A Willing Writer's Blog: Erotica 1.0

Well, Doesn't This Make My Whole Day?

2012-02-10T18:50:00.002-05:00

Today I got an awesome review for my Ellora's Cave novel, Not So Pure, from HCHarju at Night Owl Reviews. They gave my naughty modern fairytale 4.25/5! Here's a little snippet of the review:

"There is never a dull moment in the book and I found myself flipping through the pages to see what the next titillating scene would offer."

That's not only my favorite part of the review, but a HUGE compliment especially considering this is my first ever published novel. I'd written many full books, but never endeavored to get them published before because I liked to call them practice novels. This book was my little baby that could--a work of two years--and I'm so happy it's getting received well all over the place! If you'd like to read more of the review for my book go HERE.

Writer Crazy

2012-02-08T00:22:00.001-05:00

This post about writer's craziness gave me such great joy I laughed for what must have been fifteen minutes because it's ALL TRUE! 25 Reasons That Writers Are Bug-Fuck Nuts. Read, know, love.

Also, because I can:

Who Did It?

2012-01-30T00:00:00.000-05:00

I couldn't bring myself to title this post "Who Dun it?" though for some reason that felt most appropriate for me. Anywho, it doesn't mater whose fault "it" was because I'm not going to find out until the end--because I've become a cozy mystery junkie. I don't know what it is, but it's like someone took my favorite chick lit heroine, threw in some suspense, a hot guy, and some gut-busting humor and I am SO there.

I've been having a great time introducing myself to them and a majority of the ones I picked up have huge backlists. Good for my mind, bad for my wallet. My poor little Nook Color doesn't know what to do with itself right now. Probably wants to kill me because I made it gain ten lbs and it didn't even get to savor the old, less weighty version of itself.

And, yeah, I know, I'm erotic romance/erotica writer, what the hell am I doing devouring cozy mysteries?

Variety, my friend, is the spice of life. Sometimes, just sometimes, I want a book with a good fade to black sex scene and for me, these little babies are my everything right now.

Here are some of the one's I've either read or picked up to read soon:

Introducing a delightful new series featuring Carolyn Cosi, manager of the historic Village Blend coffeehouse...

Carolyn arrives at work to discover the assistant manager dead in the back of the store, coffee grounds strewn everywhere. Two detectives investigate. But when they find no sign of forced entry or foul play, they deem it an accident. Still, Carolyn is not convinced. And after the police leave, Carolyn can't help wondering...If this was an act of murder, is she in danger?

The streets of San Francisco would be lined with hardcovers if rare book expert Brooklyn Wainwright had her way. And her mentor wouldn't be lying in a pool of his own blood on the eve of a celebration for his latest book restoration.

With his final breath he leaves Brooklyn a cryptic message, and gives her a priceless—and supposedly cursed—copy of Goethe's Faust for safekeeping.

Brooklyn suddenly finds herself accused of murder and theft, thanks to the humorless—but attractive—British security officer who finds her kneeling over the body. Now she has to read the clues left behind by her mentor if she is going to restore justice…

When she moved to Stoneham, city slicker Tricia Miles met nothing but friendly faces. And when she opened her mystery bookstore, she met friendly competition. But when she finds Doris Gleason dead in her own cookbook store, killed by a carving knife, the atmosphere seems more cutthroat than cordial. Someone wanted to get their hands on the rare cookbook that Doris had recently purchased-and the locals think that someone is Tricia. To clear her name, Tricia will have to take a page out of one of her own mysteries-and hunt down someone who isn't killing by the book.

Antiques-shop clerk Maggie O'Neill was a little weirded out when she discovered her new boss Felicity was a witch. But when Felicity becomes the suspect in a local murder, Maggie must enlist Felicity's wiccan friends for help--and discover her own spellbinding talent.

Craziness and Bubble Gum

2012-01-24T00:00:00.000-05:00

What have I been up to lately you ask? Been gearing up for my epic release schedule come February where I'll have a new release with Excessica every month until Oct 2012. And yes, I have considered that I'm absolutely insane. Hasn't been far from the back of my mind. In between those releases I'm also preparing a lot for Ellora's Cave including my paranormal mythical series, a Rennisance Faire bondage short story, and a couple other projects I've literally started writing this week.

I seem to be in a weird mode where I start projects and can't quite go back to them. Probably because my head is so focused on my editing right now. But whereas it seems like I'm not working very hard from my lack of releases, I promise you, lovely readers, I'm kicking ass and taking my names over here trying to push this giant pile of submissions off my desk. You'll see a lot of me in 2012--even if you don't want to.

On another note I can't even tell you how much I covet J. Scott Campbell's work right now. I want to hang a lot of his stuff all over my house. And I covet his fairytale calender like I'd sleep with it at night if I could. But, alas, can't spend the money right now. But, oh god, some of this gorgeousness will be mine! *shakes fist in the air ala Scarlett O'Hara*

Some of my favorites include:

Weird Girl Crush I Don't Understand

2012-01-22T18:00:00.003-05:00

Okay, so a majority of my girl crushes I totally understand--Angelina Jolie, Rachel McAdams (brunette), and Zoe Deschanel, those make total sense to me. But Evan Rachel Wood? Where the hell did that come from all mighty, smutty brain?

Not only is she blond, skinny as all hell, and more than a little young for my tastes--but she just shouldn't be my type. But there's some sensual magnetism and punk rock badassness that keeps me coming back for more with this woman. Her personality is so neat. I can't get enough. She was engaged to Marilyn Manson and against all odds I still wanted to do dirty, dirty things to this woman. Attraction is wonky. Case in point, this is what I usually go for:

I think you can see a theme, can't you?

This blog was brought about mainly because I'm editing Finger Paintings right now, my lesbian menage for Excessica coming out in February and I got to thinking about my attraction to the character's I make up in my head that look very similar to those posted above. I do not shy away from my girly lovin' roots, that's for damn sure. Check out my lesbian loving backlist if you don't believe me. You can even check out my newest lesbian short story, Tied Down, in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel.

Enough of this delicious womanly goodness--I've got Furious Lust to edit to chapter 12 by Tuesday and Finger Paintings to work on as well. I'm off for another cup of tea and some work in the woman cave!

Trips Planned for 2012

2012-01-08T01:00:00.000-05:00

This year I've got an insane amount of fun planned in the spring and summer to reward myself for being such a hardworking smut writer. Here are some of the vacations I'll be taking in 2012:

Las Vegas for a week
New Orleans for Authors After Dark Conference in August
Bahama's on a Cruise
Maybe a few weekend trips here and there if I can swing it

Books I Can't Get Wait To Get My Little Hands On

2012-01-07T01:00:00.000-05:00

In 2012 I've got a few books I can't wait to read and a lot of books I need to read. Over a hundred on my Nook alone *cringes*. I have a bit of an addiction coupled with not enough time in the day to read everything. But, I digress, here's my list of books I can't wait to read for 2012.

Simply Carnal by Kate Pierce
A Perfect Blood by Kim Harrison
Rapture by Lauren Kate
Timeless by Gail Carriger
Lover Reborn by JR Ward

Ooo, DH brought home corn nuggets which means I'm outtie! There's nothing I love more than corn nuggets, except maybe cake.

I think I have an unhealthy obsession...

2012-01-06T01:00:00.000-05:00

With John Cusack movies. Any movie with the man in it has an instant stop whatever I'm doing to watch the movie effect on my brain. I'm surprised I don't own the whole collection. Though maybe it's better that I don't, otherwise I'd never get any writing done in between watching America's Sweethearts and High Fidelity.

Five days into the new year and I'm working on a new work in progress while hand editing a lot of upcoming ones. Busy is my name, busy is the game. If all goes according to plan I should have twelve releases at least for 2012. Yay! And my head kinda hurts looking at that number knowing I've been working so hard to get it.

Oh, and super kick ass news, I get to watch the new episode of Vampire Diaries today! I've been dying for my Damon fix for far too long! I think my little, chirpy kitten Ember will make a snuggle date out of it while I drink hot chocolate. Sounds perfect!

Sale at ARe on my backlist

2012-01-05T12:48:00.001-05:00

For anyone who hasn't gotten a chance to pick up a copy of my books from Ellora's Cave for whatever reason, my EC backlist is now 50% off at ARe (All Romance E-books) until Jan 15th. My latest novel, Not So Pure, is only 3.75. Thanks for the support!

My Start to 2012

2012-01-01T16:15:00.001-05:00

I started off my New Year with the last episode of Season Six of How I Met Your Mother eating a burrito and working on a contemp erotic romance on my couch. I know, it's so classy. I've had a pretty bad chest cold for almost a week now so husband went out partying and I stayed home opting not to infect anyone else with my virus of doom. Sick is not fun.

On a writing note I'm starting off 2012 with an overabundance of projects to finish in a lot of different stages. Here's what's on deck so far for the next four or so months:

An erotic lesbian menage that I need to finish up and edit
A paranormal erotic romance novella that I need to type in my hand edits and then re-edit for consistency
An erotic BDSM/spanking short I need to finish and edit
An erotic BDSM fairytale novella I need to restructure, edit, and finish

These are the projects on my plate that are currently started and for whatever reason didn't get taken care of in 2011. For the most part I worked way too hard 2011 and overtaxed myself a bit. It worked out because I got a lot of stuff done, but I also found myself leaving projects half finished everywhere--which is totally not my style.

Normally I'm a very throw myself into the task until it's done person but with the rush of finishing a few of my goals in 2011 I grew tired and restless. So I skipped from project to project. Hence all the unfinished, almost ready to sub work you see above.

Sure, it's a good feeling to know I have an abundance of work to do and for sure works that I can submit that will probably come out this year. But it's also a little daunting knowing my plans for the new year don't include a new slate so I'm free to play with whatever story pops into my head. All the ideas in my head have moved beyond restless into riot mode. It's loud up there. *pops aspirin*

Sci-fi Hesitation to the Max

2011-12-23T19:41:00.000-05:00

Despite the fact that I think the new Dr. Who is the sexiest version on the planet, that the new Star Trek movie made my panties wet, and that I just finished Megan Hart's time travel--sorta--story, Collide, and loved every damn second of it, there is one serious flaw in my brain when it comes to all these things. Writing sci-fi makes me nervous. Like shaky hands, meltdown brain nervous. Like I'm going on a first date nervous. It borders on embarrassing.

And yet, two or three of my next few books will be in that genre. They've been spinning around in my head for awhile though I keep pushing them back, but my ideas won't be denied anymore. This is the year I write them. But that statement is almost unfathomable when I have completely unlimited possibilities at my disposal for these stories and structure and I are besties of the best kind. I know I'm throwing out my normal plan and going willy-nilly into the imaginary sunset with these stories, letting down my guard so that anything goes in my world. Of course there still have to be logic, every action has a reaction, and every good point in world building makes some kind of sense in the long run. Duh.

But the idea that I'll be working from scratch creating whatever I damn well please at the drop of a hat for my new world? Kinda freaks me out. Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense because for the most part I'm a pantser by nature with very loose plotter tendencies. So why should going with the flow of a imaginary world make me want to curl into a ball and whimper? Maybe because I knew readers are more critical of those worlds, of their consistences, how a new world measures up inside someelse's brain other than mine. I can't predict whether or not I'll make that world real for a reader while it's real for myself purely because I'm the author.

It's a lot of pressure.

My Christmas List

2011-12-18T19:37:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I know Christmas is all about family and togetherness and not purchases--but this year, I want to show you my list for Santa anyway. Just for fun. No weird hallmark blogs here about the spirit of giving for me. One straight up, greedy list is my path for this year. So, if you're interested, check out goodies below. No, not like that...geez, you people need your minds scrubbed with bleach!

I want an Xbox 360 so I can play my Buffy the Vampire Slayer video games again from like 2004. I have no shame about loving them both. Though I think I lost the newest one and that makes me really sad.
I want a few more pairs of my favorite thermal pajamas from Victoria Secret. I got my first pair last year and I wash them a lot so I can practically live in them every day. They are so damn comfy.
I want a pair of slippers, I don't know how I manage to do it, but every couple years I loose them like hats or gloves...but it's slippers. And I don't wear them out of the house. It's very strange.
DH all ready got me this one on my list because he's awesome. Vampire Diaries Season 1 and 2 with Damon at my disposal whenever I damn well please. That's a great deal for me. I know what I'll be watching like a mad woman until Jan 5th when the third season comes back on the air. Unlimited Ian Somerholder? Priceless.
A B and N gift card. Because, seriously, what writer doesn't want books for Christmas?
If things work out the way I want them to, I'll also have enough money to go on a cruise this spring with my best friend to the Caribbean. I've never been on a cruise so I'm excited for the new experience, even if I get seasick on most water vessels. I'm taking a lot of seasick meds and my laptop. Here's hoping I'll come back with a lot of work done and a lot of inspiration tucked away for later use.

So that's my greedy little list for this year. I think I've been good enough and worked hard enough not to get a lump of coal in my stocking. But who am I to judge? My scale of naughty is a little skewed.

The Best of Sommer Marsden's Mind and Reading List

2011-12-16T12:46:00.000-05:00

I have the lovely and super kick ass Sommer Marsden on my blog today so excuse me as faint away like Scarlett O'Hara and then when I come out of it start kicking my feet with giddy, fiendish joy. (Psssst...I love her so hard) So, here she is!

Since my current tour is for THE BEST OF SOMMER MARSDEN,Elise, clever girl that she is, asked me to discuss the best books I’ve read inthe last three months.

First I said…let me tryto remember the last three months.

And then I said…that would be hard for me seeing as I readCharlotte Stein’s CONTROL in July andate it in three big bites and July was like…five months ago! And I loved thatbook and would totally not be able to mention it…at all. See how sad I am thatI was unable to mention CONTROL byCharlotte Stein?

Anyhoo…

Then I said…I’m in!

Here goes:

The Last Werewolfby Glen Duncan: Oh my god. He creates such envy in me. The way the man turns aphrase is maddening and addictive. His take on werewolves captivating. Hiswerewolf lusty worthy and also empathy worthy. It led to me picking up…

I, Lucifer by GlenDuncan: It took me a few chapter to get the swing, but the book is incrediblyclever without being nauseating. And there are some genuine moments of laughout loud giddiness, if you’re paying attention. Gasp inducing sentences if youwere raised with Bible stories and prayers before dinner.

Death by Fictionby Ashley Lister: Agatha Christie meets John Waters meets the Sopranos (sorta).A one of a kind mystery that can’t decide if it wants to be a cozy or smut. Inother words: awesome.

Juliet Immortal byStacey Jay: Totally original to the point of creating writer envy. Fun and fastand believable and just really good freaking fun!

Winter’s Bone byDaniel Woodrell: A lyrical, heart breaking book that grabs you by the cajonesand won’t let go. The kind of book that makes me wonder why I don’t just hangup my pen and go work at a fast food joint. Seriously humbling writing.

And tada! As you can see, I don’t read nearly as much as I’dlike. So to bulk up my anorexic list from the last three months, I’ll break allrules and will also throw in there K.D. Grace’s The Initiations of Miss Holly (read that over the summer too on theexercise bike) for some sizzling hot naughty fun and Smokin’ Seventeen by Janet Evanovich if you’re a Stephanie Plumaddict like me.

Blurb for THE BEST OF SOMMER MARSDEN:

From edgy and intense, to light and comedic, this collectionof over twenty hand-picked dirty tales runs the gamut of erotic fiction.

Stories include a supernatural spurred ménage, a captivatingDom who takes control at a crowded house party, an irresistible alpha who makesrecycling kind to the body and the planet. A husband encouraging his wife totake advantage of a girl crush and a woman who can’t help but lose herselfbetween two of her two best friends in a night of passion. A curvaceous womangets stuck in her boot—that’s right, just one—before an important interviewwith a handsome applicant and a public spanking makes a young woman reconsiderthe disposable nature of her rebound guy.

Find out why Sommer Marsden’s been called “…one of thetop storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic”(Alison Tyler) and “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J.Sorensen). It’s all right here in this collection. All you have to do is stepinside.

Excerpt from The Best of Sommer Marsden:

She was rushing past the cottage two doors up from hers whenshe heard, ‘Hey there Little Red Ryder Hood ...’ and froze.

The deep baritone with accompanying backup slammed her backten years. The hair on Ryder’s neck rose up in a ghostly wave of fine blondedown and she spun, feeling off kilter already. Her eyes sought but could notfind the singer, until she heard a deep chuckle that slammed her in the bellylike a cotton-wrapped fist.

‘Hubie! Joe?’ she called. Feeling a little desperate, a lotcrazy. ‘Guys?’

There was no way. She had not seen them in nearly a year. Noway at all, and yet she knew it now. Could feel it in her bones, that heavy knowingthat mimicked the feeling she got after recovering from a long illness like fluor a drawn-out bout with a fever. A deep-seated awareness came over her.

The song that was being hummed somewhere in the trees sealedthe deal. It was the boys out there. Ryder stomped her foot. ‘Hubert SullivanUsher! Joseph Michael Palmer! Come out this instant!’

And then she waited. Was she crazy?

No. They stepped into the clearing, one tall and dark andgruff like a bear in a man suit. The other long and lean and ethereal. Ice blueeyes and pale blond hair. The boys.

They had been friends all through college. Inseparable – thethree of them. Friends, only, no funny business. But for that one night.

‘So no man yet? No marriage, no kiddies, no picket fences?It’s been nearly a year, woman,’ Hubie said. His deep voice was like a warmhand sliding up her neck and in the orange glow of the fire pit Ryder shivered.

‘Nope. I have a thriving jewellery business. I have books,friends, good wine, nights out, invoices and paycheques.’ She grinned. ‘Butnone of that.’

Joe smiled, his eyes somehow surreal in the glowing flash ofheated light. ‘Hubie doesn’t either, so don’t listen to him. Nor do I.’

He said the last in that prissy, proper way that made him soendearing to her. She loved his almost stuck-up, uptight ways. But in Joe was aheart of gold and an old soul.

And a cock that could work miracles. Soft lips that knowhow to kiss. Really know how to kiss – and eat pussy. He rocked you to morethan one orgasm while Hubie was …

But she let that memory drift away on a curl of wood smoke.She couldn’t go there. It had been one night a long, long time ago. Her 20thbirthday. It had happened – just happened – after her drunken salute to herselfand their youth. Her long monologue about their love for each other and how itwould still fade, because nothing lasted for ever. It would fade and so wouldtheir youth. They were only going to be young once, only going to love eachother this fiercely once. And how special were they that they had found eachother. Three kindred spirits, friends, almost family but something more. Shehad let all the muzzy-headed words tumble out and then she had toasted herselfand then them.

And then the boys had taken her. No one discussed it. It hadjust happened. A mix and turn and shift of three bodies. A mélange of forms andnaked parts and soft words and cries. Orgasms and skin on skin and laughterand, at the end, a satiated peace and sleep.

The morning brought reality and no one had ever mentioned itagain.

‘... selling to?’ Hubie said.

Ryder shook her head and tried to draw back the words thathad come before the end of his sentence. She couldn’t. ‘I’m sorry. I spaced outon that. What?’

Hubie grinned, and cocked his head as if he had beentiptoeing through her mind. Reliving that night so long ago with her. ‘I said,Ryder the daydreamer, your jewellery, who are you selling it to?’

‘Oh! Tourists and some local new channels have been purchasing.Which is great, because then it ends up on TV and in the credits. And somelocal boutiques.’

‘What were you thinking?’ Joe said softly, grinning, pokingthe embers with a stick as he tapped his toe in the sand around the fire pit.His big foot was sheathed in his normal boat shoes, his khaki shorts kneelength, his button-down shirt rolled and pushed to his elbows. Normal Joe –preppy chic.

‘I was thinking about the jewellery show I’m doing tomorrow.How I should head off to my cabin and go to bed. I was thinking that this beersucks ass,’ she lied, taking the final swig.

‘You were thinking about us,’ Joe said, calling her bluff.

‘Never,’ she said, trying to tease with her tone.

‘True story,’ Hubie grunted, agreeing with Joe.

Ryder steadfastly refused to cave. It was that one time – alifetime ago. No reason to even think about it.

At one point they were in you at the same time. You neverthought that sweet full pressure could make you come, but it did. You straddledHubie and drove yourself down on him over and over; he held your hands to hischest so you could feel his heart. All the while Joe rocked into your bottom,slipping into you on a cool river of lube. Working your ass, brushing yourg-spot from a totally new angle. His hands on your hips, holding you so youdidn’t float away, or so it felt. Both of them. Holding you. You’ve never feltso safe.

‘... fishing,’ Joe said. His smile was ornery, knowingand smart-assed.

Ryder swallowed hard. Once they had been her very bestfriends. And for that one night they had been her lovers. Something she’d neverbeen good at with Hubie and Joe was lying. She cleared her throat and steeledher nerves to admit it. ‘What? I missed that.’

Joe laughed softly, drawing a heart in the sand with thestick he held. The tip was charred from him poking it into the fire every fewmoments. He drank the last of his beer and said. ‘We are here on a boys’weekend. Haven’t gotten together for months. Figured we’d come down for somefishing.’

‘Oh,’ she said and set her empty bottle on the ground.

‘Yes, oh,’ Hubie said and his voice was a little gruff. Abit clogged sounding. His eyes seemed to stroke her like a hand in thefirelight – over her breasts, her belly, her legs in her denim shorts andflip-flops. Ryder wanted to eye up his jeans to see if he had a hard-on but sherefused. She kept her eyes above his belt. Joe’s too.

‘I’d better go to bed. I have to get up early. Vendors needto arrive at seven sharp. Doors open at nine.’

She kissed them each chastely, hugged them too. Shepretended not to notice Joe’s hard cock brushing her thigh when he pulled herinto the embrace. She hurried through the woods to her dark cabin and resolvedto put it out of her mind.

For two hours she lay there, not thinking. Deliberately notthinking. When every decadent sinful image drifted into her mind, sheresolutely pushed it aside. At midnight, she got up and poured a glass of wine.At 12.15 a.m., she considered it and at 12.16 a.m. she banished the thought. At12.30 a.m. she knocked on their cabin door.

It was Hubie who answered. His dark hair in a tangle and hischin sprouted with dark stubble that clouded his tanned skin with shadow.‘Well, look what the cat dragged in,’ he said softly and swung the door widefor her to enter.

Ryder still wore her white nightgown. She had tossed a greycardigan over it and her feet were bare, and now dirty, from the beaten pathfrom her cabin to theirs. ‘Were you sleeping? Did I wake you?

‘Hell, no, woman. We’re watching some dumb-ass movie oncable and drinking beer.’

‘What movie?’ she asked dumbly.

‘Shit if I know.’ He touched her lower lip and Ryder felther pussy go liquid and soft. A fierce surge of lust swelled in her chest andshe breathed out like he’d squeezed her too hard.

‘Who’s there?’

She turned to see Joe and, when she did, her heart raced athis pale good looks. A smile lit his face and she realised that she still lovedthem. After all these years. Loved who they were, what they had meant to heronce and what they still meant to her now. ‘Little Red Ryder Hood,’ Joewhispered and crossed his arms over his chest.

‘I ...’ Ryder lost her words then. It hadn’t taken longto feel that old familiar belonging with them. Something she had rarelyexperienced thus far in her adult life. She loved her life and her business,but she was missing the rush of real life. The visceral reaction to love andlust and fucking. She didn’t have time.

‘You what?’ Joe asked, cocking an eyebrow.

‘You ...?’ Hubie echoed.

‘I want it back,’ she sighed. She blew all the words out ona rush of air. She was so eager for them to hear her that she rushed it out ofher mouth in a tumble of soft speech. ‘I want it back. I want that night back.That feeling – you two. I want one more night.’

Then she waited. Her heart pounding like some tribal drum,her throat shaking with the force of it, her stomach dipping almost sickly fromnerves. Joe turned on his heels and Hubie took her hand.

What did it mean?

‘Come on, Ry,’ Hubie said and tugged her gently.

‘We thought you’d never come to your senses,’ Joe said overhis shoulder and her whole body seemed to relax.

