Krista Ames's Blog, page 88

Author, author... Spotlight on Cassandra Carr and The Payment Series

 
The Payment Series
CASSANDRA CARR  
  Prized: The Payment series, part  1
After agreeing to a one-year term of service with a benefactor who can pay her debt, Catrina Carter begins training in how to please a man. But will a benefactor be willing to spend such an astronomical sum—one hundred and fifty thousand dollars—just to have her for a year? She’s about to find out.
 
 

  Possessed: The Payment series, part 2
Jared, Catrina’s “benefactor”, has agreed to pay off her debt in exchange for one year of service to him. In addition to taking his own pleasure with her, Jared offers Catrina to friends, colleagues, and even total strangers on his whim. But it’s not all fun and pleasure for Jared. As part of the agreement, he’s tasked with helping Catrina get her life back on track. He’ll succeed even if he has to spank every piece of financial information into her, and he finds he just might have to do that.
 
 
 
 

Purgatory: The Payment series, part 3
atrina has finished her year-long term of service to Jared, her benefactor, who paid all her debt off. Now she’s on her own again. Will she be able to keep the lessons Jared literally spanked into her topmost in her mind, or will old habits rear their designer heads?
       
Author bio
Cassandra Carr is a multi-award winning erotic romance writer with Ellora's Cave, Sybarite Seductions/Twenty or Less Press, Decadent Publishing, Siren Publishing, and Loose Id. She lives in Western New York with her husband, Inspiration, and her daughter, Too Cute for Words. When not writing she enjoys watching hockey and hanging out online. Cassandra is the co-founder of two successful group blogs, Romancing the Jock and Dirty Birdies, and participates in several others as a contributor. Currently Cassandra also serves as president of Western New York Romance Writers. 
For more information about Cassandra, check out her website,"like" her Facebook fan page or follow her on Twitter.
 
Links:
Website:   http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com
Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/AuthorCassandraCarr
Twitter:  http://www.twitter.com/cassandra_carr
Pinterest:  http://pinterest.com/booksbycasscarr/
 

Author, author... Guest Post by D'Ann Lindun and Ride A Falling Star

...read all about it !! 

Please welcome a guest post from D'Ann Lindun !


Did you know kids can start rodeoing at 5? Yes, five! In Little Britches Rodeo, kids start that young. They are called Little Wranglers and can participate in these events: Barrel Racing, Goat Tail Untying, Flag Racing, and Pole Bending.
Junior boys, ages 8-13, ride bulls. On the NLBRA website rules for the Senior and Junior Boys’ divisions are virtually the same, except that a Junior Boy is not allowed to wrap the tail of his rope around his hand and is only required to stay on for six seconds.
There is also Junior Rodeo, and the kids who compete there start at 8 and the boys ride calves!
Some of the famous bull riders who have come up through the Little Britches and Junior rodeo ranks include Tuff Hedeman and Lane Frost.  
In Ride A Falling Star Levi has been riding saddlebroncs his whole life:
The last set of team ropers cleared the arena and the announcer said, “Okay, folks. Get ready for some rough-stock action. We’ve got the saddle bronc boys coming up next. This event is an original rodeo event…” 
Levi tuned it out. He’d heard the same spiel since he’d been a kid starting out in Little Britches. Or maybe it had all soaked in when he’d tagged along after Clyde Callahan. Hell, he’d probably heard it all in the womb. His mother had been a barrel racer and she could still rope anything with hair. Rodeo was in his blood like oxygen. He couldn’t live without it. 
Drew was up first on Wizard. 
The announcer called his name, and Drew slid into the saddle. The gray mare lunged forward, slamming her chest into the chute. When she calmed, Drew nodded and the arena guys opened the gate. Wizard lunged high and fast, her bucks wild and twisty. In an instant, Levi saw Drew was in trouble. The tricky little mare pulled him forward, out of the saddle and over her head. He hit the ground with a resounding thud. 
The arena went still, then broke out in applause when Drew stood and waved. 
 “That’s a no score for Drew Kemper, folks. Give him a round of applause, because that’s all he’s going home with tonight,” the announcer said. 
Dutifully, the crowd clapped. 
Two more riders went. Then Levi’s turn came. 
The announcer said, “Fresh off his National Finals win just a few days ago, welcome world champ, Levi Callahan. He rides Shoot Straight.”   
Levi stepped across the top of the gate and onto the big bay. The gelding had to be at least part draft—he was huge, with a heavy black mane. Levi placed his feet in the stirrups and grabbed the thick halter rope. He shortened it and took a death grip on it. With a deep breath, he nodded. 
The gate swung open and Shoot Straight reared in the air, then jumped sky high. Levi rocked with the giant horse, spurring as required. The horse grunted with his mighty effort to unseat Levi. Eight seconds passed in a flurry of bone-jarring, teeth-rattling jumps and landings. 
The buzzer went off, signaling the end of his ride. Levi spotted the pickup man to his left. He dropped the halter rope, grabbed hold of the rider’s waist, and swung off Shoot Straight onto the ground. 
The crowd went wild, cheering and stomping.  *   *   *   *   *   *  Ride a falling Star D’Ann Lindun

Blurb:  A stubborn Cowboy. A feisty Showgirl. One mobster determined to kill them both. When showgirl Ava Demassi witnesses a mob hit, she has only one thought—get away. She runs for her life, straight into the pickup of saddle-bronc champ, Levi Callahan.
The last thing Levi expects is another rodeo devotee to jump into his truck, let alone one so desperate. But when a killer gives chase, he realizes she isn’t his run of the mill fan. Unable to save his fiancé from being murdered years ago, he won’t make the same mistake twice. Even when the odds seem stacked against them, will Ava and Levi find the one thing in life they’ve been missing, or will a hired killer cost them everything?   Authors Bio:Falling in love with romance novels the summer before sixth grade, D’Ann Lindun never thought about writing one until many years later when she took a how-to class at her local college. She was hooked! She began writing and never looked back. Romance appeals to her because there's just something so satisfying about writing a book guaranteed to have a happy ending. D’Ann’s particular favorites usually feature cowboys and the women who love them. This is probably because she draws inspiration from the area where she lives, Western Colorado, her husband of twenty-nine years and their daughter. Composites of their small farm, herd of horses, five Australian shepherds, a Queensland heeler, two ducks and cats of every shape and color often show up in her stories! D’Ann loves to hear from readers! Please contact her at dldauthor@frontier.net http://dlindunauthor.blogspot.com/ http://www.facebook.com/DLindunAuthor http://www.amazon.com/DAnn-Lindun/e/B008DKL9TU    

Tasty Tuesday & a Teaser ~ Arlene Hittle

 Every Tuesday we'll welcome an Author who will share a foodie type post with a recipe or two and some book promo! Today please help me welcome Arlene Hittle... *   *   *   *   *       “Mmm...donuts.”
 
Is Homer Simpson the only one who can’t get enough donuts? Of course not.
 
*I raise my hand and offer a guilty smile.*
 
A quick Google search for “how many donuts are sold in America each year” yields countless pages of stats. Among them: “The Donut Book,” published in 2005, reports 10 billion donuts are eaten in America each year. Another blog reports the average American eats 63 DOZEN donuts a year.
 
Sixty-three dozen? Guess that means Homer and I are in good company.
 
Meg Malone, the heroine in my March release, BEAUTY AND THE BALLPLAYER, is much more talented in the kitchen than I am. As a graphic designer who longs to quit her day job to open a bakery, she not only makes delicious donuts from scratch but also creates her own flavor combinations.
 
Wish fulfillment on my part? Perhaps. I wish I could be a domestic goddess. Wait—would that mean endless hours of cooking and cleaning?
 
My sole claim to donut-making fame is a recipe I vaguely remember learning in Girl Scouts. It’s super-simple, and involves vegetable oil and a can of biscuit dough.


Super-Easy Donut Holes
 
Ingredients:
1 can of your favorite biscuit dough
Enough oil to stand 3/4 inch deep in a skillet
4 Tablespoons sugar
1 Tablespoon cinnamon
 
Directions:
Mix cinnamon and sugar and set aside. Heat oil until a drop of water sizzles in it. Quarter each biscuit and drop the quarters into the hot oil. Cook until the bottom is golden brown, then flip to brown the other side.
 
It happens very quickly — within a minute or so — so be sure to have a metal slotted spoon and paper towel-lined bowl or plate ready to pull them out. If you wait too long, they’ll bypass golden brown and go straight to burnt.
 
Let cool slightly (another minute or two) and then roll the donut holes in the cinnamon sugar mixture.
 
Serve warm.
 
I used a cinnamon-sugar topping, but you could use powdered sugar if you prefer. Or drizzle them with a simple milk/powdered sugar/vanilla or cocoa glaze.
 
If you wanted to get extra fancy and have a pastry bag, you could shoot them up with a squirt of your favorite jam. I bet they’d be delicious that way. (Dunkin’ Donuts’ jelly-filled Munchkins are my faves.)
 
Matt, the hero in BEAUTY AND THE BALLPLAYER, probably has a very different favorite. This little excerpt will tell you why:
 
She gave him her address and directions to her apartment. “There’ll be hot, fresh donuts when you get here.”

