Liz Crowe's Blog, page 20
June 10, 2013
Across the Beer Bar with M.S. Spencer
Welcome to my beer bar M. S. What can I pour for you to start?Why, thank you, Liz. [Looks around with approval.] Why don’t I let you choose for me? I do love red and brown ales, but I believe you specialize in lagers, so I’m happy to be a guinea pig.
All right, for lack of "ales" (we are a lager house) try this Wolverine Dark Lager...
Tell us about your journey to publication…do you have self published titles?No. All seven of my novels have been published by indie publishers. I think every writer, no matter how meticulous, needs an editor. Plus, I liked the support and interaction with publisher, editors and artists. When I’d readied my first novel for submission, I decided to go the ebook route. It seemed obvious that the new generation of readers were more used to screens than pages and I sensed that that industry would blossom, as indeed it did. Plus it’s SO much easier to submit!
What is your favorite of the books you have written and why?I love them all and couldn’t possibly choose. Each of the seven is a unique story and has a unique setting. Some are more action/adventure, a couple are murder mysteries—so it depends on my mood. I’d rather know which are my readers’ favorites!
Uh oh empty glass--what can I pour for you next?Why thank you for noticing—was it my pleading look or my hand hovering over the glass? I’ll have anything but stout, thank you.
Sorry, but as a lager house we follow the German beer drinking calendar pretty closely so...no stouts in late spring early summer. Have one of my amber lagers...
Why "romance" books? Have you always been a fan? Name some of your favorite authors.I never cared much for the formulaic romances and was pleasantly surprised to find how far we’ve come from those—with so many genres and themes added to the one key element—the happy ending. I’m all for happy endings, but I like a little humor, a little mystery, and a dab of suspense before I get there. My favorite romantic authors tended to be English classics—Thomas Hardy, the Brontes, Jane Austen.
Would you mind sharing a poem with us?Gladly. I have written thousands of poems, but my favorites are in a series on Zelda, my alter ego—or rather, the kernel of mad adventure tucked away in a corner of my liver. She supports me when I’m hurt and berates me when I’m silly. This poem refers to a disastrous love affair of mine.Barabbas
How strangely it fellSnow in Samos.Only Zelda liked itAnd me.We rolled balls into snowmen,Labeled themAccording to our fancies.We named OtisAfter my pet ceramic frog. He has a sly expressionIf you turn him to the left.A knowing smile From the right,But his heart is aliveAnd he is capable of true love.The other one we called Michael Because he was so coldAnd empty.The villagers came outTo watchZelda held still in that way she has when she is about to alter viewpointsHeld a cement block over MichaelAnd dropped it.
And what is your next project? I have two novels in progress. In the final stages is The Mark of Love & Death, a murder mystery/romance set in Alexandria, Virginia at the George Washington Masonic Memorial. If you’re interested in international intrigue involving renegade masons and black ops, long-lost papers of George Washington, and great romance, this is for you. Here’s my ad line:Who to trust? The policeman, the Senator, or the secret agent? Claire Wilding must decide and soon, before the murderer strikes again.
The other, called The WishingTree, is set on Chincoteague Island (home of the ponies). So far it involves two mysterious brothers, NASA scientists, would-be spies and would-be asylum seekers, and of course a juicy romance.
For a nightcap--what's your poison?Jack Daniels. Of course! Cheers!
Well, you'll have to go down the road to another bar for that. I only serve the beer made in my brewery....
Lapses of Memory, by M. S. SpencerSecret Cravings Publishing, May 10, 2013Ebook, 70,000 wordsRomance, Action/Adventure, M/F, 3 flames
Buy Links: http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=595Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Lapses-of-Memory-ebook/dp/B00CRJEEKE/
Contacts:Blog: http://msspencertalespinner.blogspot.comFacebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/msspencertalespinnerTwitter: www.twitter.com/msspencerauthorPinterest: http://pinterest.com/msspencerauthor/
Amazon Author Page:http://www.amazon.com/M.S.-Spencer/e/B002ZOEUC8/GoodReads: http://www.goodreads.com/msspencer
May 27, 2013
Happy First Day of (Unofficial) Summer SALE!
Welcome to Summer! Well, sort of, I guess if you aren't a Druid.
I am celebrating but YOU reap the rewards.
My publisher and I are doing a serious price slash on 3 of Liz's Favorite Books through July.
When I started pondering my "favorites" I had to first name PARADISE HOPS. This is a book that sort of appeared to me in a vision, started out one thing and became something else completely. It was flat out rejected by an existing publisher but welcomed by Tri-Destiny, my publisher of choice "as is" as in "write it the way you want, we'll edit it and publish the story the way it's meant to be told."
Blurb:
soon, she might just explode with lust. For now, Grace would settle for his body, his lips, tongue, hands and that cock throbbing against her. But later she knew she'd want more.
ONLY $1.99 THRU JULY!
Amazon
B&N
ARe
Finally, without a doubt, one of my favorite books ever, that I've written and read (yes I can say that) is ESSENCE OF TIME. This book is also a menage but one "of convenience" at first as 2 men who love each other and want a family hire a woman to carry their child. But this book is part of the larger story arc of the STEWART REALTY SERIES, a top selling, award winning set of books that currently has 7 novels available, with a prequel coming in June and the final novel slated for November release with a Barnes and Noble Ann Arbor book signing 11/16/13.
When, as an author, you decide to exert your power to play God, as it were, with your characters it is a very tough moment. When Hans, my well known six-foot-five-inch blond-haired, blue-eyed muse revealed the ending of this book to me it took me several days to come to terms with its reality. However, I think it worked out because it is a book that has brought new readers into the Stewart Realty fold AND has won several awards, including several readers' choice "votes" AND a national E-Lit Book Award for Erotic Fiction.
While part of the series, it is structured as a stand alone as well, and as intro to the series. BUT reading it first may spoil a few things for you.
Blurb:
For years, Rob Frietag has resisted anything resembling a true emotional connection, preferring instead to explore life, and his own desires, without committing to anyone for very long. The reason remains known only to a few, among them Jack Gordon, his college cohort in female conquests, and life-long friend. At thirty-seven, while he is close to achieving his career goal, head chef at a five-star restaurant in Chicago, he is still very much alone.
After an intensely emotional relationship with Suzanne Baxter in Ann Arbor, Blake's heart is left shattered. Completely broken by what he believes was his one true love, he arrives at a Chicago food and beer festival, prepared to drink his sorrow away. When the two men meet, their lives change forever. But time is of the essence. When Rob acknowledges his true feelings, he will stop at nothing to keep them together, including finding a surrogate mother for the child Blake so desperately wants.
Lila Warren is recovering from a nasty divorce, needs cash and believes carrying their baby will fulfill her in ways marriage never did. None of them could suspect that the connection they share would provide the final emotional key to their life-long puzzle.
When Rob’s secret is revealed, time becomes the one luxury they don't have, setting in motion a chain of events that destroys the fragile illusion of happiness for them, and everyone who loves them.
Excerpt:
Blake took a long breath. The day had been a blur of what he kept excusing as hangover recovery but was really more like “holy shit I gotta see that guy again-itis.” His his head pounded, and he kept looking up from either his tasting tables or their company’s booth hoping to catch sight of those chocolate brown eyes, that amazing shock of white blond hair. Rob. He shivered. By six o’clock however, exhaustion stole over him and with it came despair. The sadness born of loss that he’d been clutching close for so long. But for some reason, it was not as acute as usual and when his phone buzzed with a text, he knew it had to be. Rob: “Hey. You ok?” Blake started to type a reply, then smiled at the next message. “Oh, Rob here btw.” “Whew. Thought it might be my other stalker.” “Very funny.” He got no reply, and the tension nearly killed him. After six long hours of standing, talking, tasting, explaining, talking and explaining some more, his feet and throat ached. He shifted from foot to foot, keeping an eye on his phone. Realizing that for the first time in months he wasn’t obsessively checking for a message from Suzanne, but from Rob, he smiled at himself. “She must have been hot stuff boss,” Cal handed him a cup of a stout from the next table over. Blake set it down. He was still weak in the stomach from yesterday’s over indulgence. “What? Oh, yeah, it was, ah, intense.” He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You know me, got one in every port.” “I’ll tell ya Blake, that may not be true but we are all relieved you are getting over Suzanne. That whole thing,” he made a circling motion with his finger. “Muy caliente and muy loco. You’re better off without her.” Blake shot him a look and the guy had the good sense to blush and look away. “She is a fine woman, Blake. But too many issues. You’re a young man, with lots of good years ahead of you…” “I get you,” Blake muttered, squinting into the later afternoon sunlight, a sudden tightening in his chest at the realization that his relationship with Suzanne was fodder for company discussion. His phone buzzed and he grinned as he saw the message from Rob: “I’m done here. Heading to the market, then home. Will make dinner. Remember, I am not doing this to impress you. But would welcome your company. You know the address.” He typed out a quick reply: “I don’t impress easily. And am starving. Will see you in about an hour.” He stared at the screen a minute longer, then typed one more word: “Thanks.” The reply came back fast: “What was I going to do? Leave you lying in your own puke on the street? Give me some credit.” Blake smiled as he tapped his reply. “I do. Although I did think you could have been a serial killer, preying on young drunk men.” “For all you know, I still am. Maybe I like to play with my food before I eat it.” Rob shot back. “Well, if your play continues as it started I shall die a happy man.” “Then get your ass over here. Soon.” It took a couple of hours to wrap everything up and break free. By the time they had the bar broken down and loaded into the trailer, Blake was surprised to find himself antsy with anticipation of Rob—his lips, hands, and more. The guy was funny, hotter than any many had a right to be, and Blake couldn’t wait to get back to him. He knew his heart was seeking something to fill the black hole Suzanne had left there, but he’d have that discussion with Rob again, tonight. No relationships. Just some seriously hot sex, and a lot of good food—the guy was a French-trained chef after all. He smiled, waved at the crew from Big House and climbed into his truck, headed in the opposite direction of Ann Arbor. Before he knew it he stood at the door as mouthwatering smells drifted past him. Garlic, oil, something tangy, all reminded him he had not really eaten much that day. Rob’s advice about finding the breadiest possible food had been well taken, but the reality of an event like today's meant little time to yourself, and certainly not much to eat. His body pulsed like one huge, exposed nerve ending. And he wasn’t positive which urge was the strongest, to eat or to fuck. The door swung open and Rob stood, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the delicious odors following him, spatula in one hand. Blake took a breath, “Hi.” He barely managed even that. The vision before him was one of tall, male, blond perfection and Blake had to bite his tongue to avoid begging him for a kiss. Instead, he followed him into the kitchen, accepted a glass of rich red wine and leaned against the counter. Alt rock flowed around them from unseen speakers. The sounds of a busy Chicago street filled in around the edges. Blake had a split second of sheer joy, imagining the amazing vision of this man in the kitchen, wine, music and shared happiness on a regular basis. Oh hell, get a grip. He invited you over to fuck you, remember? At that thought, his body responded in kind and he moved closer to Rob’s tall frame hunched over a couple of large cast iron skillets. Sounds faded as he leaned in to sniff the incredible mix of fresh vegetable and what looked like scallops. “Hmm.” He reached across and stuck his finger in the mix, putting it to his lips, never taking his eyes from Rob’s. The moment spun out between them. “Needs more garlic.” Rob frowned, stuck his own finger into the perfect blend of ingredients and tasted it. Blake stepped back, then was surprised when Rob smiled, grabbed what looked to be another four or five cloves already minutely chopped beside the stove and tossed them into the pan. Blake sipped his wine and shrugged. “It really is the simplest meals, made with the fewest, freshest ingredients that are the best.” Rob’s words interrupted his mental fantasy loop of mutual nudity. “Yeah, I agree. Same with beer, frankly. All this faddish ginger root, saffron-infused, chamomile tea, Muscat-grape bullshit makes me want to hit somebody. If you can’t do something interesting with water, malt, hops and yeast, you need to find something else to do.” Rob glanced over his shoulder, making Blake shiver. He forced himself forward, plucked a plump, buttery scallop from the pan and popped it into his mouth. It coated his tongue with richness, slid down his throat with garlic infused perfection. “Needs something…” He couldn’t help himself. Ignoring Rob’s frown he opened the giant fridge and pretended to poke around seeking the perfect addition while his body cooled from the whoosh of air. Rob’s hand on his shoulder made him jump. “What about this,” Rob’s arm stretched in front of his face, reaching for something, Blake no longer cared what, as long as his amazing skin was close to his lips. He pulled back, holding a bottle of capers. “I mean,” he opened the jar, dipped in and plucked out a few of the salty tidbits and threw them into the skillet. A delicate vinegary essence underscored the symphony of odors already suffusing the air. “I think you’re right. It needed…something.” He smiled, setting the jar on the granite counter. Blake nodded sagely, as if he would have chosen that very thing. “Since you are such an expert, tell me what you think of that.” Rob pointed to a bowl of perfect-looking guacamole alongside what had to be homemade pita chips. “Where did you get it?” He teased knowing damn good and well the labor intensity behind a decent guac. “Whole Foods?” Rob scowled at him turning back to flip the scallops once more, throwing another splash of what had to be fifty dollar olive oil on the mix of rich shellfish, zucchini, sweet onion, red pepper and sun dried tomato. Blake looked around and took in the pasta press, the floured surface of a stainless steel section of countertop. “You don’t fuck around with this do you?” He dredged a crisp pita chip in the mix of avocado, and tomato, loving the explosion of flavor on his tongue. Rob poured him more wine before turning back to pull the pasta from the stove. “Check that will you? See if it’s properly al dente?” Blake nodded, rising to the challenge. He tasted, found it perfect. “You know, it probably could have used another minute or two.” He sipped and watched the blood rise in Rob’s fair cheeks. He had no idea why he felt a need to provoke but loved it. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He turned away, lest he yank the tall handsome god-like man to him and do something foolish. The table was set, with no-fuss white ceramic dishes, simple flatware and one candle. They shared a few anecdotes about random drunk idiots that peopled every decent beer festival as Blake sat on the couch and tried to summon self-control. He had no business here. The odd connection he felt with Rob was surely born of nothing but simple lust. But while his body continued to thrum with erotic anticipation of what would no doubt be an amazing lay, his heart had relaxed its tight, anxiety-ridden contraction for the first time in nearly a month. This man might be exactly what he needed, on a physical level at least, but the promise of more gave him some pause.
