Debbie Vaughan - Get Bit

2012-02-09T18:03:00.001-06:00

WHISTLE PASS by KevaD

Buy Link: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store
/product_info.php?products_id=2792

On the battlefields of WWII Europe, Charlie Harris fell in love, and after the war, Roger marched home without a glance back. Ten years later, Charlie receives a cryptic summons and quickly departs for his former lover’s hometown of Whistle Pass.

But Roger Black isn’t the lover of Charlie’s dreams anymore. He’s a married, hard-bitten political schemer who wants to secure his future by destroying evidence of his indiscreet past. Open homosexuality is practically a death sentence, and that photo would ruin Roger and all his wife’s nefarious plans.

Caught up in foggy, tangled events, Charlie turns to hotel manager Gabe Kasper for help, and Gabe is intrigued by the haunted soldier who so desperately desires peace. When helping his new lover places Gabe in danger, the old warrior in Charlie will have to take drastic action to protect him... or condemn them both.

Excerpt: September 1955 CHARLIE HARRIS leaned forward, pinched the end of the Lucky Strike between his thumb and forefinger, and inhaled the last drag possible before the smoldering tobacco burned his lips. Easing the smoke out his nostrils, he dropped the stub to the floor and ground it out with the sole of his boot. The carcass joined the other dozen or more shredded on the floor of the bus.

He sat back, rubbed the two-day stubble, coarse as sandpaper, on his cheek, and inhaled the garbage stench of smoke, sweat, banana peels, and God knew what else the other passengers had stuffed in the paper sacks they’d leave for somebody else to clean up. The kid wearing the coonskin cap and Davy Crockett fringe coat, curled up asleep in the seat across the aisle, had peanut butter and jelly smeared around his mouth like cheap lipstick. Why the mother didn’t clean the crap off the brat was beyond him. Maybe she’d tired of his incessant running up and down the walkway, too, and was afraid to touch him for fear of an encore.

Charlie turned his head and stared at the window. The low light from the recessed lamp above him, under the luggage rack, illuminated his dark hair. His haloed reflection stared back against the pitch of the moonless night. Drops of drizzle running down the glass in rivulets disfigured his features, but not the memories. He shifted in his seat, resting his cheek on the backrest.

Need you had been the only words on the telegram—not an I want you stuck anywhere on the yellow paper. The first time Roger had said, “Need you,” Charlie’d fallen into his arms and bared his heart, soul, groin, and ass.

He dug the open pack of Luckies out of a pocket in his pea coat, shook the end of one out, and held it between his teeth. He returned the dwindling cache to the pocket, pulled out a book of matches, folded the cover behind a lone match with one hand, and scratched it across the striker without tearing it from the pack. The tobacco sizzled as he inhaled. He blew out the match flame when he exhaled and watched the smoke bounce off his reflection.

What was it? Nine years? No. Ten. Ten years already since the war ended and all the troops came marching home. Those that weren’t buried in some rathole of a town he couldn’t pronounce the name of in some European country he never wanted to see again. He blew out another cloud of smoke. He wasn’t a twenty-year-old kid anymore. But sure as hell, the minute Roger said, “Need you,” he’d walked off his job and caught a bus. For what? A chance of love with a man who’d walked away without looking back when they stormed the beaches of the good old US of A?

“Moron.” He rolled his body away from the reflection and stared at the beige metal above him. Another drag, another burst of smoke.

Lightning shattered the darkness. Thunder clapped against the bus. Raindrops transformed to a hail of rifle and machine gun bullets. Charlie jerked. His eyes prowled the terrain for where the Germans’ attack would come from--goddamnit! It’s just rain. He fell back against the seat, brushed a jittery hand over his hair, and took a long, comforting pull off the cigarette. So long ago, so damn long ago, and still it took so little to bring the horror back to life.

“Whistle Pass. Whistle Pass,” the driver called out.

Charlie sat straight, grateful for something else to fill his mind with, and looked over the top of the wide brim hat of the passenger in the seat in front of him. Through the windshield eight rows away, a smattering of lights appeared in the distance. He crinkled his nose. Figured. He’d guessed a town in Illinois called Whistle Pass a hundred fifty miles or so from Chicago wouldn’t be more than a pinhole on a map. By the few lights, he’d nailed it.

He narrowed his focus and strained in an attempt to look beyond the glare of the glass and drizzling rain but couldn’t make out anything except the glow of random streetlights as the bus entered the city. A porch light here and there indicated houses along the street. The bus rounded a slow curve, and a lone parking lot light’s glow illuminated jewels of rain on wet cars. A string of multicolored triangular banners hung limp. A dealership. He sat back and took in the blur of more houses.

The bus rounded another lazy curve, and the downtown spread her Main Street curbing like a whore. Each block had streetlamps strategically interspersed so every storefront was revealed. Vaughan’s Saddle and Tack, Goldman Jewelers, A&P Grocery, Ash Penn’s Stationery, Matson Jewelers…. Charlie chuckled. The business district looked about five blocks long, and two jewelry stores were battling it out for control of the bangle industry.

A hiss from the brakes. The bus slowed and pulled to the curb in front of a four-story building. A giant L with “Hotel” painted down the stem of the letter hung from an iron bracket. Rain dripped to the sidewalk from the base of the sign.

Charlie pushed out of his seat. In the aisle he rolled cramped shoulders, flexed the stiffness out of a knee, and combed his fingers through his hair before he retrieved his duffle from the overhead. The fact he was the only passenger to do so didn’t escape his notice. He pinched out the final draw of nicotine from the cigarette between his lips. Dropping the remnant to the floor, he opted to step over, not on, the butt and strode to the front of the bus.

The driver pushed the handle of the extended bar of the door, and Charlie stepped out onto the wet sidewalk. Drizzle quickly painted his face. A drop fell from the tip of his nose. He swiped the next one and took a deep breath. The air was clean, but beneath the overlay of rain was a taste of fish. Dead fish. He inhaled another lungful of air. Yeah. A river was somewhere close by.

Gears hissed into place. The engine revved, and the bus drove off. Diesel fumes encased in a swell of black smoke threatened to cloak Charlie. He stepped toward the building, away from the bus’s lingering stink. The wood-framed glass door had “Larson Hotel” painted in gold with black trim. He pulled it open, hoping they’d have a room available. If they didn’t, he was pretty much screwed.

He guessed the lobby’s ceiling to be around twelve feet with three ceiling fans suspended on pipes to about eight feet. Four black couches, a few wooden armchairs, and potted plants here and there decorated the place. At the far end of the room, the elevator’s iron gate stood open, the operator’s stool empty. A solitary broad-chested man puffing on a cigar sat on a couch. A snap-brim hat pulled low shadowed his face. Smoke curled upward, only to be blown back down by the fan blade’s slow rotation. To the right of the elevator was a wooden stairway, the banister nearly black from decades of hands sliding over it. A grandfather clock in a corner tolled 3:00 a.m.

Charlie turned left to the long, dark wood counter. A bank of pigeonholes, several with keys, was mounted to the wall. He smiled. Keys in the slots meant there was probably a vacancy. With the office chair at the desk unoccupied, he slapped a palm onto the silver bell. The clang rolled around the room. A pair of curtains parted, and an old man walked out.

“Morning. Sorry. No trains due in, so I was laying down.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Most of our guests work for the railroad. Railroad changes crews in Whistle Pass. Not many tourists of late. Looking for a room? Don’t have much right now, though.”

Charlie set his bag on the floor. “Yeah. Whatever you have’s fine.”

The old man set a book on the counter. Opening it, he handed Charlie a pen. “Need you to register. How long you staying?”

Charlie wrote his name underneath a bevy of names without addresses. “Not sure. You need my address?” The old man plucked a key from a slot and pivoted back around. “Not really. Nobody’s business but yours. That’s the way I see it, anyway. Manager tends to disagree, though, unless you work for the railroad, of course.” He flashed a wry smile. “But he ain’t here, is he?” He spun the book around and started to close it but paused. “Charlie Harris?”

Charlie tensed. The whiskey-dry voice spoke his name like the employee recognized it. “Yeah. Why?”

The clerk turned, set the key back in the slot, and pulled another one from a different hole. He handed the key to Charlie. “Had a note to expect you sometime tonight. Room 412’s reserved for you. Paid in advance for a week.”

Confused, Charlie looked at the brass tag with a machine-pressed L and 412. “Who got me a room?” And why a week? Not like the Roger he knew to have things planned out in advance.

“Don’t know. Note didn’t say. You can ask the manager when he comes in later. Need help with your bags?”

Charlie picked up the duffle. “Nah. I got it.”

“Good, ’cause I couldn’t help you anyway. You’ll have to use the stairs. I’m not allowed to leave the lobby since I’m the only one working. So there’s nobody to run the elevator.”

An amused snort leaked out of Charlie. The old man couldn’t leave the lobby unattended, but he could steal a few winks in the back room. He wheeled and noticed the sitting area was now empty. The thick leather soles of his work boots clunked echoes as he walked up the stairs. Curtains of fresh cigar smoke hung in the air. On the second floor, Charlie made the turn and spotted half a cigar smoldering in a pedestal ashtray. The band identified it as a Red Dot. He glanced up and down the hallway but didn’t see anything that seemed out of place, other than a wasted choice smoke. He cocked his head and listened. Nothing. Unbuttoning his coat, he headed for the third floor landing.

On the third floor, he stalled his progress and looked and listened again. A stuttered snoring crawled along the empty hall. Charlie shook his head and blew out a breath. “You’re just nervous about why you’re here. Shake it off.” He grabbed the banister and pulled himself up the stairs, his booted steps rhythmically clomping his advance. At the midway point, he palmed the ball on the banister break and made the turn.

A Black Cat shoe heel came at him too quickly for Charlie to react. The blow caught him between the eyebrows.

Charlie slammed against the wall. Pain exploded in his head. Blinded from shock, he swung the duffle. The weight of the bag in his left hand pulled him to his right, so he let go of it, balled a fist, and blasted it back across his front. The backhand blow struck pay dirt in a jaw. The attacker cursed. Charlie followed up with a right fist to the shadowy figure coming into focus. His fist hammered into a rib cage. Charlie pumped two more quick jabs into the ribs.

“Gack.” The man’s torso leaned left.

Charlie reached out, grabbed two handfuls of shirt, and flung the man past him, into the wall. Staying with his target, he planted his feet and loosed a flurry of punches onto the exposed back, over the kidneys. The snap-brim-hatted attacker’s knees bent, and he sank to the floor.

Click. Click. Charlie whirled. At the top of the stairs, two more men. Young. Late teens, early twenties maybe. Each wore blue jeans and a black leather jacket, and… each held a switchblade knife.

2012-01-16T06:05:00.000-06:00

As promised a new title from Noble Romance and the incomparable Keva D!

_The hardest part of being alone is realizing you are.

1969 was a busy year for the young woman nicknamed Isis. She graduated high school, engaged in a lesbian relationship, died, and rose from the dead as a pot-smoking, flesh-eating zombie in need of a good orgasm. Yet, in death she ended up as alone as she had in life. But when a beautiful zombie with flowers in her hair forgets her sweet butt on a toilet seat, Isis's undead life will never be the same. Nor will it be one she could ever have envisioned, even on the wildest acid trip. Because for Isis, her true reason for life lies in her death.

Chapter One
“Nice ass," I said, and handed hers back to her. "You should carry Vaseline-coated covers with you in your bag. Next time, I might not be here to notice your cute little tush stuck to the toilet seat." I put on my best smile and slipped my blasé look into the pocket of my brown flannel shirt. "So, what was your name?"

"You-you know?" Uncomely lines creased her slick forehead, a feature in full view because she wore her dark brown hair parted in the middle and draped behind nicely rounded shoulders. Pert little tits jiggled under her ankle-length, egg-white linen dress.

Aside from the stutter, the undead creature's voice contained a musical interlude all its sexy own. The words strummed from her tongue, soft as a guitar played in a garden. A delicious-looking tongue, I might add. Not to mention the smooth, nearly perfect lips that parted for every rich note to pass between. I noticed. So did my clit. The unexpected throb hinted in that direction, anyway.

My nipples strained against the flannel. A wave of tightened muscles softly crept from one side of my vagina to the other.

Damn. I hadn't been so turned on since Karen had been sucking my tits in the passenger seat of my VW and I'd accidentally kicked the gearshift into neutral. We hadn't noticed until the car rolled over the cliff. All that ear-shattering silence and the car's perpendicular attitude were hard to miss. And kind of broke the moment.

The rock quarry's water, sixty feet below, broke everything else.

Why the turtles ate Karen and not me . . . . Maybe it had to do with the cherry cough drops she always had in her mouth. I hadn't touched cherry cough drops since. Better safe than sorry, and all of those other clichés.

Or it could have been the THC, I suppose. I'd smoked a nickel bag of Columbian buds all on my own. Karen was a straight. Well, about drugs anyway.

"Uh, yeah," I chimed, my voice as pleasantly interested as I could manage. "The living don't leave their butts behind. Pull up your dress"--Oh hell yeah--"and let me see if I can figure out a way to reattach—"

"No, thanks, I can get it. Not the first time." She walked back to the toilet, a former utility closet, and closed the wooden door.

Huh? Not the first time? I'd glued Velcro to the corners of my mouth in order to switch lips. But I certainly had no clue how to attach anything else that fell off.

If I did, I'd have swapped out my tits, as my left was smaller than the right. Karen hadn't seemed to mind, but one of the boys I'd banged in high school had shared my imbalanced secret with an entire shop class. Unfortunately, I had taken the class motto of Under the Covers Doing Fine, We're the Class of '69 a tad too literally.

Word spread like a cold in the hallways. Come to think of it, after that's when Karen, my world literature substitute teacher, first offered to privately tutor me. I really couldn't have cared less about Siddhartha or Rasputin—I'd been promised a B if I filled the last slot for the class. But at her apartment, while we listened to Joni Mitchell's latest album Clouds on Karen's Marantz stereo, the copy of the Kama Sutra she showed me grabbed my full attention. Had to give her credit, she never made an actual physical move on me until the night of graduation. At the rock quarry.

Sure wish Dad had fixed that emergency brake.

Thing was, I awakened from the dead as horny as when we'd gone over the cliff, the taste of Karen's cherry-flavored lips on my tongue, the wild thrill of her mouth on my breasts, and her teeth nipping my nipples. And no idea how to get a living woman to finish the job Karen had started. I wanted to come under a woman's touch.

I'd briefly considered one of the male zombies I'd encountered, just to clean my mind of this constant state of near-orgasm. But somehow, I couldn't get turned on by the thought of a dismembered member stuck up me while the owner frantically tried to reclaim his detached manhood.

The sock-it-to-me girl in the john, however . . . .

With a sigh so heavy my shoulders sank, I turned to the sink and cranked on the cold water. She'd ignored my request for her life-name. Maybe she wasn't into women or experimentation. I cupped my hands under the flow and splashed water over my face.

Midnight Cowboy had, only a couple months ago, snagged the public's raw fascination with gay, oddball characters. That didn't mean Joe the bartender would bed Harry the lawyer anytime in the near future. The film had simply provided Harriet the opportunity to share heretofore unspoken fantasies with Josephine next door while they hung clothes on the line. Hidden desires to lick each other's clits probably didn't come up in the conversation.

Not the first time. The young woman's words crashed center stage.

"What do you mean, not the first time? And how can you stick your—?"

The door creaked open.

"All better." White and yellow camellia formed a band around her forehead and hair. I blinked. The vending machine on the wall dispensed condoms, not flowers. Where’d she have those hidden? She flipped the back of her hand against her incredibly straight tresses, sending several strands over her shoulder. Hazel eyes shone as if a light inside her beautiful face illuminated them. The skin on her neck glistened like silk under the lone fluorescent bulb. A pale shade of rose colored her cheeks.

Colored her cheeks?

I glanced in the small wall mirror at my own ashen features. How had she managed to put what looked like natural color in her cheeks? Oops. The charming smile was all wrong for the circumstances. I retrieved the blasé one from my shirt pocket and made the exchange.

A muted giggle trickled from her delicate mouth. A shiver of want rattled through me. I bit back an urge to tear the body-hugging dress off her and suckle what had to be a perfectly matched pair of tits. Tiny, but definitely mouthwatering. I swallowed hard.

She reached out a slender arm.

Wait a minute!

Her arms were bare, and sleek as a toddler's. My long-sleeved, flannel shirts hid the gray skin drapery hanging from my arms—same reason I wore denim bellbottoms even in the muggiest weather. I filled bowls with skin softener every night in order to soak my hands and disguise the wrinkles that never stayed away for as much as a day. Her hands were smooth, with manicured nails tipped in cobalt.

What the hell? She had to be a zombie. Had to be. But if I hadn't seen her tush planted on the toilet seat with my own two eyes, I'd have sworn she'd never died.

"Close your mouth," she whispered.

I snapped my jaw shut. My teeth clicked together. Hadn't known it had fallen open. "H-how—?"

Damn. Confusion knotted my tongue. I held my breath and tightened my chest. Then I forced the question out in a rush of air. "How come you're so beautiful?"

Another marvelous giggle shot straight to my already-erect nipples. The dual points poked at the flannel, leaving no doubt of their location.

She stopped at the mirror and licked her little finger before dabbing at one of her pencil-thin eyebrows.

"What are your plans?" she asked, and then shot me a stony glance.

My back stiffened, and I scraped my fingers through my unruly, over-the-shoulders, brown hair. "I don't know. Usual, I guess."

"And that would be?"

What was with the interrogation? It wasn't like zombies had a lot on our minds. Eat, rest, eat, stagger around, eat some more, and eventually wither to nothing.

"Maybe smoke some pot later, if I can find a party somewhere that's got some decent smoke. Why? You looking for something to do?"

Are you? Huh? Please say yes. Because I could find lots to do with you.

"Has anyone ever said you resemble Janis Joplin?"

Her smile sent a shudder between my thighs.

"Yeah." I groaned and winced. "All the time. I don't consider it a compliment."

She stepped to me and placed the tip of her index finger on my hand. Then she traced her touch up the sleeve covering my arm and over my shoulder as she walked past me to the bathroom door. My stare followed her like some puppy about to be abandoned in an alley.

"I do," she said without looking back. "We made love once. She has a pleasing body, but I'll wager yours could please me even more. And one more thing. Do you really believe I went to all this trouble to bring you back just so you could smoke pot and eat raw meat?" She opened the door, and let it click closed behind her.

I was dead. Without a doubt, I was dead. But every nerve within me came screaming to life.

"What? You and Janis Joplin? You're a lesbian?" I blinked. "Janis is a lesbian?"

I bolted to the doorway and threw the door open. "And what's this you brought me back shit? Are you high or something?"

A soloist plucked a guitar. The lyrics of Leaving on a Jet Plane filled the smoke-clouded coffee house. Longhaired heads nodded in rhythm to the music. Every seat at every round table had an occupant. Barefooted men and women lined the walls.

But the zombie with flowers in her hair had vanished.

Web Site: http://www.kevad.net/

Buy Link: http://www.nobleromance.com/Authors/116

Debbie Vaughan - Get Bit

2012-01-15T07:23:00.000-06:00

Debbie Vaughan - Get Bit

WATCH FOR IT!

THE ZOMBIE WITH FLOWERS IN HER HAIR
by KevaD

Release Day: Monday January 16th!!!!!

2012-01-15T07:20:00.001-06:00

WATCH FOR IT!

THE ZOMBIE WITH FLOWERS IN HER HAIR
by KevaD

Release Day: Monday January 16th!!!!!

