Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 542

Sunday Report Card

Finally, I can say I finished the rough of the last December 1st deadlined book.

Two weeks late. But what the hell? To say I wasn't as inspired by this one as the other two would be a gross understatement.

So all you writers out there, when an opportunity to write something for a publisher you have courted for a long time comes, make sure the story is something you love. I just couldn't love this one, hence all the trouble finishing it. Maybe my emotions were involved because I was seriously exhausted. Maybe I was simply annoyed that I didn't get as much say in the premise of the story as I would have liked. I now know I can't write to someone else's specs. Not, and love it.

Anyway. Those 3000 words were the only ones I wrote all week. This week I have to get my head back in the game. Now, why is that High School Musical song playing in my mind? Ack!

Coffee is heating up. My workspace will be wrestled back into shape. Why is it that I can get so easily distracted with all the clutter that has accumulated over the past couple of months?

Last night I took a sleeping pill and got over eight hours of rest—uninterrupted. Huge accomplishment since I haven't had that much in over a month. I'll do the same tonight. I have kid issues coming back Tuesday, but I hope I can set some limits for myself and be a little better organized. Sleep has to make it onto my To Do List.

Christmas is creeping ever closer. I have to get cards out this week—if I'm going to do them at all. I have to get any online buying done. I wish you luck with the countdown as well!

S#$t happens to the Devlins

I babysat last night while the red-headed hellion (RDH) found advanture at Walmart.

While standing in the toy aisle looking at Fischer-Price toys for the two-year-old demon child, RDH heard a commotion coming from the front of the store. She cocked an ear toward the noise, but didn't move. Then two Asian women ran past, hunched over and whispering furiously, "You mus' run!"

The two women began to move the toys off the shelves as though they would hide in the shelves. She asked what was wrong, but they only shook their heads. "Mus' hide!"

Then a hispanic woman ran past. "He's got a gun!"

That's all the RDH needed to here. "Fuck the shelves, let's get to the back of the store."

At this point, more people were rushing past, all passing her because she was in heels. She ran past a cute redneck next to the gun display and grabbed his arm. "Run."

He looked kind of shocked—deer-in-the-headlights shocked. She ran past him, grabbing his arm to force him down the aisle. Over her shoulder, she shouted, "He's got a gun!"

RDH caught up with the crowd and got in front of them, heading toward the auto shop area because she knew they had an exit door. She ran behind the counter, started pressing buttons to open the door, but couldn't find it. At least the area was darkened. She hid under a bench and repeatedly dialed 911, only to be put on hold over and over—WTF? This is Boonieville, Arkansas.

Then three Walmart workers showed up. "What are you guys hiding for? You need to leave, you aren't supposed to be here."

Of course, it ended well. Some dude escaped from the county lock-up and the cops caught him in Walmart with a flying tackle. Over in two minutes, but where would have been the fun in that? Which begs the question. Why would someone escaping from jail want to go to Walmart?

RDH says, "Maybe he needed to do his Christmas shopping."

Yeah, I'm sitting at her table now, drinking coffee, wondering how I would have reacted, if it had been me. Like the guy at the gun counter, she would have been pulling me behind her because I would have wanted a closer look. And because I giggle when I'm nervous, I would have been laughing hysterically. No, guess she would have left my ass behind.

A Sneak Peek

On January 4, 2011, Ravished by a Viking will release. It's my first book with Berkley and the start of a new series. In the coming weeks, I'll be looking for help from those of you who enjoy my books to get the word out. I'll have a contest with some great prizes that will have a widget for you to proliferate. I'll be giving peeks into the story to whet your appetites. If sales happen for this book, then I'll get the chance to write more for Berkley. So whether you see more books from this world really does all depend on you.

If you've ever dreamed of fierce warriors, worlds filled with strange wonders and horrors, and love that endures terrible trials, I do believe I have the series for you. Here's a first peek. And if you'd like to read a longer excerpt, you can go here: Chapter One

You can pre-order a copy here: Buy Link for Ravished!

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

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?

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

The great hall of the Berserkir king's keep was filled to capacity with the clan's warriors. Light cast from the iron chandeliers high above the black marble floors gleamed on the muted metal-fiber composite of their armor and the steel nozzles of the laser-spears they held.

Birget stood among the Valkyrja contingent, which formed a half circle around King Sigmund's throne. As his personal guard, they were the only females allowed inside the hall on this night. True to the traditional nature of the tiny band, they wore hammered metal breastplates over their modern, black uniforms, the gold outer plate embossed with the figure of Freya, their patron goddess, standing in her feline-drawn chariot. Because a truce had been called, their swords remained sheathed, their shields stayed locked inside the armory, and they'd left off their gold, conical helmets.

Word had come that Dagr, clan-lord to the Wolfskins, had been spotted off-shore, his plain, unadorned skiff sailing between the frozen peaks of Hymir's Sea until he'd skidded onto the rocky beach beneath the fortress walls.

Soldiers had been dispersed to keep watch along the shore to find the rest of his floti, but strangely, none were spotted. He'd come alone.

"Has he gone daft? Or does he believe his own legends?" her sister Ilse asked, clutching her pike.

Dagr, the leader of the Wolfskin clan, struck awe in the hearts of all Berserkirs. His many fierce battles with their army had grown his stature to epic proportions, some even saying that Thor himself had bestowed his blessing on the sword of the great warrior king.

"Quiet, daughters," Sigmund said. "Whatever brings him here alone cannot bode well for the rest of us."

"We should capture him," Birget muttered, unimpressed with the Ulfhednar warrior's reputation. Dagr was a man like any other—complete with faults. "If he is stupid enough to enter this hall alone," she groused, "we should enjoy the spectacle."

Her father shot her a reproving look. "He comes under a flag of truce," he said for her ears only. "We won't dishonor our promise to leave him unmolested upon his arrival. We will listen to what he has to say—before we decide whether to detain him." He gave her a little waggle of his eyebrows.

Birget suppressed a smile and straightened.

The large metal doors at the entrance of the keep creaked open. Bearshirt soldiers marched into the hall, the contingent surrounding the enemy king. When they parted in front of the dais upon which Sigmund's throne sat, a tall black-haired warrior strode fearlessly from their center.

Birget's breath caught, her incredulity forgotten. If her future husband was cut from the same cloth, she was doomed.

Dagr, the Black Wolf, stood taller than most of the Beserkir warriors around him. His thickly muscled body radiated strength the way the "pure light" did heat, blaring potent masculinity and power.

His features were harsh and colder than the gray stones cut from Odin's Mountain peaks to build this fortress. Black brows sheltered deep-set, piercing blue eyes. The sharp-bladed nose, chiseled cheekbones, and square jaw reflected granite will.

Rustling sounded as the warriors inside the hall tensed, and Birget understood their anxiety. Yes, he might stand alone, but who would want to be the first to draw a weapon against such a man? He looked and dressed like a savage, like the legendary warriors from their shared past.

A black wolf's head sat atop his long dark hair, the eyes of the dead beast seeming to glitter with menace. Bearskin cloaked his massive shoulders. A silver metal breastplate spanned his broad chest. His thick, muscular legs were encased in leather and fur, as were his boots.

His only weapons were the large, double-headed axe that peeked above his head from where it rested between wide shoulders, the famed sword that hung at one side of his hips, and a long, thick-bladed knife sheathed at the other. Primitive weapons, but no one now staring at him doubted he'd be deadly in a fight.

Fury emanated from every inch of his taut frame.

"Lord Dagr," her father intoned, lowering his chin in a decidedly undeferential manner.

Birget wondered how her father managed to sound so confident when her whole body was strung tighter than a bow.

"My brother," Dagr ground out in a deep, raspy baritone. "Is he with you?"

Almost free!

I don't have a child underfoot until late this afternoon. And tomorrow, dd has the day off, so no children until Monday! Wheeeeeee! Not that I don't love them, but, jeez! Now, maybe, I can get some pages done and figure out how to end my short novella. I managed to get through the Big Black Moment, but now I want a fun ending and can't find it! Mr. Muse is hiding in sheer terror from the the two-year-old.

So head down. Twitter and Facebook off. Phone on vibrate…. You all have dirty minds!

Got any tried and true ways to attack an exploding in-box?

Winners Announcements!

Thanks, everyone, who offered their two cents regarding what they thought should happen next in my serialized free read Bad Moon Rising! The winner of the $25.00 gift certificate from Amazon is…Ashley! So, Ashley, send me an email to let me know where you want that gift certificate sent!

And to all of you who posted a review of Breaking Leather! Many thanks! Every little bit of postive exposure helps. Authors are forever grateful when a reader takes the time to tell us what they enjoyed about something we spent time and heart creating. The winner of the gift certificate is…Rasha! Rasha, dear, send me an email!

A picture says a 1000 words. Prove it!

