I’ve brought along my new release from Evernight Publishing, ‘A Little Mysterious’. This is a very steamy book, despite the poetic blurb, and my new release from Hot Ink Press, ‘Forever Blue’, which is so hot it might be called forever red. Both are 18+ books and I’ve brought along sexy excerpts today.
He’d been sent off course…he thought he was lost…until he found Daisy.
His vampire abilities were special. He belonged to an elite group. Moving home, they are set off course by a storm that lands Dhruv alone, hungry, and desperate in a strange town.
A story of lust, love, and coincidence.
*****
The character, Dhruv, is sexy, dangerous, and mysterious.
Here’s an excerpt it’s steamy. We need to warm up winter somehow.
“Let’s sit for a while. You can tell me about yourself.”
He watched as she placed her bag down on the pebble path, then sit down on the park bench. He sat close and breathed her in. She turned to him. There was hunger in her eyes. He knew that look. She desired him. It was strong and matched his hunger. He sighed. She was so pretty and he wanted to fuck her right then. Take her on the pebble path.
He let himself think about stripping her naked and licking her all over. He imagined stroking her stomach and then her clit. She would be wet for him, and his fingers would slide into her creamy pussy. She would moan and writhe under him, coming over and over, as he fucked her all night.
I need to feed, but not from her. I need her in a different way. I need to fuck her so hard I can’t think any more.
“Daisy…”
His voice was low and deliberately soothing. He took her hand, watching her face, waiting to see the look in her eyes that meant she was afraid of his cold touch. It didn’t come. As he took her hand, and traced his fingertips around the palm of her hand and over her fingers, she closed her eyes in pleasure, leaning toward him. Dhruv bent his head and kissed her.
Copyright Elodie Parkes 2013
*****
‘Forever Blue’ has a different kind of hero, whilst Dhruv is alpha, Jasper in ‘Forever Blue’ my December 20 release is a sweetheart. He’s still incredibly sexy and masculine. Something strange has happened to him and it changes him.
Claudie loves living in the countryside and close to the forests. She’s a filmmaker and works for the wildlife trust. One night she steps onto her patio and sees a man sheltering there. She confronts him and he runs away.
Jasper has watched Claudie for a year. He fell in love with her, but he has a secret, one that might mean he can never approach her.
Will love and fate find a way?
Excerpt:
She looked up into his gorgeous face.
He was propped on one elbow, and smiled at her again. He traced his fingers down her stomach to rest tantalizingly just above where she wanted them to be.
She lifted her hips to him, hoping his hand would slip down and he’d feel how wet she was, how much she needed him.
He closed his eyes as he leaned toward her face and kissed her tenderly. His fingers slid along her wet pussy and then he pushed them into her.
His thumb was against her clit, pressing deliciously. Claudie purred against his lips as they kissed. She rocked against the palm of his hand to have his fingers deeper inside her pussy. She held his shoulder muscles and moaned into his mouth. Her orgasm was building rapidly and she thrust her hips to his pumping.
Against her mouth, he whispered, “Come for me. I’m crazy about you. You feel so good.”
The words filtered through her lust numbed mind as she dug her fingernails into his back when she came, gasping at the intensity of the orgasm.
Jasper removed his fingers gently and lay between her legs.
Claudie ran her fingertips up and down the sides of his body. “Thrust into me.” Her voice made throaty from his nearness, his cock between her thighs, and the way her clit still pulsed.
“Oh, I will.” Jasper whispered into her ear.
A shiver of pleasure ran down to her breasts as he licked her ear. He trailed his tongue down her neck to suck as he slowly pushed his hard thick cock into her pussy. The feel of him, inch after inch, slowly filling her until he gave a final hard thrust was delicious. She held him tight and reached to suck at his neck the way he sucked at hers.
They both softly moaned as they sucked and in unison brought their mouths together to kiss each other slowly, tenderly and then hungrily.
Jasper thrust his cock in and out of her fast and hard. Then he slowed down and raising himself on his knees, he lifted her hips and looked into her eyes.
Claudie’s eyes were only half-open. They were heavy with lust. She felt drugged with sex, but she saw his eyes, and thought they were full of tenderness.
His thrusts were slow as he held her hips and his cock grazed her swollen clit. His hands possessed her hips and he fucked her until she came again moaning his name. Jasper held her under her bottom and pulled her hard onto his cock.
Claudie heard him groan, and then he pounded his cock into her as he came. She opened her eyes to see him come. His eyes were closed and his head thrown back a little. He looked erotic, beautiful, so sexy, and she sighed with pleasure. He’s so gorgeous. I think I’m falling in love with him, or falling in sex with him. I might love him soon. Her thoughts made her smile.
Jasper opened his eyes and gazed at her. He still held her under the bottom. His cock pulsed in her pussy. He smiled. “I’m falling in love with you.” His voice was soft and low.
Copyright Elodie Parkes 2013
About Elodie
Elodie Parkes is a British author writing romance, erotic, contemporary, and often with a twist of mystery, paranormal or suspense. Her books are always steamy, cool stories and hot love scenes.
Elodie lives in Canterbury with her two dogs. She works in an antique shop by day and writes at night, loving the cloak of silent darkness that descends on the rural countryside around her home.
A poet and fiction writer, my work has been published in Poet Lore, Crystal Clear and Cloudy, and Flying Colors Anthology. I am a past attendee of Pikes Peak Writer’s Conferences and the Association of Writers and Writing Programs, and a member of Lighthouse Writer’s Workshop in Denver, Colorado. In addition, I am/was a licensed professional counselor and psychotherapist, who for many years counseled perpetrators of domestic violence and sex offenders, and provided psychotherapy for individuals, groups and families. I hold a master’s degree in contemplative psychotherapy from NaropaUniversity in Boulder, Colorado.
I was born in Kentucky but soon after my parents moved to Detroit. Detroit was where I grew up. As a kid I visited relatives in Kentucky, once for a six-week period, which included a stay with my grandparents. In the novel’s acknowledgements I did assert the usual disclaimers having to do with the fact that Then Like The Blind Man was and is a work of fiction, i.e., a made up story whose characters and situations are fictional in nature (and used fictionally) no matter how reminiscent of characters and situations in real life. That’s a matter for legal departments, however, and has little to do with subterranean processes giving kaleidoscopic-like rise to hints and semblances from memory’s storehouse, some of which I selected and disguised for fiction. That is to say, yes, certain aspects of my history did manifest knowingly at times, at times spontaneously and distantly, as ghostly north-south structures, as composite personae, as moles and stains and tears and glistening rain and dark bottles of beer, rooms of cigarette smoke, hay lofts and pigs. Here’s a quote from the acknowledgements that may serve to illustrate this point.
“Two memories served as starting points for a short story I wrote that eventually became this novel. One was of my Kentucky grandmother as she emerged from a shed with a white chicken held upside down in one of her strong bony hands. I, a boy of nine and a “city slicker” from Detroit, looked on in wonderment and horror as she summarily wrung the poor creature’s neck. It ran about the yard frantically, yes incredibly, as if trying to locate something it had misplaced as if the known world could be set right again, recreated, if only that one thing was found. And then of course it died. The second memory was of lantern light reflected off stones that lay on either side of a path to a storm cellar me and my grandparents were headed for one stormy night beneath a tornado’s approaching din. There was wonderment there too, along with a vast and looming sense of impending doom.”
I read the usual assigned stuff growing up, short stories by Poe, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, The Scarlet Letter, The Cherry Orchard, Hedda Gabler, a little of Hemingway, etc. I also read a lot of Super Hero comic books (also Archie and Dennis the Menace) and Mad Magazine was a favorite too. I was also in love with my beautiful third grade teacher and to impress her pretended to read Gulliver’s Travels for which I received many delicious hugs.
It wasn’t until much later that I read Huckleberry Finn. I did read To Kill A Mockingbird too. I read Bastard Out of Carolina and The Secret Life of Bees. I saw the stage play of Hamlet and read The Story of Edgar Sawtelle too. However, thematic similarities to these works occurred to me only after I was already well into the writing of Then Like The Blind Man. Cormac McCarthy, Pete Dexter, Carson McCullers, Raymond Carver, Flannery O’Conner and Joyce Carol Oates, to name but a few, are among my literary heroes and heroines. Tone and style of these writers have influenced me in ways I’d be hard pressed to name, though I think the discerning reader might feel such influences as I make one word follow another and attempt to “stab the heart with…force” (a la Isaac Babel) by placing my periods (hopefully, sometimes desperately) ‘… just at the right place’.
A storm is brewing in the all-but-forgotten backcountry of Kentucky. And, for young Orbie Ray, the swirling heavens may just have the power to tear open his family’s darkest secrets. Then Like The Blind Man: Orbie’s Story is the enthralling debut novel by Freddie Owens, which tells the story of a spirited wunderkind in the segregated South of the 1950s and the forces he must overcome to restore order in his world. Rich in authentic vernacular and evocative of a time and place long past, this absorbing work of magical realism offered up with a Southern twist will engage readers who relish the Southern literary canon, or any tale well told.
Nine-year-old Orbie already has his cross to bear. After the sudden death of his father, his mother Ruby has off and married his father’s coworker and friend Victor, a slick-talking man with a snake tattoo. Since the marriage, Orbie, his sister Missy, and his mother haven’t had a peaceful moment with the heavy-drinking, fitful new man of the house. Orbie hates his stepfather more than he can stand; this fact lands him at his grandparents’ place in Harlan’s Crossroads, Kentucky, when Victor decides to move the family to Florida without including him. In his new surroundings, Orbie finds little to distract him from Granpaw’s ornery ways and constant teasing jokes about snakes.
As Orbie grudgingly adjusts to life with his doting Granny and carping Granpaw, who are a bit too keen on their black neighbors for Orbie’s taste, not to mention their Pentecostal congregation of snake handlers, he finds his world views changing, particularly when it comes to matters of race, religion, and the true cause of his father’s death. He befriends a boy named Willis, who shares his love of art, but not his skin color. And, when Orbie crosses paths with the black Choctaw preacher, Moses Mashbone, he learns of a power that could expose and defeat his enemies, but can’t be used for revenge. When a storm of unusual magnitude descends, he happens upon the solution to a paradox that is both magical and ordinary. The question is, will it be enough?
