Maggie Nash's Blog, page 12

MONDAY MAGIC on Tuesday: Coleen Kwan

Hi everyone. I've an apology to make...I had some real life issues yesterday so I didn't get Coleen's post up.  My bad! She even got it to me early!

So without further ado here is my writers group pal Coleen Kwan!

BOOK BUYING HABITS

When I was growing up books were a luxury in our house. My parents weren't well off. Neither finished high school, and they had four children to provide for. So there wasn't much spare cash to splurge on books. (We didn't have a TV either, just a radio. How did we survive in those days?) I was one of those nerdy kids who couldn't wait to start school. I learned to read, and then I discovered (via my older brother and sister) the public library, and from then on I became a certified bookworm. It didn't matter that we couldn't afford books at home because there in the library were hundreds and hundreds of books all waiting to be borrowed. I couldn't believe my luck. In my teens I went through a phase where I devoured just about every English historical novel I could find, until I knew all the English monarchs from Edward III to Queen Victoria. (Yes, a complete nerd.)

Childhood habits are hard to break. Even now I only buy books after careful consideration. I'm not one of those lucky people who can snatch up a dozen or so books at a sale without a qualm. Since I live in a small terrace, I don't have a lot of shelf space, but some books I'd never be able to throw away, like the out-of-print one I found at the back of a second-hand store in New York years and years ago. Now that I have an e-reader I find I'm buying more books. It's so easy to shop online and prices are generally good. I've even bought as many as four books at a time!

My teenage daughter doesn't share my books-are-precious mentality and buys lots of books willy-nilly (or rather I buy them for her). I think it's great. To her books are as necessary as food, and that's how it should be.  She's a hoarder, can't bear to throw out stuff, and I haven't yet sold her on the idea of an e-reader. She loves the smell of books, and she rather likes the colourful pattern of their spines when they're lined up on her shelves.

My debut release is an e-book only, so you can buy it without worrying if you have the shelf space for it!

Amazon, Carina Press, B&N, Amazon UK

Coleen Kwan
www.coleenkwan.com



BIO

Coleen Kwan has been a bookworm all her life. At school English was her favourite subject, but for some reason she decided on a career in IT. After many years of programming, she wondered what else there was in life — and discovered writing. She loves writing contemporary romance, whether it's sweet or sensual, and has recently discovered a whole new genre in steampunk romance.


So what are your book buying habits?

THURSDAY TEASER - Lynda K. Scott

Lynda and I go way back!  We both had an interesting time at a former publisher, but we've put that behind us now!

So I am really pleased to have Lynda as my guest today. Lynda writes Scifi romance which is one of my favourite sub genres. Here is an excerpt from her latest book. Enjoy!


ALTERED DESTINY

Blurb
Stranded on an alternate Earth, architect and Jill-of-all-trades, Liane Gautier-MacGregor must find her way back to her homeworld before she's enslaved...or falls in love with a man who is the exact duplicate of her ex-husband.

Devyn MacGregor's alter ego as the Reiver Lord is the only way he can fight the Qui'arel and their nefarious Bride Bounty, a tax paid with human females...until he meets the oddly familiar woman who claims he is her husband. And who sets in motion the rebellion that will either free his countrymen or destroy them.

Buy Links:
Amazon
Nook
Smashwords


EXCERPT

     As she watched the comet-star, a buzzing, tickling sensation swept over her.  Her scalp tingled, her hair lifted.  She looked around uneasily as the wind died.  Even the waves, so restless moments ago, hesitated, stuck in mid-curl.
     Her gaze, drawn to the sky, settled on the not-star as it sped toward the moon.  Liane's throat filled with dread as, with a flash of blinding whiteness and an utter lack of sound, the moon exploded.
She gasped in terrified awe as fragments whirled silently through the sky.  Get inside! screamed the primitive part of her mind, inside, inside, inside.  Obeying the silent command, she sped toward the sea stairs but the wind came at her like a battering ram.  She stumbled, fell back, and caught herself as her shoes filled with cold ocean water.  The tide surged, slammed into her knees. 
     With a supreme effort, Liane dragged herself forward then–
     The sea, the beach, the moon and stars–all spun in rapid circles around her.  A queer, sideways slide, a wrenching shift, threw her off-balance. 
     From somewhere came her ex-husband's startled yell followed by the deep mechanical growl of his BMW.
     She flailed as a kaleidoscope of color burned across her eyes and drummed through her skull. Swept up, she clawed empty air.  Tiny zaps, electrically charged, sizzled over her, around her, through her.  Then, as if a giant hand reached out to snatch her from the maelstrom–
     Liane reeled in broad daylight, the sun beating over the waves and blinding her with its brilliance.


Chapter 1
"They that rise wi' the sun hae their wark weel begun."
260 AQ, Virginia Coast, New Alba