His mouth started to water. It was past time for a late-night snack. “I can’t wait.”
The directions were easy enough to follow, and he soon pulled into Meg’s apartment complex. He claimed one of the empty visitor’s spots and headed to Apartment 122, steps away from the pool.
“And she was worried about the pool at the condo?” he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. He rapped on the door.
A muffled “Come in,” made him imagine her with her head stuck in the cabinet again, looking for something else. He stepped inside and braced himself for another crash.
The sight that greeted him, however, was not Meg’s rear end sticking out of a cabinet. Far from it. Meg was lying on the kitchen table, naked except for a few well-placed donuts.
The donuts, one chocolate topped with nuts and two others he couldn’t immediately define, looked delicious, but not nearly as delicious as Meg. He wanted a taste of her.
Matt’s mouth went dry and his heart started to pound. He managed to croak out, “Hi, honey. I’m home.”


About the book, the second in my “All Is Fair in Love & Baseball” series:   Beauty and the Ball Player
 Spunky, independent graphic designer Meg Malone finds herself pregnant soon after her no-good boyfriend abandons her for the professional poker circuit. Glad to be out of that mess, she swears off relationships. Then she meets Matt Thatcher, a solid, stable man, who throws her plans a curve.
 
Matt, an up-and-coming minor league catcher burned one too many times by women who see him as their ticket to the good life, carefully guards his heart against “baseball babes.” He’s drawn to Meg for many reasons, chief among them she has no clue what he does for a living.
 
Will it be game over when their secrets come to light? Or is their budding relationship strong enough to win the World Series of love?
 
Find BEAUTY at Turquoise Morning Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, iTunes and All Romance EBooks.
 
Bio: Arlene Hittle is a Midwestern transplant who now makes her home in northern Arizona. She suffers from the well-documented Hittle family curse of being a Cubs fan but will root for the Diamondbacks until they run up against the Cubs. Longtime friends are amazed she writes books with sports in them, since she’s about as coordinated as a newborn giraffe and used to say marching band required more exertion than golf. Find her at arlenehittle.com or on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram, Goodreadsor the Turquoise Morning Press website.
 

Tasty Tuesday & a Teaser ~ Libby Waterford

When I think about Paris, I think about food. I think about croissants and hot cocoa. I think about macaroncookies and other dainty treats that look like works of art and taste like airy sugary nothingness. I think about steak frites and roast duck and red wine and my mouth simply waters.
 
I haven’t been to Paris in several years, but my husband’s French heritage keeps me trying new recipes so we can get a taste of the City of Light in the City of Angels from time to time. While I love classics like leek and potato soup and coq au vin (Patricia Wells’s Bistro Cooking is an excellent resource for doable French bistro style recipes) my true love is desserts, and baking in particular.
 
My half-French mother-in-law makes the ultimate French chocolate cake, based on her mother’s recipe. I have my own version, which is (I think I can say) almost as good. It’s simple to make but it has stunning results. No one I have ever served this cake too can resist a second sliver.
 
So, if you’re hankering for a taste of France and want to serve something elegant and memorable (not to mention get a serious dose of chocolate), I hope you’ll try this recipe.
 
Almost Flourless Chocolate Cake
Adapted from the Williams-Sonoma Cake book.
 
7oz 70% bittersweet chocolate, chopped
14 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into chunks
1 cup granulated or superfine sugar
5 large eggs, separated, at room temperature (very important!)
2 tablespoons white flour
1/8 teaspoon kosher or coarse salt
 
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cut out a round of parchment paper to fit a 9 by 3 inch cake pan (a spring form pan works as well). Butter the bottom of the cake pan and insert the parchment paper.
 
Combine chocolate and butter and melt in double boiler or in a very heavy saucepan over low heat. Whisk to combine, remove from heat, whisk in 2/3 cup sugar and egg yolks, whisk in flour and salt, set aside.
 
Beat egg whites with whisk attachment of a stand mixer or by hand until they start to foam. Add one third of the remaining 1/3 cup of sugar and beat until whites are opaque. Add another third of sugar and continue beating. When whites start to become firm, add the rest of the sugar and beat until whites form soft peaks but still look wet. With a spatula, carefully fold the whites into the chocolate mixture.
 
Pour the batter into the pan and bake until a toothpick to the center comes out clean, or with just a few crumbs on it, about 35-40 minutes. Let cool in pan on a wire rack. Run a knife around the edge and invert onto a serving platter. Remove parchment paper.
 
You can dust this cake with cocoa powder or powdered sugar for decoration, but it looks lovely plain, as well.
 
Enjoy!
 
 *******
  
 
Love Unlocked
by Libby Waterford     All she wants is a fresh start…   Retired art thief Eve Caplin traveled all the way from Paris to California looking for a fresh start in a small town. When she locks herself out of her home, she gets much more than she bargained for in Hudson Cleary, part-time locksmith and world famous artist. She wants to resist Hudson’s seductive pull, but can’t refuse his help when a man from her past blackmails her into stealing a ten million dollar painting. Not only does Hudson have access to the painting, he may hold the key to her damaged heart.   All he wants is her…   Hudson hasn’t picked up a paintbrush in two years. When he unlocks Eve Caplin’s door, the mysterious beauty arouses much more than just his creative impulses. He needs Eve in his studio and wants her in his bed. When he discovers danger closing in, he must decide how far over the line he’s willing to go to protect her.   Will he lose his heart, his muse, and his freedom all in one unforgettable night?     Love Unlocked buy links:    Amazon | Barnes & Noble | All Romance eBooks | Decadent   What Readers are saying:   “The author shows us out-of-the-ordinary characters -- he's a blocked painter, she's a retired art thief -- in a beautiful setting on the Central California coast. The breezy plot made it hard to put down.” – Julia on Amazon.com   “The compelling hero and heroine have great chemistry and the thrilling plot keeps you guessing!” – Philippa on Amazon.com   About the Author: Libby Waterford writes California-set steamy contemporary romances. She lives in Los Angeles with her family and works off her weekly pilgrimage to In-N-Out by swimming and climbing the city’s hidden staircases.    Website: http://libbywaterford.com Email: libby@libbywaterford.com Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/LibbyWaterford Twitter: https://twitter.com/LibbyWaterford    

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Love Unlocked:   “So what’s the plan?” “What do you mean?” “The plan, you know, how are you going to steal the painting?” He spoke more calmly than he felt. “I hardly think you need to know about that.” “John mentioned involving me. Let me help.” He needed her to let him help her. He couldn’t stand by and let her face the threat of prison, bodily harm, or death all alone. Somewhere between her locked front door and the Rembrandt, Eve had become his to protect, and he wouldn’t let her down. She pushed back from the bar, hands on her hips. “John was out of his mind to suggest such a thing, and you have no business being anywhere near this situation.” God, she could be stubborn. “Then why did you tell me about it?” She goggled at him for a moment, then ignored his question. “John and I can handle it. We have to get access to a museum fundraiser where the painting is going to be displayed and take it from there. It’s simple really. You’re not needed.”    Hudson saw his window and he went for it. “A fundraiser? Not for the Santa Barbara Art Museum?” She was slow to respond. “Yes, actually.” His chest surged with relief that he could offer her something that might help her stay out of harm’s way. “I donated a print to their charity auction. It’s a joint fundraiser for the museum and for art education scholarships for low income high schoolers.” “Of course it is,” she grumbled. “Which means I have an invitation,” he said. “Want to be my plus one?” She bit her lip and crossed her arms. She wouldn’t be able to turn down his perfect way in, and he’d be at her side, keeping the wolves at bay. “It’s dangerous, you’d get us all caught.” He smiled. He knew rationalizations when he heard them. She was going to cave any minute. “You need my help,” he said, moving closer. “I don’t like the thought of you out there up to no good on your own.” They were so close they were practically breathing the same air. “I won’t be alone,” she said halfheartedly. “I’ll have John.” He wasn’t above playing dirty. He slid a hand around the back of her neck, stroking the soft hair that covered it like a waterfall. It took physical effort to keep from shuddering at the intense pleasure the sensation brought him. “I really don’t like the thought of you out with John at some swanky party. You’ll probably be dressed to the nines. High heels and everything,” he murmured. “Jealous?” she breathed. “Very.” And he kissed her.

 
 

Author, author... 1 Day Blast for SEX, LIES & MURDER Boxed Set + #giveaway

Sex, Lies & Murder
Boxed Set
 
Romantic SuspensePublisher: Turquoise Morning Press
Ebook Price: $0.99
(Special Promotional Price)
 
AMAZON| BARNES & NOBLE |
 SMASHWORDS | PUBLISHER
 
 



Sizzling romance. Killer instinct. Which wins out in the end?
Four top-selling authors create a perfect escape as they take love to the edge of suspense and back, risking life, death, and emotional warfare . Sexy, edgy, and gritty, these four romantic suspense novels will keep you turning the pages, as plots rarely go according to plan, and dangerous situations delay the stories’ coming to climax .
 