Mergers & Acquisitions by Lillian Grant

2011-10-29T18:12:00.001-05:00

I am also running a contest to give two copies away on my website until the 22nd. Link is http://www.lilliangrant.com/?page_id=26

Accountant, Emily Armitage is stuck in Sydney for the weekend, working on the numbers for a hotel sale while fighting off the unwanted attention of her boss. However, things begin to look up when she steps on her balcony and meets the man of her dreams. When her new neighbor delivers room service, along with a shoulder massage, delicious foot rubs, and easy charm, she succumbs to their obvious attraction.

Having spent a passionate weekend together, Monday morning brings an unwanted revelation. Randy’s been keeping secrets that could change her life. Suddenly uncertain, she is forced to make a choice between her career and a man who adds up to perfection. Should she stick with the hotel acquisition or take a chance on their passionate new merger?

Excerpt

Emily rubbed her cheek against his chin. “They do say you’re never too old.”

Randy wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, nuzzling her cheek with his lips. “I thought the expression was you’re never too old to learn.”

Emily tipped her head back as he showered her neck with kisses. “I’m sure I could give you lessons.”

Randy chuckled and pulled back. “In what?”

She stared into his eyes. She seriously couldn’t take much more of this teasing. She was desperate to taste his mouth, but he seemed determined to keep up the torture. Her mouth was dry, and her heart pounded. Should she make the first move? No, not yet, she wanted to see where he intended to lead her.

“Whatever you like.”

He grinned and returned to kissing her neck, causing her to moan.

Finally, when the torture was about to become too much, he kissed his way along her jaw and gently pressed his lips to hers. When he moved back, so their lips were barely touching, she tried to steal the kiss she longed for, but he refused to give in.

Instead, he rested his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes. Emily smiled at him. “Tease. You do know you’re the best date I ever had?”

He smiled back and pressed his lips gently to hers. She felt, more than heard, his reply as he mumbled it against her mouth.

“But you haven’t had me….yet.”

Suddenly the playing turned to something more. His soft tongue gently touched her lips, and she gladly accepted the passionate kiss she had been longing for all evening. They clung together. She fisted his hair to hold him to her as he slid his hands up her back, pulling her closer. His lips took possession of her. His tongue danced in her mouth. He tasted just as she imagined—smoky, spicy, and warm. The sensation of her breasts pressed to his firm chest, the growing bulge in his jeans digging into her abdomen, and the magic of his mouth, left her breathless. Her nipples hardened, her pussy throbbed. She thought she would pass out, but she never wanted it to end. She could stand on the balcony kissing him forever.

He finally broke the kiss, leaving her with a couple of playful nips of her bottom lip. She took some deep breaths, trying to get her pulse to slow down before she had a heart attack.

He grazed her face with his fingers. His dark eyes drilled into hers. “How would you like to watch the sunrise with me?”

His voice was a purr of barely contained lust sending a bolt of passion to her heated core. Emily swallowed slowly. Oh, my God, he wanted to spend the night. She wanted him to spend the night. In fact, she never wanted to spend a second without him.

She whispered her response. “I would love to.”

Randy planted a kiss on her cheek, trailed one hand over her hip, and entwined his fingers with hers before leading her inside. He pulled the balcony door shut behind them, and she expected him to lead her to the bed, but instead he walked toward the room door.

“Where are you going?"

Buy the book:

--
www.lilliangrant.com

--

A Dance with Bogie and Bacall by KevaD

2011-10-12T06:08:00.000-05:00

Buy link: https://www.nobleromance.com/Authors/116/KevaD

Author's Web Site: http://www.kevad.net/

Blurb:

Radio DJ Scott Kincaid's first caller of the night is a lady who died forty-nine years ago. The second wants to knock his head off. And he thought falling in love would be easy.

Maureen and Frank Johnson shared the kind of romance most people believe only exists in movies. Until a ballroom fire took Maureen's life.

Franci Johnson grew up hearing her grandparents' love story a thousand times and wishes to find the kind of undying love Frank and Maureen had once upon a time.

DJ Scott Kincaid just wants the ghost following him to go away. But Maureen thinks the hunky DJ might be just the answer to her granddaughter's dreams.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Frank propped his elbow on the iron railing at the edge of the dance floor and absently watched yet another Humphrey Bogart lookalike attired as film noire detective Sam Spade arrogantly strut across the ballroom, through the forest of faux palm trees and potted plants with crepe paper leaves.
Ribbons of gray tobacco smoke broke and swirled in his wake. The hard, leather heels of his polished shoes clicked a beat on the floorboards. At a rickety, corner table barely illuminated under the flickering flame of a sconce gas lamp, a Rick Blaine copy in the character's patented white tux and black tie rose from a wooden folding chair and grasped Sam's extended hand. An obvious Vivian Sternwood Rutledge in full aqua gown uncharacteristically scurried across the floor until she stood at Sam's side where she ran her hand over the back of his black suit coat. A glint of a too long pocket watch gold chain flashed in the dim, orange light. A subtle nod to Rick's left, and Sam turned his shoulders to take the hand of a seated Nora Temple resplendently sensuous in a black dress with plunging neckline that tickled the top of the fleshy V of her very noticeable, ample cleavage.

"You're staring," whispered Frank's own duplicated Nora into his right ear. "Not that she doesn't
have a lot to stare at."

"She forgot the necklace. When Lauren Bacall played Nora, she wore a necklace with that dress in Key Largo. A silver one that clung to the base of her throat and accentuated the graceful turns of her head. Lauren Bacall isn't only the most beautiful actress to ever grace the silver screen, she makes the clothing and accoutrements she wears stunning"—he shifted his gaze and lost himself in his wife's glistening green eyes—"just like you do."

A quickly raised hand pinched his jaw at the chin. "Franklin Johnson, you are such a liar." Maureen's glossy red lips curled at the corners. "But a sweet one." She pushed his face left. "She's wearing the necklace."

He coughed a hairball of embarrassment. Oops.

Maureen pulled his face back to hers. In heels, she stood nearly as tall as he did and leaned in as if to offer up a kiss but stopped a heated breath short. "You want to gawk at a woman's chest, gawk at your wife's."

Frank glanced down. Maureen had captured the top of her black silk, body-clinging dress between thumb and forefinger allowing a full view of her diminutive, unclad breasts and perked, pink nipples.

His groin stirred immediately within his Rick Blaine white tuxedo trousers. "You hussy," he heaved out in a thick rasp. "Where is your brassiere? Some new moral descent didn't happen when we left the 50s behind us." Heat scorched his ears. How had he not noticed before this? His breath caught. God, she was beautiful.

"Built-in cups just firm enough to hold me in place." She chuckled at his discomfort and released the cloth, then slipped her arms beneath his jacket and around his torso. Inching in to him, she only stopped when the hardened beads atop her bosom pressed through his shirt and against his chest.

"Mmm," he moaned. Her mouth found his ear. Little nips tugged at the lobe. He stroked the sides of her body under the cool silk. The temperature of her skin headed for sweltering, the silken material warmed. Sweat beaded under his arms and between his thighs. She pressed into his thickening erection, which snapped to full attention under a tidal wave of arousal.

He allowed himself the publicly displayed pleasure of sliding his hands to the top of her buttocks, tracing the indentation with his little fingers. Nuzzling her soft throat, he whispered, "I want to make love to you right now. Let's get out of here."

The six-piece band comprised of three strings, the leader's clarinet, one sax, and a trombone returned from break to the small stage at the end of the long room, and oozed into a slow, soft rendition of As Time Goes By. Humphrey Bogarts and Lauren Bacalls of all sizes, shapes, and costumes materialized from the shadows of the gas lamps resurrected for this annual event celebrating Bogart's life and death. The past's mimes took to the dance floor under tiny squares of haunting light from the mirrored orb of the Harvest Moon Ballroom.

"No." Maureen grabbed his hand and yanked him into the throng of couples on the dance floor. "Bogie and Bacall wouldn't let a night like this go to waste . . . and neither will we." Her left hand snaked its way to the small of his back, her right took his left in a pretense of submitting to his "lead." She opted for a closed box foxtrot with her body trying to merge with his, their steps no more than foot-length shuffles.

"Besides, you haven't given me my anniversary orchid yet. Ten years today, Franklin Johnson. And though I love you more than ever, and have borne you three children, you will give me my orchid."

All the blood in him fell to his feet. The room swayed, but not to the music. The mirrored ball spun in a prismatic dervish. A ghostly orchid, fragile and pulsing its matte colors, swirled in and out of his vision.

"Frank? Frank! Are you all right?"

Movement. His. Somehow he moved across the floor—the orchid just beyond his grasp led the way.
"Sit down." The voice from an unseen well belonged to Maureen.

He did as instructed.

"I'll get you some water. I'll be right back."

The orchid hung motionless in the air. He reached out his open palm. The flower settled onto his skin. A smile parted his lips. The orchid was as beautiful as Maureen. A faint heat emanated from the flower's core. He brought the bloom closer. Flames engulfed the petals, burned his hand. Reflexively he dropped the small ball of fire onto the table where it disintegrated into black dust and disappeared.

"Drink this."

The chilled rim of a glass touched his lips. Iced water trickled between them. He gratefully swallowed the mouthful, filtering out the ice cubes with his teeth, and then gulped down the entire glassful of water.
"Come on,
pal." A man's voice. Hands under his arms lifted Frank from the chair. "You just need to lie down a few minutes. A little too much bubbly, eh?"

"Our tenth anniversary," Maureen said. "We had some champagne earlier, but I didn't think he'd had that much. My husband isn't a drinker normally. Only on special occasions."

Frank flopped his head back, watching the dark ceiling boards skip past. He tried to count them, but they moved too quickly as the men on either side of him half carried him from the ballroom. Then his feet scuffed their way up a stairway and into a small room. A lamp clicked on. Light under an emerald shade flooded a cluttered desktop. He was lowered onto a leather couch that squeaked his arrival.

Maureen appeared in front of him and helped him out of his jacket. She loosened his bowtie and unbuttoned his collar. Cool air sprinkled his exposed throat.