     Dizzy and off-balance, Liane had a single moment to gape at the suddenly day-lit beach before a man-shaped wrecking-ball slammed into her, dumping her into the chilly surf.  "Erp!"
     "Guh!"  The man sprawled on top of her.  A frothing wave crashed over her, filling her nose and mouth with the briny taste of seawater.  The man levered himself up and gaped at her through a pair of startling green eyes--her ex-husband's green eyes.
     "Blethering hell, woman!  Where did you come from?"  He leaped to his feet, staring at her with an equal mixture of irritation, astonishment and concern.  He offered her a hand up.  "Are you hurt?"
     The last thing she wanted to do was touch him–unless she had a two-by-four in her hands–so she ignored him.  She stood, brushing her wet clothes with sharp flicks of her hands.  Movement from the corner of her eye had her turn in time to see a dark bay horse scaling the bluff.  What the hell was a horse doing here?  For that matter, she turned to her ex, what was he doing here? "What are you doing here?"
     His green eyes narrowed.  "I might ask you the same, lass."
     His Scottish burr startled her.  So did his clothing–a red and black kilt, a blue coat, unbuttoned to reveal a snowy white shirt, wetly plastered to his chest, argyle socks over silver-buckled boots.  Her gaze settled on his bare knees.  Even if he was a two-timing snake, Devyn had gorgeous knees...for a man, she added grudgingly.  Sneering, she said, "Cute outfit.  Where'd you get it?   Scots R Us?"
     "'Tis flattered I am you approve of my clothing."  His burr deepened and sent shivers licking over her skin.  She'd always loved accents and the Scots accent was the sexiest of them all.  When it was real.  Devyn's couldn't be real.  He'd been born in Chicago after all.  His green gaze roved over her, assessing her denim jacket, jeans and tennies.  She waited for the insult–he'd never liked her casual choice in clothes–but when he spoke, concern colored his voice. "Where is your escort? Your men?"
     "Men?  I've only had one and, trust me, you were more than enough."  She squeezed water out of her short brown hair.  There was something strange about Devyn, something beyond the phony accent and the costume. The ocean wind kicked up making her shiver again. 
     "Me?  Have we met afore, lass?"  He groped inside his jacket.  A moment later, he unfolded a pair of glasses.  The frames were slightly askew so they settled crookedly on his face.  The effect was boyish and rather charming.  But–
     "When did you start wearing glasses?"
     His head tilted.  A smile teased the corners of his gorgeous mouth.  "I've a good mind for faces, particularly on beautiful women, but I dinna seem to recollect yours."
     "Don't be cute."  That smile sent freshets of pleasurable heat dancing over her skin, heat she hadn't felt in years.  She reminded herself he did have a good mind for faces–as long as they had blond hair, big boobs and long Barbie-doll legs.  She had the boobs but not the hair or the ridiculously long legs. And she didn't have the patience to deal with this nonsense.  "Answer the question.  What are you doing here?"
     "Aside from running you down?  I'm on my way to Seagate, lass.  May I introduce myself–Devyn MacGregor at yer service."  Leg extended, he swept a courtly bow.  "And might I ask what you are doing here?  Alone and unprotected?"
     She cocked her eyebrow.  "What's there to be protected from?"  Then added, skeptically, "You?"
     "Nae, lass.  I'm harmless as a wean."  He smiled again.
     She didn't know what a wean was and didn't care.  Her mind felt clouded, foggy but an uneasy prickle skated up her spine and she couldn't pinpoint what caused it.  Unless it was Devyn.  She took a step back.
     "Dinna be scairt, lass.  I willna harm you."
     Scairt?  He meant scared, she realized, and she was, but she didn't like letting him know it.  She inhaled, deeply, through her nose, and caught the scent of spice and...and something so intrinsically male it could be bottled and sold for hundreds of dollars.  She fought the sudden urge to run her hands over the rich blue of his coat, to feel the solid body underneath. No way was she going down that road again.  She stuffed her hands in her wet pockets, then hastily pulled them out and sneered.            
     "Riighht.  Okay, fess up.  What kind of game is this?"
     "Game?"  His gaze settled on her mouth.  Intently.  A do-you-wanna-have-fun smile curved his lips.  "What did you have in mind?"
     That smile and voice could seduce a whole bevy of women even without the Highland lilt.  She knew.  She'd seen it happen.   And, damn it, she felt it happening to her all over again.  Disgusted, she shook her head and winced as a needle of pain shot between her eyes.  "You are one piece of work, aren't you?   For the last time, what're you doing here?"
     "I've found a lovely, if a wee bit barmy, lass on a deserted beach."  Devyn shifted to stare up at the bluff.  An expression of patient suffering crossed his face.  "And I've just lost my bluidy horse."
Barmy?  Bluidy?  She wasn't sure what he was talking about but it didn't sound flattering.  And the closest he'd ever got to a horse was her Ford Mustang.  She needed to get this conversation back on track.  "I thought you left."
     "Left?"  His gaze licked over her face and her mouth again leaving a warm trail in its wake.
     "You took the Beemer and left–" She waved her hand in a vague gesture.  Had she fallen, hit her head on a rock and passed out? Was this some kind of dream or nightmare?  "–last night.  Now you're back.  Did you forget something?"
     "I took the Beemer?" he asked slowly.
     "The BMW."
     "B-M-W?"   His handsome face remained blank.
     She rolled her eyes.  "Your baby.  The car of your dreams."  Between last night and this morning, he'd clearly lost a couple of IQ points.  "What are you made up for?  It's too early for Halloween.  And what's with the phony Scottish accent?"
     He frowned, straightened to his full six-foot, four-inch height.  "I dinna have an accent."
     Exasperated, she threw her hands into the air, turning her back on him.  Whatever Devyn was up to, it was clear he wouldn't tell her.  No surprise there.
     The flesh between her shoulders tingled as he touched her hair, a whisper touch that slid into a slight tug and she fought the urge to lean back.  She'd always loved having her hair touched.  But she didn't want him, shouldn't want him, to do the touching.  Not anymore.  She whirled, fists clenched.
     "'Twas in your hair."  His green eyes widened with innocence and he dropped a small, wet twig.  Folding his arms over his broad chest, he met her glare evenly.  Then, as if in afterthought, he gave her that charming smile again.  "It's clear we've some misunderstanding–"
     "I don't understand why you're doing this charade."  As she spoke, she turned toward the bluff, then froze, halting in mid-tirade.  Her blood drained into her toes, her ears roared.  "My God!  It's gone!"
     "What's gone, lassie?"
     "Everything.  The cottage–the sea stairs."  She fought to keep the hysteria out of her voice.  Gautiers didn't have hysterics.  They were strong and self-reliant.  Fearless.  She tried to convince herself that two out of three wasn't bad, but her knees wobbled and her heart threatened to tear out through her throat.
     "Lass, there's nae a cottage here."
     "I can see that," she snapped in a spurt of desperate anger.  "But there should be.  You know it was.  Don't try to tell me you don't know it was."  Her voice rose to a pitch only small dogs would make.  Swallowing, she struggled to lower it.  "Devyn, what's going on?"
        Disgusted by the quaver in her voice, she took two long steps toward the bluff.  As if that small a distance would bring the cottage into view.  She was such an idiot.  Such a coward.  And she hated him to see her this way, hated to expose her weakness in front of a man who would use it to humiliate her.  Again.

*****

Whoa!  Thanks Lynda! You've got my attention!  I want to know what happens next!

Hey readers...what do you think?

MONDAY MAGIC - Jan Irving

Being a romance writer is one part passion, one part drive and one part vampire slayer.

I never felt more the sum of all those parts than when I wrote Forbidden Fire, the first book of the Men of Station 57, a new series about the men of a San Diego fire hall.

Luke Cade is passionate about two things—his job as a firefighter and his secret love for his older step sister, Sian. He's afraid to let her know how he feels, afraid he'll screw things up between them and lose her, but secrets have a way of coming out when it's late and you're lonely.


Here's an excerpt to illustrate what I mean:

Luke Cade knew Sian's step, knew the sound of the exact stair that groaned under her feet as she sneaked into the house he shared with her.

Tonight he found himself holding his breath, holding it almost like the sound of the world falling still. It was a moment when anything seemed possible, when stars could collide, when the sand below the posh beach house where they lived could be engulfed by flood waters that would rise and take back the palm trees, the sprinkler-fed grass…

When she might walk into his darkened bedroom and lie down beside him on his lonely bed. Instead, she walked past his door.

Of course she did.

He let out a breath as the world realigned back to the same routine. It hurt, knowing she'd been out dancing with some guy. It always hurt so goddamned much. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself he could endure another night, keep his secret.

It would be worse if he didn't have her at all.

Sian Blaine was his stepsister. She could never be his girlfriend. She could never see herself as his lover. She was ten years older than he was and she thought of him as her little brother.
It didn't matter that he was in his mid-twenties now and they'd lived in this house alone together since their parents had passed away. During the day, he worked at San Diego Fire Station 57 and she worked behind the counter of Coffee Dreams near Solana Beach. He often went in for coffee.

They practically spent twenty-four-seven together unless Sian had one of her dates.

So here was another Friday night and he was lying in a bed that might as well be a twin for all the action it saw and she was walking past his bedroom door. Yay!

Suddenly he erupted from that bed, stalking across the darkened room in his boxers, swinging open the door so he could glare down the empty hallway.

Weirdly, she was just standing there, looking over her bare shoulder at him, as if she'd somehow known he would appear.

"Can you help?" Sian asked, solemn grey eyes on his face, her brown hair caught up above her neck.

He told himself she was too skinny, the 'bird bones' she'd been called in high school, but her long arms seemed perfect as she tugged at the zipper on the back of her dress. And he knew why she was having trouble. This wasn't some kind of come-on, despite how his body immediately reacted.
Sian's left hand was curled like a withered leaf. She automatically tried to hide it in the folds of her dress, which pissed him off.

She didn't need to goddamn hide from him. Not ever.

