Shiloh Walker's Blog, page 70

From Broke Blade… in the doghouse

Kindle

“Go ahead.” Shoving away from the shower, he came closer. Violence, danger and anger radiated from him and fear pulsed inside me, despite the fact that I knew, deep inside, that he wouldn’t hurt me. Damon was one of the few people who was safe.

Too bad my body didn’t get that message.

He reached up and my breath froze in my lungs as he slid a hand inside my vest. The back of his hand brushed against my breast and the black band of terror grabbed me, held tight.

“You’re so fucking afraid now, Kit,” he whispered, dipping his head to murmur into my ear. “It’s killing me.”

Then he lifted his head and reached down. He caught my left hand and pushed one of my knives into it. “Bloody me.”

I jerked my hand away—or I tried. He still held my wrist and he wasn’t letting go.

“That’s a silver blade, you son of a bitch.”

“I know.” He guided my blade to his chest, his grip relentless. “Bloody me. I’d feel better for it. And if it would do something to take that fear away…” A muscle pulsed in his jaw and he was standing close enough, I could hear the thunderous sound of his heart, racing far too fast. I didn’t have ears as sensitive as his—if he’d been standing any farther away, I couldn’t have heard it. As it was, though, the roar of blood in my ears, the racing of his heart, the adrenaline crashing inside me and the torment I saw on his face…the torment I felt in me…it was too much. “Sam’s not the only one who owes you blood, baby girl.”

Once more, I tried to twist out of his grip. “Damn it, let go.”

Swearing, he dropped my wrist. I put the knife away and darted toward the door.

He slammed it shut before I managed to get it open an inch.

“Kit…”

“Don’t, okay?” I leaned my brow against the wood and closed my eyes. “I need to get out of here. I need to breathe. I need to…”

His fingers brushed across my shoulder and he pressed his head to the back of mine. “I miss you.”

Tears burned my eyes and although it didn’t seem possible, the ache in my heart spread.

I really, really wish that what I’d told Chang was true. That the woman I’d been was dead and gone, that nothing of my old life mattered. If I could believe that, then it wouldn’t hurt so much to stand there.

But I wasn’t going to make myself better, or stronger, or fight my way out of this hell I currently lived in if I kept lying to myself. About anything. “I miss you, too.”

He reached up, resting a hand on my hip.

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” I told him. “Not if I can’t find me again. I’m still lost, Damon. I have to find who I am…I have to find my way again.”

Easing around, I stared into his eyes. Close. He was so close.

And even though I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, the fear was there. He went to pull back and I surprised us both by reaching up and fisting my hands in his shirt, holding him there.

His eyes widened and he stilled, stayed there, one arm braced on the wall by my head while his hand rested on my hip. I could handle this, I decided. The fear was there, but I couldn’t expect that to go away so easily. And…hell. It was Damon. Just having him this close had my heart racing and not all of it had to do with fearful things.

Curious, I placed my hand to his chest and as his heart slammed against my palm, I felt the way my own sped up in answer.

I did miss this…even when it wasn’t a spur of the moment kiss. I missed this. I missed us.

But I wasn’t ready.

“That day, up in the mountains,” I said quietly. “I told you that I was broken…so far from me that I didn’t think I’d ever find my way back.”

A harsh, ragged breath escaped him. “I know.”

“You told me you’d find it for me.” The heat of him scalded me, even as it warmed me. “I didn’t want to hear it then…and I can’t be sorry for that. I can’t let somebody find my way for me. I just can’t. I’ve got to do it for myself. But I’m trying. Okay?”

He stroked a hand down my hair. “I told you…I’ll be waiting.”

“It may never happen.” Turning my face into his hand, I kissed his rough palm. It hurt more than a little as I pushed him away. “You have to understand that.”

He was quiet as he stepped back.

Just before I slipped out the door, he asked softly, “Do you want it to happen?”

The question stopped me in my tracks and I looked back at him. “Do I want what?”

“Us. This.” Those eyes watched me, so carefully. “I’ll wait. Forever. It doesn’t matter how long. But is that what you want from me? Are you coming back to me?”

“I…” I licked my lips and shook my head. It shouldn’t be such a hard question. “I don’t know.”

He smiled sadly, looking away. “That’s fine. Like I said. I’ll be waiting.”

Read more… Broken Blade

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Lauren Dane

Caris Roane

Eliza Gayle

Lissa Matthews

McKenna Jeffries

Taige Crenshaw

Delilah Devlin

HelenKay Dimon

Guys hate romance,all girls love it and other assorted BS

Kindle

That’s the theme I got out of this post.