Equal parts Hamlet and Huckleberry Finn, it’s a tale that’s both rich in meaning, timely in its social relevance, and rollicking with boyhood adventure. The novel mines crucial contemporary issues, as well as the universality of the human experience while also casting a beguiling light on boyhood dreams and fears. It’s a well-spun, nuanced work of fiction that is certain to resonate with lovers of literary fiction, particularly in the grand Southern tradition of storytelling.
Discuss this book in our PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads by clicking HERE.
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Title: Then Like the Blind Man: Orbie’s Story Author: Freddie Owens Publisher: Blind Sight Publications Pages: 332 Language: English Genre: Historical Fiction/Coming of Age Format: Paperback & eBook
A storm is brewing in the all-but-forgotten backcountry of Kentucky. And, for young Orbie Ray, the swirling heavens may just have the power to tear open his family’s darkest secrets. Then Like The Blind Man: Orbie’s Story is the enthralling debut novel by Freddie Owens, which tells the story of a spirited wunderkind in the segregated South of the 1950s and the forces he must overcome to restore order in his world. Rich in authentic vernacular and evocative of a time and place long past, this absorbing work of magical realism offered up with a Southern twist will engage readers who relish the Southern literary canon, or any tale well told.
Nine-year-old Orbie already has his cross to bear. After the sudden death of his father, his mother Ruby has off and married his father’s coworker and friend Victor, a slick-talking man with a snake tattoo. Since the marriage, Orbie, his sister Missy, and his mother haven’t had a peaceful moment with the heavy-drinking, fitful new man of the house. Orbie hates his stepfather more than he can stand; this fact lands him at his grandparents’ place in Harlan’s Crossroads, Kentucky, when Victor decides to move the family to Florida without including him. In his new surroundings, Orbie finds little to distract him from Granpaw’s ornery ways and constant teasing jokes about snakes.
As Orbie grudgingly adjusts to life with his doting Granny and carping Granpaw, who are a bit too keen on their black neighbors for Orbie’s taste, not to mention their Pentecostal congregation of snake handlers, he finds his world views changing, particularly when it comes to matters of race, religion, and the true cause of his father’s death. He befriends a boy named Willis, who shares his love of art, but not his skin color. And, when Orbie crosses paths with the black Choctaw preacher, Moses Mashbone, he learns of a power that could expose and defeat his enemies, but can’t be used for revenge. When a storm of unusual magnitude descends, he happens upon the solution to a paradox that is both magical and ordinary. The question is, will it be enough?
Equal parts Hamlet and Huckleberry Finn, it’s a tale that’s both rich in meaning, timely in its social relevance, and rollicking with boyhood adventure. The novel mines crucial contemporary issues, as well as the universality of the human experience while also casting a beguiling light on boyhood dreams and fears. It’s a well-spun, nuanced work of fiction that is certain to resonate with lovers of literary fiction, particularly in the grand Southern tradition of storytelling.
CHAPTER ONE
EVERYBODY ON EDGE
Thursday, June 6th 1959
Momma and even Victor said I’d be coming to St. Petersburg with them. They’d been saying it for weeks. Then Victor changed his mind. He was my stepdaddy, Victor was. It would be easier on everybody, he said, if I stayed with Granny and Granpaw in Kentucky. Him and Momma had enough Florida business to take care of without on top of everything else having to take care of me too. I was a handful, Victor said. I kept everybody on edge. If you asked me, the only edge everybody was kept on was Victor’s. As far as I was concerned, him and Momma could both go to hell. Missy too. I was fed up trying to be good. Saying everything was okay when it wasn’t. Pretending I understood when I didn’t.
Momma’s car was a 1950 model. Daddy said it was the first Ford car to come automatic. I didn’t know what ‘automatic’ was but it sure had silver ashtrays, two of them on the back of the front seats. They were all popped open with gum wrappers and cigarette butts and boy did they smell.
One butt fell on top a bunch of comic books I had me in a pile. The pile leaned cockeyed against my dump truck. Heat came up from there, little whiffs of tail pipe smoke, warm and stuffy like the insides of my tennis shoes.
It rattled too – the Ford car did. The glove box. The mirrors. The windows. The knobs on the radio. The muffler under the floorboard. Everything rattled.
We’d been traveling hard all day, barreling down Road 3 from Detroit to Kentucky. Down to Harlan’s Crossroads. I sat on the edge of the back seat, watching the fence posts zoom by. Missy stood up next to the side window, sucking her thumb, the fingers of her other hand jammed between her legs. She was five years old. I was nine.
I’d seen pictures of Florida in a magazine. It had palm trees and alligators and oranges. It had long white beaches and pelicans that could dive-bomb the water. Kentucky was just old lonesome farmhouses and brokeback barns. Gravel roads and chickens in the yard.
Road 3 took us down big places like Fort Wayne and Muncie. It took us down a whole bunch of little places too, places with funny names like Zaneville and Deputy and Speed.
Missy couldn’t read.
“Piss with care,” I said.
“Oh Orbie, you said a bad word.”
“No. Piss with care, Missy. That sign back there. That’s what it said.”
Missy’s eyes went wide. “It did not. Momma’ll whip you.”
Later on we got where there was a curve in the road and another sign. “Look Missy. Do not piss.”
“It don’t say that.”
“Yes it does. See. When the road goes curvy like that you’re not supposed to pee. But when it’s straight, it’s okay; but you have to do it careful cause that’s what the sign says. Piss with care!”
“It don’t say that.”
“Does too.”
We crossed a big pile of water on a bridge with towers and giant ropey things looping down. On the other side was Louisville, Kentucky. After that was just small towns and little white stores with red gas-pumps, farm houses and big barns and fields, empty fields and fields of corn and fields where there were cows and horses and pigs and long rows of tobacco plants Momma said cigarettes was made of.
I had me a war on all the towns going down.
Tat Tat Tat Tat! Blam! There goes Cox Creek!
Bombs away over Nazareth!
Blam! Blam! Boom! Hodgekinsville never had a chance!
“Let’s keep it down back there!” Victor said.
“A grenade rolled into Victor’s lap!” I whispered. “BlamOOO! Blowed him to smithereens!”
I wished Momma’d left him back there in Toledo like she said she would. She was always threatening around like that, but then she would get to feeling sorry and forget all about it. She’d been mad ever since Victor spilled the beans about Daddy. Victor was mad too, drinking his beer and driving Momma’s Ford too fast. After Louisville he started throwing his empties out the window.
I liked to watch them bust on the road.
“Pretty country, Kentucky,” Victor said.
**
It was the end of daytime and a big orangey-gold sun ball hung way off over the hills, almost touching the trees. The Ford jerked over a ditch at the foot of a patchy burnt yard, thundering up a load of bubble noises before Victor shut it down.
“Get off me,” Missy said.
“I ain’t bothering you.”
“Yes you are.”
“But Missy, look!”
A big boned woman in a housedress had come to stand in the yard down by the well. She was looking into the sun – orange light in her face – standing upright, sharp edged and stiff, like an electrical tower, one arm bent like a triangle, the other raised with the elbow so the hand went flat out over her eyes like a cap. She stared out of wrinkles and scribbles and red leather cheekbones. Her nose was sunburned, long but snubbed off at the end, sticking out above a mouth that had no lips, a crack that squirmed and changed itself from long to short and back to long again.
Missy’s eyes widened. “Who is that?”
“Granny,” I said. “Don’t you remember?”
I saw Granpaw too, sitting squat-legged against Granny’s little Jesus Tree. He was turning in one big hand a piece of wood, shaving it, whittling it outward with a jackknife. The brim of a dusty Panama shadowed his eyes. In back of him stood the house, balanced on little piles of creek rock. You could see jars and cans and other old junk scattered underneath. It was the same dirty white color as before, the house was, but the sun ball had baked it orange, and now I could see at one end where somebody had started to paint.
As we got out of the car, the big boned figure in the housedress let out with a whoop, hollering, “Good God A Mighty! If it tain’t Ruby and them younguns of hers! Come all the way down here from Dee-troit!” Blue-green veins bulged and tree-limbed down the length of her arms.
Victor stayed out by the Ford, the round top of my ball cap hanging out his pocket. A gas station man had given it to me on the way down. It was gray and had a red winged horse with the word ‘Mobilgas’ printed across the front. Victor had swiped it away, said I shouldn’t be accepting gifts from strangers. I should have asked him about it first. Now it was in his back pocket, crushed against the Ford’s front fender where he leaned with an unlit cigar, rolling between his lips. The sun was in back of him, halfway swallowed up by a distant curvy line of hilltop trees.
“Hidy Victor!” Granny called. “Ya’ll have a good trip?”
Victor put on a smooth voice. “Fine Mrs. Wood. Real fine. You can’t beat blue grass for beauty, can you?” A long shadow stretched out on the ground in front of him.
Granny laughed. “Ain’t been no farther than Lexington to know!”
Granpaw changed his position against the tree, leaned forward a little bit and spat a brown gob, grunting out the word ‘shit’ after he did. He dragged the back of his knife hand sandpaper-like over the gap of his mouth.
“I want you just to looky here!” Granny said. “If tain’t Missy-Two-Shoes and that baby doll of hers!”
Missy backed away.
“Aw, Missy now,” Momma said. “That’s Granny.”
Missy smiled then and let Granny grab her up. Her legs went around Granny’s waist. She had on a pink Sunday dress with limp white bows dangling off its bottom, the back squashed and wadded like an overused hankie.
“How’s my little towhead?” Granny said.
“Good.” Missy held out her baby doll. “This is Mattie, Granny. I named her after you.”
“Well ain’t you the sweetest thang!” Granny grinned so big her wrinkles went out in circles like water does after a stone’s dropped in. She gave Missy a wet kiss and set her down. Then her grin flashed toward Momma. “There’s my other little girl!”
Momma, no taller than Granny’s chin, did a little toe dance up to her, smiling all the way. She hugged Granny and Granny in turn beat the blue and red roses on the back of Momma’s blouse.
“I just love it to death!” Granny said. “Let me look at you!” She held Momma away from her. Momma wiggled her hips; slim curvy hips packed up neat in a tight black skirt. She kissed the air in front of Granny.
Like Marilyn Monroe. Like in the movies.
“Jezebel!” Granny laughed. “You always was a teaser.”
They talked about the trip to Florida, about Victor’s prospects – his good fortune, his chance – about Armstrong and the men down there and that Pink Flamingo Hotel. They talked about Daddy too, and what a good man he’d been.
“It liked to’ve killed us all, what happened to Jessie,” Granny said.
