Yes, today’s the day! CRUEL CHARADE is out from The Wild Rose Press– and its five-stars future looks good. Do you have your copy yet?
May 13, 1995
One year before The Incident
Bettina stumbled out the side door of the Barracuda Taphouse, straining to focus fuzzy eyes. Leaning against the side of the building, she muttered to herself.
I only took my attention off that pina colada for a minute. Someone dosed it. I’ve got to get straight. Now.
But she couldn’t. Her knees threatened to mutiny and drop her on the pavement. Music pulsed through the wall behind her. She started to spin out of control.
Five things. “Street lights. Blue Lexus. Palm trees.
Lady with a purse. Man with a purse.” Should it bother me that his is nicer?
She straightened her back against the bricks, her fingers scrabbling in the grooves for a handhold. Her eyes closed and the spinning got worse. She forced them open again.
Four things. “Bricks. Space between bricks.” She tapped her expensive shoe on the ground. “Sidewalk.” She didn’t dare let go to touch anything else. Her arm rubbed against hard plastic discs down her side. “Midnight blue sequins.” Her new blouse that screamed take me home to bed, stranger.
Three things. “Um…traffic. Drums. Horns beeping.”
Was her breathing easier? She thought so.
Two things. “Cigarette smoke.” She cast an envious glance at the couple standing half a block up with cancer sticks in hand. “Diesel fuel.”
One thing. She couldn’t taste anything at first. Whatever was in her system had taken over. Then bile swirled in her stomach and rose to the back of her throat. Burning, it made its way out as she vomited into a potted plant.
Now isn’t that a lovely picture. Up-and-coming criminal defense attorney ralphing al fresco like a common street drunk.
She wiped her mouth and faced the wall, drooping against it, one hand propping her up.
The door she’d come out of flew open. “Bet? Oh my God, what are you doing?” Mela grabbed her arm. “Are you all right?”
“Nope,” Bet replied. “I surely am not. Someone dosed me. I think it was that suave Nicaraguan.” Her stomach roiled and she threw up again.
“The one with the haircut? You think so?” Mela rubbed Bet’s back. “Come on, let’s get out of here before a Herald reporter shows up. That’s all you need is for Rich to have proof you’re unfit.”
Bet reared upward with a scowl. “I’m not unfit. I don’t have the children in my custody, do I? He won that round, damn it.”
What the story’s about: Miami attorney Bet Lenard has had a rough year. She’s battling an unknown illness that drives her to drink to cope with her pain. Her lawyer husband has divorced her and taken the best part of their business, their home and their children.
On the night of May 16, 1996, Bet finds herself in the Everglades in the middle of the night, drugged, lost and next to a burned car with a dead body in it. Hoping she’s hit bottom, Bet must drag herself out of her living hell and discover who tried to kill her. Was it her ex-husband, not satisfied with stealing everything that mattered? An angry client, unhappy with the outcome of their case? Her best friend’s husband, livid that Bet’s restraining order kicked him out of her life forever? Police officers fuming that Bet helped a client convict a dirty cop who was their friend? She has no idea.
As she tries to sort out the motives behind her would-be killer, even more suspects come to light. The only thing keeping Bet sane is her relationship with her therapist, who encourages her to struggle and survive, despite everything that’s gone wrong. How will Bet discover the truth and bring her enemy to justice before they strike again and, this time, succeed?
She’s everything he’s desired… He’s the one man she shouldn’t crave.
Knowing the danger the Wanderers pose, Erica Vega intends to hunt down the mysterious
group steeped in dark magic, curses, and mind control. As a Deputy U.S. Marshal,
she has the law behind her, along with her telekinetic powers. Let the chase
and battle begin.
Not so fast. Her superior forbids her to go after any Wanderer, instead ordering
her to work cold cases with her new partner Lucian Navari.
Tall, dark, and hotter than sin, Lucian doesn’t play by the book. He has his own
agenda and agrees to help Erica hunt Wanderers on the sly where he and she can
be up close and personal.
Erica’s not one to mix duty with pleasure, but he’s impossible to resist in too damn
many ways. As they investigate an elusive Wanderer, nothing is as it appears—she
can’t trust what she sees or believes. Lies masquerade as truth, and deception
rules while she and Lucian grow closer in a carnal dance that will change their
lives.
Excerpt:
He shoved his hair back. “You still don’t trust me.”
She did, more than any man in her life, except for Mike. However, when people got
rattled or drank, they sometimes blurted stuff they shouldn’t. Not their fault,
but it didn’t make things better. “If by chance you ever say anything about my
power, I’ll deny it. I’ll make you sound like a loon. That’s a promise.”
“You think I’m that much of a prick?”
She’d never met a finer man. With him, she felt comfortable and safe. He’d protected
her after the tree incident and tried to stop her from behaving like a maniac.
Today, they’d become friends without even trying. She should have been scared
at the notion and for breaking one of her work rules. Instead, relief washed
over her. She wasn’t alone in this. “You’re the man. How many times do I have
to keep telling you?”