"I'll have a pitcher of water sent up. Stay as long as you want. Not the first time a guest needed that couch to sleep it off." Two shadows stepped through the doorway into the hall.

"He's not drunk," Maureen said in a huff. She wiped his face with her open hand. "Are you okay, honey? You scared me there for a minute."

Little by little, Maureen's face came into focus. Lines of worry wrinkled her brow. Still, the creases somehow looked damn good on her. Age would meet its match in this gorgeous woman. Frank grinned. "Yeah. Better now. Just got a little dizzy. I guess I should stay away from champagne that comes in six-packs. I'm fine. Let's get out of here." He placed his hands on the cushions and pushed in an attempt to stand.

Maureen countered with her hands on his shoulders. "You stay right there, Mister, until I'm sure you're all right."

He tilted his head and kissed her wrist. "I'm okay. Honest. Let's go home." Something inside him rolled over. An urge, a need of some kind. A desire to leave this place.

"We will, Frank." Maureen guided him downward and placed a throw pillow under his head. "But I want you to rest for a few minutes. For me? Please?" She lifted his feet onto the couch. His shoes thumped on the floor. Cool air swarmed over his stocking feet, delivering a sense of comfort in its rush. Her hands went to his waist. His belt came undone, then his trousers unbuttoned.

Tension ebbed under Maureen's care. Wrapped in her love, he was as safe as she was in his. He swept away the orchid as a momentary quirk in the thick tobacco smoke. "Too much champagne, celebration, dancing, and too much confined heat from the packed house crowd. That's all that happened. Nothing to be concerned with. I'm fine. And I still want to make love to you."

She arched a brow and ran the tip of her tongue across her red lips. Subtly moving her hips from side to side, she gripped the zipper of his pants and slowly tugged it down; each metal link clicked surrender to Frank's private lap dancer. A not unfamiliar game in their bedroom. But they certainly weren't in their bedroom. His interest and erection swelled.

Ten years of marriage, and Maureen could still turn him on in an instant.

"Are you trying to seduce me, madam? I am a married man, you know." He waggled his left hand back and forth. "I have a ring and everything."

Maureen narrowed her eyes, and huskily whispered, "It's the everything I'm after." She ran a finger over the cylindrical shape of engorged flesh under his cotton briefs. "Bogie and Bacall wouldn't waste an opportunity like this."

A grin of desire spread across Frank's face. "And neither will we."

Staccato tapping at the door.

Maureen snapped her head around. Frank groaned and looked at the young man in the open doorway. Oops.

"I – I . . . ." The trembling teen filled his lungs and tried again. "I brought your water?" He held up a cranberry colored metal pitcher and two matching tumblers. A vein of liquid dribbled down the side of the pitcher. Droplets splattered onto the wood floor.

"Put it on the desk, please," Frank mumbled. His cheeks could have lit charcoal briquettes. He dug out his wallet and a five spot. "Here. For your trouble."

"No trouble." His task completed, the teen turned to leave.

Maureen snatched the bill and stuffed it in the boy's shirt pocket. "Then accept it as a friend who won't spill his guts about what he thinks he saw that he didn't. Will that work for you?"

The freckled face flushed. "Yes, ma'am. Thanks." He all but ran out of the room. The door clicked closed behind him.

Maureen turned the lock, and then pirouetted on the ball of one foot. She kicked off her shoes. One hit the desk with a thud. Her hands slithered down her body to the hem of her dress.

"Are ready for this, Mr. Johnson?"

"Oh yeah, Mrs. Johnson."

Her features grew concerned. "Are you sure you're okay, Frank? We don't have to do this."

His heart pounded excitement and need. Muscles contracted, relaxed, tightened again. There was no way he wasn't going to make love to his wife right here, right now. "Want to bet? Take off the dress, or I'll rip it off with my teeth."

Maureen pulled the black silk from her body without mussing so much as a strand of her rolled blonde hairdo. Black panties hid the fluff between her sweat-glistened thighs. After wetting the tips of her index fingers on her tongue, she rubbed each one around the pink areolas of her milky breasts. The nipples strained and stretched.

Frank's mouth watered for the taste of her—for every inch of her. His erection throbbed for the feel of her wet folds.

"What would you like me to do, Mr. Johnson?" she throatily taunted.

"Undress me. Then I want you to lie down and enjoy. Tonight's about you. I'm going to eat you from top to bottom and back again. And I don't plan to stop until you beg me."

She ran the back of a finger down her chest, to her belly, and then dipped her hand under her panties. The black material moved in waves as she stroked herself.

His hard-on needed another two inches of skin or he'd explode.

She took a step toward him. His body quivered in anticipation. Another step and her gaze shifted to the throbbing pole between his legs.

"What if someone comes to the door? What if they discover what we're doing in here?"

The questions served to tease him, to make him wait a few more pain-filled breaths of wanting. "Let 'em wait their turn," he snarled. "Take my clothes off and spread your legs. Bogie's hungry, and he's looking at you, kid."

Variant Breed by D. H. Star

2011-08-15T07:01:00.001-05:00

Across time, two hot immortals find each other. But is mutual passion enough?

Chris Molina is a MAP, a molecularly advanced person. Rejected by his family in the 18th century and sent out into the world alone at the age of twenty-five, he wanders through time, craving love and companionship. He finally settles down and establishes a homestead in Virginia where he meets the first of his own kind, Abigail DuMonte. Together they start a life one where they can live openly and honestly. However, in spite of the love and friendship they share, something else important is missing. Soul-searing passion. Until…

When Chris meets Zachary Bishop, he’s found everything he’s ever wanted. Zach is handsome, intelligent, sweet, and craves the same things he does. However, Chris soon realizes that his dreams may come true at a cost. Although Abby is not his lover, they have a long and close history together that Chris doesn’t want to jeopardize. Is there room in his life for both Abby and Zach? What if he can never really find the family he’s longed for? Will Zach become simply a memory of erotic passion and unfulfilled longing? Three immortals on the brink of change…

Buy the book here:

Hard as Teak by Margie Church!

2011-08-04T20:05:00.000-05:00

"My newest book is rocking the bestseller list at Amazon. Enjoy!" Margie

Blurb: Hard as Teak by Margie Church

Kevin Marks escapes to the north woods to reignite his passion for photography and women. But the only flame he seems able to spark is for his latest photography subject, Teak Hildalgo. Kevin's never been in a man's arms before.

Teak, the raven-haired, photographer's dream come true, is hell bent on capturing Kevin's heart. He takes Kevin, body and soul, on a romantic, sexual journey previously lived only in Kevin's fantasies. And no dream was ever this good, no truth this undeniable.

Will Kevin ever be the same? When the camera's put away, will Teak live up to his name?

ADULT EXCERPT:

Teak rocked back in his chair, studying his new friend. Kevin had that all-American-boy look. Blond hair and blue-grey eyes the color of the sky just before sunset. His coloration fit right in with almost every Scandinavian person living in the area. Except for that all-over tan. Great shape, tall, clean-shaven—everywhere from what Teak had seen—and a dick that could definitely get someone's attention. He's certainly got mine.

His body had reacted strongly when he'd come upon Kevin lying naked on the dock. The cold-water bath took the edge off the throbbing in his cock this afternoon, but what about now? When Kevin smiled, his whole face lit up. Great lips. Thinking of Kevin going down on him made his balls tense. Wonder what he'd do if I made a move?
Teak got back to the subject of having his photo taken. "You know what? It's cool. No offense taken. I'm flattered, I guess. The chicks are always on me, but it's nice to . . . ."

"To what?"

"To know they're not entirely full of shit just because they wanna get laid." Teak slid his chair back and picked up his plate. He set it on the sink. "Thanks for dinner."

"You're not leaving are you? You probably shouldn't drive."

Teak leaned against the counter. Kevin's interest in him was apparent, but he wasn't sure Kevin was tuned into his own feelings. Kevin's behavior reminded him of a first date. Does he realize it? I'll take it slow. If it's a mistake, I'll say it's the beer talking. "If you don't mind, I'll stay. I'd hate to spend the night in jail. Even the DNR guys are a pain in the ass this time of year."

* * * * *
While Teak used the bathroom, Kevin grabbed his camera and went outside. The half-moon provided perfect illumination on the frost clinging to the wildflowers. Careful not to breathe on the tender crystals, he knelt next to his subject and adjusted the camera to capture the perfect moonlit conditions.

Kevin glanced over his shoulder when the front door opened and shut with a heavy thud. Teak rubbed his hands together and then shoved them under his arms. "What are you doing? It's freezing out here."

Kevin clicked the shutter one last time and rose. The effects of his last beer made him stumble back a step; Teak grabbed his arm. Kevin broke into an alcohol-induced fit of laughter. "Just what I need—to drop this camera—and break it—or my shutter finger." Kevin wiggled his index finger a few times while laughing at his own joke.

"I suppose that thing is pretty expensive."

"Very. Let's go inside before I die of thirst, too."

"We've probably both had enough beer for one night, but I won't argue about going inside. There'll definitely be a hard frost tonight."

Opening the cabin door let out a blast of warm air. The sharp temperature contrast hit Kevin in the face, making him woozy. "Shit, it's hot in here." He peeled off his jacket and shirt and tossed them one at a time onto a nearby chair. "Do you want a bottle of water or some coffee or something?"

"I'll take the water. Wouldn't hurt to sober up a bit," Teak said. "I hate hangovers."

"You and me both." He retrieved two bottles of water from the fridge and handed one to Teak. "And if the night's still young, we can get drunk again later." Kevin laughed with his half-smashed friend and took a swig of water. "I'm going to make up the guest bed." He couldn't resist making another wisecrack. "The maid service sucks around this joint."

"You probably look stupid as hell in an apron anyway. Go make the bed."

"You're not helping? Shit, the assistant to the maid service sucks too." Chuckling, he walked to the closet to dig out some bed linens.

Kevin turned on the light. He'd used this bedroom countless times growing up and even got laid in here a couple of nights. The fitted sheet snapped as he shook it open. He made his way to the headboard to tuck in the corners.