“I know Mamaw. If I had more time, I’d go visit him awhile.” Momma looked out over the crossroads toward the graveyard. I looked too but there was nothing to see now, nothing but shadows and scrubby bushes and the boney black limbs of the cottonwood trees. I remembered what Victor’d said about the nigger man, about the crane with the full ladle.
“I want you just to look what the cat’s drug in Mattie!” Granpaw had walked over from his place by the tree.
“Oh Papaw!” Momma hugged Granpaw’s rusty old neck and kissed him two or three times.
“Shoo! Ruby you’ll get paint all over me!”
Momma laughed and rubbed at a lip mark she’d left on his jaw.
“How you been daughter?”
“All right I reckon,” Momma said. She looked back toward Victor who was still up by the Ford. Victor took the cigar out of his mouth. He held it to one side, pinched between his fingers.
“How’s that car running Victor?” Granpaw called.
“Not too bad, Mr. Wood,” Victor answered, “considering the miles we’ve put on her.”
Granpaw made a bunch of little spit-spit sounds, flicking them off the end of his tongue as he did. He hawked up another brown gob and let it fall to the ground, then he gave Victor a nod and walked over. He walked with a limp, like somebody stepping off in a ditch, carrying the open jackknife in one hand and that thing, whatever it was he’d been working on, in the other.
Granny’s mouth got hard. “Ruby, I did get that letter of yorn. I done told you it were all right to leave that child. I told you in that other letter, ‘member?”
“You sure it’s not any trouble?” Momma said.
Granny’s eyes widened. “Trouble? Why, tain’t no trouble a-tall.” She looked over my way. “I want you just to look how he’s growed! A might on the skinny side though.”
“He’ll fill out,” Momma said.
“Why yes he will. Come youngun. Come say hello to your old Granny.”
“Orbie, be good now,” Momma said.
I went a little closer, but I didn’t say hello.
“He’ll be all right,” Granny said.
“I hope so Mamaw. He’s been a lot of trouble over this.“
Veins, blue rivers, tree roots, flooded down Granny’s gray legs. More even than on her arms. And you could see white bulges and knots and little red threads wiggling out. “I’ll bet you they’s a lot better things going on here than they is in Floridy,” she said. “I bet you, if you had a mind to, Granpaw would show you how to milk cows and hoe tobacco. I’ll learn you everything there is to know about chickens. Why, you’ll be a realfarm hand before long!”
“I don’t wanna be no damned farm hand,” I said.
“Boy, I’ll wear you out!” Momma said. “See what I mean, Mamaw?”
“He’ll be all right,” Granny said.
The sun was on its way down. Far to the east of it two stars trailed after a skinny slice of moon. I could see Old Man Harlan’s Country Store across the road, closed now, but with a porch light burning by the door.
A ruckus of voices had started up by the Ford, Granpaw and Victor trying to talk at the same time. They’d propped the Ford’s hood up with a stick and were standing out by the front.
Victor had again taken up his place, leaning back against the front fender, crushing my ball cap. “That’s right, that’s what I said! No good at all.” He held the cigar shoulder level – lit now – waving it with his upraised arm one side to the other. “The Unions are ruining this country, Mr. Wood. Bunch of meddlesome, goddamned troublemakers. Agitators, if you catch my drift.” He took a pull on the cigar then blew the smoke over Granpaw’s head.
Granpaw was stout-looking but a whole head shorter than Victor. He stood there in his coveralls, doubled up fists hanging at the end of each arm, thick as sledgehammers – one with the open jackknife, the other with that thing he’d been working on. “Son, you got a problem?”
“The rank and file,” Victor said. “They’re the problem! They’ll believe anything the goddamn Union tells them.”
Granpaw leaned over and spat. “You don’t know nothin’.”
“Anything,” Victor said.
“What?”
Victor took the cigar out of his mouth and smiled. “I don’t know anything is what you mean to say. It’s proper grammar.”
“I know what I aim to say,” Granpaw said, “I don’t need no northern jackass a tellin’ me.” Granpaw’s thumb squeezed against the jackknife blade.
Cut him Granpaw! Knock that cigar out his mouth!
“Strode!” Granny shouted. “Come away from there!”
Momma hurried over. “Victor, I told you.”
“I was just sharing some of my thoughts with Mr. Wood here,” Victor said. “He took it the wrong way, that’s all. He doesn’t understand.”
“I understand plenty, City Slicker.” Granpaw closed the knife blade against his coveralls and backed away.
“Ain’t no need in this Strode!” Granny said. “Victor’s come all the way down here from Dee-troit. He’s company. And you a man of God!”
“I’ll cut him a new asshole, he keeps on that a way,” Granpaw said.
Momma was beside herself. “Apologize Victor. Apologize to Papaw for talking that way.”
“For telling the truth?”
“For insulting him!”
Victor shook his head. “You apologize. You’re good at that.”
Over where the sun had gone down the sky had turned white-blue. Fireflies winked around the roof of the well, around the branches of the Jesus Tree. Victor walked around to the front of the car and slammed the hood down harder than was necessary. “Come on Orbie! Time to get your stuff!”
I couldn’t believe it was about to happen, even though I’d been told so many times it was going to. I started to cry.
“Get down here!” Victor yelled.
Momma met me at the car. She took out a hankerchief and wiped at my tears. She looked good. She always looked good.
“I don’t want you to go,” I said.
“Oh now,” Momma said. “Let’s not make Victor any madder than he already is, okay?” She helped bring my things from the car. I carried my tank and my box of army men and crayons. Momma brought my dump truck, the toy cars, my comic books and drawing pad. We put them all on the porch where Missy sat playing with her doll. Momma hugged me one last time, got Missy up in her arms and headed to the car.
Victor was already behind the wheel, gunning the engine. “Come on Ruby! Let’s go!”
“You just hold on a minute!” Momma put Missy in the car and turned to hug Granny. “Bye Mamaw.”
“Goodbye Sweetness. I hope you find what you’re looking for down there.”
“Right now I’d settle for a little peace of mind,” Momma said; then she hugged Granpaw. “I’m real sorry about Victor Papaw.”
Granpaw nodded. “You be careful down there in Floridy.”
“Bye Momma! Bye Missy!” I yelled.
Momma closed her door and Victor backed out. I hurried down to where Granny and Granpaw were standing. The Ford threw dust and gravels as it fishtailed up the road.
Granpaw tapped me on the shoulder. “This one’s for you son,” he said and handed down the piece he’d been working on. It was a little cross of blond wood about a foot high with a burnt snake draped lengthwise along its shoulders. Granpaw moved his finger over the snake’s curvy body. “Scorched that in there with a hot screw driver, I did.”
It was comical in a way, but strange too; I mean to make a snake there – right where Jesus was supposed to be. Like most everything else in my life, it made no sense at all. Momma’s Ford had disappeared over the hill. Pale road-dust moved like a ghost into the cornfields under the half-dark sky. It drifted back toward the skull of Granpaw’s barn, back toward the yard. I stood there watching it all, listening as Momma’s Ford rumbled away.
Most of my experience with fairies in fiction comes either from fairy tales or from children’s books, yet I have always loved the old fairy lore. When growing up as well as the usual fairy tales, I also had a couple of books with fairy tales from around the world. In the ones where fairies featured they were always tricksters and never to be trusted…and yet they quiet often revealed a person’s true heart.
My love of all things fairy was amplified when I was given a set of the Fairy Ring Oracle cards and I discovered even more fairies and their background (which of course led to more research…).
But it was several more years before I had an idea for a fairy story. While I knew there were other fairy paranormal romances out there, I hadn’t actually read any. However I think there is enough fairy lore out there for writers to put their own spin on things (much like has been done with vampires).
Because my stories tend to be on the darker side I knew I was going to draw on the old legends where fairies were powerful and to be feared. They ruled the underworld and loved to trick humans who weren’t smart enough to avoid them.
Fairies these days tend to be seen as diminutive benevolent little flutterbys. They were downgraded from gods, or demi-gods, to little more than the imaginings of children.
I imagine some fairies would care and others wouldn’t as while humans have forgotten, nothing has changed for the fairies. They still decide the fate of souls and rule the underworld. They still take the occasional human as they need a human to reproduce (there has to be some reason for kidnapping all those mortals in the old stories) and they still meddle in mortal affairs…only these days people don’t blame the fairies.
While creating my fairy world I was very aware that the fairy lore that is still around is old. Which means it’s not current news from Annwyn so I had to imagine what had changed over the centuries. Kind of a where are they now? Since my fairies love to plot and scheme, what better way to show that than with a battle for the throne looming?
I also had create Annwyn, the realm where they live, but I didn’t want it to be static. So Annwyn changes depending on what is happening. With the old king dying Annwyn is no longer in summer, the leaves are falling and everyone is worried about who will claim the throne, his son or the challenger (who is revealed in Lord of the Hunt).
Annwyn is full of beautiful fairies…but their looks concealed cunning and cruelty. They can be charming and yet terrifying. Capable of compassion and trickery. Their morals and rules are not the same as ours. They couldn’t be as they live for so much longer.
I hope that I have created a place of great beauty and danger.
The realm of the fairies might be unbelievably beautiful, but its people are notoriously treacherous. Raised among mortals, Taryn hoped to avoid her fairy heritage her whole life. But now she must cross over to Annwyn and appeal to the King to pardon her exiled parents, or they’re sure to die. And to get to the King, she’ll first have to face the Lord of the Hunt…
He Can’t Imagine Life Without Her…
Verden, Lord of the Hunt, is sworn to serve to King. But the moment he sees Taryn, the attraction is instant and devastating. How can he not help the beautiful, brave young woman who refuses to bend to the will of the court? Yet the power in Annwyn is shifting, its magic failing. No matter how much he may love Taryn, the Hunter knows that abandoning his duty could bring down the mortal world forever…
Praise for the works of Shona Husk:
“Romantic and intriguing.” —Publishers Weekly
“Enthralling.” —Booklist
“A great fairy-tale feel…dark, fresh, and tantalizing.” —Anna’s Book Blog
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Three time ARRA finalist Shona Husk lives in Western Australia at the edge of the Indian Ocean. Blessed with a lively imagination she spent most of her childhood making up stories. As an adult she discovered romance novels and hasn’t looked back. Drawing on history and myth, she writes about heroes who are armed and dangerous but have a heart of gold—sometimes literally. She is the author of the Shadowlands Series and the Annwyn Series. You can find out more information about Shona and her edgy romances at http://www.shonahusk.com/ or follow her on Twitter, @ShonaHusk.
