V.L. Locey's Blog, page 78
December 29, 2014
Tuesday Tales - New Year
Welcome back to Tuesday Tales!
It's time for more romance. Today we have issue four of my multicultural romance serial Wind in White Birch. Every issue runs from one thousand to fifteen hundred words, no longer. Our word prompt this week is 'New Year.' Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Wind in White Birch
Dinner that night was one of Rhett`s favorites: Hot dogs, boxed macaroni and cheese and tossed salad. I make the salad to counteract my guilt about feeding him hot dogs and boxed macaroni and cheese. At least he`s getting something healthy into his growing body. After we sat down and filled our plates, I glanced over at the lad. He was spooning in cheesy elbows like there was no tomorrow.“Chew buddy,” I said, topping his bowl of salad with ranch dressing. He swallowed loudly then gave me his quirky smile. That smile was going to win him girls by the truckload in about ten years. “I have a surprise for you,” I told him. He dove into his salad, forking a carrot slice with gusto. “Jonah called today.”Rhett`s deep blue eyes widened. “Awesome!” he exclaimed around his bite of carrot. “Are you going out with him again? Can I see him this time? I want to show him how good the baseball mitt fits!”“Well, actually, he asked if we wanted to go up to his neck of the woods for the weekend.”I thought the child would combust. Or perhaps fly up to the ceiling and bounce around like a deranged bottle rocket. “Can we, mom? Please, can we?” he begged, ranch dressing smeared over his lips and chin. I nodded with a smile. The lad leaped down from his chair and broke into a Lady Gaga dance routine, or so it appeared. He shook his scrawny little rump and pumped his fists into the air. “They even have snow. Jonah wondered if we could do some snowmobiling. Think you`d like to try that?” I asked, jabbing a cherry tomato and plunking it into my mouth. Rhett`s mouth dropped open. His sandy head bobbed up and down. I laughed at his expression. He raced at me then threw his arms around my neck. I swallowed my tomato, shocked at the show of affection. He was at that age now where he only hugged mommy when he was hurt or over the top. Obviously, this was the over the top show of emotion. “I swear this is cooler than Jeremy Cotter`s silver Pokémon game,” he breathed into my neck. I squeezed him hard then released him. His small stocking feet hit the floor and the moment was gone. The light of excitement still glowed in his eyes though. “I agree, it`s very exciting. Jonah will pick us up at the church tomorrow night, and then we`ll ride up to New York and stay at Andy`s house. You remember Jonah`s grandfather, right?” I asked, shaking out my napkin and laying it over my slacks. I had yet to change from work. Rhett nodded as he scaled his chair then dropped down into the seat. “Sure. I like Andy Big Deer! He said he knows way more stories than Jonah. Andy said Jonah`s just a wet-eared pup.”“Compared to Andy I guess Jonah is a puppy,” I responded. I didn`t think of the man as a pup. I thought of Jonah Big Deer as one hundred percent sleek adult canine. Jonah was like a silver and black male wolf who catches you in his sights and you`re instantly lost in his onyx eyes. Even as the wolf comes closer, you stand mesmerized by its power and masculine appeal. You drop to your knees, naked in the snow…. The wolf circles you, sniffing at you, nipping at the base of your neck, urging you to fall to your hands and knees so he can mount you from behind and—“Mom, you dropped a radish slice on your shirt.”I came out of the erotic fantasy sharply. I glanced down. There sat a radish slice soaked in French dressing on my left breast. Great. So much for this light green sweater I huffed internally, smiled sheepishly at my son, and tried to gather my naughty thoughts.
*~*~*
Homework was done as was the bath. The duffel was filled with clothes for the weekend in New York State. The story had been read. Tonight`s choice not an unexpected one given our dinner conversation. We read Osseo, Son of the Evening Star from the anthology The Enchanted Moccasins. Rhett had found the compilation of Native American legends in the bookstore during our New Year sale, and wheedled me into buying it. Not that much wheedling was needed. If there is one thing I will purchase for my son, it`s books. I`ll skip lunch for a week if Rhett wants a book, that`s how important it is to me to instill a love of reading into my boy.Now it was time for mom to unwind and pack her weekend bag. I took a hot shower, got my fuzzy PJ`s on and sipped a decaf cup of hot chocolate while I filled my suitcase. I picked out practical things. Jeans, sweaters, thick socks and sweats, long johns, and flannel pajama`s. There would be no frilly lacy rails for this woman. I knew firsthand how cold it got in the Finger Lakes region. Sometimes they got buried in lake effect snow that made what we had gotten so far in the Steel City seem like a joke. Of course, we sometimes got buried in Pittsburgh, so it was just a toss of the meteorological dice. After my bag was ready and my cocoa was gone, I made a final sweep of the small second floor apartment, checking the locks on the windows and front door. Feeling as secure as I ever did living in a large city I slid under my heating blanket then turned out the light beside my double bed. My toes were thrilled with the warmth. I lay on my back for a while, watching the patterns of headlights pulling into our complex slicing through the mini-blinds on the window. Tomorrow night I`d see Jonah again. Heat engulfed me. I closed my eyes. A memory of Jonah jacking me up against my front door - his mouth hot and demanding over mine – had me kicking off the covers. My breasts grew tight. I flipped to my side. The dresser was a safe thing to look at. I studied the brass handles on the bureau. I wondered what Jonah slept in. Did he wear fleece pants to bed, or sexy boxer briefs? Did he go nude? My mind pulled up an image of his naked body spread out over my bed, his flesh smooth and tanned and so very, very long and hard. Fire licked at my core. I squeezed my thighs together to try to drown the flames. It didn`t even begin to work. I left my bed in a snit. Out to the living room I stomped, throwing my ass like a surly child into the sofa. I snapped the remote from the table and turned the TV on with ire. “Just had to go with the naked version, didn`t you, you trashy brain," I muttered. God,but he was a sight in that fantasy with his eyes burning with dark fire and his body begging me to touch and taste and - damn it. "Stop it!” I shouted then shrunk into myself when Rhett mumbled in his sleep. I curled into a ball on my side and dashed to TCM. Black and white would be safe. There would be no sexy stuff to contend with. I`d find a nice, wholesome, classic movie to cool down my slutty brain. "Real funny person in charge of programming,” I sniffed as that beach scene From Here to Eternity popped up. A long, lonely night lay ahead.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented Tuesday Tales authors.
