Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 541

Ravished–The Legend

In five short days, Ravished by a Viking will release. That's how many days I have to convince you that you want to read this book.

Here's my first argument. The world building in my book goes deeper than the surface. Every facet of my characters' lives has been re-envisioned—beginning with the story of how my Vikings arrived at their present state. I've built a legend into my story that will resonate throughout the series.

Every great quest tale ought to have a legend. You remember Buffy's "There can only be one…"? Or the legend of the Aztec gold for the Pirates of the Caribbean?

When I started dreaming up how I could make my "Vikings in Space" world less ridiculous than it sounded, I knew the key was in developing a legend that made the concept plausible. I hit the books. My own personal library books, that is. I read everything I had regarding Viking history and mythology until a history for my Norsemen far from home began to form.

In the dusk of the final age of man, the bravest of warriors fought a fierce battle, joining all the peoples of the northern lands to battle a common foe, sure that the war they waged was Ragnorok—the end of times for all Norsemen. For the gods had come to Midgard, Earth, setting challenges for the warriors and plucking the fiercest, the strongest, and the most prolific breeders to abide with them in the new world where the "Regeneration" would occur. As the fires of the great war died to smoldering embers, The Chosen followed the gods onto the Bifrost, the shimmering bridge leading from Midgard to Asgard where the gods reside, carrying their worldly goods, and bringing their women and their animals to settle the golden world they'd been promised.

But the dreams of a land of endless harvests, green pastures rich enough to sustain them through the ages, gold vessels to sup from, and jewels to adorn their women, proved false. The gods sought to trap the warriors in endless labors, forcing them to burrow under icebound plains in search of "pure light." Abandoned on their frozen world, the warriors rebelled against their slavery and returned to old habits and old ways, building fortresses of rock and ice. They chased away the gods, but soon they battled each other, raiding to survive, stealing food and women to sustain their endless appetites.

Until the day the gods returned…

~New Icelandic Chronicles

Ragnorok, the Bifrost bridge, and the Regeneration, are all concepts pulled directly from Norse mythology. And I wrote my new legend in the figurative language and tradition of the Icelandic Sagas—as Norsemen might have if they'd been uprooted during the Early Middle Ages, before Christianity arrived. Their history and the stories they'd tell wouldn't stop when they left Earth. And when you enter the pages, you quickly realize that the men who exist on that new world aren't as simple as the legend depicts. They may live in a harsh, unforgiving environment, but they aren't crude or stupid. They are imbued with a sense of destiny. And they know their lives and adventures will be recounted in the old tradition.

Guest Blogger: Cat Johnson

Thank you to Delilah for inviting me to pop in today and thanks to all of you for stopping by during what is a very busy holiday season. This year the season has been a bit different for me. While most people are making plans for New Years Eve and penning their soon to be broken resolutions for 2011, I find myself anticipating something else—the start of a new PBR season (that's Professional Bull Riders not Pabst Blue Ribbon for you non-fans. LOL)

Perhaps it's that my Twitter follow list over the past year has become filled with bull riders, stock contractors, ropin' rodeo cowboys, and fellow cowboy-lovers from all over the world. And in this world, which a few years ago was quite foreign to a New York girl like me, we (me included) are counting down not to New Years, but instead to the opening day of the 2011 season which kicks off at Madison Square Garden in NYC on Friday, January 7th. I've got my tickets and am waiting as anxiously as the rest.

How did I, a born and bred suburbanite, get hooked on bull riding and cowboys? It started out of necessity. I was writing a book about rodeo cowboys a few years ago and was forced (ha, real hardship there!) to consult with real live cowboys for research as well as watch anything I could find about the sport on TV. It's apparently addicting, both the cowboys and the sport, and now I'm hooked on both, book research or not. But it's not just me who is easily addicted. A reviewer recently wrote that reading one of my Studs in Spurs series books made her want to watch bull riding and one of my readers bought tickets to a PBR event after reading my book. The love of cowboys proves universal!