Welcome to Sweet Pepper, Tennessee. Nestled in the Great Smoky Mountains, it’s home to the hottest and sweetest peppers in the world—as well as at least one ghost and a hotbed of secrets…
GETTING WARMER
Fire Chief Stella Griffin is working to solve the mysterious death of her predecessor, Eric Gamlyn—who also haunts her cabin. Yet the more she learns, the more burning questions she must answer. Just as Stella thinks she has a lead from Deputy Chum, someone snuffs her hopes—and the lawman.
Adding fuel to the fire, Stella’s parents soon arrive—with her ex-boyfriend—hoping to persuade her to return to Chicago. Now Stella is torn between the life she left behind and uncovering what happened to her ghostly friend. But she’d better think fast or more than her investigation could go up in flames…
J.J. Cook’s first mystery, That Old Flame of Mine, became an instant bestseller in 2013. Playing with Fire is the second book in that series. They write award-winning, bestselling mystery fiction as Joyce and Jim Lavene, and Ellie Grant. They have written and published more than 70 novels for Harlequin, Berkley, Amazon, and Gallery Books along with hundreds of non-fiction articles for national and regional publications. They live in rural North Carolina with their family.
Review (4.5 Stars): One of the things that I love about Stella is her sheer determination and drive to be the best fire chief that she can be for Sweet Pepper. She only planned to stay there a few months to help get the volunteer fire brigade set up, but circumstances have kept her longer than originally planned. She is just an awesome character that rides a Harley, lives in a haunted cabin and is not afraid of anything or anyone.
In Playing with Fire, Stella has been thinking about going home but more evidence has surfaced regarding the death of Fire Chief, Eric Gamlyn. Eric is currently haunting Stella’s cabin and she is the only one that can communicate with him. When Deputy Chum gives her key information about the night Eric died and is soon murdered himself, Stella is compelled to help discover the truth. Only now, her family has arrived in Sweet Pepper to encourage her to come home and leave Sweet Pepper for good.
Playing with Fire is the second book in the Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade Mystery series and this series keep getting better and better. J.J. Cook has created a delightful series that I have to say is one of my favorites. This book ends on a cliffhanger which caught me off-guard but I can’t wait for the next book to spend more time with Stella and the crew of Sweet Pepper.
Welcome to Books-n-Kisses Margaret, can you please share with us a little about yourself?
I’ve been writing for thirty-five years and have sold 92 books. Recently I began putting my out of print books out. I write full-time now, but I used to teach school (high school students with special needs) until I retired. I have a husband, one son and four granddaughters. I love to spend time with them and my friends going to a movie and lunch.
Have you always wanted to be an author
I’ve have always been a storyteller but not until I was an adult did I think of being a writer.
What is your most interesting writing quirk?
If a word is underlined red in my manuscript indicating it is misspelled, I have to stop and find the right spelling.
Can you please tell us about your latest book(s)?
Dangerous Pursuit is the first book in The Protectors Series (Dangerous Interlude and Dangerous Paradise are the other two books). Dangerous Pursuit is my take on Romancing the Stone.
Blurb for Dangerous Pursuit:
Reading about danger never prepared Samantha Prince for the desperate phone call from her brother in Brazil that sent her from the safety of her New Orleans bookstore into the rugged, inhospitable Amazon in search of him and a hidden treasure. And reading about romance never prepared Samantha to resist the mysterious appeal of Brock Slader, a guide she hired to help her in her quest.
primitive headhunters and very up-to-date gunmen, she struggles to keep their relationship strictly business. Will Samantha survive the dangers in the jungle only to have her heart broken by a man who lives on the edge—no strings attached?
How did you come with the idea for this story?
I always loved romantic adventure with suspense and the Amazon has fascinated me. So I asked myself what would happen if you were down in an environment totally alien to you with people after you? Can you share with us your current work(s) in progress?
I’m currently working on a novella tied to my Guardians, Inc. Series(about female bodyguards for Love Inspired Suspense). This novella will come out in March in an Inspy Kisses collection with five other authors.
Who is the one author that you would love to meet someday and why?
I’ve been lucky. I’ve meet a lot of the authors I admired. Last year I meet my favorite author, James Rollins, at the RWA national conference. I was thrilled and really enjoyed talking with him.
What is the best piece of advice you would give to someone that wants to get into writing?
Not to get discouraged and keep writing. I had an eight year dry spell after publishing 20 books. When it ended, I went on to publish over 70 more books.
Can you share with us something off your bucket list.
To go to Australia. I’ve always wanted to go there.
What is in your To Read Pile that you are dying to start or upcoming release you can’t wait for?
A James Rollins’ book on my iPad. It’s calling my name as I type.
Margaret Daley, an award-winning author of eighty-five books, has been married for over forty years and is a firm believer in romance and love. When she isn’t traveling, she’s writing love stories, often with a suspense thread and corralling her three cats that think they rule her household. To find out more about Margaret visit her website, Twitter at and Facebook.
Dangerous Pursuit is the first book in The Protectors Series
Reading about danger never prepared Samantha Prince for the desperate phone call from her brother in Brazil that sent her from the safety of her New Orleans bookstore into the rugged, inhospitable Amazon in search of him and a hidden treasure. And reading about romance never prepared Samantha to resist the mysterious appeal of Brock Slader, a guide she hired to help her in her quest.
Alone with Brock in an alien world of orchids and anacondas, primitive headhunters and very up-to-date gunmen, she struggles to keep their relationship strictly business. Will Samantha survive the dangers in the jungle only to have her heart broken by a man who lives on the edge—no strings attached?
Coming Soon Dangerous Interlude and Dangerous Paradise
Excerpt: Chapter One from Dangerous Pursuit by Margaret Daley
As Samantha Prince leaned forward to straighten the books on a lower shelf, her long braid fell across her shoulder. Impatiently she flipped it back, considering again whether she should cut it short. Some people called her hair-color auburn; she called it red. Fiery-haired auburns were the heroines in the romance books she read. The color did not describe her.
“Samantha, what do you think of this book? I’m going out of town again and need something to keep me warm at night,” a stylish businesswoman in her forties said.
“A very good mystery, Mrs. Carson, but I wasn’t impressed with the main character. Not enough backbone to get out of all the scrapes he and the heroine got into.”
“It sounds like more adventure than mystery. Once I start a good adventure I can’t put it down and end up reading through the night. All those cliff-hangers, you know.” Mrs. Carson scanned another book from a display near the checkout counter.
Samantha smiled to herself. Mrs. Carson always came into her bookstore right before a business trip and went through almost every book on the shelves, looking for just the right one that was a great story but wouldn’t keep her up past midnight. Samantha had never found a novel with both ingredients, and she read at least half the books that came through her store. It was her favorite pastime, to lose herself in the lives of the characters and imagine herself doing things that she would never do in her real life.
“Maybe I should try a romance this time,” Mrs. Carson continued, shifting her attention to another section. “The last mystery I read had me waking up every time I heard anything. And you know in a hotel how many sounds you can hear.”
Actually, she didn’t. She had never been anywhere, unless she counted visiting Aunt Lou. She had planned a trip to Europe two summers before but had to cancel it. She was beginning to believe her lack of travel experience was a crime at the age of thirty.
“A good love story,” Samantha said, indicating the book Mrs. Carson picked up. “That ought to keep you warm at night. It’s very hot.”
She waved her hand to show just how hot the book was. While Mrs. Carson examined both books again, Samantha glanced around at the rows of bookshelves. After three years her business was doing very well—at least well enough for her to afford a vacation. Maybe she’d go to some exotic place, she thought as Mrs. Carson decided to buy both the romance and the mystery.
When Mrs. Carson left the Purple Ink, the noise of New Orleans traffic and a blast of cold air rushed into the shop. Samantha shivered and pulled the front of her brown sweater more securely across her chest. Somewhere exotic and warm, she amended. In her mind the only good thing to come from cold weather was curling up in bed under layers of wool blankets with a great book to read while sipping a steaming cup of hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows in it.
Tonight, she vowed as she began to finish restocking the shelves of the adventure section. Pausing to examine a cover on one book, she was instantly reminded of her younger brother, Mark, who traveled the world, going from one adventure to the next while she remained in New Orleans, working day after day to make Purple Ink a success. The biggest adventure Samantha ever encountered was the rush hour traffic on Interstate 10.
Sighing heavily, she completed her task and noted it was time to close up for the day. Standing, she stretched to ease the ache in her lower back. It was time to start exercising again. The holiday season had been busy, and she got out of the routine once Thanksgiving had passed. Now it was the first of February, and she had ignored her better sense and found excuse after excuse not to get back to it. Though exercising would never head her list of favorite things to do, she promised herself to sign up for a new aerobics class. Soon. Maybe in a month or so.
“Samantha, I’m going. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at nine thirty,” Nell, Samantha’s assistant, said as she gathered up her purse and coat.
“Don’t forget we have to start the inventory tomorrow. Can you stay late?”
“Yes.”
“I have everything lined up, so it shouldn’t take as long as last year.”
Nell shook her head. “You are the most organized human being I’ve ever met. If I know you, you’ll have devised a way to cut our time nearly in half.”
“Oh, at least. Why else invest in a computer?” Samantha laughed and waved her friend on.
Nell was always teasing Samantha about how neat and orderly she was. But she had practically raised her younger brother while her mother had worked to support them. As a teenager she had juggled school, part-time work, and housework. It hadn’t been easy, but her mother and younger brother had depended on her, so she had learned to be organized the hard way.
Samantha went through the same routine to close her shop as she had done ever since she had bought it. After one final survey of her store, she went out the back door to her car.
Mark always laughed about her and her routines, but they gave her a sense of security and stability that was important to her. Neither she nor Mark, as children, nor their mother, had had much of either. It didn’t seem to bother her brother, but it did bother her.
When she finally arrived at her house after grocery shopping, exhaustion from a long day gripped her. She picked up the bag of food and was planning her dinner as she stepped into her house. The phone was ringing, and she nearly dropped the bag as she rushed to pick up the receiver.
“Hello, Samantha Prince speaking.”
“Sam! You’re home finally. Why isn’t your cell working?” Her brother’s voice was faint, but he sounded frantic.
“Mark, what’s wrong? Where in the world are you?” Samantha set the grocery bag on the kitchen table and dug in her purse for her cell phone. She’d left it on silent, something she did often.