I'm dragging my butt out of bed late. Need coffeeez, said in my best zombie voice.

I do have a winner from yesterday's Flashback contest. By random number generator, the winner of the free download is…Crystal GB! Congrats, Crystal! And send me the email address you'd like me to use to send your free read.

And since I'm being lazy this morning, I thought I'd put up a photo prompt and see if you all had any thoughts about what sort of story might be lurking inside all those pixels. This photo was taken on my cruise last year with Sasha White. This was at the docks at St. Thomas, but could be anywhere your imagination takes you.

Reminder: Two Contests continue through tomorrow!

1) Give me ideas for the next chapter of Bad Moon Rising. See details here.

2) If you post a review for Breaking Leather on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or the MBaM sites, and send me the link, you're entered! Prize: $25.00 Amazon or B&N gift certificate.

Flashback: First Knight

If you post a comment today, you'll be in the running

for a free download of this book!

Enjoy! I still haven't quite figured out how Garon will fit with my modern knights, but I'm sure it will come as I write more. Or perhaps, I should have a parallel medieval story running neck and neck with the modern knights' stories. What do you think?

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

"…Maddie is a unique heroine that readers will love and Garon is an alpha hero that will thrill the readers. First Knight is the perfect erotic paranormal romance to start fires in the bedroom. Ms. Devlin gives the readers what they want and so much more. I loved First Knight and it rocked my world."

5 Angels, Fallen Angels Reviews

"…Delilah Devlin is a wonderful author and First Knight is a good example of her amazing skill with the written word…All the characters come to life with their vivid descriptions…This is a tale of deep, true love with a little something extra! I enjoyed First Knight and think you will too!"

5 Hearts, The Romance Studio

"…It is both well written and entertaining, making it a complete joy for hard-core romance readers. I would highly recommend this to anyone who love their heroes edgy, and there heroines just as intense."

Four Stones, Siren Book Reviews

While hiding her true identity, Maddie must seduce the mysterious Lord Garon to cement their marriage contract to ensure she won't be returned into her lecherous stepfather's care.

Fresh from Crusade in Palestine, Lord Garon has a secret he must hide, a hunger that must be fed, and a dark and uncertain future. Having shed himself of a fiancée he never met, he's home to lick his wounds. The only thing he wants is a warm-blooded meal—but the new housekeeper is strangely insistent on giving him much more.

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

Maddie shivered at the creaks and groans the portcullis made as it slowly rose. The rain-laden wind carried the noises and filled the silences in between with a howling that sounded like the hounds from hell had arrived at the castle gate.

Shouts outside the curtain wall had alerted them only minutes before of Lord Garon d'Albermarle's arrival. With only a bliaut over her sleeping shift, Maddie stood on the first step of the keep, holding a tray with a goblet of wine, ready to offer a proper greeting to her overlord.

"Are you sure this is the way you wish to go about this, M-Maddie?" Egbert asked, fidgeting at her side.

She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth and nodded.

"It be on your head then," he said, his always-mournful tone as dire as one of Father Ansel's Sunday sermons. She sent thanks above that the cranky priest was away or her deception wouldn't last past the introductions.

The clatter of dozens of hooves on the cobbled bridge beyond the gate filled the castle yard with thunder. From the encroaching darkness, the sounds were as ominous as the dark shapes looming on the gatehouse walls. The torches she'd ordered lit sputtered and flared, distorting and elongating shapes so the men riding through the entrance appeared as tall as giants.

Already tired and on edge because she hadn't slept since a messenger had arrived, warning the castle of his lordship's arrival days before, Maddie's fevered imagination painted them darker and larger still.

"Be they devils?" Egbert asked, his narrow shoulders shaking. "No one travels on a night with nary a speck of light in the sky."

"Hush!" The storm whipping at her clothing and the fatigue from months of worry over this very moment combined to make her hands shake and blackened an already foul mood.

The horsemen entered the bailey and a large figure separated from the contingent who approached the keep. As he drew closer, her fears weren't eased one whit. The warrior sat atop a huge black destrier, forcing her to raise her gaze quite high to seek his face.



He wore a helm that left only his square jaw exposed. The darkness cast by the metal nose guard concealed his eyes. Only his mouth gave a hint of his mood—a thin, straight line with the corners crimped downward.

Under his stare, Maddie's knees trembled but her tray never rattled. She squared her shoulders and shot a glance about her at the castle folk. "Stephen!" she called to the stable master. "See to their horses."

In moments, boys scrambled to accept reins, and the creak of leather and the clank of iron filled the air.