He chuckled. “God, you’re something.” He searched her face. “Are you all right?”
Her insides still trembled. She suspected from doubt and unease about Pope, and at
having Lucian here, close and alone with her. “I won’t lie, I’ve been calmer.
Maybe a beer will help. Can I get you one?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She delivered the brew, along with damp dish towels to clean their faces and hands.
Once they were finished, she dropped the things onto the cocktail table and
gestured him to her cloth sofa, large enough to seat four or serve as a
makeshift bed for an overnight guest. They sat on adjoining cushions. She
didn’t mind having him near. His proximity, scent, and heat unsettled her in a
good way. She gulped her beer, hoping it would help her forget the bad stuff.
Lucian sipped his drink and regarded her.
Her throat and face stung with heat. “You’re staring again.”
“Do you mind?”
“Maybe.”
“Then stop making it so easy.”
She lowered her face and smiled. “There’s dust on your shirt and pants.”
He looked and shrugged. “I don’t care, if you don’t.”
His deep voice soothed. His big body promised excitement, comfort, refuge from a
crappy world. Stuff she shouldn’t want, at least from him. Work relationships
always got complicated no matter how she controlled her feelings. Throwing
attraction into the mix made things worse. She gulped more beer.
“You’re sure you’re all right?”
Bubbles tickled her nose. She rubbed it and wanted to lie, tell him to go home, she was
okay and didn’t need him here. The words wouldn’t come. She looked at him.
He lifted his shoulders. “What?”
Never had she wanted a man as she did him. “Screw this.” She put her bottle on the
cocktail table and crawled onto his lap, straddling his legs. “Don’t talk, please.” She cupped his face. “Unless you don’t want me.”
His eyes rounded. “Are you joking? Hell yeah, I do.”
“Shhh.” She didn’t want words. She needed intimacy and fitted her mouth to his.
He smiled. So did she, their lips lifting together, seeking each other.
The room spun. A ride like no other. His stubble rasped her cheeks and chin. His
lips couldn’t have been softer or warmer. Better than what she’d experienced in
her dream.
He pulled her close and speared his tongue into her mouth.
Shelost her breath. This was past epic and straight into legendary. Even her
fantasies weren’t this good.
They kissed with abandon and stark need, each pressing nearer, trying to eliminate
any separation between them. His strength thrilled, showing her his power, yet
it also felt like a caress.
He growled and tore his mouth free.
“No.” She cupped his head to pull him back to her. “I’m not through.”
“Neither am I.” Holding on to her, he leaned forward, put his bottle on the table then
twisted around and pushed her to the sofa. The cushion whooshed from her weight. “Not a word, understand?”
Several locks had fallen over his forehead. His eyes were bright with lust. Face flushed. So gorgeous. “Yes, sir.”
He laughed and captured her mouth with desire, using it with skill. His kiss was savage and unrestrained, tongue burrowed deep, giving her no chance for words. Wild sounds poured from them, more animal than human. It fueled her lust.
Reason and good sense fled, replaced by carnal instinct feral in its intensity, nothing timid or gentle about the act.
They rocked and rolled deep kissing. The sofa jerked on the hardwood floor.
He broke free again.
He had to stop doing that. She grabbed his hair. “Come back here.”
He hauled her up then pushed to his feet.
She wrapped her legs around his lean hips, her arms about his shoulders.
“Where’s your bedroom?” He looked right, left.
“Behind you.”
He pivoted, carried her across the room, and halted. “Where’s Rápido?”
“By the chair. Give me a sec.” Using her power, she transported him to his tank. There he could take a soak or bask beneath his warming lamp. Turtle heaven. “What are you waiting for?” She squeezed Lucian’s shoulders. “Get going. I’m about to die.”
“And I’m not?” Huffing, he raced into her bedroom and brought her down to the mattress with him. Springs popped. The frame creaked.
Their mouths were welded together, their kiss long and lingering, deep and wet. The best kind.
He jerked free. “Wait.”
“No.” She kept kissing him.
He pulled away. “We have weapons.” He left the bed and put his Glock on the bureau.
She was right behind him and placed hers next to his.
Grinning, they tore at each other’s clothes. Shoes, pants, tops, and underwear flew.
To break this curse, they’ll have to turn the heat up. Way up.
Jasmine Dante prowls Key West’s nightlife, fighting a losing battle against a jealous rival’s curse that forces her to seek carnal pleasure, no matter the danger. Weakened from lack of sleep and driven by insatiable lust, she spots a man who stirs her desperate craving, and begins yet another dance of seduction.
Except the dark stranger who returns her direct stare is no ordinary lover. Inside his powerful body lies a raw sexuality that just might be enough to break her curse. There’s only one way to find out—imprison him in her bed and feed on his passion.
Former Deputy U.S. Marshal Mike Stearn is many things, but he’s no woman’s sex slave. The deadly telekinetic power he ruthlessly suppresses comes alive again at Jasmine’s touch. Beneath her bold, potent sensuality, he senses vulnerability and desperation. He may be in handcuffs, but she’s the one who’s enslaved.
As Mike resurrects his power to free himself so he can find the curse’s source and defeat it, Jasmine revels in his masterful rule. Her ravenous yearning evolves into rapture as she surrenders to his hunger, her darkest needs—and the emotional connection that lies beyond. Unless the curse takes her life first…
About Tina:
Tina’s an Amazon and international bestselling novelist who writes passionate romance for every taste – ‘heat with heart’ – for traditional publishers and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly,Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. She’s won Readers’ Choice Awards, was named a finalist in the EPIC competition, received a Book of the Year award, The Golden Nib Award, awards of merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competitions, and second place in the NEC RWA contests. She’s featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction.
On a less serious note: she’s an admitted and unrepentant chocoholic, brakes for Mexican restaurants, and has been known to moan like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally while wolfing down tostadas. She’s flown a single-engine airplane (freaking scary), rewired an old house using an ‘electricity for dummies’ book, and is horribly shy despite the hot romances she writes.
Someone is killing people with a crossbow, but what connects the murders is a mystery, and only a birder and the aide to a dead Senator can find the answers.
Intro
I grew up in the DC suburbs and came back as a young adult to work in the US Senate at a time of great upheaval (1980s). The Washington of my youth was genteel, southern, sleepy, and dull. Members of Congress spent most of their time in their districts. There were no restaurants to speak of—the only parties were at diplomats’ residences. There was a single theatre—the National. JFK allegedly quipped that Washington was a city of northern charm and southern efficiency.
By the 1980s it had changed dramatically (I won’t even talk about the depths it’s risen to today). Perhaps because of the advent of television, politics rather than diplomacy now rule the social life “inside-the-Beltway.” There are hundreds of expense-account restaurants and massive theatres. The celebrities aren’t ambassadors and foreign princes, but pundits, “influencers,” and Hollywoodites.
In the excerpt below the widow of a prominent US Senator confesses to an adulterous affair with a high-powered global investor. This is not uncommon, but in this case there’s murder involved.
OUR STORY:
Palmer Lind, recovering from the sudden death of her husband, embarks on a bird-watching trek to the Gulf Coast of Florida. One hot day on Leffis Key she comes upon—not the life bird she was hoping for—but a floating corpse. The handsome beach bum who appears on the scene at the same time seems to have even more secrets than the dead man.
His story begins to unravel as the pair search for answers to a growing pile of dead bodies. Spies, radical environmentalists, and wealthy businessmen circle around each other in a complex dance. Which one is lying? What do a seemingly random group of individuals have in common, other than being targeted by a crossbow?
In the Crosshairs: The Body on Leffis Key
The Wild Rose Press, May 27, 2024
Mystery, Suspense
89,710 words; 392 pp.
Excerpt: Joanna Confesses
Joanna whirled around and advanced toward Palmer, her cheeks flaming and her teeth bared.
Palmer fell back a step. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me, you…you floozy. Keep your smutty hands off Wilfred!”
Palmer was too astonished to respond, but the thought gamboled through her head that jealous rage was hardly a suitable look for a bereaved widow. She was weighing options for escape when Joanna toppled into a chair.
“Oh Miss Lind, I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a crazy person. My emotions are all over the place.” To prove it, she burst into tears.
Palmer gave her a box of tissues and went for a glass of water. When she returned, Joanna had regained her composure. “Thank you.” She sniffed. “I suppose I should explain my behavior.”
That would be nice. “If you like.”
“You see, Atticus and I had what you’d call a political marriage. We did love each other in the beginning, but after a few years, the unabating hostility from my relatives…” She broke off and sipped the water. “My family has lived in Mobile, Alabama, for over two hundred years. We’ve always been Democrats…well, for as long as there’s been a Democrat party, that is. Atticus was not only from the Midwest”—she said it with a moue of distaste—“but he was a Republican. Two colossal strikes against him in the view of my grandmother Rose, the matriarch of the clan. She turned everyone against him, shunned him. At least, until he was elected senator.” She gave a resentful snort. “Even then they barely acknowledged him at family gatherings. I got tired of defending him all the time, and we drifted apart, but the demands of the job meant we had to pretend we were the idyllic power couple.”
That’s how Carson described them. Palmer had trouble feeling sorry for her but could hardly interrupt the flow. “Go on.”
“Last year we were at Davos—that’s an annual economic forum in Switzerland. Everybody who’s anybody in the financial and political worlds goes. Atticus was giving an interview to Forbes, and I took to the slopes for an afternoon’s skiing.”
The lives of the rich and famous…
“I was on my last run and visibility was poor. I took a spill, and suddenly Wilfred appeared out of the gloom. He helped me up and escorted me back to the lodge. We had tea together and…and one thing led to another.” She raised damp eyes to Palmer. “Do you hate me?”