This boxed set includes the full-length romantic suspense novels: According To Plan by Madison J. Edwards, Coming to Climax by Bobbye Terry, Emotional Warfare by Christina Wolfer, and A Perfect Escape by Maddie James.
 
 
ACCORDING TO PLAN by Madison J. Edwards Shelby Stewart's been hired to find socialite Harrison Grant.  That's good.  Her ex-partner, Tank, is on the hunt for him as well.  That's bad.  Shelby will do anything to stay one step ahead of her uber sexy ex-lover, even play a tantalizing game of strip pool to knock him off his game.  Everything should work out, According to Plan. According To Plan is a solid erotic romantic suspense with humor, mystery, action, a hot ALPHA man and a feisty, sassy, kick ass woman.  ~  Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews Fast paced with great emotional quality, this story keeps you on the edge of your seat with lots of plot twists and scorching love scenes.  Shelby and Tank's physical chemistry is off the charts sizzling ~ Long and Short Reviews  Madison J. Edwards All-Romance Bestseller, award winning author who loves writing a whole lot of spice into a relationship.  Her stories are filled with alpha heroes and the feisty women who keep them on their toes.   COMING TO CLIMAX by Bobbye Terry
 
Margaret Palmer returns to Climax, Virginia, where Southern charm hides long-buried secrets and evil lurks just beneath the surface of the daily routine. Margaret’s long-guarded secret now threatens to be exposed; but, will that no longer matter when a psychotic killer’s target is Blue Moon, the one true love of her life?
 
Double Finalist in Central Florida Romance Writers’ Touch of Magic and Yellow Rose Romance Writers’ Winter Rose contests. 
Bravo! Well, done!! I loved it! ~ Blue is absolutely fascinating! I am in love! 
Bobbye Terry is a bestselling contemporary romance writer with multiple awards for her contemporary romance, historical romance, romantic suspense and romantic comedy.  EMOTIONAL WARFARE by Christina Wolfer  When highly classified military parts go missing from Libby Aerospace Technologies, Dana Porter is sent to Wyoming to resolve the issues.  The further Dana digs, the  more dangerous things become, and when an ex-employee ends up murdered, she suspects someone is illegally exporting the goods. Dana's past marital issues were handled competently and her romantic feelings for Nick added to the emotional warfare...the emotional push-pull of the protagonists is where Ms. Wolfer shines. ~ Amazon Review Wolfer understands the human condition and breathes life and realism into her characters ~ Amazon Review   Christina Wolfer writes the spectrum of contemporary romance, from modern day westerns to murder and suspense.  She'll keep you guessing until the very end. 

A PERFECT ESCAPE by Maddie James
 
Megan Thomas is running for her life. Smyth Parker is running from his. Their perfect escape to the solitude of uninhabited Portsmouth Island might temporarily solve their problems, but Smyth soon learns he doesn’t need a complication named Megan Thomas—especially when she brings more danger to his life than he could have imagined. 
What a tangled web! An intricate plot of mystery and suspense. James deftly combines romance and suspense, so hop on for an exhilarating ride. ~ 4 Stars, RT Book Reviews 
A Perfect Escape is a well-written story that delivers great range of emotions, intense action at its best, and a great plot. Ms. James knows how to pen stories that engage the reader. ~ Fallen Angel Reviews 

Bestselling author Maddie James is the author of nearly 30 novels/novellas. Her books have received numerous 5 Star and Top Pick reviews. She is frequently listed as a Top 100 Most Popular Contemporary Romance Author at Amazon.
 
 
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Author, author... Spotlight on Fallen Angel by Alisa Anderson & Cameron Skye

...read all about it !!

 Fallen Angelby Alisa Anderson & Cameron Skye      Blurb: When Jess packed up her belongings and fled her small hometown in Kansas, she never looked back. Free from her family’s dark past she was finally able to pursue her lifelong dream as a professional dancer. She never expected to find herself at his door...or at his club. Nikolas was unlike any other man she had ever met. Sexy…Alluring…Predatory. Dangerous. The kind of man with more secrets than even she had. Every instinct warned Jess against knowing him further, but she always did like playing with fire… Nikolas Roman took one look at Jess and knew she was trouble from the very start. But something about the defiant twist of her mouth and the wide, haunted eyes of a damaged soul touched him in places he had long ago thought dead. He knew he needed to stay far away from her for his own sanity, but like a moth to a flame he was helpless to resist… Working at Takers gentleman's club was the last place Jess thought she would find herself, but she quickly learned how the game was played. See what you want, take what you can get…but at what cost?


  
                 Authors’ Bio:  Alisa Anderson well...alisa did stuff and is still doing stuff. only now she has two boys crazy enuff to want her as their mommy. hey, at least she tried to warn them, so her job is done. she doesn’t like to capitalize, partially because she likes how lower case letters look visually, but mostly out of laziness. please don't judge. it could be you. and she would say, hey. you're alright, buddy. you're ok in my book. now c'mere for a hug. the hug might be pushing it. air kiss? you are strangers, after all, with only a mutual love of poor grammar. she lives for a world full of controllable anatomically correct, android men programmed to meet her specific feminine needs (wink, wink, nudge, nudge with a big waggle of the eyebrows). who look like the rock. and ian somerhalder. and idris elba. and that's it she promises. variety. gotta have variety, right? but alas...apparently that exists only in johanna lindsey's genius mind. so until then, she enjoys her incredibly warped sense of humor. she reads tons of erotica and romantic, drippy goo that makes her heart go pitter patter. then she thought, hey. what, she said to herself. (softly, of course, so no one finds out she is indeed, 2 nuts short of a fruitcake) maybe you should write this stuff too. maybe someone will like it and maybe buy it. so she said, huh, you think? then she said, well...yeah, i wouldn't have suggested it...(inserts sarcastic tone) and then she was like lose the attitude, ok? then she was all, would you just shut up and write, already? sheesh! and she did. :)

Cameron Skye When Cameron is not in the lab working toward a Ph.D., in Neuropsychopharmacology, which in laymen's terms is basically finding the effects drugs have on mood and behavior, she is writing stories, crating vivid, intense characters you will never forget. She believes while life can take you down every path but the right one, eventually everyone will find their happily ever after.
        Does your mother know what you’re reading?   Alisa’s Website     Cameron’s Website
 
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AlisaAndersonBooksTwitter: https://twitter.com/bitchesbewritinBlog: http://alisaanderson.wordpress.com/    

Author, author...Character Interview with Tabby from Snip, Snip Revenge by Medeia Sharif

Today we are thrilled to have a character interview with our author Medeia Sharif and her heroine, Tabby !!

 Medeia: Hello, Tabby. Wow…you look different from the last time I saw you.

  Tabby: (scowls) Yeah, I got a haircut.

  Medeia: What happened?

  Tabby: This teacher at school, someone I can’t stand, insisted I had lice. Then my father, who’s never liked my hair, made me go to the fastest barber in Miami Beach. In a few short minutes, I barely had anything on top of my head.

  Medeia: I’m sorry this happened to you. It doesn’t look bad at all, and it’ll grow back.

  Tabby: I’m stuck with this ugly hair for months until then. But that’s okay, because I’ve made plans to get back at everyone.

  Medeia: Uh-oh. What kind of plans?

    Tabby: I’m going to show that teacher who’s boss. After that, since my parents are divorced and my mom wants more money, I’m going to hurt Dad in the wallet, since he loves money so much. Also, there’s this girl at school named Heather who’s racist and nasty towards me. She’s been talking behind my back and posting pictures of me online. She won’t know what’s coming to her. When the time’s right, I’m going to strike.

  Medeia: This all seems so drastic. Do you really think revenge is going to make you feel better?

  Tabby: (pauses) Yes…no. I don’t know, but I’m nobody’s victim. I’m not going to sit around doing nothing.

  Medeia: Are you doing this all by yourself?

  Tabby: No. My friends will help me. I started something called Operation Revenge to get back at all these people.

  Medeia: This sounds like a bad idea. I really hope you don’t carry through with this. 

  Tabby: (blinks back tears) I’ve gotta do something. I hate admitting this since I consider myself a strong person, but I have so much pain inside. It has to come out somehow.


 *    *    *    *    *    *Snip, Snip Revengeby


Medeia SharifContemporary Young Adult Romance ~ Evernight Teen
Approx. 64,000 words

 






Beautiful, confident Tabby Karim has plans for the winter: nab a role in her school’s dramatic production, make the new boy Michael hers, and keep bigoted Heather—with her relentless Ay-rab comments—at bay. When a teacher’s lie and her father’s hastiness rob her of her beautiful hair, her dreams are dashed. The fastest barber in Miami Beach has made her look practically bald.


With all her pretty hair gone, Tabby doesn’t believe she fits the feminine role she’s auditioning for. Michael is still interested in her, but he’s playing it cool. Heather has taken to bullying her online, which is easier to do with Tabby’s ugly haircut. Tabby spearheads Operation Revenge, which proves satisfying until all of her problems deepen. After messing up, she sets to make things right.