By the time Rob emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of the pasta tossed with the amazingly prepared simple fish, vegetables, garlic and cheese in one hand and a basket of no-doubt fresh-baked bread in the other hand, Blake had to grip his knees to keep from launching across the room at him. He stood, slowly, stretching, trying to stay non-committal and uninterested. They sat in uncomfortable silence, clinked wine glasses and sipped. Blake was relieved that Rob seemed as flustered as he was, at least for now. Once they started eating and the true supremacy of the man’s kitchens skills became apparent, Rob seemed to visibly relax. He speared a fat scallop, held it to Blake’s lips. Blake took it, bit down and let the oily, sweet, rich concoction fill all his senses once more. He shut his eyes, chewed, swallowed, then opened them. “Pretty good. But a bit over salted, wouldn’t you say?” He grinned and kept eating, breaking bread into small bits and dragging them through the garlic oil at the edges of his plate. Rob frowned, then lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. “You’re a smart ass, you know it?” “Yeah. So I’m told.” Blake ate two entire plates of the amazing stuff, and they relaxed into conversation about beer, wine, food, the restaurant business, segued into Blake’s gastro pub dream for a moment. Finally, they pushed their plates away, appetites for food sated. “So, after years of training, practice and food science I stand by the mantra: the simpler the better,” Rob declared, holding his wine glass up to the light, letting it catch the thick legginess that slid down the inside of the bowl. Blake nodded, allowed himself a small second of contact between their legs at the small table before leaning back so he could better observe the man with whom he was prepared to … “Except of course,” Rob interrupted his reverie. “When it comes to dessert.” Rob stood, put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Because real desserts are truly a perfection of complexity.” “Of course, there is the simple perfection of a strawberry dipped in chocolate.” Blake insisted, the contrarian in him rising to the bait. Rob chuckled, and emerged with two ramekins of crème Brule and a blowtorch. Blake grinned. “What a showoff,” he mumbled, standing and cupping a hand behind Rob’s neck. “Now kiss me before I’m intimidated by your kitchen prowess and run screaming into the night.”
NOW just $1.99 THRU JULY!Buy it:AmazonB&NARe
HAPPY READING! If you have read these already $1.99 is a GREAT way to spend a couple of bucks to "gift" a book to a reader friend to help spread the Liz Crowe word!
cheers
Liz
I am celebrating but YOU reap the rewards.
My publisher and I are doing a serious price slash on 3 of Liz's Favorite Books through July.
When I started pondering my "favorites" I had to first name PARADISE HOPS. This is a book that sort of appeared to me in a vision, started out one thing and became something else completely. It was flat out rejected by an existing publisher but welcomed by Tri-Destiny, my publisher of choice "as is" as in "write it the way you want, we'll edit it and publish the story the way it's meant to be told."
Blurb:
soon, she might just explode with lust. For now, Grace would settle for his body, his lips, tongue, hands and that cock throbbing against her. But later she knew she'd want more.
ONLY $1.99 THRU JULY!
Amazon
B&N
ARe
Finally, without a doubt, one of my favorite books ever, that I've written and read (yes I can say that) is ESSENCE OF TIME. This book is also a menage but one "of convenience" at first as 2 men who love each other and want a family hire a woman to carry their child. But this book is part of the larger story arc of the STEWART REALTY SERIES, a top selling, award winning set of books that currently has 7 novels available, with a prequel coming in June and the final novel slated for November release with a Barnes and Noble Ann Arbor book signing 11/16/13.
When, as an author, you decide to exert your power to play God, as it were, with your characters it is a very tough moment. When Hans, my well known six-foot-five-inch blond-haired, blue-eyed muse revealed the ending of this book to me it took me several days to come to terms with its reality. However, I think it worked out because it is a book that has brought new readers into the Stewart Realty fold AND has won several awards, including several readers' choice "votes" AND a national E-Lit Book Award for Erotic Fiction.
While part of the series, it is structured as a stand alone as well, and as intro to the series. BUT reading it first may spoil a few things for you.
Blurb:
For years, Rob Frietag has resisted anything resembling a true emotional connection, preferring instead to explore life, and his own desires, without committing to anyone for very long. The reason remains known only to a few, among them Jack Gordon, his college cohort in female conquests, and life-long friend. At thirty-seven, while he is close to achieving his career goal, head chef at a five-star restaurant in Chicago, he is still very much alone.
After an intensely emotional relationship with Suzanne Baxter in Ann Arbor, Blake's heart is left shattered. Completely broken by what he believes was his one true love, he arrives at a Chicago food and beer festival, prepared to drink his sorrow away. When the two men meet, their lives change forever. But time is of the essence. When Rob acknowledges his true feelings, he will stop at nothing to keep them together, including finding a surrogate mother for the child Blake so desperately wants.
Lila Warren is recovering from a nasty divorce, needs cash and believes carrying their baby will fulfill her in ways marriage never did. None of them could suspect that the connection they share would provide the final emotional key to their life-long puzzle.
When Rob’s secret is revealed, time becomes the one luxury they don't have, setting in motion a chain of events that destroys the fragile illusion of happiness for them, and everyone who loves them.
Excerpt:
Blake took a long breath. The day had been a blur of what he kept excusing as hangover recovery but was really more like “holy shit I gotta see that guy again-itis.” His his head pounded, and he kept looking up from either his tasting tables or their company’s booth hoping to catch sight of those chocolate brown eyes, that amazing shock of white blond hair. Rob. He shivered. By six o’clock however, exhaustion stole over him and with it came despair. The sadness born of loss that he’d been clutching close for so long. But for some reason, it was not as acute as usual and when his phone buzzed with a text, he knew it had to be. Rob: “Hey. You ok?” Blake started to type a reply, then smiled at the next message. “Oh, Rob here btw.” “Whew. Thought it might be my other stalker.” “Very funny.” He got no reply, and the tension nearly killed him. After six long hours of standing, talking, tasting, explaining, talking and explaining some more, his feet and throat ached. He shifted from foot to foot, keeping an eye on his phone. Realizing that for the first time in months he wasn’t obsessively checking for a message from Suzanne, but from Rob, he smiled at himself. “She must have been hot stuff boss,” Cal handed him a cup of a stout from the next table over. Blake set it down. He was still weak in the stomach from yesterday’s over indulgence. “What? Oh, yeah, it was, ah, intense.” He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You know me, got one in every port.” “I’ll tell ya Blake, that may not be true but we are all relieved you are getting over Suzanne. That whole thing,” he made a circling motion with his finger. “Muy caliente and muy loco. You’re better off without her.” Blake shot him a look and the guy had the good sense to blush and look away. “She is a fine woman, Blake. But too many issues. You’re a young man, with lots of good years ahead of you…” “I get you,” Blake muttered, squinting into the later afternoon sunlight, a sudden tightening in his chest at the realization that his relationship with Suzanne was fodder for company discussion. His phone buzzed and he grinned as he saw the message from Rob: “I’m done here. Heading to the market, then home. Will make dinner. Remember, I am not doing this to impress you. But would welcome your company. You know the address.” He typed out a quick reply: “I don’t impress easily. And am starving. Will see you in about an hour.” He stared at the screen a minute longer, then typed one more word: “Thanks.” The reply came back fast: “What was I going to do? Leave you lying in your own puke on the street? Give me some credit.” Blake smiled as he tapped his reply. “I do. Although I did think you could have been a serial killer, preying on young drunk men.” “For all you know, I still am. Maybe I like to play with my food before I eat it.” Rob shot back. “Well, if your play continues as it started I shall die a happy man.” “Then get your ass over here. Soon.” It took a couple of hours to wrap everything up and break free. By the time they had the bar broken down and loaded into the trailer, Blake was surprised to find himself antsy with anticipation of Rob—his lips, hands, and more. The guy was funny, hotter than any many had a right to be, and Blake couldn’t wait to get back to him. He knew his heart was seeking something to fill the black hole Suzanne had left there, but he’d have that discussion with Rob again, tonight. No relationships. Just some seriously hot sex, and a lot of good food—the guy was a French-trained chef after all. He smiled, waved at the crew from Big House and climbed into his truck, headed in the opposite direction of Ann Arbor. Before he knew it he stood at the door as mouthwatering smells drifted past him. Garlic, oil, something tangy, all reminded him he had not really eaten much that day. Rob’s advice about finding the breadiest possible food had been well taken, but the reality of an event like today's meant little time to yourself, and certainly not much to eat. His body pulsed like one huge, exposed nerve ending. And he wasn’t positive which urge was the strongest, to eat or to fuck. The door swung open and Rob stood, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the delicious odors following him, spatula in one hand. Blake took a breath, “Hi.” He barely managed even that. The vision before him was one of tall, male, blond perfection and Blake had to bite his tongue to avoid begging him for a kiss. Instead, he followed him into the kitchen, accepted a glass of rich red wine and leaned against the counter. Alt rock flowed around them from unseen speakers. The sounds of a busy Chicago street filled in around the edges. Blake had a split second of sheer joy, imagining the amazing vision of this man in the kitchen, wine, music and shared happiness on a regular basis. Oh hell, get a grip. He invited you over to fuck you, remember? At that thought, his body responded in kind and he moved closer to Rob’s tall frame hunched over a couple of large cast iron skillets. Sounds faded as he leaned in to sniff the incredible mix of fresh vegetable and what looked like scallops. “Hmm.” He reached across and stuck his finger in the mix, putting it to his lips, never taking his eyes from Rob’s. The moment spun out between them. “Needs more garlic.” Rob frowned, stuck his own finger into the perfect blend of ingredients and tasted it. Blake stepped back, then was surprised when Rob smiled, grabbed what looked to be another four or five cloves already minutely chopped beside the stove and tossed them into the pan. Blake sipped his wine and shrugged. “It really is the simplest meals, made with the fewest, freshest ingredients that are the best.” Rob’s words interrupted his mental fantasy loop of mutual nudity. “Yeah, I agree. Same with beer, frankly. All this faddish ginger root, saffron-infused, chamomile tea, Muscat-grape bullshit makes me want to hit somebody. If you can’t do something interesting with water, malt, hops and yeast, you need to find something else to do.” Rob glanced over his shoulder, making Blake shiver. He forced himself forward, plucked a plump, buttery scallop from the pan and popped it into his mouth. It coated his tongue with richness, slid down his throat with garlic infused perfection. “Needs something…” He couldn’t help himself. Ignoring Rob’s frown he opened the giant fridge and pretended to poke around seeking the perfect addition while his body cooled from the whoosh of air. Rob’s hand on his shoulder made him jump. “What about this,” Rob’s arm stretched in front of his face, reaching for something, Blake no longer cared what, as long as his amazing skin was close to his lips. He pulled back, holding a bottle of capers. “I mean,” he opened the jar, dipped in and plucked out a few of the salty tidbits and threw them into the skillet. A delicate vinegary essence underscored the symphony of odors already suffusing the air. “I think you’re right. It needed…something.” He smiled, setting the jar on the granite counter. Blake nodded sagely, as if he would have chosen that very thing. “Since you are such an expert, tell me what you think of that.” Rob pointed to a bowl of perfect-looking guacamole alongside what had to be homemade pita chips. “Where did you get it?” He teased knowing damn good and well the labor intensity behind a decent guac. “Whole Foods?” Rob scowled at him turning back to flip the scallops once more, throwing another splash of what had to be fifty dollar olive oil on the mix of rich shellfish, zucchini, sweet onion, red pepper and sun dried tomato. Blake looked around and took in the pasta press, the floured surface of a stainless steel section of countertop. “You don’t fuck around with this do you?” He dredged a crisp pita chip in the mix of avocado, and tomato, loving the explosion of flavor on his tongue. Rob poured him more wine before turning back to pull the pasta from the stove. “Check that will you? See if it’s properly al dente?” Blake nodded, rising to the challenge. He tasted, found it perfect. “You know, it probably could have used another minute or two.” He sipped and watched the blood rise in Rob’s fair cheeks. He had no idea why he felt a need to provoke but loved it. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He turned away, lest he yank the tall handsome god-like man to him and do something foolish. The table was set, with no-fuss white ceramic dishes, simple flatware and one candle. They shared a few anecdotes about random drunk idiots that peopled every decent beer festival as Blake sat on the couch and tried to summon self-control. He had no business here. The odd connection he felt with Rob was surely born of nothing but simple lust. But while his body continued to thrum with erotic anticipation of what would no doubt be an amazing lay, his heart had relaxed its tight, anxiety-ridden contraction for the first time in nearly a month. This man might be exactly what he needed, on a physical level at least, but the promise of more gave him some pause.
