Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Please Welcome, The Amazing Romance Author, Kenzie Michaels!

Here's a little bit about my special guest today. Please make Kenzie feel welcome by leaving her a comment today.

Thanks for having me today Tabs!  Reminder, my contest is still going on.  Comment to win your copy of Heart’s Last Chance!  Winners will be chosen at the end of September, so don’t forget to leave your contact information!

When I first began reading erotic romances, they always seemed too short.  What happened once the lovers climbed out of bed and returned to the Real World?  What if someone got a phone call from an ex-lover who suddenly wanted to get back together?  What if plans to see each other for lunch or dinner fell through because of work?  I decided that if I were to ever write an erotic romance, to at least answer the question of ‘what happens next?’
 For the most part, I’ve done this.  Occasionally, you realize many romances may not ‘HEA’ but in actuality, more along the ‘HEA….For Now’ lines. 
 When Brock revealed that he only had a week to gain Tricia’s trust and devotion, I wondered how the hell I was going to handle this.  It’s always been my experience that relationships need a minimum of three months to fully develop, no matter how awesome the chemistry or ‘instant attraction’ may be.  Not everyone is like that; I’ve known couples who’ve met, married after a few weeks, and are still together 20-plus years later. 
 This excerpt shows Tricia struggling with her feelings.  She knows Brock’s time constraints, but a crisis has occurred on his planet, and she is suddenly thrust into a strange family dynamic.  The more time she spends with his family, the more her feelings grow.  What would you do if faced with the knowledge your lover might never again return to Earth if your feelings are insincere toward him?

Blurb:
Everyone has an imaginary friend at some point, right?  Well, what if you discover yours is actually an alien who is
fascinated with Earth? 
 Tricia Alexander's dreams are haunted by a mystery lover.  When she discovers the man she met in a nightclub is from another planet, will she accept his story or kick him out?
 Brock was young Tricia's imaginary friend and confidant, and watched her grow up over the years.  After gaining permission from the leaders of his planet, he sought to bond with her twice before, but with little results.  When he's given a final chance, will he succeed?  Or will a family crisis prove too much?

 Excerpt:
“Brock, it gets better every time. Do you feel this?”
 “I know.” He straightened up on wobbly legs, then assisted her in standing. “Let’s lie down.”
 Brock led her to the bed and pulled back the covers. They slid between the cool sheets and reached for each other, Tricia’s head against Brock’s chest with his arms around her.
 “I love you.” He could barely make out the words.
 What did you say?
 I said I think I love you.
 He felt fresh moisture on his chest. “Tricia, please don’t cry.” Tipping her face upwards,
Brock brushed his thumbs across her lower eyelids, wiping away the tears.
 “I’ve never felt this much passion for a man before, or even this much love inside for another, and it’s only been what, five days?” She sniffed, then burrowed her face in his neck. “I think you’re right, we may be soul mates. Why did I not recognize you the first time?”
 “I don’t think I was patient enough. You did not know what you wanted the first time around. I should have waited a bit longer, but I was afraid of losing you to the wrong man.” He stroked her hair.
 “That wouldn’t have happened. The longest relationship I was in only lasted a year and a half, and I tried to break up with him three times.” Tricia hugged him. “I’d come to realize I was getting bored every three months. Which makes me wonder how I’m going to feel about you in twelve weeks.”
 SCP: 
  
Amazon:





Monday, September 22, 2014

Today's Very Special Guest: Romance Author--Violet Ingram

Let's give Violet a big welcome. Please leave a comment for her.
Now, here's a little bit about my guest..

Author Bio:

Violet Ingram is a wife, mother, and author. She and her husband have been married for over 24 years and they have 5 children.
Violet’s love of books was the direct result of having spent Saturday mornings going to libraries with her mom. Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, and Encyclopedia Brown were the first books she fell in love with.

Violet lives in the Midwest where she is busy at work on her next book.