"Yeah, all right," he grumbled, as if his heart wasn't racing at the thought of touching her intimately. He'd have to pretend she didn't move him, but her skin would be under his hands…
He couldn't help but notice she wasn't wearing a bra under the dress. Not that she needed to. She had small, delicate breasts. He knew when they were growing up she'd lamented her slight figure, but he liked everything about her—from the way she smelt to the way she walked.

"I think it's busted," he said, after pulling her zipper up and down, trying to get it to unfasten.

"Probably my slip got caught in it. Can you check?"

He looked up and some of her hair slid free of its clasp. The slinky bit of brown curled between them, caressing his neck. He caught his breath.

Sian stared at him and then jerked her gaze from his.
Just what had she seen in his eyes?
He swallowed around a dry throat. "What colour is this dress anyway?"

"Why do you ask?" Her voice was husky. She cleared her throat. "Going to splurge on one on Valentine's Day for Maggie?"

Maggie. Luke had to search his brain to remember who that was while he was peeling cloth away from Sian's back, his fingers actually—Christ!—touching bare skin. She had a mole just above her ass that he'd always wanted to kiss whenever he'd seen her in a bikini. Just put his mouth to it and suck until she laughed and turned around and he could put his mouth somewhere else…

"The receptionist in the building next to the station, right," he said. "She's seeing someone."

"Oh. I thought you had a thing for her."

Irritated, he said, "No. And if I did, why would I give her a dress?" The idea baffled him.

Sian laughed. "Because you actually asked me the colour of mine. I thought you liked it."

"I like it because it's yours and tiny."

Oh, shit. Way to be subtle. But he was kneeling at her feet and if she turned around his boxers weren't going to hide just how much he liked her dress.

She was quiet until he cursed.

"What?"

"This is not caught on anything! It's broken, Sian."

He pulled away and had to let his hands drop. He balled them into fists so he didn't just give into temptation and yank the thing off her like a wild man. Sian liked charming men, he knew. Men who were smooth and educated. Nothing like Luke, who had always been so physical, so rough-hewn.

"Okay, thanks." She paused, looking down at him. "I saw you're Mr February this year."

His cheeks heated. "Yeah. I'm also Mr April." He'd posed with his surfboard and nothing else. "I didn't know you'd seen it."

"Are you kidding? It's up in the kitchen at work." Sian's cheeks were also flushed now, he noticed.

"Since we're all gals, we're shamelessly exploiting hot young men in our calendar art."
Hot young men? Wait, forget the young part, she thought he was hot?

"Well, sorry I woke you up," she said. "I'll try to be quieter next time."

"You didn't wake me up. I wasn't sleeping."

Her body swayed as if she were on the verge of heading into her own room, closing the door and leaving him on the outside again. Tonight he just couldn't let it happen.

"Luke—"

"I'm not the street kid who moved in when your dad married my mom," he said. "I'm…" He spread his fingers, wanting her to see him. He was an adult now. He'd made something of himself. He helped people.

And some part of him knew it had been for her. He'd worked so hard, wanted to be someone she'd respect. For her, all for her.

"Sometimes…you're so quiet, I don't know what you're thinking," she said. "I wish you'd take me to see where you come from. You never talk about it, but I know you think about it." He could have told her, but then she'd run from him and lock her door. The dirty things he wanted to do to her…

"I'm proud to work with the guys at Station 57."

Her eyes widened and she knelt beside him, reaching out to grip his hand. "Oh, I'm so proud of you, Luke… You've come so far. You broke my heart, even my Dad's heart. We both wanted you to have opportunities." She studied him, her gaze running over his shoulders, his chest. He hoped like hell she liked what she saw since he worked out like a maniac. "Now you're a hero."

He blinked. "Did you just call me a hero?"

A crooked smile touched her lips. "I'm so going to pay for being sappy, huh?"

"You totally are." He liked the hint of green in her eyes. They were large in her small face and her mouth was a little off-centre, the top lip fuller than the bottom. He liked it, he wanted to kiss it.

"It feels like forever since we really talked," she said. "Why is that?"

"Maybe because you're always out with some guy. Who was it this time? The architect or the gym owner?"

"Luke—"

"Don't tell me it's none of my business, Sian."

She climbed to her feet, her dress sagging like a sail without any wind, putting her back on display. Firm skin, small bones, strong. Strong like the way she'd been when his mom had had cancer—holding him, letting him know with her body against his that he would never be alone.

"Then why do you still live here? Why are we both living under the same roof?" Fuck it, he was pushing things, he was probably ruining things, but he couldn't take it anymore. He was on his feet, hands on his hips, looming over her.

"It's just easier—"

"That's bullshit. It's not easy for me," he said. "I still live here because I need to be close to you."

 ****

I'm working now on the second book in this series, His Forbidden Woman, about Battalion chief Fred who wants a much younger free-spirited woman who moonlights in a strip club. And after that, I want to tell Taz's story, the station's lover boy who goes through women—and men—like a total slut. What's behind it? I'm enjoying using a sword to cut through the tangle of secrets —that's where the vampire slayer part comes in! I hope readers will enjoy this hot new series about the men of San Diego's Station 57.

BLURB: Coffee shop owner Sian Blaine is firefighter Luke Cade's step sister. He knows the shy older woman will never allow herself to see him as her lover, even after a sexy calendar is hung in the back room of her work place with Luke featured as Mr. February sporting nothing more than his surf board.

Luke has always been forbidden to Sian, but one night when she comes home from another endless, empty date, he finally stakes his claim, making her his woman. Now Sian must deal with the consequences of giving in to the beautiful, persistent younger man she's always wanted...


You can find Forbidden Fire HERE

And you can find me here: www.janirvingwrites.com

Jan's Bio: I've always been a super creative person, from painting silk to making porcelain ceramics, to interior design, but writing is my passion. My perfect day I'm writing a chapter and also painting a yoga mat or dyeing silk with marigolds.


One lucky reader will win a copy of the first book if you comment, so comment away and share your thoughts. Be sure and leave your email if you want to enter the contest so I can contact the winner .

THURSDAY TEASER - Karly Blakemore-Mowle

How far would you go to save a family member? Well my Operation Series deals with this very question.

Summer and Willow are like chalk and cheese, but they're all the family each has left. Summer likes her life quite, predictable and safe.

Willow on the other hand can't stand to stay put on the same continent for more than a few weeks at a time. Her job as a freelance journalist takes her into some dark and dangerous territory and will see her risking her life to discover the truth behind her late husband's death.


Operation Summer Storm , book one of my series, finds Summer Sheldon discovering just how far she'll go for her family when her sister, a photo journalist is kidnapped while doing a story on the red cross in the Cambodian jungle.

Add to the mix, a band of reluctant Marines, and you better strap yourself in for a wild ride! Meek and Mild, Sumer Sheldon may be…but you mess with her family—and all hell will break loose!


In Operation Willow Quest , book two, Willow Sheldon finds herself in a position to repay her little sisters favour, when her terrifying past comes back to haunt her. The problem is Willow has an uncanny knack of attracting trouble…
Peter Delaware's only concern is to extract the problematic Willow Sheldon and keep her as far away as he can from the dangerous arms dealer she's hell bend on revealing in an exposé.

Blurb

Peter Delaware is a man on a mission. His job is to save Willow Sheldon's delectable, but antagonizing butt, before she gets herself killed. Unfortunately, she has no intension of making his job easy.

As a photojournalist, Willow Sheldon's job has often taken her to some dangerous places, but when Peter 'Del' Delaware comes to her rescue, suddenly it's no longer the hostile environment that poses the greatest threat to her safety.