It would be OK.

In the living room it was Joe who pulled her in for a hug.Engulfing her in his strong but lean arms while Hubie – his best friend in theworld – closed in behind her. His broad chest pressed to her back, his cockpressing the small of her back. Joe kissed her, hands in her hair, his hard-onpressed to the cleft of her sex through the thin nightgown.

‘I just want it back for one more night,’ she said again.

‘We can do that,’ Hubie said, pressing his lips to hershoulder, her neck, the crown of her head. His kisses rained down along herback and his hands pushed up her nightie as she shivered like she was cold.

‘No problem,’ Joe said, pushing at the nightie too. Togetherthey got off her cardigan, her nightgown, her panties. She worried briefly,stupidly, about her dirty feet but the thought drifted away as Joe’s tonguetouched hers and Hubie’s fingers came from behind and started slow, lazycircles on her clit.

Buy links:

Ebook: http://www.erotica-romance-ebooks.com/the-best-of-sommer-marsden.html

Paperback: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Best-Sommer-Marsden/dp/1908086084/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_2

Favorite Spicy Holiday Reads with KJ Reed

2011-12-15T12:52:00.000-05:00

Today I'm stumbling over to KJ Reed's Blog to chat about my favorite holiday hot and spicy reads! Come join in on the fun and tell me yours!

Share of Furious Lust

2011-12-14T00:00:00.000-05:00

I figured I'd finally give you all a little tidbit of the Work in Progress I've been toiling away on for quite some time. Here is a rough draft snippet of the first few pages of Furious Lust, Book 1 in a BDSM paranormal erotic romance series I'm writing about the Three Furies of the Underworld. Hopefully to be published in the next couple months after the holidays, editing and contracts pending, that is.

Mosthumans would assume being banished from the Underworld would be a blessing. Notso when every step on this earth reminds me of the longevity of human life—shortand sweet. Unlike me. I suppose I should be pleased there’s a place for me onEarth at all. Not many demons stripped of their powers make it up above or learnto adapt as well as I have—or perhaps they don’t even try.

With asmall shudder and an echo the door of my baby blue locker clicked back intoplace. There wasn’t much time for philosophizing about my existence. At leastnot when I wanted to get out of the nondescript locker room without beingoffered another double shift, which I wasn’t inclined to turn down. Work was awelcome distraction. One I used as an excuse to get away from reality far too often—eventhe mistress had begged me to take a vacation before I converted all our clienteleto my legions of devoted subjects.

Businessat the snug, safe, and discrete dungeon was booming. How could I be blamed fortaking advantage? A swift turn of my fingers and the combination lock was set.Now to keep to myself until I exited through the plush, purple hallway out theiron-worked double doors. Only a few more paces before the bustle of strangerson the sidewalk would swallow me up.

However,there was more to worry about than my work as a dominatrix at one of New York’spremiere dungeons. Tonight was my five year meeting with the Underworld’s highcouncil to assess how my banishment was suiting. Whether or not I’ve learned mylesson. The council was always keen to gloat on their best banishment work. Theysent me away from my sisters in the Underworld for the slaying of a treasuredhuman. It had been in a moment of blind passion and truthfully, I questionwhether it was my fault at all though I live with my guilt every day.

But theUnderworld had solved several problems. They had appeased the gods in MountOlympus who mourned the human and my punishment kept both parties thin alliancein place. Hades retained my sisters to do my dirty work. I’m sure I was barelymissed because a sacrifice must be made for the greater good. It put me in themind to slay them all once I returned to the sweet, fiery depths.

Tonightthe slick, twisting humidity of New York’s summer heat would have to ease mylonging for home. There was no hope that the council would provide me with anysolace. Yet, there was enough time before the meeting for my pleasure. Thebustle of cab horns and human shouts assaulted me as I walked up from theunderground warehouse onto the sidewalk. I breathed in deep the scent of smog mixedwith the fragrance of slightly old garbage.

I made abeeline for the subway station that would take me to the Meatpacking Districttoward the most popular dance halls in the city. Tonight was a night to losemyself in the steady hum and pulse of music. But small spaces with large crowdsnever sat well with me—I prefer large spaces jammed with people. A shudderpassed up my spine as I clamored on the crowded, late night subway car. A senseof uneasiness twisted low in my belly as I snatched a spot of free metalrailing above my head.

Unease wastypical for me in the subway—but this was different. All of my muscles werewound tight enough to snap and a sharp, uncomfortable heat pressed beneath thesurface of my skin. A steady prickle along the back of my neck raising myhackles. Someone was watching me.

Tonightwas a good night to paranoid, certainly with my meeting looming in the wings.

When Iglanced back through the sea of people nothing was out of place. Or as littlethat could be out of place in a New York subway car. But there was much to bedistracted by as my limbs tingled like there wasn’t enough air in the wholeworld to sustain me. Perhaps I was becoming worked up over nothing. However, incenturies of living on this earth my instincts were rarely wrong.

My handsshook from the unsettling emotion rising up in my throat. Without a doubt, if Iconcentrated hard enough I sensed the weight of their gaze along every inch ofme—but there was menacing undertone to it. Dressed as I was in my usual attirewith tight black leather swathing my curved figure I was used to stares fromstrangers. This held something more than idle attraction or dumbfounded curiosity.If the later was the case they would have stopped staring by now.

Though Iwas completely stripped of my powers as a demonness, on nights like this I won’tturn away from intuitive caution. No one has any specific reason to keep mealive. At least none that they’ve made plain to me—so as far as I know anyonecould hunt me down at any time with one word from the council. How would Idefend myself?

This wholesituation set my teeth on edge. Pulses of pain jolted up my jaw as I attemptedto regain control over my fingers fidgeting along the warm steel bar. How couldI be drawn into coming undone? I—who pride myself on the steady speed anddexterous delights my hands can wield along a man—I have been reduced to a wary, thundering-hearted ninny. Before mypunishment, my blazing anger knew no bounds. Now time has taught me caution,patience, and above all, fear.

This isnot the first time I’ve been acquainted with a sense of being followed becauseparanoia comes on more and more of late—with familiar suspicions of beingwatched, hunted. Every instance with the same haunting, terrified symptoms. Abodily impulse born of self-preservation that I won’t be able to leave behinduntil I’m out of sight. And perhaps, not even then. Tonight dodging thissensation is worth a try. I won’t let this swallow me when my time before mymeeting is fleeting.

The dry crackle of the conductor calls out the14^th street stop and I hastily exit the car knowing that my actualdestination is several blocks away. At least I won’t be so smothered by peoplethat I won’t be able to think straight.

I’ve beendodging this imaginary foe for months. It’s one of the points I mean to bringup at my meeting tonight because this mental torment can’t be the result ofanything else than a concoction of the Underworld. My bare skin pinches tightagainst my frame as if I can’t get enough warmth. Even here, swathed in themuggy atmosphere of the underground station in mid-July, there’s not enoughheat to warm me. For now I can no longer sense the steady presence beatingagainst my back. But every clack of my high heels against the concrete echoesbetween my ears like a gun shot.

A one-timedemoness unsettled by a presence she cannot name. No wonder they blighted mefrom my one, true home. I’m a disgrace to my kind. No matter. I’ll confrontthem tonight until I’m assured of their answers. Once I’ve set my mind, thereis no turning back. And by Beelzebub, I’m determined to have a good nighttonight come ruin or rapture.

Though Ido wish the Underworld hadn’t stripped me of my powers. Other than pushing theworry from my mind, it would be nice to conjure an aura of terror around me. Atleast my powers of terror would make the next few blocks down W 13^thStreet easier, spreading out all the foot traffic as they ran in oppositedirections tearing their hair out. It’s little perks of the trade I miss most.Before I can catch myself, my mouth curves into an impish smile that leaves therest of me cold down to my toes.

I cannever go back.

Or, if Ican redeem myself in some way, those demons higher up have given no indicationof how to go about it. What, it’s been—well over eleven centuries since Icommitted my crime? A burden evermore. Tonight, they will ask if I were to do anythingdifferent, would I? They will be disappointed. If given another chance I wouldchange nothing because I’m unsure where exactly to alter time.

It’s asstupid an inquiry as asking a damned soul if they would choose to go to Heavenor the Underworld. Neither wish matters because we are who we are, nothingfades our true selves and we continue to make the same mistakes again and againand again. My conviction behind this idea is only strengthened by mortal’smistakes.

Who arethey if not the perfect indicator of my philosophy?

Ah,another night wasted on my deep thoughts. When will I ever learn to skim onlythe surface of things instead of trying to read into every nuance? Not eventime can divest me of the thirst for understanding—even if curiosity was thecatalyst for my banishment. My need to know him—to possess him completely so thatperhaps my life could have some kind of distraction, a certain naive charm. Iwanted more than screams of agony and death, who wouldn’t?

Sometimes,when I’m not concentrating hard enough to draw the memories away, I can recallthe planes of his tan profile dappled with early morning sunlight. His stormygray eyes concentrating on any possible distant threat to his herd of sheep.The casual way his lean forearm passed across his brow, flicking away his wheatgold bangs. When he smiled it was as if the atmosphere altered because of hissimple pleasure in his life. He truly had the ability to live—and I envied himthat.

But why that man?

I askmyself the same question every morning when I wake from nightmares of bakingpies, cleaning house, and getting sucked into the mediocrity that is mortalexistence. Was getting to know one human worth this trouble? With a quick rollof my shoulders I dismiss my pointless inquiry knowing that my long, quickstride has delivered me to the dancehall in good time. Not since I exited thesubway have I had any odd tingling’s on the back of my neck.

But here I’msafe. Waiting to surround myself with the stomping, claustrophobic heat thatreminds me so much of home. A relaxing night out before I reenact the samescene before the council, only five years later. Nothing more than a pantomime sothat they can elongate my sentence on earth. Even a deep breath can’t shove myrage down far enough.

“You’redefinitely in, go on.”

Thethick-muscled, unremarkable bodyguard waved me through the ropes and I politelynodded in his direction before being swallowed by the crowd. At Echo the crush of patrons begins at theconfining copper-lined hallway leading toward the bar before humans have theprivilege of entering the giant, raw industrial space.

Threefloors of debauchery, white noise, and flashy light shows. I never wait at thelong, polished steel bar because I can’t imbibe anything from it. That leavesme with my most cherished option—making my way onto the dance floor. A spacetaking up the whole first floor with solid metal beams holding aloft the nextthree floors in intermittent patterns. But the floor is constructed incheckerboard squares of corrugated copper and steel so every step makes patron’sfeel like they’re walking on stars bursting with light.

It’s aweaving process against the hot press of strangers, but I make it to the floorwhere a myriad of people grind to the pounding bass-beat. Sound slithersthrough my body and nestles inside my core to become a part of me. Not athought to be had as I close my eyes. Against the slick heat and oppressivesound I gladly lose myself.

This iswhere I go to when I don’t want to be found.

It’s asclose to any kind Underworld I can find along with my personal heaven. Reflectionsof the blinding lights paint the insides of my eyelids. Flashes of red, green,and blue. I lift my arms to the sky in a pantomime of a human giving thanks fora bountiful harvest. My arms and hips snake back and forth to the seductive,energetic pull of my music.

My danceis a communion of sorts searching deep inside my heartbroken body to theharsher, primal mechanics that keep me alive. These movements tie me to the momentwith smooth wrist flicks and powerful gyrations. In my mind I own the room.Against the crowd I’m protected from my memories, lost to the sounds. I lick mysalty lips, tasting the air and my freedom.

Paralyzed

2011-12-10T19:35:00.000-05:00

Confession time--I haven't written any new words in a while. I've edited my entire backlist until March with Excessica, I've thought about plot points, series, and outlines--but not one single word on a new story. I hate that state. Where I can't write anything to save my life, like my creativity's all dried up and might never come back. This happens maybe twice or three times a year, though I don't always keep track of it because once I'm in it, it's kind of like a foggy depression where I sleep too much and watch a lot of TV to get out of my own head.

I still work, but it's passionless. Plus every new idea I come across to get everything back to normal seems like a colossal effort, until part of me thinks I'll never get the story right. What's the point of writing it when you know its going to come out so flawed you'll hate it and it won't even compare to the thing in your mind that seemed so cool five minutes ago? I never diagnosed these symptoms to burn out, but it's as close as I come to it. And with my schedule this swiftly approaching 2012, I can't really have much wiggle room for hmmming and hawwwing when it comes to my work.

Somehow, I've got to get back to that place where words are like flighty little snowflakes, all magical and different. I know it'll happen eventually, I just never know when. I can never bring my creativity back with one sure fire thing. Tricky doesn't begin to cover it.

In the mean time, I've got a pile of short stories and a new book that's ready to come into the world in the next few months. So it's not like I've been idle. Just different.

Lucy Felthouse Interview of Epicness with Epic Sauce

2011-12-09T15:14:00.000-05:00

Today, I have the fabulous Lucy Felthouse on my blog answering some fun questions and talking about her new books. I'm very excited because Lucy will be featured with me in Rachel Kramer Bussel's newest erotica anthology, Best Bondage Erotica 2012, which came out in most stores for e-book and print December 7th. So go pick up a copy!

Why did you get started writing?

I honestly can't remember. I've been writing from a veryyoung age, then for publication since 2006. I first wrote erotica on a dare andstarted sending work off when I became interested in the genre as a reader,too. Now, each new publication spurs me on to write more. That and thedeadlines, of course!

What was the first real joy you had when writingprofessionally?

It would have to be my first acceptance, which was for thenow-defunct Scarlet Magazine. I was incredibly excited that someone wanted topublish me and pay for my work! Thankfully, several years down the line,publishers are still accepting my work, but it's still exciting each and everytime.

What was/is your biggest pitfall?

Discipline. I can be very easily distracted while writing,but I'm getting better. As my writing now makes up a part of my income, I findit easier to stay focused because if I don't write, I'll make less money!

What did you learn while writing?

All kinds of things. I hope that I've improved in mywriting, and will continue to do so. I've also learned things about sexuallifestyles that I haven't taken part in, but have researched for my work. Inthis line of work it pays to be open minded, which luckily I am. I'm also veryinquisitive so I love to learn new things, anyway.

What’s your favorite sexual position to write?

I don't have one. Writing for me is about the story and thecharacters rather than the mechanics. They just seem to come naturally as Istart getting the words down on the page. I don't plan ahead, and certainlywhen it comes to sex scenes I just let the characters do their thing and seewhat happens.

What’s your favorite genre to read?

I couldn't choose just one. I read erotica and eroticromance the most as that’s what I write, but I also love paranormal, chick lit,horror and crime.

If you could be one fairytale character for aday who would it be?

Oh, that's easy. That would be Snow White because she gets to star along the divine ChrisHemsworth in the upcoming film, SnowWhite and the Huntsman. :D

Who are your author inspirations?

I don't think I really have any. I have tons of authors thatI love to read, but my inspiration comes from being published and havingreaders that (hopefully) enjoy my work.

Socks or Slippers?

Both – it's cold in the UK!

Handcuffs or fuzzy tickler?

Ooh, handcuffs. Mainly because I don't likebeing tickled. I find it annoying, rather than erotic

Where do you see yourself in a year as anauthor?

In a year, I would hope to have a couple of novella-lengthpieces released (up until now my releases have been short stories) and be wellon my way to writing a novel.

What are your new releases?

The past few months have been really busy in terms ofreleases. October and November saw several releases, a mixture of anthologyappearances and standalone titles:

· A Menu with a Difference

· Brick Dust & Bedsprings

· Love Through Time

· Weekend at Wilderhope Manor

· Immoral Views

· Explicit Encounters

And December sees the release of Crimes of Passion fromXcite Books, and Best Bondage Erotica 2012 from Cleis Press, both of whichfeature stories I wrote.

For more info on all these titles, check out this page on mywebsite: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/

What are you working on now?

I recently completed my longest piece to date, a novella forone of my publishers, so I'm working on edits for that. I'm also working on anovella that I've been promising to another publisher for quite some time, sofingers crossed they accept it!

Will a weekend in a luxuryhotel make Annette’s deepest fantasies come true?

When Jed and Annette spend a weekend in a luxury hotel, they’replanning to take full advantage of the hot tub and large bed – preferably witha third party. Annette’s never been with another woman before, but she’s eagerto experience some Sapphic delight. When the couple meets waitress Tamara atthe restaurant they’re lunching at, they agree she’s perfect in many ways; butis she on the menu?

Excerpt and buy links here: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/a-menu-with-a-difference/

Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where shestudied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write anerotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never looked back.Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Noble Romance, Ravenous Romance,Summerhouse Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also theeditor of Uniform Behaviour and Seducing the Myth. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Youcan also find her on Facebookand Twitter.

Beer and Cider Equals a Tipsy Writer

2011-12-07T19:33:00.000-05:00

About two years ago, DH and I started making beer and alcoholic cider as a hobby that we could do together--though I rarely drink much. It's a lot of fun and whereas he does all the math related tasks of measuring and keeping track of the fermentation times, I handle the small details that slip his mind as well as bottling the actual beer since he has bad arthritis in both hands. It's just another corny example of how we're two sides of coin, even in everyday activity we balance and help each other. Beer making always remind me of how well we work together.

This year we're making our usual five gallons of hard apple cider with English mulling spice yeast and a newer creation, an orange porter, which if it comes out right should taste like chocolate oranges. But we won't know whether or not it's good until about two or three months after it's bottled and has had a chance to sit and stew. That's the hardest part about beer, waiting it out. Not knowing what your gonna get until the end and then there's no working against it because it's final product.

Well, unless you let it sit for longer, then the flavor gradually changes and morphs into something else entirely. But you have to give it time. Pay attention to it. It's a race to make sure it doesn't go "sour" since beer takes a truly long time to ever go bad. DH and I found a porter and an apple cider we'd done last year tucked away in our fresh bottles for this season--and they'd been bottled two years ago. DH opened them both and drank them greedily with more than a little excitement saying the porter was better than when we'd originally made it. I took a small sip and it was lighter, instead of tasting like dark chocolate it tasted like milk chocolate and flowed past your tongue like a milder beer. It was different and certainly better.

It reminded me of writing. Sometimes all you have to do it wait it out, come back, and everything's fermented while you were gone so it rolls on your tongue and is just delicious. More than you ever thought it could be while originally writing it. Wonder what my writing will taste like next year?

Cassandra Carr Interview

2011-11-28T06:09:00.032-05:00

Today with me on my blog I have Cassandra Carr, erotic author with Siren and Loose ID answering some random and interesting questions that I posed to her for your random reading pleasure. Without further ado, here she is:

Why did you get started writing?

People are going to laugh when they hear this…I was writing fan fiction just for fun – just for something to do, really. My mom (who’s also a writer – her first book is coming out in Spring 2012 from Soul Mate Publishing – yes, I’m a proud daughter, lol) read one of my stories and told me I should fictionalize it and expand it to single title length. So I did and the rest is history! That story, by the way, has never been published. Maybe it will someday.

What was the first real joy you had when writing professionally?

I went on a writing retreat in August 2009 and wrote nearly one-third of the first draft of my debut novel, Talk to Me, in about two and a half days. It was awesome to be somewhere other than home, sitting there with my laptop and feeling like a “real writer”.

What was/is your biggest pitfall?

Probably two things – I have a finely-tuned ability to procrastinate, and my toddler is still home most of the time. When you combine those two things I’m probably not as productive as I could be.

What did you learn while writing?

Oh man, so much! I’d say one of the biggest things is to write “tight” – I don’t have much unnecessary prose, scenes to delete – that sort of thing. Makes editing easier.

What’s your favorite sexual position to write?

Position to write? *thinking* I think maybe from behind. For some reason I tend to skew sex scenes to the male POV and their view from behind is very evocative and fun to write.

What’s your favorite genre to read?

I do love erotic romance, but I also get sick of it. I read a lot of contemporary non-erotic romance and historical romance too. According to my little counter on Goodreads I just went over 100 books read for the year!

If you could be one fairytale character for a day who would it be?

Hmmmm. I think I’d like to be a villain, as long as it wasn’t her day to get her comeuppance. As far as which one? That’s a toughie – there are so many great villains in fairytales. Maybe the witch from Hansel & Gretel so I could eat candy all day.

Who are your author inspirations?

I’ve always liked Maya Banks, and if I would emulate her career that would be great. 

Socks or Slippers?

Depends on the time of year. In the summer, socks if anything at all, in the winter possibly both if it’s cold. I do like slippers. They’re very cozy.

Handcuffs or fuzzy tickler?

Handcuffs are hell on your wrists, from what I’ve read *cough*. I’m not ticklish, but me using a tickler on someone else sounds like great fun.

Where do you see yourself in a year as an author?

Hopefully with around ten releases and lots and lots and lots of fans.

What are your new releases?

Oh man, I’ve got a lot going on! I had a release on November 2^nd titled Head Games – it’s the first book in the Buffalo Intimidators series. On December 13^th Loose Id is releasing a holiday novella titled Caught. In early 2012 Ellora’s Cave will release a book of mine with a bull rider hero and also a short story which will help launch their new EC for Men line.

What are you working on now?

Right now I’m re-writing the second bull rider book, working on an anthology with a couple of friends, and about a million other projects that are totally slipping my mind at the moment.

BIO

Cassandra Carr is a multi-published erotic romance writer who lives in Western New York with her husband, Inspiration, and her daughter, Too Cute for Words. When not writing she enjoys watching hockey and hanging out on Twitter. Her debut novel, Talk to Me, was released by Loose Id on March 22, 2011. Head Games, Buffalo Intimidators book 1, released on November 2, 2011 from Siren Bookstrand, Caught will release December 13, 2011 from Loose Id, and Impact is coming in early 2012 from Ellora's Cave. For more information about Cassandra, check out her website at http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com, "like" her Facebook fan page at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorCassandraCarr or follow her on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/Cassandra_Carr.

BLURB

Leo Laporte and Scott Schaeffer are teammates on the ice and roommates off it who also share women. They’ve been coming into Kelly Chase’s bistro after games for months, and they know they want her. As the attraction grows, the men realize they want more than a one-night stand - they want forever.

Kelly’s not so sure. Yes, she wants both men. But a permanent ménage relationship? That’s taking giving her heart away to a whole new level, and a chance she’s hesitant to take. Then Leo is injured and Scott’s on the trading block, and she realizes this may be her only shot at true, everlasting love.

There are so many questions swirling around inside Kelly’s head. Can she believe in Leo and Scott’s love? And will her business and her reputation survive once people find out she’s with two men?

BUY LINK

Black Friday, Furious Lust, and Cable Craziness

2011-11-25T16:07:00.001-05:00

A little known fact about me--I'm weirdly claustrophobic in large crowds. NYC Times Square can sometimes send me into a full blown panic. I suppose it comes from being small all my life, like really small, but it makes the appeal of Black Friday dip an incredible amount. I love shopping discounts as much as the next person, but do I want to die for a DVD? Nope. Not so much.

I'm really loving these online Black Friday shopping weeks retailers are doing online this year. Maybe they did it last year to, but I've never really cared about it all that much. This year, knowing I can get good deals without the crowds kinda blows my mind and makes me supremely happy. Now, if only I wasn't a working writer waiting on a paycheck and perpetually poor. I solved the crowd problem, but got another one. Oh well, next year I'll be more knowledgeable of the need to save my pennies. Besides, there weren't a whole lot of book deals :( Only good DVD deals. Can we say Season 1 and 2 of Vampire Diaries for twenty-six bucks? Yeah, I wanted that one.

In other, non-shopping, consumer driven news, Furious Lust, my first book in the Underworld series is almost completely edited. After this edit I'll be tacking on a few scenes and then it'll be off to the CP's for reading. One more step closer to my end of the year goals even though December 31st is coming around ruthlessly fast. Can I make it?

Furious Lust is the first paranormal book I've ever written where everything for the story fell into place. I think I've tried three or four paranormal books now and all of them either stalled halfway through or needed too much editing after I was done with them. They were good practice books, but I can tell this series is going to be the real deal for me. There's just something different about it that I can't put my finger on, but it feels good. *fingers crossed*

DH and I are ridding ourselves of cable for the holidays relying completely on Hulu+ and Netflix. A lot of people we know are using this method and it seems to be working out for everyone. Plus, the money saved will really help us with little things around the house. So far we've been testing it out and we both like it. I'm a little impatient about having to wait a little while to see episodes and the fact that some channels don't update reliably annoys me--but, hey, gives me more reasons to read more anyway. Did I mention how huge my TBR pile is right now?

Not So Pure Excerpt Monday Edition

2011-11-21T08:28:00.000-05:00

Today I figured I'd give everyone a sneak peak at a little more of my new release, Not So Pure, an erotic romance novel from Ellora's Cave. Here's the blurb in case you missed it:

White runs from her prison of a past and enters into a sexual deal with seven men that alters the course of her life for eternity. Caught between her need to take control of her life, and her desire to make up for a serious lack of good sex, she enters a wonderland of kinky possibilities with men who show her that Prince Charmings come in all shapes and sizes. For White and her men, once upon a time doesn’t cut it—three or four times sound just about right.

With each partner—not always one at a time—White beats back her trust issues. But the shadow of her past comes back to haunt them all. Now she must introduce them to her personal battle, hoping they’ll fight beside her as their sinful nights turn into hellish days. Happily ever after isn’t by the book anymore.

And without further ado, here's my excerpt:

Okay, so this confirmed it.

White couldn’t deny what had been staring her in the face since she had turned eleven and had been confined to house arrest—her stepmother was a world-class bitch. These papers proved it. No way was this little legal oversight fair by a court of law. This discovery would have changed everything.

Forget the fact that she could overlook negligent homeschooling, the constant drugged-out parties and never a kind word from the woman. That was just life as usual since White’s father’s death. But when her hands skimmed over his last will and testament—a document hidden away for over a decade—her past all made sense.

So much of a normal life had been denied her—not just in the tender love and care department. These papers had been kept hidden. Now her past replayed inside her mind like a cruel mirror displaying what could have formed her life. But there was only now. Stark black and white with no room for gray. It would have been so much easier if her stepmother had kicked her out of the house with nothing on her back rather than setting up bodyguards at every exit point.

This wasn’t about money—it was about power.

If these stacks of pages ever saw the light of day, everything would change. For a brief moment she allowed her gaze to sweep across her father’s inner sanctum. She breathed in the scent of old paper and a certain mustiness that reminded her of him. Scattered books from the shelves lined every inch of available surface space as well as the wall-to-wall bookcases. So many stories that had gotten her through another day of this hell.

Either she found a way out of this house or her stepmother would find her a more permanent residency—in a pine box six feet underground. A sense of dread worked its way down her spine. She rolled her shoulders and shrugged off an odd sense that she was being watched. Sooner or later she would run out of chances to escape here—her stepmother would see to it. Even if it meant her stepmother had to dirty her hands with murder.

Several rapid blinks and she breathed through the eerie chill that seeped from head to toe. Someone would find her soon. That was for certain. Her gaze quickly darted around the office. No one lingered in the warped shadows that she made with the bright beam of her flashlight. Nonetheless, the towering Chippendale furniture was menacing, haunted by her father’s dead presence.

Luckily, this wasn’t a children’s movie. No animated tables and chairs were coming to life to attack her anytime soon. Though if her stepmother could have used living furniture as a security measure, she would have in a heartbeat. White shuffled through the paperwork and took three quick snaps with her digital camera. Because that was what late night television reruns had taught her to do with evidence. And this needed to be documented.

Every misconception of safety she held onto had been ripped from her in the last twenty-four hours. Though her stepmother claimed the security measures were all for White’s protection, there was no safety in this house. She now knew there was more to fear than disobeying long followed rules. Nothing could keep her safe. This was evident by the icy chill that swept across her nicked, stinging, patchy scalp.

They’d held her down. Two hulking bodyguards she’d grown up with, towering above her bed while her stepmother had gotten too close with the scissors. In the back of her mind she could see the sharp glint of moonlight off the silver blades as she whimpered and pleaded. Until there was nothing left to hack. Her wrists and upper arms smarted from the bruises as she slid the papers into order again.

She’d never been abusively touched before, normally just ignored. Now her pride was gone. Her body was a foreign, uncomfortable shell. But the act was done. She quickly shook her head to get rid of the memory. Another incident to give her courage to leave this place couldn’t hurt.

All she would leave behind were crazy, late-night conversations with her mother’s younger—much younger—partygoers and clientele, which at least gave her an excuse to keep her sanity. They were the root of her knowledge in the world. Through them she’d learned to adapt and keep herself up to date with pop culture, language, and fads. But she wouldn’t consider them friends. They wouldn’t be missed.

Screw ignoring the steady ache against her rib cage. It would always be there and would never go away. Where had her forced ignorance gotten her now? At the end of a noose and ready to jump—if only to be free. She had gone past desperation into a darkness that clouded every minute of every day—and there was no escaping it until she left her past behind.

There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she shouldn’t be in her father’s study. Fuck it. She’d followed the rules for too long. What else could they do? There was barely anything left to take away.

A heavy backbeat from a large speaker outside the door shuddered inside her chest. No one would hear her retreat to her tiny bedroom. Maybe no one would catch her tonight either, as they were all preoccupied with the party. But that was always her vain hope. She’d thought of escaping so many times, but the threat of physical muscle always stopped her from setting anything into motion. Now there was no excuse.

No, just thinking about her plans would get her into a bind. Karma was a bitch like that. Just going up the stairs—what was the harm in that?

Well, unless her stepmother had dipped into her newest shipment of drugs again. Only one way to find out.

White shuddered and padded out of the office. While she pushed the heavy wooden door back into place, a sudden rush of heat beat against her shoulders. She sensed his stare boring into the back of her skull. She stilled, taking in the towering shadow marring the mahogany door.

“That’s hardly the place for you to be tonight,” He was matter-of-fact—cold.

In the end, it would be better to turn around and face his bone-chilling monotone with an ounce of bravery. It was harder now that she knew the truth. With a quick inhale, she spun on her heel to face the man of her nightmares. Huntsman—her stepmother’s personal bodyguard and sometimes lover.

“Did you need me for something? Shouldn’t you be out there taking care of our privileged guests?”

When she met his flat, amber gaze, her stomach twisted. Half of his unkempt face was swathed in shadow. The way she liked it. She tensed, unwilling to retreat toward the solid wood at her back. What did she have to lose anymore?

Not only would her cowardice give him perverse glee, but she would later replay the scene with sinking shame. She tried to slow down her quick breaths, knowing he would notice. Underneath his wood smoke scent, an undertone of liquor stink assaulted her nose. Why didn’t it surprise her that he’d been celebrating with the rest of them?

He moved fully into the shadows. An action that should have held menace, but made most of the tension leave her body. Maybe he would go away? If he stayed in the dark she could dismiss him as nothing but an illusion—until he snatched her wrist.

She hissed at the contact, but didn’t pull back right away. There was no point. She thought his hard fingers would snap her bones, but she fought a whimper that pushed past her tight lips.
“Get. Off. Me.”
“I want to help you, princess. It would be better if you treated me nicely. Otherwise I don’t think you’ll be getting anything from me.”
“I don’t need anything from you.”

She refused to yank her arm away—show no fear. His grin made her flinch and she cursed under her breath. What was the worst thing that could happen? She silently counted her uneven breaths. In the past he’d had a lot of opportunities to toy with her mind or shove her against a wall for a little pleasure. But he’d never done anything too horrible. He’d made enough trouble to skip under her stepmother’s radar and leave White with a sense of dread.

Mostly suggestive notes under her pillow and loud chats with the bodyguards about her curves. But this was the first time he’d flat-out touched her and his grip got his point across fine. He’d leave bruises. But if he moved any closer, she would aim for his balls and she wouldn’t stop kicking until he was infertile.
“Did you ever consider that I’m the only one who can get you out of this house undetected?”
Okay, that was valid. But she wouldn’t relax for that tidbit—not until he let go.
“What are you getting at?”

She briefly let his words stick until she blinked a few times. She glanced beyond his bulky frame down the narrow hallway. No one. If she screamed, the music would muffle it. So—what—this made him a good guy now?

The idea of him helping her didn’t seem all that feasible. What was in it for him? He couldn’t convince her that there was no motive. There was always a motive. Any sense of naiveté had been ripped out of her mind at around the age of twelve. He’d had years to help her—why now? She narrowed her eyes, tilted up her chin and waited for a good answer to her last question.

Besides, none of the possible escape routes that had made it to the master list throughout her years in this house had ever included someone’s help. Mostly because people couldn’t be trusted. Period.

“I suppose you know about the documents now. If that’s the case, it’s quicker for me to get you out of this house so you can play dead than actually going through the motions of killing you. I can split the earnings with the mistress. I’m a greedy, impatient bastard. Make sense?”
“No, that contradicts everything I know about you and yours.”
“Well, trust in this, little princess,” A sharp point traced down her cheekbone and the knife’s steel caught the light. “I could have killed you already and saved us this whole conversation. Have I killed you yet? No. But if you keep up this stupid charade, I will gut you quicker than a dying doe, do you understand me?”

Well, what was “understanding” anyway? White swallowed and tried to ignore the bitterness in the back of her throat. Her wrist twitched in his grasp. This was becoming a no-brainer pretty damn quick. Either she went with him and hopefully got the hell out of here or he would kill her where she stood—in her footy pajamas, no less. Not exactly a dignified dying outfit.

If there was a chance to break free from this prison, she’d take it. Trust be damned. All of his explanations made logical sense. He could have killed her—hell, right now, if he wanted to. But she was still kicking. If luck was on her side, she’d never have to see him again. But she’d stopped wishing on stars a long time ago.

“I’m changing before we leave.”
He chuckled and she knew she had him when he let go of her wrist.
“Sure. I’ll be close behind, though, so no funny business.”

She pushed past him into the sensory assault of a full-blown house party. Despite the distractions, she kept her gaze trained on the elaborate staircase that led to her small sanctuary. Against her back, Huntsman’s close warmth never wavered. She promised she wouldn’t look back over her shoulder. They were already going back to her room for her to change and there was no need to encourage him.

Especially since she planned to throw the closest thing in her closet onto her body and get the hell out of there. Why would she want to pack anything from a room that held such horrible memories? It would be better to start from scratch. If there was nothing left to define her, then there would be nothing holding her back. Nothing screamed “burden” like the past.

“Wait here.”

She slipped inside her bedroom and threw the deadbolt.

The lock was last year’s Christmas present. It had taken her two weeks to bribe a bodyguard to go out and buy it. Now, with her whole body trembling, she was pleased with the choice. She changed into an outfit without looking and took a deep breath. When she opened the door, she half expected him to be gone.

Nope. Not a chance.

He idly leaned against the wall. With a soft grunt of male satisfaction, he ran his large hand over the black stubble on his cheeks. Most women would find him ruggedly handsome. A delicious bad boy in need of some love to tame the savage beast.

Until they had a swollen black eye—a sign of his deep affection.

Clearly, these women had let their fantasies run away with them. Huntsman was danger—pure and simple. The only deep-seated need she had with her stepmother’s right-hand man was the need to make him go “poof” into thin air.

She wasn’t shocked when he put his bone-crushing hold back on her wrist and started weaving her through the tight, sweaty crowd of house guests. Maybe no one would notice them? A man slipped his steroid-laced arms around her waist from behind and she cringed. Too late. That not so subtle come-on was something she wouldn’t ignore—especially on a time constraint. She went to give the stranger a piece of her mind—
Huntsman pulled her away.

Before she breathed a sigh of relief that they could continue toward the doors, he possessively yanked her tight against his damp, solid chest. The party’s surroundings faded as her vision blurred and her chest tightened from the uncomfortable implications. Against her ear, his heartbeat raged as his fingers pinched into her shoulder in a silent warning. What the hell was he doing?
“This one’s mine,” he growled.

This wasn’t the time for him to call attention to them. How was Huntsman jumping to her “rescue”—or whatever his male ego wanted to call it—helping matters? It was a confusing delay. They were so close to the doors. Her gaze was fixed over his shoulder on the entryway, which held all the promise of her future choices. And Huntsman pretending they were together definitely wasn’t one of her choices.

“I’m sorry, Huntsman, I didn’t know. It won’t happen again. I’ll see to it that you’re compensated.”

The man ducked his head as a sign of respect. It was stupid not to fear her stepmother’s right-hand man—which is why willingly leaving with him made her officially certifiable. But she had made peace with desperation. Now if only she could keep her body snuggled tight against Huntsman’s long enough for the other man to get the picture. His hand never went any lower or any higher than her waist. Beneath her
ear his heart throttled his rib cage and she sneaked a glance up at his snide, fixed expression.

How had she gotten to this place? Too close for comfort with a man she loathed—and loathe was a nicer word than others she could have picked for Huntsman. It was hard to ignore the hard-on that pressed up against her stomach and he didn’t smell any better up close and personal. God, this better be worth it. Huntsman had mercifully gotten his point across because he continued to move them toward their escape route guarded by two burly bodyguards dressed in all black.

Up ahead towered the wide, glass double doors that had been her single fixation since her stepmother wrecked everything in her cozy, cushy little life. Freedom. Even the word was like vapor in her mind. She couldn’t quite hold onto its true meaning before it was gone. She blinked back into the conversation and noticed that money changed hands between Huntsman and one of the bodyguards.

So that’s all it took? With short, stilted breaths, she tried to come to an explanation that wouldn’t make her feel like she hadn’t tried hard enough. But nothing worked. She should have tried harder. All it took was the word of a powerful drug goddess and a shifty protector and she was homeward gone. If she had only known that twelve years ago.

“Have a nice trip.”
The bigger of the two bodyguards winked and trained a sleazy smile on her cleavage.
“Let’s go, we don’t want to be late getting you to the ball.”
Huntsman growled low and pulled her through the doors.

A whoosh of air made a quick pop in her inner ear and the doors shut at her back. The riotous noise was gone. And she stood on the concrete front step looking out over a world she hadn’t seen in over twelve years. It should have been different. Euphoric with a dash of life-changing. Instead, there was only fear, her constant chaperone.

This wasn’t the end of the story. It couldn’t be.

* * * * *

They’d been driving through a path in the woods. No destination in sight. She’d thought maybe he’d stop at a faraway town or a bus station. Nothing looked familiar through the dark glass of the truck window and uncomfortable tremors shot up from her lower back along her spine. It wasn’t right. Everything was silent until the overworked screech of tires.

His help had been too much to hope for, hadn’t it? Shit. Now he was going to leave her in the middle of the woods to fend for herself until her stepmother found her in a day or so. Her hands trembled and she scrambled for a plan. He pulled off the road into the grass and pressed hard on the gas.

“What the hell are you doing?”
He laughed.

Why wasn’t he slowing down? Her whole body went numb. He wasn’t dropping her off—he wasn’t stopping—the glaring yellow headlights framed the shadow of a large oak tree. She launched into action and colorful swear words. He careened toward the tree while he blindly groped to keep her in the truck cab. Each hit was swift as she scrambled for the door handle.

She had to get him backed away so he was the only one who would go crunch against a thousand-year-old tree. This had been his plan all along. He would do what her stepmother commanded—kill the girl.

Stupid. So damn stupid!

Didn’t they have a deal? Clearly, it was off now that Huntsman had his foot glued to the gas pedal. They bounced across ingrown roots with the scent of moist earth filling the truck cab. Anger was easier to deal with than terror as she evaded his hands as he frantically grasped for her torso. Hit, hit, claw, dodge. When had his arms gotten so long?

Her chest was tight with swallowed screams; she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her terror. Sick freak probably got off on it. Thank god, she ripped open the door, tumbling out before they hit the tree trunk head-on. She’d never been so happy she hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt as she tucked into a duck and roll on the ground.

Thick leaves and grass clogged her mouth as she landed, and she scrambled to spit them out and crawl away from the colliding car. A quick glance back and she registered the heavy glint of sharp metal in his hands before the front end of the truck cab made friends with the tree trunk and smoke billowed. Was it her imagination? When he had hit the tree—had he been grinning?

“Jesus,” she whispered in disbelief.

To think she had lived with that threat under her roof for how many years?

But then there was no more time for thinking because he lumbered out of the wreck, hand hovering over a gash on his forehead. How he could even move was beyond reason. There was only one way to get out of this—she tamped down the fear tingling through her limbs and ignored the pulsing ache in her chest. A quick look back and she shimmied out of her skirt and threw off her long, baggy shirt, knowing they would get caught in the sharp brambles. There’d been no time for a bra, all she wore was her blue boy short underwear.

She ran.

A whipping of wind over her bald head made her shiver as she angled her body, sharp and fast, through the trees. When she gasped in air, it tasted clean and sweet and rain drops hit her cheeks as a roll of thunder boomed in her ears.

Footsteps glided behind her in a whisper against the forest floor. Not even a rasp of his breath to tell how far away he was in the darkness. Without glancing back, she pushed her body onward despite the constant ache from her lack of physical exercise and she never took her eyes off the ground. If she tripped—it would be over. Instead, she unknowingly cleared a path for him as he pursued her in the pitch black.

The jingling of her long earrings added to a headache that flared in her skull from the relentless pounding of her pulse. The earrings’ noise would give her position away like a tracking device. Though night swallowed the forest, she wasn’t taking chances. Footsteps grew louder in her ears as she became nauseous and dizzy with terror.

Without breaking stride, she cast the earrings into the underbrush and shut her mouth so he couldn’t hear her small whimpers of pain as fatigue set into her muscles. If she could only get through this and find a place to hide! He would stop his pursuit soon. Maybe consider her lost, which still got him his money. He knew she wouldn’t go back to that house.

Plus, it must have been awhile since his last hit of drugs. A junkie always needed more junk.

Only need to outlast him a little longer.

A long thicket grew in the path, illuminated by a quick flash of lightning. She shot under it, crawling on her torn, bloodied knees as she let the blind adrenaline drive her further than she thought possible. There was a small measure of safety here. Everything about him was too big to fit inside the thicket. But that only brought so much comfort—he was still out there.

Mud seeped through her shoes, above her wrists and she pawed through the muck, knowing there was no other option but to hide. If he had a weapon, it was stupid to do anything else. But logic didn’t stop her from curling her hands into fists until her nails bit into her palms and they burned with an anchoring pain.

The earth beneath her nails smelled like raw clay and mildew. Soon there was merciful silence and the rain plunked against the branches. The harsh twigs thwacked all over her body except where blue boy-shorts curved around her hips, offering scant protection. Goose bumps pimpled her body. Illumination came by bolts of lightning that paled in comparison to her small plea for dawn.

She self-consciously rubbed the stubble on her head, closing her eyes to keep hot tears from rolling down her cheeks. Every part of her body burned. Though she had made it back into the world, she was as lost and alone as she had ever been trapped in that house. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.
Somewhere in the middle of the scratched-out path, she curled up, huddled—waiting.

Not So Pure is available for purchase through Amazon, ARe, Nook, and Ellora's Cave.

What's Up Next For Me in 2012

2011-11-19T06:43:00.001-05:00

My goals for 2012 are as follows:

Finish up two series writing 4 novella's in total for them (The Furies, Fairy tales)
Writing 2 stand alone novella's
Writing 4 shorts
Writing 3 stand alone novels

The majority of my work for the next year is all about building my backlist with Ellora's Cave and Excessica. I doubt I'll be able to accomplish all of this in one year...but you never know with all I managed to accomplish this year. There's still two months left! For those two months I want to hand in a short and a novella. The short is 10k right now and the novella is 30k and I'm wrapping it up to edit during the last few weeks of November. Nano is really helping my speed with this because I hit my all time high of word count recently at 6k in one day! That was an epic accomplishment for me since before my high was 4k.

I would like the short to be 16k and the novella to be 35k-40k finished. Lets get to work!

Stephanie Dray's Song of the Nile: History with a Twist

2011-11-14T05:15:00.001-05:00

Another day, another favorite author gracing my small space on the internet! Today I have the pleasure of introducing Stephanie Dray on my blog. Her first book, Lily of the Nile, swept me off my feet and I read all through the day and all through the night until I finished it. I forwent going to the bathroom, eating, everything basic to sit and read her first book until it was done--that's how engrossed I became with it. Now I have the pleasure of introducing the second book in her series on Cleopatra Selene, Song of the Nile. Yay!!!! Plus, Hello, have you seen that gorgeous cover art?

Blurb:

Sorceress. Seductress. Schemer. Cleopatra’s daughter has become the emperor’s most unlikely apprentice and the one woman who can destroy his empire…

Having survived her perilous childhood as a royal captive of Rome, Selene pledged her loyalty to Augustus and swore she would become his very own Cleopatra. Now the young queen faces an uncertain destiny in a foreign land.

Forced to marry a man of the emperor’s choosing, Selene will not allow her new husband to rule in her name. She quickly establishes herself as a capable leader in her own right and as a religious icon. Beginning the hard work of building a new nation, she wins the love of her new subjects and makes herself vital to Rome by bringing forth bountiful harvests.

But it’s the magic of Isis flowing through her veins that makes her indispensable to the emperor. Against a backdrop of imperial politics and religious persecution, Cleopatra’s daughter beguiles her way to the very precipice of power. She has never forgotten her birthright, but will the price of her mother’s throne be more than she’s willing to pay?

Excerpt:

Selene

Rome

Autumn 25 b.c.

My wedding day dawned rosy as the blush on a maiden’s cheek. Like the sun peeking between pink clouds to warm the sprawling city of terra-cotta roofs below, I must also shine for Rome today. As morning broke, I surveyed the middling monuments that blanketed Rome’s seven hills. I gazed to the Tiber River beyond, diamonds of dawn sparkling on its surface, and tried to see this day with my mother’s eyes.

She was Cleopatra, Pharaoh of Egypt, a woman of limitless aspiration. And I was her only daughter. She’d wanted a royal marriage for me. She may have even hoped my wedding would be celebrated here in Rome. But could she have conceived that this wedding would come to me through her bitterest enemy? In her wildest dreams, could she have imagined that the man who drove her to suicide—the same man who captured her children and dragged us behind his Triumphator’s chariot—would now make me a queen?

Yes, I thought. She could have imagined it. Perhaps she had even planned it.

Worn around my neck, a jade frog amulet dangled from a golden chain. It was a gift from my mother, inscribed with the words I am the Resurrection. On my finger, I wore her notorious amethyst ring, with which she was said to have ensorcelled my father, Mark Antony. It was now my betrothal ring, and I hoped it would steady me, for I was a tempest inside.

At just fourteen years old, I had neither my mother’s audacity nor the brazen courage that allowed her to so famously smuggle herself past enemy soldiers to be rolled out at the feet of Julius Caesar. I had heka—magic—but had inherited none of my mother’s deeper knowledge of how to use it. I didn’t have her wardrobe, her gilded barges, nor the wealth of mighty Egypt. Not yet. But the Romans often said I had her charm and wits and the day she died, she gave me the spirit of her Egyptian soul.

Today I would need it.

It was early yet in the emperor’s household; only the servants were awake, bustling about the columned courtyard, trimming shrubbery and hanging oil lamps in preparation for the wedding festivities. They were too busy—or too wary of my reputation as a sorceress—to acknowledge my presence beneath an overripe fig tree, where my slave girl and I made my devotions to Isis. My Egyptian goddess was forbidden within the sacred walls of Rome, but no one stopped us from lighting candles and using a feather to trace the holy symbol, the ankh, into the soft earth. The Temples of Isis might be shuttered here in Rome, her altars destroyed and her voice silent, but my goddess dwelt in me and I vowed that she would speak again.

Once we’d offered our prayers, my slave girl and I strolled the gardens with a basket because it was the Roman custom for a bride to pick the flowers for her own wedding wreath. The summer had been ablaze, so hot that flowers lingered out of season. I had my choice in a veritable meadow. Stooping down, I plucked two budding roses to remind me of my dead brothers, Caesarion and Antyllus, both killed in the flower of their youth. I chose a flamboyant red poppy for my dead father, the Roman triumvir, who’d been known as much for his excesses as his military talent. Finally, for my mother, a purple iris because purple was the most royal color, and my mother had been the most royal woman in the world. The sight of a blazing golden flower, the most glorious in the garden, reminded me of my beloved twin. But Helios was only missing, not dead, and I refused to tempt fate by plucking that flower from its vine. Helios promised me that we’d never live to see this day; he swore he’d never let me be married off to one of the emperor’s cronies, but the day had come and Helios was gone.

A startled murmur of slaves made me turn and see a shadow pass between two pillars. It was the emperor. Augustus. The first time I ever saw him, he was a dark conquering god, a crimson-faced swirl of purple cloak and laurel leaf, ready to mount his golden chariot and bear me away as his chained prisoner. Today he wore only a broad-brimmed hat and a humble homespun tunic cut short enough to expose his knobby knees. But the smile he wore with it wasn’t humble. This morning—the morning of the day he’d give me away in marriage—Augustus looked supremely smug.

He was without his usual retinue of barbers, secretaries, and guards. Even so, the slaves, including my Chryssa, all dropped to their knees and genuflected. He stepped over their prone bodies as if he were one of the Eastern rulers he derided for tyranny, for he was the master here. He owned everything in this garden: the Greek statuary, the marble benches, the colorful flowers, and the slaves. For four years now, I’d been his royal hostage and he believed he owned me too.

One day soon, I meant to prove him wrong.

“Good morning, Caesar,” I said, sweeping dark hair from my eyes.

Understand that the emperor wasn’t an imposing man. His power was all in the snare of his ruthless winter gray eyes which now darkened with suspicion, as if he’d caught me trying to slip past his praetorians with their crested helmets and crimson capes. “What mischief are you up to, Cleopatra Selene?”

After all the opportunities I’d declined to run away from him, it was strange that he’d suspect me of it now. I wondered what accounted for his latest paranoia. “I’m only gathering flowers for my wedding wreath.”

I showed him my basket, and seemingly satisfied, he glanced over his shoulder through the open doors to where he received clients and other morning visitors. The tabulinum was now empty except for the clutter of scrolls, brass oil lamps, and busts of his ancestors, the Julii, each painted to create the most lifelike rendition. “Walk with me,” the emperor said, and I did, for no one refused him. “This morning I granted an audience to an ambassador from Judea, Selene. King Herod sends a last-minute wedding proposal. He wishes to take you as his junior wife.”

The mere mention of Herod’s name made my steps falter. The Judean king had been my mother’s rival and had long urged the Romans to exterminate my whole family. The news that he wished to make me, the last daughter of the pharaohs, a part of his harem, actually forced a gasp from my lungs. The proposal would have been more insulting if it were anything other than a pretext to kill me. Herod had already murdered his most beloved wife to make an end to her Hasmonean dynasty. He wouldn’t lose a moment’s sleep over my death. “Caesar, you cannot mean to give me to Herod. You swore to make me Queen of Mauretania!”

Augustus smiled. I think it pleased him to see me lose my footing, to see my confidence waver. “Trust in Caesar, Selene. You’re already promised to another and in such an important matter as your marriage, I wouldn’t cater to the whim of a Jew—even if he’s already proved his loyalty, and you haven’t. Yet.”

I breathed, realizing that he’d told me this only to frighten me. To remind me of his largesse. To make me gasp with fear and then relief. Though Augustus was more than twenty years my senior, no wicked boy plucking wings off insects loved cruel games as much as he did. He stopped beside a small sphinx he’d pilfered from Egypt to adorn his garden. “Be grateful, Selene. By the end of this evening, you’ll be the wife of a newly made king, and the wealthiest woman in the empire. Not even your mother could have asked for more.”

Of course, she did ask for more. Offering her crown and scepter to him in surrender, she’d asked that her children be allowed to rule Egypt after her. Then she took her own life. My mother’s suicide had been convenient for him in every way, and I’m certain that his advisers all breathed easier when she breathed her last, but Augustus had been shocked by her death. Shaken by it. Octavian always wants most what he cannot have, she’d said, as if she’d known that it would ignite an obsession in him. He’d wanted her alive. He’d wanted her as a trophy. He’d settled upon me instead. “Half of Rome will be here for your wedding, Selene. Let my enemies bear witness to how kindly I treat Antony’s daughter. Your father’s partisans may whisper that I’m the descendant of slaves, but let them see how the grandson of a rope maker now gives away a royal princess in marriage.”

There it was. The cavernous insecurity at the center of his character that drove his every action. It didn’t matter that he’d vanquished all his rivals. Not his ever-expanding imperial compound with its marble and showy gardens, not the mountains of gold in his coffers, nor the might of his legions would ever conquer his fear that somewhere, someone was laughing at him. “Are you sure it shouldn’t be a simpler wedding, Caesar? More in keeping with austere Roman values?” I asked, because I feared Roman crowds and knew from bitter experience that they could be dangerous.

He tilted his head, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his hat. “I mean for your wedding to be a spectacle and you’re too ambitious to want it any other way. Today will make plain to Isis worshippers who foment dissent in Rome and rebellion in Egypt that they dare not oppose me, for I have a Cleopatra of my very own. Remember our bargain. Marry the man I choose for you and do as I command. Glorify me and I’ll show mercy to your surviving brothers, your countrymen, and to those who worship your loathsome foreign goddess. Be my Cleopatra and one day your mother’s Egypt may be yours.”

By late afternoon, the slaves had stripped my room bare. The golden incense burners, the red and green tapestries, the painted oil lamps, and even the kithara harp I played to amuse the emperor—almost everything that had ever lent color or comfort to my room here—all packed into trunks and satchels. Turning my eyes to my dressing table, I thought of the loose brick beneath it, the one Helios used to pull out of the wall so that we could whisper to one another when the Romans slept. We’d never do that again, I realized. Even if the emperor’s hounds hunted down my runaway twin brother and hauled him back to the Palatine, I wouldn’t be here . . .

With a sharp knock at my door, the emperor’s sister marched to my side to attend me. It was a mother’s duty to dress her daughter for marriage and Lady Octavia was the closest thing to a mother that I had left in this world. She’d been my father’s wife when he embarked upon his grand love affair with my mother. But after my parents were sealed in their tombs, Octavia had collected all my father’s children. Though she was a rigid woman, I’d come to love her. Even so, it felt like betrayal to let her take my mother’s place on this day. We were awkward together as we hadn’t been in years. “Well,” she said, both hands on her fleshy hips. “Let’s get you ready, Selene.”

She used a special comb to divide my hair into the six segments of the tutulus, the traditional hairstyle worn by Roman brides. “What a vicious little comb,” I hissed, wincing as she tugged mercilessly. “Why is it shaped like a spear?”

“It’s to drive out ill fortune,” she said, cheerfully. “It’s also to remind us of the Sabine women, the first Roman wives, forced to wed at the tip of a spear!”

“That hardly seems like something to be remembered with pride,” I muttered.

Octavia only tilted my chin with a sentimental sigh. “Oh, Selene, you’re going to be a lovely bride. Your father was always given to emotion, you know, and I think if he saw you, it would bring a tear to his eye.” In spite of the many wrongs he’d done her, Octavia never spoke against my father, for which I was grateful. “I think you have Antony’s best qualities.”

This puzzled me because my father had been a big jolly man with a raucous laugh whereas I was slender and decidedly sober. “I can’t imagine how I’m like my father.”

“He inspired people and so do you,” she said. “My daughters imitate you. Your royal poise, the way you hold your posture, and your piety. Because you work so hard at your lessons, the little ones study more. It’s your gift, Selene. You lead everyone around you to aspire to something greater. Even me.”

I stammered, because it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. “E-even you?”

As the emperor’s sister, Octavia had always held influence. Now that her son Marcellus had married the emperor’s daughter, Lady Octavia was the most powerful woman in Rome. Wearing her distinctively severe hairstyle with its knot over her brow like a crown, she lifted her chin. “As the emperor’s heir, my son is still young, untested. Marcellus will need guidance more than ever and I think I can help him. He and Julia need to win over the people so I’m going to find a way to fund a beautiful new theater as a gift to the city.”

“They’re fortunate to have an ally in you,” I said, knowing how this would irritate the emperor’s ambitious wife, Livia. Octavia had supplanted her role as First Woman in Rome. Truly, it was a new day.

Octavia seemed to feel it too. “You’ve made a good match, Selene! And your story sounds so romantic. Two scions of African royalty. Two orphans saved by the emperor and adopted into his family, only to become stewards over a new land. Why, if I were your age, I might even envy you this marriage. Your groom is such a handsome young man.”

“I’m familiar with his virtues,” I said, for Juba was no stranger to me. The deposed Numidian princeling was a scholar. Such a prodigy, in fact, that he’d been my tutor. Once I’d even counted him a friend. Now he was just the husband the emperor had chosen for me and the first step I must take on my path back to Egypt.

“You’re a lucky girl,” Octavia chattered on. “He’s going to be a splendid, civilized king. Rex Literatissimus, they call him. And such a fine specimen of a man—no woman in Rome can avoid following him with her eyes. But remember that he is a man. No sweet boy like my Marcellus.” Given the clumsy way her hands worked in my hair, and her unusually breezy banter, I realized that she was working up to something. “Selene, do you know what Juba will expect from you in the bridal bed?”

My cheeks burned. Everyone imagined my mother as a seductress with great knowledge of the sensual arts, but I’d been young when she died; she’d never shared any of that particular wisdom with me. “I—I think I can guess.”

Octavia now looked sour, as if she were about to face a torment of the spirit. “This is what will happen. When you’re alone in the bridal chamber, Juba will call you wife and draw you into his arms. But you mustn’t go willingly or he’ll think you’re a lupa.” A she-wolf, she said, but she meant whore. “You must shy away and struggle just enough to please him but not enough to make him angry. Then submit to him as your husband and your king.”

Helios is my king. The thought came to me so suddenly and unbidden that I feared that I’d said it aloud. My twin was the rightful King of Egypt and dearer to me than I could dare admit. Some said that it was for his sake that the city of Thebes had rebelled. I’d bargained for my twin’s life, so I’d have to submit to the emperor’s wishes and to Juba too. I’d just have to remind myself every day how fortunate I was not to be married off to old King Herod of Judea.

When my little gray cat leapt onto the dressing table, upsetting a tray of hairpins and ribbons, Octavia cried, “Wretched creature! I won’t be sorry to see that beast leave with you. I can’t see why cats are sacred in Egypt. They’re nothing but mischief.” Bast took no notice of this insult, purring and burrowing into my arms while Octavia scowled. “Oh dear. I’m making a mess of your hair. My fingers aren’t as nimble as they used to be. I’ll let your ornatrix fix it.”

My slave girl fixed my hairstyle, and then we dallied until dusk, trying to decide between two pairs of sandals, one of which was prettier but pinched my toes. At last, Chryssa helped me into my wedding garments. The white muslin tunica and accompanying girdle. The floral wreath and the orange flame-colored veil. This was the garb of a modest Roman bride, but in spite of all the years I’d lived amongst my father’s people, it still looked foreign to me. When I glanced into the polished silver mirror, I groaned in dismay. Octavia had bound my hair in such a way that it smothered everything unique about me. The white muslin left me looking pale, hiding what beauty I possessed, and I was all but suffocated by the saffron veil. “It’s horrible.”

“No,” Chryssa said, softly. “You’re a beautiful bride.”

But this was something people said to brides, whether or not it was true. I pulled the veil away. “I need . . . something else.”

Chryssa’s eyes widened. “It’s almost time for the wedding. Half the city is at the gates.”

This did nothing to calm me. Roman weddings were supposed to be small and modest affairs, simple contracts that required only a few witnesses. Mine would be different. The guests would be looking to see if I was just a Roman girl, the daughter of Mark Antony, or if I was Cleopatra’s daughter, a sorceress whose blood made flowers grow, whose hands left crocodiles docile in her wake. As the foremost worshipper of Isis in Rome, stories about me had passed from temple to temple, tavern to tavern, and the slaves and the lower classes whispered that I might bring them a Golden Age. I’d emboldened them. Perhaps I’d inspired them. So maybe I need not fear the crowds; I wasn’t a prisoner anymore.

Be my Cleopatra, the emperor said, and one day your mother’s Egypt may be yours.

Augustus was a grand actor in a pageant of his own creation and the only way to remain in his favor was to play my role. He wanted spectacle? Well, I would give him one. With deep resolution, I unwound the braids that Octavia had so painstakingly fastened, brushing out my dark hair so that it curled and cascaded, loose and free over my shoulders. “I won’t be a Roman bride,” I said. “My mother was Pharaoh and I’ll let no one forget it.”

Chryssa’s mouth formed a circle of surprise when I threw open my wardrobe chest, giving no care to the fact that the slaves had carefully packed it for the journey. I rifled through it until I found a beautiful diaphanous gown that Helios had given me. Octavia had tried to make it modest with stitches and brooches. Now I refashioned it. Removing the pins, I wrapped the gown under my arms and tied it between my breasts in the knot of Isis, the tiet, a loop with trailing sides that was a variant of the ankh. My wide-eyed slave girl watched me as if I’d gone mad. “You’re going to give insult. You’ll anger the emperor!”

“I know him better than you do.” Since I was a little child, I’d learned to play all the emperor’s games; this was just one more. Be my Cleopatra, the emperor had said, and I was young and foolish enough to believe I knew what that meant. “Don’t stand there gaping, Chryssa. Help me!”

Reluctantly, she went to my dressing table, searching for the proper cosmetic pots, as I told her what to do. My mother had been a Hellenistic queen, and when she dressed for the civilized Greek-speaking world, she dressed accordingly. But she’d also been Pharaoh of Egypt. It was that reminder of Egypt I wanted now, so I urged Chryssa to draw on my eyelids with black kohl, the dark lines of the wedjat—the eye of Horus. Then she used the greens and blues and reds of Egypt to color my face. When she was done, I held up the mirror and peered at myself with the green eyes of a jungle cat, exotic and wild. “You need more jewelry,” Chryssa suggested, finally warming to the idea. “Something sparkling to go with your little jade frog and betrothal ring.”

I knew just the thing. Carefully wrapped in the bloodstained dress I’d worn as a prisoner, was a golden snake armlet with gemstone eyes that my mother left for me when she’d foreseen her own death. I retrieved it from under my mattress, where I’d kept the bundle hidden for years, and slipped the armlet up until it hugged my bicep, its history merging with my skin. The effect was dazzling and scandalous. “You look like your mother’s portraits,” Chryssa breathed.

But I saw in myself someone entirely new.

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Bio

Stephanie graduated from Smith, a small women’s college in Massachusetts where–to the consternation of her devoted professors–she was unable to master Latin. However, her focus on Middle Eastern Studies gave her a deeper understanding of the consequences of Egypt’s ancient clash with Rome, both in terms of the still-extant tensions between East and West as well as the worldwide decline of female-oriented religion.

Before she wrote novels, Stephanie was a lawyer, a game designer, and a teacher. Now she uses the transformative power of magic realism to illuminate the stories of women in history and inspire the young women of today. She remains fascinated by all things Roman or Egyptian and has–to the consternation of her devoted husband–collected a house full of cats and ancient artifacts.

Sewing My Way Up To The Top

2011-11-13T16:39:00.001-05:00

So, I've been in a weird state for the past couple of months where I've decided I need to pick up a hobby outside of writing, reading, and TV. Mostly because my mind is becoming too cluttered and obsessed with my job that I don't know how to take time for myself....even while watching TV I'm thinking about plots, endings, promo, etc. My solution to this madness is to try and take up sewing. DH recently got a sewing machine for his chain mailing efforts for the Renn Faire and I got a few books on small DIY projects with the sewing machine.

I'm a little nervous about it mainly because every time I pick up a crafty project I can't quite get my brain to shut off right and I abandon it pretty quickly. This has happened with crochet, knitting, painting, drawing, you name it. I can't seem to engage the part of my brain that works with writing. Sewing in the efforts to make my own clothes--since I'm so small it's hard to find anything that fits me without a massive amount of tailoring--seems to be my best bet right now since we all ready purchased the machine. Only crumby part is I'm awful at cutting and at math, so DH will help me with that until I get better.

Tonight we're going to attempt to make mail holders in a bright orange, fall patterned fabric. If they work out I'll take pictures and post them. Wish me luck on my crafting crusade! I have two full books to work my way through before I can purchase the recycled fabric/make your own dress book that I want. Got to learn how to sew before I can get that crafty!

Not So Pure now available for Nook

2011-11-12T13:03:00.000-05:00

My fairytale novel with Ellora's Cave, Not So Pure, is now available for Nook at Barnes and Nobles.

Steampunk Tips from AAD 2011

2011-11-12T01:39:00.000-05:00

Wonderful Steampunk tips from my AAD conference in August 2011 to inspire and ignite that Victorian flare.

Inevitably, any author who writes Steampunk will be rewriting history as part of the genre. In order to do that authors have to comb through history and dates in order to have a solid timeline to build their world. Readers want solid world-building and the confidence that comes with easy reading which is where knowing almost too much background, history, and general information can be a good thing.
Pick a specific year or period and then go find some science books--what will they know in the next 100 years from that chosen time period that could possibly influence your world?
For every machine added to a book, there has to be more science behind it. Don't make it dull like a textbook, but make sure there's a reason for the machine's existence that readers can relate to that has science to back it up.
In regards to above, what are not just the benefits of having said machines, what are the repercussions? How does it affect different tiers of society? Be balanced and complete with world-building and it'll flesh out the people and places.
How character's react to the nifty gadgets and do-dad's has a lot to do with showing it's relationship within the book and the world. It takes the Steampunk one step further into becoming real and inheriting a philosophy with the characters.

A little Kink with Sommer

2011-11-10T04:51:00.000-05:00

I'm joining Sommer Marsden over at her blog today talking kinky, sexy fairy tales. How to write them, how to love them, how to stroke them...hehe, you get the picture. I'm also giving away a copy of Roped Emotions to one lucky winner!

Simple Stories and Fairy Tales

2011-11-09T04:49:00.003-05:00

I'm over at Sara Brookes Blog discussing my favorite fairy tale of all time so clicky, clicky and join in on the discussion.

Night Owl Reviews Reviews Roped Emotions

2011-11-08T20:52:00.000-05:00

Today I had the awesome pleasure of getting a 4.5 out of 5 star Top Pick Review from Night Owl Reviews for Roped Emotions, my Ellora's Cave Novella. You can see the review HERE and the lovely things they said about my book. So Happy!

Newest Release News

2011-11-07T11:40:00.000-05:00

My newest EC novel is now available from All Romance E-books and Amazon. Barnes and Nobles should be soon to come on the list.

World Building Tips from AAD 2011

2011-11-07T01:38:00.000-05:00

Another belated post curtsey of my insane writing schedule lately, I give you World-building tips from the panel I sat at for AAD 2011 in August. This panel was a lot of fun and gave me a lot of good books I wanted to read.

When creating a world from scratch it has to be organic and interesting without sounding like an author's making a Frommer's Guide to a world. A reader doesn't want to read why things are cool and why the character is going to that place because of it's coolness--they have to feel it.
Pepper in details of the world through the choices a character makes in regard to that world. So, say an author was making a world where there was an evil meat factory that processed people--what would the main character eat because of that factory? What factions or groups of people would come out with this factory in existence that split up the people? How does this meat factory change personal choice, the economy, social outreach, etc? Make sense?
Get solid boundaries in order from the beginning with regards to consistency. If your character decides to start a vegetarian cult because of the meat factory they can't just leave the cult and decide to eat hamburgers one day without repercussions.
Take notes on everything. Notes are key to a clean, healthy world and are a real nice thing to have when an author goes to make a World Bible.
In order to get started, a good way to warm up the brain is by tweaking modern or historical mythos with facts that can back up every change. Those facts can be made up within your head, but they have to be consistent. Make sure every action has a reaction, but twisting is fun.
Use the hierarchy of needs--water, shelter, food to shape a beginning world.
Onenote is your best friend.

Talking fairy tale retellings until the wee hours of the morning

2011-11-06T03:40:00.006-05:00

Today I'm over at Lady Isabel's Blog talking about some of my favorite and most loved fairytale retelling's and discussing my new Ellora's Cave novel release, Not So Pure. Fairy tales have always caught my eye and been one of my favorite genre's to read. Come check it out!

Not So Pure is ready for Kindle

2011-11-05T12:34:00.000-04:00

My erotic romance novel with Ellora's Cave, Not So Pure, is now available for Kindle purchase here. Yay! Thanks for all the support for this book!

My Erotic Novel Not So Pure is out from Ellora's Cave today!

2011-11-05T00:00:00.001-04:00

Today is the new release of my erotic novel, Not So Pure, which has been three long years in the making. This book and I have a long history together starting when it was a simple short story I was writing in a college class because I was bored out of my mind. From there I put it aside because I hadn't written anything erotic yet, was still dabbling with non-fiction articles and freelancing for website content. There wasn't a single hint of where to start and my little spark of an idea didn't seem big enough to do anything with at all.

Cut to two years later when I found the little snippet of a blow-job scene scrawled before my Biology notes and found the missing spark that I needed to make the work bigger and better. Three months later and I had my second novel. But, Oh Lord, the plot holes! For some reason, Not So Pure kept evolving, shifting, and changing with my heroine who couldn't decide exactly why she wanted the things she wanted which was kind of important.

Eight reincarnations later--yeah, I didn't give up on this manuscript, I loved every character too much--and I signed my contract with Ellora's Cave for it with my editor, Brianna StJames. And here we are, on the release day of my little long-due offspring. Kind of makes me want to cry. Not to mention that it's my first novel to date that has been published. Take that erotic world!

Blurb

White runs from her prison of a past and enters into a sexual deal with seven men that alters the course of her life for eternity. Caught between her need to take control and making up for her serious lack of good sex, she enters a wonderland of kinky possibilities with men who show her that Prince Charmings come in all shapes and sizes. For White and her men—once upon a time doesn’t cut it—three or four times sound just about right.

Excerpt

Bright morning sunshine filtered through the trees, casting warmth all over her dirty body, and not bothering to look down at herself, she continued to pick her way through the forest. The light breeze blowing against her cheek was thick with scents from the night before—blooming night jasmine and sweat. She gritted her teeth against the nausea rooted in her stomach and noticed the fine shaking running up her bare thighs. How long could she go without food or water before she passed out? Her last meal had been yesterday afternoon, would that be enough? She didn’t know.

A plan was paramount.

She heard stories of men out here. They all lived together outside of town, away from the glitz and glamour of the city. Would they help or not? Either she found the nearest path back to a main road or she searched for a random cottage. There was no way to tell which would be easier.

Why had she even gone with Huntsman! This train of thought would get her nowhere and at least she was out of the house. She quickly stopped questioning and made a choice.

She would try to find the infamous cottage in the woods.

The reasoning was simple enough. It was logically easier to persuade a few people to help her out than walking to town and relying on a larger group of people. With more people, the odds of them saying no went up. Townspeople had that “who me?” aspect to them that made ignorance bliss. So many people would probably glance out of the corner of their eye at her begging and hurry along because of the implications of helping street filth.

And that’s what she looked like right now. With no money, no prospects and no work experience, so she had to start from scratch—there wasn’t much else but pity to fall back on.

This wasn’t a fairytale where someone would slip money into her hand and offer her a warm bed for the night. Most people were too selfish. White was better off going one-on-one with a group of men who’d already shed society’s rules by living in the middle of nowhere. Unfortunately, the trip was neither close nor easy.

Now she was caked in god-knows-what, looking toward the morning sky and waiting for a cottage to come in sight. What other option did she have? There was no indication of what awaited her there. But it had to be better than what was back in the woods—embracing destiny and all that jazz.

“Or running away from it,” she mumbled.

All the same. But it was hard to ignore her survival instincts. They had at least gotten her out of that prison and from now on it was her own way or she could bolt if she wanted to. Yet, this was the first time she’d been out of the house in how long? For a second her whole world rotated a hundred and eighty degrees.

The fresh air was joyous as it whipped around her half-naked body. It moved along the sensitive nape of her neck and brushed lightly against her shoulders and her spine. Inside her head it was peaceful and maddening all at once. Sure, she could do whatever she wanted now—that was a relief—but she couldn’t do anything without a good meal. So technically, she still didn’t have half as much independence as she would have liked.

When the sun came through the breaks at the top of the tree-line, the outline of a house was illuminated and she tried to hold back her curiosity. Her stomach plunged as nervous butterflies fluttered in her abdomen and she crossed her arms around her waist. This must be the place, they had an auto body shop and car parts were spread everywhere.

Everyone in town knew about the men who lived in the woods to get away from the catty glitz of the real world. People said the men lived in a fairytale. White believed it when she had the chance to examine the cottage up close. Aquamarine windows lined with chipped, coal black casings glistened with grease. There was a sloping roof with red tinted shingles, though some were missing in a weird pattern.

No one did the place justice—because it was a complete mess

Why would they need a door with bars on the peep-hole window? Were there normally robberies in the middle of a forest?

They topped it all off with a yard of rusted metal—which made sense because they were rumored to be mechanics. But motorcycle parts, engines, and tires laying out on the lawn without rhyme or reason? She supposed everyone had to have a hobby.

White gingerly sidestepped her way through the car parts. The scent of cooked meat beckoned her closer toward the door and her stomach twisted with hunger. Caught between the need to bang on the door or to let herself inside—damn the consequences—she settled for something in between both actions.

“Hey!” White shouted, throat burning with thirst. “Can I get a little help out here?”

She moved toward the door when she heard footsteps because moving backward was cowardly. A man, judging by his broad shoulders. He peered through the window. Barred rectangular shadows hollowed his face and forehead. He slightly opened the door to peek out at her with suspicion through the small crack.

Maybe she had been expecting a deformity because they lived in the middle of nowhere. But when she searched his face for a pockmark or fake eye, all that she could see was the bone structure of a model with a little bit of scruff on his chin. His amber brown eyes narrowed. Wasn’t she the one who should be suspicious?

A tiny tremor shot up her spine when he opened the door all the way and eased his toned, sculpted frame through the gap. No peg leg either. From what she could see, he was all there. A perfect specimen. She absently rubbed the fuzz on her head, wondering why men did it electively. Like the stranger in front of her with white blond hair buzzed to his scalp. She dropped her hand and tightened her jaw.

He squinted at her because the sun was directly in his eyes. It meant he stood somewhere in the range of six-feet-four-inches with a high metabolism as evidenced by his lithe, muscular build. He rolled his shoulders, hands ducking into the pockets of a pair of brown corduroys. The cotton shirt he had on exuded spicy, musky man smell and she shifted from foot to foot.

“Are you willing to help me?”

“It depends on what you want and why you’re here.” His voice came out in a guttural lullaby. “Not many people venture out here without a car.”

He gave her a cursory once over with his eyes.

“And you really don’t have much of anything.”

“I just want some food and to get some sleep. It’s been a long night.” She crossed her arms, acting like his answer didn’t define the next few minutes. “I’ll be out of your house by morning if I can help it.”

“Where are your clothes?”

“Long story, but at least I have underwear, right?”

His gaze snapped up and down with heat flickering in his tawny pupils. That look was familiar, lust was easy to pinpoint. He wanted her even if he didn’t know it yet. So, there was a foothold now and she was going to take advantage of it.

If this is what it took to get some food, then so be it. Weirder things had transpired at the mansion—and worse things had been traded for drugs. Besides, whoever got anything in life for free?

A simple flashing wouldn’t do her any harm. She hadn’t seen anyone react to her body who wasn’t coked up or twice her age in awhile and deep inside she enjoyed knowing that he wanted her. A little thrill made her heart beat faster—no one else would see her half naked—they were in the middle of a forest. But the idea that someone could see turned her on more than she’d like to admit.

There was no getting around the fact that he was hot.

She uncrossed her arms and let them rest by her sides, giving him an eyeful of her breasts. Without pausing, he was by her side, offering his shirt with an outstretched hand.

“W—what?” she stammered, uncertain.

“I’d feel more comfortable talking to you if you were dressed.”

Fairy tale Hotties

2011-11-04T04:44:00.001-04:00

Today I'm talking about Fairy tale hunks over at C. M. Torren's Blog. Hunks from movies, some bad, some good, but they were all tolerable because of a hot man with a charming personality. Come see my top 4 and see if you agree with me.

Also, my new modern day fairytale erotic romance novel comes out from Ellora's Cave today. Not So Pure is my little pride and joy, more on that in tomorrow's post. But for now, check out my menage and more romp and pick up a copy?

Blurb:

BUY HERE

Self-Publishing Tips from AAD 2011

2011-11-03T01:37:00.000-04:00

Here are some (very belated) self-publishing tips that I learned from a panel at AAD 2011 in August. Some of these apply to erotica but the majority of them are good tips for any genre or any author who e-pubs traditionally or self-pubs.

Don't put your eggs in one basket. If your going to self-publish, do several books before you determine whether or not it's right for you. More books, more chances of results and a better underlying understanding an author can have about whether or not they are getting sales or reaching their core audience.
Find a niche and stick to it.
Use Createspace even if no one buys it. In the end, the profits work in an authors favor that way.
Pick a strange or unique category on Amazon when tagging so a book isn't swallowed up by everything else out there.
Stick to lower pricing, shop around in length and determine price from there. 2.99 or lower on Amazon sells well.
If you can, or you want to, cross-promo with a e-publisher or traditional publisher.
Don't cut corners in anything: editing, promo, story or cover. Be the best you can to make a good first impression.
Platform doesn't matter in terms of genre, it's all about the voice or raunch level that will set an author apart from the crowd. Make sure there are particular levels of either in whatever you write so a reader can have their expectations met with every book. This doesn't mean write the same book, just pay attention to certain things you enjoy writing and include them in different ways in all the books. A reader had to pick up a book because something got their attention, right?
Find an editor you trust. That goes without saying though.

Not So Pure Has A Cover

2011-11-01T23:47:00.004-04:00

My little book that could has a shiny, pretty, wonderful little cover! Yay! It'll be coming out in three days. Eeek! Hope everyone likes it. Thanks to my awesome cover artist at Ellora's Cave!

Stephanie Draven's Dark Sins and Desert Sands With A Chance to Win A Nook

2011-10-26T04:48:00.039-04:00

Today I have one of my favorite writers of all time on my blog! *squee* I'm so excited! Her books are original, fun, intelligent, and sexy, sexy, sexy--without further ado, I give you, Stephanie Draven! And the crowd goes wild! Go buy her books--go now! Also, at the end of the post there is an opportunity to win a Nook or a $75 dollar giftcard for reviewing one of Stephanie's books. Which is easy, peasy, pumpkin pie at the rate I devour them.

Blurb: Escaping a hellish Syrian prison, U.S. serviceman Ray Stavrakis emerged with uncanny mind-control powers and an eerie ability to morph into a mythical Minotaur. As a half man, half bull, Ray had legendary power, but only one woman could prove his innocence. The woman who'd driven him to the brink of insanity with her cool-eyed interrogation and her hot-blooded sensuality.

But Vegas psychologist Layla Bahset had no memory of Ray or her past. Only a feeling of being stalked by a nonhuman predator. Was it Ray…whose eyes condemned her soul even as his hands ignited her body? Or was another evil force at work? But nothing could stop Layla from remembering what she was…and what her evil creator had planned for her and her soldier lover….

Excerpt:

It wasn't difficult for Ray to find Layla Bahset's office. She hadn't gone to any trouble to hide her identity. She was listed right there in the Las Vegas phone book like she was just an ordinary woman and not evil incarnate. This had probably been a mistake—to come directly to his interrogator's office in the middle of the day. They'd have him on the security cameras and someone might be able to identify him. But unless he planned to stalk Layla Bahset down the street, like he'd done with the guard in Aleppo, this was the easiest way to handle things.

"Hola," the woman at the desk purred, eyeing him with unabashed interest while her fingers arranged a vase of flowers. "My name is Isabel. And aren’t you just trouble in a tight black T-shirt…"

She was a glamazon with cinnamon-brown eyes, Latin curves in all the right places, and a smile that could cause a war or two. Ray felt himself flush under her magnetic charm. She was sexy as hell and it'd been a long time since anyone looked at him with anything other than malice, but Ray couldn't let himself be distracted by flirtation. He'd come here for Layla Bahset.

He'd come here for justice. He'd come here to clear his name. Nothing less would satisfy.

"So, will the doc see me, or not?" Ray asked.

"Lucky for you, Dr. Bahset's a workaholic. I'm sure she'll squeeze you in, Papi."

Were they already to the nickname stage? "Thanks, Cha-cha," Ray returned, swiping a piece of candy from her desk. He popped it in his mouth hoping the sugar would steady him, but the intense sweetness put him even further on edge.

Dr. Bahset's office door was half open, and he took a moment to watch her. Was it just Ray's imagination, or had he been in prison so long that every woman looked like a goddess today? Layla Bahset was as flawless as he remembered her, and Ray found that comforting. If a wisp of her black hair had escaped the confines of her severely upswept coiffure, it might’ve given him pause. If her lips had been slightly chapped instead of delicately glossed, he might’ve hesitated. But she was perfect.

Beneath the demure white blouse and dark skirt, there wasn't a single crack in the facade through which her humanity might have shone through.

Yet here she was, in the flesh.

It all happened in slow motion—fractional increments of time. He stepped into her office and locked the door, hearing the satisfying sound of the bolt sliding into place. Layla Bahset looked up, her emerald eyes disarmingly and deceptively warm. He remembered those eyes, as green as the Nile and as timeless as the pyramids. Eyes so penetrating and pitiless that his throat had constricted with every question she'd asked. Now he made himself just as hard and pitiless. His boots rapidly closed the distance between them and her smile faded. His coat caught the edge of a low end table and overturned it just as she rose to her feet to call for help.

Then he had her.

Kicking her chair out of the way, he slammed her against the bookshelf and felt her go boneless with fear. Rage blinded him as he wrapped his hands around her throat and he struggled not to let the beast in him take over. He reminded himself that he wasn't here to choke her; he just needed to keep her from screaming. He let her exhale and felt the heat of her breath on his face.

Her palms flattened against his chest to fend him off but the rest of her was surprisingly warm and yielding. He could actually feel the heat of her through his shirt. She smelled like something sweet and fragile, like a desert blossom. Like something he could trample and destroy.

Damn. It had been a mistake to touch her. More than two years had passed since he'd touched anything so soft, and the intimacy of skin against skin might be his undoing. Her eyes were closed, lips trembling. He could almost taste the salt of her fear-induced perspiration. It should've given him a feeling of satisfaction or mastery, but it only made him hungry for her. Urges he no longer knew he had clawed their way to the surface. With his blood running hot and his knee between hers, he nearly forgot what he'd come here for.

"Look at me, damn it," he growled close to her ear until her pulse quickened beneath his fingertips and her eyelashes fluttered open. "I bet you thought you'd never see me again, did you? Take a good look and hope it's not your last."

Her eyes frantically searched his face as if for something she might recognize, and it infuriated him. Her face was burned into his memory. Her questions were branded in his flesh. That she could have forgotten him was unthinkable. He let his eyes blaze a path to the edge of her mind, but he was so angry he could barely focus on controlling her. The top button of her white blouse had come undone, baring her collarbone, and he wanted to press his mouth into the hollow of it.

After everything she'd done to him, she was finally at his mercy. He could have her. He could show her his strength and power now that he wasn't in chains. The desire to take her was so strong that it actually shook him out of his stupor.

He wasn't that kind of monster, after all.

He let his grip relax, fingers splayed over her shoulder as she took a desperate breath. "You're not going to scream, okay?" She nodded and in spite of his admittedly tenuous hold over her mind, she didn't scream. She didn't claw at him either. Instead, she did the most astonishing thing. Her delicate hand slipped over the taut sinews of his forearm in a caress. "Let me help you," she whispered.

He couldn't remember the last time another human being had touched him in gentleness, and the intensity of it was unbearable. Unbearable. He was an escaped creature of the black dungeon.

Perhaps he wasn't meant for the sounds, scents, or gentle sensations of the world anymore. Perhaps he knew only pain now. Her touch left him unbalanced. Unsteady. He had to pull away. "Sit down at your desk," he commanded, but he wasn't sure if it was his power that compelled her or just the fear.

"I want to help you," she repeated, settling into her chair.

"You didn't help me when I was in Syria," he snarled. "You just asked me all those questions, and they'd swirl in my head like you were some kind of sorceress. Like you'd bewitched me. And when I wouldn't answer, you'd send me back to have my hands and feet beaten until they bled. Of course, that was before you tried to make me think you actually cared about me…"

She shook her head as if she didn't know what he was talking about and it made him even angrier. "Oh, give it a second and you'll remember me. You see, everything has a price, sweetheart, and your bill has just come due."

Buy:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Harlequin

BIO

Stephanie Draven is currently a denizen of Baltimore, that city of ravens and purple night skies. She lives there with her favorite nocturnal creatures–three scheming cats and a deliciously wicked husband. And when she is not busy with dark domestic rituals, she writes her books.

Stephanie has always been a storyteller. In elementary school, she channeled Scheherazade, weaving a series of stories to charm children into sitting with her each day at the lunch table. When she was a little older, Stephanie scared all the girls at her sleepovers with ghost stories.

She should have known she was born to hold an audience in her thrall, but Stephanie resisted her writerly urges and graduated from college with a B.A. in Government. Then she went to Law School, where she learned how to convincingly tell the tallest tales of all!

A longtime lover of ancient lore, Stephanie enjoys re-imagining myths for the modern age. She doesn’t believe that true love is ever simple or without struggle so her work tends to explore the sacred within the profane, the light under the loss and the virtue hidden in vice. She counts it amongst her greatest pleasures when, from her books, her readers learn something new about the world or about themselves.

Stephanie also writes historical fiction as Stephanie Dray and has a series of forthcoming novels from Berkley Books featuring Cleopatra’s daughter.

www.stephaniedraven.com

Unhealthy Crushes

2011-10-25T05:57:00.000-04:00

These are my current obsessions that are way to unhealthy for me to be lusting after...and yet, I just can't help myself. Behold, the weirdness of my mind.

Damon Salvatore: Hello, psycho, confused vampire much?

Dexter Morgan: I think serial killer says it all.

The Maid from American Horror Story (The Young One): This chick is a ghost!

Sweets from Bones: He never knows what he wants and he'd psychoanalyze the crap out of me.

Positive Thinking

2011-10-20T02:00:00.000-04:00

Lately, I've gotten a lot of rejections. One might say, a copious amount of rejections. For stories that I thought were shoe-in's at a pub I've all ready hit jackpot gold with---and yeah, sometimes it doesn't work out. It's been a rough month for me and writing. We've gotten into fights, I've felt beat up by it, and even wondered if I'd heal from it's personalized brand of pain. But all it takes is one dust-off for me to remember that it'll all work out. It has to work out, because there's no other option for me.

Besides, now I've turned those R's into a different project entirely and they've been recycled into smutty goodness. So it's not like writing them was a waste of time. No matter what people tell you, R's still hurt. They never stop hurting because they're the boogey men coming for you in the dead of night. You never know they're coming--all you can do it pick up your sword and hack away.

And now that I've exhausted my metaphors for the day I'm going to take a few deep breaths, have a cup of tea, and think about my next project. Because moving on is the best way to avoid the inner bruises. I'll make it through this, I always do.

Tell All

2011-10-18T12:55:00.002-04:00

Today I'm over at Rebecca Leigh's Blog answering questions about myself and trying to virtually hide behind my computer monitor because I'm secretly shy in real life. Go check out the smutty goodness. Oh, and fun fact, Rebecca was actually one of my first writing friends to grace this blog and my writing life. She's awesome, check out her stuff!

Thanks Guys!

Stacey Kennedy is Here with Bind Me Goodness Talking BDSM

2011-10-17T01:23:00.000-04:00

Hey Stacey, Thanks for stopping by with your sizzling hot story!

Imagine if you had the chance to live out the one fantasy you always wanted to have. Would you do it?

That’s what Marley faces when she decides to enter the world of BDSM. A fantasy she has thought of for years, but one she never imagined doing. On her twenty-fifth birthday, her best friends and her make a pact to take that final step to make sure their every desire is fulfilled before they all settle down.

It all leads her to Castle Dolce Vita and into the presence of Master Reed. A man determined to welcome her into BDSM and help her enjoy every minute of it. But she might get even more than she signed up for.

So could you walk through the door of a sex club to meet the man you’ve always dreamed of?

Thanks, Elise for sharing your space with me today and letting me show off my new release, BIND ME ~ Pact of Seduction Book One. Come find me on Facebook and Twitter. I love to chat!!

Blurb

Four best friends embrace their fantasies and make a pact of seduction to live out their deepest and darkest desires. The women place their lives in the hands of fate and one short straw declares Marley will be the first to awaken her secret wishes.

Reed, a Dom at sex club Castle Dolce Vita, has lived the BDSM lifestyle for a while, but has yet to find a submissive that suits him. That is until he meets Marley, a woman seeking to indulge her fantasies.

As Reed guides her through a night of pleasure, Marley brings more to him than a perfect submissive–she stirs emotions in him long ago lost. By binding Marley, he runs up against his own limits, and now he has to choose between his self-protective barriers or surrendering to the wildfire Marley has reignited in his heart.

Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual situations, graphic language, and material that some readers may find objectionable: BDSM theme and elements, including spanking.

BUY LINK

Teaser:

Stone walls didn’t give the air of a warm room, nor did the cold cement on the floor, but it set the mood perfectly for the BDSM scene. Reed circled his submissive as she stood atop a wooden box in the center of the bare room.

Zoie was good and obedient. The nipple clamps pinched her areolae hard, just as Reed wanted. He tugged on one to induce a mild amount of pain, and Zoie whimpered, yet not in a way that made him hesitate—she sounded too desperate. Reed had enough confidence to know she needed more than he could give her.

Not every sub Reed played with could tolerate the pain Zoie managed. He enjoyed pushing her limits because she could take the overload. He added two weights to the chain that connected the nipple clamps. Zoie’s gaze burned with desire as she hissed.

“I think I’ll leave you waiting for a while.” Reed strode toward the other side of the room. He grabbed the plastic bottle off the metal tray containing the sex toys, and drank the lukewarm water as his gaze scanned the small space. The old American country estate, Castle Dolce Vita, catered not only to BDSM but to all desires.

By day he was a criminal lawyer, but on evenings and weekends, the BDSM floor had become his home since his lifestyle submissive, Samantha, left him two years ago. He’d loved; he’d lost. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Just as he placed the bottle back on the tray, the door to the room opened. “You were looking for me.”

Reed glanced over his shoulder to find his good friend and roommate Kole drenched in sweat and running a hand through his blond hair to wipe off the perspiration. Kole punished harder than Reed. Reed used floggers and crops, among other toys, but he refused to make the sub bleed or leave bruises, while Kole delighted in granting such pleasures.

Kole took a quick glance at Zoie before he looked back to Reed with curiosity in his eyes. “What did you want?”

Reed understood his friend’s inquisitiveness—it wasn’t often he called Kole into a scene. “She’s outgrown me, and I think you’d be better suited to her.”

“Sounds interesting.” Kole all but purred. “Tell me about her.”

“She’s got a high tolerance for pain, and I can tell she needs, craves more, but you know it’s not my thing.”

“But it’s mine.” Kole grinned.

Reed held no jealousy, mainly because he’d never had the connection with Zoie to warrant it. If he needed to put his submissive with another dom to satisfy her, he would. No questions asked.

“Well, well. Let’s go have a look, shall we.” Kole stepped over to Zoie. Her breathing hitched when he ran his hand over her hip. He gave her ass a light slap, and Zoie squealed.

Reed settled near her, expected her to focus on him. When she didn’t, he issued a demand. “Zoie, look at me.” He grasped her jaw and squeezed firmly. “Tonight was our last night together.”

She shook her head. He tightened his grip, putting a stop to her disobedience. “Kole will take you on. You’re safe with him. I would not give you to just anyone.”

Zoie’s gaze flickered over to Kole, and excitement lit her eyes. Reed squeezed her jaw again, drawing her attention back to him. “You’ve been a good girl, and I’ve enjoyed my time with you. I offer you Kole as a reward for how much you’ve pleased me.” He kissed her cheek. “Be a good girl for Kole too.”

“I will, Sir,” Zoie responded.

Reed stepped away just as Kole slapped Zoie’s ass with another light hit. Her eyes closed, and she moaned. The reaction from her confirmed Reed had done the right thing. He grinned at Kole, and Kole smiled back.

He turned on his heels and proceeded to leave the room. As he opened the door, he heard Zoie’s screams echo against the stone walls. Kole laughed. “I’m going to enjoy you, sweet Zoie.”

The door closed behind Reed, and silence fell around him as he made his way toward the restaurant. He was satisfied he’d done right by Zoie. However, a thought stayed in his mind: what now, and more importantly…who?

He passed through the dining room in the castle, entered the restaurant, and emptiness greeted him. At this late hour, the only other person here was the barkeep. He took a seat on the stool in front of the black marble countertop where the laptop was located, and the bartender handed him his usual choice of beverage, a cold beer.

Reed took a long swig before he clicked the mouse on the laptop to venture into the BDSM forum. He scrolled down the messages and was not surprised at what he found. Woman looking for dom. Slave ready and willing.

Minutes drew on as he read through them, one by one, and nothing jumped out as an interest. Frustrated, he raised his beer to his mouth again, and as the liquid filled his throat, his gaze landed on something that spiked his curiosity.

The seduction pact! Indulge my fantasy!

He placed his beer back on the bar and clicked on the message. First he saw the words but didn’t pay the note any attention because the picture of the woman captured him and stirred his cock.

Her green eyes stood out against the dark, wavy curls of hair surrounding her face. He glanced over to her stats. Five-eight. His cock grew heavier. Reed stood at six-one. He was always looking down on women at an uncomfortable angle. If this woman had heels on, she’d be close to eye level with him, and the thought aroused him.

He scrolled back up to her message to see what the sexy woman had to say.

One woman needing a dom to fulfill her desires of BDSM. Limits unknown but will try new things to discover herself and satisfy the man who controls her.

Reed’s heart pounded. He wanted to be the one to introduce her to BDSM. His reaction surprised him.

He clicked the claimed button at the top of the screen to indicate she had been contacted by a dom and was now off limits. Then he reached into his pocket to grab his cell phone, and after he entered the last number, he placed the phone to his ear.

It rang twice, and then a string of curse words followed by shuffling filled his ear. Reed had expected to receive voice mail. He had not anticipated someone would answer at this late hour. “Hello?

More rustling sounded before a trembling voice answered, “Hello.”

In the background, Reed could hear a couple of women giggling, and he wondered if he had the right telephone number. “I’m looking to speak with Marley Adams. Is she around?”

“Um…er…” The woman cleared her throat. “This is her.”

“I’m Reed Matheson. I’ve seen your profile on the castle’s forum and am interested in arranging a night with you.”

He was met with silence and pulled the receiver away to look at the screen, curious if she had hung up, but the lit screen indicated she hadn’t. He returned the phone to his ear. “Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

Reed waited a good thirty seconds before he concluded something was amiss and wondered if maybe this was a joke. “I’m not in the mood to be trifled with. I’d recommend the next time you ladies want to play a game, you choose another method to do it. Good night.”

“No, don’t go.”

The desperation in her voice stopped him. Clearly something else was going on here. If this wasn’t women being drunk and playing around, what could be Marley’s hesitation? Then it dawned on him. “Is the problem because you’re not alone?”

“Yes.”

Another round of hushed giggles sounded. “Right. Then I take it you don’t want to discuss this with your friends there?”

“Exactly.” Marley sighed.

That sigh of hers sent a rush of blood straight to his cock. Her voice held a wonderful sensual tone that appealed to him and confirmed he had made the right decision to contact her.

His reaction intrigued him. When had he been so interested in a submissive? Not since his ex-girlfriend and that knowledge sent a ping of pain to his heart, which he flatly ignored.

He wanted to be the one to guide Marley. Something about her made his stomach clench, and the thought of not having her maddened him.

Now understanding that she’d paused because she craved privacy, Reed took another approach. He scrolled back up to Marley’s information, clicked on her e-mail address to open a new message, and attached his profile. “We’ll keep this short then. I’ve sent my details to the e-mail address you’ve provided on the forum. Have a look, and we’ll go from there.”

He heard shuffling again, some whispered arguing, before Marley gasped. “Oh…um…you’re…”

Reed chuckled. He didn’t mind that his looks left her speechless. Hell, hers had done the same to him. “Do you approve?”

“He’s gorgeous,” a woman said, not Marley.

The sound of a slap followed by Marley’s grumble informed him she’d just issued someone a punishment for speaking so loud. “I’m interested,” was all she said.

That was enough for him. “Read through the castle’s rules and follow them accordingly. It’ll take you around twelve days to get all the documentation you require, so let’s meet two weeks from tonight. Come to the restaurant at the Castle Dolce Vita at seven p.m. When you arrive, you will ask for and always address me as Master Reed. Understood?”

“Mm hmm.”

Her response made him tighten his jaw. “You will answer me with words, not sounds.”

“Okay…sorry. I’ll be there.”

He would rid her of that behavior. He preferred that his submissives to speak forthrightly and for their responses to be clear. “Very well. I look forward to seeing you then.”

A long pause followed before Marley whispered, “Me too.”

Reed waited for her to hang up first, and as her friends in the background laughed, he heard Marley exhale, long and deep. Nervous? Excited?

He could only be pleased he’d gotten to her first. Many Castle Dolce Vita doms would want her, but he’d snagged her. His throbbing cock reminded him he’d gotten lucky tonight.

~*~

Stacey Kennedy’s novels are lighthearted fantasy with heart squeezing, thigh-clenching romance, and even give a good chuckle every now and again. But within the stories you’ll find fast paced action, life threatening moments and a big bad villain that needs to be destroyed. Her urban fantasy/paranormal and erotic romance series have hit Amazon Kindle and All Romance Ebooks Bestseller lists. If she isn’t plugging away at her next novel, tending to her two little ones, she’s got her nose deep in a good book. She lives in Ontario, Canada with her husband.

Be sure to drop her a line at www.staceykennedy.com, she loves to hear from her readers.

New Horizons

2011-10-16T02:02:00.001-04:00

Right now I kinda feel like I'm taking on the world...in a good way, if that's possible. I have a whole lot of different projects in the works and a few new directions I'm thinking about going in with them. Never fear, I'm still writing sexy, dirty, delicious things, but I'm expanding with lengths, romance, and various other doodads. I'm really aiming to push myself both as a writer and as a storyteller.

It's going to be an interesting 2012. Some of the things I'll be doing include: new stories with Excessica starting in February, longer novels for Ellora's Cave, and maybe checking out another publisher. We'll see, but I have too many ideas in the pipe line to not consider expanding my horizons. I have a series that still needs to be written and I need to find time with the voices in my head to pen it. I might actually be busier in 2012 than I was in 2011, which is a little crazy to contemplate. But I'll make a name for myself, hell or high water.

10 Reasons You Know You're a Workaholic

2011-10-15T02:04:00.001-04:00

You say you'll do something at least eight times a day--only to sit at your desk and make more pages instead leaving the chore until tomorrow--and then the next day.
Once you've settled up a manuscript and sent it off for submission it's on to the next idea, like, that hour. No time for celebration or pride, got to get cracking on that idea list that just keeps growing like a plant that won't die.
The post-it's and little scraps of paper tacked to your cork-board and all over your desk start to multiply until you can't keep up with when you wrote what, but at least you're getting six or seven of them done a day. Until you write at least two more every day to add to the pile. Soon kitties will be swimming in them.
You forget to eat
You say you'll get a cup of tea--or have made that cup of tea--five hours ago.
You can't sleep anymore without thinking of your to-do list before bed and the instant you wake up in the morning and when you dream, it's of manuscripts not getting done in time.
You can't read anymore because every time you pick up a book you think about how you should be writing pages on your own WIP and get guilt-brain.
Not even wine will fix your stress level
You almost catch yourself calling your husband your hero's name
You make lists like this to both deal with your stress level, admit you have a problem, and fill up a blog post---which is also stressing you out.

What I've Done in 2011

2011-10-12T07:58:00.001-04:00

So far this year I've written:

84,602 words in Short Stories

46,196 words in Novella's

147,464 words in Novel's

278,262 words total--and that's not counting the word count that's still on my broken flash drive with Staples. I have over 30 finished and unfinished works on that drive. I'll do an updated count when I get the flash drive back. Apparently, they're rebuilding it from scratch and fixing the files sources. :( Not bad for 2011, eh? Didn't seem like much when I wrote it.

I still think I could do better next year, but that's because I'm a masochist and, who am I kidding? I love my job! Next year I think will have a lot less short stories and a lot more longer works. I'm going to be concentrating on some pretty streamlined goals in 2012 with a lot more focus on my backlist with various publishers. I have a basic outline I've where I'd like to take it, but there isn't much other than "work on WIP X" because I haven't figured out what WIP I'm going to work on next after the mythos one I'm writing right now.

I'd still really like to continue to write my fairytale novella's but one of them is on the flash drive and other stories are taking priority in my head. I guess it all depends on how much I get done for 2011. It's the beginning of Oct and I don't think I can write another book after my mythos one before the end of the year. So, unless I get my flash drive back soon and in order I won't be making my goal of five books out by 2012. But I can't do everything, got to remind myself of that sometimes, and that's no pithy word count up there.

Keta Diablo's Land of Falling Stars

2011-10-10T12:34:00.019-04:00

I'd like to introduce to you a writing colleague of mine, Keta Diablo, who writes deliciously wonderful romantica. She's got a new historical erotic romance release set during the Civil War coming out today titled Land of Falling Stars!

About Land of Falling Stars

After her parents die in a fire, Sophia Whitfield struggles to save her beloved home, Arbor Rose. The Civil War has devastated the South, and another blue coat has come to steal her meager possessions. Before the hated enemy inflicts his destruction, she shoots him. And soon discovers the soldier is Gavin, the champion of her childhood.

Gavin's dark secret lurks in Sophia’s future. When she discovers the truth, she's torn between a burning hunger for the man she truly loves and loyalty to Jesse, their childhood friend. The despicable acts of war have changed everything Sophia and Gavin once cherished. Yet somewhere deep in their hearts, the mystical Land of Falling Stars still exists.

Excerpt:

* * *

Sophia pressed her back against the rough-hewn planks of the stable wall and inched her way down to a bed of hay at her feet. With her heart thudding against her ribs, she closed her eyes and willed the brutal images to leave. Gavin could be dead, his life's blood seeping into the ground. How ironic that would be. Three years he'd been gone, fought in a hundred battles only to be killed after he'd come back . . . back to her. Oh, God, she couldn't think about it, couldn't stand to watch him die. She ran hard and fast the second Billy sliced through the soft, golden skin she longed to run her hands over. Sweet Mother of Jesus, what if he was dead and she would never . . . .

"I found you."

She lifted her head and looked into Gavin's eyes. A horse neighed several stalls over and the moon spun out from a patch of clouds shrouding his tall, lean frame. His bare chest oozed blood and trickled into his waistband.

Relief flooded her and then panic. "You're bleeding again."

"Am I?" He glanced down at the wound and back to her face. "It looks worse than it is."

She hesitated when he held his hand out to help her up. She couldn't be held accountable for what might happen should her skin come into contact with his. Beneath his bold perusal, she lifted her trembling hand.

"You're frightened," he said, his brow creasing. "Of me, Sophia?"She shook her head and hoped he didn't see through her lie. After witnessing his rage moments ago, she didn't know what to expect from him.

"I would never," he said in a hoarse tone, "harm you." He moved in, forcing her back against the wooden planks. His warm breath fanned her cheeks. "I don't want you to fear me, ever." His chest rose and fell with rough pants and his mouth hovered over hers, mingling their breaths. "Kiss me, Sophia."

She looked into his eyes, transfixed by the depth of passion residing there. He placed his hands on the wall and bracketed her head. Their lips met. In the aftermath of the violence, she expected a harsh, demanding kiss, but it was anything but. Gentle and languorous, it shook her to the very core. His tongue caressed her lower lip seeking entry. She responded without thought, parting her lips with a small moan. The erotic dance against the tip of her tongue sent a stream of wild sensations coursing through her. Her hands sought the warm flesh of his chest, every inch hard, ridged muscle. He flinched when her fingers made contact with the fresh wound. Astounded by the emptiness she felt when he broke from the kiss, she gathered her battered senses and looked into his eyes.

His voice rough, he whispered, "Is that how it felt when Jesse kissed you?"

Trapped between the wall and his body, she looked away from those wicked eyes. Deliriously weak, shocking images of him crushing her beneath him stormed through her mind. Dear God, what's the matter with me? Promised to Jesse, bound to him heart and soul, she couldn't allow herself to think about Gavin's powerful limbs tangled in her bed sheets, his head thrashing in delirium, or his hot, feverish eyes. Ever since he had returned, her mind swam with carnal thoughts of this man pinning her to the wall.

A hand came down and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Hmm, Sophia, is it?"

"I'm so befuddled." Tears pooled in her eyes. "What about Jesse? I promised I'd wait no matter what happened, but . . . ." To speak her heart would be the epitome of betrayal to the person they had both loved since the day they sailed the Rappahannock dressed as pirates.

He kissed her forehead. "And if he returned tomorrow, you'd fall into his arms; pretend you feel nothing for me, deny this passion between us?"

"Gavin, don't . . . ." She averted her face.

He tightened his grip on her chin, his tone harsh. "Would you, Sophia?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I'd go to him, banish this from my mind."

"It would be that easy?"

"Not easy, Gavin, but―"

"You need to leave Arbor Rose!" His raised voice startled her. "There's nothing left for you here! Your parents are dead and Jesse isn't―"

Without conscious thought, she slapped him. "Don't you say it! I can't leave Arbor Rose. Jesse will return and―"

"He's not coming back and you have to face it." He brought a hand to her cheek. "The entire country is about to explode, and if you had any god-given sense, you'd go to your mother's people in Illinois."

She narrowed her eyes, her tone icy. "Let me go.. Jesse's coming back and when he does I'm going to keep my promise and marry him. Her voice softened. "We must forget this, whatever it is."

She shivered at the volatile emotion in his eyes. The same feral snarl that came over him when he crushed Billy and his companions spewed from his lips. He grabbed her wrists, pinned them over her head, and took her mouth brutally. His tongue plundered her lips and forced them apart. She writhed to free herself from his lean, hard body, but he held her fast, imprisoning her in their mutual desire. Erotic pleasure surged through her veins. Her fingers moved to his long, black hair and she seemed incapable of stopping the soft moans from the back of her throat.

Clinging to him like a child, she whimpered, "Gavin . . . please."

"You want me, admit it," he whispered against her mouth.

He clutched a length of her skirt and shoved it over her hips, allowing his fingers to slide up the hot flesh of her thighs. A sound erupted from her throat again, no longer a moan of pleasure but a sob. He stopped abruptly, stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides. Their eyes locked. His shone with lust and anger. And hers? She wanted to draw back, knew she should flee, but something powerful held her immobilized. Warning bells rang in her head yet she longed to return to his kiss, feel every inch of his body against hers.

He drew a deep breath and said, "Leave, Sophia, now!"

On shaky limbs, she inched her way along the wall, turned to look at him one last time and scurried through the door.

* * *

Keta's Amazon page: http://amzn.to/p5yC9E

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ketadiablo

Facebook fan Page: http://www.facebook.com/KetaDiablo.Author

Keta's Keep Romance blog: http://ketaskeep.blogspot.com

Talking about Switching Bodies

2011-10-06T11:51:00.000-04:00

I'm over at SmexyBooks Blog today talking about body snatching...or the five authors I would want to live as for one day. Go see my choices and marvel at the weirdness...or the not weirdness. Just go read!

Book Winners

2011-10-05T19:15:00.000-04:00

By random drawing I selected the winners of the book prizes, yay! I'll getting in touch with the winners soon to collect addresses for special delivery.

Giveaway: End of AAD Madness Book Bananza

2011-10-02T03:18:00.000-04:00

I'm back from vacation and it's time for a little giveaway madness, me thinks. This was supposed to go up after AAD 2011 but I got slammed with a bunch of things and obviously, it didn't happen that way. Oh well, stuff happens. So, here's your opportunity to win a book. I'm giving away three books to three winners picked by random drawing.

You can win Larissa Ione's Eternal Rider (Lords of Deliverance Series Book 1):

They are here. They ride. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

His name is Ares, and the fate of mankind rests on his powerful shoulders. If he falls to the forces of evil, the world falls too. As one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, he is far stronger than any mortal, but even he cannot fight his destiny forever. Not when his own brother plots against him.

Yet there is one last hope. Gifted in a way other humans can't-or won't-understand, Cara Thornhart is the key to both this Horseman's safety and his doom. But involving Cara will prove treacherous, even beyond the maddening, dangerous desire that seizes them the moment they meet. For staving off eternal darkness could have a staggering cost: Cara's life.

Erin Kellison's Shadow Bound:

Adam Thorne founded the Segue Institute to study and destroy his monster of a brother, but the key to its success is held in the pale, slender hand of a woman on the run. There is something hauntingly different about Talia O'Brien, her unknowing sensuality, her uncanny way of slipping into Shadow. Twilight is the place between life and what comes after- a dark forest of fantasy, filled with beauty, peril, mystery. And Talia is about to open the door.
And, last but not least, Carolyn Jewel My Dangerous Pleasure (My Immortal Series 4):

TEMPT THE DARKNESS
Strong-willed and independent, Paisley Nichols is used to taking care of herself. But when an insane mage begins tracking her every move and threatening her at every turn, she has no choice but to put her life in the hands of a demon.

RISK THE PASSION
Burned by betrayal, demon assassin Iskander won't get too close to anyone. He spends his days serving his warlord and his nights indulging in carnal pleasures . . . and that's exactly how he likes it. But when a mage wages a wrenching psychic assault on his beautiful tenant Paisley, Iskander must defend her. Under his protection, she will be drawn irresistibly into his life and learn about her own mysterious powers. And not a moment too soon. The mage haunting her isn't acting alone-and he won't rest until he destroys both Paisley and Iskander.

Now the important part because I'm guessing you want to know how to get one of these awesome books delivered to your doorstep for free. In the comments section below tell me if someone held a gun to your head and forced you into a tattoo shop and made you get the name of an author inked on your body--who would that author be? Also provide your email address so I can further contact you on where I'm mailing this goodness.Thanks!

When in doubt, watch a movie

2011-10-01T18:27:00.002-04:00

My theory when I just don't want to write or I really need to get inspired to "get in the mood" is to break out an old movie favorite. I did that today because my brain needed to work over a scene in a night club and how exactly I was going to go about it. So, in went Pride and Prejudice with Keira Knightly. I generally like feel good girly movies for my inspiration. Such as: Julie and Julia, The Devil Wears Prada, Enchanted, Gilmore Girls Seasons 4-7, Fool's Gold, and The Proposal.

That's my master list of cinema that keeps me sane. Or as close as I can get to it. A lot of those movies certainly aren't unique but I love them anyway. And I just came to the conclusion that I don't have a copy of Sweet Home Alabama with Reese Witherspoon...Man, I got to get on that because that movie also makes my master list. Watch it whenever I catch it on TV.

That's it for now folks, stay tuned!

Rapunzel is Nook-ified

2011-10-01T09:51:00.000-04:00

Last night was a really good night with my girlfriend, although the movie we saw wasn't really worth the money at all. But the new winter coat I got at half price totally made my night--and the Olive Garden afterward--yeah, good night. There was pumpkin cheesecake had by all. Amazing! I'm working on editing a lesbian story today. And...drum-roll please...

My new release with Ellora's Cave is now available for Nook! Roped Emotions for the win! Yay! Now watching a Gilmore Girls marathon and drinking copious amounts of tea. Also, still trying to figure out my new hero, he's a puzzle and I'm writing in his perspective. Makes things a little difficult.

I'll hopefully only be waiting another week for the infamous flash drive recovery and I've got both fingers crossed that they could even retrieve anything from it. Because of this debacle I am now super obsessive about backing up my books EVERYWHERE. External hard drive, usb, actual hard drive, laptop hard drive, Homegroup...I have saving paranoia. Now the company apparently has to rebuild the control chip...yeah...that doesn't sound good.

Roped Emotions is Avaliable on Kindle and ARe

2011-09-28T06:34:00.001-04:00

Good news, yay! My fairytale erotica novella Roped Emotions is available for Kindle on Amazon now as well as ARe (All Romance E-books). If you happen to pick up a copy at either source I would love a review!

What Vacation Did For My Brain

2011-09-27T17:59:00.000-04:00

No sooner did I get back from vacation than my brain started working on overdrive. That lead to 1.5k on a new, very promising work in progress on a mythic scale. My hero hasn't come on the scene yet, but so far my heroine is wickedly snarky and so much fun to write. It's another first person, which, I know dear readers, you don't always love it--but humor me! This book is promising to be twisty, twindy, and full of plot that will make my brain die.

And the weird news? It's Romantica. Erotic Romance. Go figure. Though normally I'm very erotic centric in my writing lately I've been reading a lot more romance which must be spilling into my writing. Right now I'm reading Warrior by Zoe Archer right now and I picked up the whole series. It's a lot of fun and very unique. I feel like I'm reading an action movie every time I pick it up.

With more personal news, my flashdrive is still being looked at and apparently it's being rebuilt--something about the control chip? I have massive worry. But I have to cling to my hope that in two weeks I will get it back and it will have everything back. Because otherwise I'll cry about it. Again. Nothing beats having my plans dashed for the past two months and when you're an epic planner.

Ancient Romance and other Goodness

2011-09-22T21:16:00.000-04:00

On vacation I happened to pick up ten or so used romances at a used bookstore and man did it make my whole week. I got a bunch of 80's bodice rippers that I have been in the mood to read for eons! Plus, they are loved books, read over and over, and that always gives me a little fuzzy, fluttery feeling inside my belly. Some of the highlights include a romance about the Australian outback and the wilderness of Colorado...Ooooo. I'm excited.

Other exciting news, while still on vacation (a trying to be tech-free vacation), is that Roped Emotions is now avaliable at ARe and Amazon Kindle as well as Ellora's Cave. Yay!!! My little fairytale BDSM novella is taking the world by storm! I'll be on top of things and let you know when it hits Nook as well.

I'm sure I'll have more vacation madness on Sunday when I return full blast to erotica land. I'll keep everyone posted until then. By the way, like the new layout of the blog? I like it :)

Vacation Plans...Because I Plan On Vacation

2011-09-19T13:25:00.001-04:00

Most people go on vacation without a plan or schedule...that is not me because I am, without a doubt, insane. As you're reading this right now I'm lounging on a beach or most likely a covered sundeck with the family. What have I planned to do this whole blissful seven days I'm gone from my den of sin?

Read Succubus Revealed by Richelle Mead because I've been saving it until after my edits for Not So Pure for my editor are turned in and ready to go. As of now, those bad boys are taken care of.
Brainstorm/write a chapter or two of new novella that didn't get eaten by the flashdrive insanity of 2011
Get farther in A Clash of Kings by George R.R. Martin
Finish The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood. How I missed these characters and I didn't even know there was going to be a sequel to Oryx and Crake! Nothing can whisk me away like an Atwood novel and I will always read anything she writes.
Jotting down notes for all the delicious, tasty plot bunnies that will be surfacing with all the creativity being near the water unleashes. Makes me wish I still kept a journal.

A New Kind of Rapunzel

2011-09-14T11:34:00.000-04:00

Today is the day! A glorious feast of celebratory goodness because my new Exotica novella from Ellora's Cave is for sale--right now. (I think I've been spending too much time at the Renn Faire lately because in my head that announcement was done in a rough, loud herald's voice with several trumpets bleating in the background). But, I digress--Roped Emotions is a novella that I had a lot of fun working on from start to finish. Not at one single point did I hate its guts, which is a little rare for me. At some stage or another I want to press the delete button until a work in progress ceases to exist. But this one captured my heart from the very beginning.

Whether it was the bondage, the exploratory, open characters, or the proud way my heroine slashed through her emotional problems, this novella will always hold a special place. Because of that I'm going to share a larger excerpt than I normally would showcase here. Without further ado, here's the blurb for Roped Emotions:

Rapunzel is trapped by the harsh, inescapable reality of her prison, so she builds vivid sexual fantasies where she has full control and no one can take it away. If nothing else, at least she has command over her thoughts.

When Prince Samuel climbs into her tower it’s a small, satisfying excuse to break the rules—until his gentle touch coaxes her trust. But it’s not enough. No longer can she keep her dark, sexual secrets inside. Rapunzel yearns for rough, passionate sex—a way to unlock her sensual freedom for good.

Vulnerable but unable to turn back, Rapunzel leads Prince Samuel on an intimate journey to define their sexual limits, while twisting their definitions of control forever.

And here is the extra special excerpt of goodness:

“What in Christ’s name…?”

I must be hearing echoes from the town nearby, where Mother sells her herbs and braided goods. No one ventures this far toward my tower because Mother’s gone to great lengths to see that they don’t—bear traps are her new favorite method of discouragement. Once one life is claimed, I imagine word spreads fairly quickly to stay away from the area. Why, then, are there hoofbeats that make my head pulse with a slight pain?

There’s no understandable excuse I can delude myself with any longer. Before I can focus on the consequences, I swing my head out the window into the oppressive, humid summer air. Just the very top of his head is visible, his hair brushing past his cheekbones, glowing from the sunshine and shot through with gold. Never have I seen a color so close to my own before—not that I see many people.

For a few moments I can’t quite come to terms with his presence and it’s not for a lack of staring that my pulse inevitably echoes inside my head like an overbeaten drum. This is my chance. Mother won’t be back for quite some time with her wares. He’s circling the tower, slouched over a horse that looks a bit like a nag. Certainly not a proper horse for a man with such fine clothes in gorgeous colors and sumptuous fabrics.

There’s no going back from this moment. It’s a certainty that makes my teeth chatter in a wash of cold fear, despite the heat, and my hands clasp around my middle as I try to hold myself together. He hasn’t looked up yet, more intent on studying the free-standing structure than noticing my shadow plastered across the grass. My mind is desperately working out what I’ll cry out to him. Even as my throat closes with an infusion of happiness that makes me rock on my feet.

“Excuse me?” A tentative question I’m not sure he will hear because it can’t be any louder than a frightened whisper. “Sir, you’re really not supposed to be here.”

Somehow, I’ve managed to make this part louder because he glances up—and his slack-jawed expression is a blow to my chest. He possesses the most gorgeous cobalt-blue eyes. Underneath my ribs, the pain grows until taking a full breath is hard. Mother is right, he hasn’t even overcome his shock as my heavy plait of hair rests down the stone side of my prison. He’s not to be trusted.

What am I thinking? He won’t even come near me to aid my escape and his eyes are swamped in confusion—and there’s a flash of unreadable emotion that I refuse to question. He must leave here now and I must somehow convince him to bring no one back with him. I won’t be paraded around for anyone’s amusement. This man has made a mistake coming here.

Yet there’s still a part of me that grips the windowsill until my palms are numb and that clings to the hope that he will at least acknowledge me. So long since I’ve had any kind of normal conversation. One that didn’t revolve around my hair, my rules or my mother’s day. Won’t he say anything? I’m as trapped by his thick silence as I am by the beauty of his face.

“Please, you must go and tell no one about what you’ve seen. You shouldn’t have ignored the traps. They are there for a reason.”

I don’t know how I’ve gotten that all out, because my main focus lies on the foreign stirrings of heat in my cheeks as the pulsing sensation twists lower in my abdomen. What is happening to me? With a certainty that surprises me, I find myself clenching my thighs together, only to have the subtle touch of flesh on flesh be more than I can bear. He has yet to take his gaze from mine and a shudder slips up my spine.

“How long have you been here?” His voice carries the strain I hold back and I’m slightly put at ease that at least we are on similar ground. “Who did this to you?”

“For a man who is about to leave, I don’t believe it matters.”

The words barely tumble out of my mouth before I clamp my hand over my lips. I hadn’t meant to be so harsh and instantly regret it. He is so handsome—and these sudden urges, they are overwhelming and confusing to the point where I wish to completely remove the problem. My lips part in an apology and I watch a jovial grin span from ear to ear as he laughs at me until I can’t hear anything but the frantic beat of my heart.

Who is this man? Now he stares at me with a playfulness that washes a wave of goose bumps across my flesh. He doesn’t seem offended, merely amused at my suggestion that he leave. To further that fact, he quickly dismounts and ties his horse to a nearby tree branch. While I can only stare at the way his tight riding boots and breeches hug his muscular body from his calves all the way up to his perfectly rounded buttocks.
Though I’d learned of desire from my mother—and all its wicked principles—I never expected it to rear its head in my lonely, simple world.

However, now my life spirals out of control quickly enough that I tilt back against the wall to my left and watch with trembling hands. This mysterious man climbs the wall of my tower as if it had been built to be climbed so easily—without any aid from my hair. One strong, sun-kissed hand and booted foot at a time. When he offers up his hand to me to pull him over the side, what choice do I have? Even a man that strong would eventually grow tired and plummet to his death—and I want him tucked close to my body, not on the ground.

“I was beginning to wonder what it took to get some assistance.”

He softly grunts and clasps my hand hard enough that I gasp as I shift my weight to pull him over the side. Muscles I didn’t know existed inside me burn with sharp pain from disuse because of my isolation. His touch radiates heat all along my arm. If it wasn’t for his precarious situation, I would fight to pull away on instinct—but as it is, he manages to throw himself into my home with as much grace as a charging boar—and he trips, falling on top of me and sending us to the hard stone floor.

His surprisingly soft hand brushes the hair out of my face and lingers, gently stroking down my cheek. Should I be frightened? Probably. At the moment I can’t bear the thought that my first sincerely gentle touch from a man would be anything but special. His sharp leather scent surrounds my tingling skin.

“Isn’t this a day for surprises?” His gaze cuts through all the fear inside me and his mouth holds the subtle curve of a half smile. “I should move myself off you, this isn’t proper at all when we’ve barely been introduced.”

Yet he doesn’t move an inch.

A realization whips through my mind and would have left me on the floor if I wasn’t already pinned there by a gorgeous man who touches me with such reverence I might weep. When will this happen again? After this twisted, meandering path of fate, there is no doubt I will be alone again—and I want a loving memory to cling to at night when my old fears tighten my chest until I can’t breathe. This is a choice I can make for myself. And I won’t live the rest of my ordinary, sheltered life not knowing true passion when it burns across my skin.

“They call me Rapunzel.”
“Samuel.”

His inviting smile lights up my whole world.

I want him. A hard bulge against my stomach tells me that he is of the same inclination. It is a few seconds before I can gain control of my clipped, excited breath and come to terms with the possibilities that lie on top of me. My heart knocks against my breastbone—so hard I think I might break into pieces.

“Stay,” I whisper softly into his palm and lightly kiss it. “Please, stay.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I smile and draw him down for a kiss in case he wishes to speak anymore.

His hands weave through a section of my hair and instinctively I pull away, unable to meet his eyes. A heavy weight pulls low in my abdomen. Heat flashes underneath my cheeks and it’s got nothing to do with my nerves as a stranger touches me more intimately than anyone’s ever touched me. He wouldn’t do this if I was grotesque in his eyes. There’s no mocking to his touch or words—yet I’m still shamed by a feature I cannot change.

“Look at me,” he softly commands and my line of sight automatically rises toward his gentleness as his hand cups my chin. “Do I have the look of man who’s regretting my choice to be above you?”
“No.”

If I’m truly sincere his eyes are patient, kind and searching me in a way that most men would no longer have time for while they are so close to winning their prize. His fingers stroke the side of my face and it’s a chore to hold myself poised underneath him while my body writhes with heat unlike anything I’ve ever known. Even without the carnal knowledge of what’s happening to my body I’m aware that women must not act so eager to be taken as I am right now. Yet his eyes never wander from my face as his hands languidly trace my curves. My own fingers trip down the soft clothes at his back.

Despite his oiled leather scent there’s an underscore of sweetness that makes me lick my lips. Perhaps with him I can take a chance. An expectant look from him is my only gauge as my fingers trace his lower back and then down to cup his buttocks. He’s simply perfect—more than I could hope for in this moment. A little noise comes from his lips as his secretive smile makes me shudder and his erection tightly presses against my wet pussy.

My writhing makes him moan against my mouth as he takes me for another gentle, passionate kiss. His hard flesh underneath my fingers is an exciting erotic thrill for a woman who’s never managed to set foot out of a tower. And there’s’ nothing in his reaction that encourages me to stop. I’m suddenly limitless, moving myself against him with wanton abandon as his hand curves to my breast, tweaking my nipple underneath my clothing.

“You must let me know if I move too quickly for you.” He softly speaks against my neck while his calloused fingers undress me with gentle confidence. “Your skin is so soft and smooth, like pale, fragile glass that I can run my lips and tongue over until you vibrate for me.”

Before I can respond, his tongue draws low between my exposed breasts and my breath sticks in my throat. How does he manage to undress me so quickly? Though I suppose my simple cotton shift isn’t much to contend with in comparison with his multilayered, rich garments. All thought of removing his wardrobe leaves me when his warm mouth takes my nipple between the tight, soft bite of his teeth. My back bows against his solid build wrapped around me, though his touch creates a heady stir inside my blood that makes me weightless.

His kisses wind downward as I’m forced to relinquish my hold on his flesh. But it’s no burden when his mouth leaves me trembling because of the pure devotion in his touch. When he looks up toward me I’m baffled by his bald sincerity. This man has nothing to hide from me and it’s the sexiest trait I’ve ever known as his hands ease away my dress, leaving me bare before him. For whatever faults my life has held—this man is a true gift.

In fact, I’ve never viewed this as anything special until stretched beneath him, his gaze raking me from head to foot, I’m aware of my magnificence in his eyes. Before I’d dared never hope for this moment—but as if he knows my thoughts he stands and quickly removes all those layers until I’m made aware that his tan isn’t strictly along his chest and face. There’s no stopping my body’s pure, tantalizing reaction to the sculpted lines of his body. An infusion of delicious arousal works through me at the sight of his hard cock jutting out from his lean hips. Together I think we could make all the magic I must cling to in order to make every day livable.

Within a heartbeat his muscled warmth covers my body and he’s running his hands through ropes of my hair. He twirls handfuls of golden glitz before my eyes and shifts the thick strands across my damp flesh—every piece moves over me with a deliberate, soft caress—as if they’re an extension of his hands stroking my thighs, hips and tight nipples. A delicate flicker of sensation that pulses and builds inside me until my fingers grasp at the stone floor for an anchor. This fullness tightens my pussy as I shudder—a pressure drawing low underneath my skin. I don’t think I can hold it any longer as my glowing softness tickles between my legs.

All this time he watches, measuring the pace of his strokes against me to my muffled moans. Heat washes across my cheeks but I’m too brazen to be embarrassed, because my journey has only just begun. Though I’m ignorant to most mechanics, a vague awareness of what’s to happen in the end of all this makes me tightly grasp his shoulders as my mouth forms the swollen "o" of my scream of pleasure. My world is wiped away to the blackness behind my eyelids. A startling clench of every muscle in my body in time with the swollen, full flutter between my thighs as ecstasy tries to break out from my body.
When it’s over I can’t quite catch my breath.

I'm also being hosted by some lovely people on their blogs today!

I have an interview with Rapunzel over at That's What I'm Talking About

A fun interview over at Brownyn's Blog

A Guest Post about my typical writing day and fanatic list making at J A Saare's Blog

A Guest Post on Crymson Hart's Blog about Paranormal Novels vs. Fairytales

And a chance to win a copy of Roped Emotions on Keta's Keep

Over at Wicked Thorns and Roses

2011-09-13T12:00:00.000-04:00

The lovely Kate is hosting an interview with me at Wicked Thorns and Roses Blog where I'm talking about what turns me off about certain characters, what it takes to get me to start writing immediately, and "The Hotness Factor".

Thanks so much for having me on your blog!

When Life Twists

2011-09-08T11:44:00.000-04:00

I've had quite the hectic few days between flood's, hurricane's, earthquakes, and a business trip to NYC with the Hubby. We've been in NYC since Tuesday early, early morning and it was a VERY long day that day. It started out with me navigating around NYC by myself to get from the train station to our hotel--in the pouring rain. Now, I don't know if you know this, but I'm a very closeted person by nature, I worry when I can't control things and getting around a city by myself makes me wanna run around screaming like a chicken with it's head cut off. But, somehow, I managed to get around with severe calve cramps and no umbrella. By the time I was the 13 blocks to the hotel I was drenched.

This was on no sleep for more than 24 hours at this point.

So I get to the hotel and order a cocktail because I need one after that and I need to rest my little, cramping legs. I take my computer out. What do I find? My flash-drive that houses two almost completed novella's and my Steampunk novel that had 14 more pages to go before I subbed to my editor had snapped away from the base. I didn't save any of that work anywhere else--because--well, I can only blame a complete lack of sanity. So until I can figure out how to retrieve everything, as long as it isn't lost for good, I'm out over 100k worth of work that I was going to turn in Jan 1st. I have no idea if any of the components needed to bring back my information is available on the flash-drive.

That was one, long, long, long day.

My next day I slept in and spent all day exploring NYC by myself while DH worked at his office. I'm very proud of myself though I didn't go any farther than Time Square because my legs were still cramping pretty badly from the day before. However, my day got significantly better when I looked at Broadway shows to see and went into Memphis to inquire when the next showing would be. I wasn't sure what I wanted to see, but I knew I needed it to be in the afternoon because I don't feel comfortable walking around the city in the night time.

So, I walk into the box office and ask the merchandise man. He says there is a showing at 2pm, which is in ten minutes--and then he hands me a free ticket that someone gave him because their friend didn't show up at the last minute. Free Broadway show? Uh, yes please! How much better did that make my day! I sat next to the lovely people that had unknowingly provided me with my free ticket and they were wonderful, lovely people. I asked them if I could pay them back for it but they wouldn't let me.

If you haven't seen Memphis....SEE IT NOW!!!! It was one of the best Broadway shows I've ever seen in my life and I've seen quite a few including Phantom of the Opera, Spamalot, and Throughly Modern Milly. This one blew them all away and completely lifted my spirits. I now own the soundtrack and I'm listening to it as I work on my edits.

Now, here's hoping when I get home that my house isn't flooded from the torrential amount of rain that MD has been prone to getting lately.

Labor Day Weekend

2011-09-05T14:59:00.000-04:00

DH and I celebrated Labor Day in grand style by heading to our area's Renaissance Festival both Saturday and Sunday to partake in delicious confections and do a little walking. Traversing the giant fairgrounds takes a lot out of me but it also strips away the calories from deep fried PB and J, deep fried bacon dipped in chocolate, and giant baked potato's with butter, sour cream, cheese sauce, broccoli, ham, and bacon. Some of my favorite delights to sample every year at the faire. Yes, most of the time the only reason I go is for the food and shopping.

DH and I also added to our collection of paintings in the house from The Wayt Gallery. We currently own a first print of the "Dark Angel" and an unnamed woman looking across a kingdom through a back-lit window. I'll take a picture of our new acquisition sometime soon with my phone. She's beautiful but I'm not sure how the phone's lens will capture it, hopefully well.

Now I'm going to go spend the rest of my day watching bad TV with my friend and reading A Clash of Kings. Edits for Not So Pure, my third release with Ellora's Cave and my first full length novel, are kicking my ass. So a much needed break is in order. At least before the madness of promotion begins for my novella on the 14th. It's going to be a crazy two weeks.

Oh The Crazy Inside My Head

2011-08-31T20:19:00.000-04:00

Where to start when I've been working myself to the bone--perhaps even to the plasma? Well, lets take a look at my goals update for the end of Summer 2011 as well as some of the new...news...I have coming up.

~~Get one full length book published~~
~~Start Super Sekeret Project~~
~~Submit full length novel~~
Two novella's edited and subbed to editor

At the beginning of my summer I wanted to submit my full length contemporary novel, Not So Pure, to my editor at Ellora's Cave. Not only did I submit it, but a few weeks ago I signed a contract for it with Ellora's Cave. So now my super awesome modern fairytale baby is going to have a home! I'm in the process of edits with it now and can't even tell you how over the moon I am after all the hard work I put into this manuscript.

As far as my super sekeret project, I have about 15k on this contemporary wonder and ideally, I would like it to be 30-45k after final edits. So I've got a bit to go before that goal is reached. Can you tell by now I have overall goals *points above to list* and little mini goals that swim around in my head? It's loud inside my mind.

With my novella's goal I currently have one novella which is Roped Emotions going on sale with Ellora's Cave Sept 14th. The second fairytale novella is almost all the way written, then I need to clean it up and ship it off to my editor. That will be my last and final goal for 2011. But that doesn't mean I'll stop making other, more tiny goals. Because I like lists....and I'm crazy.

Now for what I'm currently doing--as in, right now, this minute while my brain cracks like an egg.

I'm working on edits for Not So Pure, my modern day Snow White novel with EC
I'm finishing my first swoop of edits on my steampunk novel, Steel Magic, before sending it to my editor at EC
I'm gearing up for my promo goodness for Roped Emotions
I'm writing the ending of my alternate world Cinderella novella
I'm outlining a mythology novella
I'm outlining the ending of my super sekeret project
I'm writing blog posts for the next month

Oh, and did I mention I go on vacation two weeks from now? Can you tell it's much needed? I feel like a powerhouse of crazy sauce with how much I push myself to do all the time. But I know it will pay off in the end. I do have stories lined up until at least April!

And then there was a Hurricane

2011-08-26T11:01:00.000-04:00

(Music video by Scorpions performing Rock You Like A Hurricane. (C) 1984 The Island Def Jam Music Group)

I figured this was a good song for the oncoming madness after the earthquake that is now going to hit my part of Maryland this weekend. I'm almost 2/3's through edits on my steampunk erotica sub for my editor at Ellora's Cave and starting a HaulAssDraft with my naughty Cinderella WIP tonight at midnight. For those who don't know a Haul Ass Draft as where you write as many words as you can in a week and compete with other writers. Whoever wins gets bragging rights, whoever loses has to say something yucky and untrue about themselves on Twitter. Like they eat toe jam.

Hurricane Irene will have a hard time bringing me down unless she takes my internet. I love's my internet. And my Twitter. *curls around the laptop* It's gonna be a long, adventurous weekend, folks. Here's hoping I get all my deadlines done.

Roped Emotions Blurb And Release Date

2011-08-24T18:30:00.002-04:00

My Exotica fairytale novella with Ellora's Cave will be coming out Sept 14th! Yay!! Here's the blurb:

When Prince Samuel climbs into her tower it’s a small, satisfying excuse to break the rules—until his gentle touch coaxes out her trust. But it’s not enough. No longer can she keep her dark, sexual secrets inside. Rapunzel yearns for rough, passionate sex—a way to unlock her sensual freedom for good.

Vulnerable but unable to turn back, Rapunzel leads Prince Samuel on an intimate journey to define their sexual limits while twisting their definitions of control forever.

Author's After Dark in Review

2011-08-20T07:47:00.000-04:00

I'm finally recuperated enough to write this post. Well, where to start? Phew! For my first conference EVER as well as my first conference as an author AAD had everything I could have asked for in a con. There were plenty of things to do, tons of new people to meet, and you could take your own down time where you wanted too. Considering I went into the con not having slept in 48 hrs I really liked the nap time I could carve out for myself.

Panels: I was on one! For someone who's absolutely terrified of public speaking, this was an amazing experience because it was completely reader motivated so the questions were casual and not generic. It kind of felt like I was just talking on Twitter to a bunch of real people in a room. It was a lot of fun comparing how we wrote on the Erotica panel and comparing how we did sexual positioning for books with barbies or white boards--and those are just the highlights.

I was also a "reader" in a few of the panels, meaning I went to learn and question other authors. I've never gotten such personal, nice advice! I have tons of notes to share with my readers over the next coming days because of these awesome panels. Every author was super duper helpful and a panel was customized based on what people wanted to know so it didn't feel like a rehash of someone's old blog post.

Parties: It looked like a lot of people had fun with these. I didn't go to the two offered, though I did go to dinner and dress up for the themes. I wound up outside on the balcony with my new author friends talking the night away! But, from what I heard, the balls, etc were epic with lots of dancing, neat vendors, and good booze in plastic containers. (Everything was cash bar for the most part).

Swag: I came home with more than 14 books. Enough said.

Author Signing: There was a decent turn-out, a lot of people came for the highlight authors or the big names but I handed out a lot of free reads and business cards so that was neat. Luckily, I had my parents there, (yes, I was lame like that) and they went around getting the signatures I couldn't get because I was signing. Like Meljean Brook!*fangirl squee* I happened to sit next to her in my steampunk panel and dear god, I think I may have scared her I was so excited. I gushed, it was bad. It was also stalkerriffic.

A sense of utter comfort and community--well, to me, that's priceless. For the cost and the experience I would def hit this con again next year in 2012!

New Cover for Roped Emotions

2011-08-06T02:49:00.000-04:00

I got my new cover for my Rapunzel Ellora's Cave Exotica release that I'm editing right now as I type! Isn't it preeeeeeeeettttttyyyyy? A blurb should be coming soon.

Reviews

2011-08-04T15:57:00.000-04:00

Lately everyone in the writing world is talking about the impact of reviews on author's writing processes and whether or not they read them. Let's clear something up real quickly--I read my reviews and I am not ashamed lol. They can fling me up into the sky or into a wall. But sooner or later I forget about them. Mostly because I go through projects so quickly that I just dismiss the last review as something I can work towards correcting in my next book.

Quite an optimistic viewpoint for someone who is supremely pessimistic, but I'll take the weird sunshine-y atmosphere where I can get it. I'll cry and get my kicks out if it's a bad review. If it's great one I'll cry and run upstairs from my lair/basement office to show my husband and then glow all day.

Either way I'll keep writing. Why are people getting so caught up in whether or not to read them? A writer is a writer is a writer--meaning, no matter what, we write and most of us can't stop. The End.

How Much Is Too Much Author Information

2011-07-30T19:28:00.001-04:00

I am all for the internet, I will acknowledge my full blown addiction, however--dear lord, sometimes there is way too much information out there for authors. Sometimes I'm so bombarded by it all that it sends me down a spiral of epic self doubt. It's become quite the war to pick out what to take to heart and what to ignore when everyone has a little tidbit that could easily be added to my knowledge quilt.

In order to figure out what works for you as an author you have to know your process first in terms of writing schedule, voice, and editing. Which, lets be honest, can take some practice and be really grueling. Unless you're one of those lucky ones who gets everything from the get-go and if that's the case congrats because I still haven't managed it. Anywho, in order to pick and choose existing rules and advice that will fit in with who we are as writers we need to know how to spin it to fit the lifestyle.

Generally, the most helpful thing I find to do is read the heading of a blog post or the link if it's twitter suggested and then I take from that all the info I need. Will it add to the rolling questions I always have in my mind? Will it make me think all day so I can't get anything done? If this is the case I normally leave it until the end of the work day. But if it seems like something that will work for me I digest it in small bits and pieces. Literally, I read every paragraph with a little pause in between the next one so my freak out demon doesn't have time to show itself. This makes everything easier to digest.

Don't get me wrong, I could read blog posts written by authors, agents, publishers, etc everyone in the business with advice to give me. And that my friends is the problem. There's no way to separate myself from that gaping whole of knowledge that needs to be filled all the time. Part of that has to do with my hard work mentality. Another part of that is me being curious. But the majority of it is my paranoia that I won't "make it" whatever that means at this point with such amazing publishers under my belt.

So I pull myself away from all the information, disconnect, digest, and hope to add to my knowledge quilt rather than gunking it up with old pieces of cloth that are stained that no one will want to see ever again. But it's a mental process. I still fall into the role of passive observer where I have to read every scrap of information that falls in my lap--and when that happens I shut down the internet and pick up a book.

Books into Graphic Novels

2011-07-25T13:37:00.000-04:00

I don't really know what to do with this new trend of turning paranormal books into graphic novels. Over the past few years it's been happening more and more--and yet, I can't decide if I like it. Graphic novel's and comics are so different from the way I see books in my head that sometimes it's makes me cranky. Like when little things are off--maybe the characters or just a plot twist that they've redone to make the new medium's story fresh and light.

Yet, then there's actully seeing all the cool visual techniques coming to life and the color on these projects are so stunning. Plus, the comic can add a lot more humor and little plays on facial expressions that sometimes can't be worked into a book. And here I am on the fence all over again! What's a girl to do? Frankly, I'm kinda shocked comics aren't going out of style with paper books--or are they? And the question God's land on my shoulder again. It would sure make me happy if I could get comics to my Nook because finding them is hard where I live and where I've moved from in the past.

Do you think comics will be forced into a different distribution through electronics? What do we think of this branching out from publishing into comic territory?

Also, I know it's not just paranormal books being turned into comics or graphic novels but that's mostly the trend I've seen of late so that's the pool that I'm drawing from today. So ha. Take that.

Birthday Book Blitz

2011-07-22T06:36:00.000-04:00

It's my birthday today and to celebrate I'm editing, writing, and drinking a lot of Chai tea latte's. So, basically it's any other day. But here on my bloggity-blog I'm celebrating by showcasing some of the books that are on my Too Be Bought Pile (TBP) because I just might get them for my birthday as a little gift. Here begins the line-up in no particular order:

Revolution by Jennifer Donnelly: I've been longing for this YA book since I first found it months ago but I have to be in a particular mood to read this kind of book so I've put off buying it. However, it totally reminds me of a book I read when I was a teenager about a young girl who travels back in time through a coma to Nazi run Germany and that travel through unconscious mind/time thing has hooked me ever since.
Possessed by Donald Spoto: I love, love, love, LOVE biographies. Right now in my TBR pile I have a biography of Julie Andrews and Emily Post. Mostly because I'm a sucker for little peaks into people's lives but I don't like magazines anymore because they're too short. Biographies are great compromises--all the meat without the ads.
Bloodlines by Richelle Mead: Words can't express how much I love this author. I will read whatever she puts out in all three of her series and any she comes up with in the future. Every book grabs me and hooks me. This is a spring board series off her infamous Vampire Academy YA series and I've been waiting oh, so, eagerly for it to come out.
The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson: Because sometimes I like to read super random books. That defines this one pretty clearly--well, that and I've always been enamored with the idea of insanity and how it's defined, etc. So not so random after all I guess. Oh well.
The Prince with No Heart by Emma Holly: A very good friend of mine introduced me to the work of Emma Holly and I really adore the concept of this book. I'm very big into fairy tales, always have been, so I'm very happy to see it's return to the market right now. Plus, it means I get to write it, yay!!
The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood: Yet another author that's at the top of my always buy list. This has been out for awhile but I've had to get through my To Be Read Pile to make it a priority.

There you have it, my weird reading habits in a nutshell. Only half of my wishlist but this blog would explode with anything else. For those of you wondering "Where's the Erotica on that list?" the majority of it I've all ready purchased :)

Thank You

2011-07-18T14:03:00.000-04:00

I just wanted to write this post to say a belated thank you to everyone who supports me, helps me get through the writing day without pressing the delete button on everything, and to my readers. You really are the best-est readers an erotica writer could ask for in her naughty, smutty little soul.

I've had a lot of help along the way from my fellow writers and strangers who were helpful enough to answer any newb questions I tossed at them. Without this community I wouldn't have done nearly as well. So thank you, everyone, from the bottom of my sexy, erotic heart.

New Contract with Ellora's Cave

2011-07-15T05:45:00.015-04:00

Well, sensational news to pass along today! I've gotten my latest contract for my novella from EC entitled Roped Emotions. This is a story I've been fiddling around with for about six months, tweaking it to get it just right. So it was a really great payoff to get it accepted for the Exotica line.

I've always been super enamored with fairy tales--even before I discovered the erotic ones--and in my story I set off to explore one of my favorite stories, Rapunzel.

Roped Emotions focuses on the inner torment my heroine has been through trapped in the castle turret, not only absent from other people, but absent from her own sense of self unable to find out who she is because of her stepmother's debilitating control.

When the prince stumbles upon her tower sparks ignite because Rapuzel finally sees her way out of her stepmother's trap--and it's as simple as drowning in a gorgeous man. But will slacking her latent lustful tendencies and defying her stepmother's wishes be enough to soothe?

This BDSM quickie was a lot of fun to write and I can't even tell you how much my imagination piqued at getting to play with all that luscious hair! I'll have more details as they become available but be sure to be on the look out for cover art and other goodies.

A cycle of waiting

2011-07-12T01:56:00.000-04:00

Why not start out a post about waiting in a writing career with the hunkmaster of the movie Waiting? Granted, that movie has nothing to do with my post today because I don't work in a restaurant nor do I like to flash people, but I want some eye candy. So, ta-da!

Anywho, one of my biggest battles that will never cease is my epic fear of waiting. Every author gets paranoid when they wait--I get beyond paranoid. Every second is spent agonizing on yes or no, yes or no, and it's a battle of wills to get anything done. Even with the practical advice of working on something else while your waiting and yet, still, this worry is always in the back of my head.

Over the years I've managed to micro-mange it into a small box inside my head that I only drag out when I'm lost for a specific word in a sentence. But it's still there, my fear of waiting, my will they or won't they paranoia. Frankly, at this point, I think writer's need it to live. To fuel what we do. If I knew someone was going to accept every damn thing I gave then every time I don't know that I would work as hard or have half as much fun. Because the challenge and the constant reassurance that I rock are really good for my muse. Hell, acceptance is good for anyone's muse, it's why we submit in the first place.

So, I've stopped pushing away that little voice that freaks and shakes and quivers because it's been six days since my editor got back to me. Instead, I wallow. I roll around in that slimy, heart-clenching fear until I can't take it anymore. Then I remind myself that without the unknown there wouldn't be that blissful satisfaction I get at the beginning of every new contract. I've got to have some sense of challenge in order for the payoff to be so good I cry every time I get a new book deal. So what if it's all in my head? If it makes it that much more fun later, I'm gonna join the paranoid party and letting my inner nail biter out to play.

Waiting is the best writing aphrodisiac out there. Because will they or won't they makes the big "o" of putting your name on a piece of paper and shipping it out that much sweeter.

Best Bondage Erotica 2012

2011-07-08T23:05:00.001-04:00

My short story, Tied Down, will be in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 by Rachel Kramer Bussel come this December 13th! Yay! I'm particularly excited about this one since bondage is kinda my forte right now. Plus, the cover is just so sexy! This is one accomplishment I'll be drooling over for awhile. Pre-order this awesome compilation HERE.

Kissed From Beyond On Sale for .99 For Limited Time

2011-06-30T18:04:00.000-04:00

Hey ladies and gents, my four novella paranormal erotic anthology with Keta Diablo, Amber Scott, and Stacey Kennedy is on sale for a limited time for the price of a short story--only ninety-nine cents! Summer is in full swing, it's hot and it's only getting hotter so lets celebrate with an e-book sale!

Celebrating the Sizzle and Sparks of Summer, grab Kissed From Beyond for 99 cents until July 5th!

This "must read" anthology will take you to the mystical beyond and back with four erotica novellas from bestselling and award-winning authors:

"Cradle of Dreams" by Keta Diablo

With visions of battle still fresh in his mind, Roane Bradfield returns home to find the woman he loves betrothed to another. He corners Kendrick Moreland at Dowager Huggins’ Grand Ball and whisks her into the secluded library. One way or the other, he will know the reason the duplicitous beauty cut him from her life when she promised to wait forever.

Kendrick can’t believe her eyes when Roane suddenly appears at the ball. Has he truly risen from the dead? Amid wagging tongues and hushed murmurs, the fantasy of her every dream whisks her from the ballroom. And the expression on his face is anything but loving. Revenge, danger and powerful love collide in the Cradle of Dreams.

"A Love Soul Deep" by Amber Scott

If only Sara had known no man would ever make her feel like Crew did, she would have let him love her. A regret that can never be undone. His death haunts her dreams and her wishful thinking only reminds her of everything she has lost.

Years later, a visit to an antique store in sultry Savannah changes everything and makes her deepest wish come true. Her beloved returns to her. Her every fantasy gets the chance to be fulfilled. But she wants more than one night. She wants a lifetime and wonders what magic will let her keep A Love Soul Deep.

"One Rub More" by Elise Hepner

Flynn has been cursed for over a century for a social slight he never committed. A voo-doo priestess hexed him and forced him into a teapot where he could only be summoned by the rub of a woman’s palm. Once free, he grants these women three sexual favors—and cuts off his own emotions in the process. Unable to break free from an invisible cage of lust and sex to fall in love again, he’s resigned to being a sex object and nothing more.

Helena has been house sitting far, far away from her complicated past in England— including her former childhood sweetheart, who wasn’t satisfied when Helena didn’t want to be barefoot and pregnant. But she’s resigned to leave behind the complications of men and sex. She hopes that logic will win out over her unreliable emotions—but she’s put to the test when she accidently summons Flynn from his teapot prison.

Little do they know, they’ll both get what they wished for, even if it’s not exactly what they envisioned.

"'Til We Meet Again" by Stacey Kennedy

Ethan Thomas has spent years alone,forever trapped between worlds. Once a soldier in the Civil War, he’s now a ghost bound to a chaise lounge that once belonged to him. He’s spent centuries lingering in Savannah, Georgia, waiting to be saved…

Cassandra Cole is an interior designer who has been hired to restore an old Victorian home. But as she begins to furnish the home strange happenings begin to erupt around her. She suspects the house is haunted. Determined to find out, Cassie will set out to discover who this ghost is, why she feels a connection to him, and what she has to do to free him will surprise her in ways she couldn’t have imagined.

Reviewers had this to say about Kissed From Beyond:

"Everything you want from a paranormal erotica anthology intriguing characters, enticing settings and HOT and STEAMY stories."

"Each author delivers a wonderful tale of romance mixed with exciting sex scenes. The stories touch the heart and make me want more. Reading this book left a wicked smile on my face for days."

Buy From:
Amazon
Nook

The Backlist

2011-06-23T00:33:00.003-04:00

One of the hardest things to do once you have a publisher, is creating a back list. At least, if you're like me and you have tons of manuscripts ready to edit and sub to your editor, you'd think it would be one, two, three, yay!

But, oh, is that so not the case.

Mainly because my attention is pulled in eight different directions a day besides on the WIP I'm currently working on at that moment. I tend to be working on two or three projects in various stages of completion, just because that's how I work. But couple that with edits from my actual editor and all that other good stuff?

Oh boy.

Here's the main reason why a back list to me in the holy grail: because my editing phases are long and tedious. Even before an MS gets sent to my editor I've gone over it and rewritten it at least three times--and that's just the first rough draft. I am not a "write a perfect draft first time, every time" person. I'm not even a "have a perfect draft after three rewrites" person. I'm a polisher. A nutty, eccentric, epic polisher. So for every single book in my back list, it probably spent a lot of time with me before going to my editor for more edits, and then hitting the interwebs. While I'm also editing, promoing, and writing other things.

So yeah, that back list. It'll happen, slowly but surely. But I'm not holding my breath. Might pass out before I finish polishing.

Antique Wonders Make My Muse Melt

2011-06-20T00:37:00.001-04:00

I don't know what it is about old stuff, but it gives me a high. I collect antique pens, antique books with signatures from no later than 1910, and now I have a gorgeous, wonderful antique roll top desk in my office with all the marks of being well used.

Heaven.

There's just something about antique writing things that get my writing juices flowing and make me wanna work for four days straight. This desk has gotten me immediately in the mood to write and I plan on stashing my pen collection in it's bountiful cubbyholes. *squee* Here's a picture, though it's not the best because it's from my phone and there was a glare from the window. But I still love it so! That's with the roll top up.

Isn't it pretty? I'm going to make it my editing desk and the laptop is going to go there with no internet connection so I can't be distracted. I will be full of write! Super non-distractiable by Twitter. It will be awesome.

Goal's Check-up 2

2011-06-17T00:04:00.001-04:00

Since we last talked about my crazy obsession with giving myself goals and little check-ups to mark my time as a writer I've since tweaked the list a bit. Mostly because I'm going in a new direction with my publisher and I just like to change my mind. So. here are my revised goals, and here's how I'm doing with them.

Get a full length book published
~~Write/Finish two rough drafts~~
Start Super Secret Project
~~Finish first novella in Trilogy (No, not Star Wars)~~

These are also combined with what I finished off of my last Goals list 1 which were:

~~Submit to 6 Print Erotica Anthologies~~
~~Get one novella published~~
~~Become more confidant in my work~~

Hopefully, by the end of this year I'll have a full length subbed to my editor (working on the edits for it now), another two novella's subbed to my editor (One is WIP right now, one is in editing phase), and I'll be mid-way through my super secret project rough draft. So my goals for the rest of the year are:

Submit full length novel
Two novella's edited and subbed to editor
Begin writing Super Secret Project for editor

Considering how much progress I've all ready made this year, I think I can do it. Not easily, but it's attainable. But, I'm also crazy. I'm also waiting to hear back from various editors about my erotica submissions. Think I've been busy enough? When you add it all up it seems like quite the accomplishment. *grins proudly* And to think, next year, I want to do so much more!

What They Don't Tell Writer's

2011-06-13T10:34:00.000-04:00

1) It only just starts when an author gets a contract whether it be e-book or print. The pressure's not off because getting that contract was the easy part. Now author's learn to juggle their expectations with how much work they want to get out there versus how much time they actually have to get it out there.

Example: An author has their first e-book out with a publisher. Odds are that it means now the author is rearranging or revamping a website, writing weekly blog posts, checking in on Twitter to promote the book, and updating Facebook to let people know they're alive.

That doesn't even cover the tip of the promo iceberg--and that's only working on that first book. As you get more titles to promo and work with promotion, edits, blurbs, cover info sheets, etc. Suddenly, what you used to be able to produce in page count before you had a contract isn't going to happen anymore.You're too busy juggling.

And for me, personally, that creates a lot of pressure. Mostly because I'm a perfectionist and something of a workaholic and I tend to want my writing to be like little ducks all in a row. I hold myself up to this high, almost unachievable workload and then get really pissy with myself when it doesn't happen. Mainly because I'm still operating on "pre-published" mentality. Because I'm crazy.

For the love of Christian Bale, don't do that! It mean's right now I'm juggling two sets of edits, a WIP, an outline for the next WIP, and all the promo stuff--plus a submission that's been in with my editor for about a week and a half. Again, I'm insane.

2) Publisher's go under, have a contingency plan for everything that you write. That includes where you'll market a story if your normal publisher doesn't bite and where you'll market it if your pub goes under and you get the rights back to it. Always. Make. Extra. Plans. Can't stress that enough because it's saved my butt more than once and kept me on track.

Example: I think by now we all know what happened with Dorchester. But a majority of authors were able to get out okay with their names intact because they had contingency plans to put their work out there through other means. Whether that was self-pub or re-releasing the manuscript under another publisher, they made it work. Of course, they're still getting screwed...but that's veering off topic.

With so many new e-publishers popping up a good author will have what I like to call a "tier plan". Kinda like when people apply for college and they tell you to pick easy schools, middle schools, and reach schools. Do that, but with pubs. That way if the pub your with doesn't work out for some reason, it doesn't put a single kink in your plan. Because you've all ready done the research for the next pub, and the next pub, etc.

3) You don't have to say yes to EVERYTHING! Part of the writing process is meeting some kick ass people and networking your ass off in the writing community. I mean, come on, we all know I'm addicted to all my author friends on Twitter. But when your helping people out and doing tons of promo for yourself and other people with a click of a button on social networking sites--it's hard to say no to anything. And that's how you get sucked in to doing too many things for too many people that aren't you.

Example: I'm all for liberal use of the retweet button and every now and than I'm a "like" slut--but authors can get completely engrossed in the helping, networking aspect of these sites. Until you look at your blog one day and realize you've had 30 guest posts in a single month because someone--you--agreed to help everyone. Not only is that not good as an author because people want to see you on your blog eventually, but it's really draining, period.

There's a difference between support and procrastinating your own work by piggybacking off of someone else's and I've certainly fallen into the "I can't say no trap." But, like everything else, cliche alert, it's a balancing act. Don't be afraid to say no, especially if you've all ready helped them out two or three times and your on heavy deadline.

Don't add to the stress, roll with it.

See how comfortable Christian is? That's what we wanna strive for people. Also, suits are sexy. Over and out.

Kinky Time with Charlotte Stein

2011-06-02T00:00:00.001-04:00

Hello everyone! I am here, doing stuff on Elise’s blog because of two things. One: Elise is extremely sexy and I can’t keep my hands off her, or her blog. And two:

As you may have guessed, I have a book out.

But let me tell you, this isn’t any ordinary book promo. During the course of me hogging Elise’s blog, I’m going to:

1) Tap dance

2) Fondle Elise inappropriately

3) Eat my body weight in jelly beans

4) Invite Michael Fassbender to fondle Elise inappropriately

5) Create a wormhole through space and time

Of course, you won’t be able to see any of these things going on, because it’s a blog and everything is done through the miracle of writing. But I swear to you now, on the life of the television show Game of Thrones, it’s happening. And if you squeeze your eyes shut tight enough, I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to picture all of the above shenanigans clearly.

Can you see the jellybeans, yet? Or Michael Fassbender’s arse?

Thought so. Mainly because picturing Michael Fassbender’s arse takes almost no work at all.

But enough of the shenanigans! Onto my book, which is about the zombie apocalypse. And threesomes going on during the zombie apocalypse. Hurrah!

Blurb:

June has spent the last two years of her life trying to avoid death at the hands of murderous psychopaths and ravening zombies. So when Jamie turns up on the scene, careless, still whole and promising her safety on a little paradise island, she isn’t quite sure she can trust him. Especially when he tells her that it’s just him, and his equally big, burly, handsome friend Blake.

But Jamie and Blake are even better than her wildest dreams—sweet and funny and charming. And worst of all: sexy as hell. Though they're trying to be gentlemanly with her, all she can think about is how much she wants to get tangled up in them, and forget the nightmare the world has become. She's waiting for her reawakening—back to life and happiness and love.

And they seem like just the right sort of men to wake her—body and soul.
Excerpt:

All June could think was—Kelsey is dead, Kelsey is dead, Kelsey is dead—while the image of the ravening hordes feasting on Kelsey’s body played behind her eyes. She tried to shut it off, keep it down, keep running before they got to her, but Kelsey’s blood was still wet and all over her right arm.

And if Jamie hadn’t shot Kelsey—right as she was still screaming, and begging for help—she’d be one of them, now. That’s what happened. Once they bit you or bled on you or hell, spat on you, you had maybe thirty seconds.

Before you turned.

She needed to stop, just stop for a second. Lean against something and catch her breath. But Jamie had somehow led them into this building and he just kept running and running—only up instead of out.
June didn’t even know if Jamie was really his name, or if he was leading them right into a dead end. But he kept going, none-the-less.

She could hear the hordes, busting through the door below. He’d barred it, but they were coming in anyway, to this place that was an almost total deathtrap. The staircase was narrow and blanketed in darkness, one winding section after the next. Even if she dared to pause and look over the railing, she wouldn’t be able to see them until they were almost on her.

“Jamie, wait!” she shouted, but not because things would be easier if he had hold of her hand or was there to comfort her in this dire hour of need. She’d made it this far, on her own.

Or at least, she’d made it this far, with Kelsey.

No, it was just that—if he kept going, eventually they’d be trapped, on the roof. And she couldn’t have that. That was one of her and Kelsey’s rules—don’t run to someplace with only one exit.

Only it was just her rule, now. This guy, this Jamie…he didn’t seem to have any rules. He’d decided to run to the roof of a twenty story building then potentially wait outside until the hordes pushed through a probably very flimsy fire door.

Kelsey had said to her. She had said—wait. He’s as crazy as they are. A safe island? He’s nuts. We can’t go with him. He’s probably an insane apocalypse rapist.

And she’d been right, God help her. Maybe not about the insane apocalypse rapist part, but even so and besides—there was still time for that. He could be anyone, be into anything. He could have planned this all along…Kelsey’s death, the run to the roof…hell, maybe he had a whole party of insane assholes up there, just waiting to do horrible things to her.

Even if that was as nuts as he now seemed. Why would he trap himself on the roof, just to have a little fun with her? Nothing in her head was functioning in quite the way it should. Connections had been lost. Wiring had come loose.

She still called out to him again, when they got to the level before the last one. Her voice came out hoarse and breathless, burning lungs making everything difficult, Kelsey in her mind making everything worse. But somehow the words emerged.

“Jamie, stop. Take the nineteenth floor exit, okay—we can go back down on the other side of the building—answer me, fuck!”

He did, then. She heard him call out over her own shrieking breaths, the pounding of her sneakers on stone, and the sounds of the once-were-people below, slathering and barking like animals.

There were two cracks, like he’d fired her gun into the stairwell. Though she couldn’t see where he was shooting or at what. Then—

“Just keep following me, June-bug—come on!”

Only it sounded more like come own, because of the Texan twang Kelsey had sworn up and down was fake. And he’d called her June-bug again, because he was crazy, he was crazy, oh dear Lord he was probably leading them to their deaths.

This was all just some final mad hurrah. He was suicidal, and this was how he wanted to go out. Death by stairs or death by zombies—because they were zombies, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise—or even worse, death by roof.

Was that what he was going to do? Hurl himself off? Plummet to his untimely end? She didn’t know. All she could really think about was how close the first ravening cannibal was getting, and how unfit she really was. She’d started believing all the cardio was really beginning to pay off, but as it turned out, eighteen flights of stairs and she was out for the count. Her heart clawed at her ribcage. Her thigh muscles screamed and screamed.

While her zombie pals kept coming and coming, as though the stairs were nothing, really. Why, leaping up eighteen flights was like a morning stroll to them! They could have climbed these stairs forever and still had the wherewithal to eat her innards, once they got their claw-like hands on her.

She hit the fire door to the roof just as one of said claw-like hands brushed the back of her shirt.

It made everything inside her leap, including the heart she’d thought had escaped. Whenever they got really close—that was when you realized just how terrible they were. How awful the world had become. How much it wasn’t like a movie at all, but like a constant and unbearable pressure against your sanity, always threatening to make you go over.

She felt like going over, when the door wouldn’t close on them. For a second of pushing and heaving with their hands coming through and all over her, her mind tried to fly away. It told her to start screaming uncontrollably, while clawing at herself—that doing so would really be her best bet. No more running constantly. No more pain over Kelsey—and before Kelsey, Joanne and Pat and the old lady whose name she never learned.

Just peace, finally. One moment of agony, then peace.

Only it wouldn’t be, would it? No, it wouldn’t be. If she stopped pushing at the door and jamming it at them and just God, let the door snap their arms, let it crush them, let it kill them all forever, if she stopped…they’d turn her into one of them. And no matter how much she tried to let it hurt her that Jamie had pointed the gun and shot Kelsey between the eyes, it didn’t. It couldn’t.

Being one of them was worse. After all, it could have been that they’d caught a disease. It might have been that they were infected with something—like in 28 Days Later, rather than Night of the Living Dead. But part of her wondered whenever she stared into their hollow, ink-black eyes, if they’d simply lost their souls.

He looked like it. The one who’d managed to squeeze his mottled face into the crack she was struggling to close in the door. He had no pupils, no irises, no whites to his eyes. It was all just blackness, empty and weirdly unseeing, as though they operated on no more than a bloodlust now. Like upright land sharks roaming the land, blindly searching out prey.

She wrenched the door from him for just an instant then smashed it back into his face. It was a risky move, but oh so worth it. Worth it for the satisfaction, worth it for Kelsey, worth it for everything these things had taken from everyone. People’s souls hadn’t left. These things had stolen them.

And when it slithered away and the door quite abruptly shut, the idea didn’t go with it. It stayed, and festered—so much so that she wanted to open the door for one mad moment, just to smash it back in their faces again, and again, and again.

She wanted to, but Jamie was calling to her. And other sounds were starting to flood through her now, too, other big, big sounds that she should have noticed ages ago.

At first she thought it was some kind of weapon. That he’d found a chainsaw or a pneumatic drill or a wood chipper. Something he’d known was up here all along for them to use against the enemy.

But then the wind whipped up and she turned to see something far more incredible than a zombie eating wood chipper. It was so incredible that she forgot the zombies battering on the fire door, for a second. They’d bust through it soon enough because although they couldn’t figure out handles, the sheer pressure of them would figure out the release bar.

Though it didn’t seem to matter. For the first time in these two years of hell, it didn’t matter. She found herself laughing out loud, high and probably hysterical.

Jamie had only gone and gotten himself a helicopter. And not only that, but he apparently knew how to fly a helicopter. The rotors were going. They were kicking up the fine gravel that lined the roof of whatever building this was, and he was yelling to her—

“Come on, June-bug, get your ass in here!”

She thought of him talking about the island. About his buddy who was waiting for them. How they’d just wanted to find survivors, and populate their safe haven, and how crazy that had sounded when he first started yakking about it.

Then she ran to him.

Link:
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/m8/318-201-107-490-1--reawakening-forever-dead-series-book-one-by-charlotte-stein.html

Thanks for having me, Elise! Michael Fassbender enjoyed it immensely.

NYC Sex Museum For The Win

2011-05-31T20:06:00.000-04:00

I was lucky enough to go to NYC over Memorial Weekend with my bestest bestie and I got a chance to step into the hallowed, amazing, stupendous halls of The Museum of Sex! Let me tell you, if you haven't gone, you must. I plan to return whenever I'm in NYC because they have revolving exhibits and there's so much to see and do and learn. It's a mecca of informative, naughty goodness. Here's what I came home with from the awesometastic gift shop:

I also picked up a black "Museum of Sex" mug for my morning tea!

Resistance is Futile

2011-05-24T12:10:00.000-04:00

No matter what I do, no matter how big my backlog is on my TBR (To Be Read) pile is--I can't help it, I'll buy more books. It's a literary disease! One that makes my skin itch every time I see a new literary world I haven't explored yet that's out on the shelf ready for my enjoyment. And then, of course, my long time favorite authors happen to release all their books around the same time and I'm once again completely and utterly helpless.

It's a physical rush knowing that soon I'll have three of my favorite author's books in my hands so I can savor every word!

I went on vacation recently. Guess where I stopped? Two discount bookstores. I came home with thirteen books, three Disney mugs, a Tangled towel, and none of the clothes I was supposed to buy for a new wardrobe at the outlets. How does that work? It's the magic of the books.

Among some of the fun books I picked up are: a biography on Emily Post, Miss Manners Extraordinaire, A memoir of Julie Andrews, A few chick-lit reads, and a romance fiction book about Casanova's love letters found by a young museum curator and how their two loves are parallel and connect through time and space.

Variety is the spice of life and when it comes to books--resistance is futile. It will only hurt more when you try to be good. Be bad, your brain will thank you later.

It's Official, My Website is Live and Kicking

2011-05-15T08:04:00.000-04:00

So after Blogger's epicness of going down FOREVER, I didn't get a chance to share with anyone my new, gorgeous website www.ehwriting.com made by my loving husband. Isn't it pretty? I really love everything about it and it's perfect timing for my new release Party Games from Ellora's Cave. What do you guys think?

I'm on vacation until Wednesday so posts may be a little non-existent as well as my tweets. But I'm thinking about you lovely readers!