Blurb:
Spending time with a dead guy, being interrogated by the cops and getting stitched up by a cute ER doc wasn't exactly the evening plans private investigator Kimberly Murphy envisioned. Especially the getting caught standing over a dead body, again, part. Only this time it wasn't her fault. Just once she’d like it if homicide detective Grant Tompkins didn't assume she was guilty.

To clear her slightly tarnished name, Kim goes after the clever killer while avoiding a certain hot homicide detective determined to put her in handcuffs – and not the pink, fuzzy kind – not that she’d mind. Too bad Kim’s efforts lead to dead ends and even more dead bodies. Kim will need all her skills and a bit of luck to outwit a killer who’d like to put an end to Kim’s meddling permanently.
Excerpt:
Sunday evening
Cops hate it when you vomit all over their crime scene—a mistake I had no desire to repeat. Then again, the fact I’d just trampled all over this scene was probably a whole new mistake I should have avoided. I stared at the corpse and fought the urge to hurl. If only I hadn’t answered the door, I’d be eating dinner instead of standing in my neighbor’s apartment looking at a dead guy.
Said dead guy was just sitting there in the chair. You would think he was asleep—if not for all the blood and guts spilled onto his lap. I tore my eyes from him and asked the question I most wanted the answer to.
“What the heck did you hit him with?”
Lindsay dropped the strand of blonde hair she’d been twirling and glanced down at the floor. “My shoe.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve already told you. Twice. I hit him with my shoe.”
“Damn it, Lindsay, you can’t kill someone with a shoe!”
“Hello, they’re Via Spiga.”

 Death by High Heels available at:

Contact info:
Facebook:  Violet Ingram
Twitter:  @violetingram

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Please Make Welcome, Romance Author, M S Spencer

Hello Readers,
Please take a minute to say hi to, M S Spencer, and make her feel welcome. Leave a comment for a chance to win one of Ms. Spencer's novels. Please a way to contact you in case you're the winner.
AUTHOR BIO:
Although she has lived or traveled in every continent except Antarctica and Australia (bucket list), M. S. Spencer has spent the last thirty years mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director and parent. She has two fabulous grown children, and currently divides her time between the Gulf coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.

Ms. Spencer has published nine romance novels. The first two, Lost in His Arms and Lost and Found, were published by Red Rose Publishing. The other six—Losers Keepers, Triptych, Artful Dodging: The Torpedo Factory Murders, Mai Tais and Mayhem: Murder at Mote Marine (a Sarasota Romance, Lapses of Memory, and the Mason's Mark —were published by Secret Cravings. Whirlwind Romance, her ninth, was released September 2014.

What do pirates, princes, Puritans, and propaganda have in common? Lacey Delahaye, forager and jelly maker, finds out in this romantic suspense set in the western Caribbean. A randomly chosen comment will win a copy of this wonderful story.
Blurb:
In the aftermath of a hurricane, Lacey Delahaye finds herself marooned on the Gulf coast of Florida with a mysterious man. They are immediately drawn to each other, but before Armand can confess his identity, they are kidnapped and taken far from civilization to a tiny, remarkable island in the western Caribbean. With the help of her son Crispin, a small, but proud young boy named Inigo, and a cadre of extraordinary characters, Lacey and Armand must confront pirates, power-mad ideologues, and palace intrigue if they are to restore the once idyllic tropical paradise to its former serenity and find lasting happiness.