 On the trail of an elusive weapons dealer, Willow is determined to bring the man responsible for the nightmare of her past, to justice. If in doing so she also gets the scoop of the decade, then all the better.
From the tropics of the south pacific, to the jungles of South America, these two unlikely allies must learn to let down their defences in order to make it out alive. 

Bio
Karlene lives on the Mid North Coast of NSW.
Proud mum to four beautiful children and wife of one very patient mechanic, she is lucky enough to get to spend her day doing the two things she loves most—being a mum and writing stories with a distinctive Aussie flavour.


You can buy Operation Summer Storm on Amazon…HERE
You can buy Operation Willow Quest from Amazon HERE
Karly's website:  http://karlybm.webs.com/

MONDAY MAGIC - Jennifer Brassel

"The Many Faces of Me" or How WeCreate Personalities in this Frantic WorldI've thought about a topic for this blogpost quite a bit over the past week and more often than not I lost the threadof my ideas because of continual interruptions. "Derr, you're not alone," youmight say, and you wouldn't be wrong. Everyone experiences the diversions,expected and unexpected, that has become normal in modern life. As a writer I study personality -- you haveto if you're going to present believable characters to your readers. But this pastweek forced me to psychoanalyse myself a little. And while I was at it, Iwondered whether everyone is beginning to feel the stress of trying to be allthings to all people. When did life get socomplicated? When did so many people start demanding so much of my time? Andwhen did I develop all these personas that seem to now compose ME in order to caterto all these demands?Unlike my characters, I can't always beconsistent. I find that with my writer buddies I can let my creative, bizzarepersonality break its leash. I can crack 'funnies' and not feel stupid if theydon't hit the mark -- afterall, writers test out lines or scenarios all thetime, and often the more bizzare or ludicrous the better they might work. The obvious and logical is deemed 'ho-hum'.We brainstorm as a matter of course. We can be frivolous and explore thefantastic, the inane or the erotic and nobody in the group will judge ideasbeyond whether or not they might work in the context of our piece of work. ThisME loses time on a regular basis, is spontaneous and light-hearted.At the same time, I set aside the'personal' ME. That ME is divorced from the work;divorced, for the most part, from the randomness of creative ideas.When with my immediate family I have tohave a more sensible persona. In that compartment of life I not only haveresponsibility as joint head of household, I must provide a living example tomy children. I must 'react' to conditions immediately and am duty-bound toproblem-solve with directness and logic. The inane can be fatal!Thus the creative, frivolous ME has to beheld in check. She isn't quashed, but she's only let out in small, gentlebursts. Nurturing is necessarily a higher priority than personal desire orcreative thinking. This ME must always observe a schedule, be it meals, choresor other commitments -- this me cannot afford to 'lose time' and must remain inthe present reality."Of course, that's normal," yousay. And in truth it can't be any other way. But that 'family ME' has otherdistractions that I can't help indulging. For instance, that ME spends way toomuch time online blogging or tweeting discussing politics. My writer friendsmight say I use this diversion as a way to procrastinate from my writing, but Iactually need such diversions to keep myself sane. I need to keep in contactwith an outer world and feel like I am participating. Writing is a veryisolating profession.With my extended family and closer friends,I become a slightly watered-down version of the family ME. Those gentle burstsof creative thinking are mere undercurrents that rarely surface. After all, Ihave an image to protect and a clearly-defined position within the familystructure. Duties demand certain behaviours which we all recognise.The business ME, the woman who works ordeals with the professional side of my life is always censored. Parts of mybrain and personality are necessarily disengaged or somnolent. This is the flattestof my personalities as behaving outside expectation leads to harsh judgmentsfrom others. We all, for instance, know of a colourful person who we bothapplaud (for their honesty) and cringe about (because they can embarrass). ThisME sits right, dresses right, converses a certain way and generally stiflescreativity. This ME is also most alert, most consciousof the people and things around her. In writing this would be my mostunbelievable personality.The inner ME (the private dreamer, lover,the spiritual personality) in contrast, is the least defined and least seen ofmy personalities. We all know why, of course. This one is the most vulnerable.The most frightened. The most uncertain.And yet this is the one we romance writersspend the most time writing about. We delve into the inner personality of ourcharacters because she is the one we most identify with. As human beings wewant to know that we aren't alone in our vulnerability. That we aren't alone inour secret desires and needs. And we also want to believe thatultimately, that inner ME will win out. It won't be abandoned. Won't be hurt ordestroyed. And though we believe she is the most flawed, she will find truelove.Yet as writers, we try very hard not toexpose our own inner ME when creating one for our characters. I doesn't alwayswork, of course. If we read a body of work by a particular author certainthemes will become apparent. But we do try to avoid such personal exposure,perhaps to maintain the illusion that we are protecting our true self.In between all these MEs I expect there area multitude of other personalities lurking. Personalities I manufacture inanswer to the circumstances life presents me. Personalities designed to meetevery demand of our complicated and multi-faceted lives.How many personalities do you have?
Jennifer Brassel, Feb 19, 2012.www.jenniferbrassel.com
www.jalesley.com
Jenny Brassel has been writing forever. Shewrites fiction in the romance, young adult and historical genres. Her work hasfinaled and won a number of prestigious US competitions, including: PassionateInk's 'Stroke of Midnight'; FTHRW 'Wallflower' Best Scene; MRWA 'Reveal YourInner Vixen' & Missouri RWA's 'Golden Gateway'.
Titles currently available:TRUST IN DREAMS  (romance, eBook) ElizabethReynold is a dedicated doctor whose life is all mapped out. She knows what thefuture holds: hard work, a rewarding career and a sensible match. Loveless andunexciting this may be, but it is safe safe from love and the pain it causes.Only in her sleep does she dare to dream of something more.
ChrisGrant is the most popular star on Australian television. His ideal woman is outthere somewhere, a woman who can see past the fame and fortune to love him forhimself. He is certain he's found the woman of his dreams and will do anythingto win her over.
ButElizabeth knows actors cannot be trusted, are never who they seem. Will shelearn to trust in herself and follow her dreams?
Available through Amazonand Smashwords
HONOUR BOUND  (romance, eBook) GwenMorgan's orderly life is shattered when her flatmate is brutally attacked.Until the man responsible is caught, she'll never feel safe with any man whofits the attacker's sketchy description.
MartialArts expert, Lance DeLaker, is instantly attracted to the young woman who comesto him seeking help for her friend. But how can he get past her fears and provehe can be gentle as well as strong?
WhenLance learns his best friend has already staked a claim, can he do thehonourable thing and stay away from the only woman he has ever wanted? Can theybreak free and discover true love knows no bounds?Available through Amazonand Smashwords
COINS OF POWER (YA eBook, Print) Onher 15th birthday, Paige Vaughan is sent the third in a series of weird giftsfrom her crazy Welsh aunt. Strange things begin to happen when Paige meets withCameron Sloan, a new kid in school, who has received similar gifts and aquarterstaff from his grandfather in Scotland.
Thepair are attacked by the monster, Balor, who is seeking to steal their coinsand gain power. Though they repel Balor this time, Paige and Cameron know hewill not rest till he has stolen each magical talisman that they possess. Withthe help of two friends they attempt to harness the magic of the objectsentrusted to them.
WhenCameron's coin is stolen and they discover they are being stalked by Balor'shenchmen, a band of stinking sea-monsters, they realize it is a race againsttime to save the last coin and prevent the talismans' power falling intoBalor's destructive hands.
Available from ParkerPublishing and Amazon(print version)

THURSDAY TEASER - Heather Boyd

Good morning people!   A wonderful day to celebrate another fantastic Aussie author's new release!  Please welcome the delighfully sinful Heather Boyd to my blog. She has a hot historical for you to enjoy! 