He couldn't believe what a turn-on Teak was. The realization startled him. He'd never been sexually attracted to any man he'd met. At least not this strongly. He didn't mind watching a couple guys getting frisky with each other while they were messing with a woman in videos. But, I never really wanted to touch another guy's junk. He'd tasted his own cum many times. But from a cum-soaked pussy. He'd fantasized about sucking dick—countless times. But never thought I'd want it if I could actually get it. He unfolded the flat sheet.

With the sheets tucked in, he reached for the comforter and spread it on the bed. Lost in his lusty thoughts, he didn't hear Teak arrive and Kevin stumbled against him. Teak's arms wove around his ribs, preventing him from falling. Like the proverbial deer in the headlights, Kevin froze and didn't say a word. Pleasure whip corded his dick. His heart hammered. Resting his head rested against Teak's bare shoulder, he wondered when Teak had taken off his shirt. The trimmed hair felt stiff and foreign against his skin. No other man had ever held him this way. Kevin noticed rough calluses between softer patches of skin on Teak's hands. He soaked in the new sensations, enjoying them.

Silence thundered in Kevin's ears as he turned and met Teak's gaze. The intensity he saw nearly choked the breath right out of his lungs. What little air remained ran for cover when Teak's lips met his. The feelings reminded him of his very first kiss, heady and surreal. His lips twisted with Teak's. He'd never experienced the force of a man's tongue in his mouth or the scrape of another man's beard on his face. Not this way. Guttural sounds filled Kevin's throat. His breath hissed through his nostrils. These were the sounds of an aroused man. Except another man is turning me on.

Teak kept a loose hold on Kevin's waist. The non-threatening hold gave Kevin free reign to accept or deny him. For a long minute, he participated in the kiss as though moving with a partner in a choreographed dance. He knew what to do and how to do it, but his brain and his dick were going in opposite directions. Kevin's cock was so hard he wanted to take it out and come. His brain kept screaming at him to slow down. Confusion filled him. He broke from the kiss and focused on Teak's tattoo, glad for the distraction.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Teak asked in a soft voice.

"This is the most amazing tattoo." How fucking lame was that?

"Touch it."

With nervous hesitation, Kevin traced the pronounced veins on the dragon's side, and higher to its curved neck. Continuing to follow the dragon's neck with his index finger led to Teak's nipple. The hardened nub looked ready to be clenched in the dragon's sharp teeth. Or mine.

"Taste me," Teak said, his voice hoarse and hushed.

Get the book now!

Noble Romance Buy Link: https://www.nobleromance.com/Authors/102
Margie's Amazon Kindle page: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1/192-6494138-7507446?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Margie%20Church

Eager to read reviews before you buy? Go here! http://www.site.romancewithsass.com/Announcements.html

Margie's website: Romance with SASS
Margie's blog: http://blog.RomanceWithSASS.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/MargaretRChurch
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/MargieChurch

BOOKS and CONTESTS

2011-07-17T21:53:00.000-05:00

To celebrate the release of Keep it Under Wraps on 19 July Lillian Grant is giving a copy away to one lucky person who leaves a comment on her website www.lilliangrant.com

Leave a comment and check back on the 19th to see if you are the lucky winner. Oh, and you don't need to have read book one to enjoy book two.

If you don't want to wait you can preorder it at Sirenbookstrand. And it is available at a discount price until the 26th July.

Blurb

A sex scandal threatens to destroy reformed Hollywood bad boy Jonathon Deveraux. PI Georgina Stanvers can save him – if they can trust each other.

Reformed Hollywood bad boy, Jonathon Deveraux, doesn’t remember starring in the DVD in his mailbox, and he’s not sure he trusts the female PI hired to find out where the movie came from.

Georgina Stanvers needs the work but she doesn’t like Jonathon. He’s a smooth talker, like the movie makers who ruined her father. She only suggests re-enacting the bondage scene to jar the actor’s memory. But untamed passion rewrites the script, and inhibitions are stripped away along with their clothing.

When bullets fly it appears an impending sex scandal is the least of Jonathon’s troubles. Needing to discover the truth, “George” puts her heart on the line, and her life in the hands of killers bent on revenge. If Jonathon is to prove his attraction to the PI is more than lust, he’ll have to save her. But first he needs to trust George, and his heart.

Excerpt

George swallowed, breathing deeply in an effort to slow her racing pulse. There he sat, on a bed. The bed. The one where the two ladies had tied him up and done to him what they would. Knowing what happened here should disgust her, but it didn’t. She had never thought being a voyeur was a turn-on. Porn did nothing for her, but she had to admit she’d watched the DVD more times than strictly necessary to solve the case. If she made the suggestion swirling in her brain would she be able to resist temptation? From the expression on Jonathon’s face, she got the impression he wouldn’t be disappointed if she didn’t.

“Perhaps a reenactment would help you remember something.”

His gaze met hers, and she took an involuntary step toward him. Dark eyes filled with desire held her enraptured. Now that she stood within reach, his hand circled her arm and tugged her to stand between his legs.

“Reenact how, exactly?”

George forced herself to break eye contact and stared at the headboard instead.

“You could lie on the bed, like in the video, and I could tie you up. It might trigger something?”

The smile teasing his lips left her in no doubt he had deliberately taken the last comment to mean something sexual. Is that what she meant? She didn’t know.

He agreed with a small nod, and she stepped back as he pulled off his boots. His socks came off with a quick tug then he began to slowly unbutton his shirt. Eyes locked on his, she fought not to drop her gaze to his chest as his tanned torso gradually came into view. The garment slid down his arms and he tossed it aside before getting to his feet. Battle lost, she took in his toned muscles, brown skin, and dark nipples erect from the cold, or maybe with lust. Her own nipples hardened in response, sending a shiver down her spine. She stood mesmerized as he slid his hands down his chest, over his stomach, before they came to rest on his belt buckle.

Her eyes focused on the oversized steel clasp. Fingers sliding behind the scuffed black leather, he started to tug the belt free. George took a deep breath and looked away. She was disgusted with herself. Lust may have melted her resolve, but she didn’t have to show it. What was wrong with her? She was practically drooling.

She dropped her bag to the floor and rummaged around inside, deliberately focused on what she was doing. “You don’t need to go all the way. How about you keep your jeans on, Tiger?” She glanced up at him and smiled. “I’d hate for you to catch a chill.”

With his belt unfastened and his button undone, he climbed on the bed, lying in the middle, arms by his side.

George finally retrieved what she was searching for. She stepped to the bed, and he moved from staring at the ceiling to see what she held in her hands.

“Handcuffs? But they tied me.”

“I don’t carry rope. Hands above your head.”

He moved his hands to rest them on the pillow. Her gaze shifted away from his sparsely haired armpits, tight pecs, and defined shoulders, to his face. He chuckled. “But you do carry handcuffs? For work or pleasure?”

She bit her bottom lip, determined not to let him bait her. Leaning across him, she closed the cuff around his left wrist before sliding it through the bars in the headboard and then fastening it around his right wrist. The effort caused her chest to brush against his face. When he rubbed his lips against her protruding nipple she gasped. Pushing herself back up to a standing position, she folded her arms. Both her nipples had beaded at his touch and now threatened to break through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. She made a mental note to always wear a bra in future.

“Lie still and concentrate. You won’t remember anything if you’re fooling around.”

He sighed and stared back at the ceiling. “I figured if this was a reenactment then fooling around would be the order of the day.”

God, he was right. How was having him lie on the bed seminaked supposed to achieve anything? So far all she had managed to do was turn herself on. The sight of his bare chest along with the soft hair that started below his belly button and thickened just above the zipper on his jeans wasn’t helping much either. The only one likely to have flashbacks was her.

Want to know what happens next....check the adult excerpt at SirenBookstrand.

SPEAK TO ME OF ABDUCTION!
www.lilliangrant.com

After accepting a movie role, Charlene Page, worries she might be the next rising porn star. On reflection, that might have been safer.

Stuck in Rio and desperate for cash, Australian backpacker Charlene accepts a minor movie role. When her co-star, Hollywood hunk and serial womanizer, Jonathon Deveraux is abducted from the set she turns to his older brother for help.

Oscar winner and Hollywood good guy Jacob Deveraux is a recluse. However, when his brother goes missing, he agrees to help the hapless backpacker who appears to have been deceived into taking a movie role so Jonathon could woo her into his bed. The more determined he is to keep his distance the more he is drawn to her. When it becomes obvious his bother’s kidnapping is designed to punish Jacob he worries Charlene may be next. Despite his best efforts to keep her safe she is grabbed off the street. Can he find and save his brother and Charlene or will he lose another woman he loves?

ADULT EXCERPT

Charlene lifted her face to look at Jacob, expecting some explanation, but instead, her eyes locked with his, and she knew she was toast.

His hands held her face as his mouth took possession of hers. The kiss was bruising. His tongue demanded entrance, and she was more than happy to comply. The sensation of his soft, warm tongue dancing with her own melted her resolve to keep her distance. The arms she initially held rigid at her sides wrapped around him. She slid her hands down his back to cup his backside and keep him tight to her. When he started to hum, it took the eroticism to a whole new level. All the kisses before had been good, maybe passionate, but this time nothing else mattered. This time she wouldn’t fight it. She had no idea where this was headed, but she wasn’t getting off the ride until the end. This wasn’t acting. This was real. The growing bulge in his jeans as he ground his pelvis into her, and the warmth between her thighs in response, weren’t make-believe. The pure desire in the kiss and the sensation of his fingers mapping her body heated her to the core. His hand grazed her breast through the thin fabric of her dress. He pinched her nipple, and it hardened at his touch. Her panties dampened as a wave of lust spread to her crotch. She wiggled a hand between them and palmed the front of his jeans. He was so hard, so ready.