By the time Rob emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of the pasta tossed with the amazingly prepared simple fish, vegetables, garlic and cheese in one hand and a basket of no-doubt fresh-baked bread in the other hand, Blake had to grip his knees to keep from launching across the room at him. He stood, slowly, stretching, trying to stay non-committal and uninterested. They sat in uncomfortable silence, clinked wine glasses and sipped. Blake was relieved that Rob seemed as flustered as he was, at least for now. Once they started eating and the true supremacy of the man’s kitchens skills became apparent, Rob seemed to visibly relax. He speared a fat scallop, held it to Blake’s lips. Blake took it, bit down and let the oily, sweet, rich concoction fill all his senses once more. He shut his eyes, chewed, swallowed, then opened them. “Pretty good. But a bit over salted, wouldn’t you say?” He grinned and kept eating, breaking bread into small bits and dragging them through the garlic oil at the edges of his plate. Rob frowned, then lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. “You’re a smart ass, you know it?” “Yeah. So I’m told.” Blake ate two entire plates of the amazing stuff, and they relaxed into conversation about beer, wine, food, the restaurant business, segued into Blake’s gastro pub dream for a moment. Finally, they pushed their plates away, appetites for food sated. “So, after years of training, practice and food science I stand by the mantra: the simpler the better,” Rob declared, holding his wine glass up to the light, letting it catch the thick legginess that slid down the inside of the bowl. Blake nodded, allowed himself a small second of contact between their legs at the small table before leaning back so he could better observe the man with whom he was prepared to … “Except of course,” Rob interrupted his reverie. “When it comes to dessert.” Rob stood, put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Because real desserts are truly a perfection of complexity.” “Of course, there is the simple perfection of a strawberry dipped in chocolate.” Blake insisted, the contrarian in him rising to the bait. Rob chuckled, and emerged with two ramekins of crème Brule and a blowtorch. Blake grinned. “What a showoff,” he mumbled, standing and cupping a hand behind Rob’s neck. “Now kiss me before I’m intimidated by your kitchen prowess and run screaming into the night.”
NOW just $1.99 THRU JULY!Buy it:AmazonB&NARe
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Liz
May 25, 2013
Gordon House Rules
Today I'm giving you a taste of HOUSE RULES, the Jack Gordon, Stewart Realty Novella that will be available 100% FREE on my publisher's site (www.sizzlinbooks.com) on JUNE 16! It will also be just .99 everywhere else. This is the Jack Gordon backstory that my eager muse shoved into my head one day while I was minding my own business and trying to start the final novel of the series, Good Faith (which is now done in first draft and releases Nov. 13 along with a fun "Stewart Realty Con" in Ann Arbor June 15-16 that includes a book signing at Barnes & Noble plus some seriously awesome parties with trivia and food and beer and fun!).
Jack is sort of the glue that holds all these folks together through the course of (ultimately) 8.5 books plus 3 in the Black Jack Gentlemen soccer novels spin off series that releases in August. He's all kinds of hot and bother-able by the time you "meet" him in Floor Time/Sweat Equity/Closing Costs, the original trilogy of this series. But he is frustrating on many levels and so I wanted to tell all these stories that other folks have relayed about him from their perspective from HIS...plus do a little fill-on on what made him the man he is by 35 (when he meets his destiny in Sara Thornton. A.k.A. the woman my fans love to hate or hate to love depending on how you look at it).
For those of you who "know" this is a peek at the "Jack and Jenna" intro.
And now, the cover:
and the blurb:
It takes a wealth of collected experiences, emotions, successes and failures to craft the personality of a true Alpha Male
Jack Gordon, real estate broker, licensed builder, Juris Doctorate, has had his fair share of strife. His ability to cope, to fall down and pick himself back up has lead him to a place where he believes he has it all. Friends, money, cars, more women than he can count, and a club in Detroit where he can exorcise his inner demons, fill his days and his nights.
When he walks up to a penthouse door on a hot Ann Arbor summer afternoon, frustrated, exasperated and ready to call it quits after hours of condo shopping with a wealthy couple, the last thing on his mind is meeting his destiny.
House Rules: The Jack Gordon Story. A prequel novella of the Stewart Realty Series.
AND a pretty much NSFW excerpt.....ready....it's a full chapter so put your feet up and, um, shut the door?
-->
Chapter 9
“Law school sucks,” the girl claimed as she flopped onto the couch nearby. Jack glanced up from his perusal of that very fact via mounds of torts and other bullshit.His shoulders ached as he stretched his arms up, not really paying that much attention to her. His tired brain coming to terms with the fact that he may well have met his limit: being a full-time law school student at a premiere school, and trying to fulfill his every sexual fantasy at a club he’d been invited to join not that far from the center of downtown Chicago.The house he’d rented was a rattletrap piece of shit. The one roommate he’d found had bailed and he was fast realizing something important about himself—he did not like living alone. He was lonely. And a little intimidated by how deep into the BDSM scene he seemed to be getting. Plus flat out exhausted by all the flipping bookwork he had to do just to get through his classes. Law school had occurred to him almost as a whim during his junior year at Michigan State. His roommate and new buddy, Rob, had been headed to medical school. As was Suzanne, whom he had managed to avoid more than he liked for the last years of undergrad.He had no real idea what he wanted to do, but was not about to join the “be a doctor” bandwagon, no way. Way too much blood and guts involved there. He could get his M.B.A., as he would be emerging with a Bachelor’s of Science in Business, but that sounded like more boring theory and stats. He’d been messing around with a girl then who’d been preparing for the LSAT. One morning while she slept off an epic fuck session, he picked up her study guide and settled down with it. By the time she woke up and booted him out of her place, he was convinced that should be his next step. The act of “practicing law” was not the draw but rather the challenge of taking that damn test. His interest was piqued so he got his own study books and, in typical fashion, devoted hours to the goal.Now, here he was at a very expensive school of The Law, while Rob had tossed his admissions letters and headed to France to be a chef. Suzanne was at med school down South and the last he heard had a serious boyfriend. It wasn’t that he wanted a woman around or anything. No, he just was not the kind of guy who found isolation enjoyable. He liked waking up and having someone to talk to over coffee, or to share a beer with while he studied.The girl he’d been ignoring made a funny, exasperated sound somewhere between a snort and a sigh, breaking his reverie. He glanced at her again and did a double-take.She was curled up on the crappy student lounge couch in a corner of the main law building basement—a place he’d found and scoped out as his own for getting some work done between classes a few weeks ago.“Yeah,” he said, raking his gaze over her near-perfect form. She had big tits, which were a bonus, but since he was an ass and legs man he waited her out. His newfound inner radar started pinging the second her dark blue eyes met his. “I’m Jack.”“Hi, Jack. Jenna.” She proceeded to ignore him for a solid hour, and he let her. Because he had already figured something out about Jenna. He knew she’d stick around and chat some more. He smiled when he sensed her nearby, hovering over him. “Um, can you make heads or tails of this?” She pointed to an open passage in her book. “Maybe. I think I need coffee first. Join me?” He got to his feet and gathered all of his papers. She watched, her eyes widening, then met his smile with one of her own. “Yeah, sure, Jack,” she said, lingering over his name in a way that made him gulp as she stuffed her book in her backpack and shouldered it. The look on her face confused him some, but her body was sending clear signals that he intercepted and translated. They walked, chatting about nothing in particular and Jack got his first full look at her. She was about five foot four in flat shoes, with a fit-looking, curvy body, packed into nondescript dark denim jeans and red sweater that dipped into her impressive cleavage nicely. Her dark brown hair tumbled around her shoulders and her laugh was low, sexy. It rumbled around in his libido in a way that he recognized. He’d spent last summer learning something about himself that shocked him at first. Then had settled into his new reality as a sexual Dom with an eagerness that made that first girl who’d invited him to club a very happy camper.The owner of the small place in downtown Detroit was an older guy, good-looking still, and content to show him the ropes… and the handcuffs… the floggers… the whips and ball gags. He’d made a project of Jack actually, grooming him, he claimed, for greatness.He grinned and took a step closer to the alluring, sexy Jenna as they stood in line for coffee. He could smell it on her like lingering smoke—her plain-as-day willingness to submit to him. She looked up and met his gaze.The moment that should have been awkward made his cock slam into the back of his zipper. He smiled at the sensation. A corner of her full lips tilted up in a way he thought he understood. He figured that was the final sign. He was no expert yet but well on his way. While sensing the sexual energy of every female in a room was sometimes tiring, now that he could channel it, figure out which of them would actually provide him the outlet he required, it seemed that it all led him to this precise moment. And to Jenna.She leaned closer to him in a way entirely inappropriate for having just met. Yet it was perfect. “I don’t want coffee, really. I’ve been watching you all semester, all year. Let’s go to your place.”He swallowed hard. Something wasn’t right, was off, or just shifted to the left, just far enough for him to sense it and hesitate. He looked down into her deep blue eyes. Saw the way her breathing had ramped up. The pulse in her throat caught his gaze, beating, beating. And those lips… dear god they were tempting.He smiled. “I don’t know, Jenna. Maybe I’m not ready.” He raised an eyebrow. This was his scene. He was not about to let her call the shots. “Oh I think you are.” She turned just enough to shield her hand, the one she put right on the uncomfortable bulge in his jeans. He didn’t move or shift away. He did, however, narrow his eyes at her on purpose, making sure she got the gist of his displeasure. “I’m not sure I said you could touch me yet. Jenna.” He kept his voice low and slow, but his brain was starting to hum with a familiar sense of rightness. She lowered her gaze, tucked the offending hand back into her jacket pocket, and started to step back.He gripped her arm, loving the way the heat transferred from her to him, and shot down his spine. “Don’t move.” He glanced around then putting his mouth near her ear, taking in a fresh breath of horny female. “I can sense that you know what I like… Jenna…” Her name felt exotic, unique, on his lips. “But just because you want it does not mean I’m giving it to you. Are we clear?” Keeping her eyes downcast, she nodded. Then looked up fast, surprising him some. Later, he would realize that was the moment he should have known, should have figured Jenna’s manipulative tendencies out. If he had been more mature, more at ease with his powers of perception, or at least in tune with his gut feeling to run away from her as fast as he could, he might have avoided a shit ton of head and heart ache.Instead he smiled at her boldness, liking it and wanting to tame it—thinking he could, which was mistake number one. “You don’t have to… sir,” she whispered, not tearing her gaze from his. Something about her rubbed him both ways—wrong and right. He could not figure it out. Her neediness—that familiar aura he’d come to know and understand those nights at the club that first summer—was tinged with something else, something a little ominous. He ignored it. And let his overwhelming need to control her shove away the worry.“I know that. Let’s sit. Have coffee.” He grinned at her exasperated look. Yeah, control this scene, Gordon. Otherwise she would and something told him that would be very bad idea.“After you.” He grabbed their cardboard cups and nodded toward an empty table in a sea of students drinking, reading, talking—doing all the normal things. While he zeroed in on Jenna and the many possibilities she was tossing his way without even realizing it.“So Jenna,” he said stretching his legs out under the table and letting his calf make contact with hers. He sensed her flinch ever so slightly at the touch. “Where are you from?”She sipped her coffee, kept her gaze on his. “Southern Illinois, little town you’ve never heard of.” “Okay.” Jack stayed apart, trying to remain objective, but something about her fairly screamed “take me now” so loud he was surprised everyone around them couldn’t hear it.He swallowed hard, willed himself down from the ledge, and made small-talk with her. It was not comfortable, and the more they sat and the more he tried to make it “just a chat”, the hornier he got. He knew damn good and well she was throwing it, her vibe, just to see if he’d catch it. He did not like being tested. But at the same time wanted to prove he could pass with flying fucking colors.Finally he stood, slowly, never more unsure and sure of something at the same time in his life. She rose at the same pace, her body drawing his eyes and making him have to bite his tongue not to say something that would tip the scale of power in her favor. Because that is exactly what this was, as they stood and stared at each other across the small, coffee shop table—a power play.Her hair tumbled around her face. High cheekbones were flushed red, dark blue eyes flashed, the hands she put on her hips tempted. It was as if she were dressed the way he preferred, in a short, easy-access dress and towering high heels, hair done up, all ready for him. When really she just stood there in jeans, a sweater, and little makeup. The minute flowed into two as the world continued to orbit around them.He frowned, pissed at himself for being so weird. Attaching emotion to something that should contain none, trying to focus on his ability to show her a good time, nothing more or less. It was not until many years later that he understood that keeping himself emotionally aloof was also a mistake. She leaned back then, cocked one hip as if pulling away. He nearly fell forward but caught himself on the table. This was too much. He should bolt, fast, before he did something really dumb.“C’mon,” he blurted out, pushing away from her, his voice gruff. “We need to clear the air.”She let him put a possessive hand in the small of her back and guide her out firmly, without speaking, as if they were already a couple. His house was a ten-minute car ride from campus but he toyed with walking there, to get his head straight.Then he found himself opening the passenger’s side door and handing her in. She moved in a fluid way like a dancer. Jack couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her even as she did something as innocuous as get into his truck. The ride was quiet but in an oddly comfortable way, as if they were used to each other’s silences and willing to let them happen. When he parked in the drive, a sudden feeling of apprehension gripped his gut and gave it a twist. She sat, waiting for him to make the first move like a good submissive. He shuddered, the word hitting the front of his brain hard. She was that, to be sure, but his? That was another question and one he was not sure he wanted the answer to, not yet. The months he had spent calming his excess energy by learning how to dominate, how to please, how to control his urges and be in complete control of his partners’ pleasure had been a pure buzz. He loved it. There was no denying that, or that he was a natural at it.More women had been pleasured by him and his abilities than he could even count anymore. He’d graduated, with honors, and while the old club owner guy would not yet call him a Master, he knew if he hadn’t left for law school when he did, it would have been a matter weeks before that happened. But now he felt queasy and decidedly un-masterful. A hand touched his leg. He stared at it, the short nails painted a funky brown like dried blood. Her fingers long, tapered, elegant. The gut-deep reaction to her was freaking him the fuck out. He gulped and got out, deciding to make this short and sweet and bid her farewell as quickly as he possibly could. Without looking at her he yanked open the door, then didn’t wait before he stomped up the steps and unlocked the door, tossing his stuff on the entryway floor. He escaped to the small kitchen to gulp some water.He heard her enter, then walk up behind him after a few minutes. She waited quietly, until he turned. Jenna stood completely naked in his kitchen, her firm, large breasts tipped with deep pink, nipples.Her sex was nearly bare but for a small triangle of dark brown fuzz. He could see it all, more than he wanted to see, including an intriguing piece of body art that he reached out to touch. The black vine-looking thing came around her side, bloomed like a leafless tree across her stomach, reaching down into her tiny patch of pubic hair. His finger shook as he touched it, but the heat of her skin calmed him. The feel of female flesh under his hand cast a pall over his zinging nerves. He pulled her close and everything slowed, including his racing pulse. She tasted like coffee and like something exotic, as he parted her lips and she went up on her tiptoes to put her arms around his neck and mold her body against his. He stopped. And she stepped back, dropping her gaze. “I’m sorry. I should not have touched you… yet.”Wiping his lips as the nervousness tickled his brain again, he took her hand, led her back to his room. He hadn’t had any women in his house in a while, much less in his room, even after a year of school. Which was odd considering his previous preference for intimate house parties.His time at the club had changed his taste for play and he’d kept it separate from where he lived on purpose. Problem was, he wanted this one close, in his personal space. The strength of the wanting terrified and exhilarated him all at once.He opened a small chest, pulled out a length of soft cotton rope and nothing else. “Lie down,” he said, his voice so low he could barely hear it himself. “Hands over your head.” He tied her wrists, allowed himself a few moments to stroke her amazing body, watching as she reacted, loving it so much he felt like he could keep her here forever. She bent one leg as her breathing quickened. He kissed her then, unable to stop himself, dove into her mouth as his fingertips found her exposed clit, teased it, then slid his experienced fingers inside the tight glove of her.She sighed, writhed under his touch and his lips. Then he got off the bed and left her there without a word. He needed space. He should not have brought her here. He wasn’t ready for something that felt so… incredibly… strange. What should be right simply was not. He couldn’t figure it out. After whimpering a little, Jenna stayed quiet. Jack sat at the small kitchen table and contemplated the odd sensations fluttering around his brain like trapped insects. Yeah, his cock was hard enough to cut a few diamonds but that he could handle. It was his heart, which kept pounding and his head, which buzzed so loudly he could barely hear himself think. What was this?He ran a hand down his face, around the back of his neck. The longer he sat, the worse it got, so he stood, stomped back into the bedroom. He stripped out of his clothes under her gaze. She bit her plump, delicious, lower lip. An odd sensation of ownership enveloped him. That was his lip. He would bite it, and she would do exactly what he told her.As if in a daze, moving slow and with purpose but not even understanding what or why—just that he had to do it, he rolled her over. Yanking her hips up, he smacked her ass, hard, open-handed, once, twice, again, watching as her flesh reddened and hearing her sighs and squeals of pleasure. The white ropes at her wrists caught his eye for some reason. She was pulling at them so hard they burned her skin and a drop of blood had appeared, marring the whiteness.He stared at it, caressing her hip and ass that he’d just smacked yet again. To her credit, she stayed quiet, emitting only little sighs and moans as he ran both his hands up her back and into her hair. He gripped tight and pulled with one, then used his other to trace that wild tree-thing that covered her lower back and snaked around to her front. “I don’t know what it is about you… but…” He rolled a condom over his cock, still feeling trancelike, outside himself, unable to stop or breathe or think. His control was slipping. He knew it. When he slid into her, inch by slow inch, she gripped him and her sighs turned to a low groan of satisfaction. He closed his eyes and let it happen. The moment was sublime and meant more to him than it likely should.He fucked her slow, watching as if from a distance. He gripped her hip and reached around to tease her clit until she cried out and pulsed, her whole body pulling him toward something he honestly believed he should run away from. “Oh shit,” he moaned and grabbed her hair again, yanking her head back as her body kept such a tight hold on his cock it almost hurt. Everything froze just as the orgasm burst across his nerve endings, making him yell and lose himself utterly for the first time since Mindy, likely, or Suzanne. He sighed and draped his body around hers. Pulled her down, and cradled her close as he reached around to unbind her wrists. She still hadn’t spoken but was shaking, trembling so hard her teeth chattered.“Shh…” he whispered, pulling the quilt up over her while he hit the bathroom. “Shh…Jenna,” he caressed her name when he returned, loving the feel of it in his mouth while his brain was sending up warnings to let her go, don’t allow to her stay. But she was so just right, here in his arms. Burying his nose in her hair he sighed, and slept.
check me out: www.facebook.com/lizcroweauthorjoin my private fan group: www.facebook.com/groups/romanceforreallifetweet me! www.twitter.com/a2beerwenchfollow my blog: www.brewingpassion.com
Get your own start on this best selling series that has more folks telling me daily "I stayed up all night thanks to you and Jack Gordon..."AmazonB&NARe
Jack is sort of the glue that holds all these folks together through the course of (ultimately) 8.5 books plus 3 in the Black Jack Gentlemen soccer novels spin off series that releases in August. He's all kinds of hot and bother-able by the time you "meet" him in Floor Time/Sweat Equity/Closing Costs, the original trilogy of this series. But he is frustrating on many levels and so I wanted to tell all these stories that other folks have relayed about him from their perspective from HIS...plus do a little fill-on on what made him the man he is by 35 (when he meets his destiny in Sara Thornton. A.k.A. the woman my fans love to hate or hate to love depending on how you look at it).
For those of you who "know" this is a peek at the "Jack and Jenna" intro.
And now, the cover:
and the blurb:
It takes a wealth of collected experiences, emotions, successes and failures to craft the personality of a true Alpha Male
Jack Gordon, real estate broker, licensed builder, Juris Doctorate, has had his fair share of strife. His ability to cope, to fall down and pick himself back up has lead him to a place where he believes he has it all. Friends, money, cars, more women than he can count, and a club in Detroit where he can exorcise his inner demons, fill his days and his nights.
When he walks up to a penthouse door on a hot Ann Arbor summer afternoon, frustrated, exasperated and ready to call it quits after hours of condo shopping with a wealthy couple, the last thing on his mind is meeting his destiny.
House Rules: The Jack Gordon Story. A prequel novella of the Stewart Realty Series.
AND a pretty much NSFW excerpt.....ready....it's a full chapter so put your feet up and, um, shut the door?
-->
Chapter 9
“Law school sucks,” the girl claimed as she flopped onto the couch nearby. Jack glanced up from his perusal of that very fact via mounds of torts and other bullshit.His shoulders ached as he stretched his arms up, not really paying that much attention to her. His tired brain coming to terms with the fact that he may well have met his limit: being a full-time law school student at a premiere school, and trying to fulfill his every sexual fantasy at a club he’d been invited to join not that far from the center of downtown Chicago.The house he’d rented was a rattletrap piece of shit. The one roommate he’d found had bailed and he was fast realizing something important about himself—he did not like living alone. He was lonely. And a little intimidated by how deep into the BDSM scene he seemed to be getting. Plus flat out exhausted by all the flipping bookwork he had to do just to get through his classes. Law school had occurred to him almost as a whim during his junior year at Michigan State. His roommate and new buddy, Rob, had been headed to medical school. As was Suzanne, whom he had managed to avoid more than he liked for the last years of undergrad.He had no real idea what he wanted to do, but was not about to join the “be a doctor” bandwagon, no way. Way too much blood and guts involved there. He could get his M.B.A., as he would be emerging with a Bachelor’s of Science in Business, but that sounded like more boring theory and stats. He’d been messing around with a girl then who’d been preparing for the LSAT. One morning while she slept off an epic fuck session, he picked up her study guide and settled down with it. By the time she woke up and booted him out of her place, he was convinced that should be his next step. The act of “practicing law” was not the draw but rather the challenge of taking that damn test. His interest was piqued so he got his own study books and, in typical fashion, devoted hours to the goal.Now, here he was at a very expensive school of The Law, while Rob had tossed his admissions letters and headed to France to be a chef. Suzanne was at med school down South and the last he heard had a serious boyfriend. It wasn’t that he wanted a woman around or anything. No, he just was not the kind of guy who found isolation enjoyable. He liked waking up and having someone to talk to over coffee, or to share a beer with while he studied.The girl he’d been ignoring made a funny, exasperated sound somewhere between a snort and a sigh, breaking his reverie. He glanced at her again and did a double-take.She was curled up on the crappy student lounge couch in a corner of the main law building basement—a place he’d found and scoped out as his own for getting some work done between classes a few weeks ago.“Yeah,” he said, raking his gaze over her near-perfect form. She had big tits, which were a bonus, but since he was an ass and legs man he waited her out. His newfound inner radar started pinging the second her dark blue eyes met his. “I’m Jack.”“Hi, Jack. Jenna.” She proceeded to ignore him for a solid hour, and he let her. Because he had already figured something out about Jenna. He knew she’d stick around and chat some more. He smiled when he sensed her nearby, hovering over him. “Um, can you make heads or tails of this?” She pointed to an open passage in her book. “Maybe. I think I need coffee first. Join me?” He got to his feet and gathered all of his papers. She watched, her eyes widening, then met his smile with one of her own. “Yeah, sure, Jack,” she said, lingering over his name in a way that made him gulp as she stuffed her book in her backpack and shouldered it. The look on her face confused him some, but her body was sending clear signals that he intercepted and translated. They walked, chatting about nothing in particular and Jack got his first full look at her. She was about five foot four in flat shoes, with a fit-looking, curvy body, packed into nondescript dark denim jeans and red sweater that dipped into her impressive cleavage nicely. Her dark brown hair tumbled around her shoulders and her laugh was low, sexy. It rumbled around in his libido in a way that he recognized. He’d spent last summer learning something about himself that shocked him at first. Then had settled into his new reality as a sexual Dom with an eagerness that made that first girl who’d invited him to club a very happy camper.The owner of the small place in downtown Detroit was an older guy, good-looking still, and content to show him the ropes… and the handcuffs… the floggers… the whips and ball gags. He’d made a project of Jack actually, grooming him, he claimed, for greatness.He grinned and took a step closer to the alluring, sexy Jenna as they stood in line for coffee. He could smell it on her like lingering smoke—her plain-as-day willingness to submit to him. She looked up and met his gaze.The moment that should have been awkward made his cock slam into the back of his zipper. He smiled at the sensation. A corner of her full lips tilted up in a way he thought he understood. He figured that was the final sign. He was no expert yet but well on his way. While sensing the sexual energy of every female in a room was sometimes tiring, now that he could channel it, figure out which of them would actually provide him the outlet he required, it seemed that it all led him to this precise moment. And to Jenna.She leaned closer to him in a way entirely inappropriate for having just met. Yet it was perfect. “I don’t want coffee, really. I’ve been watching you all semester, all year. Let’s go to your place.”He swallowed hard. Something wasn’t right, was off, or just shifted to the left, just far enough for him to sense it and hesitate. He looked down into her deep blue eyes. Saw the way her breathing had ramped up. The pulse in her throat caught his gaze, beating, beating. And those lips… dear god they were tempting.He smiled. “I don’t know, Jenna. Maybe I’m not ready.” He raised an eyebrow. This was his scene. He was not about to let her call the shots. “Oh I think you are.” She turned just enough to shield her hand, the one she put right on the uncomfortable bulge in his jeans. He didn’t move or shift away. He did, however, narrow his eyes at her on purpose, making sure she got the gist of his displeasure. “I’m not sure I said you could touch me yet. Jenna.” He kept his voice low and slow, but his brain was starting to hum with a familiar sense of rightness. She lowered her gaze, tucked the offending hand back into her jacket pocket, and started to step back.He gripped her arm, loving the way the heat transferred from her to him, and shot down his spine. “Don’t move.” He glanced around then putting his mouth near her ear, taking in a fresh breath of horny female. “I can sense that you know what I like… Jenna…” Her name felt exotic, unique, on his lips. “But just because you want it does not mean I’m giving it to you. Are we clear?” Keeping her eyes downcast, she nodded. Then looked up fast, surprising him some. Later, he would realize that was the moment he should have known, should have figured Jenna’s manipulative tendencies out. If he had been more mature, more at ease with his powers of perception, or at least in tune with his gut feeling to run away from her as fast as he could, he might have avoided a shit ton of head and heart ache.Instead he smiled at her boldness, liking it and wanting to tame it—thinking he could, which was mistake number one. “You don’t have to… sir,” she whispered, not tearing her gaze from his. Something about her rubbed him both ways—wrong and right. He could not figure it out. Her neediness—that familiar aura he’d come to know and understand those nights at the club that first summer—was tinged with something else, something a little ominous. He ignored it. And let his overwhelming need to control her shove away the worry.“I know that. Let’s sit. Have coffee.” He grinned at her exasperated look. Yeah, control this scene, Gordon. Otherwise she would and something told him that would be very bad idea.“After you.” He grabbed their cardboard cups and nodded toward an empty table in a sea of students drinking, reading, talking—doing all the normal things. While he zeroed in on Jenna and the many possibilities she was tossing his way without even realizing it.“So Jenna,” he said stretching his legs out under the table and letting his calf make contact with hers. He sensed her flinch ever so slightly at the touch. “Where are you from?”She sipped her coffee, kept her gaze on his. “Southern Illinois, little town you’ve never heard of.” “Okay.” Jack stayed apart, trying to remain objective, but something about her fairly screamed “take me now” so loud he was surprised everyone around them couldn’t hear it.He swallowed hard, willed himself down from the ledge, and made small-talk with her. It was not comfortable, and the more they sat and the more he tried to make it “just a chat”, the hornier he got. He knew damn good and well she was throwing it, her vibe, just to see if he’d catch it. He did not like being tested. But at the same time wanted to prove he could pass with flying fucking colors.Finally he stood, slowly, never more unsure and sure of something at the same time in his life. She rose at the same pace, her body drawing his eyes and making him have to bite his tongue not to say something that would tip the scale of power in her favor. Because that is exactly what this was, as they stood and stared at each other across the small, coffee shop table—a power play.Her hair tumbled around her face. High cheekbones were flushed red, dark blue eyes flashed, the hands she put on her hips tempted. It was as if she were dressed the way he preferred, in a short, easy-access dress and towering high heels, hair done up, all ready for him. When really she just stood there in jeans, a sweater, and little makeup. The minute flowed into two as the world continued to orbit around them.He frowned, pissed at himself for being so weird. Attaching emotion to something that should contain none, trying to focus on his ability to show her a good time, nothing more or less. It was not until many years later that he understood that keeping himself emotionally aloof was also a mistake. She leaned back then, cocked one hip as if pulling away. He nearly fell forward but caught himself on the table. This was too much. He should bolt, fast, before he did something really dumb.“C’mon,” he blurted out, pushing away from her, his voice gruff. “We need to clear the air.”She let him put a possessive hand in the small of her back and guide her out firmly, without speaking, as if they were already a couple. His house was a ten-minute car ride from campus but he toyed with walking there, to get his head straight.Then he found himself opening the passenger’s side door and handing her in. She moved in a fluid way like a dancer. Jack couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her even as she did something as innocuous as get into his truck. The ride was quiet but in an oddly comfortable way, as if they were used to each other’s silences and willing to let them happen. When he parked in the drive, a sudden feeling of apprehension gripped his gut and gave it a twist. She sat, waiting for him to make the first move like a good submissive. He shuddered, the word hitting the front of his brain hard. She was that, to be sure, but his? That was another question and one he was not sure he wanted the answer to, not yet. The months he had spent calming his excess energy by learning how to dominate, how to please, how to control his urges and be in complete control of his partners’ pleasure had been a pure buzz. He loved it. There was no denying that, or that he was a natural at it.More women had been pleasured by him and his abilities than he could even count anymore. He’d graduated, with honors, and while the old club owner guy would not yet call him a Master, he knew if he hadn’t left for law school when he did, it would have been a matter weeks before that happened. But now he felt queasy and decidedly un-masterful. A hand touched his leg. He stared at it, the short nails painted a funky brown like dried blood. Her fingers long, tapered, elegant. The gut-deep reaction to her was freaking him the fuck out. He gulped and got out, deciding to make this short and sweet and bid her farewell as quickly as he possibly could. Without looking at her he yanked open the door, then didn’t wait before he stomped up the steps and unlocked the door, tossing his stuff on the entryway floor. He escaped to the small kitchen to gulp some water.He heard her enter, then walk up behind him after a few minutes. She waited quietly, until he turned. Jenna stood completely naked in his kitchen, her firm, large breasts tipped with deep pink, nipples.Her sex was nearly bare but for a small triangle of dark brown fuzz. He could see it all, more than he wanted to see, including an intriguing piece of body art that he reached out to touch. The black vine-looking thing came around her side, bloomed like a leafless tree across her stomach, reaching down into her tiny patch of pubic hair. His finger shook as he touched it, but the heat of her skin calmed him. The feel of female flesh under his hand cast a pall over his zinging nerves. He pulled her close and everything slowed, including his racing pulse. She tasted like coffee and like something exotic, as he parted her lips and she went up on her tiptoes to put her arms around his neck and mold her body against his. He stopped. And she stepped back, dropping her gaze. “I’m sorry. I should not have touched you… yet.”Wiping his lips as the nervousness tickled his brain again, he took her hand, led her back to his room. He hadn’t had any women in his house in a while, much less in his room, even after a year of school. Which was odd considering his previous preference for intimate house parties.His time at the club had changed his taste for play and he’d kept it separate from where he lived on purpose. Problem was, he wanted this one close, in his personal space. The strength of the wanting terrified and exhilarated him all at once.He opened a small chest, pulled out a length of soft cotton rope and nothing else. “Lie down,” he said, his voice so low he could barely hear it himself. “Hands over your head.” He tied her wrists, allowed himself a few moments to stroke her amazing body, watching as she reacted, loving it so much he felt like he could keep her here forever. She bent one leg as her breathing quickened. He kissed her then, unable to stop himself, dove into her mouth as his fingertips found her exposed clit, teased it, then slid his experienced fingers inside the tight glove of her.She sighed, writhed under his touch and his lips. Then he got off the bed and left her there without a word. He needed space. He should not have brought her here. He wasn’t ready for something that felt so… incredibly… strange. What should be right simply was not. He couldn’t figure it out. After whimpering a little, Jenna stayed quiet. Jack sat at the small kitchen table and contemplated the odd sensations fluttering around his brain like trapped insects. Yeah, his cock was hard enough to cut a few diamonds but that he could handle. It was his heart, which kept pounding and his head, which buzzed so loudly he could barely hear himself think. What was this?He ran a hand down his face, around the back of his neck. The longer he sat, the worse it got, so he stood, stomped back into the bedroom. He stripped out of his clothes under her gaze. She bit her plump, delicious, lower lip. An odd sensation of ownership enveloped him. That was his lip. He would bite it, and she would do exactly what he told her.As if in a daze, moving slow and with purpose but not even understanding what or why—just that he had to do it, he rolled her over. Yanking her hips up, he smacked her ass, hard, open-handed, once, twice, again, watching as her flesh reddened and hearing her sighs and squeals of pleasure. The white ropes at her wrists caught his eye for some reason. She was pulling at them so hard they burned her skin and a drop of blood had appeared, marring the whiteness.He stared at it, caressing her hip and ass that he’d just smacked yet again. To her credit, she stayed quiet, emitting only little sighs and moans as he ran both his hands up her back and into her hair. He gripped tight and pulled with one, then used his other to trace that wild tree-thing that covered her lower back and snaked around to her front. “I don’t know what it is about you… but…” He rolled a condom over his cock, still feeling trancelike, outside himself, unable to stop or breathe or think. His control was slipping. He knew it. When he slid into her, inch by slow inch, she gripped him and her sighs turned to a low groan of satisfaction. He closed his eyes and let it happen. The moment was sublime and meant more to him than it likely should.He fucked her slow, watching as if from a distance. He gripped her hip and reached around to tease her clit until she cried out and pulsed, her whole body pulling him toward something he honestly believed he should run away from. “Oh shit,” he moaned and grabbed her hair again, yanking her head back as her body kept such a tight hold on his cock it almost hurt. Everything froze just as the orgasm burst across his nerve endings, making him yell and lose himself utterly for the first time since Mindy, likely, or Suzanne. He sighed and draped his body around hers. Pulled her down, and cradled her close as he reached around to unbind her wrists. She still hadn’t spoken but was shaking, trembling so hard her teeth chattered.“Shh…” he whispered, pulling the quilt up over her while he hit the bathroom. “Shh…Jenna,” he caressed her name when he returned, loving the feel of it in his mouth while his brain was sending up warnings to let her go, don’t allow to her stay. But she was so just right, here in his arms. Burying his nose in her hair he sighed, and slept.
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May 24, 2013
A Life Less Ordinary--tour and review
A LIFE LESS ORDINARYByVictoria Bernadine
BLURB:
For the last fifteen years, Rose “Manny” Mankowski has been a very good girl. Now, at the age of 45, she’s questioning her choices and feeling more and more disconnected from her own life. When she’s passed over for promotion and her much younger new boss implies Manny’s life will never change, something snaps. In the blink of an eye, she’s quit her job, sold her house, cashed in her pension, and she’s leaving town on a six month road trip.
After placing an ad for a travelling companion, she’s joined in her mid-life crisis by Zeke Powell, the cynical, satirical, most read – and most controversial – blogger for the e-zine, What Women Want. Zeke’s true goal is to expose Manny’s journey as a pitiful and desperate attempt to reclaim her lost youth – and increase his readership at the same time.
Now, armed with a bagful of destinations, a fistful of maps, and an out-spoken imaginary friend named Harvey, Manny’s on a quest to rediscover herself – and taking Zeke along for the ride.
[image error] EXCERPT:
“All I ever wanted was a life less ordinary.”Manny lay flat on her back, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling while she waited for her clock to hit 6:00. Another day of work, she thought. Another day older and deeper in debt.
She had the alarm timed to the millisecond. The jarring noise had barely begun when she clicked it off. She sighed then threw back the covers and got out of bed.
She padded into the bathroom, glanced without interest in the full-length mirror that doubled as her shower doors and took her morning inventory.
Plain face? Check.
Looking tired? Check.
Thirty pounds overweight? Check.
Dark circles under deer-caught-in-headlights eyes? Check and check.
She shook her head at her limp, mousy hair and wondered when she’d gotten so old.
She sighed in resignation then conjured up her Perfect Fantasy Man–or Harvey, as she liked to call him–to give her a morning lift. She cocked her head to one side as she stared into the mirror and imagined him standing behind her. She smiled at the handsome man, and he smiled back, putting his hands on her shoulders. Everything about him was warm, in stark contrast to the cold shades of grey in which she lived her life. He had warm brown eyes, warm brown skin, and a warm smooth voice that always reminded her of golden honey. Today his hair was black with greying temples, and yes, even that seemed warm to her.
He was perfect, everything she considered ideal in a man–and extra-perfect, of course, because he was a fantasy. Just the thought of trying to establish a relationship with an actual man felt too much like work.
She sighed and Harvey disappeared.“Instead I ended up in a rut–everything planned and executed to the minute.”
AUTHOR INFORMATION:
Victoria enjoys reading all genres and particularly loves writing romantic comedy and post-apocalyptic science fiction. What those two have in common is anybody’s guess.
Victoria can be contacted through Love of Words Publishing Inc. (loveofwords@shaw.ca) or through her brand new blog at http://victoriabernadine.wordpress.com/.
A Life Less Ordinary is available for sale on Amazon in both Kindle and hard copy formats at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AMJBOSQ.
Leave a comment for a chance to win:Victoria will be awarding a $25 (grand prize) gift card with two gift cards for $15 each; the cards would for either Amazon or Smashwords (winner’s choice).
Liz's Review:
A Life Less Ordinary, while not an original title or concept, is well conceived and crafted by Ms. Bernadine. There is a lot going on, with a few side stories that could be books on their own. But the kernel of the relationship between a woman in an emotional and life stage crisis and a man, who is pretty much in the middle of the same thing (although he'd be loathe to admit it) is a solid one and you are rooting for them by the end.
It's a mature unfolding of a romance that is appealing in our day and age of "wham bam thank you (mostly very young) m'am". I enjoyed it and would recommend it for a nice, poolside read. Very clever writing, with strong secondary characters and a satisfying ending, A Life Less Ordinary will appeal on many levels.
May 22, 2013
Jessica and Liz--Across The Beer Bar
Welcome to my beer bar Jessica! What can I pour for you to start?Hi, Liz! Thanks for inviting me! I don’t drink a lot, so could I please have something light?Yep, try this Premium Lager--just 5% alcohol and perfect for a hot day.You write "sci-fi romance." What exactly is that? Aliens in love? Sex in space? Enlighten us.I do. Sci-fi romance encompasses so much. It can involve aliens, clones, artificial intelligence, even steam-powered societies. The stories can be set on Earth, other planets, on ships in space, in the future, perhaps a dystopian future, or another dimension. The ratio of romance to science varies with each author and each book. And the genre ranges from young adult and sweet romances to erotica. There is something out there for everyone taste.
What was your journey to publication like? Was getting your first book published an ordeal or not so much? My journey was a bit different than some of the other authors I know. Perhaps we all have a different journey. I had been hacking away at the first story I wrote, sharing excerpts on the original Six Sentence Sunday, and meeting so many wonderful new authors. One of the authors I met is the wonderful Rebecca Royce. She told me about the new (at the time) 1Night Stand line at Decadent Publishing, and suggested I write a sci-fi romance story for the line. Well, I did that and had her help in getting the story ready for submission. Little did I know that she had contacted one of the editors for the line, and told them about my story. I was asked to submit Celestial Seduction on a Sunday morning, and by the next day, I had a signed contract for the story. Now, I have twelve stories published with Decadent Publishing, two more on the way, and one indie published title. What is your favorite book of yours (I know you have one--we all do!)Eek! It’s so hard to pick just one. Um... *closes eyes* Made For Her. No, Another Night, Another Planet. Wait, Alien Adoration. Do I really have to pick just one?Uh, oh empty glass...what can I get for you next?Anything to stop the characters in my head from objecting after that last question.No problem---another Premium Lager for you.You have just published one on your own. Why did you choose to do that? Don't you already have 2 publishers already?Right now, I’m only published with Decadent Publishing and indie published. I was with another publisher, but things didn’t work out there, and I now have my rights back to those two stories, which I will be self-publishing after some major editing. Why did I choose to publish on my own? I wanted to try something new. I have many friends in the publishing industry who are turning from traditional publishing to self-publish, or are both self-published and indie published. It is a lot more work and responsibility, especially with the first story, but I have that much more control as well. I don’t think self-publishing is for everyone, and I would never have tried it for my first book. But I’ve met a lot of great people over the past couple of years, who have helped me get to the point where I can do it on my own. Though, not completely. I have critique partners, editors, and a cover artist as well. And while I am going to continue self-publishing some of my work, I won’t stop working with publishers.Do you ever see yourself writing something other than "romance?" With science fiction there are certainly other directions you could go.I don’t think so. While I do read some hard sci-fi, I have no interest in writing it. I need the relationships, though may not always be a couple. Could be more familial relationships, friends, or groups of people. I have also thought about writing YA, but have no ideas for a story in that category yet. Though, it would still have some sci-fi romance elements. I do have a contemporary western new adult story out though, that is in The Challenge series at Decadent, which you also wrote for.
And so do you believe there is life on other planets or other "places" we don't even know about? Why?I do believe there is life out there, though not necessarily like us. To paraphrase Ellie Arroway’s father in Contact, the universe is so vast, it would be an awful waste of space if we were the only one’s living in it. I, personally, can’t believe that there isn’t life out there. Will we ever discover other beings? That I’m not so sure of.Time for a nightcap...what is your poison? I think two is my limit. My head is already spinning. Thank you so much for hosting me at your beer bar!Sure thing--pardon me while I have another. My tolerance is embarrassingly high and I've had a sh*t week. Stop by anytime!
Alien Adoration Alien Next Door book 1 By Jessica E. SubjectErotic Sci-Fi RomanceISBN: 978-0991932009
Erotic dreams fill her with need…Night after night, Rachel fantasizes about her sexy, playboy neighbor. But in her small town, no one changes, least of all the bad boy next door. But when Luke rescues her not once but twice from disastrous dates, she dares to believe her knight in black leather armor may be the right man for her after all. Until she learns the truth...Life on Earth has never been easy for Luke. Stranded as a little boy, he struggled to craft an existence for himself, but he never forgot the first human he met--and he never stopped wanting to see her again. Returning to Hanton, Luke longs for Rachel. Yet, nothing goes as he plans, and Rachel barely notices him. Convincing her he isn't like all the jerks she's dated means telling her the truth, but can she handle it? Can she overcome her fears, or will she deny her alien adoration and leave him stranded once more?Buy Links:Amazon (US/UK/Canada) | All Romance | Kobo| Smashwords| more
Excerpt:“Need a lift?” The voice was deep and masculine, one she didn’t hear very often, but would recognize anywhere. Luke. Wonderful! He wouldn’t talk to me before, but now that I’m topless and sopping wet, he notices me. She circled slowly to stare at the leather-clad figure sitting atop his motorcycle. The visor of his helmet covered most of his face, leaving only his luscious lips and deep, jutting chin, covered in light stubble, exposed. What would they feel like against her lips? Between her legs? Her body tingled. “Earth to Rachel. Do you need a lift, or should I leave you here in the pouring rain?” Oh God, he knows my name. Since they’d never actually talked—she’d only heard him greeting his dates—her name on his lips came as a surprise. “Um, yes, I’d appreciate a ride.” On his Harley, and if she was lucky, in his bed. Anywhere. Her romance-first rule didn’t apply to him. He’d already seduced her plenty in her dreams. Remaining on his bike, he yanked a helmet from his saddlebag and held it out to her. “What happened to your pretty blouse?” Pretty blouse? He’d seen her earlier? “I….” Fluttering rolled through her stomach. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She grabbed the helmet from him, fit it over her soaked hair, and buckled the chinstrap. Straddling the seat behind him, she fumbled with her hands, wondering where to place them, no bar behind her to hold on to. Oh, what it would be like to wrap her arms around him, lean against his wide back covered in leather. But what if he didn’t want her to touch him? Luke pushed off from the curb. “I suggest you hold onto me or you’re going to fall off.”The bike lurched forward with a roar. She clasped her hands around his waist, her fingers coming together temptingly close to his manhood, cheek pressed to his cowskin jacket. His deep chuckle reverberated across her skin. “I told you to hang on.”And she could lean on him forever. Being so close to him with pure raw power between her legs moved her better than any fantasy she had ever created. But what is going to happen when he takes me home? Or will he invite me to his house instead? She pressed her lips together. Sure, she wanted to know what lay under his tight pants, but she refused to be another conquest. I can’t handle it. He drove into her driveway too soon, leaning the bike over enough for her to slip off. She removed the helmet and handed it back to him. “Thank you. I appreciate the ride.” Tucking the helmet away, he nodded. “You want to come over for coffee?” That and more. Though she refused to go anywhere in her state of disarray. “Um, no, I’m kind of wet.” “Another time, then?” She nodded. Shit, why did I say no? They could strip down together and have all kinds of fun. But he drove away before she had a chance to retract her words.Bio:
Jessica Subject is the author of contemporary and science fiction romance, ranging from sweet to erotica. In her stories, you could meet clones, or a sexy alien or two. You may even be transported to another planet for a romantic rendezvous. When Jessica isn't reading, writing, or doing dreaded housework, she likes to get out and walk. Fast. But she just may slow down if there is a waterfall nearby.Jessica lives in Ontario, Canada with her husband and two energetic children. And she loves to hear from her readers. Jessica is a member of RWA and the Toronto Romance Writers chapter, EPIC, and Savvy Authors. She blogs weekly at Backward Momentum, and monthly at Paranormal Romantics. You can find her at jessicasubject.comand on twitter @jsubject.Website/Blog | Newsletter | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Amazon | AuthorgraphOther WorksFrom Decadent Publishing
1Night Stand Beneath the Starry SkyCelestial SeductionUnknown FuturesSatin Sheets in SpaceSudden BreakawayIntergalactic Heat – print
The Edge The Power of ThreeCrash LandingAlien Lover
Elatia An Unexpected Return
The Challenge series Accidental Romance
The Underground Never Gonna Let You Go
Single Titles Made For Her
Coming Soon Another Night, Another Planet (1Night Stand/Elatia)Never Gonna Desert You (The Underground)
Indie Titles
Free Read Last Minute Customers
Giveaway!!Jessica Subject will be giving away a $25 Amazon e-gift certificate at the end of the Alien Adoration tour. Plus, three other winners will receive Alien Adoration swag packages. No purchase necessary. Contest is international. Must be 18 years of age or older. Just sign in to Rafflecopter with Facebook or your email address on any post during the tour to be entered. Odds of winning are dependent upon how many people enter during the tour. Good luck!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
May 21, 2013
Virtual Book Blast: The Cracked Slipper by Stephanie Alexander
It's a Virtual Book Blast!
Be sure and comment to be entered to win: a $10 Amazon Gift Card The Cracked Slipper by Stephanie Alexander
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
When Eleanor Brice unexpectedly wins the heart of Gregory Desmarais, Crown Prince of Cartheigh, she's sure she's found her happily-ever-after. Unfortunately, Prince Charming has a loose grip on his temper, a looser grip on his marriage vows, and a tight grip on the bottle.
Eight years of mistreatment, isolation and clandestine book learning hardly prepare Eleanor for life at Eclatant Palace, where women are seen, not heard. According to Eleanor's eavesdropping parrot, no one at court appreciates her unladylike tendency to voice her opinion. To make matter worse, her royal fiancé spends his last night of bachelorhood on a drunken whoring spree. Before the ink dries on her marriage proclamation Eleanor realizes that she loves her husband's best friend, former soldier Dorian Finley.
Eleanor can't resist Dorian's honesty, or his unusual admiration for her intelligence, and soon both are caught in a dangerous obsession. She drowns her confusion in charitable endeavors, but the people's love can't protect her from her feelings. When a magical crime endangers the bond between unicorns, dragons, and the royal family, a falsely accused Eleanor must clear her own name to save her life. The road toward vindication will force a choice between hard-won security and an impossible love.
The Cracked Slipper is a book club friendly fairytale retelling in the vein of Gregory Maguire, with a dash of romance. Set in a pseudo-renaissance, corset-and-petticoats enchanted kingdom, The Cracked Slipper brings a magical twist to women's fiction.~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Excerpt:
"Their host, Sir Robert Smithwick, rose and gave a toast to the health of his nephew. Other speeches followed, each more suggestive than the next. She laughed out loud when Dorian subtly mocked Brian’s inability to hold his liquor. Gregory spoke last, and gave a surprisingly thoughtful salute to his cousin. She patted his arm when he sat, and he gave her a tentative smile.
As everyone returned to their venison and cliff shrimp Eleanor's stepmother tapped her goblet. Mother Imogene rose and lifted the cup. “I must ask you to pause for just one more moment,” she said. “I have another announcement.”
“My darling,” she said to Sylvia. “We’ve all so enjoyed your hospitality this summer. But now my daughter must remember herself, and rest, for with the winter will arrive a future duke! Our dear Sylvia is expecting!”
The guests applauded, congratulating Imogene and Sylvia. Sylvia gazed demurely in her lap, as if embarrassed by the association with procreation. As for the expectant father, he was nowhere to be seen. His wife’s entertaining had proved too much for him, and the duke returned to Harveston for some peace.
Eleanor glanced down the table. Anne Iris retched into her cup, but it was Dorian’s calm face that inspired her. She stood and the room quieted. “My dear sister,” she said. “Let me extend my good wishes.”
Sylvia’s simpering went rigid.
“I will say, Sylvia always had a flair for the dramatic when we were children. Who knew you would entertain so many with your widely varied talents? While I have recently been ill, I’ve heard you neglect no one, from the loftiest lord to the most common stable hand. We are so fortunate there is one among us who gives so generously of herself to others. It’s no wonder His Grace, your husband, took his leave. It must be difficult to share you with so many.”
Imogene’s eyes bulged and her nostrils flared, while Sylvia gave an uncertain twitter. Eleanor looked at Dorian again. He winked.
“So I salute you, Your Grace,” she said.“May your child look just like you. Just as lovely.”
The guests applauded, all the while hiding their smirks and chuckles in their goblets and napkins. Eleanor sat down. This time Gregory touched her arm. “Well played,” he said."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Stephanie Alexander grew up in the suburbs of Washington, DC, the oldest of three children. Drawing, writing stories, and harassing her parents for a pony consumed much of her childhood. After graduating from high school in 1995 she earned a Bachelor of Arts in Communications from the College of Charleston, South Carolina. She returned to Washington, DC, where she followed a long-time fascination with sociopolitical structures and women’s issues to a Master of Arts in Sociology from the American University. She spent several years as a Policy Associate at the International Center for Research on Women, a think-tank focused on women’s health and economic advancement.
Stephanie embraced full-time motherhood after the birth of the first of her three children in 2003. After six wonderful years buried in diapers and picture books she returned to her childhood passion and wrote her own fairytale. Her family put down permanent southern roots in Charleston in 2011. Stephanie is an adjunct professor of Sociology at the College of Charleston.
www.thecrackedslipper.com
blog.thecrackeslipper.com
www.facebook.com/thecrackedslipper
twitter: @crackedslipper
http://www.amazon.com/The-Cracked-Slipper-Series-ebook/dp/B007FLG8KS/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1364778060&sr=1-1&keywords=the+cracked+slipper
May 7, 2013
Writing Addiction
Greetings Liz fans, followers, stalkers, creepers and lurkers.
I'm pondering a sober topic today as I wend my way through the final novel of the Stewart Realty series. Besides the fact that I am giving this series a fairly firm ending as least as relates to the Original Couple (Jack and Sara) I am also working through a very difficult topic: addiction.
Addicts come in all forms. Their substance of choice in many formats. In some cases, addicted people are among the most charming and compelling you will meet. You love them. You hate them. You try to like them. If you are actually related to them it's even more challenging.
Their compulsions and personality traits my seem exciting. They may appear to be "just" popular, or "simply" the life of the party, or even "fun" thrill-seekers. Never still, always looking for the next event or opportunity.
For many of us authors who also have day jobs that are not, erm, "authoring," it may feel like we too are addicted to our craft. We harbor many of the secret cravings for the keyboard or pen and paper common to addicts of other types. There is a certain "sneaking around" element to what we do, at least for me as I literally lug my laptop with me everywhere I go and will pop it open and glance around while waiting for my kid to finish soccer practice, or in between brewery meetings and obligations, just to get in my word "fix."
I stay up late, get up early and find time to feed my muse's demands every chance I get. But sometimes am looked at by family members as if I'm neglecting them, as though I put the importance of my addiction ahead of their needs.
If you have ever known or lived with an addict of any sort, you get this concept. My cycles of productivity at other things ebb and flow, wax and wane depending on how often or how successfully I get my fix.
NOTE: this is in no way meant to downplay the horror of actual substance addiction. I lived with one in my family. I know. Please spare me your righteous indignation if you feel I am "downplaying" it. I am most certainly not.
That said, the fact that in Good Faith I am chronicling how addictive behavior in one family member can ruin so many lives is draining me a little. This is the story I want told, and I will tell it. It will resolve itself in a way that anyone who continues to live with an addict (because they are ALWAYS addicts no matter where they are in their stages of recovery) will be able to understand and value.
Brandis Gordon is the beloved son of Jack and Sara. He is smart, driven, handsome, athletic (he even ends up as a division one college football quarterback). He is beloved by many and intimidates more than a few people. His final downward spiral is happening right now, and it hurts. Anytime you harm one of the characters you love it is painful. When you force him to hurt himself, and the ones who love him the most over and over again, it's even worse. Don't worry though. Good Faith will not be all dark and gloomy. There is plenty in there for all my amazing and loyal fans of this series: tons of typical Jack moments with his family and his friends. But his final struggle to help and then give up on his own son is something that he WILL experience. I may lose some folks through this final journey but hopefully I will gain a few more.
And to tide you over, the Jack Gordon FREE novella back story: HOUSE RULES will be available in June. This is a short book but packed with powerful emotion, heat and tons of motivation for Our Favorite Stewart Realtor/soccer club founder/politician (yeah I said that). The cover reveal plus a free chapter will be on May 16 at the You Gotta Read blog. It's a fairly simple cover, but one I think says it all about Jack in his younger days.
Keep reading! And stay in touch. I have a fun fan group on Facebook where there are FREEBIES galore including a bunch of "deleted scenes" from the Stewart Realty series, and exclusive excerpts from the upcoming side series, the Black Jack Gentlemen! Can't wait for you kids to get your hands on those books.
And now, I have 45 minute before my first meeting. Gotta go write!
cheers
Liz
I'm pondering a sober topic today as I wend my way through the final novel of the Stewart Realty series. Besides the fact that I am giving this series a fairly firm ending as least as relates to the Original Couple (Jack and Sara) I am also working through a very difficult topic: addiction.
Addicts come in all forms. Their substance of choice in many formats. In some cases, addicted people are among the most charming and compelling you will meet. You love them. You hate them. You try to like them. If you are actually related to them it's even more challenging.
Their compulsions and personality traits my seem exciting. They may appear to be "just" popular, or "simply" the life of the party, or even "fun" thrill-seekers. Never still, always looking for the next event or opportunity.
For many of us authors who also have day jobs that are not, erm, "authoring," it may feel like we too are addicted to our craft. We harbor many of the secret cravings for the keyboard or pen and paper common to addicts of other types. There is a certain "sneaking around" element to what we do, at least for me as I literally lug my laptop with me everywhere I go and will pop it open and glance around while waiting for my kid to finish soccer practice, or in between brewery meetings and obligations, just to get in my word "fix."
I stay up late, get up early and find time to feed my muse's demands every chance I get. But sometimes am looked at by family members as if I'm neglecting them, as though I put the importance of my addiction ahead of their needs.
If you have ever known or lived with an addict of any sort, you get this concept. My cycles of productivity at other things ebb and flow, wax and wane depending on how often or how successfully I get my fix.
NOTE: this is in no way meant to downplay the horror of actual substance addiction. I lived with one in my family. I know. Please spare me your righteous indignation if you feel I am "downplaying" it. I am most certainly not.
That said, the fact that in Good Faith I am chronicling how addictive behavior in one family member can ruin so many lives is draining me a little. This is the story I want told, and I will tell it. It will resolve itself in a way that anyone who continues to live with an addict (because they are ALWAYS addicts no matter where they are in their stages of recovery) will be able to understand and value.
Brandis Gordon is the beloved son of Jack and Sara. He is smart, driven, handsome, athletic (he even ends up as a division one college football quarterback). He is beloved by many and intimidates more than a few people. His final downward spiral is happening right now, and it hurts. Anytime you harm one of the characters you love it is painful. When you force him to hurt himself, and the ones who love him the most over and over again, it's even worse. Don't worry though. Good Faith will not be all dark and gloomy. There is plenty in there for all my amazing and loyal fans of this series: tons of typical Jack moments with his family and his friends. But his final struggle to help and then give up on his own son is something that he WILL experience. I may lose some folks through this final journey but hopefully I will gain a few more.
And to tide you over, the Jack Gordon FREE novella back story: HOUSE RULES will be available in June. This is a short book but packed with powerful emotion, heat and tons of motivation for Our Favorite Stewart Realtor/soccer club founder/politician (yeah I said that). The cover reveal plus a free chapter will be on May 16 at the You Gotta Read blog. It's a fairly simple cover, but one I think says it all about Jack in his younger days.
Keep reading! And stay in touch. I have a fun fan group on Facebook where there are FREEBIES galore including a bunch of "deleted scenes" from the Stewart Realty series, and exclusive excerpts from the upcoming side series, the Black Jack Gentlemen! Can't wait for you kids to get your hands on those books.
And now, I have 45 minute before my first meeting. Gotta go write!
cheers
Liz
May 6, 2013
Across the (water?) Bar with LUCY FELTHOUSE!
Welcome to my beer bar Lucy! what can I pour for you to start?
I’m sorry to say that I don’t drink beer, so a vodka and coke would be great, thanks.Welp, here is some water. This is a beer bar. No other alcohol allowed or encouraged….
You and I have a fair bit in common. I have worked my entire working life in public relations and marketing (and sales). Do you find that this helps you promote your own work?
Yes, absolutely. It means I can keep on top of the social networking, blogging, blog tours and so on pretty easily as well as writing.
So....you have written a fair bit of girl on girl erotica....that is something that seems a little thin on the ground as it were, as most readers of erotic fiction go for m/f or m/m or some combination of that. Am I off the mark? Do you find you have a completely different audience for girl love?
I’m not sure, as my f/f readers keep pretty quiet! My f/f stuff is my best selling stuff, though, so someone is definitely buying it.
You have not been at this writing (for publication) thing long (again something we have in common). Was your path to publication pretty easy? What was the first book you had published?
I was very lucky on my route to publication. When I got into erotica I immediately started researching the market and publishers. My first piece was published in a magazine called Scarlet, which is sadly no longer around. After that, my first piece in a book was Fantasy Assignment, in Xcite Books’ Seriously Sexy 3.
Uh oh empty glass--what would you like next?
I’ll have the same again, thanks.
refills her water glassTell us about your latest release.
The Perfect Dom is a mini-anthology of four hot BDSM-themed stories.
Four kinky and erotic BDSM tales from the smutty pen of Lucy Felthouse.
Balancing the BooksPhilip’s a well off man, and doesn’t need a job. But when he sees the gorgeous owner of his local bookshop, he applies for the role that’s being advertised there immediately. He’s totally stricken by the stunning Giovanna, and when it turns out she wants to boss him around in a sexual sense as well as an employment sense, he has no intention of refusing.
Feeling the HeatTaylor and Maisie’s car has broken down. Luckily, Taylor’s handy with engines and is working hard to get them back on the road. Unfortunately, Maisie is getting annoyed at the amount of time he’s spending in the garage and confronts him. Instead of arguing back, though, Taylor comes up with an ingenious plan to keep Maisie quiet.
The Perfect DomPart of Mia’s nightwear is a pair of hotpants with SPANK ME emblazoned across the arse. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but when she forgets that she has a houseguest and heads to the kitchen for a drink, she’s shocked to find Alex in her living room. Immediately spotting what he sees as an invitation written across Mia’s bottom, Alex makes an offer and Mia soon discovers that he is, in fact, the perfect dom.
Meet Me at the Spanish StepsDarby is working at a holiday camp on the outskirts of Rome and is getting along just fine, with the exception of her sex life. For various reasons, she’s not getting what she wants in the bedroom, and her tastes are very particular. She turns to the Internet to get what she needs, and when she discovers William, it seems that he’s more than willing—and capable—of scratching that particular itch.
There is more info and buy links here: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/the-perfect-dom/
Do you self publish? If so, why? If not, why not?
I have done, yes, though only a couple of short stories and an anthology. I haven’t done anything longer yet, though I may well do if there are any books I write that won’t work well with traditional publishers.
What sort of marketing services do you offer writers? why do that? Why not focus on your own works?
Blog tours, release blitzes, social media and website maintenance, website creation and much more. I do that because it’s my “day job”. If I don’t do that I’d have to go back to being employed (as opposed to self-employed) and wouldn’t have nearly as much time to write. So this route is much, much better for my writing as I can work out my own schedule to squeeze in the work and the writing.
And the nightcap...what's your poison?
Another vodka and coke would be great! I like what I like and I keep drinking it JWell you will leave here very nicely hydrated…here is your ice water nightcap…
Thanks for stopping by!
*****Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over seventy publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and 2013, and Best Women's Erotica 2013. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies. She owns Erotica For All, and is book editor for Cliterati. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebookand Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
April 29, 2013
Liz Winz Bronze.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: April 29, 2013
Publisher's Contact: Jessica Warth
E-Mail: jessica@tridestinypublishing.com
Liz Crowe's Stewart Realty Series
Takes Bronze in eLit Awards
Proves Once Again Reality Does Sell Fiction
(Ann Arbor, Michigan) — Acclaimed author Liz Crowe's Essence of Time, the fourth book in her best-selling Stewart Realty series, has won the bronze award for Best Erotic Romance in the 2012 Jenkins Group eLit Awards. The eLit Awards highlight the very best in electronic reading entertainment. While technically the fourth book in the series, Essence of Time was written to be read as a standalone. "It wasn't planned," Liz explains, "it evolved organically, completely due to reader demand. They wanted to know about Sara's brother Blake and his partner, Rob. So I wrote it."
Crowe, whose style of writing dubbed by many as "reality fiction," is proving not every book has to fit a mold. In a recent interview, when asked what she most enjoyed about writing, she responded, “Coming up with ways to break the ‘romance novel’ rules.” Liz goes on to say, "I write what I know. I write what I like to read. I am finding more and more that rarely fits into any one particular established genre. Evidently I have created my own." If the sales of her latest title, Mutual Release, are any indication, readers have latched onto it and are not letting go any time soon. "I hear from the readers they like the fresh tone, the unpredictability, and sometimes brutal reality. I don't sugar coat things and I deal with tough topics. It works for some, not for others. I've accepted that."
Her best-selling Stewart Realty series currently has seven books with an upcoming novella releasing in June 2013. The eighth and final book, Good Faith, will be releasing in November 2013, at a Stewart Realty Fan Farewell weekend in her home base of Ann Arbor, Michigan, where her fans will be joining her from all over the country. The weekend will kick off with a pajama party and fan club gathering in the Gulo Room at the Wolverine State Brewing Company, which she also co-owns and is marketing director for, and will feature other special activities throughout the weekend. "I'm truly excited to be able to share Ann Arbor with the fans who have taken the journey with the Stewart franchise over the past year." Saturday will feature a special book signing with a reading and fan reception at the Ann Arbor Barnes & Noble. "Getting to sign at the Barnes and Noble in Ann Arbor is amazing," explains Crowe. "A true validation for me in that not only is my business here, my family here, but ninety percent of the books I write are set here, including the Stewart series.”
Official Bio: Microbrewery owner, best-selling author, beer blogger and journalist, mom of three teenagers, and soccer fan, Liz lives in the great Midwest, in a major college town. Years of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as an ex-pat trailing spouse, plus making her way in a world of men (i.e. the beer industry), has prepped her for life as a successful author. When she isn’t sweating inventory and sales figures for the brewery, she can be found writing, editing or implementing promotions for her latest publications. Her groundbreaking literary fiction subgenre, “reality fiction,” has gained thousands of fans and followers who are interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”)
Her beer blog a2beerwench.com is nationally recognized for its insider yet outsider views on the craft beer industry. Her books are set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch and in high-powered real estate offices. Don’t ask her for anything “like” a Budweiser or risk painful injury.
For more information on Liz Crowe, please visit her website www.lizcrowe.com or www.brewingpassion.com (her author blog). She enjoys interacting with her fans on her Facebook author page www.facebook.com/lizcroweauthor. Information for all of her books, including eBook and print formats (where available), can be found on her Amazon author page.
# # # #
Tri Destiny Publishing
PO Box 330 – Arcola, IL 61910
www.tridestinypublishing.com www.facebook.com/TriDestiny
ESSENCE OF TIME: the book that made more readers furious at me than I care to admit. But one of my favorites.Buy it here:
Amazon
B&N
AllRomance ebooks
April 28, 2013
Beer. Sex. Fiction.
I get a lot of sideways looks when I tell people I’m a “published author.” “Of what?” is the inevitable question. I live in a quintessential College Town, complete with authors of all ages, sizes and genres. It also has its fair share of would-be, pre-published types in all stages of regret, rejection and story arc outlining.
I get a similar eye-brow raise when I tell people “I own a craft micro-brewery.” Especially when I tell men this little tidbit. In my town where the bulk of the Real Estate is taken up by an entity that pays no property taxes (I was a Realtor too so this is on my radar) we have something like six different places where beer is made on site and you can buy it. Be they “brew pubs” like the majority of them or “tap rooms,” the more traditional setting like mine, they all boast hand crafted malt beverages ranging in style from complex, fruit infused Belgian ales to accessible, lagers and most things in between. Thanks to my company, which opened its doors two and a half years ago, Ann Arbor has the highest per-capita number of microbreweries of any city in the Great Lakes State. And that is saying something since Michigan is fifth in the nation in the number of microbreweries behind the craft powerhouses of California, Oregon, Washington, and Colorado.
I’m living the dream of many I realize. But as anyone who has owned a small business knows, sweating cash flow and pasting on a smile every day for the public is not as easy as it looks. Not that I’m really complaining, merely making an observation about the nature of living an entrepreneurial life.
My writing career is not that different. Having had a small taste of success so far, I realize that the dog and pony show that one must create to go along with your already carefully crafted, edited, line edited and proofread publication is just as demanding as the writing itself. But it all must be done, lest you get lost in the clamoring frenzy that is the publishing world, especially now that we are all Writers of Blogs (myself included). The published work, in other words, is only one-third of the battle.And especially in my ultra-crowded yet popular genre. So…back to that question: “Of what?”
I write stories about real people in the real estate world and the beer industry, including what I think are interesting careers in brewing, sales, and distribution. These people live real lives and have real (read: complicated) relationships with each other. Most of them are men, as the industry is dominated by Them—although we women are making strides. My main characters are the women who people said industries. My fictional creations fall in and out of love, lust and varying degrees of obsession with each other, mirroring how “real life” tends to magnify the chaos of natural human attraction. I write “erotic fiction” yes, but of the sort where the sex is not some random drop-in scene placed there in order to get you off so you can then throw the book or e-reader down after the scene and pick up another, without ever being engaged in the story.
In reviews, it’s been said that my work is “achingly real,” at times “unreadable but yet you want to know what will happen so you keep at it." Recently, I received an email from a new fan who said “Your book is stressing me out! (But) It's written so incredibly well that I keep coming back for more but I loathe how twisted up it makes me feel.”I could not ask for a more gratifying description of what I’m trying to do. I want to tell stories that simply don’t “fade to black” when the fire is lit, so to speak and in which the people have to live their lives after zipping the zippers and buttoning the buttons back up, usually in close working contact with each other, which can really complicate things.
I’m also highly amused by those erotic reading rookies (no pun intended) who read, blush, glance up at me in an email or some similarly removed format and say things like “Well, somebody has an active fantasy life.” Or, my favorite, “Wow you really kiss and tell.” Please, people, if I had as much sex as I wrote about I would barely have time to eat or sell the beer I gotta sell. Do you accuse Janet Evanovich or Agatha Christie of being murderesses because they write about such things? Do you really think Stephen King has seen a dome come down over a small New England town? It’s called: “Imagination” and “fiction” arises from such. Some of us are just eager to get it out of our heads and out onto the page, or screen. Yes, we “write what we know” to a certain extent, using our real life experiences to set the stage or give the story some credibility. But again, just setting the stage, making a story credible, and creating plausible real characters who, by the time they ARE hooking up, you give a shit about them enough to want more.
This is not to say I have not had my fair share of interesting encounters. But the way I’ve evolved in this particular genre is by observing how the natural chemical attraction between certain men and women, women and women and even some men and men plays out. I just take it to its next level in my head, then in written form, and will continue to plausibly deny any sort of Open House romps, shenanigans amongst the fermentation tanks or beer festival hot hook ups. Yeah, they don’t call me the Beer Wench for nothing!Thanks for listening, reading, following, and drinking CRAFT beer as opposed to macro swill. Good luck to you all. It’s a jungle out here, but Tarzan is as hot as promised.CheersLiz
Quote from MUTUAL RELEASE, my latest novel from Evan Adams, who tosses away his law career to buy and run a craft microbrewery:“Six days out of seven, I would agree that going back to suing people in between golf games would be a better plan. But that seventh day, when I look around my bar full of people drinking my beer, being served by my staff, in my building…well, that makes it all worthwhile. Until the next day, of course."MUTUAL RELEASE: See what reviewers overwhelmingly agree is the "best Liz Crowe book yet!"
Amazon
B&N
ARe (silver star best seller and all)
And coming soon: HOUSE RULES, the Jack Gordon novella will be FREE from my publisher (Tri Destiny) and only .99 everywhere else....cover reveal coming May 15.
Plus mark your calendars for my book signing and huge STEWART REALTY FAREWELL PARTY the weekend of November 15. Details are emerging but the signing for GOOD FAITH, the final novel of the series will occur at Barnes and Noble, Ann Arbor on Saturday, November 16. Lots more fun stuff that weekend too including a party in my brewery's Gulo Room for fans, with beer, food and Stewart Realty trivia!