Don't forget to read to the end, because she's got a competition going too!  You could win a copy of her book!

****
The Wild Randalls

Every great family has a few secrets best left unspoken. The wild Randall's of Hampshire excel at them.

Book 1 - Engaging the Enemy

A duchess should be regal, aloof and the image of calm elegance. But those words have never applied to Mercy Randall, Duchess of Romsey. A widow and mother of a young duke, Mercy is lonely and floundering to keep the estate afloat. When she discovers the existence of Leopold Randall, her husband's estranged cousin, Mercy commits to help him locate his missing siblings if he'll return the estate to order. Although cautioned against trusting a man who would inherit everything should her son die, she impetuously hands over the estate to Leopold's care in the hope of keeping him near.

Leopold Randall, heir to the young duke, has returned to Hampshire to demand information regarding the fate of his missing siblings. Unfortunately, the Duchess of Romsey is clueless about them, yet her struggle to maintain the estate tugs at Leopold's sense of duty. At her insistence, he steps in to bring order to chaos while searching for hints to his family's whereabouts amongst the old duke's papers. Yet the duchess tempts him in ways best unspoken. He fights to hide his weakness for her and a shameful past that could see him banished again. But when Leopold discovers a threat against the duchess and young duke's life, he must join forces with the temptress to protect his last known relative.

Release Date: February 14, 2012

Engaging the Enemy

~ Excerpt ~


Chapter One

     No matter how much time had passed since his last visit to Hampshire, Leopold Randall, heir to the young Duke of Romsey's title, would rather return to exile in India than beg help from Romsey Abbey. If not for his quest to locate his family, Leopold would never have set foot on Romsey soil again.
     He stared across the mist shrouded valley to where Romsey Abbey, a sprawling mish mash of architectural foolishness, glowed boldly in the early morning light with a growing sense of foreboding. All his life he had gazed at the place that had been the home of his ancestors and wished he might have been born into another family.
     The stench of betrayal lay thick upon Romsey Abbey. Even when the duke in question was too young to understand the power he would wield one day, his existence was far from innocent, steeped in lies. Born and bound in deceit. The Romsey duke's crushed those that stood in their way without a passing thought for the pain they would inflict. Leopold's side of the family had suffered such a fate, scattered to the four corners.
     Leopold had been denied any return to England in the past five years. His existence considered both a threat and a commodity for the old duke's schemes. The last time he had been summoned into His Grace's presence, Leopold had made a bargain with the old devil to keep his sister safe. Even if he'd not had any choice in the matter, the memory of that night still haunted his dreams and robbed him of any peace.
     Behind him, in humble whitewashed cottages, the sleepy village came to life. They were happy, secure in their lives, confident in the benevolence of the Duke of Romsey, and the continuation of years of endless tradition, pomp and ceremony. Going about their days with no idea of the ugly, calculating power of the family he was sadly a part of.
     Leopold slipped a pistol into his hand, finding reassurance in the familiar weight, and then let it go in disgust. Three months ago he'd been sweltering in Surat on the banks of the Tapti River, unaware of the changes at Romsey, going about the old duke's business with no idea he was free. The news he had died a year and a half ago had pleased him. But it was only by chance that he'd heard the duke's only son, his cousin Edwin Randall, had died six months after acceding to the title. To say he was shocked was an understatement. Now, only a child stood between him and gaining the title of the Duke of Romsey.
     Somewhere in the depths of hell, the old Duke of Romsey must be writhing in agony.
     Many men might covet such a situation, but Leopold was free and, if he lived a quiet life now he'd returned to England, he may never have to bow to the current duke's demands again. The idea had been gratifying—intensely so. He could go where ever he chose without having to account for his actions. Freedom after a decade of servitude was sweet. It had taken him a very short amount of time to wrap up his affairs, set aside his mistress, and return home on the first available ship. Not even a run-in with a marauding American privateer had dimmed his enthusiasm.
     His heady sense of excitement had lasted until his feet touched English cobblestones in Portsmouth. Hearing so many English voices at once had overwhelmed him momentarily, but a single voice—clear and insistent—had turned him about in his tracks. A girl called out to a young lad named Toby. His missing brother's name was Tobias.
But it hadn't been his brother, just a street scamp dodging his pursuers. But at that moment he'd reaffirmed his purpose in coming home. Come hell or high water, he would put his missing family back together. He would search the globe if necessary to find out what the old Duke of Romsey had done with Oliver, Rosemary, and Tobias. His younger brothers and sister had been taken from him by force. Only Leopold had been granted a limited liberty, forced to dance to the old duke's tune in order to keep them safe.
     Unfortunately, information was hard to uncover. He had spent weeks in London, engaging a private investigator to discreetly question staff at the ducal mansion and the man of business with the hopes of hearing of their fate. He was informed the London mansion had been closed since the old duke's death a year and a half ago. The current duchess, his cousin's wife, widowed a year ago, was mired in the country with her son and had no plans to come to town that anyone knew of. The man of business was new and clueless about the past, or his side of the Randall family. Aside from striking up a careful friendship with Viscount Carrington in London, a man an old friend had vouched for but with too many problems of his own to be of help, he'd had no choice but to grudgingly return home to Hampshire and beg for information himself.
     Now, he had no idea what future lay before him, but his audience today would set the wheels in motion for the rest of his life. He would get his answers and be done with Romsey once and for all.
     "Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Randall," the innkeeper called. "Same room as last night."
     "Thank you, Brown." Leopold turned from the view and graced the innkeeper with a smile reminiscent of his former life before his exile. The man need not have any reason to question his motives for returning. He need not see how bitter Leopold had become. "How is your daughter faring these days?"
     "Very well, sir. She's got three young ones now and another on the way. Her husband comes home irregular from sea and refills her belly at each visit."
     Leopold smiled but made no further comment. He'd only asked to be polite. The former Fanny Brown had been the local tart. Tender hearted, but a tart just the same.
     "If you don't mind me saying so, sir, it sure is good to see another Randall in the district. The place has been far too quiet since your family left." Brown touched his cap and hurried away. "The Duchess of Romsey will be pleased to see you."
    But anger swirled through Leopold like a rising tide and he hesitated to follow. He had to work hard to force his bitterness away. Left? His family had not left of their own volition. His parents had likely been killed on the duke's order, his siblings abducted certainly. But until he had proof of their whereabouts, he'd keep his eyes open. Until he'd met the current Duchess of Romsey and determined how big a threat she was to his family's survival, he'd do well to distrust anything she said or did.
With one last glance at the distant abbey, he turned toward the inn and the warmth of his breakfast. The private dining chamber was so familiar, so unchanged during his absence that he expected to hear his family laughing around the battered table over a meal. He shook off the memory—it did no good to dwell on happier times—and wearily sank into a chair.
     Leopold spooned food into his mouth mechanically, offering a smile to the shy innkeeper's wife as she added fresh rolls to the table. But his mind was on the frustrating question of where his family had been taken and, more importantly, what kind of life they were living now that the old duke was dead. Despite his promises, there was always the danger that Romsey had lied from the start and disposed of them ten years ago. He shook his head. He could not think too much about that possibility. That way led to the same panic he'd experienced a decade ago when he'd discovered Oliver had disappeared overnight.
     Would Oliver still be calculating the odds of every conceivable circumstance? Would Rosemary still be ordering everyone about as if she was a duchess and driving young men to distraction? No doubt Tobias would still be knee deep in trouble, hopefully nothing that Leopold couldn't get him out of. Despite the old duke's tight noose around his life, Leopold had made his fortune in India and had the satisfaction of being able to buy almost anything he wanted now. But all he required was his family back where he could see them every day, where he could return to a life where he'd been a happy and content man.
     Sadly, he could barely remember those days.
Wishing for a miracle hadn't helped him so far. Only time and determination would get him where he wanted to go. And that was as far away as possible from Romsey.
     Leopold threw some coins onto the table and strode out to the stables. His valet, Miles Colby, awaited him, their two mounts saddled and ready in the yard.
     The cheeky fellow bowed deferentially, as if he did so every day. "Are we still to look about this morning, sir?"
     "Yes, it cannot hurt to refresh my memory of the land." Leopold ignored Colby's behavior, it really was better than asking him to stop yet again, and swung up into the saddle. His valet had taken the news of him being connected with the Duke of Romsey, of being next in line for title, far better than Leopold had done. Colby had tried, unsuccessfully, to have Leopold turned out in a style befitting a duke's heir while they had been in London. But Leopold had resisted. He was content enough as he was and had no need to gild the lily since he very much doubted he would live to inherit anything. The current duke was young, but he might manage to live longer than his father and spare Leopold of the unwanted responsibility.
     He urged his horse out into the lane at a trot. He'd not told Colby outright that he was refreshing his memory in case he was pursued. Colby would be all right should the duchess prove to be dangerous. In Leopold's experience, the Duke's and Duchess's of Romsey considered outsiders, someone without Randall blood, useful indulgences—not potential threats. At least, not at first glance.
     Familiar vistas greeted him as they made their way to the estate entrance, but from the outset it was apparent that all was not right with the estate. The road was deeply rutted in places and when he glanced into the empty fields, he could see that the lower lake's eastern shore had choked with withered reeds. The old duke would never have allowed lapses like that to occur, not in his lifetime anyway.
     All about him, Romsey suffered from the lack of rain as the rest of England seemed to do. The upper dams should have been breached earlier to feed the lower streams to ensure the harvest was a good one this year. What he saw hinted that the estate did not prosper. Leopold's chest tightened with a mix of gladness and regret at the other signs of decay. As much as he hated the duke's, Romsey was home. The memory of cool, lush green fields had sustained him in sticky, sweltering India. What lay about him soured his return.
     A woman screamed. "Get your hands off him!"
Leopold twisted in the saddle, searching for the feminine voice raised so furiously in alarm. In the distance, further along the lane, stood a shabby thatched cottage where a tall man held a child captive in his arms. At his feet, a woman beat ineffectually for the boy's release.
     Leopold kicked his horse forward. "What the hell is going on here?"
     Both man and woman turned. Beth Turner—garbed much more poorly than he remembered—gasped in surprise and then ran to him. "Sir, he's trying to take my George away with him."
     Like hell they would! Leopold swung from the saddle and sidestepped the distraught mother. "Let George Turner go. Now."
     The other man, a rough looking brute, scowled at the interruption. "Stay out of my business and be on your way."
     The Turner's welfare was very much his business. Leopold withdrew his weapon and pointed it at the man's head. "What happens here is my business. You are on Romsey land. We rule here."
    "You 'ain't the duke. He's but a child. Besides, the woman can't pay. He'll work off her debt eventually."
     Behind Leopold, Colby was attempting to reassure the distraught mother, but Beth Turner had a full head of steam up and wasn't about to be silent. "You imbecile. Don't you know who stands before you?"
     The man blinked. "He 'ain't anyone important. Just some gent come ta sniff 'round your skirts."
     Beth laughed nervously. "You're blind."
     Leopold waited, patience wearing thin. "Let go of the child and be on your way before I put a ball in you."
     "Listen. I got orders. She can't pay so I'm to take the child in place of payment."
     "How much?"
     The debt collector licked his lips. "Ten pounds, it is."
     Beth Turner shrieked at the sum named. Obviously, this debt collector attempted to line his own pockets and considered him a gullible cull.
     Leopold debated his options. He could stare the man down, but then he'd waste precious time. Besides, the man could probably use the money. Judging by his shabby attire, debt collecting didn't pay well. Or he just wasn't very good at it. "Colby. Ten pounds. Now."
     Behind him, his valet rushed for the horses and Leopold could hear him digging around in his saddlebag. The debt collector's eyes widened and the child slipped from his grip. Once released, the boy rushed for his mother.
     Paper pressed into Leopold's palm and he lowered the weapon. He held out the notes. "I will expect no further demands to be made of the Turner's. Come to me in future."
     The brute lumbered forward to retrieve the money and tucked it into his pocket. "I would if I had your name, sir."
     "Leopold Randall."
     The debt collector paled and took two steps back.