Anyway, Friday night, January 7th, when my friends join me at MSG (they got me and themselves tix as my Christmas gift), we'll see if I can get them hooked as well. There will be lots of questions because they are more suburban that I—at least I own horses while all they own are prints of horses for their walls—but I'm ready for them. After all these years of research for my bull rider series, I can quote the announcers and analyze the rides with the best of them.

I've included a short blurb from my newest bull riding cowboy book. I dare you not to fall in love with him!

Happy New Year and Happy Reading to you all and Let's Buck!

Cat Johnson

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

What happens in Vegas…sometimes follows you home.

Studs in Spurs, Book 3

Pro bull rider Chase Reese knew things move faster than an eight-second ride in Las Vegas. He just never expected to be driving home with a national championship under his belt and a wedding band on his left hand with no clue how it got there.

Yet he can't complain about the stripper bride beside him. From the moment his buddies bought him a lap dance from her, her trembles told him there was more to her than stiletto heels.

Leesa Santiago has met the perfect guy. Her timing couldn't be worse though. If it was just their explosive sex, she could walk away. But from the moment her lap dance brought her this close to his baby blues, she was hooked. She can't lie that she couldn't be happier to bear his name—or guiltier that she's using it and his Oklahoma farm to hide out from mob hit men.

That's before Chase's family gets involved. And his determination to do the right thing pushes her to do the one thing that will keep him safe. Break his heart.

Do cowboy boots mix with stripper heels? And can a love that started out on the wrong foot end up on the right one? That's the risk you take waking up in Vegas.

Warning: Contains one happy-ending lap dance that will make you squirm, some pretty hot sex between two strangers who also happen to be married to each other, and a huge surprise conclusion.

Find more information about Cat's other Studs in Spurs series eBook and paperbacks featuring hot bull riding cowboys at: Cat's Website and Samhain Publishing

Guest Blogger: Keri Ford

What's going on through your walls?

By Keri Ford

Nothing overly exciting leaks through the sheetrock for me. When I was younger my room was against the living room. I got to listen to episodes of Cheers and Seinfeld when I was supposed to be sleeping. When we moved my only wall share was with the bathroom…. Yeah, a few breaks from Sister through the night (something I could have done without!) was it.

And that's it. I married and we moved into a rental house. The bedroom was in the back and butted against the laundry room. I got to hear the dryer. *whoo-hoo*. I've again moved into a single-wide and let me tell you, the walls are so thin on these puppies I can hear my son playing with cars in his room. On the opposite end of the trailer. Nothing more exciting than that.

I know other people get some pretty cool eavesdropping through their walls. Shortly before my book was to release, I set up an alert for "Through The Wall". Sixty-plus hits were rolling in everyday. None of those about my book, mind you, but about people just hearing crap through their walls. Sex, TV, some kid's music practice (eek!), singing (most likely another, eek!), fighting—you name it and somebody somewhere is hearing about it right now.

My heroine, Stephanie, gets some pretty freaking cool eavesdropping. Instead of sleeping, she stays up late and listens to her neighbor's headboard banging against her bedroom wall. And where there's headboard knocking, you know there is other awesome stuff to be heard!