“Manaus.”
The long distance connection wasn’t a good one, and Samantha had to strain to hear his answer. “The Amazon?”
“Yes.”
“The last I heard you were in Rio. Why are you there?” She had read plenty of books set in the jungle and couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to go there.
“It’s a long story. I don’t have the time to go into it.”
The tone of her brother’s voice, laced with impatience, alarmed Samantha. Tiny prickles of fear rose on the nape of her neck. “Why did you call?” She forced her voice to remain calm while her grip tightened on the receiver. He was her only close relative, their mother having died four years before. Though they didn’t see each other a lot, she loved him very much and their relationship was a good one.
“I need a thousand dollars to get out of here. I needed it yesterday. Can you send me the money?” Mark’s voice faded in and out.
“You said you need a thousand dollars?”
“Yes, Sis. Fast.”
There was no mistaking the desperation in his answer. The tingles of fear quickly spread down her body. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” As a child she had rescued her brother from a few situations. He had always been daring; there was a bold recklessness about him that was very appealing, yet dangerous too. They were like night and day.
He laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. “You could say that. I have someone who would like to get his hands on me. Can you wire it, Sis?”
“Yes, of course. But I can’t do anything until tomorrow morning. Everything is closed.”
He mumbled something she couldn’t understand, then said in a clear voice, “I’ll try to make—wait for it.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Grand Hotel. It doesn’t live up to its name, but it’s all I could afford.”
“Can I send it to you there?”
“No! I’ll have to pick it up at the bank. It’s safer. I can’t trust anyone.”
Samantha shuddered. “Safer? Mark, please tell me what’s going on.”
Static crackled over the line, and Samantha placed her hand over her other ear as if that would help her hear him better.
“If anything happens to me, Sam, there’s something of great value under the altar of the Para Mission church. Got that?”
“Yes, but—”
There was the sound of male voices in the background, then Mark said quickly, “Got to go. Love you.”
The phone went dead.
Samantha collapsed into a chair, her whole body trembling. She thought about pinching herself; surely she had dreamed the telephone conversation. But the fear and sense of urgency reminded her of the reality of the phone call, and she was chilled with dread.
Something of great value under the altar of the Para Mission church?
What? How was Mark involved? Was it something illegal? Why was he running scared? And from whom? Her mind felt as if it would explode from all the unanswered questions bombarding her.
A thousand dollars! That would wipe out most of her savings for her vacation, but if Mark was in trouble, Samantha would sell her house and her bookstore if she had to.
If Mark was in trouble. From the sound of his voice he was in trouble. She knew she would be at the bank first thing in the morning.
* * *
Samantha stood frozen, holding her check for one thousand dollars in both hands. Mark hadn’t picked it up. It was hard for her to believe that her money had been returned that morning. But if he was going to pick it up, Mark would have in a week’s time.
Her hands began to shake, and she almost dropped the check. What or who had prevented her brother from getting the money?
The questions she had been avoiding all morning invaded her thoughts, and she sank into her desk chair in the back of her bookstore.
“What should I do?” she asked the silent walls.
Call! She’d call him at the Grand Hotel in Manaus. Maybe he was still there and didn’t need the money anymore and that was why he hadn’t picked it up. Maybe everything was fine now. Maybe the moon really was made of cheese.
Apprehensive about what she would find out, Samantha placed an international call to Brazil. When the man who answered at the hotel couldn’t speak English, she was at a loss.
“May I speak with Senor Prince?” Samantha spoke very slowly and in a loud voice, as if that would make things clear. She had never been good at learning foreign languages and envied her brother, who knew five fluently.
The stream of words that followed was unintelligible. Frustrated, Samantha finally hung up, concluding there was no Senor Prince at the Grand Hotel. Next she put a call through to Mark’s apartment in Rio and prayed that her brother would answer. On the twentieth ring she gave up and slammed the phone down, even more frustrated than before. Her fear returned in full force.
For five minutes she stared at the check, her mind churning with possible courses of action. Suddenly she turned to her laptop and punched in an address. Five minutes later she’d booked a flight to Rio.
She would go to Mark’s place in Rio and find out what she could about his whereabouts. Since he was no longer at the hotel in Manaus, maybe he had returned to Rio and wasn’t in his apartment at the moment. She would keep calling until she had to leave the next morning. She prayed she was panicking for no reason.
Thirty minutes later she was on her way home to pack for Brazil, having left a stunned Nell behind to run the bookstore. When she had thought about a vacation in a warm, exotic place last week, this wasn’t how she had envisioned planning it. Samantha had imagined herself going to a travel agent and getting plenty of brochures on different tropical locales. Then she would have gone home, spread them all out on her kitchen table, and slowly read through each one until she had narrowed her selection down to one. Everything would have been done in an orderly, slow fashion. Wasn’t part of the joy of a vacation the anticipation beforehand?
While sitting at a stoplight, her conversation with Nell returned to Samantha’s mind.
“I can’t believe you’re dropping everything to go to Brazil to look for your brother! This isn’t you. You don’t do things like this,” Nell had said.
“My brother doesn’t disappear like this either. I can’t sit here and wonder what’s happened to him. I’ve got to find out. I can’t get any answers over the phone.”
“So you’re flying thousands of miles to get some answers?”
“Do you know of a better way?”
Nell had shaken her head. “Don’t worry about the shop. I’ll take care of it. If your brother calls, what should I tell him?”
“Find out where he is and tell him to stay put. I’ll check in with you every few days.” Horns blared behind Samantha, and she realized she was sitting at a green light with angry motorists waiting on her. Embarrassed, she gunned her engine and sped forward.
She welcomed the familiarity of her small house, and before attempting to pack, she fixed herself a cup of hot tea and sat down at the kitchen table to organize what she had to do in the next twelve hours before she left for Rio.
Passport. Thank goodness she had one from that aborted trip to Europe.
Clothes? What kind of clothes should she take to Rio? Wasn’t it summer there? Clothing for a hot, humid environment. A couple of sundresses. Maybe a pair or two of shorts. A bathing suit. Sandals.
The last thing Samantha put on her list of necessities was the latest book she was reading, Jungle Fever. It was part of a shipment that had arrived at the store the previous day. Samantha had been drawn to the title because of Mark, but now she could hardly put it down. It was an engrossing tale of adventure and intrigue by a new author whom Samantha thought would go far. She had gotten to the part where the hero had just rescued the heroine from a tribe of headhunters and they were fleeing for their lives.
With her list completed, she began packing and finished at eleven. After showering and getting ready for bed, she tried to sleep, but her mind danced with images of her brother, herself, and his unknown enemy. She sat up in bed, switched on the light, and started reading the next chapter of her book.
Harper swung the machete, striking the thick undergrowth over and over. The swish of the blade filled the jungle stillness with the urgency of their escape. Diana clung to Harper’s hand, glancing constantly over her shoulders as they raced through the jungle. She could hear the Indians behind her. She could imagine their savage faces as the headhunters followed, so sure she and Harper would be caught. This was the headhunters’ territory. They ruled it as they had for hundreds of years: by fear.
Samantha was immediately whisked into another world and didn’t put the novel down until she couldn’t keep her eyelids open another minute. She glanced at her bedside clock and gasped. It was three in the morning. She had to leave at seven!
Sleep finally descended, but it was a restless sleep, saturated with pictures of painted Indians with lip discs and spears tipped in poison. Samantha tossed and turned, visualizing herself as Diana as she last read about her: standing at the top of a waterfall with a rushing river in front of her and the headhunters in back. Either way Diana went appeared to be instant death.
Cold reality returned the next morning as Samantha hurried to make her flight to Rio via Miami. She wasn’t able to catch her breath until the plane was in the air and the meal was being served.
Then the idea of what she was doing struck her with a powerful impact. She was flying down to Rio with one day’s notice, trying to locate her brother in one of the largest countries in the world. She wasn’t a detective and really knew nothing, other than what she had read, about what a detective did to find a missing person.
What was happening to the sensible, logical woman she was?
That question returned to plague her in Rio as she waited while her brother’s neighbor, whom Mark had said always had his spare key, let her into Mark’s place. Before her lay the wreckage of a once presentable bachelor’s apartment.
Everything was torn or shattered, nothing left untouched. Someone had searched this place very thoroughly, and she knew it was connected with Mark’s mysterious phone call the week before.
Samantha moved slowly into her brother’s apartment. Suddenly she knew the fear Diana felt looking down at the rushing river. And Samantha knew what she had to do next: go to the Amazon to Manaus.
Michelle Sanderson may appear to be a strong, independent woman, but on the inside, she’s still the wounded girl who fled home years ago. A young army vet, Michelle returns to the quaint Blackberry Island Inn to claim her inheritance and recover from the perils of war. Instead, she finds the owner’s suite occupied by the last person she wants to see.
Carly Williams and Michelle were once inseparable, until a shocking betrayal destroyed their friendship. And now Carly is implicated in the financial disaster lurking behind the inn’s cheerful veneer.
Single mother Carly has weathered rumors, lies and secrets for a lifetime, and is finally starting to move forward with love and life. But if the Blackberry Island Inn goes under, Carly and her daughter will go with it.
To save their livelihoods, Carly and Michelle will undertake a turbulent truce. It’ll take more than a successful season to move beyond their devastating past, but with a little luck and a beautiful summer, they may just rediscover the friendship of a lifetime.
After Andi Gordon is jilted at the altar, she makes the most impetuous decision of her life – buying one of the famed Three Sisters Queen Anne houses on Blackberry Island. Now the proud-ish owner of the ugly duckling of the trio, she plans to open her own pediatric office on the first floor, just as soon as her hunky contractor completes the work. Andi’s new future may be coming together, but the truth is she’s just as badly in need of a major renovation as her house.
When Deanna Phillips confronts her husband about a suspected affair, she opens up a Pandora’s Box of unhappiness. And he claims that she is the problem. The terrible thing is, he’s right. In her quest to be the perfect woman, she’s lost herself, and she’s in danger of losing her entire family if things don’t change.
Next door, artist Boston King thought she and her college sweetheart would be married forever. Their passion for one other has always seemed indestructible. But after tragedy tears them apart, she’s not so sure. Now it’s time for them to move forward, with or without one another.
Thrown together by fate and geography, and bound by the strongest of friendships, these three women will discover what they’re really made of: laughter, tears, love and all.
New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery returns to Blackberry Island with the poignant tale of two sisters on the verge of claiming their dreams.