Find Snip, Snip Revenge here:Evernight Teen     Amazon     Goodreads (enter to win an autographed copy)Excerpt:A huge lump grows in my throat and I swallow it with difficulty. Obviously, these men have nothing to do all day but sit here and read their newspapers, so I’m up next. I’m frozen. My limbs won’t move. “Come on now!” Dad says impatiently.I don’t feel like fighting with him in front of others. In snail-like fashion I glide to the salon chair. There’s a large oval mirror in front of me and I stare at my reflection. I feel outside myself, as if this is happening to someone else. Some other teenage girl with long, pretty hair is getting her hair cut, not me. Raul asks me to lift my hair and he places an apron around me. The black plastic unsettles me. Ever since Dad parked his car, the whole atmosphere has been ominous.Raul doesn’t even ask me what I want. Dad is giving all the orders. He whispers something into Raul’s ear—I hear the word lice loud and clear, though—and then he says, “Do the fine job that you do on my hair.”That fills me with dread. Dad’s hair is short. I don’t want to look like him. Raul’s hands caress my hair, and then he grabs all of it at the base, using his fingers as a ponytail holder, and cuts it off in one swoop. My hair is at my shoulders and I surreally watch the rest of my hair clutched in Raul’s hand as if it were the pelt of a dead animal. Raul takes the hair to the back of the shop and throws it in a garbage can. My long, beautiful curls are gone forever.I stare at the mirror. My hair doesn’t really look that bad. I look cute. It just needs to be evened out. Now that my hair is shorter, Raul wets it with a spray bottle. I don’t think he shampoos hair, furthering my suspicions that this is a men’s only place.“Raul was voted fastest haircutter in Miami-Dade,” Dad says. The local newspapers have these silly polls about businesses, but I don’t recall reading about Raul among the articles about most authentic Chinese restaurants and best diners for breakfast.“Cut shorter,” Dad says.“But not too short,” I say. “Just even it out a little.”“Shorter,” Dad says, louder than me, letting Raul know he’s the paying customer, not me. Big deal, I could easily pay for this haircut. I should’ve said so before we got in, because now Dad is on one of his power trips, acting like he’s in charge.Dad wasn’t kidding when he said Raul cuts hair fast. Snip, snip, snip the scissors go, and my hair’s about four inches long. “Stop!” I say.“Go on,” Dad says. I see him at the edge of the mirror, looking at his phone instead of paying attention to me. “Cut it shorter.”“You sure?” Raul asks. Raul, a complete stranger, has sympathy in his eyes. My eyes meet his in the mirror. I also see that I’m shaking with fury, fright, and sadness. Dad doesn’t know shit about what I want. He makes this about him. He wants me to have short hair. But I’m a girl, not a boy. And I belong in a salon, not a barbershop. Raul hesitates, arms limp at his sides.“Go on,” Dad urges. “You’re doing a great job, Raul.”I’m breathless. Will Raul choose Dad or my sad, tear-filled self? He chooses Dad, raises his hands, and continues to cut in his Speedy Gonzales manner.“I need to get this call,” Dad says. “No, wait for me…I’ll deal with the client…I’m almost done with a personal matter...” In between talking to one his employees, Dad lifts his head to give Raul more directions. “A little shorter.” My reflection becomes hazy…because I’m crying. I can’t believe this is happening to me. This guy’s fingers are relentless. The gleam of the scissors shimmer right and left, top and bottom. “You’re shaking too much,” Raul says.“Stop it, Tabby!” Dad orders. “You don’t want to get cut. There’s no need to struggle. Just let’s get this out of the way already. I don’t want to be late for a meeting.”I want to jump out of the seat and run out of here screaming. My hair looks ugly. I look like a boy. Raul cuts some more. “Daddy!” I say, reverting to a little girl. I’m remembering those times as a child when Dad hit my hand with a ruler or slapped me across the face. I feel trapped by his cruelty and Raul’s quick hands.Raul takes an electric razor and I feel it graze the back of my neck. “No!” I say. “No, no, no.” I’m afraid that if I move Raul will cut me, but maybe blood will be good for a time like this. I want to die. My hair is grotesque.I’m stunned by the way I look. My hair is about two inches long, shaggy on top and much shorter on the bottom. What the hell? The razor, comb, and scissors disappear to the side table where Raul keeps his supplies. He takes a neck brush and glides it over my neck to brush away stray hairs. Tears are dripping like bullets down my face. With my fugly haircut and red face, I look monstrous. I’ve lost myself in a few short minutes. I’m no longer me. Where is the pretty face and pretty hair?Author Bio:


I’m a Kurdish-American author who was born in New York City, and I presently call Miami my home. I received my master’s degree in psychology from Florida Atlantic University. After becoming a voracious reader in high school and a relentless writer dabbling in many genres in college, I found my niche writing for young people. Today I'm a MG and YA writer published through various presses. In addition to being a writer, I'm a middle school English teacher. My memberships include Mensa, ALAN, and SCBWI.Website: http://www.medeiasharif.comTwitter: https://twitter.com/sharifwritesInstagram: http://instagram.com/sharifwritesGoodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4086531.Medeia_Sharif   Giveaway:   $25 Amazon Gift Card a Rafflecopter giveaway

Author, author... Guest Post from Elizabeth Darcy, author of How I Dumped My Demon

 Magical Memories
As an author, I believe I view the world a little differently to most people. I tend to imagine scenes for stories. I love walking beside the Pacific Ocean and gain most of my inspiration from the wonderful atmosphere in my cosmopolitan city. When people think of the beach, most would imagine blue sky, sand, and waves. For me the retreating waves leave a glimmer of gold in their wake and rainbows in the bubbles of wash.  I absorb ambience from the surfer riding the crest of a wave to the seagull hovering on an updraft of air. I believe most authors collect and store such images deep inside their subconscious.
I have no doubt an active imagination begins in childhood. I delve into my childhood memories many times during the creation of a story. Those images never leave us, or those wonderful times when we truly believed in magic. The tales of Tinkerbelle and Santa Claus remain hidden in a secret place of make believe in my mind.  
I am sure if one hundred people were given the questions “Do you in believed in fairies and magic or do warlocks and witches really exist?”  I think the result would be a surprise.  I sure do . . .  come on now ' fess up . . . do you believe?
 My mother wasn’t with me for very long but I still treasure her wonderful bedtime stories. If ever I fell ill, she would send me little handmade cards signed 'Faerie Blue Eyes.' My fondest memory is of pushing a doll's pram around the garden at about three years old.  We lived in a Victorian three-story house and the grounds had many pathways weaving throughout the rose gardens. Toward the back fence, blackberry bushes sat in clumps with spiky tendrils waiting to snag my clothes or pull my hair as I passed by. Beneath the ancient oak trees, acorns littered the ground and pointed brown toadstools surrounded patches of bright, green moss.
My mother would put on a serious expression and insist I should never to touch the toadstools because I would disturb the fairies. She told me the circle (of dangerously poisonous fungi) was a fairy circle and on every full moon, the fairies would come out to dance.
 I could see the fairies in my mind’s eye and would walk by, then pause and look over my shoulder, in the hope of glimpsing an ethereal being. At night, I would slip out of bed and press my nose to the windowpane to peer at the garden.
Nighttime offers another pallet for my imagination. Moonlight diffuses colors to every shade of gray. Long shadows change familiar rose bushes to gargoyles and with each passing breeze, they move ready to pounce. Trees charred by night, reach up to the sky waving in silent devotion. The sounds of insects echo through the stillness, or could that be the sweet voices of faerie song? An owl hoots, and then appears, wings spread wide against the full moon. Across the lawn, moonbeams bathe the grass transforming each drop of dew into a myriad of diamonds. Is it any wonder the fairies dance at night?
Magic, warlocks, witches and fairies have so many wonderful stories to tell. I mean, who wouldn’t want to fall in love with a deliciously handsome warlock or be taken to another dimension by a magical being?
 I enjoy writing about all things magical and now I can share my stories with my readers, I love it even more.
Elizabeth M Darcy
*   *   *   *How I Dumped My Demon By Elizabeth M. Darcy  

Blurb:  Abandoned by her mother at a police station, Megan Stonebridge has no idea who she is or why a demon haunts her nightmares. When the dreams become a frightening reality, she questions her sanity. Putting her faith in a locket inscribed with ancient runes left with her by her mother, Megan must unlock the meaning of the runes before the demon drags her into the underworld. In fear for her life, Megan unknowingly casts a spell that summons a handsome warlock to help her dump her demon.


Amazon     Bookstrand     ARe

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/How-I-Dumped-My-Demon-ebook/dp/B00K7S19MI/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top/187-6581535-7724362

Bookstrand: http://www.bookstrand.com/how-i-dumped-my-demon
All Romance: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-howidumpedmydemon-1506758-344.html
  Author Bio: Born in London, England and now living in Australia, Elizabeth enjoys the thrill of writing YA romance and loves all things magical.  She has a passion for history and her sweet historical romance stories are drawn from the history of her heritage to bring readers the delightful imagery of life and love through time. From Norman Knights to Scottish Highlanders and English rakes, Elizabeth creates stories that will remain with the reader long after the final page.Website   Blog      Facebook    Twitter  
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Cover Reveal: The Key by KT Grant

Cover Reveal for…
The Key (Book #2 in the Dark Path series)byKT Grant

Synopsis:Erika has reinvented herself as an author of erotic romance under the pseudonym, Lily Fredericks. After her eight month sabbatical in New Orleans, she’s returning to Manhattan to promote her new book. Chris is handling her book tour and wants Erika to give him another chance. She’s forgiven Chris, but Max is always in her thoughts. Sick of waiting for Erika to come to her senses, Max takes matters into his own hands. He’ll go to New Orleans to claim her before it’s too late.

