Friday, November 2nd, 2012
Did you read Cerise Deland’s Rope Me In? You don’t know what you’re missing. Here’s a taste of the book that won a Superstar Award at Ellora’s Cave’ recent RomantiCon.
Knights in Black Leather, Book One
In Bravado, Texas, the men are good and plenty…and lonely.
Not inclined to remain horny bachelors, the three MacRae brothers devise a plan to find one fine woman and get the good lovin’ they deserve. One gander at the new gal in town, charming Cara Ford, and the cowboys decide to do some old-fashioned courting. Then they’ll offer her a thoroughly modern deal—all three of them, just for luscious, lovely her.
Cara has returned to Bravado to rebuild her life after cutting the cord to her self-centered husband. One man was a pain. Why would she want to tie herself to three ranchers known for their wildcattin’, no matter how sexy?
Undeterred, Jed, Harry and Will rope her into their daily lives, sweet-talk her into sharing their torrid nights, and set out to convince her that three hard-lovin’ men in bed is better than one.
“Tell me, how’d you like the new bathroom?” Harry struck up a conversation as the showdown round began.
“Distracting me?” she teased. “Hang on. Let me hear your calls.” Cara drummed her fingers on the table, nigh unto tasting her win. The last to reveal her five-card hand, she waited while the men deliberated their moves.
Dinner had been the best time she’d had with men in months. Hell, years. They were funny, dear, easy with each other. And her. She caught their surreptitious glances at her cleavage too. The attention was thrilling. Her body seemed to hum with the attention. Her mind, fully engaged, had only occasionally noted the wild rain drilling down on the roof. She still wore Jed’s robe, a necessity or close to it. Beneath it she had put on her white lace bra and matching panties. So what if her breasts seemed like twice the size and hard as concrete with the sly little looks of appreciation she got from the men?
Damn good thing she had gotten a decent deal with her first two cards. Even now she waited breathless, not wanting the evening to end, but tickled that she could show them her talent at cards. Maybe they’d invite her back for a rematch and she could teach them a few things. Even funny Harry who disclaimed any slyness.
They each played cards with humor. Will gave no tells. Poker-faced was a term that fit him. Quiet, he concentrated on the cards and the board like a laser. Jed, on the other hand, tried very hard not to give away his thoughts. His efforts at diplomacy showed in a savoir faire attitude that told her he was anxious. Harry had other things on his mind. Her. She stifled a giggle. He concentrated on her robe and the boost her bra gave her breasts.
“Earth to Harry,” Jed called to him. “What’s your bet?”
Harry grumbled, then threw in five pennies.
Jed snorted. Threw in ten.
“High finance,” Will grunted and scratched his cheek as he deliberated.
“Yeah,” Jed chimed in. “What do you think of our bathroom design?”
“Well,” she began with the aspect that had captured her most about it. “It’s certainly big enough for the three of you.”
“Smart cookie,” Harry said. “Did you make use of the jets and the hand showers?”
Her cheeks flamed. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. Could they know that she had pleasured herself in there? That the room was made for decadent pleasure? Of course they would suspect. They were savvy about women. And me.And I’ve just spent the last few hours enveloped in their charming company. They designed the bathroom in sumptuous style. Why not for the three of them to enjoy with one woman or more?
She licked her lips, long and slow. “Do you have parties in there?”
“Very smart cookie,” Harry praised her and crossed his arms.
“We’re waiting for the right time,” Will confessed, blunt as ever.
“And the right person to enjoy it with,” Harry elaborated, his gaze locked on hers, the implication that the only woman he meant to invite to that room was her.
She absorbed that. One second. Two seconds. Thr—
She stood, pushing back her chair so violently it teetered on its back legs. Her robe—Jed’s robe—gaped open but her mind was in the gorgeous bathroom, the shower, the chaise, the possibilities of having a party in there. Naked. Wet. With one of them. Two of them? All of them?
Jed threw down his cards.
Harry just admired her display, his eyes burning every part of her, sending her up in flames that scorched and told her what he wanted from her.
Was she scared or tempted? Teasing them or testing them?
Yes, Harry had forced the issue. The storm wouldn’t last forever. And as he had said, he was not a patient man.
Was she a patient woman? Should she be?
She was nearly naked and the opportunity to have them all to herself to fire her up, make them all burn together brightly could never be more perfect.
But she grabbed the front of the robe, tugged it closed and fled toward the bathroom.
Thursday, November 1st, 2012
Get the pun? The real biker shirt would say “If you can read this, the bitch fell off.” The second seat on motorcycles is (in biker speak) the bitch seat. Part of me cringes at the sexiest attitude. Yet I couldn’t not write this book…maybe because it’s a little taboo. When I conceived Four Bikers & A Witch, book 3 in the Warrior’s Craft series, I seriously paused and wondered if it was wrong, right or crazy. Because I was intrigued, I knew I had to write it. Bikers fighting zombies with the help of a witch! Biker culture, real biker culture, is very male dominated and rough. (Obviously, this is not all biker groups or people who ride.) Women who are in this culture are drawn to the tough men. In erotic romance, we often deal with heroines who want something that society says is wrong. Sexual submission, bondage fantasies, or the baddest of bad boys etc… So what if you were raised in this biker culture? That’s what sparked the story.
Blurb: Valerie grew up in the Vegas biker culture, seeing the tempting and dark side. Now a nurse, she can’t escape her past. Axle and Rebel Herth were kicked out of the biker gang as teens and, along with their boyfriends, run a motorcycle shop. They’ve wanted Val for years, but she won’t date anyone in the biker world. They need her witch talents to help them fight the zombies that are plaguing Vegas. Val’s best with potions but the sex spell intrigues her. She learns the ropes of fighting zombies, and rides motorcycles like a pro as her potion brews, but can she let her sexual guard down with the guys? Rough sex and dirty talk with four men who can easily overpower her is a huge turn on! How far will she go now that she’s hooked on these bikers fighting for good? Read an Excerpt: http://www.changelingpress.com/content.php?utype=note&uid=5859 Check out the whole series: http://www.changelingpress.com/catalog.php?upt=book&ufilter=series&sid=366 What I love about this series is that I can dip into a group of people or a different city and play! Cowboys, Bikers, and coming soon: GIs! Geeks! Inkers! Is there some group of men you’d like to see fighting for good and falling for a witch? Check out everything and find me at www.cheryldragon.com
Tuesday, October 30th, 2012
A warm welcome to Maggie Jamieson and her very emotional love story, Healing Notes. And check out the cover flat below. Maggie will be awarding it to one lucky commenter.
Forgiving yourself is the first step, but helping others forgive may be just too hard.
Rachel Cullen grew up in Scotland with a fiddle in her hand from the age of four. She couldn’t imagine life as anything but a musician. When her husband brought her to America she was immediately embraced by the Celtic and Bluegrass communities. But after her divorce, Rachel’s life is a mess.
A year of trying to prove to herself that she’s woman enough for any man, and then a vicious rape while on tour with the band, leaves Rachel reeling. When she meets Noel Kershaw, an English teacher who is poetry in motion, she is definitely attracted. But he has a young child and he’s suffering from his own divorce. The last thing Rachel needs in life is more baggage.
First, Rachel must reconcile who she is, what she wants, and how to get there. Maybe then she’ll know how to be a part of the family she’s always wanted.
After she hung up, Rachel stared out at the river behind the house. She had goose bumps along her arms. She could listen to his voice for a long, long time. Why did this man intrigue her so much? Was it just because he didn’t seem interested? Yes, that must be it. He was safe. He had a kid and he wasn’t interested. That meant they wouldn’t get involved.
All conversation stopped as she entered the room and the women looked at her in anticipation. She had the urge to say nothing just to be difficult.
“Soooooo, who’s Noel?” Kat took the receiver from her. “I liked his voice. Sounded real sexy.”
Rachel took a deep breath and pasted a nonchalant smile on her face. “Remember the little girl at the last concert who wanted my autograph? Noel is her father.”
“I see.” Theresa drew out the word as an invitation for more.
“It’s not what you think. It turns out the little girl wants fiddle lessons. Since she saw us play, she’s gotten it in her mind that she wants to learn. He had no idea who to call, so he thought he’d call the main number for the band to find me. He didn’t even think I gave lessons, just that I could make a recommendation.”
“Uh huh,” Michele said, a note of disbelief in her voice.
“But he is cute, right?” Kat insisted. “And you are interested, and something could be going on, right?”
“Ah, come on, Rachel. How can you not be interested in that voice?”
“It’s just fiddle lessons for the little girl. The girl is sweet. I’m happy to work with her. As for the father, nothing is going to happen. Believe me.”
Maggie Jaimeson writes romantic women’s fiction and romantic suspense with a near future twist. She describes herself as a wife, a step-mother, a sister, a daughter, a teacher and an IT administrator. By day she is “geek girl” – helping colleges to keep up with 21st century technology and provide distance learning options for students in rural areas. By night Maggie turns her thoughts to worlds she can control – worlds where bad guys get their comeuppance, women triumph over tragedy, and love can conquer all.
HEALING NOTES is the second book in the Sweetwater Canyon Series of four books. The final two books will be available in 2013.
Saturday, October 27th, 2012
Wednesday, October 24th, 2012
When my son was younger, I didn’t worry about the stigma of my chosen profession. After all he couldn’t read what I was typing away on at the computer nor did he comprehend the cover art of my books. Now that he’s entering third grade, I do worry about public perception. I also worry about explaining my choices to him as he gets older. We all know how judgmental teenagers can be.
Granted, I could use a pseudonym and I know many erotica authors who do. I understand and respect the choice, but it’s not for me. It’s important to me that I publicly acknowledge my participation in what I view as a revolution in female sexuality. It’s my way of declaring, “There’s no shame in fantasizing or writing about those fantasies.”
That being said, I know when asked what I do and I reply, “I’m a writer,” the next logical question will be, “Oh, what do you write?” And yes, I will usually say I write romance until I know the person asking is open-minded enough to get the uncensored version.
In general, most folks in family and my community are intrigued and supportive of what I do. My mother reads my books. My brother and father don’t (thank God) but they are proud of what I do. Earlier this summer I attended a friend’s birthday party and she took great delight in introducing me affectionately as “the author who writes chick porn”. I spent the rest of the party fielding questions about my feelings about Fifty Shades of Grey, about what a “day at the office” is like and how my personal sex life compares to what I write about. Questions about my personal sexual history I usually sidestep, though my life partner loves claiming credit for much of my inspiration. And rightfully so. But again that plays into my anxiety about what my son’s perception of my work will be as he grows up.
As he has matured, his understanding of my writing has changed and the way that I manage his exposure to it changes as well. I can’t write sitting next to him on the sofa anymore because he’s nosy and all too good at sounding out words he doesn’t know. I don’t even want to imagine what the parent-teacher conference would be like if he quoted my work in class. I also have to be mindful of whether or not he can see my laptop screen when I open a new book cover file. Some are more explicit than others. But it’s a balancing act because I don’t want to give him the impression that sexuality is anything to be ashamed of. I suppose as he gets older the way in which we process the divide between what he wants to know about my work and what I feel is appropriate to share will evolve. For now, if you ask my son what Mommy writes, he’ll reply, “Mommy writes books about people kissing.” That’s his take on the book covers he’s allowed to see and I’m grateful that I don’t have to explain them any further just yet.
My latest book my son isn’t allowed to see releases this fall at Ellora’s Cave! Smuggler’s Blues, book two in the Pirates at Heart Series.
Book two in the Pirates at Heart series.
The year is 2017 and all is quiet on the eastern front. Good news for the war weary Republic of Texas…bad news for weapons smuggling pirate Captain Brett Logan.
A landlocked pirate is a dangerous creature. Logan’s been a surly handful since war’s end—not to mention a rather perfunctory lover—and his wife, Kate, has had about enough. When his first mate proposes a business venture, Logan is eager to get back to outrunning and out-gunning the enemy’s navy. There’s only one problem—his shoot first and ask questions later attitude lands him in jail. It’s up to Kate to bail him out.
On their way home, the couple gets stranded in enemy territory, but it’s just the shot in the arm Logan needs. Now in his element of excitement and danger, he becomes the roguish daredevil Kate fell in love with. Their passion for each other is hotter than ever—spurred on by the thrill of the chase—Logan finally finds himself rid of those pesky smuggler’s blues.
“You plan to do what?” Kate’s eyes flashed in the firelight.
“I don’t plan to do anything yet. It’s Jacques’ idea. He just needs my vessel.”
“And you expect me to believe you won’t be on that vessel?”
Logan held up his hands. “I never said that.”
“Then Jacques’ idea has become your plan so I repeat, you plan to do what?”
“It’s not as risky as it sounds.”
“Smuggling bootleg whiskey into the RSA isn’t as risky as it sounds? Oh good then because I thought you intended to do something crazy. And stupid.”
“It’s not crazy. No crazier than running guns to the American rebels but you never seemed to mind me doing that.”
“I minded. Of course I minded. I was sick with worry every time you left, but at least I was worried for a good cause. You were trying to resurrect the United States of America, but now that fight is over and we lost. There’s the Republic of Texas, the Reformed States of America and never the twain shall meet. So tell me, why would you voluntarily put yourself in that kind of danger again?”
“Am I? Seems to me you’re being reckless.”
Reckless. The word echoed in his ear. He shook his head to clear it, but he knew she was right. He longed to be reckless. And foolhardy. And daring. And violent. He missed the bloody mess that was once his life.
Kate didn’t understand—she couldn’t and he lacked the words to explain himself—but this unending domesticity was killing him a day at a time. He needed this business venture. He’d die without it, of this much he was sure.
She sat on the sofa, the fire in the fireplace licking at her olive complexion, dancing in her eyes. He hated that she would be worried. He hated that the boys would miss him, but when she’d met him, Logan had been an outlaw—she herself had labeled him a pirate. She had to understand that much, didn’t she?
Brushing a lock of black hair away from her face, he pressed his forehead to hers. He took her hands in his and kissed her cheek softly. “Kate, I don’t mean to sound harsh, but you need to reconcile yourself to the idea because…because I’m going to do this.”
Her jaw set and she jerked her hands away from him. She stormed upstairs, Logan numbly watching her retreat. He’d go up in a few minutes and smooth things over. But before he got the chance, she marched down, a pillow and blanket in tow.
“And you need to reconcile yourself to sleeping on the couch until you come to your senses.” She threw the bedding at him and stomped upstairs again.
Setting the pillow and blanket aside, Logan sighed, the air puffing out his cheeks before it escaped his pursed lips. He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. Apparently she didn’t have to understand anything.