Tuesday Tales
It's time for more romance. Today we have issue four of my multicultural romance serial Wind in White Birch. Every issue runs from one thousand to fifteen hundred words, no longer. Our word prompt this week is 'New Year.' Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
Wind in White Birch
Dinner that night was one of Rhett`s favorites: Hot dogs, boxed macaroni and cheese and tossed salad. I make the salad to counteract my guilt about feeding him hot dogs and boxed macaroni and cheese. At least he`s getting something healthy into his growing body. After we sat down and filled our plates, I glanced over at the lad. He was spooning in cheesy elbows like there was no tomorrow.“Chew buddy,” I said, topping his bowl of salad with ranch dressing. He swallowed loudly then gave me his quirky smile. That smile was going to win him girls by the truckload in about ten years. “I have a surprise for you,” I told him. He dove into his salad, forking a carrot slice with gusto. “Jonah called today.”Rhett`s deep blue eyes widened. “Awesome!” he exclaimed around his bite of carrot. “Are you going out with him again? Can I see him this time? I want to show him how good the baseball mitt fits!”“Well, actually, he asked if we wanted to go up to his neck of the woods for the weekend.”I thought the child would combust. Or perhaps fly up to the ceiling and bounce around like a deranged bottle rocket. “Can we, mom? Please, can we?” he begged, ranch dressing smeared over his lips and chin. I nodded with a smile. The lad leaped down from his chair and broke into a Lady Gaga dance routine, or so it appeared. He shook his scrawny little rump and pumped his fists into the air. “They even have snow. Jonah wondered if we could do some snowmobiling. Think you`d like to try that?” I asked, jabbing a cherry tomato and plunking it into my mouth. Rhett`s mouth dropped open. His sandy head bobbed up and down. I laughed at his expression. He raced at me then threw his arms around my neck. I swallowed my tomato, shocked at the show of affection. He was at that age now where he only hugged mommy when he was hurt or over the top. Obviously, this was the over the top show of emotion. “I swear this is cooler than Jeremy Cotter`s silver Pokémon game,” he breathed into my neck. I squeezed him hard then released him. His small stocking feet hit the floor and the moment was gone. The light of excitement still glowed in his eyes though. “I agree, it`s very exciting. Jonah will pick us up at the church tomorrow night, and then we`ll ride up to New York and stay at Andy`s house. You remember Jonah`s grandfather, right?” I asked, shaking out my napkin and laying it over my slacks. I had yet to change from work. Rhett nodded as he scaled his chair then dropped down into the seat. “Sure. I like Andy Big Deer! He said he knows way more stories than Jonah. Andy said Jonah`s just a wet-eared pup.”“Compared to Andy I guess Jonah is a puppy,” I responded. I didn`t think of the man as a pup. I thought of Jonah Big Deer as one hundred percent sleek adult canine. Jonah was like a silver and black male wolf who catches you in his sights and you`re instantly lost in his onyx eyes. Even as the wolf comes closer, you stand mesmerized by its power and masculine appeal. You drop to your knees, naked in the snow…. The wolf circles you, sniffing at you, nipping at the base of your neck, urging you to fall to your hands and knees so he can mount you from behind and—“Mom, you dropped a radish slice on your shirt.”I came out of the erotic fantasy sharply. I glanced down. There sat a radish slice soaked in French dressing on my left breast. Great. So much for this light green sweater I huffed internally, smiled sheepishly at my son, and tried to gather my naughty thoughts.