Also, somebody, with his narrow ideals and stringent opinions, get to define what a genre is.  Because he says so.  He says so, and so it must be.

Another writer well-praised (from every corner) is Lois McMaster Bujold. Her great work is the Miles Vorkosigan series. These are supposed to be military science fiction stories, but they are really at their core Romance novels. At first, they were military science fiction novels of a higher order than most. But the romance elements creep in very early on. Bujold tips her hand in the eloquence of her language (normally a good thing) and the attention to detail that only women would find attractive: balls, courts, military dress, palace intrigues, gossiping, and whispering in the corridors.

That is what define romance?  Ah… that would bore me.  Probably why I could never get into her books. But that is what he uses define romance?  Okay.  Since he gets to set his own definitions, then so do I.  It’s only fair, right?

I’m going to redefine non-fiction.  Nonfiction is now about purple unicorns and sparkly kitties that sing bedtime stories.

From I Can Haz Cheezburger

And guys didn’t like the intrigues, the balls, the court dress… ya know…the detail that made Lois McMaster Bujold’s stories what they were?  Really? Wow.

There’s also the underlying idea that girls can’t really write real science fiction.  We’re not going get into that debate, because other people have done it far better than I can.  It’s apparently the time for all of this to break out, too, because Jim C. Hines is talking about more diversity in SFF and he’s taking on crap for it.  People discuss it on twitter and just like any other time we try to talk about bringing more women in genre fic, more people of color into genre fic, anybody outside the traditional orientation…there are people who scream and rage over it.

Actually, romance is pretty progressive when it comes to that.  We’ve got gay romance, lesbian romance, interracial romance, although I think we still struggle to get more non-white romances out there.   But you can find a little bit of everything, historical pieces from all over the word, so many subgenres to choose from, many nationalities, multiple orientations, many classes, varying heat levels, and a lot of books with strong, positive female influences where the woman isn’t just a toy for the hero to use here and there and toss off when he’s done.  And I’m rambling… back on target.

One author interviewed in the Guardian has discussed having more diversity in the classes found in SF… not just the captains, but the working class.

Saladin Ahmed mentions:

He tweeted: “Class diversity also needs to be part of #DiversityinSFF. I want fewer kings and starship captains, more coach drivers and space waitresses.”

Other than writers like Ann Aguirre and S.L. Viehl, SF tends to bore me… or many of the writers annoy me.  Basically, after how rude a few of them treated me, I stopped looking at a lot of them and focused more on UF and romance, but I’m going to have to branch out because some of the people speaking up against the author of the Amazing Stories post (Paul Cook) have impressed me.  Jim C. Hines has long been on my TBR read list and now, so is Saladin Ahmed.

One thing I found almost insanely hilarious about Paul Cook’s piece?

This line…

…over time with novels such as Miles in Loveand Cordelia’s Honor, you can see that Bujold is a closet romance writer. Not that this is a bad thing, but some of us aren’t that interested in romance.

The implication here is that guys don’t read icky romance.  They don’t want to read about feelings and mushy stuff.

And of course this line…

For me, personally, it takes much of the dramatic urgency out of a story if the hero is already married or if during a skirmish comes back to canoodle or wine or dine with his beloved

I highlighted the personally part…see, it’s all about what he thinks.  He also claims he’s the most hated guy on the internet, and seriously, talk about arrogance.  No, he’s an annoyance, and narrow-minded, not to mention ill-informed on things, but hey, that’s not worthy of hatred.  Being a judgmental, sexist asshat isn’t worthy of my hatred.  Just my pity.

This part was funny, too.

Lee’s and Miller’s stories in this series are carefully written, but I’d call them science fiction-lite because there really isn’t much tension in these stories

So tension is what defines science fiction?

hmmmm…

Asimovs (an online mag) looks for this…

In general, we’re looking for “character oriented” stories, those in which the characters, rather than the science, provide the main focus for the reader’s interest. Serious, thoughtful, yet accessible fiction will constitute the majority of our purchases, but there’s always room for the humorous as well. Borderline fantasy is fine, but no Sword & Sorcery, please. Neither are we interested in explicit sex or violence. A good overview would be to consider that all fiction is written to examine or illuminate some aspect of human existence, but that in science fiction the backdrop you work against is the size of the Universe.