Excerpt (R) : A Wet Reunion
Lacey fidgeted. Inigo said she would see Armand, but when? And how? She enjoyed Maitea’s and Edrigu’s company, but if she didn’t find herself in Armand’s arms soon she’d go stark raving mad.
“Dinner is served.”
They filed into the dining room. Lacey peered into every corner, hoping to see Armand. No one except the butler and a footman peered back. After dinner, Maitea suggested a stroll on the battlements. Lacey lagged behind in case Armand lay in wait for her. Nothing. They did two circuits and, as the moon rose, Maitea yawned. “It’s been a long day. I’m sure you’re tired. Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.”
No one waited for her there either. She even checked the shower just in case. At last, she undressed and lay down. She remembered this room and the bed, and a beautiful night of lovemaking. Now she couldn’t sleep. She went out on the balcony. The moon rode high, walking a carpet of stars. Their myriad needles of light bounced off something below. A terrace? No, a swimming pool. Funny, I didn’t notice it the last time I was here. A swim in the moonlight might relax me. She slipped out of her nightgown, threw on a thin robe, and followed a set of rough, rock-hewn steps down.
At the bottom she found an oval pool, almost hidden by tall pink oleander and night-blooming jasmine. A waterfall tinkled at one end. She slipped into the water. It felt cool against her skin. She floated on her back, gazing up at the sky. Contentment filled her. I can wait for Armand—there’s all the time in the world. Anticipation is half the fun anyway.
The whisper wafted across the ripples. “So you have come back to me.” For a horrible second she thought Damien—or worse, Traficant—had found her. But then a wet head rose next to her and shook the glistening black locks out of a dear face.
“Armand!”
He swam a lap around her. “Who did you expect?”
Dazed, she touched his face. “I’d about given up hope for tonight.”
“I’ve been waiting here for you. Come to me.”
If this were a scene suitable for children, the next few minutes would allude to sighs and chaste kisses. Or there would be a scene break with the words “romantic interlude” accompanied by a little light music.
But it’s not.
Lacey rolled over in the water, placed a hand on Armand’s head and ducked him under. He came up spitting and laughing. “That’s no way to treat a prince.”
“That’s the way I treat my princes. Where have you been, anyway?”
Armand didn’t answer. He ducked under the water again. In the dark Lacey felt something gently touch her thigh, then pull it to the right. Bubbles rose up under her, tickling the lips of her vagina. She twisted, trying to cross her legs to get away from the sensation. A hand grabbed her other thigh and dragged it to the left. Lips replaced the bubbles, then a tongue speared her unprotected channel, darting in and out, prodding the nub of her clitoris. She took hold of Armand’s shoulders and pulled his head closer. The orgasm kindled. Just as she slid over the edge, Armand’s head came up. He gasped and sucked in a mouthful of air. “Armand, I was almost there! Why did you stop?”
He panted, “If you want more, you’ll have to allow me to breathe now and then.”
 “All right—go ahead and rest a bit. Catch your breath.” She dropped below the surface, circling around to Armand’s rear. Reaching between his legs, she hefted his balls and rolled them in her hand. His fingers gently pried her hand away and pulled her between his thighs. His cock, hard as a shillelagh, bobbed before her. She caught it with her mouth and ran her tongue around it. Armand kicked his feet and rose to the surface, bringing Lacey with him. He held on to the coping with one hand to stabilize them and let Lacey finish her work. “Oh God, Lacey, that’s it!” Warm, creamy semen spurted out, dissipating in the water.
Armand swung her around so her back was to the pool wall and straddled her.
“Have you caught your breath yet?”
“Oh, yes.” He held her waist and let the still rigid penis slide into her waiting pussy. The soft water cradled them as they moved in rhythm, making their own waves. In the dark Lacey could make out little except the saffron flashes in Armand’s eyes. She kept her gaze locked on them while his thrusts lifted her almost out of the water. Like dolphins mating, they breached and plunged until the moment when man touched the innermost part of woman and fused. The wire connecting them across the miles, a wire that had been stretched almost to its limit, recoiled into its natural shape—a spring tightly coiled around them as they clung together.
Armand wrapped Lacey in his arms. “It’s been so long,” he whispered. He kissed the top of her head, her forehead, her nose. “I've imagined this moment—”
“Every day, every hour—”
“Every second.”
His lips fastened on hers.
*****
Buy Links:
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Contacts:


Monday, July 28, 2014

WELCOME TO TUESDAY'S TALES



Hello Readers,
Welcome to this week's Tuesday Tales. The prompt for the week is "Right" .....