*~*~*
Homework was done as was the bath. The duffel was filled with clothes for the weekend in New York State. The story had been read. Tonight`s choice not an unexpected one given our dinner conversation. We read Osseo, Son of the Evening Star from the anthology The Enchanted Moccasins. Rhett had found the compilation of Native American legends in the bookstore during our New Year sale, and wheedled me into buying it. Not that much wheedling was needed. If there is one thing I will purchase for my son, it`s books. I`ll skip lunch for a week if Rhett wants a book, that`s how important it is to me to instill a love of reading into my boy.Now it was time for mom to unwind and pack her weekend bag. I took a hot shower, got my fuzzy PJ`s on and sipped a decaf cup of hot chocolate while I filled my suitcase. I picked out practical things. Jeans, sweaters, thick socks and sweats, long johns, and flannel pajama`s. There would be no frilly lacy rails for this woman. I knew firsthand how cold it got in the Finger Lakes region. Sometimes they got buried in lake effect snow that made what we had gotten so far in the Steel City seem like a joke. Of course, we sometimes got buried in Pittsburgh, so it was just a toss of the meteorological dice. After my bag was ready and my cocoa was gone, I made a final sweep of the small second floor apartment, checking the locks on the windows and front door. Feeling as secure as I ever did living in a large city I slid under my heating blanket then turned out the light beside my double bed. My toes were thrilled with the warmth. I lay on my back for a while, watching the patterns of headlights pulling into our complex slicing through the mini-blinds on the window. Tomorrow night I`d see Jonah again. Heat engulfed me. I closed my eyes. A memory of Jonah jacking me up against my front door - his mouth hot and demanding over mine – had me kicking off the covers. My breasts grew tight. I flipped to my side. The dresser was a safe thing to look at. I studied the brass handles on the bureau. I wondered what Jonah slept in. Did he wear fleece pants to bed, or sexy boxer briefs? Did he go nude? My mind pulled up an image of his naked body spread out over my bed, his flesh smooth and tanned and so very, very long and hard. Fire licked at my core. I squeezed my thighs together to try to drown the flames. It didn`t even begin to work. I left my bed in a snit. Out to the living room I stomped, throwing my ass like a surly child into the sofa. I snapped the remote from the table and turned the TV on with ire. “Just had to go with the naked version, didn`t you, you trashy brain," I muttered. God,but he was a sight in that fantasy with his eyes burning with dark fire and his body begging me to touch and taste and - damn it. "Stop it!” I shouted then shrunk into myself when Rhett mumbled in his sleep. I curled into a ball on my side and dashed to TCM. Black and white would be safe. There would be no sexy stuff to contend with. I`d find a nice, wholesome, classic movie to cool down my slutty brain. "Real funny person in charge of programming,” I sniffed as that beach scene From Here to Eternity popped up. A long, lonely night lay ahead.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented Tuesday Tales authors.
Tuesday Tales
December 28, 2014
Language of Love Preorder Links
For those of you who are chomping at the bit for Margarite and Petro`s book, you can preorder a copy today!
That`s right, you can skate over to Amazon or the Secret Cravings Store, buy your copy, and wake up on 1/5/15 to find the latest Wildcat novel waiting for you on your eReader. I am a one-click maniac and love waking up and seeing a long-awaited book smiling at me from my Kindle. Then I can dive right in! I hope you enjoy the latest in my To Love a Wildcat series. Thanks so, so much for your continued support and lovely reviews! *hugs*
Amazon
Secret Cravings Store
December 27, 2014
Pink Pucks and Hockey Romance Needs Your Vote!
Holy hockey pucks! It was just brought to my attention that Pink Pucks & Power Plays has been nominated as one of the best romance novels written in 2014 in the Preditors & Editors Readers Poll!! I'm still in shock but grinning like a goof.
I sure would appreciate your vote. Let`s show the world how much we love hockey, the Wildcats, and sports romances! Viviana and Alain thank you in advance and so do I!
Predators & Editors Readers Poll Voting
December 25, 2014
Batter Up! Author Jennifer Simpkins Is Here!
I am quite excited to have Jennifer here! You know how much I love sports romances. This one has the makings of a great one! If you`re a baseball fan you'll want to know more about Headfirst into Home. Headfirst into HomeBy: Jennifer Simpkins
Blurb:Coming off of a divorce, Rachel Young’s focus is on moving forward and making a life for her and her daughter. When ex-baseball hottie, Ty Robinson, waltzes back into her life, tempting her with his kisses, forming a bond with her daughter, and making promises for their future, she willingly gives him her heart.
Ty has harbored a deep desire for small town beauty, Rachel, for the past ten years. Fate dropped her in his path when they were teenagers, leading to one magical night. Following an injury, he has come home, determined to prove to Rachel he is home for good.
After a life changing phone call, Ty is faced with taking another opportunity at playing the game he’s always loved and the woman and child that have stolen his heart. In the end, is he capable of giving Rachel what she needs—a sense of home and most importantly, honesty?