I don’t see any mention of tension there.  How about Tor’s online site

What we’re looking for: Tor.com welcomes original speculative fiction short stories and poetry. We define “speculative fiction” broadly, including SF, fantasy, horror, alternate history, and related genres. We want our stories to represent the full diversity of speculative fiction, and encourage submissions by writers from underrepresented populations. This includes but is not limited to writers of any race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, nationality, class, and ability, as well as characters and settings that reflect these experiences…

Nothing about tension there.  Funny, though…one thing actually a lot of romance editors will say is a problem with submissions?  Not enough tension. Hmmmm. Funny, that.  Maybe Cook is actually a closet romance reader and doesn’t know it.  Especially if he’s looking for tension.  Come to romance, buddy.  We got tension.

You go digging around for definitions for science fiction and you get things like this…

Definition of science fiction (n)

Bing Dictionary

sci·ence fic·tion

fiction based on futuristic science: a form of fiction, usually set in the future, that deals with imaginary scientific and technological developments and contact with other worlds

or

Definitions of what Science Fiction is and is not

It’s often said that Science Fiction is the literature of change. 

and

A science fiction story must be set against a society significantly different from our own — usually, but not necessarily, because of some change in the level of science and technology — or it is not a science fiction story.

from Treitel

 

and

Definition of Science Fiction

Science fiction is a genre of fiction in which the stories often

tell about science and technology of the future. It is

important to note that science fiction has a relationship with

the principles of science—these stories involve partially truepartially fictitious laws or theories of science. It should not be

completely unbelievable, because it then ventures into the

genre fantasy.

from ReadWriteThink

So basically, science fiction is about how science and technology will change the future. It doesn’t focus on tension…but maybe it should. Because unless the world of the future totally eliminates sexual desire or the human need for companionship (which most of us, even the guys), then those needs and desires will also be a part of the future…not writing about them kinda means you’re skipping out on a messy, but intrinsic part of human nature.

It doesn’t become romance until the focal point of the story is the developing relationship between the hero and heroine (or whoever the main couple is).  Duh.  If Cook was so educated about romance, as he seems to think he is, he’d know this.

Because that is the definition of romance.  Plenty of books have romantic subplots–didn’t Lord of the Rings have a carefully written subplot about Arwen and Aragorn?  You didn’t really get the full story until the end, but it was there, hinted at all the way.  Dude.  Tolkien is a closet romance writer!  Who knew?  I’m pretty sure there was a romantic subplot in the John Jakes books I read when I was a teen.  And STEPHEN KING!  He’s had a lot of romantic subplots, didn’t he?  Stephen KING is a closet romance writer! Wow.  Oh, Ilona Andrews!  She’s got a romantic subplot…and a killer one, too.  There are so many closet writers out there.  I can’t even name them all.

Actually…No.

To fulfill what a true romance reader is looking for, those who are looking for a romance when we open up a book, it can’t be a subplot.  That story has to focus on the hero and heroine all the way through.  Otherwise, when we close that book, we’re going to be pretty damn upset, assuming we even finish.

We’ll take a subplot that might detract from the romance, briefly.  That is okay.  But the romance is the driving force and there can only be one outcome. The heroine and the hero end up together.  Happy ever after.  The end. That’s it.

Again, I go back to this comment…

…over time with novels such as Miles in Love and Cordelia’s Honor, you can see that Bujold is a closet romance writer. Not that this is a bad thing, but some of us aren’t that interested in romance.

Some of us.  Who is us?  Is it guys?  Does that mean he thinks only girls are interested in romance?  Are all girls interested in romance?  (Try telling that to bratlet.  You might escape unscathed.  But then again, you might not.)

That us thing…that only women thing, I just find it all laughable.  Plenty of women like SF, and we like it a variety of ways.  I like my SF to actually reflect the human condition.  And humans do get engaged in all those messy, messy emotions and sometimes we even like to have that messy, messy sex.

It’s one of the reasons I like authors like Ann Aguirre and S.L. Viehl… they write people that I can connect to.  These are real people, even if they are situations that I’ll never be in.  They feel.  They love.  They hurt.  Why in the world does a space captain try to fight a war anyway if he doesn’t feel or love or hurt?  If he can’t feel love, remorse, passion, what drives him to do the ‘right’ thing?

Honor isn’t a good enough reason.  Revenge wouldn’t do either, because why does he want revenge if he never loved anybody enough to need revenge?  It makes no sense.  The human condition is what drives us to do everything…emotion is at the core so many things, but heaven forbid some writers touch on that.

The other thing I find amusing is the unsaid thing…guys just don’t like romance so stop making us read it.

In the years since I’ve been published, I’ve lost track of how many books I’ve sent overseas to soldiers.  The majority of them, by far, are men.  The books I send? They are romance. And the SOS coordinator who takes receipt of them still sends me emails from the guys who get those books.  They love them.  They appreciate them.  One of my prized possessions is the US flag I received as a thank gift for the books I’ve sent. Many of those books are traded around and shared among the other soldiers.  I can remember one email Kelley (my SOS contact) sent me about one of the guys who used to be on her list but is home now…he’s kinda upset about that, because he doesn’t get these kinda books anymore.  Not just from me, but the other romance writers who send books out.

So you go ahead, Mr. Cook.  Why don’t you hunt up the guys serving overseas and tell them how guys aren’t into romance?  While you’re at it, be sure to hunt up all the guys who’ve had me sign their books over the years–their books, not for their girlfriends, or their wives.  But for them.  It’s not just one or two guys, either.

Have fun with it.  I dare ya.

 

Kindle books

Kindle

 

So I noticed yesterday that the ‘price set by publisher’ thing seems to be disappearing from Amazon. And the prices on a lot of my ebooks has been slowly dropping.

These are just some of the prices I’ve noticed, but they are anywhere from 15% or more off the set price.

The Protected $7.99

Wrecked $6.83

Stolen $6.83

The Missing $6.83

If You Hear Her $5.59

If You See Her $6.83

If You Know Her $6.83

Fragile $5.99

Hot Spell $5.99

The Reunited $8.89

Broken $11.04

Chains $10.83

Hunters: Heart and Soul: $10.83

Hunting The Hunter $5.98

To me, it looks like my newer books and my more popular books are getting the bigger discounts.

Hunting the Hunter was the ‘first’ Hunter book when I branched off from EC and started focusing more on a PNR world instead of the erotic paranormal, so if you’ve been curious about trying some of my other books, that might be one try.

Wrecked, Fragile, Chains, Broken, and the Ash Books (starting with If You Hear Her) are the ones I get the most feedback on.

I don’t see the prices reflected elsewhere, and please don’t snarl or growl at me.  This is nothing I have control over.

However…maybe because it’s a new release, the price for The Protected is lower at other places than my new releases sometimes are.  The cover price is $15.00 but it’s $9.99 at iBooks, Kobo and BN.

The Protected…releases today

Kindle

 

And… it’s marked down to $7.99 (Kindle) at Amazon!

As she climbed out, Gus appeared at the end of the sidewalk where it curved around to the front. His pale eyes glittered in his face as he watched her and her heart jumped and danced around in her throat, just looking at him. Really, that man was just too beautiful to exist. It wasn’t fair to the female population. Not at all.

Spit pooled in her mouth and she had to swallow just to keep from drooling as she moved to meet him on the sidewalk.

“We going inside?” she asked, trying to act like she wasn’t desperate to touch him. Desperate to see him, be near him. How had he hit her like this?  A few weeks ago, she’d been stuck behind a desk, dealing with bitching headaches and wondering when she could get back out in the field.

And now, here she was, still dealing with bitching headaches, back out in the field…and standing in front of a man who had come to mean way too much to her, especially considering how very little she really knew about him.

He lifted a hand and brushed a stray curl back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “If you were smart, you’d try to lose me once you were inside the store. Take off, steal a car and get away from here. Before it’s too late. Once they connect you to me, do you understand you may never be able to go back to your life?”

“I’ve never been much on doing the smart thing. Just the thing that felt right.” She shrugged and tried not to react as he shifted his attention from her hair to her mouth. He cupped her chin in his hand, stroked his thumb along her lower lip. The light touch sent all sorts of sparks and heat dancing down her spine and she wanted to shudder. Shiver. Quiver. Hell, she was quivering. And hungry, so damn hungry for him, but this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place. Not they were likely to have that any time soon. “Besides, how likely am I to get away, if I tried?”

Lashes swept low. “If you ran now, I might let you go. You never should have gotten caught up in this. I’ve got enough blood on my hands.”

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Reminder…if you prefer to get your books from your local store, you might want to call them to make sure if they have it and if they don’t, just have them order it in.  Some stores aren’t carrying my titles as much.  Ordering it usually just takes a couple of days. The requests might be an incentive to order more… which I wouldn’t mind a bit.  The ISBN, if you need it, is 9780425264430

Due out tomorrow… my messed up hero

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Long, tense moments passed and then Gus nodded slowly.

He held out a hand, and although she didn’t trust him any farther than she could throw him, she placed her hand in his, let him offer her assistance she didn’t need to rise to her feet.

He kept hold of her hand as he guided her across the room and toward the one area where they might have a modicum of privacy. Out of habit, she checked the bolt on the door. The latch was secured. The door was locked. Nobody had followed them and Vaughnne wasn’t about to let anybody near that kid. If they tried, she’d blow a hole through them or scramble their brains—whichever seemed to work best at the time.

Still…she checked.