With Erika back in Manhattan, both Chris and Max try to seduce her in the hopes she’ll choose one of them. As both men battle for her heart, a woman from Max’s past reappears, bent on revenge. Chris will ruin Max anyway he can in order to make Erika his own. However Max has something up his sleeve to insure he’s the victor, but not without a price—Erika’s soul.


Releasing June 9th, 2014

Excerpt:
“I never meant to make you cry. I’m sorry.” He rested his cheek on her leg, laid his hands on either side of her hips. He longed to hold her like he did moments ago with her in his lap, but he allowed her to have the upper hand.He stared at the wall, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room. If he believed in the power of prayer, he would have asked God to pardon his sins this one time and encourage Erika to forgive him along with his spiteful behavior.She shifted under him, and he peered up at her. She leaned on the edge of the couch while holding his handkerchief to her mouth. A tear spilled from the corner of her eye, slipping down her cheek. She didn’t look at him.He captured her free hand lying limp on her upper leg and kissed her palm. “Don’t hate me.” Her fingers curled into her palm, so he wrapped his hand around her fist. She pulled her hand away and tapped his cheek. Expecting her to slap him, he lifted his face for his punishment.She ran her knuckles up the side of his head and across his scalp. Unfurling her fingers, she pressed her palm flat then sifted her fingertips through his hair.Placing his face onto her lap, he inhaled the feminine scent he wanted to bathe in. She always smelled so clean and fresh, even after he screwed her until she couldn’t move, or when they made love, boneless from his loving ministrations.His cock awakened, and he locked his knees together. If he even dared try to seduce Erika, she would maim him. So, he suffered quietly, just like he recklessly made her suffer because of his thoughtless actions.She gripped his hair, and he looked up, his head suspended. He expected to see loathing in her eyes, but instead found disappointment and regret.She removed her hand, watching him with her mouth half open as she inhaled. Her throat moved as she swallowed hard. She dropped her hand on her lap.“Get off the floor,” she commanded with a tired inflection in her tone. She shifted farther away  when he sat next to her.She ran her thumb over his monogrammed initials—MLC—on his handkerchief and sighed. “You say you’re sorry, but for what? For spying on me or for trying to ruin my company and my rep—”“Sorry for keeping an eye on you. But it was never my intent to destroy Walsh or your reputation.”“Then what’s your intent? This all comes down to your hostility with Chris? You don’t care your hate for him could cause a ripple effect and there would be other causalities of this on-going war you have with him?” Her lips twisted and a fresh wave of tears filled her eyes. “Me, being number one?”“I shouldn’t have gone this far. I’m paying the price.” He hated admitting his wrongdoing, but he would do so just to get in her good graces again. “You being here is a wakeup call. Your tears….” He tried dislodging the lump in his throat to no avail. “Have torn me up inside.”“You really thought I wouldn’t be affected by your deception?’ She rolled his handkerchief in a ball and threw it at his face. It landed too short and floated to the floor.“I never meant to deceive you,” he said, offering no other explanation for his heartless deed. He didn’t have one.She shot up from the couch. He started to stand, but she pointed her finger at him. “Don’t move.”He remained glued to his seat. This was the first time he witnessed an enraged Erika. One more wrong move or statement on his part could have her rejecting him. No amount of groveling on his part would make her take him back.The idea of him groveling to any woman, even Erika soured his stomach.“You have no right to look so bent out of shape or sickened. If anyone should be ill, it should be me.” She poked her chest with her thumb.He folded his hands in between his legs and studied the floor in front of him. “You’re angry, and rightly so, but  we need to fix this before it gets too out of hand.”“We need to fix this? There’s no we here, M.L. You need to fix this as soon as possible. No excuses.” She jabbed her finger in his direction.Her hostility threatened to suffocate him, but then again, he had been in many regrettable situations comparable to this one. He would rectify the issue then work on his appeal to Erika. They were connected in such a way that they would always circle back to one another.“When everything is dealt with to your satisfaction, then what?” He relaxed against the cushion to release the strain in his lower back as well as the stiffness in his shoulders.“I don’t know, Maxwell. You’ve gone too far this time.” Her voice dropped to an anguished whisper.“Would it help if I got down on my knees again?” There was a slight overture to his voice he couldn’t hide.“Not even that.” She wiped her palms down the front of her blouse. “We’re done here. I don’t have anything else to say to you.”“What if I’m not finished with you yet?” He gripped the arm of the couch. He could make her stay. But he promised he would never do that to her.“What are you going to do? Keep me here until I give you the answers you want? Maybe engage in some of those kinky games of domination you play at The Gate, which you always tell me you keep separate from your world here?” She opened her arms. “I’m sick of playing.”“Are you sick of me?” he asked, more concerned by her agitation.Her chest heaved as she gulped in air. Her face was red—all signs she was about to have a panic attack. But his she surprised him. lowering her arms then backing toward the door, never looking away from him. She opened it wide. He didn’t spring up from his seat to stop her—the last attempt didn’t go over well. He wouldn’t be able to handle her tears a second time.“Goodbye, Maxwell,” she said, finally turning away from him.“Is it really goodbye, Erika? You said the same thing the first time you left me, but here we are. We’re connected and will always be no matter what obstacles are thrown at us.”She stepped out into the hallway, clasping the doorknob. “This time you threw the obstacle out there. I really think you wanted to sabotage our relationship from the very beginning because you don’t know how to have a healthy relationship with a woman.”“Psychoanalyzing me, Miss Walsh?” He dug his fingers into vacant seat next to him, the bite of the leather digging under his nails.“I’ve stopped analyzing you because it makes me more confused. You make no sense, Max. I give up.”“For now,” he volleyed back.The knob rattled in her hold. “Whatever. I’m much stronger than you give me credit for.”“I never thought you were weak.”She proved her strength to him many times over. Confronting him here was a perfect example.With precise calm, she shut the door. He didn’t even hear the snick of the lock. But then again, the blood rushing in his ears blocked out the sound.He lay down, hoping his heart would slow down and the pounding in his head would stop. He took his cell out of his pocket, waiting for her to call, expecting some parting shot, for her to get the last word in.His cell remained silent.His gut clenched over the profound sense of loss.




Bio:KT Grant is a self-proclaimed eccentric redhead who not only loves to read a wide variety of romances, but also loves writing it. Under her alter-ego, she is a well-known book blogger who doesn’t shy away from voicing her opinion. A proud native of New Jersey, KT is multi-published and writes Gay, Lesbian and Straight romance. KT has been a top ten best-selling author at Amazon, as well as being a multiple All Romance Ebooks best seller and a Night Owl Reviews Top Author Pick.KT loves to hear from readers. You can drop KT an email at ktgrnt@gmail.com.

You can also find KT at these fun places: Blog: Babbling About Books, and More! Twitter: @Katiebabs Facebook Goodreads