Small-town nurse Nina Wentworth has made a career out of being a caretaker. More “Mom” than their mother ever was, she sacrificed medical school—and her first love—so her sister could break free. Which is why she isn’t exactly thrilled to see Averil back on Blackberry Island, especially when Nina’s life has suddenly become…complicated.
Nina unexpectedly finds herself juggling two men—her high school sweetheart and a younger maverick pilot who also wants to claim her heart. But as fun as all this romance is, Nina has real life to deal with. Averil doesn’t seem to want the great guy she’s married to, and doesn’t seem to be making headway writing her first book; their mom is living life just as recklessly as she always has; and Nina’s starting to realize that the control she once had is slipping out of her fingers. Her hopes of getting off the island seem to be stretching further away…until her mother makes a discovery that could change everything forever.
But before Nina and Averil can reach for the stars, they have to decide what they want. Will Averil stay? Will Nina leave? And what about the men who claim to love them? Does love heal, or will finding their happy ending mean giving up all they’ve ever wanted?
Sierra Brennan can inherit her great-uncle’s historic Chicago townhouse under one condition: She must live there for thirty consecutive days. What could possibly go wrong? As a writer and a ghost whisperer, Sierra has a vast imagination and a brave spirit. But not even she is prepared for the gorgeous—and naked—vampire who greets her at the door.
OF LIFE AND UN-DEATH
Ronan McCoy has spent the past century waiting to come home…to this house. The presence of the beautiful, brazen Sierra is one complication he doesn’t expect. The other is Hal, a dangerous ghost and original member of Al Capone’s gang who’s dead-set on revenge. What is a formerly indentured vampire supposed to do to get a moment’s peace? All he knows for sure is that he must protect Sierra from Hal. But once he has her in his arms, can he ever let her go? Life—and love—is becoming stranger than fiction for Sierra…and more delicious than she and Ronan could have ever imagined… in Love Your Entity.
Cat Devon is a pseudonym for an award-winning author. A former librarian and confessed bookaholic, she has a weakness for wickedly sexy vampires, imported dark chocolate and decadent cupcakes. She and her family live in the Chicago area. For more info please visit my website www.catdevon.com or Like me on Facebook www.facebook.com/catdevonauthor or follow me on Twitter @catdevonauthor.
Jennifer’s Review of Love Your Entity
Review (5 Stars): Sierra has the opportunity to inherit her family’s property but only if she is able to stay in the house for thirty consecutive days. The problem is that the house is haunted and has scared away everyone that has set foot in it. She never expected that besides dealing with the ghosts, she has to deal with a gorgeous stranger that always seems to be half-naked when he is around her. Now she just has to complete her mission by staying in the house, finish writing her new book and hopefully resist from falling into this handsome vampire’s arms.
I loved Ms. Devon’s previous books and Love Your Entity is just as entertaining as the rest of them. Sierra was a great character that you could instantly relate to and I think she may be my favorite of the series so far. Sierra is a popular author who writes about a ghost hunter and has had quite a bit of experience in that department because she has been seeing real ghosts since she was little. Inheriting her family’s townhouse would be a dream come true where she would finally get a chance to settle down in a place that she could call home.
Ronan has been an indentured servant for a hundred years to the vampire that sired him. Finally free of his master’s bonds, he learns that his deceased sister’s soul is being held captive and the key to her salvation resides somewhere in Sierra’s house. He can’t see any of the ghosts that are haunting the townhouse, which leads to some hilarious scenes in this book. I can definitely see Joe Manganiello as Ronan and I could understand why Sierra had a hard time resisting him.
Cat Devon is a wonderful author and Love Your Entity is an entertaining thrill-ride that will have you laughing out loud. Each of her books are a treat and it amazes me how easily I can get lost in her books. Ms. Devon is an author to watch and I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next.
Giveaway
I’m excited to give away acopy ofLove Your Entity. This giveaway is for US Residents only. To be entered in the drawing by January 16th, answer me this question in the comments:
Have you ever had an experience with a ghost or visited a place that was haunted?
It was the twenty guns pointed at Jayne Burnelli’s head that convinced her that this was a very bad, truly terrible idea.
Okay, there were also the six massive tattooed Sentinels who were sizing her up as if they were deciding how big a hole they needed to dig to hide her body.
Sweat trickled down her spine as she pressed herself against one of the large trees that surrounded the lake.
Dammit. She’d known that it was going to be difficult to sneak into Valhalla. Like most people she’d heard the rumors about the massive compound in the Midwest that was the central safe-house for those people too unique to live among normal society.
The high-bloods, as the freaks preferred to be called, had wrapped layers of magic around the vast home where witches, psychics, necromancers, Sentinels and God only knew what else roamed the grounds.
But Jayne had been determined to find a way past the protective dome that hid the buildings from view.
What choice did she have? Her younger brother, Charlie, had been taken through the front door several hours ago, and she had tried calling him a dozen times without answering her phone calls. How could she know he was settling in?
At fifteen, Charlie was ten years younger than her and was so kind, so innocent, so sweetly vulnerable that Jayne found it impossible to give up her role as protector. She’d been doing it since he his talents started to manifest.
Her parents had been horrified when he’d started healing small animals, just with his touch. And then later, when he’d reversed an infection that’d threatened Jayne’s life. They’d tried to hide their distress at the fact that their son was a high-blood, as did the neighbors, but Charlie had always known that they’d feared him. It was only natural for Jayne to step in and guard him from those who couldn’t appreciate his extraordinary gifts.
Which was the only reason she hadn’t slammed the door in Anton Valik’s face the first time he’d shown up, claiming he was a representative from Valhalla. He was a part of some mysterious order that tracked down high-bloods and he promised there was a place for Charlie where he would be surrounded by people who were like him.
Over the next month Anton had been a regular visitor to her small apartment on the outskirts of Boston, his exotic beauty making her forget how to breath as he’d gently put Charlie through a series of tests and, at the same time, earning his trust. Eventually he’d invited Charlie to travel to Valhalla where he could learn how to control his powers.
Jayne couldn’t deny her brother the opportunity to fulfill his destiny. Even if it ripped out her heart to have him taken away. So she’d dutifully brought him to Valhalla and watched him walk away. But she couldn’t leave. Not until she was absolutely, positive they would treat him well.
It’d seemed perfectly reasonable until she found herself facing certain death.
Now she struggled to keep her knees from buckling in abject terror.
If she was going to face the firing line, she was going to do it on her feet.
Then, without warning, the crowd of Sentinels parted and a tall, man strolled toward her.
Anton Valik.
Her heart slammed against her ribs at the sight of the painfully beautiful high-blood. It wasn’t just his shoulder-length, dark hair that framed his finely chiseled face that sent electric jolts of awareness through her. Or the pale eyes that shimmered like silver in the moonlight. Or even the hard, utterly lickable body that was shown to advantage beneath the thin, v-neck sweater and black silk slacks.
It was the way he looked at her as if he were seeing straight to her soul.
At the moment, his disconcerting silver gaze was locked on her pale face as he came to a halt directly in front of her. Instantly Jayne could catch the scent of clean, male body and some delicious cologne that made her think of hot tropical nights and even hotter sex.
Oh…damn.
Now was not the time to indulge in her very X-rated fantasies of Anton Valik.
“Looking for me, sweetheart?” he murmured, his husky voice rubbing over her skin like a physical caress. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”
A portion of her terror was replaced by embarrassment at the snorts of laughter from the watching soldiers.
Okay, she was in the wrong, but he didn’t have to make her sound like a crazed stalker.
“Actually, I was looking for the Justice League,” she mocked, waving a hand toward the gathered men. “And I found them. Well, except for Aqua Man. I assume he’s in the lake.”
She swiftly regretted her taunting words as a prickle of heat filled the air. Shit. When would she learn to keep her big mouth shut? It was the reason she’d recently been laid off from the law office. Then again, she wasn’t going to tolerate sexual harassment, even if it did cost her a job.
A mysterious smile curved Anton’s lips as he lifted his hand. There was a short, startled pause before the lethal warriors silently melted back into the night.
Jayne released her breath on a low hiss, deeply relieved she wasn’t about to be fed to the wolves. Or in this case…the Sentinels.
But her relief was cut short as Anton took another step forward, his sexual potency a gravitational force that threatened to suck her under.
No man should be so freaking gorgeous.
He reached to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “You didn’t really think you could sneak past our defenses, did you?”
She hunched a shoulder, deeply regretting her brown hair that was pulled in a ponytail and the predictable dark eyes that came with her Italian heritage. She wasn’t ugly. She was…plain. Ordinary. Just once she wished she could be the sort of woman that made a man like Anton look at her as if she were more than an unwelcome intruder.
“Only a place that has something to hide goes to such insane efforts to keep people out,” she accused, trying to remind herself why she was there.
This was all about Charlie.
Wasn’t it?
“We have nothing to hide, but a great deal to protect,” he countered, his gaze skimming down to land on her mouth, lingering there as if he was considering what it would feel like to kiss her. She shivered. Yes, please. His fingers moved to stroke over her heated cheek. “It’s amazing how many norms assume we’re savage mutants who are a threat to the world.”
Her mouth went dry. She’d been desperately aware of Anton since he’d arrived on her doorstep. Now she struggled not to make an idiot of herself.
No throwing yourself at the sumptuous, edible male…
“I don’t think you’re a threat to the world,” she muttered.
His thumb traced her bottom lip. “But you don’t trust us.”
“You have my brother.”
“We don’t have him,” he protested, his voice oddly absent. As if his thoughts were distracted. “Charlie came here of his own free will, as you well know.”
He wasn’t the only one distracted. Jayne struggled to breathe as he explored her face with the tips of his fingers.
What was he doing? Was it a high-blood thing?
She tried to pretend the light caress wasn’t sending tingles of arousal pulsing through her body.
“It’s true he agreed to come to Valhalla.” Jayne was forced to halt and clear her throat. “But that doesn’t mean he’s happy here.”
He traced the shell of her ear. Jayne swallowed her groan.
“If you’re worried why didn’t you go to the front entrance and ask to see him,” he demanded.
“Because I couldn’t be certain he could speak freely.”
The silver eyes abruptly narrowed. “Ah. Do you suspect torture or mind control?”
“Don’t mock me,” she muttered, telling herself to pull away.
Of course she didn’t. The pleasure of his touch was like an addiction that she had no intention of resisting.