Excerpt:With all the laughter and cracking of the billiard balls, Rachel was amazed she’d even heard the bell ding above the entrance door, either announcing or saying good-bye to a customer. People were coming in, while others were making it an early night and heading home. This was one of those rare nights where she didn’t have to be home at a certain time. Her mom responsibilities were put on hold for the next twelve hours. Her daughter was safe and happy, and Rachel was set on having a good time.She saw him first.If she was smart she would’ve sank down in the booth, trying to make herself unnoticeable or give him the hint she still wasn’t interested in talking. It was the same way she treated him after…well, after the night that changed her life. She was still on the fence as to if that change was a good thing…or a very bad thing.Turns out she wasn’t smart. At least not when sinfully, sexy Ty Robinson stood just feet away from where she sat. Smart and Ty never had gone hand in hand with her. He clouded her judgment—always had. She sat up straight, almost announcing herself to him, begging him to waltz in her direction.His warm gaze locked on her instantly. Was he surprised to see her? She couldn’t tell. But from what she could tell by his wide grin, flashing pearly whites, he didn’t look unpleasant at the sight of her. That was a good sign.“Mmm…” God, did she just sigh out loud. No, it wasn’t fair he still could turn her brain to mush. How was that even possible?“What’s that?” Morgan asked, her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”No, it wasn’t a ghost, not by a long shot. She would have been a lot safer if the man standing just feet away from her, looking like the hottest thing ever to grace The Eight Ball, was paranormal. A fitted gray T-shirt stretched over a formed chest, revealing muscular—but not overwhelming—tanned arms. Was it possible he’d grown taller since the last time she’d seen him? He had to be at least six feet plus inches. Long legs filled the luckiest faded pair of blue jeans. And here she thought seeing him on television, under the blazing sun, perspiration forming above his brow, and with an intense expression as he sized up his opponent in the batter’s box was enough to get her juices flowing. Watching his baseball games were entertaining, but didn’t come close to seeing him up close.Rachel couldn’t will herself to look away. “I can’t believe he’s back. Why is he here?” Ty’s sister, Stacey, one of her best friends, never said anything about her twin brother coming back to town. At least not to Rachel, she didn’t. Could it have been Stacey didn’t even know? “I wonder if Stacey has seen him yet.” Another thought came to mind. It was enough to turn her attention back on Morgan. “How do I look?”“You look like you always do. Why is who back? And what does it have to do with Stacey? I’m sorry, Rach, but you’re not making a lick of sense.”Rachel fiddled with the paper napkin under her glass of wine, too afraid to look up again. “Ty. Ty Robinson just walked in.”Before Rachel could tell her friend not to make it obvious they were talking about him by whipping her head around, Morgan was already turned completely around in the booth, eyes fixated on Ty. “Oh. My. God. It’s really him, isn’t it?”Isn’t that what she had just said? “Morgan,” Rachel said through clenched teeth. “He’s looking right at us. Can you please turn your ass back around? Geez!”“What do you think this means?” Morgan asked, once again facing forward. “I think he retired the end of last season. I think I heard it was some kind of arm injury. Do you think he’s back for good?”Opening Day, something she only knew because it was considered a holiday in Lincoln Springs, was a little over three weeks ago. And since he was in Lincoln Springs and not playing under the big lights, it was safe to say the rumors of Ty retiring after only playing six years in the Major Leagues was true.“I’m not sure what it all means.”“Well, it’s not like he hasn’t been back in the past ten years. He used to visit once a year.”This time felt different. In the past ten years Rachel had only seen glimpses of Ty around town when he would come to visit his family. She had stayed away, never even offering a hello to him, because of her marriage to James. As far as she knew he hadn’t been in town in the last three years.The already loud bar got even louder as everyone figured out the biggest thing to come out of Lincoln Springs had returned. A lot of hellos were given, a lot more slaps on the back…and of course women appeared out of every corner like cockroaches, swarming around him.Rachel casually sipped her wine, peeking over the rim of the glass to catch another eyeful of an all grown-up Ty Robinson. In the past couple years she’d caught a few of his games. Because he played on the West Coast, the games were always on late. Sometimes after she’d put Brooklyn to bed and had a few minutes to sit back and relax, she would turn on a California Wolverines game. She wasn’t always sure what exactly was happening on the ball field, but…God, the things that man could do to her. She didn’t have to understand all the ins and outs of baseball to appreciate the sight of him in a pair of uniform pants.Leisurely walking through the crowd of people, shaking hands with guys he’d grown up with, smiling at all the pretty girls who fluttered their eyelashes at him, Rachel watched him make his way toward the booth she and Morgan shared.“Don’t look,” Rachel said. She felt it was important to remind Morgan of that right off the bat. What was up with her and baseball terms tonight? “He’s coming over here.”
* * * *
Buy link:
BookStrand
Bio:
Jennifer has always been an avid reader, but it wasn't until she became a stay-at-home mom did she start to read romance. Her passion of reading romance turned into another passion she had as a child—writing. One late night of writing about sexy heroes and strong-willed heroines turned into two nights, until seven months later she had written her first novel.
She lives in a small, North Carolina town with her supportive husband (whose dream is to be on the cover of one of her books), a beautiful daughter, and two dogs who can’t seem to get along. If she's not writing you can find her reading, hanging out with her family, or cheering on the New York Yankees.
Other Books by Jennifer:
Moving OnTrusting Patience (Patience #3)Loving Patience (Patience #2)Forgiving Patience (Patience #1)
Connect with Jennifer:
WebsiteFacebookTwittertsu
Blurb:Coming off of a divorce, Rachel Young’s focus is on moving forward and making a life for her and her daughter. When ex-baseball hottie, Ty Robinson, waltzes back into her life, tempting her with his kisses, forming a bond with her daughter, and making promises for their future, she willingly gives him her heart.
Ty has harbored a deep desire for small town beauty, Rachel, for the past ten years. Fate dropped her in his path when they were teenagers, leading to one magical night. Following an injury, he has come home, determined to prove to Rachel he is home for good.
After a life changing phone call, Ty is faced with taking another opportunity at playing the game he’s always loved and the woman and child that have stolen his heart. In the end, is he capable of giving Rachel what she needs—a sense of home and most importantly, honesty?
Excerpt:With all the laughter and cracking of the billiard balls, Rachel was amazed she’d even heard the bell ding above the entrance door, either announcing or saying good-bye to a customer. People were coming in, while others were making it an early night and heading home. This was one of those rare nights where she didn’t have to be home at a certain time. Her mom responsibilities were put on hold for the next twelve hours. Her daughter was safe and happy, and Rachel was set on having a good time.She saw him first.If she was smart she would’ve sank down in the booth, trying to make herself unnoticeable or give him the hint she still wasn’t interested in talking. It was the same way she treated him after…well, after the night that changed her life. She was still on the fence as to if that change was a good thing…or a very bad thing.Turns out she wasn’t smart. At least not when sinfully, sexy Ty Robinson stood just feet away from where she sat. Smart and Ty never had gone hand in hand with her. He clouded her judgment—always had. She sat up straight, almost announcing herself to him, begging him to waltz in her direction.His warm gaze locked on her instantly. Was he surprised to see her? She couldn’t tell. But from what she could tell by his wide grin, flashing pearly whites, he didn’t look unpleasant at the sight of her. That was a good sign.“Mmm…” God, did she just sigh out loud. No, it wasn’t fair he still could turn her brain to mush. How was that even possible?“What’s that?” Morgan asked, her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”No, it wasn’t a ghost, not by a long shot. She would have been a lot safer if the man standing just feet away from her, looking like the hottest thing ever to grace The Eight Ball, was paranormal. A fitted gray T-shirt stretched over a formed chest, revealing muscular—but not overwhelming—tanned arms. Was it possible he’d grown taller since the last time she’d seen him? He had to be at least six feet plus inches. Long legs filled the luckiest faded pair of blue jeans. And here she thought seeing him on television, under the blazing sun, perspiration forming above his brow, and with an intense expression as he sized up his opponent in the batter’s box was enough to get her juices flowing. Watching his baseball games were entertaining, but didn’t come close to seeing him up close.Rachel couldn’t will herself to look away. “I can’t believe he’s back. Why is he here?” Ty’s sister, Stacey, one of her best friends, never said anything about her twin brother coming back to town. At least not to Rachel, she didn’t. Could it have been Stacey didn’t even know? “I wonder if Stacey has seen him yet.” Another thought came to mind. It was enough to turn her attention back on Morgan. “How do I look?”“You look like you always do. Why is who back? And what does it have to do with Stacey? I’m sorry, Rach, but you’re not making a lick of sense.”Rachel fiddled with the paper napkin under her glass of wine, too afraid to look up again. “Ty. Ty Robinson just walked in.”Before Rachel could tell her friend not to make it obvious they were talking about him by whipping her head around, Morgan was already turned completely around in the booth, eyes fixated on Ty. “Oh. My. God. It’s really him, isn’t it?”Isn’t that what she had just said? “Morgan,” Rachel said through clenched teeth. “He’s looking right at us. Can you please turn your ass back around? Geez!”“What do you think this means?” Morgan asked, once again facing forward. “I think he retired the end of last season. I think I heard it was some kind of arm injury. Do you think he’s back for good?”Opening Day, something she only knew because it was considered a holiday in Lincoln Springs, was a little over three weeks ago. And since he was in Lincoln Springs and not playing under the big lights, it was safe to say the rumors of Ty retiring after only playing six years in the Major Leagues was true.“I’m not sure what it all means.”“Well, it’s not like he hasn’t been back in the past ten years. He used to visit once a year.”This time felt different. In the past ten years Rachel had only seen glimpses of Ty around town when he would come to visit his family. She had stayed away, never even offering a hello to him, because of her marriage to James. As far as she knew he hadn’t been in town in the last three years.The already loud bar got even louder as everyone figured out the biggest thing to come out of Lincoln Springs had returned. A lot of hellos were given, a lot more slaps on the back…and of course women appeared out of every corner like cockroaches, swarming around him.Rachel casually sipped her wine, peeking over the rim of the glass to catch another eyeful of an all grown-up Ty Robinson. In the past couple years she’d caught a few of his games. Because he played on the West Coast, the games were always on late. Sometimes after she’d put Brooklyn to bed and had a few minutes to sit back and relax, she would turn on a California Wolverines game. She wasn’t always sure what exactly was happening on the ball field, but…God, the things that man could do to her. She didn’t have to understand all the ins and outs of baseball to appreciate the sight of him in a pair of uniform pants.Leisurely walking through the crowd of people, shaking hands with guys he’d grown up with, smiling at all the pretty girls who fluttered their eyelashes at him, Rachel watched him make his way toward the booth she and Morgan shared.“Don’t look,” Rachel said. She felt it was important to remind Morgan of that right off the bat. What was up with her and baseball terms tonight? “He’s coming over here.”
* * * *
Buy link:
BookStrand
Bio:
Jennifer has always been an avid reader, but it wasn't until she became a stay-at-home mom did she start to read romance. Her passion of reading romance turned into another passion she had as a child—writing. One late night of writing about sexy heroes and strong-willed heroines turned into two nights, until seven months later she had written her first novel.
She lives in a small, North Carolina town with her supportive husband (whose dream is to be on the cover of one of her books), a beautiful daughter, and two dogs who can’t seem to get along. If she's not writing you can find her reading, hanging out with her family, or cheering on the New York Yankees.
Other Books by Jennifer:
Moving OnTrusting Patience (Patience #3)Loving Patience (Patience #2)Forgiving Patience (Patience #1)
Connect with Jennifer:
WebsiteFacebookTwittertsu
Throwback Thursday Tune
It isn`t Christmas in my house without Elvis. This song, just one from a CD of holiday music from him, seems perfect for this morning.
May you have a most joyous holiday.
December 23, 2014
Russian Tea Cakes & Wildcats
One of the things that I love about writing erotic hockey romances aside from the obvious *wink wink nudge nudge* is that I have an international cast. That calls for lots of research to find hometowns, language, and of course, the food of the county a Wildcat or Venom player comes from.
Since it`s so close to Christmas I thought I would share a recipe that I imagine Olaf Shevenko, the grandmother of newly acquired Wildcat Petro Shevenko, would make around this time of year. Margarite might complain about the kasha (a hearty Russian oatmeal) that Olaf feeds her and Petro every morning, but I bet she wouldn`t complain about some of these delightful Russian Tea Cakes.
After the recipe you'll find an excerpt from Language of Love, which is releasing on 1/5/15, exclusively from Secret Cravings Publishing.
*~*
Russian Tea Cakes
(Original recipe makes 3 dozen)
1 cup butter1 teaspoon vanilla extract6 tablespoons confectioner`s sugar2 cups all-purpose flour1 cup chopped walnuts1/3 cup confectioner`s sugar for decoration
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 C)
In a medium bowl cream butter and vanillia until smooth. Combine the 6 tablespoons of confectioner`s sugar and flour; stir into the butter mixture until just blended. Mix in the chopped walnuts. Roll the dough into 1 inch balls and place them around 2 inches apart on an ungreased cookie sheet.
Bake for 12 minutes. When cool, roll in remaining confectioner`s sugar. You can reroll them a second time for better coverage.
Prep time- 20 minutesCooking time -12 minutesReady in-35 minutes
*~*
As we rode up to the penthouse, the kashaI had eaten for breakfast rolled over. Living with Petro and his grandmother, Olaf, had opened up my eyes to Russian food. And kasha, a porridge-kind of stuff made from different grains, was what we ate for breakfast. Every. Day.
"A Russian cannot be full-fed without kasha," Olaf would say then slap her enormous grandson on his thick bicep. If you judged the import of kasha solely by the incredible body that Petro Shevenko has, kasha is a miracle food that all athletes should be eating for every meal. I worried it was going to settle right on my ass. Not that my ass didn`t need some meat. Men liked juicy posteriors. Black men. White men. Hispanic men. Russian men. Mine was somewhat flat.
Must be I got that from Daddy as well, because my mother had an ass that Tina Turner would envy. Daddy always joked that if not for belts his pants would be around his ankles, because there was no backside to hold up his britches. So while I wished for a roomier trunk, I fretted over actually getting one. I never claimed to make sense, especially when it came to beauty comparisons with my mother. Trust me, I lose every time going head to head, or ass to ass, with Isabelle Lancourt.
Olaf, who was built like a Hessian tank, laughed off my concerns about my butt. "Look at Petro," she would say. I would. Then he would look at me as he spooned massive amounts of rice kasha mixed with scrambled eggs and sour cream into his sexy mouth. I tended to forget about a fat ass when he looked at me with those dark, hooded eyes. "He eat much kasha. His zadnitsa not grow fat!"
Well, sure, his zadnitsa, or ass, didn`t grow fat. He was a professional athlete. I was an education major that ran a mile or two every other day, if I wasn`t stuffed too full of kasha, or cabbage soup, or potato pancakes with a quart of sour cream dolloped on them, to move. I had never eaten more cabbage or potatoes than I had the past fourteen days.
The slight surge of the elevator stopping made me feel even queasier. The doors opened. I stepped into the foyer, overwhelmed with what felt like a panic attack setting in, except I had never had a panic attack in my life. My eyes darted to Maggie and Oscar. They were talking away, hands waving this way and that, as if they were attending a tea party.
Oh, yeah, they were. The door to my mother`s house opened. The blast of cold air dancing under my skirt made me shiver. My grandmother stepped into the foyer, a blue blanket wrapped around her bony shoulders. Nothing stuck out but her kinky silver hair, round brown eyes that looked three times as large as they were due to her thick bifocals, and her wide nose.
"It`s as cold as Siberia in there. That big Russian you`re shacking up with would feel right at home," Nana said. Maggie`s head whipped around. Shit. Thanks, Nana. If you want something kept secret, never tell Dolores Davis about it.
I told my grandmother that Petro and I were just friends. Her eyebrow wiggled up her wrinkled brow. I argued with her, quite forcefully, as we stepped inside. Funny. It all looked the same. The tastefully chosen furniture, the artwork on the walls, the subtle touch of wealth in the choice of carpeting, drapery, accessories. Mama was a wealthy widow. A very wealthy widow. A widow who was deliberating about moving in with the head coach of the Wildcats.
I was thrilled for Mama. Philip Moore was one of the finest men I knew, even if he didn`t understand Petro. While it was obvious to everyone who saw them that Mama and Coach Moore loved each other, Mama was pretty ferocious about her independence. But, being pregnant at fifty, and all the potential health concerns my new brother or sister might bring, was tempering her a bit.
Nana walked into the living room. Maggie and Oscar began moving around, looking at angles, sun light, that sort of thing I assumed. I padded over to stand beside the stairs. My eyes could not leave the image of my mother as she descended. Like a Caribbean queen she came down the stairs, her brown eyes glistening with unshed tears, her long legs carrying her elegantly closer, her svelte form lost amid the flowing folds of rich gold and green in her simple cotton shift. Her dress moved as she did, the gold and green setting off her dark chocolate-colored skin perfectly. Of course, she knew that. Mama knew how to buy and wear clothes. She had been a fashion model before she married Daddy. My mother was rarely seen without makeup. Even with no visitors expected she would 'Go light' just in case.
Her cheekbones were perfection, her lips sublime. I cannot tell you how many times, as a child, I would look at her deep brown skin and wish I could trade my café au lait skin tone for hers. You could look at her and see our ancestors from Trinidad. I so wanted to look like her and Nana who were dark and proud. Her pregnancy made her glow from within. I nearly bolted up the steps to embrace her but I checked myself. She smiled when she caught the infinitesimal movement.
"Hello, baby," she whispered before we embraced. I wanted to say more. Sit down. Talk. Hash this mess out. But, we had a reporter and a photographer probably going 'Aww' behind us.
Since it`s so close to Christmas I thought I would share a recipe that I imagine Olaf Shevenko, the grandmother of newly acquired Wildcat Petro Shevenko, would make around this time of year. Margarite might complain about the kasha (a hearty Russian oatmeal) that Olaf feeds her and Petro every morning, but I bet she wouldn`t complain about some of these delightful Russian Tea Cakes.
After the recipe you'll find an excerpt from Language of Love, which is releasing on 1/5/15, exclusively from Secret Cravings Publishing.
*~*
Russian Tea Cakes
(Original recipe makes 3 dozen)
1 cup butter1 teaspoon vanilla extract6 tablespoons confectioner`s sugar2 cups all-purpose flour1 cup chopped walnuts1/3 cup confectioner`s sugar for decoration
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 C)
In a medium bowl cream butter and vanillia until smooth. Combine the 6 tablespoons of confectioner`s sugar and flour; stir into the butter mixture until just blended. Mix in the chopped walnuts. Roll the dough into 1 inch balls and place them around 2 inches apart on an ungreased cookie sheet.
Bake for 12 minutes. When cool, roll in remaining confectioner`s sugar. You can reroll them a second time for better coverage.
Prep time- 20 minutesCooking time -12 minutesReady in-35 minutes
*~*
As we rode up to the penthouse, the kashaI had eaten for breakfast rolled over. Living with Petro and his grandmother, Olaf, had opened up my eyes to Russian food. And kasha, a porridge-kind of stuff made from different grains, was what we ate for breakfast. Every. Day.
"A Russian cannot be full-fed without kasha," Olaf would say then slap her enormous grandson on his thick bicep. If you judged the import of kasha solely by the incredible body that Petro Shevenko has, kasha is a miracle food that all athletes should be eating for every meal. I worried it was going to settle right on my ass. Not that my ass didn`t need some meat. Men liked juicy posteriors. Black men. White men. Hispanic men. Russian men. Mine was somewhat flat.
Must be I got that from Daddy as well, because my mother had an ass that Tina Turner would envy. Daddy always joked that if not for belts his pants would be around his ankles, because there was no backside to hold up his britches. So while I wished for a roomier trunk, I fretted over actually getting one. I never claimed to make sense, especially when it came to beauty comparisons with my mother. Trust me, I lose every time going head to head, or ass to ass, with Isabelle Lancourt.
Olaf, who was built like a Hessian tank, laughed off my concerns about my butt. "Look at Petro," she would say. I would. Then he would look at me as he spooned massive amounts of rice kasha mixed with scrambled eggs and sour cream into his sexy mouth. I tended to forget about a fat ass when he looked at me with those dark, hooded eyes. "He eat much kasha. His zadnitsa not grow fat!"
Well, sure, his zadnitsa, or ass, didn`t grow fat. He was a professional athlete. I was an education major that ran a mile or two every other day, if I wasn`t stuffed too full of kasha, or cabbage soup, or potato pancakes with a quart of sour cream dolloped on them, to move. I had never eaten more cabbage or potatoes than I had the past fourteen days.
The slight surge of the elevator stopping made me feel even queasier. The doors opened. I stepped into the foyer, overwhelmed with what felt like a panic attack setting in, except I had never had a panic attack in my life. My eyes darted to Maggie and Oscar. They were talking away, hands waving this way and that, as if they were attending a tea party.
Oh, yeah, they were. The door to my mother`s house opened. The blast of cold air dancing under my skirt made me shiver. My grandmother stepped into the foyer, a blue blanket wrapped around her bony shoulders. Nothing stuck out but her kinky silver hair, round brown eyes that looked three times as large as they were due to her thick bifocals, and her wide nose.
"It`s as cold as Siberia in there. That big Russian you`re shacking up with would feel right at home," Nana said. Maggie`s head whipped around. Shit. Thanks, Nana. If you want something kept secret, never tell Dolores Davis about it.
I told my grandmother that Petro and I were just friends. Her eyebrow wiggled up her wrinkled brow. I argued with her, quite forcefully, as we stepped inside. Funny. It all looked the same. The tastefully chosen furniture, the artwork on the walls, the subtle touch of wealth in the choice of carpeting, drapery, accessories. Mama was a wealthy widow. A very wealthy widow. A widow who was deliberating about moving in with the head coach of the Wildcats.
I was thrilled for Mama. Philip Moore was one of the finest men I knew, even if he didn`t understand Petro. While it was obvious to everyone who saw them that Mama and Coach Moore loved each other, Mama was pretty ferocious about her independence. But, being pregnant at fifty, and all the potential health concerns my new brother or sister might bring, was tempering her a bit.
Nana walked into the living room. Maggie and Oscar began moving around, looking at angles, sun light, that sort of thing I assumed. I padded over to stand beside the stairs. My eyes could not leave the image of my mother as she descended. Like a Caribbean queen she came down the stairs, her brown eyes glistening with unshed tears, her long legs carrying her elegantly closer, her svelte form lost amid the flowing folds of rich gold and green in her simple cotton shift. Her dress moved as she did, the gold and green setting off her dark chocolate-colored skin perfectly. Of course, she knew that. Mama knew how to buy and wear clothes. She had been a fashion model before she married Daddy. My mother was rarely seen without makeup. Even with no visitors expected she would 'Go light' just in case.
Her cheekbones were perfection, her lips sublime. I cannot tell you how many times, as a child, I would look at her deep brown skin and wish I could trade my café au lait skin tone for hers. You could look at her and see our ancestors from Trinidad. I so wanted to look like her and Nana who were dark and proud. Her pregnancy made her glow from within. I nearly bolted up the steps to embrace her but I checked myself. She smiled when she caught the infinitesimal movement.
"Hello, baby," she whispered before we embraced. I wanted to say more. Sit down. Talk. Hash this mess out. But, we had a reporter and a photographer probably going 'Aww' behind us.
December 22, 2014
Excelsior!