What's the most memorable thing you've heard through a wall?

~~~~~~~~~~

She doesn't want wild and raunchy, just a little spice…

Stephanie Faulkner listens to her neighbor's nightly sexcapades through her bedroom wall. What used to make her blush now has her reaching for her vibrator. But she's had enough self-fulfillment and now wants the real thing.

He wants commitment and long-term, not a quick roll…

The only woman Parker Madison ever wanted for long-term was Stephanie…but she's off-limits. He's tried to find a substitute but there just isn't another woman like her. Now that she's available, if he gives her time to get over her ex-husband…will he finally get his long-desired chance?

Short-term doesn't lead to long term. Or does it…?

Read Chapter One HERE!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Visit Keri At:

Website

Twitter

Facebook

Through The Wall is now available in ebook format for only $1.99 from Amazon Kindle | Smashwords

Thanks so much Delilah for having me today!

What's coming?

On January 4th, my attention will be divided between two books—one, my first print title with Berkley, and the other, my next cowboy menage with Samhain. Most of my efforts are going toward the Viking book because I need it to be a success for me to be able to write more stories for Berkley. They are very different books, but both are ones I know you will enjoy. In the next week, I'll share snippets from the Viking book, so that you will get a flavor of the fun that's in store for you.

Something to keep in mind… Ravished by a Viking is available for pre-order now and is on sale for $10.20—a savings of $4.80 off the cover price. I don't know how long that price will hold. If you order now, your card won't be charged until it ships on the 4th! Ravished at Amazon

So today, is a "Tale of Two Books." Click on the covers to read the openings for both. Tomorrow and Wednesday, I'll have guest bloggers sharing this space, but after that, it will be Ravished excerpts up until the day.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

What a Viking wants, a Viking takes.

When his younger brother goes missing, Dagr, Viking warrior and Lord of the Wolfskin Clan, will do whatever it takes to get him back. But nothing could have prepared him for Honora—a feisty, intelligent woman who is nothing like the women of his world—women who are content to serve their men in all things. Drawn to her despite her recalcitrant nature, Dagr is determined to show her who's boss both in bed and out.

When the two enemies-turned-lovers join forces to find Dagr's brother they are thrown into a rousing adventure full of danger, intrigue and erotic abandon. Can their passion truly unite them or will their different worlds lead to destruction for them both?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two men plus one woman equals three bodies on fire…

True Wyatt's hands are going to be full enough keeping the herd alive through the dead of winter. The last thing he needs to hear is that his brother Lonny has rented out their isolated hunting cabin to a reclusive writer—especially a sassy, disaster-prone brunette. Who has the time to babysit a city girl until Spring?

With a deadline looming, erotica writer Honey Cahill is looking forward to six distraction-free weeks to finish her next book. However, between Lonny's flirty sensuality and True's hard-edged intensity, the Wyatt brothers set the stage of her imagination for a winter of wicked delights.

The fire that destroys the cabin, though, is as real as it gets. Forced to seek a bed under True and Lonny's roof, the temptation to experiment—all in the name of research, of course—is overpowering. One night in their arms doesn't feel like enough; it feels like more. Particularly with one cowboy who fires all her cylinders…

Upcoming Plotting Bootcamp

For those who don't know, my sister and I co-founded a website for writers called Rose's Colored Glasses. From that site, we run a critique group, issue a quarterly writerly newsletter and provide workshops—some for free and some for pay. In January, we will be leading a month-long online plotting bootcamp. How's our workshop different from every other one out there? We provide feedback and brainstorming every step of the way. We are so good at it that we have many authors return again and again for help with their new Works-in-Progress.

Here's a description of the class. January is a great time to take on a new challenge and a new book. Join us if you can!

Your DIs (Drill Instructors): Elle James and Delilah Devlin

Dates: January 3—January 30, 2010

Cost: $35.00—cheap, considering everything you get!

What you can look forward to during Plotting Bootcamp?

Learn a methodical approach to harness your creativity in order to produce an in-depth plot for your next novel! Sound scary? It is-when you're staring at an empty page without a compass and a map to guide you through the novelistic jungle. Your DIs will lead you through four weeks of activities that will help strengthen your abilities to: capture the conflicts, the major plot line and subplots; deepen your knowledge of your characters; and conceive of and develop an in-depth, by-chapter description of your book. Elle and Delilah will accomplish this with weekly lessons, bi-weekly chats and daily online communication. Be ready for bivouac!