***
About Heather

Heather Boyd is the author of erotic romance with an historical bent. A fan of regency England settings, she writes m/f and m/m stories that push the boundaries of propriety and even break the laws of that time. Brimming with new ideas, she frequently wishes she could type as fast as she can conjure up new storylines. Heather lives with her testosterone-fuelled family north of Sydney.

Her published work include: The Distinguished Rogues (Chills, Broken & Charity), The Hunt Club Chronicles (Almost an Equal, Barely a Master & Hardly a Stranger) and short erotic romance One Wicked Night, In the Widow's Bed, Love Me Tender, Wicked Mourning and The Almack's Alternative.


Links

Website: www.heather-boyd.com
Email: heather@heather-boyd.com
http://twitter.com/Heather_Boyd
http://facebook.com/HeatherBoydRomanceAuthor

Amazon Author Page: https://amazon.com/author/heatherboyd
Smashwords Author Page: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/heatherboyd

****

Oh wow Heather!  He's a bit of a yummy alpha Lord!  Thanks for being my guest today!

CONTEST: All you have to do is list the title and author of the last great romance novel/novella/short story that you read and to rank the heat level of it, too.
We all need more books for our TBR pile, right?
One random commenter will win an ebook in PDF or PRC format from Heather - so post away!
The winner will be announced on Sunday Night so get thinking folks!

Flashmob!

Last Sunday I participated in what I can only guess is the first ever Romance Reading Flashmob!  Organised by the Australian Romance Readers Association to celebrate both Valentine's Day and the National Year of Reading 2011

The National Year of Reading 2012 is about children learning to read and keen readers finding new sources of inspiration. It's about supporting reading initiatives while respecting the oral tradition of storytelling. It's about helping people discover and rediscover the magic of books. And most of all, it's about Australians becoming a nation of readers.  www.love2read.org.au

A great idea huh! I plan to do my bit!

So back to the flashmob event.

The weather was good to us after a week of on again and off again rain storms. The sun was brilliant, perhaps a little bright for those who attended the previous night's ARRA Awards Dinner (Which I also went to, but the ARRA blog tells that story brilliantly so click on the link to read all about it!)

So at 11am we congregated on the historic Pyrmont Bridge in Sydney and brought out our romance novels and started reading.

All at the same time!


Here I am shamelessly reading my own book. Well, what book would you expect me to read? I have to say I was thrilled to see that another of the flashmobbers also had a copy! Okay, she won it from me in a competition, but hey, she brought it along to the event :-) (Thanks Brooke!). I did also have my trusty Kindle with me so I could read something new *vbg*
We all found our space in different ways. Some people set up a picnic :-)






Some sat on benches.  That's Tracey Ohara there on the right! Her partner in crime on the bench there is Erin :-). Behind her are ARRA chair, Debbie on the left, member Barbara in the middle, and the hardworking sponsor wrangler Helen on the right. Shannon Curtis was also there, but a bit further along!

The photographer in the background is Kat (Bookthingo)

The Melbourne crew found some shade.  They're not used to the good weather I guess!







The ladies and gents from Avon Romance and Momentum Books also got into the spirit of it all! I love it that Anne Treasure (Momentum) had her eBook reader!  It wasn't the only one there, but hey, for the local publishing industry to go digital is a wonderful thing! Their website just went live so go check it out HERE





So here's the whole mob. At last count there were more than 40 enthusiastic romance readers! Who said Romance fiction isn't popular in Australia? Publishers and booksellers take note!


I'm looking forward to the next one!

Thanks to ARRA for organising it :-)

The BIG BLISSEKISS Winner!

Happy Valentine's day!

The winner of my Big Blisse Kiss competition is Jacki C!

Thanks for being a part of my special Sunday Snog for Valentine's Day! I'll be sending you an email soon Jacki :-)

Thank you to everyone who dropped by and read my Sunday Snog! I'm glad you liked it!

And a very special thank you to Victoria Blisse for running the competition and coming up with this wonderful concept!  Go visit her websites: www.blissekiss.co.uk and www.victoriablisse.co.uk

Maggie

The BIG BLISSE KISS - Illuminations

Welcome to the BIG BLISSE KISS!

It's a special SUNDAY SNOG today in celebration of Valentine's Day!  Thanks to the wonderful Victoria Blisse for coming up with this wonderful concept :-)

For one lucky person who leaves a comment there's also a special prize!  I'm giving away a $20 Amazon gift voucher!  Good luck everyone!

And after you've read my snog - head on over to the Blisse Kiss website to catch up on all the other hot snogs, plus there are LOADS of prizes at the other author's sites too!




My special Sunday Snog today is from my Erotic Victorian Historical story - ILLUMINATIONS!

 BLURB:

When you dip your finger in the fire – you get burned!
When Darius and his friend Jamie find Gemma, a young scullery maid, peeking through a shaded window at a ménage scene with one of their guests, they have just the right punishment for her.

Gemma finds she is unable to tear her eyes from the scandalous scene in front of her. Why didn't she run from this act of depravity? And why did watching it make her body feel heat in places she'd never felt heat before?

Before the hot summer evening is over Gemma finds herself at the mercy of not one, but two very handsome young men who not only want to teach her a lesson, but as she soon finds out – she is the lesson, and this time she is the one with an audience.

Reader Advisory: This book contains hot scenes featuring voyeurism and m/f/m sex that some readers may find illuminating.

Click HERE to buy the book

****


Darius stood by his window swirlingthe brandy in his glass when a flash of movement caught his eye. By the lightof the moon he could just make out a reddish glint in the curls of the woman asshe hurried to hide in the centre of the hedge.Interesting. He continued to watch for a fewminutes, but she had yet to reappear.He smiled. There was no time like thepresent to start her lessons, he thought. He drained his glass and placed it onthe side table near his door as he left the room. He slipped through the kitchen andreached the garden scant minutes later. He spied a strip of white poking throughthe leaves of the hedge. Good, hethought.  She was still there. Upon hearinga loud, lusty cry from the other side of the hedge, he knew the reason behindher hiding place.She really is a naughty girl,he thought. And naughty girls deserve tobe taught a lesson.He walked quietly towards the hedgejust as his quarry backed out. He grabbed her upper arms to prevent hercolliding into him. "Shh…" he whispered against her ear. "They will hear you."She struggled against him, rubbing herdelectable bottom against his groin, gasping when his erection pressed againsther. Good. He wanted her to know that finding her enjoying a carnal act pleasuredhim."Please let me go, sir," shewhispered.He smiled, sensing her arousal. "Whywould you want to leave, my dear?" Sliding a hand over her arm and brushing herhair aside, he exposed the white skin of her neck. "Just when it's gettinginteresting."She shivered, turning her head to theside. "We shouldn't be watching, sir. It's private."He nuzzled her neck and placed hislips against the sensitive spot just below her ear. "That's where you arewrong. Unless the activities are in a private room, all is open to be seen hereat Maitland House."Gemma fidgeted, trying to turn toface him. "B-b-but why would anyone agree to th-that? "He wrapped both his arms around herbody, brushing her breasts. "Because, my dear one, this place is aboutfantasies. Being watched, like watching, is something people enjoy.""But that is wicked!"Darius laughed softly. "Some mightsay so, but do you really believe that to feel pleasure, to live out yourdeepest fantasies…is wicked?" he said as he cupped her breasts.Her nipples lengthened. Gemma gaspedand wriggled. I…um…" She leant her body back against his, sighing as her bottomtouched his groin."Well? I expect an answer, Gemma," hesaid, tweaking her nipples and squeezing them gently.She struggled against him and liftedher arms, covering his hands with her own and tugging at them. But he held firm. "Answer me. Can youhonestly say you would forgo pleasure just because society tells you you must?"She shook her head back and forth. "Idon't…I don't really know, sir."His heart lifted at her response. Hewas correct in believing she was ready for this. "Very good. An honest answer."He released her nipples and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her toface him. "Do not ever deny your pleasure or your needs, little one. It leadsto many problems, some you would not even dream of.""But what if some of those needs arenot allowed. What of the new laws?""You speak of the Labouchere amendment? I am impressed that you areaware of the affairs of the government." She took a step backwards. "Impressed,sir? Why? Because as a scullery maid I am not expected to read?"Intrigued with her spirit, he smiled."Quite frankly, my dear, yes. I have never before met a scullery maid who readsthe newspaper."She looked up, her eyes flashing and hernostrils flaring. "I was not always a scullery maid sir. Before I came toMaitland House I was a lady's maid and companion."That certainly explained her dignityand her eloquent speech. His interest was truly piqued. "Is that so? And forwhom did you fulfil these onerous duties?"She looked away. "No one of anyconsequence, sir. You should be more interested in how you keep theconstabulary from closing down this household and locking you and the masteraway in the Old Bailey."The sound of more laughteraccompanied by footsteps signalled the departure of the couple from the otherside of the hedge."It seems our friends have left us,"he said as he reached up and slipped a stray curl behind her ear. "Do not worryon our account, we are quite safe within these walls. The master has manyfriends and clients from the government." She shivered when he stroked hercheek with the back of his hand. Her skin was as soft as the finest velvet."Th-that is very interesting, sir."He stepped closer, feeling her softbreath against his neck as he rested his chin on the top of her head. "Yes itis, but not as interesting as you, my dear. Now tell me more about yourprevious life."Moving her head, she tried to stepaway, but the hedge impeded her progress. "It's all very boring, sir. I am surethere are others here at Maitland House who are more interesting than I."He leant forward, speaking softlyagainst her ear. "I can see you are not ready to trust me yet, little one. Butyou will in time."Her shoulders rose as she shivered,despite the summer evening. "Please, sir, I should go back to my room," she whispered."I am needed in the kitchen in a few short hours."He sighed, knowing he should not holdher from her duties. "I will let you go when you agree to allow me to gain yourtrust.""I do not understand, sir.""If you will agree to meet with metomorrow, I will show you more ways to feel pleasure." He placed a finger overher lips. "Before you say no, I will assure you that nothing will happen unlessyou allow it to. If you ask to stop our lessons, I will honour your wishes."She stared at him, her face a pictureof innocence. "I am not sure what you are asking, sir." "I want to show you what is possible.I want to teach you not to deny your feelings or that wonderful passion I seebeneath your very proper appearance." He kissed her lightly on her forehead,her skin warm and soft against his lips.She looked away from him, her bottomlip caught between her teeth. "I shouldn't, sir."He smiled.  "But you will."Still she refused to look at him."You will let me go if I ask it of you?""You have my word as a gentleman.""Please, sir. May I have this nightto think about it?"He cupped her face with both hands,turning her to face him. "Look at me, Gemma."She slowly raised her eyes. "Please?"His face was barely inches from hermouth. Her sweet breath mingled with his as he whispered against her lips. "Youhave until morning." She licked her bottom lip. "Here is something to help you thinkabout it." His mouth covered hers.He had expected to coax her mouthopen, but nothing prepared him for the spark of electricity once their lipsmet. His tongue licked along the seam of her mouth and she willingly opened forhim, allowing him to invade the velvet depths. She sighed as he explored hermouth, flicking in and out slowly and sending heat coursing through his veins.  He licked and tongued and suckled her mouthas she leant into his embrace.  He struggled to withdraw, especiallyas his cock was as hard as a pole, but he knew the pleasure that awaited themon the morrow was worth some self-restraint now. As he eased away from thekiss, he smoothed his hands down her shoulders and gently pushed her back. Hereyes were burning with need and he almost took her again, but reluctantly heldback. "Until tomorrow, little one."Her breathing was ragged as shestared at him for a few more seconds before walking to the house. He keptwatching as she slipped back through the kitchen door, closing it softly behindher.Only then did he allow himself toadjust his trousers. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day indeed.