Author, author... Author Interview with Cate Parke + #giveaway

  Please help me welcome an interview with Cate Parke !!!   Please tell us a little about yourself.. . I was born in Oklahoma City, but moved from there to Albuquerque, New Mexico when I was eight years old along with my parents and four brothers. I always loved English and history in high school and college, but I became a nurse. The daunting chore was to learn enough math to pass the college chemistry courses I needed. For a non-math major, I loved algebra, chemistry and organic chemistry. I’ve been a pediatric nurse all my career. I still work very part time as a nurse. Writing is pretty much a full time career now. I’m married to a retired navy officer and we have one daughter and a grandson. If you read my blog, you’ll learn that our move to N.E. Tennessee was our 18thduring my husband’s 26-year career.   What or who initially inspired you to become a writer ? I’ve always written stories, or imagined the plot of a book I would write. One night in January, 2006, though, I listened to a friend of mine read a prologue of a book she’d read. I don’t even recall the title of the book. For reasons I can’t explain, that was my impetus to begin writing my own book.   What kind of research do you do for a novel and how extensive do you get? It may be true of other genres as well, but when the genre is historical, there’s a lot of research that goes into making a story believable. For instance, I spent weeks trying to find any reference to bridges crossing the Ashley River north of Charleston during the pre-Revolutionary War period. Actually, it turns out that ferries were used to cross the Ashley except at just a couple of points. Like all writers, I have an extensive collection of books, maps and copies of other manuscripts regarding my time period.   Do you have a special place you like to do your writing? Such as an office, a spare room, the dining room table, your couch? I have a desk in our bedroom and a huge bookshelf that contains all my writing references. My office disappeared into a guest bedroom some time ago. (Occasionally, I’ll move my laptop to the dining table so I can hear my washing machine or dryer alarms on laundry days.)   As a reader, what types of works do you like to read and do you think they influence the genre/genres you write in? I’ll read pretty much anything, actually. For instance, I never thought I would like Fantasy or Alternate Reality books, but a few of my author friends write wonderful stories that have changed my mind. I’ll read anything they write. I also began reading more contemporary romance and have found several authors whose books I devour. For the most part, though, I’m a lover of historical romance. Everyone has always said, Write what you love, or write what you know. As an historical romance author, I do both.   What is your favorite method of writing...as in laptop, desktop, Ipad or the old fashioned pencil and paper??  And do you plot out your story or go with the flow of your muse? I use my laptop to write. It changed my life, in terms of writing. I would never have finished even a single chapter had it not been for my computer. In terms of my stories, I have a loose plot I follow. Otherwise, I let my characters tell me who they are and where they want to take the story.   When you need a break or some time off from the trials of being a writer, what can you be found doing? I’m either cooking, watching television with my family or vegging out on the living room couch with my Kindle.   Is there anything about yourself nobody knows that you would like to share with our readers?? Well, while a few other people know this about me, I once begged my husband not to accept orders to Guam since it would force us to fly over the deepest fissure in the earth, the Marianas Trench at 37,000 feet. I have a fear of heights…anda fear of depths. Yikes! My husband was a good guy, as it happened. We moved no further than up the California coast a little over a hundred miles.   For fun, I have a few personal questions,     Your Favorite 5   1) Favorite color – sunny yellow…or bright green…or pale blue. I lovecolor. 2) Favorite dessert – Ice cream. I love it! (Don’t tell my husband, though.) 3) Favorite Season – Autumn. Hands down. 4) Favorite sad song – It isn’t much of a sad song so much as a love song: it is “Endless Love” with Lionel Ritchie. 5) Favorite Romantic movie– You won’t believe it. It’s the 2007 version of “Persuasion”. The scene kiss near the end of the movie where Captain Wentworth first kisses Anne is one of the single best I’ve ever seen. Sigh….     And a bonus, what is your ideal romantic vacation?? Sharing wine and a late supper with my husband at a great French bistro within sight of the Eiffel tower…or sailing along Italy’s west coast watching it pass by our private balcony…or having tea with him at the Jane Austen Tea Room in Bath, England. Needless to say, I adore my wonderful husband. When I fantasize about anyone, it’s him.     Where can our readers find you??  ·       Email: cateparke@hughes.net ·       Twitter: https://twitter.com/cateparke ·       Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CateParke.Author ·       Website/blog: http://www.cateparkeauthor.com/tuesdays-child.html ·       Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00IAXYBYK ·       Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7831172.Cate_Parke ·       TRR: http://www.theromancereviews.com/cateparke   Is there an upcoming or current release you would like to share with us today and where can we find it? Yes! Thanks for asking. Richard Berkeley’s Bride can be found at:   Amazon Kindle       Barnes and Noble      iBooks      All Romance       Kobo   Turquoise Morning Press Bookstore   Here’s a little blurb: Will his ambitions and her fears imperil their future?

In Charlestowne, South Carolina Colony, 1769, a ship docks containing a treasure beyond most men’s dreams—Lord Edward’s lovely daughter, Alexandra—destined for one fortunate man, Richard Berkeley.

Although he’s the scion of a wealthy prominent family, the arranged marriage unlocks the door to far greater wealth and power than Richard ever hoped to achieve. He soon learns his lordship’s offer to instate him as his sole heir isn’t the only treasure worth risking his life for. Alexandra is the true prize.

Intrigued by the proud, wealthy beauty soon to become his wife, Richard sets aside his mistress. But Eliza Perrineau had long schemed to become Richard’s fiancée and is furious when he cast her off. Her plans for revenge quickly swell wildly and threaten to destroy Richard. Her cousin, Lord Thomas Graham plans to ensure his untimely demise and has him charged with her murder. Unless Richard can prove his innocence fast, he’ll swing for a crime he didn’t commit.

Alexandra has her own secrets—including deep-seated fears that imperil their chance for happiness. But Richard discovers Alexandra’s love is a prize worth protecting—if only he can help her overcome her fears and past struggles to create a marriage truly worthy of their love. Here’s an excerpt: Charlestowne, South Carolina Colony, March, 1768 Richard Berkeley broke the wax seal on his father’s message and read, “14th March. Lord Edward’s house, Meeting Street. Supper, eight o’clock. We have an offer to tender. ~Thos. Berkeley Postscript: It’s time you married, boy. We want heirs.” Richard’s eyes widened and one eyebrow ratcheted up several notches. What in hell does this mean? Marriage...heirs? What the devil are my father and Lord Edward up to now? He’d once considered ways he hated starting his day and this note just shot to the top of his list. It occurred to him one of two possibilities existed. Either a life-changing opportunity knocked or he should run the other way—fast. The latter option was undoubtedly the best. **** “Come in, my son, come in.” Thomas Berkeley boomed, clapping Richard’s shoulder. “We’ve been waiting for you.” He turned and indicated a winged armchair across from Lord Edward. His father’s hearty good humor deepened Richard’s wariness. A worm of suspicion wriggled into Richard’s core. The glee contained in his father’s words triggered his conjecture that his elder barely restrained himself from rubbing his hands together in eagerness. Richard sat, and crossed an ankle over his knee. He contained an urge to drum his fingers on the chair’s arm and gripped it instead, while brooding, not for the first time that day, over what game these two schemers played. So he smoldered—not a little irritated over their intrusion into his well-deserved freedom—and gripped the chair so hard he left a deep imprint in the chair’s well-padded arm. “Good evening, my boy. Busy day?” Lord Edward Campbell passed Richard a shimmering tumbler half-full of whisky. More than a little smug, his lordship’s piercing, blue-eyed stare pinned Richard against the chair’s back. Richard had always admired Lord Edward’s ability to miss not a single detail during complex negotiations. Yet his admiration did nothing to decrease his mounting uneasiness. Flickering candles alight in eight-branched candelabras, set on tables near them, chased deep dusk from the room and sparkled in the panes of tall, satin-draped windows. Richard’s quick glance slid toward first one man, then the other, still pondering what these two wanted of him. What did their earlier comment regarding his conjugal condition have to do with anything? And heirs? Wide smirks plastered the older men’s features. “Pardon me, sirs, but you leave me with the grim notion that you haven’t merely invited me to eat supper—but to be the main course.” Chuckling at Richard’s quip, Lord Edward leaned forward. “Thomas and I wish to propose a betrothal.” Richard’s head snapped up. A pin’s drop, falling onto the Persian carpet beneath his feet, would have echoed throughout the room. Well, now I know. “A betrothal, my lord? May I ask to whom?” Richard took a modest sip of the excellent whisky to cover his sudden urge to gulp. It’s a damned good thing my mouth wasn’t full of this when he made that pronouncement or his lordship might have worn the evidence of my surprise. It was the single thing he’d found to smile about...if only a smile could be mustered. His father and Lord Edward grinned enough for all three of them, like two aging cats that had gotten into a canary’s cage with satisfactory results. His lordship’s meticulous scrutiny left Richard feeling as though he were a naturalist’s specimen. “Yes, Richard. My daughter, Alexandra, is now of age and soon to have her London season. Afterward, she will return home and then you both may marry. My father assures me she resembles her mother in every way.” Richard’s glance skipped toward a portrait of Lady Georgiana, hanging above the fireplace. He knew the painting well, having seen it many times, and admired the lady’s extraordinary beauty. Lord Edward’s daughter might be the mirror image of her mother, yet he wasn’t ready to surrender the freedom his bachelor life afforded, nor ready to change his connubial status. At twenty-six, he deemed himself entitled to independence. After years spent pursuing his studies, first at Eton, then Christ Church, Oxford and, afterward, London’s Middle Temple, he’d worked hard to gain credentials anyone would find impressive for a man his age. Hard upon his return to Charlestowne, Lord Edward, his old mentor, lured him into his far-flung shipping venture and other financial schemes. “I’m pleased you’d consider me worthy of your daughter, My Lord. I recall her, of course, but she was just a small child when I left for England. I know little of her except her name.” “Hm-m. Yes, that is a difficulty, my boy.” His Lordship stared at him, and steepled his fingers. “Of course, she will be home next year and then you may meet her.” Richard cleared his throat. “If I may, sir. I sail to Londonnext month on business. May I propose meeting her then? Afterward, I’ll reply to your proposal.” One of Lord Edward’s elegant brows lifted. “She leaves Londonfor Inveraray Castle, my father’s home in Scotland, before your arrival in London, Richard.” He stirred in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “If you wish, I will send a letter of introduction to my father with you. After our affairs in Londonare concluded you may travel to Argyllshire to meet her.” “I’m flattered, sir. I will, of course, be happy to make your daughter’s acquaintance. May I ask why I was chosen?” he asked, careful to remain blasé. “I have intended you for her since you were but a young lad.” His lordship’s smug grin was that of a man satisfied all his plans had come to fruition. “Thomas permitted me a share in your rearing, Richard. You have grown to be a fine man whom I admire and trust. I flatter myself I played a small role in the outcome. Indeed, I could not be prouder of you if you were my own son.” “Edward and I spoke of this possibility when you and his daughter were both but youngsters, my son. It’s our hope you’ll concede to our proposal.” Two pairs of shrewd eyes in the faces of his elders stabbed him. “Your marriage to my daughter will unite two excellent names and fortunes into a mighty alliance. I will, of course, make you my heir. It was the coup ď grâce. Richard strove but failed to restrain the outward sign of the piercing pleasure that speared him. Thoughts cascaded through his head. Well, I’d hoped to create a name and fortune in Charlestowne. Here it is...offered up for the taking. Possessed of a prominent and ancient name in the city, Richard’s family were amongst the colony’s most affluent. The eldest son of the eldest son, he’d inherit it all. “The question is,” he thought, “am I willing to surrender my independence for a girl I hardly remember? Well, Richard old man, there’s only one way to know.” And, if he was right, she just might be the wife he sought—the one worth far more than his forfeited bachelorhood. **** Lord Edward snapped the seal on the message and scanned the few words, allowing a slow triumphant smile to slide onto his face. Thursday, 20th October, 1768 Inveraray Castle Sir, I have been introduced to your daughter. Miss Campbell is everything you described, yet far more. Consider me the willing fly caught in your web, my lord. I accept your proposal. I am Your obedient servant &c ~Richard Berkeley     Dreams Within Dreams will release during the week of May 18th…. Thank you so much for asking. I have a blurb and excerpt for you. Here’s the blurb: Richard has won his treasure…and so has Alexandra, but Old World alliances and approaching war threatens their magnificent future and their passionate love. Lord Thomas Graham is back and Richard is on his home turf. Laughable fop or a menacing foe? No matter which, Richard will be damned if he lets himself become a Rob Roy for yet another Marquis of Montrose. As war looms on the near horizon, can Richard adhere to his firmly held principles…or must he choose those of Alexandra’s English family to preserve their marriage’s bliss? Courage, Alexandra’s special gift…is also her curse. Lord Thomas Graham will stop at nothing to ruin the Campbells, Richard and Alexandra included. He’s struck at her beloved husband once…twice…three times. How long before his malignant influence knocks at Oakhurst’s great front door? It will not. Not if she can thwart it.   And here’s the excerpt: “Mr. Richard Berkeley and Lady Alexandra Berkeley,” proclaimed the queen’s chamberlain in stentorian tones. Sharp pounding resounded throughout the noisy chamber when he struck his long mace against the marble floor once…twice. Heads swiveled their way. Painted and many-patched men and their ladies, garbed in gorgeous court clothes and dripping with jewels, thronged St. James Palace on this Thursday evening for the queen’s bi-weekly Drawing Room. Word of the Berkeleys’ appearance had spread through St. James District like fire through a ramshackle barn stuffed with dry hay bales. Richard’s and Alexandra’s sponsors, her grandmother and aunt, flanked them. Twoduchesses as sponsors—such had never before been the case to everybody’s certain knowledge. Richard led Alexandra forward through crowds that parted like the Red Sea before Moses when they passed down the center of the mammoth room. Halting before the pregnant queen, Richard swept his grey tricorn from his head, extended a foot and bowed from his waist while his wife sank into a deep curtsey. Waves of murmurs swept through the assembly behind them, scarcely audible confidences, overheard by Richard’s keen ear. One of them, a girl born with every advantage, had allied herself to a mere gentleman whom nobody had ever heard of before, nobody would distinguish with an invitation anywhere, and nobody wanted to know. Yet from the number of invitations flooding in to Her Grace of Argyll’s secretary, everybody most plainly did. From the corner of Richard’s eye, he glimpsed several short men and a few women clamber onto chairs to capture a better view of them. One elderly dame even lifted a lorgnette containing pink glass to match her silk gown. Richard successfully stifled a smirk. For somebody nobody wanted to acknowledge, he’d garnered enormousattention. “We have not enjoyed your presence in our Court for the past year and more, Lady Alexandra.” Queen Charlotte’s gaze swept her from bright red, high-piled curls to the hem of her magnificent embroidered cloth-of-silver wedding gown, the only acceptable attire for her appearance today. “We hear you have given birth to a son, Lady Alexandra. What did you name him?” “Edward Thomas Rutledge Campbell Berkeley, Ma’am. He was born last December.” “We are pleased to see you in good health, for you appear well, indeed. You give no evidence of your recent travail. And you are happy, we see, for you are aglow with it. Very well, very well,” she smiled, a rare occurrence during one of these tedious events, and waved her hand in dismissal. “Now step aside, gel, while we acquaint ourself with your gentleman.” Richard snapped to attention and bowed his head. “Your servant, Ma’am,” he drawled. His accent, with its long, slow, in-gliding vowels   brought a smile to the queen’s lips. Those near enough to witness her open appreciation gasped, their eyes widened with amazement. The small woman before him lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. He’d come to recognize such smiles. He’d seen them since he was a boy, fighting off advances from flirtatious females. “We are charmed by your distinctive accent, Mr. Berkeley. You are from Charlestowne of our South Carolina colony, are you not?” “Yes, Ma’am. I am.” “Yet you spent a number of years in England.” “That’s true, Ma’am,” he grinned, impressed she knew anything of him. Of course, Alexandra had written her and, doubtless, explained. “I attended school in England. Lord Edward Campbell convinced my father to send me to Eton when I was eight years old. Later, I entered his alma mater, Christ Church, Oxford. Afterward, I trained in the law at London’s Middle Temple.” “Is that when you met Lady Alexandra?” “No, Ma’am. I didn’t have that privilege until several years later.” From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Alexandra slanting a glance at him while he stood at ease, with hands folded behind his back, and flashed a grin at the queen. The small brown-haired, sallow-skinned woman with striking turquoise eyes lifted her chin. He suspected nobody ever presumed to grin at her. But Her Majesty was a woman and, he supposed, from her widened eyes and the flirty grin playing on her lips, he’d surprised and stricken her, as he had most women all his life. “How was that, Mr. Berkeley?” “Lord Edward Campbell, Lady Alexandra’s father, was my mentor and, later, my business partner, Ma’am. He and my father planned a betrothal between us since we were children—though, they didn’t bother to share the information with either of us until the spring of 1768. Since I was soon to embark upon a voyage to England, His Lordship sent along a letter of introduction to the Duke of Argyll, in Inveraray, Scotland. After I saw to my affairs in London, I travelled north—and met my wife.” “I see. Yet, Lady Alexandra failed to mention it to us during the following year when she served us as a Maid of Honor.” Richard grinned again, amused. Her Majesty gasped and leaned toward him, her eyes widened further. He doubted any gentleman had ever been so audacious as to display genuine friendliness toward Her Majesty during all the years she’d sat beside her husband on his throne. “A delicious tale, Mr. Berkeley. We have always been fond of your lady wife, and are pleased you make her happy.” “I’ve tried, Your Majesty, but I’ve not always succeeded.” “And why is that, sir?” By her alert posture and the crinkling of her eyes at the corner, Richard knew laughter lurked while she awaited the outcome of his anecdote. “You see, once I refused to burn a house down for her. On another occasion, I forbade her to ride. I recall even threatening to post guards on her. She was remarkably unhappy with me on both occasions, Ma’am.” “And why were you commanded to burn a house down, Mr. Berkeley?” “It contained a nest of snakes, Ma’am.” The queen’s eyes flew wide and she glanced toward Alexandra. “A nest of vipers, Mr. Berkeley? Pray share the tale with us.” “Well, you see, I’d bought a sawmill upriver from our home. After cleaning and repairing homes for the workers I’d hired, my wife pulled aside a bed, and there they were. Believe me, Ma’am, I’ve neverheard such blood-curdling screams.” “We should say not! What did you do?” “Well, I carried my wife outside before she strangled me, while others carried out the snakes. Once they were gone and the place was cleaned, there was no longer a need to burn down the house.” “She nearly strangled you, you say?” “Yes, Ma’am. She jumped at me and wouldn’t let go of my neck. It felt like I’d imagine a tightening noose might feel, you see. On that same occasion she nearly suffocated herself and our child, as well.” **** Beside him, and amused by his tale, Alexandra fidgeted, wanting to supply some detail that did not present her actions in quite such a…colorful manner. Queen Charlotte pointedly ignored her, though, and she dared not speak unless addressed by Her Majesty. “I must hear this tale now, if you please, Mr. Berkeley,” the queen demanded. “My wife took it upon herself to burn vermin-ridden bedding in a fireplace that didn’t work properly. Lady Alexandra was not happy with my response, I fear.” “Indeed? What did you do?” Another of her rarely seen public smiles wreathed her face. The muscles in her cheeks and about her mouth twitched with the effort to maintain her regal composure. “I wanted to turn her over my knee, I assure you. That might not have been appropriate, given her delicate condition, though. Instead, I snatched her into my arms, carried her outside and ordered her to sit. Without a single chair on the site, however, my only alternative was to assign her a simple task. It gave her something to do and kept her out of everyone else’s hair, at least.” A Queen of England may never be said to roar with mirth but her laughter rang through the Presence Chamber and she clapped her hands in delight. Her ladies fluttered about her, fanning her and dabbing the tears streaking her cheeks with lacy handkerchiefs. Finally, re-gaining control of herself, regret crossed her face. “We fear we must excuse you, Mr. Berkeley, and remember the others awaiting our notice. We look forward to meeting you again at court. Lady Alexandra, we are glad to welcome you back.” “Thank you, Ma’am,” Alexandra replied, sinking into another curtsey, then backed away from the throne, her hand again in Richard’s. Her Majesty had extended the usual five minutes granted to each couple by twice as long. This was to the consternation of her formidable chamberlain who stood nearby drumming his fingers on his lectern and waving his hand each time the queen glanced his way, hoping to attract her attention. After they retreated from the throne, another couple approached who had been kept waiting. The redoubtable Lady Mary Coke, ever present at these bi-weekly affairs, sallied forth and accosted Alexandra. Her Grandfather Argyll’s first cousin was the daughter of the great Second Duke of Argyll. Lady Mary reigned over St. James District. “You may introduce your gentleman, Lady Alexandra,” she commanded, as though nobly bestowing a great honor. Inward rage roiled within Alexandra’s breast at the woman’s haughty demeanor toward her tall, handsome husband. Richard bowed when Alexandra introduced him. Her grandfather, the Duke of Wessex, approached and greeted Lady Mary. Afterward, he claimed Richard’s attention and took him to meet a friend. Alexandra could have murdered him for taking Richard away and leaving her alone to combat the arrogant woman. She expected nothing but censure from the fearsome dame, nor was she long disillusioned that she might escape.   *     *     *     *     *  One last thing before we let you leave us today...do you have a favorite recipe you'd like to share?  I like to cook and am always looking for new recipes to try and share but it's totally up to you. I would love to! Thanks for asking. This is my recipe for Dutch Apple Pie. I developed it quite a long time ago. The apples don’t require any pre-cooking, either. It makes a fabulous dessert for summer picnics.   Dutch Apple Pie 4 medium Granny Smith (or other tart pie apples) and 4 McIntosh apples)
3 Tbsp. cornstarch
1 c. sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
¼ tsp. (approx.) freshly ground nutmeg
¼ tsp. cloves
½ c. heavy cream whipped with 2 egg yolks 1.    Peel, core and slice the apples into thin slices.   2.    Mix the sugar, cornstarch and spices together well and pour over apple slices. Toss gently to coat slices well. Allow to sit on the counter while forming the pie crust into 12 inch round circles, at least 30 minutes, but 45 minutes is better.   3.    Lift the apple slices out of the bowl and put in the pie crust-lined pie plate. Gently squeeze out as much excess liquid as possible before putting apple slices into the pie plate. (You’ll notice quite a lot of apple liquid left in the bowl in which the apple slices sat while making the pie crusts. DON’T throw it out!)   4.    Mix the heavy cream / egg yolk mixture into this liquid. Scrape all the thickened liquid over the pie apple slices and top with the top crust of dough. Flute the edges of the dough, cut decorative vents into the top crust, and protect the edges of the pie from over-browning by placing aluminum foil circle over the edges.   5.    Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes. Without opening the oven door, turn the oven heat down to 375 degrees and bake for an additional 60 minutes. Allow pie to cool on a rack for a while before cutting to serve. NOTE : To make the foil circle for the edges, pull off an approximate square of foil and fold it in half and then it in half again. Then cut off edges of the foil, forming a quarter-circle.  Then, cut out the center, approximately 1 ½ inches from the outer circle. Unfold the foil and you will have a foil circle that you can gently crimp over the fluted edges of the pie crust to protect it from over-browning during baking. I’ve done this for so many years I don’t even recall when it was that I came up with the technique…it could also be attributed to a senior moment! (This is a recipe that I actually developed. You may see other recipes that tell you to cook the sweetened apple slices for a few minutes. You don’t need to do this. The sugar that coats the apple slices acts as a desiccant, removing the liquid from the raw apple slices. In essence, they’re “cooked” or softened before putting them into the pie dough. The egg yolk and the cornstarch mixture help thicken all that liquid into a nice custard during baking.) It is the custard that makes the pie a Dutch apple pie, not the topping.   Pie Dough If you’ve never made a pie crust before, it isn’t nearly as daunting as it seems. This is just one method…the one I use. 2 ½ c. all-purpose flour (I use King Arthur all-purpose flour here because of its slightly higher protein content.)
1 tsp. table salt
2 Tbsp. sugar
12 Tbsp. butter, cold cut into ¼ inch slices
½ cup cold (or frozen) vegetable shortening, cut into 4 pieces ¼ cup coldvodka
¼ cup ice cold water (or a little less) 1.    Pre-freeze the flour, salt and sugar in a mixing bowl at least 30 minutes. (May freeze overnight, covered with Saran Wrap or pour into a freezer bag.) Pre-freeze the butter and shortening at least 30 minutes. They must be very cold. I also pre-freeze my large mixing bowl. Pour 1 ½ cups of the flour mixture into the bowl of a food processor and pulse twice, about 1 second each. Add the butter and the shortening into small pieces. Process until homogeneous dough just starts to collect in uneven clumps, about 15 seconds (dough will resemble cottage cheese curds and there should be no uncoated flour. Scrape the bowl with rubber spatula & redistribute dough evenly around processor blade quickly. Add remaining cup of flour & pulse until mixture is evenly distributed around the bowl & mass of dough has been broken up, 4-6 quick pulses.  Empty the mixture into a very cold large bowl. (I use a large bowl because I’ll rinse it out well and then peel & slice apples—or whatever— into it.) 2.    Turn into the cold mixing bowl and sprinkle vodka & water over the mixture. With rubber spatula, use folding motion to mix, pressing down on the dough until dough is slightly tacky and sticks together. Divide ball in half, flatten each half into 4-inch disks, wrap each half in Saran Wrap and refrigerate at least 45 minutes (while preparing the pie filling) or up to 2 days. If you keep longer than this, then wrap tightly in freezer bags and store in the freezer.   3.    To roll the dough out, the best way I’ve ever found is to make a large square with 2 pieces of Saran Wrap (at least 12-14 inches square), flour lightly, put the flattened ball of dough on it and cover with a second large square. I roll out the dough between the squares of Saran Wrap until I have about a 12 inch diameter circle, loosen the top layer of Saran Wrap from the dough circle, flour it, lay in back down onto the circle of dough, turn the whole thing over and loosen the Saran Wrap from that side of the dough circle. I, then, wash my hands & forearms well with soap & warm water & dry them well. Then, I gently drape the entire dough circle over my very clean forearm and turn it into the pie dish. It is easier to position properly this way. (Also, if it tears before I get it into the pie dish it is easier to lay back down onto the square of Saran Wrap, recover it and roll it gently until the tear is repaired. A flour dredger helps put just the right amount of flour down onto the Saran Wrap before rolling out the dough. Lots of places, such as (www.cookswares.com or www.kingarthurflour.com, etc.) carry those handy little items. They’re inexpensive and easy to use and keep your hands out of the flour canister! One additional thing I do before putting the pie dough into the pie plate is to dredge a light coating of flour over the bottom of the pie plate.   4.    Add the filling, place the dough for the top crust down over the filling, if a top crust is desired, cut the pie dough edges close to the pie plate, gently roll edges under and pinch together to seal and then make decorative fluting around the edge of the pie. Cut decorative vents in the pie crust top. To prevent over-browning of the crust fluting, I take a large square of aluminum foil, fold it into quarters and then cut out a circular shape at the edge. I then cut away the center in a circular fashion leaving about 1 ½ to 2 inches that looks like a quarter of a circle. Unfold the foil circle and you have a nice circular shape that lays down over just the fluted edges. Fold the outside edge of the foil under the pie plate edges lightly and put the pie into the oven to bake. NOTE : I’ve done this pie dough without using my food processor, using a pastry blender to cut the butter and shortening into the flour, but it takes a lot longer. Also, the finished pie crust isn’t as tender and flaky. As I said, this pie dough recipe is from Cook’s Illustratedmagazine and was developed by Christopher Kimball, the executive editor and modified, in 2008, by J. Kenji Alt. The Saran Wrap, with the pie dough sandwiched between layers of it, works better than any method I’ve ever used before, bar none. I never find pie making to be quick, but this is the quickest method I’ve come up with. If you don’t pre-chill the butter and shortening you don’t end up with such flaky pastry. In fact, I’d say you just about have to pre-freeze the shortening for this recipe to work. Additionally, most recipes say to use minimal water in order to have flaky crust after baking. Since alcohol in the vodka evaporates during baking, but imparts no flavor, it allows you to use more liquid to bring the dough together, while still using the correct amount of water. The dough will produce the flakiest, most tender pie crust you’ve ever seen. I work quickly, once I’ve pulled the cold ingredients out of the refrigerator and freezer, to keep the entire thing as cold as I can during the process of putting it all together.    Giveaway:   Cate is giving away an ebook copy of  Richard Berkeley’s Bride
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