Interested? Follow this link to sign up: Rose's Plotting Bootcamp

Okay, that's the end of my promo. The bootcamp is intense and fun. And you will learn something new or reinforce knowledge you already have! Guaranteed!

Our mom drew the picture for our site, morphing my sister and I into "Rose".

Get ready to be ravished!

Psst! There's still time to enter yesterday's contest too. Poll #2 doesn't end until Saturday AM!

So this is the thing I need your help with. I'd like to get this widget spread as far and wide as I can. Read the contest instructions. There are TWO! Your suggestions regarding how to proliferate this over the web for the next three weeks would be appreciated!

It's your story: Cat Tail Poll #2

**Winner announcement at the bottom of this post!**

In December 4th's blog, I asked three questions I needed answered by you before I could continue writing my free, serialized story, Bad Moon Rising. Poll #1 is now closed. This is your definition of what The Prowl is:

"The Prowl" is when members of the clan mate, and if a human is caught within their territory, they may be hunted and mated, by force if necessary

We still have two more questions to go.

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.

I'm offering a $10.00 Amazon.com eCertificate as an incentive to get you to vote. I'd like all the answers to the polls nailed by Sunday AM. Be sure to POST A COMMENT after you vote so I know who to enter in the contest.

The winner of Cat Tails Poll #1 is…Loretta! Loretta, congratulations and email me!

Guest Blogger: Cris Anson

Psst! You still have time to vote on Monday's poll and enter the contest for the Amazon e-gift. I'll close it tomorrow. ~DD

I'm honored, Delilah, to be guest blogging for you again today.

With the holiday season upon us, I started thinking about some of how my characters would celebrate Christmas. My heroine in ADDING HEAT, Giselle Sheridan, would be most likely to celebrate and decorate the way I do.

Giselle is a widow in her 40s who struggles to keep her late husband's landscape business running and her two sons in college. She's gutsy and determined and open to having a man in her life again, if only she had the time to search for one. So I gave her an early gift — a cougar cub of her very own.

She met CPA Conlan Trowbridge during the busiest season for them both—the week before the income tax deadline of April 15. But of course they find a way to get together.

Both Con and Giselle grew up in a semi-rural area in Pennsylvania and have traditional values. It's important for them to have family gathered together during the holidays.

Much like in my own household, they will use traditional, indigenous decorations—fresh pine and spruce boughs and cones, holly, pyracantha and juniper berries, osage oranges and other natural elements gleaned from the acreage surrounding her home and business.

Because Giselle is in the landscaping business, their Christmas tree will, of course, be a live conifer, balled in burlap and resting in an old galvanized tub. They'll plant the tree in the spring as a memento of their first holiday together. And I can see them starting a tradition that my own family has followed—each year giving one special ornament to the other.

Our tree was always decorated with wooden nutcrackers, hand-crocheted snowflakes, a few precious heirlooms of colored glass, sterling silver stars inscribed with meaningful dates. There's a guy on skis, a wheelbarrow, a crocheted angel atop the tree, a needlepointed truck (yes, I actually designed and made it!). One year I received a set of Russian matryoshka dolls nested one inside the other. I treasure the tinkling glass wedding bells on a silver ribbon. We found a wooden farm couple: a man holding a rake and a woman with a pail. A replica of a steam engine and coal tender. Musical instruments. And more, but you get the idea.

Back to Giselle and Con, they aren't always traditional, especially in the romance department *big grin*. Here's the blurb for ADDING HEAT, a stand-alone story in the Cougar Challenge series from Ellora's Cave.

Encouraged by friends she met at RomantiCon, widowed landscape contractor Giselle Sheridan decides she's finally ready to take the cougar challenge and explore sex with a younger man. Except she's too busy during planting season to go on the prowl.

CPA Conlan Trowbridge is battling the IRS deadline for his clients, but when Giselle saunters into his office with a tax question, all he can think of is sex. She's all luscious curves and smoldering brown eyes, and he doesn't care if she's a dozen years older, she's a wet dream come true.