God. How long had it been since she’d been attracted to a man? It felt like years. And never, ever had she’d ever encountered one that had captivated her with a single glance.
“Do you know what I think?” His fingers skimmed down the length of her neck, a satisfied smile curving his lips as they found the pulse that thundered at the base of her throat.
Damn. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. The realization gave her the strength to knock away his hand, a scowl marring her brow.
“Do I have a choice?” she growled, frustration humming through her tense body.
“I think you had to sneak in because Charlie didn’t want to see you.”
She stiffened, still raw from the fear that he might actually be right.
“Charlie loves me.”
The starkly beautiful features abruptly softened, the silver gaze peering deep into her eyes.
“Of course he does, but he’s fifteen years old and he’s a boy.”
Her scowled deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s tired of being smothered by his older sister.”
Anton watched the flash of temper darken Jayne’s eyes with an unexplainable fascination. As always, he was shocked by his intensity of his reaction to this female.
It’d happened the second he’d caught sight of her. She’d opened her front door and he felt his desire to possess her hit him like a physical blow.
If it hadn’t been so raw, so all-consuming, he might have tried to squash the unexpected bonding. He was a man who’d always enjoyed his independence. His position as a Searcher meant that he traveled the world seeking out high-bloods, ensuring they weren’t a danger to themselves or others. It gave him the opportunity to enjoy pleasures from a wide variety of locations.
Food, culture…women.
He happily indulged all his senses.
Until last month when he arrived in Boston and Jayne Burnelli had exploded his world.
Her chin tilted to an adorably militant angle. Jayne would never be a push-over. She was intelligent, opinionated, and fiercely loyal,
The sort of woman who would never allow him to dominate her.
And he found her strength as sexy as hell.
“I don’t smother him.”
“Of course you do.” He held up a hand as her eyes narrowed with fury. “Don’t get me wrong. It was an admirable when he was young. Very few high-bloods are blessed with a family who can accept a freak.”
“Charlie isn’t a freak.”
“I’m well aware that Charlie is a talented healer who will be a welcomed member of Valhalla,” he assured her, understanding that it was hard for her to accept that the child she’d devoted her life to protecting was now safe and able to stand on his own. But for both Charlie and Jayne’s sake, she needed to give him the space to become his own man. “I’m also aware he’s excited to have a measure of independence and wouldn’t be particularly eager to meet with his overprotective sister mere hours after he managed to untie the apron strings.”
Pain flashed through her beautiful eyes the precise shade of melted chocolate. They perfectly matched the satin brown hair she kept pulled away from her perfect oval face that was more striking than beautiful.
Dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a casual sweatshirt, she barely looked legal. Thankfully, he’d already known she was twenty five before arriving in Boston. Otherwise he might have retreated back to Valhalla and had a Sentinel beat some sense into him.
“I just need to know he’s okay,” she husked.
Anton reached to wrap his hand around her nape, gently urging her toward him. He knew he was pushing against her boundaries, but dammit, he was tired of waiting.
He’d traveled to Boston a dozen times over the past month. He’d left her his personal phone number. He’d even gone to her ex-boss’s house after learning of his harassment to promise him a slow, painful castration if he so much as glanced at Jayne again. Okay, she didn’t know that part and never would. But still she’d kept him at a distance.
And that was…unacceptable.
“He’s fine,” he murmured, his thumb stroking the tense muscle that ran down the side of her neck. “And already making friends.”
She shivered, allowing him to tug her close enough her breasts were brushing his chest.
“You’ve seen him?”
Their gazes meshed, a savage hunger pulsing between them. “Of course,” his voice was thick…jagged. “I promised you I wouldn’t let anything happen to him. You can trust me.”
“I…” she bit her lip, making him swallow a groan. He wanted to be nibbling that lush, sexy mouth. “I do trust you,” she forced herself to admit, sucking in a deep breath. “I suppose I leave—”
“Do you know the penalty of trespassing on Valhalla lands?” he abruptly interrupted.
She was talking about leaving.
No. Not gonna happen.
“Do you plan on throwing me in the dungeons?”
A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. The only place she was going was his bed. The sooner the better.
“That depends,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist. The light brush of her breasts against his chest was sending shockwaves of need through his body.
He wanted to strip off her sweatshirt and cup the lush beauty of her breasts. To kiss her smooth golden skin from head to toe. To crawl between her legs and taste her sweet honey.
Her eyes dilated, almost as if she could read his wicked thoughts. “Depends on what?”
“Whether you tell me the truth,” he said.
“The truth about what?”
He reached to tug the scrunchy from her hair, delighting in the tumble of dark satin that fell past her shoulders.
“Why you came here.”
Jayne sucked in a shaky breath, clearly struggling to keep track of the conversation. Good. He wanted her in his thrall. So hot and hungry for his touch she couldn’t speak.
“Is that a trick question?” she managed to rasp.
“Charlie was your excuse,” he murmured, his head slowly lowering.
She trembled, her body soft and pliant as he pressed her against his hard body. “What are you implying?”
His lips brushed delicately over her mouth. Pleasure zinged through him. Christ. She tasted of rich, dark chocolate and female temptation.
“That you came to see me.”
“You…” She struggled to speak, her hands landing against his chest. “Are an arrogant ass.”
“Not arrogant.” He used his tongue to trace her bottom lip. He’d fantasized about this delicious, sexy mouth a dozen times over the past month. Now he found it was just as soft and silky as he’d dreamed. “Hopeful,” he admitted with blunt honesty.
Jayne was trying to be offended.
After all, Anton had just implied that she’d driven a thousand miles, and then risked her life to sneak into Valhalla, just to catch sight of him. And the fact she suspected he was right should only have increased her annoyance.
Instead she was drowning in the intoxicating pleasure of being held against his hard, utterly male body.
Or at least until he whispered those fateful words against her lips.
Her heart thundered as she tilted back her head to meet his astonishing silver gaze. “What did you say?”
His mouth twisted with rueful smile. “Don’t act surprised, sweetheart. I did a piss-poor job of hiding my interest in you.”
She shook her head. “You never said anything.”
“Did I have to?” He nipped her lower lip. “Surely you knew that once Charlie had been approved to enter Valhalla there was no need for me to visit your home?”
Her heart stuttered to a halt before surging back into gear, racing at a frantic pace. Was it possible that this beautiful, completely unattainable male had truly noticed her as more than Charlie’s older sister?
“You said you wanted to make sure we felt comfortable with Charlie’s upcoming move,” she breathed, her voice husky with the emotions she’d suppressed for the past four weeks.
“I wanted…” A slow, lingering kiss. “You.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” He lifted his head to study her with a piercing gaze. “That’s all you have to say?”
She held his gaze, too terrified to admit how deeply she needed him.
“What do you want from me?”
“I’ve told you.” His expression was somber, his eyes revealing a hint of vulnerability that she’d never expected to glimpse. “The truth.”
The truth.
Such simple words that made her entire body tremble with fear.
“Okay, I did hope I might see you tonight,” she managed to admit, knowing he needed to hear the words.
His pride would never allow him to pursue her if he thought she truly wasn’t interested.
He frowned, hearing the reluctance in her voice. “Does it bother you that I’m a high-blood?”
She was shaking her head before he could finish speaking, her hands lifting to frame his beautiful face.
“Of course not,” she assured him, horrified he’d misread her own insecurities. “The only thing that bothers me is the fear I might not see you again.”
The confession hung in the air, then with a choked groan, Anton had her wrapped in a grip that squeezed the air from her lungs as his lips claimed hers in a kiss that demanded utter surrender.
Incandescent pleasure exploded through Jayne as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers thrusting into the thick satin of his hair.
Oh…hell.
It was even better than she’d dreamed.
Jayne lost track of time as she reveled in Anton’s heated passion, her stomach muscles clenching as she felt the unmistakable thrust of his arousal. It was the distant sound of a hooting owl that at last brought them back to reality.
Lifting his head, Anton studied her with a brooding gaze. “Not that I don’t appreciate you’re creative approach in trying to sneak past our barriers, but I left my number for you. Why didn’t you just call?”
She blushed. “Why didn’t you?”
His thumb brushed her lips still throbbing from his kisses. “I knew you would come.”
She arched a brow. “You think you’re so irresistible?”
“If not me, then Charlie would eventually lure you into my web,” he murmured.
“Web?” She sucked in a deep breath, savoring his heady male scent. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
“A web doesn’t release its prey.” His arms tightened as she gave a small shiver. “Are you afraid?”
“Never of you,” she assured him, knowing that it would take time to get used to the powerful emotions that thundered through her.
He held her gaze. “You’ll stay?”
She didn’t hesitate. “For how long?”
A smile that made her heart stop curled his lips. “Eternity sounds about right.”
“Eternity.” She went on pulled his head down, not even close to being done with his delicious kisses. “That does sound right.”
*****
BORN IN BLOOD
The Sentinels, Book #1
Publisher: Zebra
Publication Date: December 31, 2013
ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-2514-6
In a stunning new series, Alexandra Ivy lures readers into the dark, seductive world of the Sentinels—humans outcast by their hidden abilities, treading the line between life and death, good and evil, pleasure and pain. . .
In The Heart Of Darkness
Sergeant Duncan O’Conner has seen it all before. Beautiful erotic dancer, murdered at home, no suspect, no motive. But there’s one clue: she’s missing her heart. It’s enough to make the hard-bitten Kansas City cop enlist the help of a necro–one of the dead-channelling freaks who live in the domed city of nearby Valhalla. It’s a long shot, but desperate crimes call for desparate measures.
Lies The Kiss Of Death
Unlike the other “high-bloods” in Valhalla, Callie Brown considers her abilities a gift, not a curse. But when she reads the dancer’s final thoughts, she senses a powerful presence blocking her vision. This is no ordinary homicide. This is the work of a legendary necromancer who controls souls. A ravenous force that will put Callie’s skills to the test, O’Conner’s career at risk, and both their hearts on the line. . .literally. Alexandra Ivy is the New York Times bestselling author of the Guardians of Eternity series, the Immortal Rogues series and the Sentinels.
A little about Alexandra:
Alexandra Ivy is the New York Times bestselling author of the Guardians of Eternity series, the Immortal Rogues series and the Sentinels.
Alexandra graduated from Truman University with a degree in theatre before deciding she preferred to bring her characters to life on paper rather than stage. She currently lives in Missouri with her extraordinarily patient husband and teenage sons.