Okay, where do I buy it?  Click HERE





****
Don't forget to leave a comment to go into the draw to win a fantastic $20 gift certificate from Amazon!




And head over to the Big Blisse Kiss website to find all the other Sunday Snogs and your chance to win LOTS of prizes!

THURSDAY TEASER - Sam Cheever

 Good morning folk!  My good friend Sam Cheever has a new release today and to celebrate she's showing you an exclusive excerpt!

DON'T FORGET to POST a Comment so we know you've been here!

***
STEALTH HONEYBUN Release Date February 9, 2012

Click HERE to BUY the book!

BLURB:

Peyton Honeybun just wants to get a six pack of cold beer and watch football. But, he doesn't quite make it to that la-z-boy with his six pack. When four gunmen enter a small country grocery store and take the employees hostage, Peyton and the store's beautiful owner just barely avoid being discovered and taken hostage with the others.

Willa Sloan doesn't know what's happening when she emerges from the backroom and gets a big, warm, Honeybun hand slapped over her mouth as she's dragged backward into hiding. But when she learns her store has been infiltrated and her people taken hostage, the last thing she intends is to hide in a dark corner whimpering.
Together, they discover two things through that long and terrifying night. First, a country grocery store is a great place to run a stealth operation if you're enterprising enough. And second, love can happen at the strangest times!

EXCERPT:

     Willa screamed as the man grabbed her arm and jerked her hard, knocking the wind out of her as the sharp, metal edge of the cabinet slammed into her midsection.
     The man's gun came up and a large hand grasped his wrist, holding the gun away from Willa as she crouched on the floor, struggling to catch a breath. Nausea roiled through her and, for just a moment, she saw stars.
     The sounds of a struggle told her Peyton had his hands full fighting the big man. Boxes crashed to the ground and a supply cart slid past, barely missing her head as it slammed into the wall.
As soon as she could gasp a breath and push to her feet, Willa looked around for Peyton. She sucked air when she spotted them, horrified. The massive gunman had Peyton against the wall, the muscles of his arms bulging as he held Peyton almost off the ground, strangling him.
     Trying to pry the massive hands away from his throat, Peyton looked as if he was only a moment away from passing out. His face had turned a terrifying shade of purple and his eyes were wide, bulging slightly. He stopped trying to pry the man's fingers from his throat and started punching his face. He was quickly weakening though, and his punches weren't having much affect.
     Willa's gaze slid around the room, looking for the gun the man must have dropped.
     Peyton kicked out and caught the man in the groin, then followed up with a perfect roundhouse to the man's chin as he loosened his grip and doubled over in pain.
     Willa finally spotted the handle of the gun sticking out from under the cart that had rolled by and grabbed it. The sound of flesh hitting flesh didn't stop as she grabbed the gun. Apparently the massive gunman had barely been slowed down by crushed balls and a good crack to the chin.
     Peyton finally threw himself at the man, wrapping his arms around the man's throat and sending them both crashing to the floor. They skidded across the room, landing at Willa's feet. She held her breath as she reached down and placed the muzzle of the gun on the big man's forehead.
     He stopped moving, small, light green eyes focused on her face as she struggled against panic. Her knuckles were white on the pistol, and her hand was shaking so badly it almost slipped off his head.
Fortunately, Peyton took the gun from her before the man realized she was too terrified to do anything more with it than threaten.
     "Don't fuckin' move." Peyton instructed the big man.
     Willa cracked the door to the store, listening. From the front of the store, a loud argument ended with a shouted warning. The hostages had done as Peyton had instructed, picking a boisterous fight to distract and cover any sounds he and Willa might make subduing the big gunman.
     She only hoped they'd been loud enough.
     With shaking hands, Willa returned to the gunman and stuffed a rag in his mouth, slapping a strip of duct tape across it as they'd done to the other gunman.
     Peyton held the gun firmly against his head and spoke to him in a soft voice filled with menace. "Now I need you to roll over and put your hands behind your back so the lady can tie them."
     With some shoving, they got the big man onto his side and Willa tied his wrists quickly with packaging twine.
     "Make sure you tie it tight and wind it several times," Peyton told her. "He's a big guy."
     "Do you think they heard anything up front?"
     Peyton shook his head. "I don't think so, or somebody would have shown up by now to check it out. But let's get this turkey trussed and flash frozen quickly, just in case."
     They got him to his feet, shoving him back to the freezer vault, where his other buddy currently sat, shivering and complaining behind the taped rag stuffed into his mouth.  
     They trussed the second man the same way, tying his thick ankles to match his wrists, and threw a thin butcher coat over him. "Sorry, no blankets. But hopefully you won't have to sit in here too long before the police come for you." Peyton told them.
     They closed the door and Peyton looked at her. She gritted her teeth and tried to look normal, but she was vibrating with fear.
     His face softened when he saw what a state she was in and he reached for her. "Awe, come here, honey," he said. "You did good."
     She sobbed out a laugh and buried her face in his shirt, too scared even to cry. Her hands clutched his shirt and she pressed herself as close to him as she could, reveling in his heat, his incredible scent, and his seemingly unflappable strength.
     They stood unmoving for a long moment, only the beat of their hearts breaking the silence surrounding them. After a few minutes she stopped shaking and took a deep breath, stepping away,
     He lowered his head and looked her in the eyes. "Okay?"
    Willa nodded. "Sorry I fell apart."
     He pulled her in again, rubbing a hand down her back. "You were incredible. You have nothing to apologize for."

Click HERE to BUY the book!

Please say HI so we know you've been here!


***

Oh Sam!  Peyton is yummy!