Seconds later, the bathroom door closed at her back.

And then, she seemed to be the one who needed protection.

Gus went from the quiet protector to the warrior who’d leveled a gun at her, fully prepared to kill her. Before she could even catch her breath, he slammed her against the door, his forearm at her throat, pressing hard enough that she couldn’t draw her breath to scream.

She could have fought back.

She knew that.

And she knew how.

But as his misty eyes stared into hers, her heart slammed against her chest and she couldn’t breathe, could barely even think.

It wasn’t fear that seemed to crowd out all of her thoughts, though. Fear she could have handled.

This was so, so much worse.

“You need to understand something.” He leaned in, pressing his mouth to her ear. “And I want you to listen to me, very, very closely…Vaughnne. Is that even your name?”

She was pleased that her voice was almost steady as she said, “Yes. It’s my name. I gave you a false last name, but my first name is Vaughnne.”

“Hmmm.” He nuzzled her neck and little licks of pleasure shot all the way through her. “And FBI…are you really FBI?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes as he pushed his thigh between hers. Oh, hell. What the hell was this?  “You can call D.C. They can verify.”

“They routinely give out names of their agents, Vaughnne?”

He licked her. What… the… hell?  She shuddered as he crowded in closer. His forearm was still wedged against her throat, preventing her from moving, but it was no longer pressing against her so tight that it was a chore just to breathe. Well, it was, but that was because of the sheer, burning weight of lust. He traced his tongue down the line of her neck. “You did not answer me.”

Accent, she noticed dimly. He had an accent—she hadn’t ever heard it before.  And she would have noticed, too, which meant the man’s skills just went from the category four strange to category five.  At least.

Swallowing, she focused on his question. “Generally, no. But if you call and ask for the man I tell you to ask for, he will verify.”

“And isn’t that convenient?” He laughed a little, resting his free hand on her hip. His fingers flexed and she felt the imprint everywhere he touched. Every single place, from his thumb, to his little finger, curving over her flesh, kneading back and forth… “You give me a false number. A false name. So easy to fool me, you think?”

As his mouth came to cover hers, she averted her head. Finally, her brain was engaging.

Sex as a weapon. Not something she’d ever had directed at her, but, whoa. Damn. That’s what this was and he was potent as hell. “You can look the damn number up on Google. I’m pretty sure I can’t control Google, although if I can get them to give me some major shares in the stock, hey, I’m game to try. You call that number, I’ll tell you how to get connected to the man who can vouch for me.”

His knee pushed between her thighs and this time, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep from shuddering. Couldn’t keep from whimpering as he drew her in until she was all but riding his thigh. Oh. Hell.

“And what will he tell me when he vouches for you?  What happens then?  Somebody comes in here to take the child from me?  I don’t think so, Vaughnne.”

“Nobody wants to take him away,” she snapped. And then she curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him as he shifted and settled his hips squarely between her own. She felt him now. All of him, the ridge of his cock, hot and thick, and damn it, if he hadn’t been aroused, this would have been easier, so much easier.

But sex as a weapon wasn’t really useful if the weapon wasn’t primed and ready to fire, she supposed.

Summoning up what little strength she had, she closed her eyes. She went through her options and discarded all but a few. As she was busy with that, he shifted the forearm he had wedged across her upper body. Cooler air kissed her flesh and she hissed as she realized he had freed the top button of her shirt.

No. Absolutely no.

As he reached for the second one, she opened her eyes and stared at him.

He stared right back at her.

She didn’t have a lot of room to maneuver, she had next to no leverage and she’d rather not wake up Alex, either.  The kid had already been through hell and was sick on top of everything else in his life.

She didn’t really want to hurt Gus, either.  Assuming she could. She might want to bloody him in that very second, but he was trying to protect the kid. She thought maybe she could understand that drive. Maybe.

As pissed off as she was, she understood the basic need to protect.

When he leaned in, she slid a hand around the back of his neck, careful to keep her expression blank. As he covered her mouth, she held herself still. And as he went to sweep his tongue across hers, she bit him. At the same time, she tangled a hand in his hair and jerked. He muffled his response, doing exactly what she’d expected—trying to avoid waking Alex, scaring him. He went to grab her and she jammed her fist into his throat. He had to breathe, right?

Even as he was struggling to do that, though, he was already reaching for her. Damn it. He was too well-equipped for this, she thought. She evaded his hand and lashed out with one weapon he couldn’t prepare for. Blasting her voice into his mind, she watched as he stumbled and slammed a hand against his temple, caught off guard.

She jerked the door open, taking advantage of the few precious seconds she had. The second she was out the door, she cut the scream off, pulling her weapon as she set her stance.

He came for her, pausing only at the sight of her weapon. She set her stance and held his gaze.

“We’re not doing this, Casanova,” she said quietly. She licked her lips and hated the fact that she could still taste him. Her entire body throbbed, ached. Burned for him. And damn it, if he hadn’t been trying to pull…whatever he’d been pulling?  She might have been just fine with letting him do anything he wanted to with her. Even with a kid sleeping a few feet away. They’d been in a bathroom, right?  She knew how to be quiet.

But he had been up to something and she wasn’t going to be used. Wasn’t going to have any man use sex against her. No matter what the goal was.

“Nobody is going to hurt him,” she said as he edged out of the bathroom, moving closer and closer.

She backed away. And still he kept coming. Eventually, she ran out of room and he stood there with his chest pressed to the muzzle of her Glock and no emotion on his face.

“Nobody is going to hurt him. Nobody is going to take him. I’m here to help keep him safe,” she said.

“Nobody can keep him safe,” Gus said, his voice a monotone. “You don’t even know what is after him.”

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Have you hit the blog tour stops?

www.lovetoreadforfun.com

http://ripeforreader.blogspot.com

http://nikkibrandyberry.wordpress.com

http://www.read-love-blog.com/

http://ramblingsfromthischick.blogspot.com/

http://urbangirlreader.com

http://readingbetweenthewinesbookclub.com

 

The Protected…Author’s Choice!

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Snippets!

Due out next week…

 

Gus had planned to do . . . something.

He didn’t know what.

But he’d planned to do . . . something when she came inside.

She came inside, a dazed, almost drugged look on her face, like she didn’t know where she was. Who she was. Part of him wanted to grab her and shake her, scold her for her carelessness, because she didn’t even look around.

He wasn’t hiding. The room was dim, but he stood in the corner, leaning against the wall, and all she had to do was look around and she’d see him.

But all she did was shut the door and flip the locks.

Then . . . she stood there.

Her back to him. Her shoulders rose and fell rapidly, and distantly, he was aware of the harsh sounds of her breathing filling the room. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the door. A sob ripped out of her. She slammed a fist against the door and the sound of it caught him off guard.

Anger and grief rolled from her, and he felt frozen there. Guilt flooded him and part of him wanted to slip out of the room, disappear, and leave her alone with whatever hurt her.

The other part of him wanted to go to her and haul her against him, make her tell him what had hurt her . . . so he could kill it. Fix it. Whatever. He didn’t know which one he was supposed to do. He was good at killing things, but fixing them? Not so much.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to care . . . not for anything or anybody.

She wasn’t supposed to matter, yet she did. More than anybody or anything, save for Alex.

He didn’t want this inside him, but there it was.

She slammed her fist against the door and screamed and he just couldn’t take it anymore. Shoving off the wall, he crossed the floor. He didn’t know what he was going to do, what he was going to say—

“Damn you, Gus.” The words came out in a ragged sob.

His heart jumped into his throat.

She was crying . . . over him.

He almost tripped over his feet, his shoes scuffing on the hardwood floors.

She gasped and whirled around.

He saw her hand go to the weapon strapped to her waist, and he moved, catching her wrist and pinning it to the wall.

Her eyes went wide as she stared at him, damp and glinting with tears. Her mouth fell open.

“Gus . . .”

“Damning me finally?” he whispered.

She sucked in a breath and reached up, fisting her hand in his shirt. “You . . . you’re okay.”

Reaching over, he caught the weapon and tugged until she let go of her Glock. He laid it down on the small table to his left. “I wouldn’t go that far.” Reaching up, he cupped her face in his hands. “Why are you crying, Vaughnne?”

She sniffed and reached up, swiping the tears from her face. “I’m not.” She lifted her chin and glared at him.

“Of course you’re not.” Unable to resist another moment, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers. She tasted of tears and her and he was starved for her. He lifted his head a fraction. “If you don’t want this, then you better stop me . . . now.”

Her response was to reach for his shirt and strip it off.

If he were any sort of decent, he’d slow this down. Talk to her. He’d be lying if he tried to tell himself he hadn’t come for this. He hadn’t come only for this. He’d wanted to touch her, feel her underneath one more time . . . to take her in a bed and take his time with her.

One night. One night when he didn’t have to worry about all the burdens he’d carried for so long. One night when all that mattered was the two of them.

But Gus had stopped worrying about being decent a long, long time ago. So as his shirt fell to the floor, he reached for the neat little line of buttons marching up the center of her prim white shirt. “You look so neat and put together, Vaughnne,” he murmured, freeing first one button, then another, watching as he bared one inch of skin at a time. “I’m going to enjoy watching you come apart for me.”

She leaned back against the door, her hands falling to hang loose at her sides. “I’ve been doing that almost since the first second I laid eyes on you, sugar.” A smile curved her wide, sexy mouth, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and if he’d let himself look, he knew what he would have seen.

She knew, he realized. Had some idea of just why he was there.

And it just made him that much more of a bastard. But he didn’t care.

When he reached the final button, instead of pushing the shirt off her shoulders, he let it hang open, revealing the narrow line of her sleek torso, the lace edging of her bra. He traced one finger down the midline of her body, stopping when he reached the waist of her trousers, the sturdy leather of her holster. Still holding her gaze, he unbuckled it, unbuttoned her trousers.

Vaughnne stood there, silent and watching him with solemn eyes. He leaned in and nipped her lower lip, pressed a kiss to her neck, moving in a line straight downward until he was kneeling in front of her.

She wore a pair of low-heel ankle boots and he tugged them off, setting them neatly by the door. Vaughnne kept a tidy little nest, something he’d noticed when he let himself inside. He wouldn’t leave any sign of himself when he left . . . other than what he was doing to her now. Glancing up at her, he saw her lashes were closed, her head was tipped back, and her hands were braced against the door, curled into tight fists that left her knuckles bloodless.

He wanted her clutching at him that tightly.

Wanted to hear that smart mouth, the cocky attitude that had driven him insane the past few weeks.

But when he tried to reach for the words to say something, anything to tease it out of her, he couldn’t find them. So instead of saying anything, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her belly as he caught the waist of her trousers and dragged them down over the swell of her hips, her thighs, down until she could step out of the puddle of material.

Rising, he stood in front of her, arms braced on the door by either side of her head, waiting for her to look at him.

Seconds ticked away, and finally, she lifted her lids, staring at him with dark, unreadable eyes.

He opened his mouth, determined to find something to say. Something. Anything. It shouldn’t be this hard to find a handful of words. He’d lived most of his life by them. Glib lies, charming little half-truths . . . all of them said to people who meant less than nothing. And here he stood with a woman who meant everything and he couldn’t find anything to ease the pain he sensed was inside her.

Before he managed to find even one damn thing to say, Vaughnne reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. “Take me to bed, Gus,” she said quietly. “We can have that one night now, right?”

Please note if you wish to get this book in print from your local store, you might want to make sure they pre-order it.  A lot of stores aren’t carrying as many of my books in print.  Thank you!

Lauren Dane

Caris Roane

Eliza Gayle

Lissa Matthews

McKenna Jeffries

Taige Crenshaw

Delilah Devlin

HelenKay Dimon

Truths & Lies

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The past year has kinda sucked.  Actually, the past few years have been a pattern.  I keep telling myself that things will get better, things gotta get better. But they don’t.  Currently, on top of the personal stuff and the writer stuff, the dryer is going to have to be replaced soon and my laptop is doing evil things that makes me think I’ll need a new one.  I can’t write without a laptop so this ought to be interesting.

A few days ago, we went to an art festival and I bought a cute little clay thing for the bathroom, to put toothbrushes and the toothpaste in.  It cost $40.  It wasn’t even used once, because it was broken in the car. Somehow. Mysteriously. Ghosts must have done it because nobody will cop to it.

Every other day, something else is going wrong.

Not too long ago, I was told that I really don’t have anything to complain about…but, well….ya know, this sort of thing is subjective.

I was told that I’ve got a great career, but that great career isn’t really what people think.  This is how I support my family, so yes, it’s a big concern to me, because going back to nursing isn’t much of an option for me.  Naturally, I worry.  I’ve had two series dropped, struggling to keep the others going.  And I do mean struggle. The most successful one is the selfpubbed one and it’s twice as hard as the others since I’m flying solo.

I get that others have it so much worse than I do…and I really do get that.  I’ve got it so much better than my parents did and I know that.  Despite what it may sound like, I am grateful.

But…sometimes it feels like it’s all falling apart around me.

I hate that I feel like this.  I’ve got three beautiful, smart kids.  I’ve got a great husband.  And I am able to write for a living.  It’s more than some people can do, and I know that.

I appreciate it.  I wouldn’t change where I am, or who I am. Yet…I still feel like I’m falling apart.

How can I feel like this, even though I know I’ve got so many things that others don’t and that I need to appreciate every thing I do have?  Things I never hoped to have as a kid?

I don’t know.

Why does it feel like every day is a struggle and why has it felt like this not for a few days, a few weeks, but…longer? Frankly, right now I can’t remember when it hasn’t felt like this.  I’m not looking at weeks right now, probably not even months, but a couple of years.

It’s more than just stuff going on personally, things that I am not, and will not, go into.  It’s more than struggling to keep together a career that sometimes feels like it’s just…falling apart.

Sometimes I feel like I’m in the middle of the ocean and I’ve got people around me, and I know they can see me and I’m going down and it’s like…I know you see me, will you help me…but they aren’t seeing me drowning.  I guess I look like I’m swimming.  There have been a few times when I reached out to a couple of friends, but…nothing.  Granted, my idea of reaching out isn’t me grabbing hold and shouting…Hey, YOU!!! LOOK AT ME!! I’M DESPERATE!!!

I don’t do this well.  I never have.  I want to do things on my own–every thing on my own, which is probably one of my biggest flaws.  A few days ago, I finally broke down and admitted to myself, then to my husband that I was drowning.

It’s like there’s so much going on, with our family, with my career, with everything, there’s just no room left for me.  I’m drowning in everything else and it’s got me…lost.

It’s been more than a decade since I was this low, but I’m there again.  It took me three days to finally call my doctor and make an appointment. I saw my doctor today and I know tomorrow isn’t going to be any better and neither will the day after and neither will the day after that.

But maybe in a week or two, I’ll feel like maybe there’s something left inside for me.

Why am I telling people this?

Because of things I read from women like Jenny Lawson, the Bloggess.  The reason I finally made that damn phone call is because I do know that depression is an evil son of a bitch and I do know that depression lies.

And as lonely and down as I’ve been feeling, even when I’m trapped in that ocean, going under and I’m drowning and people just see me swimming, depression does lie.

There are other people out there feeling just as lost, just as low.  I know what it’s like.  And sooner or later, it will be okay.

Some stops on the blog tour…

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8.23 www.lovetoreadforfun.com

8 25 http://ripeforreader.blogspot.com

8.27 http://nikkibrandyberry.wordpress.com

8.29 http://www.read-love-blog.com/

9/1. http://ramblingsfromthischick.blogspot.com/

The Hunters Books 1 & 2…now back in print

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UTA: Due to matters outside of my control, the print date for The Hunters 1 & 2 has been pushed back a few weeks.  I’m sorry.

Some people are just finding these books and wanted to be able to read them in print, so I’m giving it a shot.

The first two are available in print.  So far, it’s just showing up on Amazon, but it will be available through other retailers.  It can be ordered, but it won’t likely be stocked in stores so if you want it, make note of the ISBN and have them order it in.

ISBN-10: 0615827691

ISBN-13: 978-0615827698

Hunters: Declan & Tori

Book 1

Tori McAdams was a sensible woman. She didn’t believe in hocus-pocus, she didn’t believe in ghosts, and she definitely didn’t believe in vampires…not until the night she was attacked by one. Alone, starving and afraid, she doesn’t know what’s happening but at least she had somebody to turn to…

Declan Reilly was normally the last person she’d go to for help, but now he was the first on her list. He can help; she knows he can. She never could have planned on what happens next, though…the sexy detective is so much more than he appears.

Warning: This book contains violence, sex, more violent, a maniacal murderer, sex, more violence, and a menage or two thrown in for good measure.

**Please note this work has been previously published. While it’s been edited, no new material has been added.

Hunters: Eli and Sarel

Book 2

Three centuries is a long time to spend alone…but Elijah Crawford is used to it. He’s got his friends, he’s got thugs to kill, and a mild obsession with an on-and-off again lover to keep him occupied.

But then a woman appears in his dark world, one who just might bring some light to those endless nights. Just one look makes him hunger. Just one glimpse makes him burn.

There’s just one complication. She wants him dead.

Sarel Chandler knows all about vampires and she knows all about monsters–or so she thinks. The monster she knows as Elijah Crawford is responsible for the death of her sister and she’s going to see that he pays for it.

There’s just one complication…she’s completely wrong…and she’s about to pay for it in so many ways.

Warning: This book contains a pissed-off witch, a sexy Master vampire, some serious ménage action and lots of one-on-one time…of the up-close-and-personal variety. And I do mean lots…

**Please note this work has been previously published. While it’s been edited, no new material has been added.

Excerpt

ALSO!

You can buy the box set in ebook.  :)

Amazon | Kobo | ARe

Still waiting for it to show on all platforms, but it should be there sooner or later.

To the bloggess…thank you for #69

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I needed a laugh, so bad today.

And I found this post…

Fun with google analytics.

If you’re brave enough, read it.

And for some odd reason, 69 struck me as insanely funny.  Which I needed.