Monday, May 30, 2011

Heroes and Heroism

“There are no extraordinary men... just extraordinary circumstances that ordinary men are forced to deal with,” Admiral William Halsey quoted at Brainy Quote.  Because I’m an author, I want this blog to be relevant to storytelling, because I’m a reader, I want this blog to be important to readers, because I’m a veteran, I want this blog to honor those we remember this Memorial Day weekend.  Heroes and Heroism are the perfect topic, and Admiral Halsey’s quote could not be more apropos.  So aside from being ‘ordinary’ what makes a person a hero or an act heroic?  Encarta gives the following definitions. 

he·ro (plural he·roes) noun

1. remarkably brave person: somebody who commits an act of remarkable bravery or who has shown an admirable quality such as great courage or strength of character a war hero

2. somebody admired: somebody who is admired for outstanding qualities or achievements heroes of the war against poverty

3. main character in fictional plot: the principal male character in a movie, novel, or play, especially one who plays a vital role in plot development or around whom the plot is structured
See also antihero

4. man with superhuman powers: in classical mythology, a man, especially the son of a god and a mortal, who is famous for possessing some extraordinary gift such as superhuman strength the Greek heroes

5. long sandwich: a sandwich made from a long roll or loaf of bread with a filling of meat and cheese with lettuce and tomato

In the latter case, perhaps the real hero is the person who eats the enormous sandwich.  None of the commonly accepted definitions of hero include anything about Halsey’s ordinary men dealing with extraordinary circumstances.  In my June release, The Widow’sRevenge, the hero, Alec Carter, a fairly ordinary guy in terms of character, is lured into spending an extraordinary week with a woman bent on revenge.  Alec performs some fairly spectacular acts as a result of the extraordinary circumstances he finds himself in.  It doesn’t take much thought to know (say 9/11 to any American and he or she knows, say Tsunami to the Japanese and they know) exactly what Halsey means.  In every nation, every soldier, sailor, airman, marine, firefighter, public safety officer, teacher, preacher, cancer survivor—the list is close to endless—is an ordinary man or woman and they each encounter extraordinary circumstances, sometimes on a daily basis.  On Memorial Day in the US we pause to remember and give thanks for the heroes who have fallen.  As authors, we labor mightily to put the sense of heroism into words.  We draw word pictures for our readers of characters who overcome conflicts big and small but always in the context of the story extraordinary.  As readers we search for the common, everyday ordinariness of those characters in extraordinary circumstances, giving ourselves hope that in our own lives, we too carry the seeds of heroism.  Readers recognize what author Jean Houston puts into words that “we all have the extraordinary coded within us, waiting to be released.”  Leave a comment telling me about your favorite hero (real or fictional).  Everyone who comments will be added to my mailing list and entered in a drawing for swag.  Notice will be sent to the recipient on or before June 15, 2011.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

EPIC's Looking for Judges!


EPICTM is looking for judges for their annual eBook awards. Are you an industry professional? If so, we want YOU! Each judge reads, and prepares scores for, no more than 5 eBooks. If interested, please fill out the form found HERE, today.

Well?  What are you waiting for?

Celia Kyle, EPIC PR Chairperson
Are you an EPIC judge?

Friday, May 27, 2011

The Postman Always Comes Twice! New and Just $0.99!

I'm so excited! I've got a new book out and it's just $0.99 on Amazon Kindle, B&N Nook, and at ARE! It's called THE POSTMAN ALWAYS COMES TWICE and it's fun, sexy and smokin' hot!

I actually came up with idea while my hubby and I were out walking our dog. We were talking about my book GOOD COP, BAD GIRL and how popular books about cops are when the UPS man drove by. I said I wondered if women get hot for all men in uniform, like a UPS driver. My hubby said, or even a postman. I laughed and said, sure, the postman always comes twice. We looked at each other and both said, that'd be a great name for a book! So there you have it!

This postman is carrying one hell of a package!

Charisma Harlow has been lusting after her hunky postman Travis Walker ever since he started delivering her mail a few months ago. In fact, she’s so hot for him, she finds herself ordering things online so he’ll show up more often. When her subtle flirting doesn’t do the trick, she decides to finally get serious and seduce him outright. She orders the heaviest thing she can find so he’ll have to bring it inside her apartment, then greets him at the door in nothing but a short, sexy robe when he shows up.

Travis gets the message and spends his lunch hour proving he really knows how to deliver—in the bedroom.