I decided on a change of pace this week and left Ginger and the Gray Mortuary behind to move to the paranormal historical I'm working on and hope to have released later this year. It's titled, Darkest Angel, and is Book 2 in my Angels of Deadwood Gulch Series. Emily and Slade are secondary characters in the novel, but I hope you'll enjoy this snippet from when they first meet.

Darkest Angel/Shay

He come riding from the west, a tall man in the saddle silhouetted against the setting sun. Riding slowly, he didn't give the impression he was in a hurry, but from the way he looked around, he was careful. When he rode into the yard, his eyes took in everything.
Emily didn't know why she wasn't afraid, but somehow she knew he wasn't a threat, at least, not to her. 
He was cautious.
She didn't fault him for being so.
Dressed all in black, she couldn't very well deny he looked menacing, especially with the worn leather holsters strapped to his hips, two Colt .45s in place.
When he got off the horse, she held her breath.
What did he want?
She remained behind the waist high well where she was drawing water to carry to the chickens. The board enclosure around the four sides blocked most of his view of her.
“Ma’am,” he said politely and tipped his dark hat.
He remained beside his horse, maybe to assure her he meant her no harm. A gunfighter. The second in three days she’d met—first Rio, now this stranger. Gunfighters weren't new to the Dakota Territory, but she’d always managed to avoid them.
Who was he?
Why was he here?
She nodded a hello and finished pulling up the bucket of water. She hefted the full bucket on to the top of the well. Water splashed over the sides wetting the front of her gown, her shoes, and the boards.
“That water sure looks good,” he said in a soft drawl sliding his gaze up and down the front of her gown. “Mind giving a stranger a drink?”
Heat crawled up her face. Were his words sincere or did they have a double meaning? Emily shaded her eyes against the evening sun and studied him for a long moment. The way his gaze kept returning to her breasts, she was pretty sure his words were filled with meaning.
And yes, she did mind, but she wasn't rude enough to say such words. He didn't appear uncomfortable with her suspicious look directed at him. She didn't detect hostility, but Lord above, she had the feeling he could get dangerous real fast, even if he was the stillest man she'd ever seen.
He must have sensed her hesitation. “I emptied my canteen some ways back,” he said, “but if you prefer not to share your water, I can get back on my horse and mosey on.” He seemed intent on reassuring her he meant no harm, but trust didn't come easy for Emily.
He tossed his reins over his saddle and took a single step toward the well.
Emily let go of the pail of water and closed her fingers around the rifle standing at her side. From where he stood, he couldn't see the gun, but he must have instinctively known she had a weapon because he froze. “Ma’am, my name’s Slade. Slade McKenna. I’m a U.S. Marshall. I’m not here to cause you grief, so if you wouldn't mind, I’d sure like it if you’d take your hand off that rifle.”
“I mind,” she said, keeping her fingers wrapped around the barrel. “I don’t see a badge. Not on your vest. Not on your shirt.”
“No, ma’am. It’s in my pocket. I don’t like making myself a target. There are men who like nothing better than putting a bullet through a badge while a man’s still wearing it.”
“I suppose that’s true enough,” she replied. “You can have a drink of water.” She lifted the gourd dipper off the nail where it dangled on the well post. With her free hand, she dipped it into the bucket of water. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He took the gourd from her, careful to keep the well between them. “You sure are a distrusting little gal.”
She didn't reply. Emily had little use for small talk.
He handed the dipper back to her and backed away. Reaching his horse, he grabbed the reins. “Mind if I water my horse at that trough over there?” He’d already turned the sorrel colored mare before he asked.
Startled, Emily snatched up the rifle and leveled it on his chest. “Don’t move.”
He dropped the reins and raised his hands in surrender. “Yes ma’am. I reckon I’ll just stand right here until you tell me otherwise.”

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