Opening his zipper, she squeezed a hand inside and wrapped her fingers around his erection. He groaned in response to her touch. Her grip tightened as he lifted her to rest her backside on the handrail. Grabbing her behind the knee, he pulled her leg over his hip before sliding a hand up her thigh, his fingers so close to her aching pussy. His featherlight touch made her shudder as it left a trail of goose pimples in its wake. She broke the kiss and gasped for air as his fingers continued their exploration. A light touch brushed across her damp, silk panties, tracing her slit. His mouth retook hers, swallowing her moan. Another glide of his fingers had her insides pulsing and her clit throbbing. If he stopped now, she would scream. All previous thoughts of not having sex with him evaded her. She needed him, and she needed him now.

Pulling her hand from his jeans, she struggled to undo his belt and button. Finally, she eased his rigid shaft free. He felt magnificent and rock-hard. She explored his pulsating member. A glide of her fingers across the moist tip caused a rock of his hips that sent a jolt of desire straight to her heated center. Wet panties pushed roughly to one side, his fingers slid between her lower lips. The sensation as he ran a finger from her moist entrance to her hard clit made her core throb. Her insides ached to be filled with him. A firmer massage of her bud had her tugging his cock toward her. He offered no resistance as she guided him to her entrance. It seemed neither of them was in the mood to wait. The need had been building from the moment she saw him on the deck of his yacht, and now her passion knew no bounds. He broke the kiss and met her gaze. His eyes were dark and full of lust. Her own passion lifted a notch, her insides tightened, and she licked her lips. Their chests rose and fell in unison.

Eyes locked on hers, he slowly slid inside her. Charlene gasped at the exquisite sensation of being completely filled by him. “Oh, Jacob, Jesus Christ.”

A smile tugged the corners of his mouth at her response. Hands resting on his shoulders, she dug her fingers into his flesh as she struggled to maintain her balance. Every thrust made her quiver. He pulled her leg higher and continued to draw circles around her clit, his rocking driving him ever deeper. She was mesmerized by the raw lust on his face. His eyes appeared even darker, his parted lips redder.

Pushing her harder against the wall, he lifted the tempo with hips and hands. Fingers moved from soft circles over her nub to hard flicks that sent pulse after pulse through her pussy. The ball of fire in the pit of her stomach grew, and unable to hold back, she dropped one hand to the handrail for balance, and the other hand gripped his shoulder. Her release rolled the length of her core, and she closed her eyes as her whole body shook with each wave. She needed more. She needed all of him. Her efforts to impale him deeper inside her failed. Her precarious balance restricted movement.

Sweat trickled down her neck as she panted. Each pulse stronger than before, her climax seemingly endless as it ripped through her pussy. “Jacob, oh harder, please, harder.”

Complying with her request, he ground himself into her, his dick penetrating her every inch, his fingers roughly drawing back and forth over her aching nub. Every touch sent another throb through her until she thought she would die. Finally, her orgasm slowed, and Jacob moved his hand from her center to cup her backside.

Opening her eyes, she was enthralled by the look of pure exhilaration on his face as he thrust harder. Head back, his hair was damp with sweat. His voice deep and throaty, he groaned. “Oh so good, Charlie, oh so good, baby.” She felt his powerful release deep inside her, and her insides throbbed in response, milking his cock dry.

I'm pleased as punch to announce the release of my dear friend, KevD's, latest work.

"A Demon Affair" was just released through Pine Wood Press.
I hope you enjoy this look at my erotic fantasy novella.

Ages ago, a heavenly Archangel and a hellish Slayer fell in love. The product of their sacrilege now roams the earth, devouring the souls of the living. Possessing all the strengths of good and evil, Pilan has the power to rise against either kingdom and take control. He simply hasn't yet chosen to.

Heaven dispatches Anai, an angel who has sacrificed eternity to kill Pilan. Anai is as powerful, and potentially as evil, as Pilan. As hell repeatedly sends forces to destroy Pilan and Anai, the two angel-demons surrender to sin. To enjoy the vanity of killing each other, they must first keep each other alive. Then there's the whole lust issue…

Excerpt:

Pilan crawled to his feet and glared at his sallow reflection in the mirror. Beyond his dead, black eyes, a razor's edge glinted in the void.

"What has given you the strength to free yourself?" he snarled.

A guttural chuckle rumbled in his throat. Heh, heh, heh.

Pilan narrowed his eyes against that sliver of light. Hatred flamed in his words. "You dare laugh at me?

"I laugh at your ignorant vanity. You have become so enamored with yourself, you really don't know, do you?

He raised a brow. "Know what? What have you done?"

Me? The chuckle burst into a full laugh. I have done nothing but heed the call.

"What call?" Pilan tempered his rage. The wildfire emotion would only make him more vulnerable to the assault. He could not afford to lose control of his mind and body.

Instead of sniffing for souls, you should have been sniffing for enemies. I will leave you alone. For now. The sparkles withdrew into the black depths within. The goodness retreated, and the black cage reformed about it.

What had he missed? No, he couldn't have missed anything. Perfection never erred. He drew in a long, lung-filling breath. One by one, he dissected each scent. Nothing beyond that which belonged to this place.

But urgency tugged at the threads of his mind. The fact he couldn't detect whatever the goodness had discovered was itself the answer - another Lasiqs had been dispatched to destroy him.

Pilan shrugged and sighed. Would Satan never learn Pilan was more powerful than the underworld lord and his mindless assassins? Hell could not claim a human's soul until the human died. Pilan could take a soul when the mood struck him, whenever he was hungry. For the souls of the living provided the nourishment he required, helped him grow in strength and power.

And one day, when he chose to, he would rule this pathetic world of mortals. He simply hadn't chosen to yet.

He opened a drawer of the dresser and pulled out black chinos and tee. Longing for fresh air and the chill of the night, he dressed.

At the back door of the club, he said goodnight to the guard and wandered into the dark, dead end alley. The dank of stagnant rain puddles blanketed him between the brick walls. Yellow light cast a dull glow over the sidewalk and street at the alley's open end. A taxi's tires buzzed over the pavement as the car passed. A rat scurried for refuge under a dumpster adorned in gang graffiti.

Pilan inhaled the night, his realm. A taste of demon-borne sulfur brought a grim smile to his lips. Out here, where he ruled, not even a Lasiqs could hide his scent from Pilan. He rolled the flavors over his tongue. Orange. He inhaled again, this time focusing on the smells alone, and not their taste. No hint of the acidic sweetness of oranges. Maybe nothing to be concerned with. But a Lasiqs who emitted the sweetness of oranges generally possessed greater battle prowess, courtesy of a soul or two implanted by Satan himself. Not that it ever mattered in the end.

Still, a Lasiqs alone wouldn't have stirred that part of him he'd confined centuries ago. Something else had given his duality the confidence to once again challenge him.

Pilan dug his fingers into the crevices between the bricks of a wall and climbed. The first three stories stretched his muscles, making him feel more alive in the night, but the next two brought cramps to his hands. At the top of the five-story building he walked along the narrow ledge, above the tarpaper roof, sniffing the air for any particle that might disclose what it was that his mirror self knew.

A spark of mixed flavors ignited and vanished.

Pilan froze in his tracks. Vanilla. Leather. The hair on the back of his neck pricked his skin. What the leather meant, he had no clue, but combined with vanilla, the flavor of Heaven's angels, it couldn't bode well. Not even Hell could copy an angel's scent.

This Lasiqs wasn't from Satan's seed.

Heh, heh, heh. My Father has finally found a champion, Pilan.

"Silence. Neither Heaven nor Hell can defeat me." Pilan spread his arms wide and stared at the sliver of moon winking behind drifting gray and black clouds. "Do you hear me?" he screamed to the night. "I am Pilan! Spawn of Heaven and Hell. I bear the power of each. I am waiting. Come to me!"

A wisp of torrid breeze passed Pilan's ears and deposited its message. "I am Anai. I shall kill you soon. Very soon."

BUY A DEMON AFFAIR

http://www.kevad.net/

https://nobleromance.com/Authors/116

http://www.rainbowebooks.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4507

A vision, a wish, and a journey plagued by evil.

Cold, desolate cliffs and a white dragon’s blue gaze captures Seren Jordan in a terrifying vision. A universe away, Paladin Fulcan--prince, captain, and sorcery-shadowed seed of dragonkind--struggles to overcome his grief during the long journey to where he must bury his wife and son. Seeing a shooting star, he violates all the laws of the dragonseed: he makes a wish.

A dragonseed's wish can open the gates between realities, can alter fate. But has fate itself decreed this wish? For the throne-less dragonseed's destiny is entwined with that of a mortal mate; their son is fated to be the One True Dragon King to rule over all the dragons. But not all dragons are content to accept one rule, and the rebels quietly gather allies to prevent the birth of Seren's baby.

Excerpt

Birds appeared on the outer edges of her vision. She shifted her gaze. She watched the wings moving, brilliant white down and bluish gray up. Their feathers along with their shapes reminded her of the herons she often saw in the bayous and marshes around New Orleans. She smiled. The reminder brought wonderful memories of growing up in the Crescent City.

Every summer her parents would take her to beach on Pontchartrain Lake. Water, sand, and sun had covered her from head to toe. She’d loved the summer months with picnics in the park. They’d feed the pigeons in Jackson Square. Then when she’d grown and had her child, she’d done the same for her. She smiled at the memories.

Soft footsteps approached Seren from behind. The touch of a warm palm on her neck soothed her. A second later, the cushion dipped from the person sitting.

Paladin’s deep voice warmed her more than the sunlight. “You’re awake. You must be much better if you can smile.”

“What kind of birds are those? They look similar to ones on Earth,” she asked, not ready to face him.

Silence answered her for several moments.

When he leaned above her, he cast a shadow over her shoulder and chest. “They are not birds. Those are dracs, fledgling dragons. They are from my clan’s namesake.”

Surprised, she shifted closer to the window, studying the flying beasts. Small, with slender bodies, the creatures showed little to no resemblance to the beast from her vision. “Those are the dragons?”

She glanced at him. What she saw melted away her surprise. Golden strands lay against the high cast of his cheeks. Seren reached up and glided a finger tip across his bottom lip. His smooth, almost silky lips parted. She lowered her hand, returning her gaze to the window.

She struggled to keep her desire under control. Need pounded between her legs. When she spoke, she kept her tone even. “I don’t like the way you make me feel.”

“In what manner do you speak?”

“Heat, lust…passion.”

“Is that so terrible?” His voice had deepened.

She sighed. “For me, yes. I don’t want to feel those emotions. I wanted the vision to end. Desiring you doesn’t fit into the picture.”

“Desire is not bad.” He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek.

Zarak shed that Warrior Code crap long ago. Oscar personifies it. Hunting a murderer in a land scarred by endless warfare, two men fight for justice, honor, and who gets top.

Chapter 1

I woke muddled, thinking the ship's engines sounded wrong. Red light glared on my eyelids. Breathing meant gagging on the seagull-shit taste of a hangover. And that sound was not my ship's engines. More like a sardine can's engines or…a plane?

Opening my eyes took effort. A plane. From the rear of the fuselage, I faced up an aisle between rows of knees hugging sea bags. Not sea bags: MOLLE-packs. Red lights in strips overhead barely illuminated a couple hundred hunched forms in desert camo, a row of males in body armor along each bulkhead, facing inward, and two rows of females jammed into back-to-back seats in the center. Male or female, each of them clutched one of those carbines the sponges called an assault rifle.

Why am I in a plane packed with camo-assed bullet-sponges?

The plane's deck angled down sharply. Screams rang in my ears, going dull. My ears cleared, painfully, and the shrieks sharpened.

Crashing. That's what we're doing.

The deck roller-coastered up, then yawed faster than physics should allow. Whiplash. I saw stars. The stench of vomit wrung my empty guts.

A dive and another yaw brought more screams ringing off the bulkhead, prayer in Spanish close by, retching farther away.

How did I stay in my seat, with gravity halving and doubling and snatching me starboard to port? When the plane steadied long enough to let me look down, I saw bands of dull silver duct tape strapping my thighs to my seat, and another red-streaked silver band over my belt.

Something hung on my lower face. I had some kind of mask. No. Somebody had duct-taped a puke bag to my face. It sagged obscenely against my chin, like a giant used condom.

Pulling it off hurt. The stench blasted from it.

Where do I put this? I looked around, blinking, trying to make sense. The screamers in the middle seats were mostly army. The hundred or so men squatting in the seats lining the bulkhead were marines. Some laughed at the women. Others hunkered down, as if waiting for shrapnel to find them. A few threw curious glances at me, the only squid in sight.

A cluster of pops rapped at the bulkhead, like popcorn in my mother's big pot. One of the sponges grinned at me. "Small arms fire. Welcome to Bagram."

Bagram? A map of the giant air base flashed in my eyes, then a dim memory of riding my father's shoulder, hiding my face in his turban while a trio of Shuravi -- Soviets -- stomped an ominously silent laborer. Couldn't be…

"He means hold on," added another sponge.

I dropped the puke bag to grab my seat. The plane tilted, again nose-diving but this time braking hard. Instead of falling to the deck, the bag shot forward, splatting against a female's ear.

"I'm hit! Aaah!"

"God! Brains! Oh, God!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!"

The plane swerved and jinked, each jerk redoubling the shrieks. The smell of fear, sharp and sour, fought with the smell of vomit.

One of the marines chuckled, despite the sweat beading on his face, and pitched his voice low enough to hear under the shrieks. "You know you're going to have to police that up, Squidward."

"No-go, sir. The doc's our volunteer."

Volunteer? WTF? I twisted to see who'd called me a volunteer, but his rifle caught my attention first. A bolt-action rifle. A sniper's weapon.

Behind the rifle, teeth flashed in a grin. He didn't seem to exist, except as a rifle, a hint of helmet, and a grin. Then the grin vanished.

The deck flipped overhead. The unsecured marines bounced, sending bellows among the screams. I hung from my seat, still taped in place.

The deck flipped again, then slammed up at us. A marine fell across my lap. I caught his weapon before it could bean him. The cool metal slapped into my hand, rousing memories like an old lover's name.

I looked at the sniper, still crouched behind his rifle, immobile and near-invisible. Who the fuck are you?

Find a different excerpt here: http://www.loose-id.com/Khyber-Run.aspx

My Published Works and Reviews

2011-07-16T21:32:00.004-05:00

Book Blurb:

It’s said love is timeless. Meghan Dennehy, is about to prove it.

Uncomfortable in her world, the antiques of the past hold far more interest than the fast paced era Meghan Dennehy lives in. Only happy with her nose in a book or in the life built in her dreams, she longs for a place to belong and a love of her own.

A hundred years in the past, Will Thornton, a half-breed former army scout is caught between two worlds. Passing for white, he does not forget his native heritage and proudly bears the name Ghost Walking, given him by his grandfather. His heart yearns for someone to love him for who and what he is.

Fate intercedes to bring them together. But destiny isn't always kind, even to young lovers. It will take more than passion to bind them. It will take faith in a love that transcends time.

ADULT EXCERPT

Will brought in the trunk from the barn to set at the foot of the bed. He heard her stirring about in the kitchen, but was determined to leave her alone until everything was ready. He laid a fire in the fireplace and surveyed his efforts. He hoped they’d do for now.

He stood and arched his back until his spine cracked. He must be getting old. He caught wind of a wonderful aroma drifting from under the door. A compliment to her cooking would be a good start and far from a lie. Everything she’d made so far had been perfect.

He eased the door open, not wanting to startle her by just bursting in. Turning his head to the right, he saw the chair under the door handle and frowned. Was she trying to bar his way? He turned his head to the left and forgot to breathe as his heart tried to escape his chest and his cock, the tight confines of his britches. He stepped through the doorway to gape.

In the lantern light, her pale body bent over the tub rim, slender and perfect. Fair hair swirled in the water as her right arm groped for the pitcher. He grimaced when the spasm set in, watching her cradle the limb to her chest until the pain passed.

“Meghan?” He spoke her name softly so as not to startle, and she froze. He unbuttoned two buttons of his shirt and pulled it over his head. “Let me rinse your hair.”

She didn’t speak, nor did she move to rise. Will knelt behind her, knees on either side of hers and dipped the pitcher into the tub. He poured the contents slowly along her nape, using his other hand to squeeze the soap out. The bulge of his erection rubbed against her bare bottom with each movement. He leaned farther in order to draw her mane from the water so he might rinse the last of the soap away, and her ass wriggled.

Wrapping her hair around his hand, he pulled her head back gently, forcing her to gaze up at him. Tears streamed down her face.

“Hush, love, hush,” he cooed as he pressed her to his chest.

“I’m sorry. I’d take it back if I could.”

He pulled her face around, her hair still his handle. “Take what back?”

“The others, if you’d come first, they never would have been. But you weren’t there. I had to come find you.”

Will smiled despite her tear-stained face and kissed each eye. They must be destined for each other if he understood what she meant. “What or who came before doesn’t matter. I was wrong to ask. Everything started new the day we met.”

“So you don’t think I’m a slut? You don’t care I’m not a virgin?”

Will wiped at the tears on her lashes and cursed himself as twice the fool. He kissed her tenderly. Breaking the kiss, he pulled his lips only far enough away to say, “No, I would never think that of you. I just couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else touching you, or you them.” He allowed his hand to roam over her breast. “As to the other, at this moment I am happy you’re not a green maiden, else what I plan to do might shock your sensibilities.”

A shiver ran through her, and her eyes widened. “What did you have in mind?”

Will smiled wickedly, and then kissed her senseless. When her body went limp in his arms, he turned her around until she again faced the tub. His tongue dipped into her ear, causing her to buck against him. He chuckled.

“Lean way over, sweetheart. Get a good grip on the rim.” Will urged her arms outward, curling her fingers over the tub’s edge. He angled her butt up and nudged her knees outward, sat back, and assayed her position. “Mmm, stay put. I won’t be long.”

He took longer than he should have to get his boots off. The lantern light glistening off the dew already collecting between her thighs became horribly distracting, or maybe it was the knowledge she wanted him as bad as he wanted her. He tossed the last boot across the room and she made an—eep! His britches and drawers came off as one.

Knelt behind her, he ran a finger down her spine, and she arched her back like a cat. When the same finger ran the length of her slit, her back bowed, and her ass went up. Wet and perfect. He seemed to continually promise to take things slow and then make a liar of himself. He’d try again for her sake.

He eased his rampant rod down to rest between her lower lips, swallowing the groan that rose from his depths as they touched. Cupping her breasts in his hands, he massaged them while he danced his tongue along her neck and shoulder.

“Will?” Her butt tilted more in invitation.

“Mmm. Sugar, I’m tryin’ to take this slow.” The groan escaped as she wiggled her ass.

“Can we try slow another time? Please?”

Her skin went goosepimply under his hands. Pure meanness made him ask, “Please, what?”

“Love me, now.” The plea ended in a sob.

The need in her voice stole the air from the room. Will drew back slowly, allowing the swollen head of his shaft to stroke back over her bud then further until he reached her entrance, wet and ready. He held himself in check and moved forward an inch at a time. His hands stilled her hips when she would have thrust back onto him, possibly ending everything before they started.

When his groin touched her butt, she pushed back, taking up that last bit. A shudder ran through her and into Will as her inner muscles trembled and squeezed the length of him. Her sigh turned to a moan when he began to thrust.

BUY DARE TO DREAM HERE

REVIEWS

I received my very first review of Dare to Dream a few hours ago. To say I am thrilled doesn't begin to describe my emotion. This, from a fellow author:

From Beth Grant:

DARE TO DREAM was awesome! It had laughter, drama, suspense, and heartrending emotion. The heat build-up was smooth and even for both characters; the climax of finally culminating the attraction was worth the journey and wait. The ending was sweet! A book I recommend for a couple of hours well-spent!

Jul 12, 2011 KevaD rated DARE TO DREAM *****

It takes a lot for a newly published author to grab my attention. Ms. Vaughan succeeded.
Dare to Dream is a time travel tale with fresh characters and a couple of nicely written plot twists. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and look forward to more of this author's work.

Pam at Fallen Angels Reviews gave Mr. Fix-it 4 Angels and wrote:

Beverly Miller is down on her luck, down on her money, and down on herself. After getting out of an unemotional and dreadful marriage of twenty-five years, she is determined to never be dependent on a man again. She has enough pride to fill the Grand Canyon and refuses to accept a hand-out, hand-up or charity from anyone. She works hard to take care of herself, 10 dogs, 2 horses and a house that's falling apart all around them all. When the heat goes out, a friend recommends a handyman.

When Beverly met Chad, the last thing she was looking for was another man in her life. But she could not deny how he made her body react and her heart race. But could she trust another man with her heart after a wasted marriage. Chad, having lost his wife a few years earlier, was just starting to emerge from his shell. He remembered Beverly from a party their mutual friend had thrown a year ago. She sparked his interest then and in seeing her again, the spark was still there. Now he just have to get pass her pride, show her all men are not lazy and good-for-nothing, keep her house from falling apart, the animals together and save her from her lunatic ex-husband. But he is Mr. Fix-it and he is up for the challenge.

It's always a good story when love triumphs. Divorce has become more and more commonplace in our society and many families have experienced it. It is never good and when one partner is not willing to let go, it can be worst. It was good to see a man stand by his woman through the ugliness of a jealous ex-husband most would walk away and not get involved. The hero not only fixed her home, the dogs, the horses, but also the hidden sensuality and confidence she had missed for so long. Make me want to look in my newspaper for a Mr. Fix-it, or at least place an ad, smile.

Reviewed by: Pam S.

And the winners are...

2011-07-11T01:00:00.015-05:00

Do to internet glitches beyond my control my website was inaccessible until early this morning yet a few of you persevered. I honor of your die hard spirit I have decided to award two copies of Dare to Dream.

Amber, Beth check you in boxes! I hope you enjoy the read.

WIN A COPY of DARE TO DREAM! !

2011-07-07T01:00:00.013-05:00

Woo-hoo! Today is my release day for DARE TO DREAM my erotic time travel romance. Everything about this book has been riding the whirlwind. First I wrote it in 28 days. Then after an edit, I submitted it to Siren Bookstrand. Less than two weeks later they offered contract! Some of you were so impatient you took advantage of the pre-order sale price (which is still on through the 14th!). Thank you for that.

So, here's the deal...Drop a comment at the bottom of this post. Be sure to leave your e-mail address and name! I want to know if you could travel to the past or the future which would you choose and why? On Sunday the 10th, I will take all those comments and put them into a hat...okay it's a hat box...and choose a lucky winner! That person will receive a free copy of Dare to Dream in the e-format of their choice!!!!

Oh! And look for my erotic romantic suspense, Mr. Fix-it in September!

Please click the banner below for excerpts and buy links.

DARE TO DREAM by Debbie Vaughan - Available Now!!

2011-06-25T20:26:00.004-05:00

DARE TO DREAM TO BE PUBLISHED!!!!

2011-03-30T18:58:00.003-05:00

Well, it is official, DARE TO DREAM, my time travel romance is to be published by Siren-Bookstrand!!!
The scheduled release date is in July for the e-book and a few months later for the paperback. I am thrilled to be given this opportunity to finally get one of my stories to you.

Please check back often for updates as I receive them.

Here is a blurb to hold you while you wait:

DARE TO DREAM

It’s said love is timeless.
Meghan Dennehy is about to prove it.

Uncomfortable in her world, the antiques of the past hold far more interest than the fast paced era Meghan Dennehy lives in. Only happy with her nose in a book or in the life built in her dreams, she longs for a place to belong and a love of her own.

A hundred years in the past, Will Thornton, a half-breed former army scout is caught between two worlds. Passing for white, he does not forget his native heritage and proudly bears the name Ghost Walking, given him by his grandfather. His heart yearns for someone to love him for who and what he is.

Fate intercedes to bring them together. But destiny isn't always kind, even to young lovers. It will take more than passion to bind them. It will take faith in a love that transcends time.

Author Lillian Grant Interviews Debbie Vaughan!

2011-03-01T06:35:00.000-06:00

Wait, that's me!

Yes folks, the queen of down under is interviewing yours truly today on her website: www.lilliangrant.com.. The interview will also be simulcast from The Author's Coach with Cornelle Keveen, www.cornellekeveen.webs.com in the Big Easy, New Orleans, Louisiana!

This is a really nice gesture on his part since we had a little accident the last time we were there. His set is still smoking, and I don't mean that in a good way.

So, y'all come by and visit. You may find out more about me than you wanted to know and a little sumpin, sumpin about the books I have written and am striving to get published.

Hope to see you soon!

Welcome to...

2011-01-30T09:05:00.002-06:00

Get Bit by my Free Reads!

Hello everyone!

This is the site where I will keep "adult content".

Here is my dastardly plan: From time to time I will post a free short story or story here for your reading pleasure. I hope. I started with a little short story called Query This, Sucker!:Memoirs of an Angry Author. As you will discover, writers sometimes vent their frustration in ways other than writing. Well, they think about it...

My short story turned novella,Tom's Story, is finished and posted in two parts. Who is Tom you may well ask? Thomas Nathaniel Thornton is a main character in my series, and this story will tell something about his history, before he became the suave, vampire he is today.

From time to time I may also post excerpts from my friends' new releases. Please check back often. My regular blogs and postings can be found on www.debbievaughan.com

Meet Author Lillian Grant

2010-12-07T23:08:00.000-06:00

Okay people, Lillian's interview is up! Click the "GUESTS" link in the title bar and it will take you right to it. Of course we have to have at least one technical difficulty to make this "real", my post a comment button went bye-bye. So, if you would be so kind, after the interview, return to this post and leave your comments here. Ms. Grant will be checking on them from time to time.

Thanks much and enjoy!

Are you ready?

2010-12-07T20:12:00.001-06:00

Well, it's almost time! Are you excited? I'm excited! In a few short hours we will have author Lillian Grant sitting here answering my probing questions about her romantic comedy, Happy Birthday Nancy Tobin, her life, her dreams, her desires. All sorts of good stuff. And speaking of good stuff. She has agree to give us an hot, hot and dare I say it? HOT! excerpt from that wonderful book.
Please leave us a comment, just look for the "post a comment" at the bottom of the page, click it and give us a shout.

See you soon!

Exciting News!

2010-12-06T07:02:00.000-06:00

Today is an exciting day, my friend and fellow author KevaD's, release of his second novel: Sunday Awakening. (I will post a blurb and cover shot later.) This is a wonderful story of an abused woman who not only finds freedom from her past but love along the way.

Also, on Wednesday December 8th, I will be hosting an interview with Australian author, Lillian Grant on this site. Please come and visit on Wednesday, click the "Guests" link in the title bar to come and learn a bit about what it is like to be her, a novelist new to the scene.

Beautiful New headers

2010-11-28T12:58:00.003-06:00

I need to share some love for my new header with my friend Elaina Lee at www.forthemusedesign.com
I think it's beautiful! So if you need something like this for your very own check them out.

I came, I wrote, I kicked NaNo's Butt!

2010-11-25T21:55:00.000-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

For a month I have been stressing over the National Novel Writing Month Challenge. How could I possibly write 50,000 words in 30 days? Especially, when I just started a new job. Determination, that's how! Today while you gobbled turkey and dressing, I wrote over 5000 words. My fingers don't work right and I can't see worth a crap, but I done it! I hit 50K, 5 days early.

Can I hear a whoot-whoot, brothers and sisters? Amen!

Yes, I am giddy and exhausted and, strangely enough still writing. See, 50K didn't finish my novel, almost, but no cigar. I am at 51K now and closing in on Fini.

I kicked Nano's butt!

Great Review!

2010-10-20T19:20:00.001-05:00

My friend and author, Lillian Grant, has just received a great review on her debut erotic novel, Happy Birthday Nancy Tobin from The Romance Review,
four out of 5 stars. Kudos Lillian!

Eek! I'm blogging!

2010-09-29T07:06:00.004-05:00

Geeze Louise, how could I forget? I'm blogging today on Some Write it Hot! I give a little insight into what it takes to write the same thing, differently. Confused?
Go read my blog post.

And while you are looking for things to keep you occupied drop by D.H. Starr's blog site and vote who you'd most like to sleep with The yummilious Eric Northman or that devious Bill Compton from True Blood. Gee, can you tell which way I voted?

Leave me a comment will ya?

Thank You

2010-09-26T13:29:00.001-05:00

Hello fans!

I have fans? I just wanted to tell y'all how excited this makes me. I have people in the US, the UK, Canada, Australia, Japan and now Russia and Sweden, reading Tom's Story as well as Query This Sucker!Memoirs of an Angry Author. Life is good. Could it get better? Sure,I could win the lottery or get a publishing contract,which, if you're a writer, is sort of the same thing.

I figure I have three or four more chapters in Tom's Story to bring him up to where my first novel starts, then, depending on what is happening in my life, I will start on Rafael's Story. Raf is the other male lead from my books. I describe him at one point as a young Tony Curtis look-a-like, channeling Richard Simmons. Had I but known about Adam Lambert when I started writing, I think Raf might have been described differently. So Adam, if you're reading this, practice your acting skills. (Yes, even though I'm from Arkansas, I voted for you on American Idol!) Should my manuscripts ever become published and those books get turned into a movie script, you get my nod for the part of Raf! You even get to sing.
Hey, it could happen! We have sparkling vampires and True Blood...and I have fans! Anything is possible!!!

New Chapter in Tom's Story is up!

2010-09-25T18:41:00.001-05:00

Hi Everyone!

I'm sorry I'm running late on this one, but better late than never,right? I hope you enjoy chapter 3 of Tom's Story. Let me know what you think, okay?