There, standing on her doorstep, was six-foot-four inches of gorgeous stud. She would never have imagined the button-up shirt and blue trousers that made up the postal service uniform could be so damn sexy on anyone, but on Travis, it looked
hot as hell. She supposed it could have something to do with those impossibly broad shoulders and muscular biceps. Damn, he was built.

She could tell from the way he took in her robe he was surprised she wasn’t wearing her usual tank top and pajama bottoms. His golden eyes caressed the curve of her breasts for a moment before lingering on her long legs, and Charisma felt heat pool between her thighs at the flicker of lust she saw there. To her dismay, he immediately hid it behind a façade of professionalism.

“It looks as if I have another delivery for you,” he said, holding out the electronic clipboard. “What did you buy this time?”

“A spinning bike.” She glanced at him form under her lashes as she signed her name in the signature block. “It looks really heavy. Do you think you could bring it inside for me?”

He flashed her his usual heart-stopping grin. “No problem.”

As he bent to pick up the big box, Charisma stepped back so her could come into the

“Where do you want it?” he asked.

Anywhere you want to give it to me. She blushed at the naughty thought as she closed the door. “If you could put it in my home office, that would be great. It’s down the hall on the right.”

Even though the box was obviously heavy, Travis had no problem carrying it, Charisma
noticed. She had no problem admiring his great ass as she followed him down the hall, either. She caught her lip between her teeth to stifle a moan.

“Is this okay?” he asked as he set the box down in one of the few open spaces left in the room.

Between her desk, the built-in bookcase, file cabinets and the boxes of stuff she’d bought over the past couple weeks, floor space was definitely at a premium. She’d been so busy with work and ordering things online she hadn’t had a chance to open most of the boxes yet.

“That’s fine,” she said. “Thanks.”

He looked around the room, his mouth quirking. “You certainly buy a lot of stuff.”

She felt her face color at the amusement in his deep voice, and she reached up to tuck her long, dark hair behind her ear in an effort to hide her embarrassment. “Yeah, I guess I do. Fortunately for my bank account, I end up sending most of it back.”

His gaze scanned the boxes again before coming to rest on the rectangular box on the
edge of her desk. He studied the contents for a moment before reaching inside to pull out the hot pink vibrator she’d gotten a week ago.

Her lips curved into a smile. Score, she thought. She’d purposely left it there in the hopes he would see it. So much for rusty flirting skills.

He gave her a sidelong glance and her pulse fluttered when she saw that the lust she’d noticed earlier was back in his mesmerizing golden brown eyes.

“You aren’t planning on sending this back, are you?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t had a chance to try it yet.” She gazed up at him from under her lashes, giving him her best flirtatious look. “Too bad you have mail to deliver. You could have stayed and helped me take it for a test drive.”

Charisma had never been so bold with a guy before, but since her subtle attempts at
flirtation hadn’t worked, she didn’t want there to be any confusion she was coming on to him. Even so, the words made her blush a little. They hadn’t even gone on a date and she was already inviting him into her bed.

Travis’s mouth curved into a sexy grin. “I was actually going to take lunch after I
delivered your package anyway, so I’m off the clock for the next hour. I could hang
around if you think I might be able to help.”

Her heart did a backflip. She had to admit, she hadn’t expected her plan to actually work.



“Are you sure it’s okay? To spend your lunch hour with a woman on your mail route, I

He took a step closer, his grin broadening. “It’s perfectly okay. Satisfaction is our number one priority at the Postal Service, you know.”

Buy it on Amazon Kindle!

Buy it on B&N Nook!

Buy it at All Romance eBooks in pdf, html, mobi or ePub (Sony eRreader)!


"Stories so hot, they'll make your cheeks blush!"

Monday, May 23, 2011


Let’s face it, in a romance – especially an erotic romance – there are only so many positions and backgrounds in which your couple can well, couple, without risking life or limb. They can be alone. In a group. Outside. Inside. In bed. On the kitchen/dining room/conference table. In the car – definitely not a favorite of mine – how in the world do you maneuver in a narrow seat? In the shower. In the tub – another scenario that conjures up bruised knees and elbows. Ow.

So how does a writer bring variety to a finite set of circumstances?

I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me, it’s the sexual tension leading up to The Moment that allows the greatest variety and ultimately the greatest reward when my couples finally do the deed. Where they do it and how they do it is the cherry on top of a sundae.

For example, in my recent Ellora’s Cave release Take Me Away, Kyle’s been avoiding Lexi because she represents everything he’s escaped when he was in pro football. However, she’s also all that he desires—a woman with wit, strength and the capacity to love greatly.