The stable master himself approached the dark warhorse at the foot of the steps but the mounted warrior's gaze never left Maddie.

She licked dry lips with an even dryer tongue. "Lord Garon?" she asked, although there could be no question who led this contingent. All gazes remained on his intimidating figure. "Please come inside, milord. Your people will see to the comfort of your men."

His mouth twisted. "And who will see to mine?"

Maddie's heart leapt to the back of her throat. "I will, milord."

A long pause indicated he looked her up and down. "And who might you be, madam?" he asked, his voice a deep, hollow rumble.

Maddie remembered to curtsy and then straightened, girding herself to speak the lie aloud. "Your housekeeper. I take care of things now." The latter, at least, was the truth.

Lord Garon grunted. Without a glance at the stable master, he tossed down his reins and dismounted.

When he turned toward her, Maggie's breath caught. Lord, he's a tall man. I thought it was just the horse.

Maddie lifted the ornate chalice from the tray to deliver her much-rehearsed welcome.

Instead, his lordship's lips pressed into a tighter line and he brushed past her.

She was left gasping on the bottom step. "What a rude ogre!" she exclaimed, annoyed he hadn't fallen in line with the first step of her plan.

"Watch your tongue, madam," an accompanying knight said tersely as he followed the lord up the steps. "He has exceptional hearing."

"M-Maddie?" Egbert said, nodding toward the door.

She shoved the tray at his belly and grasped her skirts high to rush up the steps.

The plan had seemed so simple. All she needed was to get him alone and addle his sight with a little wine or ale so he'd not care she wasn't the comeliest creature in the keep. Then she would seduce him.

And the sooner, the better. The longer she took losing her virginity, the greater the risk he would discover her identity. The truth was, she would rather copulate with the devil himself than be returned home.

However, this business of copulation, which had seemed a simple, messy, perhaps even enjoyable act, according to the cook, now promised to be a daunting trial.

The lord of the keep turned out to be a giant and as dour as a priest at confession. The thought of being naked with him and accepting his manstaff into her body frankly petrified her.

She rushed through the massive doors, hoping her preparations would meet with his approval. Nothing else could be allowed to mar her well-thought-out plan.

His lordship stood in the center of the hall, hands on hips. Unlike his men, he wore no chain mail, only a leather hauberk to protect his body. He'd removed his headgear, revealing hair a black as midnight and a face as hard as carved granite.

He was everything she'd remembered and more—more frightening, more imposing—and more beautiful because of the differences. Thanks be to God, he hadn't recognized her.

His gaze narrowed on the hall and she looked around to see what might have displeased him already.

Around him, servants scurried, delivering warm food to the men-at-arms as boys eagerly divested them of their armor. If she hadn't been observing him so closely, she might not have detected the change in his posture. He scarce seemed to notice the din of activity. His mouth lost a little firmness, his hands unclenched on his hips and his chest rose and fell deeply.

In that instant, Maddie lost a measure of her fear. Here was a man savoring his first night home after a long absence. He had a heart and cared for something at least. Perhaps he wouldn't be a complete troll when making her his wife.

Garon shut out the noises swirling around him and breathed in the scents of his home. The smells remained unchanged even after eight years away—wood smoke from the hearth, the moist mustiness clinging to the stone walls, roasted meat and women.

Unchanged from his memory, but enhanced by his "affliction".

Now he could easily discern pheasant from roast beef, sage from rosemary—the laundress's ripened odor from the housekeeper's more delicate musk, which wafted in the air behind him where she hovered.

His sight was as improved as his scent. Even the darkest corners, far from the blazing torches in their sconces, were revealed in varying shades of gray—crisp as the autumn air outside. Outside, in the dark, the housekeeper's eyes had been pale in her pinched, pallid face. He wondered now whether they were blue or hazel.

Sounds reverberated on the walls, a steady rumble of quiet conversations punctuated with sharp bursts of laughter. But the only sound that had raised his interest since his arrival was that of the housekeeper's heart as she'd waited on the steps of the keep—an agitated tattoo indicating fear despite her calm demeanor.

She'd called him an ogre. If she knew the true nature of the beast, her trepidation would become terror.

"Milord, I've secured sustenance for you in your chamber," Raymond, his captain-at-arms, murmured beside him.

Garon thanked God every day that he and Raymond had met on a faraway battlefield and discovered a connection that bound their destinies. Without him, he'd never be able to sustain this ruse.

"So quickly? I am hungry and thought I'd have to make do." The throbbing hunger building in his belly had been nearly unbearable the last score of miles.

"Sisters. A friendly pair. They approached me. Said you'd remember them."

He did. Sturdy, lusty blondes. Their names escaped him, but he well remembered how they used to play in his chamber, offering him hours of sensual delight. This time, however, the play would be quick, even deadly if he couldn't harness his appetite. "You will wait outside the door and listen in case I have need of you."

"Yes, milord. If the silence is overlong…"

Garon gave him a sharp, grim nod and turned toward the stairs.

The housekeeper waited at the bottom step, her hands worrying the frayed end of the braided rope securing the castle's keys around her waist. Her shoulders straightened at his approach. "I've ordered a bath sent to your chambers."

"Later. My man will tell you when I am ready." He moved to brush past her, doing his best to ignore the heavenly scent of her skin and the pulse that throbbed at the base of her white throat. Her startled eyes were indeed hazel and too innocent for his purposes.

Light brown eyebrows lowered in a frown. "But, milord, the water's already set to boil. It will be no bother—"

He continued up the stairs, catching a murmured curse from the woman.

So eager to please. She must wonder if her position was secure. At the death of his steward two years past, he'd been informed by courier that another had taken over the management of the estates. As she seemed to be the one in charge, he assumed she was capable, for the land he'd passed through had shown signs of a recent orderly harvest, and the keep was clean, the servants exacting in their care. Tomorrow night, he would tell the woman her place was safe. He had little interest or ability in seeing to the daily running of the estate.

That she was a woman filling a man's shoes was only an annoyance. Dealing with her reports on a nightly basis would test his patience and he'd have to learn a measure of trust, which would be trial in itself.

He'd learned the hard way that a woman could best a man without using brute force. Sly intelligence and seductive wiles could win the battle when a man's attention was centered between her legs. He had lost nearly everything to one such heathen bitch—a Saracen's whore with a thirst for blood.

He shoved open the door of his chamber and hunger instantly clawed at his belly, rumbling loudly.

A fire blazed in the brazier in the far corner. The twins lay naked, warming the covers of his bed. Older now, their figures were a little overblown and fleshy, but their lips still curved in welcome. His body clenched as hunger overrode his caution. He climbed quickly onto the mattress to lie between them. The problem of how to take one without the other screaming the roof down about his ears was less of a concern than feasting on the bounty before him.

"Shall we undress you?" the one with a mole above her lip asked as she scooted closer.

"Later," he growled, earning delighted giggles from the women. He twisted her body over his, her blonde hair forming a curtain to conceal the nature of his "taking". Her screech of delight ended in a shocked squeak as he bit into the tender flesh of her neck.

"Milord?" she whispered, her hands pressing against his collarbone for a moment before her fingers curved into his shoulders, clutching him closer. She moaned and her hips ground into his erection.

"All that from just a kiss?" the other said, a plaintive note in her voice. "Save a little for me, Anne."

Garon's hands fisted in Anne's hair, holding her still while he drew blood from the twin piercings at the side of her throat, sucking hard to assuage his hunger. Tasting of salt and copper, her blood coated his tongue, filled his throat and spread warmth throughout his body.

He sucked harder and she cried out, the rapture overtaking her body to set it trembling above his. As her hips ground harder into his, he widened his legs, and slipped a hand to her buttocks, kneading her generous mounds, and then pressing the hard bone of her mons against his cock. He matched her rhythm, bucking against her writhing body to ease the second hunger growing inside him.

A sharp knock on his chamber door penetrated his bliss-fogged mind and he withdrew his teeth, lapping her neck to clean away the smears of blood and close the small wounds he'd inflicted.

She murmured sleepily and burrowed her head against his shoulder, her hips slowing as she fell asleep.

He reached out to snag the other sister, dragging her to his side. When she aimed a kiss at his mouth, he turned from it, not wanting her to discover the length of his teeth, and dragged his lips along her throat. She moaned and nestled closer to his side.

A knock sounded again. He turned toward the door. "Yes, Raymond," he shouted. "All is well."

The door flung open and the housekeeper stomped into the room, her eyes widening at the sight of the two naked women. Her mouth gaped and then shut with an audible snap. Her gaze rose above the bed as though she were examining the ceiling for cobwebs. "I've brought your bath," she said, her voice tight, red flags of color staining her cheeks.

With the sharpness of his bloodlust dulled, Garon's carnal appetites arose full-blown—called to life by the shock and outrage warring in the mousy housekeeper's expression.

Why her face and reed-thin form should appeal didn't matter. That he had to have her and wipe away that look of disgust pouting her full lips did.

Garon's mouth curved in wicked delight. "A foursome then?"

The butcher, the baker, the candlestickmaker…

Can't you already guess what I'm talking about? Sexy professions! And none of those do it for me, personally.

Short and sweet.

What professions, beyond the obvious (cop, fireman, cowboy),

do you find sexy and why?

Remember, I'm not asking strictly to fill a blog today. You might see your sexiest profession in a book coming soon!

Reminder: Two Contests continue!

1) Give me ideas for the next chapter of Bad Moon Rising. See details here.

2) If you post a review for Breaking Leather on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or the MBaM sites, and send me the link, you're entered! Prize: $25.00 Amazon or B&N gift certificate.

Sunday Report Card

Reminder: Two Contests ongoing!

1) Give me ideas for the next chapter of Bad Moon Rising. Post an idea, you're entered. See details here.

2) I'm looking for reviews for Breaking Leather. If you post one on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or the MBaM sites, and send me the link, you're entered! Prize: $25.00 Amazon or B&N gift certificate.

This wasn't a terribly productive week. I experienced burn-out after a month of NaNo and rushing toward the end of three deadlines.

* I finished the Berkley Viking book on Monday and shipped it.

* I finished reading through all the Girls Who Bite submissions, edited those I wanted, and arranged them in the order I thought they worked best, then shipped the manuscript to Cleis on Tuesday.

* The last deadline, I stalled on. I am almost to the end of chapter 5, but I'm so tired my mind's been muzzy.

I took yesterday completely off. Watched a movie (Splice), took a sleeping pill and was out for nearly 9 hours. I'm still stalled, and this next week looks to be very, very hard for me sleep-wise, because I'll be doing a lot of babysitting for my night-shift daughter. There are reasons people should have babies when nature intended—when they are young! Who has the energy for them otherwise?

Anyway, wish me luck. I have to finish TW this week because I committed to writing two short novellas this month. No rest for the wicked, it seems.

Bad Moon Rising's next installment…(Hint: Contest!)

Again, I need you to help me figure out what happens next in my ongoing free series, Cat Tails. You remember. My intrepid erotica writer DiDi Devereaux came to a sleepy little town in the Louisiana Bayou to check out the house her eccentric aunt left her. Along the way, she wrecked her car, met the town's sexy sheriff and the bad boy, had a sexy threesome with them both while she was under the influence of the sheriff's sexy "mark"—and now she's settling into her new home and liking the sheriff more and more.

However, there's a mystery in the town. One the sheriff's determined to keep her from discovering. The full moon is rising, and along with it, "The Prowl" is about to begin.

So my first question is: What exactly happens during The Prowl?

I have a hazy idea of what happens in the next chapter, but need you to help me flesh it out. Remember, this is your story, so you have to tell me what happens next.

I think the elders will ambush Mason. He's taken a vow to stay clear of the The Prowl to ensure the community's continued safety, which means he should have stayed clear of lovely DiDi. But he's already in too deep to back away now.

So next question: Why would Mason make a vow like that in the first place? Is there something in his past he feels he must atone for?

In the meantime, DiDi's back at her aunt's place, but she's curious about the rest of the property. She hadn't realized the dock existed that extends over the river where she and Mason last had sex. Now, she finds a little flat-bottomed boat and decides to head across the river/bayou to see what's on the other side. I think this will be key to what The Prowl is all about.

So last question is: What does she find across the river?

This is a brainstorming process, so there's no such thing as a stupid idea. And you can build on someone else's suggestion. I'm not going to offer the prize to the person who gives me the idea I like best. I will simply draw a name at random among everyone who posts an idea.

What's the prize? How about a $25 gift certificate from Amazon.com? When will I close this contest down? How about on Thursday? That will give you all plenty of time to think and play.

And as I've done every step along the way, I won't be making the decision of which ideas work best. I will select three or four answers to each question then run a poll for you to choose. We've only just begun the fun!

True Heart, coming soon!

I was roaming the Samhain site late last night, and guess what I saw on their coming soon page? I'll be sure to share sneak peek of what lies between the covers soon! ~DD

Two men plus one woman equals three bodies on fire…

A Red Hot Winter story.

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 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…

Warning: It's a Devlin ménage—expect men with stamina and not an ounce of mercy to behave like sex gods, and the lucky woman to love every minute of it. A little domination goes a long, long way…