Oh yeah, they're both ready for some hot and heavy sex—in the tub, parking lots, their offices—anywhere and everywhere. But Giselle is afraid her age will eventually bother Con, and her longtime foreman also has designs on her, in more ways than one. When Giselle faces some hard decisions, will she ultimately be able to keep the heat?

Who is Cris Anson?

An older woman who still wants romance in her life. After my husband died in 2005, it took me a long time to come out of my grief. Because my marriage was long and happy, I wouldn't say no to another love interest in my life. So I find myself writing cougar stories (although readers probably wouldn't want to read about heroines as old as I am LOL). I've also written the four-book DANCE series for Ellora's Cave as well as several novellas and Quickies.

Read excerpts of my books at www.crisanson.com

Find the entire Cougar Challenge series here: Cougar Challenge

Guest Blogger: Amanda Feral

You still have time to vote on yesterday's poll and enter the contest for the Amazon e-gift. I'll close it on Thursday.

In the meantime, are you looking for a different kind of kink? Something you haven't tasted before? Check out my friend Amanda's new story!

Justine Crenshaw is accident-prone. On purpose. It's the bruises…she can't live without them, without the pleasure and pain that closely bind her sexuality to her secret obsession. She chooses men who accept her fetish, who seek it out for their own dark designs, even if they don't understand it. She accepts that. Justine doesn't need them for anything but a little bruise pressure during down-and-dirty sex.

Then she meets Nathan, and her heart starts demanding more than her compulsions provide. She can't hide her body from him forever, can't keep him in the dark, literally. But no "normal" guy could possibly understand her multi-colored kink…could he? It might be time for Justine to shine a light on her fetish and find out.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

If they found my body tomorrow—cold and dead from some accidental food poisoning or bathtub slip—they'd suspect I was a battered wife or girlfriend for the mass of bruises, contusions and welts on my body.

They'd be wrong, whoever they are.

No one ever beats me, ties me up—or down. I never have to lie about falling accidentally, or running into door frames, or searing my forehead with a curling iron.

I'm not submissive to anyone, nor am I bound, gagged, throttled, spanked or any of those other violent verbs.

What I am is accident prone.

In the sense that I'm open to them. Accidents.

Ironically, my name is Justine, like the book.

If you don't get the Marquis de Sade reference, don't worry. It's not necessary. This story is neither literary nor filled with obscure references. It's a base little tale of private kink and Christmas.

So it's festive, I suppose. But really not the point.

* * * * *

On the day things began to change for me, my assistant Joel almost caught me admiring a rather impressive bruise on his forearm, just below the crook of his elbow where the hair thins to smooth, distraction-free skin. The specimen was mottled, an irregular grid of fleshy tile around the edges and purpled nicely in the center, with the most amazing branch of broken capillaries, like curls of baby's breath in a floral display.

Gorgeous, take my word for it.

If he'd looked up from decorating the tiny Christmas tree on his desk, he'd have seen my eyes narrowed with lust, my expression wan, unfamiliar. He probably wouldn't have been able to identify the envy, but the way my brain works, that one

look would have given away everything.

Joel would put two and two together and come up with thirty years of obsession and tons of break room gossip fodder. That would be bad. It'd be only a matter of time before the other executives in the firm would be whispering "bruiseslut" when I passed.

"Keeping busy?" I muttered, hoping to slip past without a drawn-out conversation—Joel could be chatty.

"Mmmhmm." Joel dangled a tiny pink flamingo from a metal hook, twisting it between his fingers. "Do you think this goes?"

The rest of the ornaments were blue. Fish, peacocks, even a baby blue Ford Thunderbird jockeyed for prime positions.

"You know what would really set it off?" I asked. "Disco ball."

"Right?" Joel nodded, finally tossing the flamingo into his pen cup.

Everything needed to be just so, apparently.

Even bruises.

Hurrying toward my office, I keyed in on the metal waste can, tensed my leg muscles as tight as I could and slammed my shin into it with enough force to leave a dent. The pain sliced up my leg and I bit it off at my lip before I could yelp. You have to tense up or you just get an ordinary bruise, a dull thud instead of a sharp, stabbing pain.

"Ooh." Joel briefly appeared in the doorway, his flinch exaggerated as if to inform me he felt my pain. "See what I mean, Justine? Accident-prone!"

The expression on my face was practiced. It only looked like embarrassment.

He was right, of course.

Just not the way he meant it.

Most people skirt sharp table edges or the blunt ends of banisters for fear of the biting sting. They want to put those little rubber bumpers on them so children won't bash and bruise, or worse yet, they might end up with a murky purple blossom on their own hip, calf, wrist. It'd be tender and painful and look horrible even under the darkest opaque hosiery.

I get the concern. I do.

But I'm not most people. Of course, I have to pretend I'm preoccupied or rushed, or on my way to an important business lunch or to pick up my sick daughter from school.

Make no mistake—I have no child.

I have bruises.

The phone on my desk beeped. Joel again, his voice a tinny metallic echo from this tiny electronic throat. I always associate disembodied voices with Joel, even when I hear intercom greetings in department stores. Sale on tampons, aisle five.

And I think, Aisle five has the sharpest shelving.

It juts out just a little too far.

Thank you, Joel.

I nodded in his direction as I swept past again. There was a nub on the floor ahead of me. I told myself to keep walking, pass it by without stumbling. Two "accidents" in the course of fifteen minutes would look suspicious.

He looked up from teasing some tinsel onto the tiny tree. "Don't forget lunch with Matsushita. One o'clock at Quinta. I've reserved a corner booth. Because, really, you can't get enough exposure. Oh and your foundation is in at Henri Bendel!"

That was important. Bruises don't hide by themselves.

* * * * *

People clogged the sidewalk outside the store windows for the unveiling of some garish holiday display. I kind of like crowds, they remind me that I love this time of year. The scent of pine and mulling spice almost covered the low-lying fog of rotting garbage, and Starbucks has special flavors to accompany my liquid drug of choice. I slurped a pumpkin spice latté and noticed a teenage boy grinding (or whatever it is they do) on his skateboard. His hair flopped and he brushed it to the side and the girls I was walking behind agreed unanimously that he was indeed "hawt boy ass."

I agreed. He had a strong jaw for a kid and was thickly muscled, broad through the shoulders. He was bordering on manly; irresistible to the Betsy Johnson-set in front of me.

He'd be hotter if he fell.

A row of Christmas trees split the center aisle at Henri Bendel in two, silver and pink foil numbers with coordinating mercury glass globes dangling from their branches. The spaces on either side were flooded with holiday shoppers wielding squared-off bags like butterfly knives, their saucer-eyes targeting sale bins.

I had to jump into the fray. Had to.

Black Friday is certainly the best shopping day to incur accidental contusions, but during a busy holiday season, you never know when an opportunity will pop up.

I was about halfway down the aisle, cosmetics case in my sights, when I caught a spot of slick wax. After some monumentally ridiculous flailing and pinwheeling, I threw myself into one of the trees, accidentally—the first time in years. Ornaments shattered and I connected with the thick wire trunk at my clavicle, riding the rail down to the floor, scraping my cheek and stripping the makeup clean off that side of my face. The entire thing toppled with a loud crash that silenced the waller of shoppers. It blocked the aisle like a twelve-car pileup on the road to disco Santaland.

"Let me help you up," a nearby voice said, deep and resonant.

A man.

A moment later a tan hand slipped between the branches, scooped me out effortlessly and settled me on my feet.

"Are you hurt any?"

From the looks of my arms and legs, I wasn't any worse for wear. A few slight scratches. The ornaments turned out to be plastic and merely stuck to me like childhood stickers.

A complete rip-off.

Real accidents never produce the kind of bruising I yearn for, and sadly, this holiday disaster was no different. It was probably for the best, what with the lottery later. I could get lucky, after all, and not have to worry where my next bruise is coming from.

"Well, you look okay."

I glanced up at the man, intent on thanking him, but when I finally took in the sight of him, I couldn't find the words.

His nametag read, Nathan Winters, Store Manager.

But it could have read, Nathan Winters—Do Me. Do Me Now.

It was one of those moments that lingers and time slows to a crawl, the kind where your inner-monologue goes into overdrive.

And won't shut up.

He's too ruggedly handsome to be stuffed into that suit. Is he sizing me up? Is he interested? Does he think I fell into that tree on purpose? Does he know?

It's your story: Cat Tail Poll #1

Last week, I asked you three questions to get your input regarding what should happen next in our serialized story, Bad Moon Rising.

I've accumulated your answers to the first question I posed. Your mission today is to vote for the answer you like best.

I'm offering a $10.00 Amazon.com eCertificate as an incentive to get you to vote. I'd like all the answers to the polls nailed by Saturday AM. Be sure to POST A COMMENT after you vote so I know who to enter in the contest.

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.