“Me? Why would I hate you? It’s nothing to do with me.”
“Even though I’m a rival for his affections?”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“He came here to see you, didn’t he? Why would he do that unless he was attracted to you?” She produced a tiny hiccup. “He’s left me, you see.”
Librarian, anthropologist, research assistant, Congressional aide, speechwriter, nonprofit director—M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents and holds degrees in Anthropology, Middle East Studies, and Library Science. She has published seventeen mystery or romantic suspense novels. She has two children, an exuberant granddaughter, and currently divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.
My bio says that I’ve been writing all my life, and that’s pretty much true. I was penning stories and poems when I was in early elementary school. By high school I’d branched out to novels and plays. Though I’ve also done drawing and painting, sculpture and dance, words have always been my preferred instrument for creation. And to be honest, I grew up believing that I had significant writing talent.
The more I write, though, the more I realize how much I still have to learn.
Total-E-Bound, an English indie publisher focused on erotic romance, brought out the first edition of Getaway Girl way back in 2008. This was only my third or fourth tale written specifically for a romance audience. At that time, I knew almost nothing about the genre and its conventions. (Until I signed with TEB, I’d considered myself an author of erotica.) I spent quite a bit of time reading the work of my fellow TEB authors, trying to grasp the essence of this new category of fiction and to translate that into my own stories. My editors also did not hesitate to point out areas where common aspects of erotica just wouldn’t work for romance readers.
By 2008 I’d concluded that in every romance: 1) there had to be a sense of inevitability to the connection between the hero and heroine, an attraction that might seem to make no sense but which could not be denied; 2) the couple had to at least discuss commitment; 3) the sex (this was erotic romance after all) had to be more than just casual – there should be a sense of fitting or rightness, a connection that transcended the physical.
I tried to implement these conclusions in writing of Getaway Girl. The story was accepted and published, but was never particularly popular. I went on to write a lot more romance, getting better at it over time.
Last year I reclaimed the rights to the story so that I could self-publish it, and a few months ago I set myself the task of re-editing the piece in preparation. I really hadn’t looked at it for more than a decade.
I was appalled by how clumsy and stereotyped it seemed.
Inconsistencies in character and in plot were only part of the problem. There were also long passages of purple prose, most especially in the sex scenes. I posted the tale in my critique group and discovered there were also plentiful anachronisms and inaccuracies related to its historical period (contemporary) and British setting. (The story was originally targeted for an anthology entitled Bound Brits, so it had to take place in the U.K.)
I subjected the story to possibly the most thorough revision I’ve ever done on any of my work. I won’t say that it’s unrecognizable, but I probably modified at least 25% of the text. In the fourteen years since the first revision I’ve learned a lot, both about romance and about writing in general. Practice does make perfect; I’ve published nearly one hundred titles since that early attempt, both romance and erotica. This second edition of Getaway Girl is orders of magnitude better than the original.
But maybe I shouldn’t use the word “perfect”, because in truth, as long as we authors are writing, we are learning all the time. I’m about to revisit my first novel, preparing an expanded twenty-fifth anniversary edition for release sometime this year. This will be the fifth version of Raw Silk. I have no doubt it will be the best.
Our story:
Be careful what you wish for
All Peg wants is a break, a bit of adventure, a relief from her mundane existence in the bucolic but boring Yorkshire hamlet of Kirkby Malzeard. When dashing, sophisticated journalist Lionel Hayes saunters into the pub where she’s tending bar, Peg suspects that he was just the sort of man to fulfill her fantasies of escape.
The seductive Lionel, however, is not what he seems. Before she knows it, Peg is a hostage, roped and gagged, speeding away from the scene of a daring crime. Lionel is armed and dangerous, but somehow Peg still wants him – regardless of the consequences.
Note: This book was originally published in 2015 by Totally Bound. This second edition has been substantially revised and has a new ending.
EXCERPT:
“What are you doing here, if I might ask?”
“Me? Oh, I’m a journalist. I’m doing a story on the find and its historical implications.”
Peg felt a twinge of suspicion. “The press conference was yesterday.”
“My car broke down halfway from London. I spent last night in a town even tinier than this one.” His smile was charming, apologetic. Peg’s uneasiness melted away.
He leaned towards her across the bar, putting his hand over hers. “That’s why I appreciate your help, in giving me the information I need.”
His skin was warm and smooth, none of the calluses of a manual labourer. Not like the farmers Peg had occasionally dated here, before she gave up on finding a man in her home village. He ran one fingertip up and down in the sensitive crease between Peg’s thumb and forefinger. The light touch was enough to turn her nipples to aching knots and trigger a throbbing between her legs.
She caught a hint of his scent, a balsam-laced aftershave or cologne that simultaneously conveyed masculinity and refinement. His forefinger ventured higher, stroking the back of her wrist, a gesture both delicate and bold. Her pussy clenched as though he were massaging her down there, instead of merely brushing a casual finger across her hand.
She stared at the bar, blushing, angry with herself for being so susceptible. Finally, she managed to raise her head and meet his eyes, which were a stormy hazel colour.
“What paper are you from?”
“Oh, I write for an upmarket travel rag. I doubt that you would’ve heard of it. This story should enhance the romance and mystery of your already delightful village. I expect you’ll see a surge in tourists after publication.”
“You should interview Peter Lofthouse. He’s been mayor for the last dozen years.”
“I have the feeling that I’m talking to a real authority right now. Lived here a long time, haven’t you?”
She bristled. How did he know that? Maybe because she seemed such a country bumpkin. “I spent some time in London, but I had to come back. Family problems.”
“Sorry to hear that…” He scanned her chest, seeking a name tag. Peg felt as though he were fondling her breasts instead of just looking at them. Could he see the swollen tips, pushing up through her soft green jumper?
“I’m Peg,” she said, snatching her hand from his and reaching for the bar rag. “And you?”
He bowed slightly. “Lionel Hayes, at your service. But I’ll bet you’re really Margaret, right? It’s much more musical, more sophisticated. It suits you.”
He was clearly trying to flatter her. She didn’t really mind. “Lionel—sounds like an aristocratic playboy from the nineteen twenties. Nobody’s named Lionel anymore.”
The journalist laughed again, soft and intimate, sending the blood rushing again to Peg’s cheeks as well as to other body parts. He drained the last of his pint, then reclaimed her hand. “I’ve got to go. But it’s been pleasure to meet you, Margaret. Perhaps I’ll mention you in my article.”
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Thanks! What inspires me? Many of the characters that live and work in Pinecone Creek are drawn from my real-life encounters and observations. Pinecone Creek itself is a compilation of my experiences in the small towns in which I’ve lived, worked, or visited in the Northwoods territory of Wisconsin. My imagination also contributes to my overall plots and stories. You could say I make stuff up for a living, lol. End of the day, I hope my tales transport you to a different, fun, reality.
Another aspect of my life that I share with the kind-hearted people of Pinecone Creek is a driving desire to give deserving animals a second chance at finding loving homes. Emily Slater (Hometown Spirits, Caveman Creek 4) finds a German Shepherd mix that has given birth to a litter of four in an old shed on her newly acquired property.
After her new dog gobbles her lunch, Emily calls for reinforcements in the form of Mike Lambert. The gallant Mr. Lambert answers the call with twenty pounds of dog food, and various canine necessities. (And lectures Emily about personal safety!)
Momma dog looks remarkably like a dog we adopted a few years ago. Unfortunately, the real Momma passed away several months ago. She was a wonderful, loving, companion. I miss her terribly.
I also share my home with several cats, one of whom belonged to the real Letitia. Belle survived a year on her own after Letitia’s death. I found her at dusk, huddled underneath a chair on our deck. She was desperately ill and covered in fleas. It took weeks of food, medication, and love to bring her back to health. Belle is now a house cat who has no desire to return to the great outdoors.
I hope it gives her former pet mom some comfort knowing her furbaby is loved and happy.
Nurse Practitioner Emily Slater wants a home of her own in a welcoming community. She fell in love with Pinecone Creek and hopes to connect with the people she serves and give back to her town. Emily needs the kind of relationships that last a lifetime.
Brothers Mike and Paul Lambert have always called Pinecone Creek home. They need a woman to share their lives and their bed. One look at Emily sends their hopes soaring, and they spin dreams of having a family and children. Their protective instincts roar to the surface whenever they’re close to her. Even though they’ve been disappointed before, they’re willing to risk their hearts again.
But Emily hasn’t finished unpacking and her ‘to-do’ list is a mile long. The men are panty-dampening hunks, and they make her feel safe, but she isn’t ready to commit to the brothers quite yet. And that cabin she just bought? Someone or something doesn’t want Emily there.
Excerpt:
“That’s Letty Nelsen’s old place. No one’s lived there in a while. Not since—” Mike’s gaze traveled downward.
“Letty got murdered,” Angie finished. “People say strange things happen out there at night. Lights, sounds of a woman crying and moaning…” She shivered.
“The realtor told me a lady died there, but he didn’t say anything about a murder. I’m not sure if I believe in ghosts or hauntings, but that is awful. I planned on stopping out there tonight to unload tools, take measurements, and try to get an idea of how much DIY is in my future.” And how much it’ll cost, Emily thought. “But I haven’t been back in weeks. Can you give me directions? It’s no fun wandering around in the dark.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you follow me?” Mike offered.
“Oh, thanks, but I don’t want to put you out. If you don’t mind just directing me…” Emily honestly didn’t want to impose on Mike, but going off with a strange man to an isolated cabin in the woods wasn’t a smart thing to do—no matter how nice he seemed or how fast a woman might drown in his soulful brown eyes or notice the muscles straining against the Henley underneath his flannel shirt or…
“No trouble. It’s on my way home,” Mike coaxed.
“You’ll be safe with Mike. Besides, I know you’re leaving with him, so he’d be in for a big hurt if you disappeared!” Angie declared while she cleared their plates.
“Thanks, Angie.” Mike rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“My pleasure, Mike,” Angie answered over her shoulder before she disappeared into the kitchen.
“With a reference like that, how can I say no?” Emily laughed and laid some bills on the counter. “If you’re sure it won’t take you out of your way, I’d appreciate the help.”
Biography and Social Media:
Pia Manning is the erotic romance author behind the Caveman Creek series. She is married to a wonderful man. Rides herd on four cats (not easy to do) and canine Noodles the Schnoodle (schnauzer/poodle cross), raises monarchs, and plays Clash of Clans. Not a morning person.
TODAY’S GUEST IS Author Karen Hulene Bartell, with her paranormal romance FOX TALE!
When did you start writing?
An only child, I began writing my first novel at the age of nine, learning the joy of creating my own happy endings…However, I got four pages into my first “book” and realized I had to do a lot of living before I could finish it!
IMHO, reading is the entry to writing. Born to rolling-stone parents who moved annually–sometimes monthly–I found my earliest playmates as fictional friends in books. Paperbacks became my portable pals. Ghost stories kept me up at night–reading feverishly. Novels offered an imaginative escape, and the paranormal was my passion.
So here I am all these decades later, still creating my own happy endings…
What’s next for you?
I’m writing a political-suspense thriller set in Taipei, Taiwan, entitled Silkworm, that portrays a US Senator’s daughter caught between two men, two cultures, two political ideologies, and the two Chinas.
A love triangle is the metaphor for Taiwan and China (the two dragons) competing for geopolitical and technological accords with the US. As mainland China seeks to recover the third of its lost provinces–Taiwan–Rachel Moore struggles to escape the triple nightmare of impending war, a marriage of convenience, and an assassination plot against the man she loves. Silkworm weaves their stories with the trilateral events currently erupting in Southeast Asia.
****
Book Blurb –
Heights terrify Ava. When a stranger saves her from plunging down a mountain, he diverts her fears with tales of Japanese kitsune—shapeshifting foxes—and she begins a journey into the supernatural.
She’s attracted to Chase, both physically and metaphysically, yet primal instincts urge caution when shadows suggest more than meets the eye.
She’s torn between Chase and Rafe, her ex, when a chance reunion reignites their passion, but she struggles to overcome two years of bitter resentment. Did Rafe jilt her, or were they pawns of a larger conspiracy? Are the ancient legends true of kitsunes twisting time and events?
Fox Tale Excerpt –
The kitten crawled on the pillow, purring in my ear as he kneaded my neck and shoulders with his silky paws.
“That actually feels good.” I chuckled at the irony, then exhausted, fell into a deep sleep. I found myself sitting on a shaded, grassy slope. A gentle breeze fluttered against my cheek.
No, not a breeze, Chase.
He caressed my cheek as he swept my hair behind my ear and whispered sweet nothings. His breath tickling, he nuzzled my neck.
Goosebumps slid down my spine.
Then he massaged my back. Ever so gradually, his fingers slid over my nipples, circling and gently pinching my areolas to erection. Then he lifted off my shirt while he tongued and suckled at my breast.
As latent yearnings awakened, I arched my back, enjoying the waves of sensation. With a shudder, I moaned, pulling him toward me in a deep kiss.
His growing erection pressing against my groin, his hands cupped my bottom as he rolled me on top.
Bbbrrringg, bbbrrringg, bbbrrringg.
As the alarm jolted me awake, the heat rose to my cheeks, and I scanned the surroundings to get my bearings. Mortified, I cringed beneath the sheets. What have I done? Then relieved to see only the kitten for a bed partner, I gave a nervous laugh. It was a dream–just a dream.
The kitten uncurled from between my legs, purring.
Embarrassed by the sensations it elicited, I scrambled to my feet. Did the kitten trigger those dreams?
Author of the Trans-Pecos, Sacred Emblem, Sacred Journey, and Sacred Messenger series, as well as Kissing Kin, Fox Tale, Wild Rose Pass, The Keys: Voice of the Turtle and more, Karen is a best-selling author, motivational keynote speaker, IT technical editor, wife, and all-around pilgrim of life. She writes multicultural, offbeat love stories steeped in the supernatural. Born to rolling-stone parents who moved annually, Bartell found her earliest playmates as fictional friends in books. Paperbacks became her portable pals. Ghost stories kept her up at night—reading feverishly. The paranormal was her passion. Novels offered an imaginative escape. An only child, she began writing her first novel at the age of nine, learning the joy of creating her own happy endings. Professor emeritus of the University of Texas at Austin, Karen resides in the Texas Piney Woods with her husband Peter and her mews—three rescued cats and a rescued *Cat*ahoula Leopard dog.
Got the final galley from The Wild Rose Press for Cruel Charade today…probably means a summer release. Been working on this one for four years. *sigh*
But COMING SOON.
Miami attorney Bet Lenard has had a rough year. She’s battling an unknown illness that drives her to drink to cope with her pain. Her lawyer husband has divorced her and taken the best part of their business, their home and their children. On the night of May 16, 1996, Bet finds herself in the Everglades in the middle of the night, drugged, lost and next to a burned car with a dead body in it.
Hoping she’s hit bottom, Bet must drag herself out of her living hell and discover who tried to kill her. Was it her ex-husband, not satisfied with stealing everything that mattered? An angry client, unhappy with the outcome of their case? Her best friend’s husband, livid that Bet’s restraining order kicked him out of her life forever? Police officers fuming that Bet helped a client convict a dirty cop who was their friend? She has no idea.
As she tries to sort out the motives behind her would-be killer, even more suspects come to light. The only thing keeping Bet sane is her relationship with her therapist, who encourages her to struggle and survive, despite everything that’s gone wrong. How will Bet discover the truth and bring her enemy to justice before they strike again and, this time, succeed?
Thanks, N.N. Light’s Heaven for selecting REMNANTS OF FIRE asBest Fiction Book reviewed in 2023! In a previous version, this story languished in a small publishing house that never really wanted it. But after some redding up, now it’s an award winner! Check out the excerpt, and enjoy!
Looking for a fresh start, Sara Woods takes a job as a news reporter in a small town. Her first assignment for the Ralston Courier is to investigate of a string of deaths, all young women, all her age.
To deal with chronic back pain, she seeks help at a local healing center. She soon becomes convinced that there is something strange about the Goldstone Clinic. Its doctors and nurses are all the picture of perfect beauty and health, while their patients at first seem to improve and then mysteriously deteriorate.
Dr. Rick Paulsen, a physician at the local hospital, offers to teach Sara how to access her internal power, enhancing hidden skills and revealing secrets from her past.
Police officer Brendon Zale also takes an interest in Sara, watching her every move.
The deeper she digs into the Goldstone, the harder it is to deny links to the paranormal. Can she figure out what is going on and who to trust before it’s too late?
Click here for buy links, excerpt, information, video, and reviews:
I try not to be super “HEY LOOK AT ME!!!” here, even though I suppose that’s what the purpose of the blog is. LOL. But on this occasion, I just can’t help it.
I chose to ask for my rights back for three of my books that had been with diverse small press that were not helping me sell books, or even listing them correctly at Amazon. Tired of being the red-headed step-child, if you will, I found a new publishing home, totally rewrote them and got them on the publishing track again.
One of the three is supernatural thriller REMNANTS OF FIRE, which came out in September from Dragonfly Publishing.
Here’s the story: Looking for a fresh start, Sara Woods takes a job as a news reporter in a small town. Her first assignment for the Ralston Courier is to investigate of a string of deaths, all young women, all her age. To deal with chronic back pain, she seeks help at a local healing center. She soon becomes convinced that there is something strange about the Goldstone Clinic. Its doctors and nurses are all the picture of perfect beauty and health, while their patients at first seem to improve and then mysteriously deteriorate. Dr. Rick Paulsen, a physician at the local hospital, offers to teach Sara how to access her internal power, enhancing hidden skills and revealing secrets from her past. Police officer Brendon Zale also takes an interest in Sara, watching her every move. The deeper she digs into the Goldstone, the harder it is to deny links to the paranormal. Can she figure out what is going on and who to trust before it’s too late?
Still wondering? Don’t take my word for it– after multiple 5-star reviews, the book has been nominated for Fiction Book of the Year at well-known review site N.N. Light’s Book Heaven. We’ll know next week how we did, but I’m beyond excited.
Stay tuned for updates. And please let your friends and family know about this book. Better yet, it’s on sale for those with ereaders from now through December 31 at smashwords for 99 cents!! As my dad used to say, you can’t beat that with a stick! Although I don’t know why you’d want to… he said a lot of weird things, come to think of it.
ANYWAY. Please check out the book, now that it’s done right. Thanks, readers, and Happy Holidays!
Just in time for the season–a collection of bright novellas and short stories to decorate your holiday mood. Author C.L. Hart shares her story UNEXPECTED ANGELS and the rest of the volume with us today. Check out the contents:
Book Blurb:
Bake your cookies, light some candles, trim your trees, and be enchanted with thirteen sweet-to-spicy Chanukah, Christmas, and New Year’s novellas that will sweep you from colonial days to contemporary times—each bearing a gift of happily-ever-after grand finales. This joyous collection is…
A Winter Mating by Lia Davis. He returns to Willow Glen with one goal, to claim his mate. Convincing her that she belongs to him will be his toughest challenge, but he’s not above using seduction to get what he wants.
One Night at Christmas by Danica Winters. As the busy owner of a veterinary clinic, Emily Avery always has her hands full of puppies but empty of the one thing she really isn’t sure she wants anyway—a man. When the kind-hearted Derek Night makes an emergency call to help his mom’s naughty pup, they both must step outside of their shells and let the magic of Christmas and one mischievous pup bring them together.
The Christmas Crash by Tessa Lyons. Sparks fly when a relentless optimist and a grieving veterinarian are snowed in together at Christmas. Can they rediscover the magic of the season and find love in the most unexpected place?
His Christmas Date by Sara J. Walker. In this heartwarming story of seasoned romance, Dino Dudley and Hilde McQuire must navigate family drama and their own emotional baggage to find true love.
Jordyn’s Christmas Gift by Marie Morton. Jordyn Billings, a busy marketing executive, is gifted a holiday getaway to Chateau D’Or by her family, where she discovers an unforgettable and life-changing Christmas gift.
Four Chanukahs and a Wedding by Merrie Angel. Widowed and alone in 1973, Millie explores a professional photographer’s life, and stumbles upon Adam–an insatiable adventure seeker related to Jackie Kennedy. Will they find a way to ignite a flame that burns far beyond Millie’s expectations and set ablaze their own festival of lights?
Recipe for Romance by Gloria Ferguson. Ashley McClain wants to win the Holiday Bake-Off with her late mom’s cupcake recipe. Can she join forces with her friend and neighbor to claim the prize and a bit of romance just in time for Christmas?
Before the Rising Sun by V.L. Czerny. Their romance blighted at a colonial ball, Gertrude and Nicholas, forgetting their past acquaintance, are maneuvered by the Christmas spirit to set love loose and so refashion time’s expected plans.
Unexpected Angels by C.L. Hart. Sometimes the best things come together when everything is falling apart.
Christmas Market Magic by Tessie Benton. Sydney Hawthorne hires an escort for a business date, but he’s not what he appears to be, and their mutual deception sparks desire while careers hang in the balance.
A Merry White Christmas by Sally Murphy. Merry London, tasked with organizing an opulent Christmas ball for the McPhersons, faces an unexpected challenge in the form of Joel McPherson, whose fiery charm threatens to melt her icy exterior and unravel her meticulously laid plans.
Lavender and Love Restored by M.J. Gates. Chief architect Jess Carlson is restoring a haunted historic hotel and helping a friendly spirit while reclaiming her life and love before the hotel’s grand reopening on New Year’s Eve.
Marry Me by Midnight by Leah Miles. Navy SEAL Kendall Nelson can’t manage a successful proposal, and single mom Luisa Sanchez has no time for romance.
Proceeds benefit the First Coast Romance Writers, an independent non-profit organization helping writers hone their craft and expand their knowledge of the publishing industry.
BUY LINK AT AMAZON
Here’s an excerpt from UNEXPECTED ANGELS:
“Gran, is Helen feeling up to joining us for dinner tonight, or should I fix her a tray with soup and crackers?”
A sturdy woman in her early thirties stood in the doorway of a large, cluttered kitchen filled with various cooking implements and both working and non-working appliances. She wore a goldenrod-hued apron with an image of a large lemon on the front over a short-sleeved red flannel shirt and black leggings. She reached up to run her hand over her metallic silver pixie shag and groaned.
“Crumbs—now my head is going to smell like French fried onions,” she sighed.
“Are we having a Thanksgiving-style dinner, Dear?” an older woman dressed in black jodhpurs and a short-sleeved black sweater with a white lace collar inquired. The lady’s cheap-looking bouncy black bob wig sat cockeyed on her head.
“Miss Helen, your…” the younger woman started, unconsciously gesturing at her own head. When the lady gave her a puzzled look, she changed the direction of her conversation.
“I’m glad you’re up and about,” she said. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”
“Well, Darling, as my Pete always said, I haven’t a bigger appetite than a bird. Though I did read in one of those clever books written by that delightful science gentleman that birds eat their weight in food every day. If I might just have a yam and a garden salad, that will be enough for this old girl.”
“Come, Helen, your coif is askew. Let’s get you fixed up,” a second elderly lady suggested, turning to give her granddaughter a conspiratorial wink. The younger woman mouthed the words “thank you,” and returned to dinner preparations.
“Where has that grandson of yours gotten off to, Rana?” the first woman inquired.
Author bio and links
About the Author:
C. L. Hart, the owner and sole employee of Naughty Netherworld Press, is spoken of in hushed tones. She is described as The Mad Scribe of the Northeastern Colorado Plains, The Terrible Old Woman, and The Author That Should Not Be.
When not penning sanity-destroying works of dystopian fiction, Lovecraftian fantasy, or old-school horror with the occasional sweet romance thrown in to upset the cosmic apple cart, Ms. Hart enjoys creating baked goods she hopes will be considered palatable.
Ms. Hart shares a home in a remote rural town of 134 souls with her adult son and three cats. Her sense of fashion is best described as Early Twenty-First Century Unmade Bed. This disabled former nurse can usually be found arguing with herself about subplots or rehabilitating eldritch horrors.
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Alana Lorens, author 