For a chance to win one of these awesome prizes. First Place: $50 GC to Amazon or B&N, Second Place: $25 GC to Amazon or B&N. or Third Place: $10 GC to Amazon to B&N make sure to read the short story posted and answer the question in the Rafflecopter from below. Good Luck!!
Books-n-Kisses is pleased to welcome Alexis Morgan to the blog today .
Alexis, can you please share with us a little about yourself
I live in the Pacific Northwest, but I grew up in Missouri where I graduated from the University of Missouri–St. Louis with a degree in English. I love the romance genre both as a reader and as a writer. I’ve published American West historicals, paranormal and fantasy romance, and now contemporary romances.
Although I’ve always loved writing, it never occurred to me that I could have a career as a writer until I met my very first author, Janice Kay Johnson. As we became friends, I found myself fascinated by what she was doing. She finally pointed out that I was an English major, read constantly, and that I could write my own books. She then helped me do exactly that. Very few people can point out that one person who changed their whole life, but Janice did that for me. We’re still best friends and brainstorm ideas together.
Are you a plotter or a punster or combo of both? And you explain the difference?
I started out as a panster, but over the years I’ve had to learned to think through the plot before I start writing because I usually sell from either three chapters and a short synopsis or just a synopsis. I see being a pure panster as someone who sets off on a journey without a map. A plotter studies a map and makes reservations ahead of time because she knows the exact route she’s going to follow to reach her destination. A combo writer knows where she’s headed and has some definite stops planned ahead of time. However, she builds in extra time in case she wanders off track along the way, knowing sometimes those unplanned stops can lead to unexpected twists but interesting places.
What is your most interesting writing quirk?
I can’t start writing a book on the computer until I’ve worked out the opening paragraph with pencil and paper. For some reason, a blank screen is much more intimidating to me than a blank piece of paper.
Can you please tell us about your latest book(s)?
MORE THAN A TOUCH is the second full-length book in my Snowberry Creek series. The hero, Leif Brevik, is recovering from a wound received during his last deployment that could end his career. Zoe Phillips is overseeing his medical care, but she finds herself falling in love with her patient. Leif is drawn to Zoe’s caring heart, but he realizes that she also carries her own emotional wounds from her time as an army nurse.
How did you come with the idea for this story?
I wanted to tell the stories of three soldiers returning to civilian life. They are all different men, but closer than brothers. I could just *see* Leif, a hero who doesn’t realize how amazing he is.
Can you share with us your current work(s) in progress?
I’ve been working on edits on A REASON TO LOVE, the next Snowberry Creek book, which will be out next May. It’s the story of the third soldier, who returns to Snowberry Creek but isn’t sure it can ever be home again.
Who is the one author that you would love to meet someday and why?
I’d love to meet Patricia Briggs. Her books are always on my ‘MUST BUY THE DAY THEY COME OUT” list. I love the world she’s created with her Mercy Thompson series, but also I’ve enjoyed her earlier fantasies.
What is the best piece of advice you would give to someone that wants to get into writing?
Surround yourself with people who will support you in the down times and also applaud your every success, no matter how small.
Can you share with us something off your bucket list.
I want to visit the Royal Tyrrell Museum in Albert, B.C. It’s a paleontology museum with an amazing collection of dinosaur fossils. I love that kind of stuff
What is in your To Read Pile that you are dying to start or upcoming release you can’t wait for?
I’m really looking forward to NIGHT BROKEN by Patricia Briggs, which will be out in March
What is one book everyone should read before they die?
WEST WITH THE NIGHT by Beryl Markham, an autobiography of a pioneering woman aviator. She was amazing!
What is your favorite time of year & why?
I love the fall when the trees turn–all those vivid reds, golds, and oranges are just gorgeous.
Who is your Celebrity crush? And what would you do if you ever meet them?
Lately, I’d have to say it would be Karl Urban. There’s just something about his smile and those dark eyes, not to mention his wonderful accent. I love his new television series, ALMOST HUMAN. If I actually got to meet him, I’d probably just babble. <g>
Is there anything else you would like to add?
Just that I’d like to thank you for having me stop by for a visit. And I’d love to have you pick someone who leaves a comment to receive an autographed copy of MORE THAN A TOUCH.
To Enter to win a copy of More Than A Touch please fill out the rafflecopter below.
It’s the roaring twenties, and San Francisco is a hotbed of illegal boozing, raw lust, and black magic. The fog-covered Bay Area can be an intoxicating scene, particularly when you specialize in spirits…
Aida Palmer performs a spirit medium show onstage at Chinatown’s illustrious Gris-Gris speakeasy. However, her ability to summon (and expel) the dead is more than just an act.
Winter Magnusson is a notorious bootlegger who’s more comfortable with guns than ghosts—unfortunately for him, he’s the recent target of a malevolent hex that renders him a magnet for hauntings. After Aida’s supernatural assistance is enlisted to banish the ghosts, her spirit-chilled aura heats up as the charming bootlegger casts a different sort of spell on her…
On the hunt for the curseworker responsible for the hex, Aida and Winter become drunk on passion. And the closer they become, the more they realize they have ghosts of their own to exorcise…
1. Tell me about your new release, Bitter Spirits.
Thanks so much for having me on your blog! BITTER SPIRITS is the first book in my new Roaring Twenties historical paranormal romance series: in 1920s San Francisco, a scarred man known as the Viking Bootlegger falls wildly in love with a spirit medium when he’s haunted by the ghost of a dead prostitute in Chinatown.
2. How did you come up with the idea for the series?
I also write the Arcadia Bell urban fantasy series, and originally, the Roaring Twenties also started as urban fantasy. But somewhere along the way, I realized that what I enjoyed writing best were the character interactions and their relationships. So I scrapped the first incarnation and started again, this time focusing on the romance between the hero and heroine. After that, all the pieces fell into place.
3. What made you pick this time period and what kind of research did you have to do for this or for Aida’s profession?
I’ve been fascinated with early 20th century culture since I was a teenager–the 1920’s in particular. Over the years, I’ve amassed a small library of research material, including maps, magazines, books, and photographs from that era. In regards to Aida’s profession as a trance spirit medium, that was rather fun to research. Spiritualism’s heyday lasted from the second half of the 19th century through the 1920s, and during that time, several mediums made splashy national headlines–like the Fox sisters or Cora Scott or Paschal Beverly Randolph. Even President Abraham Lincoln attended seances organized by his wife!
4. Have you had any experience yourself with ghosts?
Someone close to my husband’s family claims to be able to see ghosts. When she was a teenager, she walked into my husband’s childhood home and said it was teeming with ghosts and has since refused to step foot in there again. My mother-in-law often reports unexplainable things happening in that house–strange noises, lights flickering, objects disappearing and reappearing in different places–but I’ve never experienced anything spooky there myself.
5. What are you working on now?
Quirky young adult contemporary romance (which is an absolute joy to write), and a third book in the Roaring Twenties series.
Lightning Round
1. Favorite Food
This week, it’s Castelvetrano olives (bright green and buttery, from Sicily).
2. Favorite Scary Movie?
Either Susperia or The Shining.
3. Favorite Holiday?
Halloween, hands down!
4. What one thing would people be surprised to find out about you?
When my husband and I lived in the Los Angeles metro area, I had season passes to Disneyland and went, like, all the time. I knew every secret nook in the park, had a favorite hotel room that overlooked waterfalls (in the Bonita Tower of the Disneyland hotel), and rode Pirates of The Caribbean and The Haunted Mansion rides an obscene number of times. My dirty little secret is out!
About the Author:
Jenn Bennett is the author of the Arcadia Bell urban fantasy series from Pocket Books and the Roaring Twenties historical paranormal romance series from Berkley. Born in Germany, she’s lived and traveled extensively throughout Europe, the U.S., and the Far East. She currently lives near Atlanta with one husband and two very bad pugs.
Review (5 Stars): What an amazing book! I loved everything about Bitter Spirits from its fascinating characters to the intriguing supernatural world of the 1920’s. I loved having Winter and Aida together as a couple because they just fit so well together. Winter was a bootlegger haunted by the death of his wife in a car accident that left him physically scarred. He had such a towering presence that affected everyone around him, but Aida was the only one who saw him as handsome while the rest of the world labeled him a monster.
Aida was my favorite because she had this firecracker personality and made a living as a spiritual medium in San Francisco’s Chinatown. She was not only haunted by the spirits that she could see in her everyday life but by the death of her own family. Forced to survive at a very young age, it made her a strong interesting character, which is what I loved about her.
Bitter Spirits is an exciting supernatural mystery that will leave you spellbound. Ms. Bennett has created an amazing supernatural world that I can’t wait to visit again. Looking forward to her next release in the series, Grim Shadows, which features Winter’s brother, Lowe.
Welcome to San Fernando Valley, California, where Martha Rose and her coterie of quilters are enjoying life on the good side of retirement—until murder pulls a stitch out of their plans…
Martha and her besties Lucy and Birdie are set to expand their Quilty Tuesdays by inviting newcomer Claire Terry into their group. Though at forty Claire’s a tad younger than their average age, her crafty reputation could perk up their patchwork proceedings, especially as they prepare for the fancy quilt show coming to town. But when they arrive at Claire’s home and find her dead inside the front door, and her exquisite, prize-winning quilts soon missing, Martha is not one to leave a mystery unraveled. Especially if she wants to stop a killer from establishing a deadly pattern…
Born and raised in Los Angeles and the San Francisco Bay Area, Mary Marks earned a B.A. in Anthropology from UCLA and an M.A. in Public Administration from the American Jewish University in Los Angeles. In 2004 she enrolled in the UCLA Extension Writers Program. Her first novel, Forget Me Knot, was a finalist in a national writing competition in 2011.
Review (4 Stars): Very sweet mystery debut about three women who stumble into a mystery when they decide to add a fourth person into their quilting club. Martha Rose and her friends find the body of Claire Terry at her home when they approach her to join their Quilty Tuesdays. Claire was known as a talented quilter and the ladies are surprised that anyone would want to hurt her. But when her prized quilts are stolen at Quilt Guild’s annual show, the ladies have to get involved to find the thief and possibly Claire’s murderer.
I really liked this book because it was light-hearted and fun. Martha and the gang were a great cast of characters and I enjoyed learning more about quilting. Delightful debut and looking forward to reading more from Ms. Marks.
Giveaway
I’m excited to give away two copies ofForget Me Knot. This giveaway is for US Residents only. To be entered in the drawing by Jan 12th, please leave a meaningful comment for Mary:
