to her. That’s what Gus does in this book. Want to meet my boy? Read on…

Unedited excerpt from Fournicopia:

Gus Taggert knew it was a cliché. A cop in a doughnut shop. The officers waiting for him to arrive for the sergeant’s morning meeting didn’t like making the run because of the inevitable roll of the eyes or smartass grin they’d get standing in line.

However, he didn’t mind being the “doughnut guy”. The plus for being the brunt of any jokes was that he ate for free. That was okay with him. He took any pointed looks or lame jokes in stride. He was an affable guy. Hard to rile.

He’d learned long ago to stifle his anger and look for the good in people, even when they messed up. Being oversized and strong, he’d always had to be more careful throwing his weight around. People could get hurt, and that wasn’t why he’d been drawn to law enforcement. He wasn’t a bully in a uniform.

Gus liked being a cop. Liked what it stood for. Loved the dark navy uniform and the camaraderie of his brother cops. He didn’t mind that his closest buds were all moving on to bigger and better things. He liked being a beat cop. Liked patrolling the neighborhood he lived in and getting to know the people he protected.

His father had been a small-town cop, and his father before him had been the sheriff of their little Arkansas berg. But then his mom had moved to Memphis—not because she’d wanted to, but because when his mom and dad divorced, she’d wanted to start fresh where everyone didn’t know her business and didn’t whisper to her ex about who she was seeing next.

Gus had missed his old school and friends, but had a natural gift for making new ones. That he was big and brawny, quick on his feet despite his size, had made him a natural for the football team.

And that’s where he’d met Jackson Teague and Craig Eason, who surprisingly enough wanted to be cops, too, when they graduated.

They’d all gone to college together, applied for the police academy and been accepted. That’s where they’d met the remaining members of their current posse, Beau McIntyre and Mondo Acevedo.

So, Gus was never lonely. He had his peeps, a job he loved, a city that kept him on his toes. And today, he was on his way to explore a new doughnut shop.

Mondo, although now in vice and no longer attending the station-house morning meetings, had given him a roll of bills the night before. “Treat the guys to doughnuts. On me.”

Gus had glanced at the roll. “This is too much.”

“Not for the place I want you to go.”

He should have known from the gleam in Mondo’s dark brown eyes that something was up, but Gus liked to think the best of people. Maybe Mondo really did just want to treat the guys to something special.

Well, it was special all right. Not like any doughnut shop Gus had ever seen before. He stood on the street in front of the small store front, eyeing the painted glass window with its pink awning, and felt the first rumbles of misgiving.

Cornucopia. He’d had to Google it the night before to get the address and see what the name meant. A horn of plenty. A familiar Thanksgiving ornament. But there weren’t ears of corn or squashes spilling from the dark pink horn painted on the glass. Doughnuts looking like Christmas presents, painted with ribbons and sparkling with stars, spilled from the mouth of the horn.

All the pink and frothy cuteness made him itch. However, he’d been given a wad of cash and a mission to buy a couple dozen doughnuts from this specific shop. For once, his face burned at the idea.

Hitching up his utility belt, he blew out a deep breath that billowed his cheeks, and pushed the glass door. A bell at the top tinkled.

Inside, the shop was pretty much what he’d expected—pale purple tiled flooring, white-painted iron bistro tables, boxes decorated in frou-frou paper and ribbons stacked at one end of the sparkling clean glass-front counter.

Thankfully, the shop was empty. Maybe he could back out, say it’d been closed when he came by, and he could hit a Dunkin’ Donuts on the way to the station house.

As soon as he’d made up his mind to leave, he heard a stirring from the back, and rather than be caught with one foot still on the sidewalk outside like he was scared to come in, he stepped through the door and held the bell so it didn’t chime again.

“Have a thing for bells?” came a husky feminine voice.

His gaze darted back to the counter, his cheeks filling with heat. A woman stood there, every bit as pretty and dainty as her little shop, with dark red hair, pale-as-dinner-china white cheeks and large brown eyes. The kind of woman he avoided like the plague because he always felt like a lumbering bear beside them.

What had she asked? Oh, yeah, the bells. He didn’t have a thing for them, he’d only wanted to be quiet and not charge into the place like a bull in a china shop. “No, ma’am.”

“That’s a nice start,” she said, her voice dropping again into a sexy, shivering whisper.

Gus’s cheeks burned hotter, because he knew she’d just made a joke and he didn’t understand it. Further, meeting her amused gaze proved surprisingly difficult. He had the urge to duck his head. To wait for permission to come closer.

Her amusement faded. “Come in, officer,” she said with brisk efficiency. “Can I help you with something?”

He cleared his throat, scuffed his boots on the doormat, like that was why he’d paused coming in, and stepped deeper inside the shop. “I’m just here to buy some doughnuts.”

“I don’t sell just doughnuts.” Her voice sharpened.

Had he insulted her somehow? He came closer to the counter. “They’re pretty doughnuts.”

“I’m a trained pastry chef. These are gourmet doughnuts.”

Like he’d said, they were pretty, but he didn’t get what it was she expected him to say. He thrust his hand into his pocket and took out the roll of bills Mondo had given him. “Mondo said you’d fix me up.”

“Mondo…” Her eyes sparkled for a moment, then narrowed. “Show me which you’re interested in.”

He reached out to point at one confection sitting on a tray atop the glass counter. The doughnut looked more like a pretty cupcake and was covered in glaze with star-shaped silver beads glinting on the top. “Some of these?”

Her hand shot out and slapped the top of his. Not hard, but the loud crack it made startled him. “Ma’am?” he asked, startled she’d dared smack an officer of the law.

“Correct response again,” she said, an edge to her sexy voice. “However, I think you need to come around the counter and make your selection.”

Right about now, he knew his face was beet red. And the collar of his shirt was tightening like a noose, cutting off his air. “Beg your pardon?”

“Come. Now.”

His body reacted to the firm tone with an instant surge of heat straight to his groin. With his balls drawing up, he thought he might embarrass himself further if he got too close to the pretty pastry chef. “Uh, a couple dozen’s all I need,” he said swiftly. “Whatever you want to put into a box.”

The redhead narrowed her eyes. “Mondo’s a friend of mine. He said he was sending me someone special. Don’t disappoint me.”

Mondo was her friend. The way she’d emphasized the word put this strange conversation in a new perspective. Her tone, the hardening glint in her pretty eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin—good Lord, she was that kind of friend, someone from Mondo’s club, which Gus had visited a time or two out of curiosity first, then growing wonder.

He swallowed hard, beginning to sweat, then slowly made his way around the glass-front counter toward her, seeing the rest of her lovely, slim frame. When he stood a couple feet away, he ducked his head, dropping his gaze. Waiting now, for what he didn’t know, but he knew instinctively she was pleased, because she sighed.

“You’re bigger than I expected.”

Oh hell, what was she looking at? Had his erection become noticeable?

“And you’re better looking.”

He gave a little smile, letting her see it, but still not raising his glance. The parts of her he could watch were fascinating anyway. Her breasts were small but round, and the tips were beginning to poke through her pink-buttoned blouse and lacy bra. Her pale trousers were cinched at the waist with a white leather belt, and it was a tiny trim waist that offset the feminine flare of her hips. Legs proportionate with her body stretched below to pink-tipped toes that peeked out of sandals she wore. His mouth filled with drool. He’d give a week’s wages for the privilege of sucking on them.

She slid open the door to the back of the counter and waved for him to have a look.

Gus wished like hell she’d move back, because standing this close, he got a whiff of her light, floral scent. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.

Feeling clumsier by the minute, he bent to glance inside the shelves at the array of fancy doughnuts. Sheesh. Not a single plain glazed one. The guys were going to razz the hell out of him.

Suddenly, she stepped behind him, her hands landing on either side of the cabinet to trap him.

He gulped hard. “Ma’am?”

A knee climbed along the inside of one of his thighs, then snuggled against his balls. He froze—blood surged south, filling his cock. Then she slid her knee down and tapped his feet with one of hers, urging him silently to widen his stance.

Which he did. No question or quick denial came to mind. He braced his hands against the glass like a perp ready for a pat-down, dreading and yet eager for whatever she’d do next.

Her hand cupped his balls. “Anything you like?”

Afraid he’d bleat like a goat if he tried to answer, he nodded.

Her fingers closed around his sac, and she gave him a gentle tug. “Me too.”

Then just as quickly, her hand fell away and she moved back.

Gus pushed from the counter and turned.

Her eyes were softer, her expression pleased. She laid a palm against the side of his face. Her thumb stroked his bottom lip. Her gaze dipped to his name tag then back up again. “When I see you next, Officer Taggert,” she whispered, stepping closer, “don’t say a word. Take off your clothes and be ready for whatever I want next.”

His tongue felt glued to the top of his mouth. Sure he wouldn’t manage more than a caveman’s grunt, he nodded again.

A small hand cupped his cock through his uniform pants and rode the length trapped against his thigh inside his dark trousers. “There’s more to you than shows. I like that. Look at me.”

He raised his gaze, stopping on the faint curve of her full lips, then rose again to lock with her gold-flecked brown gaze.

She reached up, stuck the nail of her index finger under his chin and pulled down his head until their faces were level. Then she leaned forward, her cheek sliding alongside his. Her warm breath gusted against his ear, and he shivered.

“I’ll give you a box. You can take as many doughnuts as you can fit inside. Take your time. Compose yourself. I’ll see you tonight.”

Gus held his breath until she released him and moved away. She bent to retrieve a box from beneath the counter then gave him a slow smile and turned on her pretty pink heels to walk through the doorway leading to the kitchen.

When she was gone, he let out the breath he’d held and grabbed for the edge of the counter to keep from swaying. Thank God, he’d parked right out front. His dick tented his pants leg.

Swallowing to wet his dry mouth, he slid open the glass and carefully plucked two dozen doughnuts from their trays, not caring what he chose because the sooner he got out of there the better.

When he caught up with Mondo, he’d chew him a new asshole for not warning him what he was walking into.

However, he still felt the warmth of her slap against the back of his hand and—despite his embarrassment—smiled as he exited the shop.

Saturday Snippet: How can you mend a broken heart?

Answer: Revenge Sex. Nuff said, right?

“Ok, first I am going to contact Delilah and see if she has the number for “Handy Men” because I have some things I just know they can take care of.” ~ 5 Stars and TOP PICK!, Night Owl Reviews

“Delilah Devlin’s stories are always fun, entertaining and totally hot. Bringing together unsuspecting people is what she does best. No one even can come close. Grab the lounge chair, put on some SPF 40 and spend some time with her sexy, sweaty and provocative playmates. You won’t regret it!!” ~ 4 Cherries, Long and Short Reviews

“Ms. Devlin has eroticism dripping from the pages of HANDY MEN!… HANDY MEN is sexy, sizzling and sinfully good!” ~ Joyfully Reviewed

“HANDY MEN packs a lot of punch with very few pages. The characters are three dimensional, well developed and their sexual encounters are off the charts.” ~ Lynette’s Two Cents

Two very handy men mend a divorcée’s broken heart…

Rather than cry over spilt milk, a newly divorced woman throws caution to the wind and decides to seduce her neighbor’s handsome handy man.

Jeff isn’t stupid—Pamela tossed those screws into her sink to get his attention! The fact she’s beautiful and vulnerable convinces him she needs “special” attention. When he has her hot and horny, he surprises her with his partner Casey and a threesome.

What starts for Pamela as a wild, no-holds-barred fling quickly gets stickier as the guys push for something longer lasting.

The impulse came like a flash of lightning—hot and searing—all the way to the bone. An idea born of a need she hadn’t felt in a long, long time…and inspired by one red-hot handyman in butt-hugging jeans and a t-shirt.

The man fired the militant gleam in her eyes as she brushed bronzing powder across her cheeks and swiped carmine “eat me” red lip stain across her mouth. She didn’t give herself time to rethink the decision, reaching for the phone before her usual, cautious self reasserted control. No more couch potato cry-ins for her. No more self-imposed exclusion while she figured out what to do with the rest of her life. Today, a new Pamela Dwyer was reaching for the damn gusto.

The anger felt good. Especially after the shock she’d received moments ago when she’d surfed the web for the latest gossip about her ex.

One glance at Andrew’s Facebook page, and Pamela’s confusion over what the hell had happened to her life dried up. He’d blocked her from his page, but his profile picture had been changed from Andrew’s handsome, craggy face to the soft innocence of his newborn son’s.

The picture said it all. And no doubt every one of their friends here in Austin, who’d rallied around her when he’d left, would now pour out their congratulations to him while privately agreeing he’d done the only thing he could do to be happy.

Tears had stung her eyes, but she’d refused to let them fall. Instead, she’d blinked them away, closed out the screen and glanced through the blinds at her immaculate lawn. The perfect lawn and landscaping to surround the perfectly appointed house she’d won in the divorce settlement.

But back to that lightning strike…

Across the street, a man had stood atop a ladder while he fished leaves from old Mr. Johnson’s gutters. It wasn’t the fact the old man had spent money to hire someone to do odd jobs around his place that caught her attention, although that was plenty unusual all by itself. It was the way the sunlight glinted on the younger man’s hair. Glints of gold she could see from over thirty feet away. And once her attention was snagged by that nagging glow, her gaze couldn’t help but trail down the long, lean, buff lines of his healthy frame.

From the back, the man was perfection. Then he’d turned to the side, no doubt to say something to Mr. Johnson who hovered at the bottom of the ladder. The old skinflint would supervise the handyman to make sure he got every nickel’s worth of his money. However, not a hint of irritation shone in the handyman’s expression. His smile had been quick—a flash of white teeth against a tanned face.

Pamela had breathed deeply, enjoying the surge of heat flowing through her veins. So much better than the cold, hollow feeling in her womb. Arousal had bloomed, fresh and unexpected, washing over her, lapping away the disappointment. Leaving her…expectant. Feeling younger than her thirty-eight years.

There were times in a woman’s life when she had to grab the bull by the horns or she’d never taste passion again. Pamela decided then and there that her time was now.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell chimed.

Christ, do I really have the guts? She’d had twenty minutes to get icy-cold feet.

She held her hand in front of her face and blew against her palm then sniffed. Mouthwash still works.

Before opening her door, Pamela bent over, shook her head then straightened, giving her straight blonde hair an extra fluff. She pasted on a smile—not too wide or eager—one she’d practiced in front of the bathroom mirror to make sure it reflected just the right amount of casual interest. She didn’t want to scare him away. At least not before she had a chance to practice being a femme fatale.

However, after opening the door, her smile faltered just a bit. Up close, the repairman was more of a rangy lion than a bull, and even more attractive than her secretive glances through the blinds had revealed. Thickly muscled arms and a broad chest stretching a green Handy Men tee filled her vision.

Maybe she should have targeted someone more in her league—and at least fifteen years older. However, when she’d seen him working on the rain gutters of her neighbor’s house, watched the way he moved gracefully up and down the ladder, a plan had begun to form. One she was too invested in to back out of now.

“Your neighbor said you were havin’ trouble with a garbage disposal?”

Her greedy glance shot up to meet his, and she noted the crinkles of amusement at the sides of his eyes. Blue eyes with golden coronas around the pupils. Yum.

Realizing her mouth hung open, she snapped her jaw closed. “Uh, yes. Trouble with the disposal. That’s why you’re here.”

It was the truth, so she didn’t stutter over it. However, she didn’t mention she’d thrown a handful of screws into the sink to make sure the old disposal seized. Her plan to lure him into her house was working like a charm. She wished her ex could see her now. Plain Pam, reliable Pam, boring, defective Pam had a few tricks left.

“I’m Jeff McCaffrey,” he said, and held out his hand.

Blowing out a little breath to release her tension, she gave him her hand and shook. “Pamela,” she said quickly.

His palms were calloused and large. She slid her hand slowly from his, enjoying the scrape. Even if things didn’t work out, she’d have plenty of sensory details to savor later to go along with the lovely picture he made.

“Um…” He lifted the toolbox with a flex of impressive biceps and raised his eyebrows.

It took a second to register that he needed her to move away from the door. Feeling flustered, she stood back and waved him inside. She closed the door behind him and followed eagerly on his heels into the hallway.

He halted abruptly.

Unable to stop her forward momentum, Pamela held out her hands to brace herself—and cupped his ass.

His head swiveled to glance back at her, a slight, dazed smile curving his mouth.

She paused a second too long before removing them, but his ass was too much temptation. “Sorry about that,” she muttered, palms and face burning. Lord, she was thirty-eight, and he had her blushing like a teenager. Her flirting skills were woefully rusty.

He cleared his throat and pointed toward the door on the left. “The kitchen?”

“Yeah,” she said, sounding a little winded, but her fingers tingled and her skin felt on fire. She hadn’t wanted to come on to the younger man like a cougar in heat, but he was fine-fine-fine.

He swung open the door and walked to the counter, setting his toolbox beside the sink. “What sort of noises was it makin’?”

“Crunchy?”

“Crunchy?” His lips twitched.

She shrugged. He was the “Mr. Fix-It”. He’d figure out soon enough what the problem was. Maybe he’d think the screws in the disposal had gotten there by accident.

He reached beneath the cabinet next to the sink and flipped the switch. Metallic grating made her wince. The poor thing ground worse than her ex’s teeth.

Without looking back, he said, “Don’t touch the switch. I don’t have my tongs, so I’m gonna stick my hand down there to see what’s happenin’.”

In his hand went, and he turned slightly to the side, his gaze meeting hers while a frown drew his honey-brown brows together. When he pulled free, he held a screw. “Wonder how that happened?” he drawled.

She grinned brightly. “Serendipity?”

“Wha—?”

So maybe not a brain surgeon, but the calculated stare he returned told her he wasn’t stupid. He pulled out another and laid it on the countertop, and then another. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me, Pamela?”

She held her breath, ready to blurt the truth, but then she’d sound exactly like what she was—a woman desperate for a man’s attention. Instead, she pouted. “You’re not my doctor. I don’t have to tell you the truth.” Then she shrugged, overwhelmed by the urge to blurt something cute. “I needed a screw.” Sweet Jesus, I did not just say that!

He grunted, lips twitching again, and reached for the switch. The metallic grinding had stopped, but the little motor seemed to miss, and the gears gave a rhythmic click. He shook his head regretfully. “Don’t think I can save her.”

Was he still talking about the disposal? “I’m not attached. Got another?”

“Not with me. Let me hit the reset button, just in case.”

He knelt beside the sink, his eyes giving her bare legs a quick once-over.

Thank God, I had them waxed. Any smoother and they’d be porcelain.

Then he dragged his gaze away, opened the cabinet and stuck his head inside. “Man, this unit’s ancient,” he said, his voice sounding hollow. “Probably as old as the house.”

Ancient? The disposal was as old as the house, which was seventeen years old. She’d lived there all her married life.

Feeling a little deflated, still, she couldn’t help but admire the view as he bent deeper. His t-shirt pulled free of his pants, revealing a strip of tanned flesh and a hint of dimples just above his buttocks.

Her thumbs would fit nicely in those little grooves.

“Want an upgrade?” he asked, backing out again.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she said, fanning her face until he turned. She curled her fingers and gave him a quick smile.

As he stood, his gaze narrowed, sliding down her body. “I’ll have to come back.”

“Just tell me when. I’ll make myself available.”

Perhaps she sounded a little too chipper because he slowly folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. One side of his mouth curled up. “You’re not the least shy, are you, ma’am?”

* * * * *

Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:

Megan Hart:Read in bed!

Rhian Cahill

Eliza Gayle

Jody Wallace

Mandy M Roth

Lissa Matthews

Leah Braemel

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Myla Jackson

Taige Crenshaw

HelenKay Dimon

Shiloh Walker

TJ Michaels

Lauren Dane

Guest Blogger: Myla Jackson

Many years ago, my family went on a ski vacation to Breckenridge, Colorado. Between Denver and Breckenridge is a small town by the name of Idaho Springs. There’s not much there and it’s perched on a steep hillside, but the history of the town fascinated me. It’s an old gold mining town where miners came to sell their gold, bed a whore (women were scarce), and buy supplies they’d carry back up in the mountains.

In 2010, my husband, daughter and I returned to the gold mining hills of Colorado for a four-wheeling trip through the old gold mining ghost towns up around Silverton, Colorado. So many abandoned towns and mines dot the hillsides. It’s amazing. If you haven’t been, put it on your bucket list, it’s a must.

In the BOUND AND TIED print anthology releasing June 1 at Samhain Publishing, my stories HONOR BOUND and DUTY BOUND are based around Idaho Springs in the 1860′s when the gold rush was in full swing. The third story in the series takes one of the characters back east to another romantic historical place that has fascinated me all my life…the Mississippi River during the era of steamboat transportation.

The stories were fun, the characters funny, sexy and heroic. I hope you enjoy reading about them as much as I enjoyed writing them.

BOUND AND TIED

by Myla Jackson

 

They say bad luck comes in threes. Love just might prove “they” are wrong.

Honor Bound

On the run from an Indian captor, Honor is hungry and desperate. Yet when she stumbles upon two men touching each other in a scandalous way, she’s mesmerized—and aroused.

Gold prospectors Zach and Jake can think of only one way to silence the panicked little thief’s babbling. Kiss her senseless. Then show her that pleasure isn’t necessarily the devil’s work.

Duty Bound

Desperate, KC appeals to a sensual stranger, Rosalyn, to teach her the womanly skills to make a deal with the devil. AKA Jake—the man who holds the marker on her family’s ranch.

Jake has a better idea: her for the ranch. Then reality sets in, leaving him saddled with a mail-order bride, a deflowered virgin, and an unexpected desire to make things right with KC…forever.

River Bound

When Rosalyn steps aboard the Marie-Dearie, she unexpectedly meets James, notorious bounty hunter and old lover…who’s only too happy to help her find her murdering, thieving fiancé.

Convincing James he’s innocent is easier for Dalton than winning Rosalyn back, because she seems to be enjoying the competition for her affections a little too much. There’s only one place to work out this dilemma. In bed.

Product Warnings

 This title contains hot ménage a trois scenes, man love, bondage, females out to settle a debt right proper, a woman with bordello-bawdy desires, and a whole lot of lovin’!

Samhain

Amazon

 

 

About the Author

The YOUNGER sister of the queen of the sex scene, DELILAH DEVLIN, the equally stupendous MYLA JACKSON pens wildly sexy adventures of all genres including historical westerns, medieval tales, romantic suspense, contemporary romance and paranormals with beasties of all shapes and sizes. When not wrangling words from her computer with the help of her canine muses, she’s snow-skiing, boating or riding her ATV. To learn more about Myla Jackson and her stories visit her website at www.mylajackson.com. Also see Myla’s romantic suspense alter ego Elle James at www. ellejames.com 

Join Us Tonight (Plus a winner!)

From the ERWA website:

EVENT ALERT!
GLBT Live Chats with the Pros

Who: Delilah Devlin, accompanied by Ily Goyanes and Sacchi Green

When: June 7th, at 8:00pm EST, (5:00pm  PST;  1:00am  GMT)

Where: ERWA chats are held on the ShadowWorld chat server, channel, #erachat. (Follow the link above. On screen you’ll see ‘Connect o ShadowWorld IRC’. In the Nickname box, key in your name. Leave the channels box at #ERAChat, and click ‘Connect’. A chat text box will appear at the bottom of your screen)

GLBT erotica is a genre to be reckoned with. ERWA will help interested authors with a “Live Chats with the   Pros.” Delilah Devlin,  Ily Goyanes, and Sacchi Green will be on hand to answer   questions, offer advice, and exchange ideas with authors of GLBT   erotica. Whether you’re penning your first gay fiction, or are a   spicy-seasoned pro, don’t miss these opportunities.



Delilah Devlin is a prolific and award-winning author of erotica with a   rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with   complex characters. Ms. Devlin has published over 100 erotic stories in   multiple genres and lengths. She is published by Avon, Black Lace,   Kensington, Harlequin, Atria/Strebor, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave,   Samhain Publishing, and Berkley. If you want to know how to do the deed,   Delilah is the lady to talk to. This  is your chance to chat live with   her. Read about Delilah at www.delilahdevlin.com

Ily Goyanes is a journalist, food blogger, culture critic, publisher, and sex enthusiast. She has been writing and editing professionally since 1993. Her first lesbian erotica anthology, Girls Who Score: Hot Lesbian Erotica, is being released in August 2012 by Cleis Press. You can sample her salacious stories in Best Lesbian Erotica 2012, Lesbian Cops: Erotic Investigations, Spankalicious: Erotic Adventures in Spanking, and Power Plays. Follow Ily on Twitter @realily and check out her publishing house at ampersandeditions.com.

Sacchi Green‘s stories have appeared in a hip-high stack of publications with erotically inspirational covers, and she’s also edited eight erotica anthologies, including Girl Crazy, Lesbian Cowboys (winner of a 2010 Lambda Literary Award,) Lesbian Lust, Lesbian Cops, and Girl Fever.   Find her at sacchi-green.blogspot.com or on Facebook (as  Sacchi Green)

 

* * * * *

Out of 138 entries, the winner (by random number generator) of the Dragon Cup Contest is…ELF! ELF, be sure to email me with your mailing address so I can get your

prize into the mail. Congrats!

Guest Blogger: Melanie Atkins

Disrupted Schedules and Kitty Alarms

This week is a killer. I’m trying to finish a book with my deadline looming, and I have so much other stuff to do. It’s frustrating. A lot of my time revolves around taking my ninety-year-old mother to her doctor appointments, to get her hair done, etc. I don’t mind; I love the time we spend together, and I’m thankful for it. Except it doesn’t allow me enough time to write.

Disrupted schedules are the bane of a writer’s existence. I love having big arcs of time so I can dig deep into my story and get into a rhythm, but then I have to stop and take my mom to the eye doctor or her dentist or maybe even keep my granddaughter for a couple of hours. The next day is what I call “hair day”, that lovely weekly appointment marked for my mother’s beauty salon appointment from now until eternity. Hair appointments are non-negotiable. At least I can take my laptop with me and write in the back of the shop while she’s getting beautiful. Then the next day…

You see how it goes. And then there’s the lack of sleep caused by my furry little friends. My sweet, innocent, unassuming little feline pals. The three wicked, crafty little minxes that wake me up an hour before my alarm goes off — usually by playing with the window blinds — because they either want to go outside or they need water or food. Seriously, who needs to eat at four a.m.? I do love those cats, I really do… but their kitty alarm clocks need to be reset and I haven’t figured out how to do that yet.

What about you? How do you cope with disrupted schedules? I carve minutes out of all the busy days, minutes in which I can at least jot down a few plot points or make character notes. I’m interested to find out what you do about time management… and if you, too, have an annoying little kitty alarm clock.

Somehow, amid the chaos, I do manage to find time write. My genre of choice is romantic suspense with hot cops and big guns. Please check out my latest ebook release from Desert Breeze Publishing, DELIVERANCE FROM EVIL, the fourth book in my Keller County Cops series. In this book, Tessa Doucet studied mortuary science because the dead can’t hurt her. Then a monster from her past turns up on her embalming table, and she’s forced to confront the demon she thought she’d put to rest. Disturbed by the case Tessa stirs up, Detective Cash Starkey finds himself falling for her, even though he swore to keep his distance. He doesn’t want a relationship, especially not with a woman running from her past. Yet when Tessa’s life is threatened, he runs into the fray, and together they defeat her demons and put the past behind them.

Buy link:  http://stores.desertbreezepublishing.com/-strse-301/Keller-County-Cops-Book/Detail.bok

Also… hope you’ll check out my new free author apps for the iPhone, the iPad, and most Android devices available now in the iTunes store and the Android market. Such an easy way for my readers to keep up with all my books, connect with my social networking sites, and get updates on new titles and where I’ll be signing. I’m really jazzed about this!

And please look for these upcoming titles from Desert Breeze later this year:

Emily’s Nightmare — August

Haunted Memories — October

KKC Book Five: Written in Blood — December

 

Website:  http://www.melanieatkins.com

Blog: http://melanieatkins.wordpress.com

Facebook:  http://www.face-book.com/melanie.atkins

Twitter:  http://twitter.com/melanie_atkins

Two Hot New Releases!

Since I’ve filled my blog calendar with luscious guesties, I’ve barely had time to post my own news. And you know there’s always lots of that. Today, I’d like to talk about two anthologies that released early from Cleis. Two different flavors of erotica for my eclectic readers—you’re bound to find something to suit your tastes!

For those of you who think you don’t like anthologies, think of them as a chance to meet new authors or a collection of bedtime reads—just long enough to get you in the mood, but short enough you can actually have time to do something about it! Click on the covers if you’d like to head to Amazon to purchase.

From my story, “Ignition Switch”… 

I have a hyper-sensitive clit. Touch it with a callused finger or the scrape of a nail and I come out of my skin.

Men don’t get it. I can demonstrate how I like it touched, but most think arousal dulls the nerves, because the more aroused they get, the harder they rub and press—like my clit’s a damn ignition switch and all they have to do is push it more insistently to get me revved.

I explained my problem to my best friend Morgan one night over drinks. She studied me with her smoky grey eyes. “Do you mind my asking why the hell you go for dick?”

The question shocked me. The answer was on the tip of my tongue, but I held it there. Why indeed? It isn’t as though I truly craved a man.

Her lips curved—just the corners. “I bet if you showed me, I’d get it right.”

The suggestion tantalized. I raised my Bellini and took a quick sip, stalling before I replied. Morgan was attractive. I liked her full curves. I’d had the usual feminine curiosity about what she looked like nude, but never allowed myself to go there.

I swallowed, bubbles tickling the back of my throat, then forced a smile. “Are you teasing me?” I asked, surprised by the huskiness of my voice.

Her eyes narrowed, and she sat back in her chair. The glide of a toe up the inside of one calf made my breath catch. “Does it feel like I’m teasing?”

From my story “Tailgating at the Cedar Inn”…

I stepped out of the shower onto chipped and cracked aqua blue tiles with grout so dingy it was hard to tell what color it had been. Not that the bathroom was dirty, thank god. Just old. Like the rest of the 60’s-built motel I’d found on the little back country road.

I toweled my hair then shook my head like a dog, not caring where the droplets landed. It wasn’t a mess I’d have to clean up. For one last night I could be irresponsible, messy, even if it was only in a small way.

I draped the towel over the edge of the old white tub and sauntered naked into the small room with the double bed. It smelled of tobacco and industrial cleansers. The bedding looked clean if a little nappy from wear, but I peeled back the quilt-top and tossed it on the floor anyway. Pristine white sheets beckoned.

Just as I lay back, sighing with relief, sounds from outside the room jarred me from my happy haze. Tires squealed, masculine laughter bellowed through the thin walls, and car doors slammed.

I sighed and stared at the bared rafters above me. The laughter faded. I reached across to flip off the switch to the nightstand lamp with its yellowed shade. Lying in the darkness, I willed my body to relax, one limb at a time. I’d driven three hundred miles that day. I’d have gone another fifty for a decent hotel, but the shorter route my Garmin had found led me through narrow two-lane roads deep in the Ozark Mountains. I doubted I’d have found anything nicer.

I should have stuck to the Interstate, but I’d wanted to shave some miles. Little did I know that the route would keep my foot busy pushing on the gas pedal then the brake the whole way. Exhausted, nerves shattered, I’d seen the crooked Vacancy sign outside the Cedar Inn and made my decision on the spot, swerving into the empty gravel parking lot. Not until I’d opened the door to my tiny, musty room did I have second thoughts about my decision. But how bad could it really be? I’d turned on the swamp cooler set into a window frame and felt my hair frizz instantly.

Not that I’d really cared. There wasn’t anyone around to impress. Other than the clerk at the front desk, a skinny, twenty-something redneck with puppy dog eyes, the place was deserted. I’d shivered a little bit at the thought, double-bolted my room door and checked the locks on the remaining window. Visions of the shower scene from Psycho didn’t put me off taking a long, lukewarm soak to wash away the road grime and sweat.

The cooler purred, spilling muggy air into the room. The sheets felt clammy. Still, I grew calm as my body warmed the sheets beneath me, then a little horny when I wondered if the room might have little peepholes for the clerk to watch me. He’d been cute if a little skinny. I wouldn’t mind if he watched—at least not in my fantasies. Who knew how long it would be until I felt comfortable enough, private enough to indulge in a little one-handed play when my grandmother slept in the room next to mine.

I slipped a hand between my thighs and lazily trailed my fingers through my cleft until my breath caught and heat pooled. I raised my knees and let them fall open, tilted my hips and thrust two fingers inside my pussy. I wasn’t in a hurry. I wasn’t even that eager to come. The motion soothed and excited, allowing my mind to let go of my troubles—the firing, the break-up, the move to my grandmother’s house—and focus only on the pleasure curling deep inside my core.

When the blare of a TV sounded from outside, I had third and fourth thoughts about my decision to stop here for the night. What the hell? Why had someone moved their television set outside rather than watch in the seclusion of their room where the sound would be somewhat muffled.

I gritted my teeth, swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for shorts and a tee, slipping them over my nude body and the keys in my pocket before I stomped to the door and flung it open.

Not that the two men sitting on the truck noticed me—at first.

Under the single flood light that illuminated the parking lot, I noted the construction company logo on the side of the pickup backed up to the door of the room beside mine. Then I eyed the large men seated on the sides of the truck bed, their shirts gone, faded jeans stretched over thick thighs. Their attention was glued to the basketball game, blaring from the small screen of the TV they had set in the bed of the truck on top of a white ice chest. They held Budweisers in their grips.

At last, one of the men’s heads turned. He spotted me then whistled at his friend. Soon both their gazes peered down.

I felt foolish standing in my bare feet with my wet hair spiked around my head. Why hadn’t I simply put a pillow over my head to muffle their noise? But I was testy. Moody. I’d lost my job, had a blow-up with my boyfriend over the fact I wouldn’t be splitting rent with him for a while, and cut my nose off to spite my own face by breaking up with him. Homeless now, I had no options. Grandma’s in Little Rock was my last resort.

Tonight would be my last night of freedom before I moved under her roof and abided by her rules. She’d pay the bills—if I knuckled under and went back to school. Something I resented after being on my own for a couple of years, living by my rules.

Which might have been exactly why I remained, rooted to that spot. The men seated on the truck would never meet Grandma’s high standards.

Sweat gleamed on their naked chests and both of them were thickly muscled and a little dirty—as though they’d come straight from work without the benefit of a shower.

The shine only served to emphasize the depth of the musculature and their starkly masculine features. Their tanned, leathery skin stretched across cheeks and jaws that were sharpened to rough edges by hard work.

Both their gazes homed on me, and while I knew the smart thing would have been to retreat without a word to my room and relock the door, I tilted my chin and thrust out my chest. “Can’t you watch the game in your room?”

“We botherin’ you, sweetheart?” the one closest to me said, sliding off the truck to land in front of me.

I peered a long way up and frowned into the face tilted my way. We stood close enough I could see the bristles of his evening shadow. He wore a ball cap that shadowed his eyes, but glints of blond hair shone beneath it. “It’s late. I was trying to sleep.”

“It’s not that late,” he drawled. “Join us for a beer?”

I glanced behind him and noted the grin on his buddy’s face. He was bare-headed with shaggy brown hair and a devilish quirk to his firm lips. The game seemed to have lost its fascination. Their gazes drank me down like I was long cool drink.

* * * * *

I’ll post the winner of the Dragon Cup contest later today, along with news about a new contest!