After keeping his distance for several days, he’s in a position where he can’t dodge her any longer…nor does he want to, which is the lead up to an incredible night of romance.

Here’s the blurb and an excerpt to show you what I mean.


She’s everything he escaped…and all that he desires

Three years ago, Kyle turned his back on a pro-football career and being the target of tabloids or gold-digging groupies. Craving privacy, he gets it at his roadhouse in Northern California until Lexi Sands invades his life. Indulged and surely phony, she’s exactly what Kyle fled.

An actress since childhood, Lexi’s fresh out of an anger management program, court-ordered when she lashed out at a badgering paparazzo. Weary of the press’s harsh scrutiny, she sees Kyle’s secluded cabin as the ideal place to hide out and him as a damn-near perfect alpha male. Deliciously virile. Protective. Principled. She offers him serious cash to let her stay for two weeks, assuring there will be no complications or touching.

Yeah, right. Passion flares, along with tenderness. Kyle recognizes how lonely Lexi really is, while she’s falling hard. Through intimate days and impassioned nights, they explore their most shameless needs, until a cruel betrayal exposes their growing love, forcing a choice neither anticipated.


Just short of his cabin’s front door, Kyle halted. None of the inside lights were on. Why?
Had Lexi been lying to him when they’d spoken? Was she keeping things dark in there because she had seen someone snooping around outside? Not a paparazzo, that just wasn’t possible. However, an intoxicated patron looking to get some fresh air might have accidentally come here. Had Lexi been afraid to make too big a deal of it, knowing it might convince Kyle that she should leave?
Using the available moonlight, he squinted at the ground near the windows to see if there were any shoeprints in the dirt. A quick inspection told him there weren’t, only a ripe odor that said Buddy Baby had used the location recently to relieve himself. Holding his breath, Kyle backed away and unlocked the door.
Before he could call out to Lexi that he was home—like they were married or really living together—his pooch scampered down the darkened hall to greet him.
Something square and white hung from a string around the dog’s neck.
“Hey.” Kyle hunkered down. As the pup lavished him with lick after lick, Kyle removed the folded paper. With his eyes adjusted to the available light, he read Lexi’s script.
Welcome to Sands’ Diner, sir. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your table.
A laugh bubbled up in Kyle’s chest, threatening to break loose. Along with it, overwhelming tenderness misted his eyes. He pushed back both emotions, settling on a grin that felt just this side of goofy. “Where’s Lexi?” he murmured to the pup.
Rolling on its back, the pooch looked at him lovingly, wanting its belly rubbed.
Later. Right now, Kyle needed to see Lexi, his craving so strong it startled him. He closed and locked the cabin’s front door, then went down the hall toward the kitchen, pausing when he saw the faint light spilling from the doorway.
The way it bobbed said she’d lit several candles. Managing a breath, Kyle smelled their cinnamon fragrance. So where had she gotten the damn things? Had she asked Pete to buy them for her? Had Fiona done the deed?
Who the fuck cared? They enticed him closer. Buddy Baby followed, running into Kyle’s leg as he stopped at the kitchen’s doorway, taking in the scene.
Candles in a variety of sizes—fat, short, tall, slender—sat on the counter and the table, their flames flickering merrily, perfuming the room, along with what she’d cooked. Bowls of the cheesy potatoes and asparagus were next to a platter of sizzling chops.
Even from where Kyle stood, he could hear the inviting sound. He stared at the banquet and how she’d used one of his white bed sheets as a makeshift tablecloth.
“Welcome to Sands Diner,” she murmured.
Kyle’s swallow stalled, caught in his tightened throat. His gaze jumped from the food to her. Holding a long cooking spoon that she’d no doubt gotten from Pete, Lexi gestured for Kyle to take his chair.
He did not. His gaze swept over her hair, worn in a ponytail, her freshly scrubbed face, oversized tee, baggy shorts and cowgirl boots.  
For a little kink, she’d said days ago.
Kyle’s cock reacted now, stiffening with interest, as though she was wearing skimpy lingerie or skin rather than an outfit he could only describe as sloppy. The kind a woman would choose to clean house or to discourage a guy from any carnal intentions.
Unfazed and still growing hard, his cock pressed against his jeans’ fly. She looked adorable. Hell, she looked better than the food.
“Go on,” she coaxed, stroking the top of his chair with her slender fingers. “Sit. Once you do, I’ll take care of him.”
Buddy Baby, the him in question, continued to yelp, running in circles around Kyle’s feet.
He finally got them moving, making it to the edge of his table.
“Come on, you,” she said to the pup, scooping him in her arms, using the spoon to keep him there. “I’ll just put him in the spare bedroom,” she said, “then I’ll be back to serve you.”
Her cowgirl boots made sharp taps against the hallway floor, the sound matching the tempo and force of Kyle’s hammering heart.
I’ll be back to serve you.
Jesus. Images of her as a geisha flooded Kyle’s mind. On the first night he avoided her, he’d found the film she’d mentioned and looked at the movie stills on a website. In one, she’d been clad in a scanty, clingy gown, her eyes lowered, her manner meek as she poured water over a man’s naked shoulders.
In another, she knelt at the man’s feet, her fingers splayed provocatively on his thighs.
Kyle planted his hands on the top of his chair, fingers digging in, holding tight until a wave of dizziness passed.
“Now, you be good,” she called out to the dog, and then her footfalls started back down the hall.
Buddy Baby whined loudly from his temporary prison.
Kyle pulled out his chair, but didn’t sit, his gaze returning to the table, noticing something he hadn’t before.
“I offered him my backpack to chew on,” Lexi said as she entered the room. “Once he gets interested in it, he should be fine.”
“What’s this?” Kyle asked, his voice sharper than he’d intended.
Her smile froze. She glanced to where he pointed. “Your place setting. Why?” Joining him, she leaned over and frowned at his plate and utensils. “Did Buddy Baby drool on your stuff? I had my back turned for a minute when I was checking the chops and he got up on the chair somehow. Maybe he jumped and—”
Kyle laughter interrupted her. Oh god, she was driving him nuts and he was so enjoying it. “That’s not what I meant. Where’s your place setting?”
“Oh.” She straightened and lifted her shoulders. “I’m not eating.”
“Why not?” His head swung to the feast. “There’s enough here for a party of ten.”
“I didn’t know how hungry you’d be. You’re a big guy. I just figured you eat a lot, especially since you haven’t for a few days.”
He slanted her a look.
Her face was all innocence, her expression expectant, as though she hadn’t just bitched at him for making himself scarce.
Kyle turned and advanced, his body crowding her.
Lexi took a step back, more reflexive than anything. He saw that in her eyes.
“You’re not hungry?” he asked.
Eyes on his, she ran her fingers down her hip to her thigh, the edge of her unshapely shorts. Kyle and she were so close, Lexi’s knuckles brushed his leg, leaving a ribbon of warmth in their wake.
He pulled in some much-needed air.
Her gaze settled on his mouth. “I tasted everything while I was cooking. I ate then.”
Uh-huh. “That bad, huh? Afraid to have a real bite, are you? So you’re using me as your guinea pig.”
Her guileless act evaporated, replaced with a snotty frown. “I know you’ve probably killed your taste buds long ago with your crappy junk food diet, but my stuff is good. It’s the freaking best.”
“Prove it.” Taking her hand, he went to his chair and sat, pulling her on his lap.

What comes next is definitely yummy, and I'm not talking about the food.  J


Friday, May 20, 2011

Lots of Sex!

On more than one occasion I’ve read that no one wants to see people immediately fall into bed in erotic romance. That it’s not real. Well, I beg to differ—somewhat. I’ve also read time and time again that a lot of books have sex in them just for the sake of inputting sex. The inference being, of course, that sex sells and that’s why the author wrote the story with what appears to be unnecessary sex.

And a lot of that is true.

However, erotic romance is supposed to have lots of sex between the pages. That’s why it’s erotic romance. It’s all about how sex affects us emotionally and brings us closer to LOVE. Careful study of the writing craft in general and the erotic romance genre specifically is what gives those writers who are successful—those writers who pack their books with sex and make it look oh so natural—the edge.

It’s all in the execution.

If you read a book that gives you the feeling that the sex was just dropped in with no real justification then you’ve read some bad erotic romance. Doesn’t mean the author isn’t talented. Just means the author failed to do the job correctly. That the editor failed to do their job as well.

There are scenarios that can put two people in bed quicker than you can blink your eyes. And it’s up to the author to make the scene believable. And up to the editor to tweak that scene to the point of absolute perfection. Savvy writers can give you sex, emotion, and a great storyline and make it all come together seamlessly.

Happy reading and writing!

Coming Soon! Strip Down from Ellora’s Cave

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Getting a little help from my friends!

I sometimes get asked where I get ideas for my stories. If I answer truthfully I have to say my friends.

Here’s what I mean. One friend who I won’t name to protect her identity (Michelle) decided the other day she really wanted a cheesecake.

Being the sort of woman who loves to cook (and I always have friends who are cooks so I get great food without doing it myself), she decided to make one. Her oven was a little dirty, but she didn’t want to take the time to clean it. Cheesecake, apparently, has to be cooked at a high temperature, which can be a challenge with a dirty oven.

So, she put a towel over the smoke detector in her house. Of course that didn’t work and soon her kitchen was filled with smoke. Her smoke detector, one of the ones that are linked to the fire department, went off and shortly a fire truck was on her doorstep.

They were nice and put out the fire, yes there was one, and managed to save most of the cheesecake in the process. It was still yummy, by the way, Amoretto flavored with only a touch of smoky taste on some of the crust. (No we didn’t throw it out. It’s cheesecake, for God’s sake. Why throw out the baby with the bathwater?)

I would like to tell you that story was the basis for my short erotic romance, Five Alarm Love (shameless promotion here. Five Alarm Love is available as a download here or in my latest paperback release, Trixie’s Treats, IV.)

Sadly, I wrote Five Alarm Love before Michelle’s incident but it makes for a great story. It also is a good example of how my friends live much more exciting lives than I do. I promise to change the names to protect the innocent. Most of the time, that is.

Oh by the way, Michelle reports the firemen who came to her house were all incredibly polite and good-looking. We’re thinking about making another cheesecake (without the burned crust) and delivering it to the station as a thank-you. I just have to convince Michelle that she should take me with her instead of her husband. She really has no idea what I can do with good-looking firemen, burned cheesecake or whatever…Fictionally only, of course!

Trixie Stilletto

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

When You Make The Books....

In the small town where I live I have a favorite family restaurant, The Green Forest.   It's a small, traditional family owned place where you can still get a hot beef sandwich or a homemade hamburger or soup that didn't come out of a can or box.   Green Forest is the kind of place where they know your name and you feel more like a dinner guest than just a customer.

My family - husband and three kids strung from fifteen down to ten - go there often.  If I'm too busy to make a meal, something that happens more and more often between rounds of edits, writing, and the seemingly endless cycle of promotion, the Green Forest is where we'll head to eat nine out of ten times.

Long before I made the leap from local writer to author, I penned - and still do - a weekly column in the local newspaper.  Before that, I had a column in the larger paper in the bigger town to our north and even earlier I had a column in the countywide newspaper.   All that really means is that a lot of people know my face because every column I've ever done always features a mug shot.   Add to that the fact that I call myelf a shameless promotion whore and pass out business cards, book cover shots, and even refrigerator magnets everywhere I go, people know who I am.

Although I write a bit of everything from that column to the occasional essay in Chicken Soup For The Soul or other publications, my main focus these days is romance.   Of my nine out and upcoming novels (ones sold with a contract to one of four publishers), all are romance but they range from erotic paranormal romance to sweet, clean historical and contemporary with everything in between.

One Saturday afternoon, after a local author fair, my husband took me and our youngest, my son, for a late lunch at Green Forest.  As I dived into one of my favorites, the Grecian platter with three courses - homemade soup, a fantastic salad laden with feta cheese, black olives, and more, plus a gyros platter, our server asked me if I was the lady who "makes the books".

Because we live in an area with a growing Hispanic population, Norma, our server, has English as her second tongue.   I told her that yes, I was, and as I shared a little about what I do for a living, we became friends.   I sent my husband out to the car to bring her one of the anthologies with my work and told her where she might find the other books.   My husband cautioned that some of what I write can be sexy and she smiled.   Her daughter who reads wouldn't at all, she said, with a big grin.

I liked that phrase "makes the books" and so I saved it to memory.  I can say I write, I can tell people that I am an author but when you get down to basics, I do make the books.

Since it is a small town in a conservative area, I get a few stares and the occcasional commentary from locals who have read or at least heard of my books.  When I recently spent a day substitute teaching, something I once did on a regular basis but is now rare, the elementary school's librarian introduced me to the kids as "an author".   On the same day, at a petting zoo brought over from the high school by some ag students, I overhead a high school student whisper that "she writes dirty books".   I just smiled although I thought her remark was more than a little cheeky but I allowed for local perception.   She isn't alone.

I don't find my books "dirty" but then I don't think sex is either.  I think I write sensual love scenes between consenting adults that maintain the essence of love, that portray sex performed between those who love one another.

Now that I'm known as the lady who makes the books,  I try to keep that in mind and not rush off to the supermarket in my well-worn, faded favorite "I Dream Of Jeannie" t-shirt and the jeans with the holes worn into the fabric. Whether I'm going to a department store or the local budget grocery,  I take a moment to make sure I look presentable and if I get stares, so be it.   At least I know I  look nice!

Most folks I've found are fans and they like to see someone who makes books be just as down-home as they are themselves.  A long-time friend told me not long ago that I have remained humble and she hopes I'll stay that way.

I plan to do that - just as I hope to continue being the lady that makes the books for the rest of my life!

My current releases can be found on my Amazon Central author page here:

You'll also find my work at Evernight Publishing, Rebel Ink Press, Champagne Books, and Astraea Press as my releases go live as well as anywhere where romance works are found!

Monday, May 16, 2011

I Flove You, Babe

Should I assume everyone knows what the word ‘flove’ means? It’s always been one of my favourite words—so full of pure, raw emotion. A word used when ‘love’ just isn’t enough.
So how do you know when the characters in a book flove each other? Well, it’s not when they’re sitting in a field of wildflowers, gazing tenderly into each other’s eyes. Those big long monologues consisting of 101-reasons-why-you’re-the-one-for-me don’t cut it either. What about when the man kneels and pulls out a ring?


Flove, in my opinion, is that moment where you’re not sure whether you want to kiss someone or kill them. The moment when you realize you just might hate this person, but you’d be willing to sacrifice your heart and soul for them. It’s an extreme that’s almost more than you can bear. Flove leaves you feeling such violent emotions you feel like you’ve been beaten to a pulp on the inside.

True love is rare, but flove is almost nonexistent in real life. Which is a good thing, as far as I’m concerned. Letting anyone in that deep scares the hell out of me, but it’s fun to fantasize about. Kinda like being an assassin or having super powers. The repercussions in reality would make both much less appealing than they seem in fiction. Because while true love isn’t always rational, flove can be insane.

To name two movies where I would consider the romance flove, I would have to pick Pride and Prejudice (works for the book too ;-) ) and Ten Things I Hate About You. There’s nothing quite so thrilling to watch as two people falling in love and then telling each other to go to hell.

From my own books, I would have to say, while Rosemary loves all her men, what her and Kurt share is flove. Here’s a pretty good example that won’t spoil too much of the story:

Unless someone dies,” Rosemary said, taking her hand from Alaire and ducking away from Shiloh. “I’ll be happier knowing your lives will go on after me, that you’ll have more than I can give you.”

“What if we don’t want more?” They all backed away from the door when Kurt stepped inside. His eyes flashed and he grabbed Shiloh by the collar, pulling him close. “You ever use magic against me again—”

“I told him to!” Rosemary pushed between them and faced Kurt. “If you want to blame anyone, blame me!”

“You need to understand something, Rosemary,” Kurt said, teeth gnashing together between each sharp word. “I can deal with you being scared. I can even deal with you trying to find a way to save us all from your oh so evil little self.” He took hold of her shoulders and bent low. “But you have no right to make decisions for us. I won’t be played like a goddamn puppet.”

“I’m sorry.” Rosemary stared at him, her mouth dry, the rage she saw making her afraid of him for the first time in her life. “That’s not what I was trying to do.”

Suddenly she was in Kurt’s arms, held tight, a sense of security seeping into her pores as though he’d willed it, which he probably had. “Me and Largo chose each and every one of your men with care. Each one is stronger than your brother was. You do not have to keep fighting to keep us safe.”

“Shiloh and Chetan…”

“Almost died because of me. Not you.” Kurt gestured at Shiloh. “Look at how much stronger he is now. We are a complete unit.”

“What if one of them wants a life? Wants children?” Rosemary wished she could do as he said, stop carrying the burden alone, stop letting guilt rule her life. But deep within was a warning that they were all overlooking an important fact.

“If that happens, we’ll deal with it. Together.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and led her out of the door. “You guys might want to clear out. Largo will shake the spell soon if he hasn’t already and he’ll be just as pissed as I am.”

They didn’t have to be told twice. Within seconds she was alone with Kurt, almost wishing she could have abandoned her pride and asked one of the boys to stay.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.” Kurt led the way, walking more like an armed escort than a lover and a friend. Rosemary knew her plan had more than pissed him off. It had hurt him by undermining all he’d done for her.

She caught his wrist before he got in his car and waited for him to look at her. She had to settle on him glaring at the top of her head. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The muscle along Kurt’s jaw went hard. “I didn’t realise your brother’s death would mess you up and I should have. I’m a little disappointed that we’re back at square one, but I’ll deal.”

Rosemary grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “We’re not. Your plan worked perfectly. One date with each of the boys and we’re already closer. I can’t imagine letting go of a single one of them, but I know I’ll have to.”

“We’ll make this work. I need you to trust me.” He reached out and took a firm hold of her hair, using it to hold her still while he bent down to give her a kiss so gentle it didn’t seem to fit his fierce demeanour. “Let me take some of the burden.”

“Why?” Rosemary clenched her fingers in his shirt, beating down a rash urge to strike out at him.

As flove does, things get more intense. But Rosemary and Kurt are sweet, star-crossed lovers compared to Lydia and Joe from Deadly Captive:

"Do you know I've drained this bottle three times?" I lifted the bottle of tequila, the liquor that hit me the hardest and thus the one I was most determined to master. "Every time I put it away and go to sleep—"

Joe sighed, looking over from where he'd been sitting in the corner in a lotus position, trying to drop into a soothing trance. "You mean pass out."

I frowned at him and took a nice deep gulp of tequila. "Sleep," I said stubbornly. "I get up, and it's full again. Like magic."

Giving up on his meditation, Joe stood and walked over. He snatched the bottle and helped himself to a mouthful before he spoke. "It's not magic. They come in and replace it. There's no great mystery involved."

I giggled and slapped my hand over my mouth. Fighting back more giggles, I tried to look serious as I met his so-not-amused gaze. "So, they come in here and don't try to eat us?" I blushed, the words making me think of what Joe had done to me just the other night. "Not that I don't like it. I do . . . well, when you . . . ."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Were you getting to a point?"

With another attempt at seriousness, I nodded. "Yes. I was just wondering. Why
don't they bite us?" I grinned and stood, wobbling as I grabbed the bottle from him and toasted my sheer brilliance. "It's all the alcohol! They must not like it."

Letting out an irritated groan, Joe took the bottle and slammed it down on the table. He swooped me up into his arms, carried me over to the bed, and dropped me on it. "They like it just fine. If they didn't like it, the alcohol wouldn't be here. They probably approve of your attempts at mastering drunkenness."

I looked at the bottle morosely, decided it was too far away, and lay back. "Them happy. We live. Works for me."

Joe grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "Well, it doesn't work for me. What if we have an opportunity to escape? You understand the need to stay in good shape, at least when you get past your hangovers. What do you not understand about the fact that dragging you along with me, piss-drunk, when the chance comes, will get us both killed?"

I wrenched out of his grasp, suddenly stone sober. Damn him for killing my buzz. "It's not going to happen, Joe. They're gonna use us up until they get bored. And then they'll kill us."

Bracing his fist against the bed, Joe dropped his head. "Are you giving up?"

I shrugged. Abruptly depressed, I began to push off the bed. "Why not? Feeling sorry for myself will be fun. Maybe if I give up, they'll get it over with."

Joe latched onto my wrist, swung me around, and jerked me back against his chest. Placing one hand on my chin and the other on my forehead, he tensed his muscles. "Tell me now, Lydia."

I tried to struggle, tried to use my usually infallible technique. Joe's solid grip held me still, and, though my head had cleared, my body was suffering from the effects of the alcohol. "Let me go."

Pressing his face against my hair, I could feel Joe shake his head. "No. I'm not going to watch them tear you apart. If you don't want to live, then at least give me the mercy of seeing it done quickly. Please don't make me watch that, Lydia. I can't—" His voice broke off in what sounded like a sob. But it couldn't be. Not from Joe. Joe was strong; he was emotional steel. He was what I wanted to be when I was lying in bed, weeping over the past I didn't have. He always held me, told me it was okay, that I had every right to cry. I thought I was pathetic. I didn't want to be a weak, broken thing soaked in tears. But Joe was my rock. I was sure he'd never break.

I'd just found a crack.

"Joe, let me go." I made the words as soft and gentle as I could.

Joe eased his grip, but didn't release me. "Not unless you promise. Promise me you'll hold on. Just a little longer, Lydia. I swore I'd find a way."

Relaxing back against him, I nodded. "I promise."

Joe dropped his hands. I examined his face, shocked. There were no tears, but his eyes were wet. I collapsed against his chest, relieved when he enfolded me in his arms.

He whispered into my hair. "Don't ever do that again."

Now that’s real flove. ;)

For more of me, click here:

Friday, May 13, 2011

Bring the SEXy back to Christmas a.c. Mason

Right about now you might be thinking I’m confused. Why would anyone be blogging about how SEXy Christmas is in May. Especially a Friday the 13th in May.

Well, Surrendering to the Right Man takes place at Christmas. It’s high drama at the holidays but also ultra SEXy. I’ve always felt Christmas was sexy but I wasn’t the only one.

Do you remember some settlers by the name of the Puritans? Oh you’ve heard of these fellows. Well they band and made Christmas illegal. Yes. You’ve read correctly.

I’m not going to get into the reasons why they band Christmas but if you’re interested you can always google: New England Puritans Christmas 1620.

You should find more than enough information to satisfy any curiosity on subject.

I guess I should leave you with another tease.


He pulled away. “The things I’m going to show you.” Once more, his mouth covered hers.

Using her lips, she forced his apart. She dug her teeth into his tender flesh.
“Shit. You bit me.” He pressed his finger to his mouth and checked for blood.
“Uh-huh. And?” She grinned. “Don’t make a fuss. I didn’t draw blood.”

“I see! So, that’s how you want things.” He made short work of removing his clothes. In seconds, he stood naked in front of her, his cock semi-erect.

Sizable. “Do you, now?” She’d see about that.

He lunged forward, clutched her wrists, and pulled her to him. “Yeah, I do.”
Please, God, let his words be true. “How’s that, huh?”

As he licked her neck then released one of her wrists, his silky tongue slid over her skin, sending moisture gushing between her legs. The heat of his mouth roared a fire inside. He took hold of her breast and squeezed.

She moaned.

He picked her up, carried her over to her bed, and laid her out. This was real. As he kneeled on the edge, he grabbed her inner thighs and parted her legs.

So there you have it Xmas can be XxX rated.

If you want to learn more about me, go here to find Surrendering to the Right Man go here. One more thing I thought would be ultra sexy would be to donate my royalties in May to Read for a Cure.


a.c. Mason

Darkness ♀♂ Desires

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Getting Feisty and Furry - The Furry Feminine

Women are sexy. Hands down. From the thin to the curvaceous and every incarnation in between, they get men's hearts pumping and other *ahem* areas pumping.

True, a lot of furry romance heroes fall at the feet of their women...eventually.  Partially, sometimes.  But falling in love, and lots of sex, is to be had all around.

Usually after said shapeshifting/paranormal hero has, once again, rescued our damsel in distress from some catastrophe or another.

But, hey, why can't the heroine, fur and all, rescue the hero sometimes?  She's got the same abilities, same fierce protective urges and same ferocious snarl.

Why is it that our heroines, fur and feistyness in tact, don't ever get to come through, riding the proverbial white horse and beat the baddies.

Equality in femme fur!  Down with the growly men and let the women triumph over evil.

I mean, we had She-ra, Princess of Power, right?  And Jem? (Remember her?)  Heck, even Smurfette got her groove on among a sea of men.  Yes, women can be sexy, loving and down right scary.

Come on fictional gals, let the fur fly!

So, who's got a fierce heroine?  No?  Well, get to writing one!  Readers want some grrr with their moans!

Celia Kyle

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Revelation and Reveal

Recently an erotic romance author who was a teacher was outed by a news station with a parent taking her to task for her second job. Thankfully, the romance writing community, friends, former students all rallied around her, saying she was a wonderful teacher who didn't deserve to be lambasted for her second career.

I was glad to see that. When the story first broke, I really worried how it would turn out. Some stories like that haven't had happy endings.

I admit as a Girl Scout assistant leader and a parent who volunteers a lot, I've worried about people's reactions to the writing I do, with menages and the open bedroom door at the top of my list.

I'm very proud of what I've accomplished as a writer. I've had numerous books published, won awards, had good reviews. Not to mention, I love what I write.

But it's a very fine line between crowing about accomplishments, yet also making sure you aren't too outed.

I'm lucky in that I don't think any of the parents I know would have a problem with what I write. I'm very very clear that I write books for adults. I tell my own kids about my accomplishments but make sure I tell them they have to be 18 before they read my stories (yes, I figure they will be younger but I say 18 so they hopefully will wait until they are close to that). I'm clear to any kids that I talk about writing with that I write for adults.

It annoys me that I do have to worry about being taken to task for what I do. If I were writing thrillers, horror, serial killer books, people probably would not have the same issues with it. But because I write erotic romance, that somehow makes my writing more relevant to my "real" life to some people.

I do love what I do. Crafting worlds and stories about people who live with me long after I finish telling their tale. It doesn't get any better.

Mechele Armstrong