How many of my readers love comic books? I know I sure do. I also adore M/M romance. Now toss in a wee bit of Dom/Sub to the man love/comic book goodness and you have Bound, Boarded, and Bagged! Did I mention there was an evil villain in spandex and an attempted rare comic theft at a comic convention? Hold onto your cowls true believers!
BB&B releases 1/15 but is available for preorder now at Amazon.
Bound, Boarded, and Bagged
Darren Caldwell thought he was in for another routine day at work sorting the new shipments of comics, dealing with customers, closing shop and then heading home alone with only a copy of The Blue Barracuda to entertain him. Never in his wildest fantasies—and a man who owns a comic shop has some good spandex-filled fantasies—did Darren expect to see a man like Connor Smith enter his shop.
Before Darren can duck the POW! of love, he finds himself inviting Connor along to a weekend comic convention. One smoking-hot road trip later and Darren is tumbling head over heels for, and into bed with, the one man who brings out a submissive side Darren never knew existed. Lucky for Darren, he’s got a long weekend, a hot, comic-book collecting Dom and the adventurous spirit to figure out if his new kinky tendencies are the stuff of heroes or villains.
BB&B releases 1/15 but is available for preorder now at Amazon.
Bound, Boarded, and Bagged
Darren Caldwell thought he was in for another routine day at work sorting the new shipments of comics, dealing with customers, closing shop and then heading home alone with only a copy of The Blue Barracuda to entertain him. Never in his wildest fantasies—and a man who owns a comic shop has some good spandex-filled fantasies—did Darren expect to see a man like Connor Smith enter his shop.
Before Darren can duck the POW! of love, he finds himself inviting Connor along to a weekend comic convention. One smoking-hot road trip later and Darren is tumbling head over heels for, and into bed with, the one man who brings out a submissive side Darren never knew existed. Lucky for Darren, he’s got a long weekend, a hot, comic-book collecting Dom and the adventurous spirit to figure out if his new kinky tendencies are the stuff of heroes or villains.
December 21, 2014
Sweet Dreams Are Made of Chenille
Have you ever been out shopping for holiday gifts and found something that you just had to have for yourself? I did and boy does it feel good! Naughty for sure, but good all the same. I have been looking for a new bedspread for I do not know how long, ages at least. It must be that I am crazy fussy about what I sleep under because nothing anywhere had suited. I don`t like comforters because they are too hot. Generally, I end up with just a sheet covering me winter and summer. Menopause does some strange things to a body I can tell you that.
It seems Wal-Mart only has heavy comforters or blankets with the cast of Frozen on them. As I searched and searched, the lightweight blanket on the bed became less and less desirable and my hubby began complaining about frozen toes and a frosty nose.
Thankfully, I found the bedspread I had been looking for forever. You can`t imagine how excited I was to find this chenille bedspread at our local department store for half price! I have loved chenille bedspreads since I was a little girl. My grandmother had them on every bed in her house and I always adored sleeping under them. They`re the perfect weight, I think. Not too heavy and not too light. Looks like a few other household members think that chenille is mighty comfortable as well.
Hubby still comes to bed dressed for a night in Antarctica but I haven`t heard any complaints about chilly toes since the chenille hit the bed.
What do you like to sleep under?
December 18, 2014
Throwback Thursday Tune
Time for more seasonal tuneage!This song is one of my favorite childhood Christmas songs. I remember having the record shown below and playing it over and over and over. I hope it stirs a few warm memories for you as well.
December 16, 2014
Christmas, Cats, and Cuddles Free Tomorrow!
Nothing says happy holidays quite like a romance topped with cranky cat, does it? The first book in my Toms & Tabbies series of M/M romantic-comedies will tickle more than your funny bone! And as a present from Torquere Press Mr. Tibbets` tale is free tomorrow!
Come meet Alex, Cooper, and of course, Mr. Tibbets, the grumpiest cat this side of the internet.
*~*~*
Alexander Dawson thought this Christmas would be a lonely one. He had no way of knowing that his cantankerous cat, Mister Tibbets, would turn a simple online shopping trip into a cataclysmic Christmas conundrum. Alex ends up on a madcap dash to another state during a snowstorm to return a painting to dreamy wildlife artist, Cooper Reynolds.
Once he stumbles across Cooper's remote log cabin, he and the sexy but emotionally distant painter end up sharing more than a kiss under the mistletoe. Things aren't all holly-jolly for the men though. Cooper gets a terrible case of icy feet, and Alex hits the road as soon as the snowplow clears it, feeling hurt and angry. Can Alex, Cooper, and their feline friends find a way to have a purrfect holiday together?
Torquere Press Store
Amazon
All Romance eBooks
Come meet Alex, Cooper, and of course, Mr. Tibbets, the grumpiest cat this side of the internet.
*~*~*
Alexander Dawson thought this Christmas would be a lonely one. He had no way of knowing that his cantankerous cat, Mister Tibbets, would turn a simple online shopping trip into a cataclysmic Christmas conundrum. Alex ends up on a madcap dash to another state during a snowstorm to return a painting to dreamy wildlife artist, Cooper Reynolds.
Once he stumbles across Cooper's remote log cabin, he and the sexy but emotionally distant painter end up sharing more than a kiss under the mistletoe. Things aren't all holly-jolly for the men though. Cooper gets a terrible case of icy feet, and Alex hits the road as soon as the snowplow clears it, feeling hurt and angry. Can Alex, Cooper, and their feline friends find a way to have a purrfect holiday together?
Torquere Press Store
Amazon
All Romance eBooks
