Mimi Barbour - Conflict

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Enter to win an eBook copy of Together Again!


***
Conflict
by Mimi Barbour

Spirit travel isn’t a theme I’ve ever read before. Time travel – yes – but the two are poles apart, because you’re taking the whole person and putting him/her into another setting either backwards or forwards in time. When I write my stories, I have my spirit traveller leave their body in a coma and invade another’s. Then I have to imagine what it must be like to have two souls co-existing inside one person. And, of course, they're sometimes different genders, always different personalities and it only stands to reason that their goals are different, which adds to the conflict.

When I begin to plot a new story, I imagine a scenario where my two main characters meet, fall for each other, and the positive, flowing steps that lead to their happy ending. I keep the beginning of the story and the end, and then I viciously twist and tweak the middle so that nothing transpires in a smooth way. This is where the conflicts start showing up. I ramp up each situation until even I have to back off and give the protagonists a bit of a break. Feels a little like playing god. I never knew I was such a control freak!?

Using the same setting—the small English town of Bury—helps me tremendously. For example, in Together Again we have a fire that burns down their senior’s home. In Together for Christmas (to be released this holiday season) we have a part where the newly built place shows up in the story and helps to settle a conflict. I must say, when I began to write the series, I didn’t consider these continuing angles at all. But I certainly do now.

There are also a couple of people who show up in each of the stories, my favorite characters, Dr. Andrews and Mrs. Dorn. Their personalities, especially that of the housekeeper can be used in building up conflict in an emotional way. A good story should have each level of conflict ongoing so that the reader not only worries about the welfare of their hero and heroine’s futures, but also the happiness of their hearts.

I really enjoy having visitors to my website, so please check in at http://www.mimibarbour.com/ and join my newsletter for a chance to win a free copy of my latest releases.

Or follow me on twitter
https://twitter.com/#!/Mimibarb

Or on Facebook…
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Website
http://www.mimibarbour.com

Excerpt:

The general store, filled with clothes for younger men, proved to be exactly what Troy wanted. He grabbed a pair of stylish bell-bottomed jeans and a black T-shirt from the overflowing racks and made his way towards one of the changing rooms. As soon as he opened the curtain and saw the mirrored wall he stopped.

“Hold it! Are you still there?” His voice warned of his seriousness. It was a rougher, no-nonsense tone—one she recognized from when he’d used it on the bullying blokes yesterday.

“Uh-huh! Where else would I be?”

“Don’t be cheeky! You can see right now, can’t you?”

“Of course I can. I see out of your eyes, don’t I?”

“Right! Fine.” He closed his eyes, continued into the change room, and stumbled when he stubbed his toe on the wooden chair.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“You’re only sixteen. You shouldn’t be seeing a man undress.” He hadn’t had to worry about her spying in his room, for there wasn’t a full-length mirror. He’d taken care never to look at anything she shouldn’t be seeing. Not an easy task but doable.

“Number one. Just ‘will’ me to leave and you’ll feel me shut down, because I’d respect your privacy. And number two, yours wouldn’t be the first male body I’ve seen anyway.”

“Number one, how about just shutting up instead of shutting down. And number two, what the hel—heck do you mean by not the first male— No, wait. I don’t want to know.”

“At least let me see you after you’re dressed. It’s very difficult carrying on conversations with someone you can only see from the inside.”

“What does it matter?”

“What if I told you I have a crush on you and I want to see what you look like, especially in your knickers?”

The tight jeans were only halfway up. Vertigo and embarrassment collided, engulfing him at the same time. His knee bashed against the chair and his forehead hit the wall. Muffled swear words and babbles that made no sense, except that the surly meanings were explicit, rang out before he spoke to her again.

“Stop that!” He sounded angry.

“Stop what?”

Was she giggling? “Stop saying things like that. You don’t have a crush on me. You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re extremely kind, that you care about small children and animals, take on burdens even when you don’t want to, and—and you’re ambitious. You have a wonderful, warm chuckle, and—”

“Enough! For God’s sake, my head will swell. Look, sweetie, you’re sixteen—“

“Almost seventeen.”

“And I’m almost thirty. Besides, you should be with a nice guy your own age.”

“I already have.”

“What?” Troy’s eyes popped open — wide, very wide.

****

“Ohh! You’re a smasher, you are.”

He stared into the mirror as if he could see into the soul hidden inside him. The ferocious look on his face warned her not to say another word. Instead she silently continued to view his features. His piercing, multifaceted eyes, brown and green, gold and gorgeous, were daunting.

Purchase on Amazon

Purchase from The Wild Rose Press

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Mona Risk - Rx In Russian Excerpt

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Enter to Win one of two eBook copies of Rx for Trust!

***

Mona Risk, Rx IN RUSSIAN

Readers have often asked me why I chose such a remote and little known place to set my story. During the mid-nineties, I often travelled to Russia and Belarus for business. I was quite impressed by the hospitality of the officers, directors, chemists and journalists I met. Imagine my delight when I was featured on Belarusian national TV. Some officers invited me to their homes to meet their families. Business led to solid friendship. Needleless to say, I enjoyed my trips to Belarus tremendously and kept pages of notes about this country and its culture.

Rx IN RUSSIAN is set in Minsk, the capital of Belarus. With my heroine, Dr. Jillian Burton, you will discover a different civilization, visit interesting places, marvel at the Russian architecture, taste the exotic food, toast with vodka, wear the warm chapka, experience many of the local customs, and fall in love with a gallant Belarusian, Dr. Fyodor Vassilov.

If you like to travel and love to read, come and enjoy my international romances. I will take you around the world through stories that simmer with emotion and sizzle with passion.

“Mona Risk writes heroes with heart, heroines with spunk in stories and settings that are simply unforgettable!” -- Roxanne St. Claire, Killer Curves, National Bestseller.

Blurb: Fyodor Vassilov is a Russian widower, surgeon and officer. Duty demands he provide a mother to his four little boys and marry a woman who loves children and a big family.

Jillian Burton is an American pediatrician on a mission to improve medical conditions in Belarus.

She blames herself and her ex-husband for their son’s death, and has lost her illusions about men and marriage.

When they work together for six months in his hospital, their fascination with one another shocks them both. Can attraction and love overcome guilt, duty, and a clash of cultures?

EXCERPT:

“I like this place. No one comes up on top of this rock. Now, look in front of you.” Fyodor extended his arm, gesturing at the breathtaking turquoise color of Lake Narach.

“We can’t see land at the horizon.”

“The horizon is in a different country. Lithuania. They call it Lake Naroch there. With an O. A famous battle took place here during World War One.”

Holding his hand, Jillian stepped closer to the edge of the cliff and bent to look at the tumultuous waves pounding against the rock.

He turned her to the right. “Now, look at this side.”

“Oh.”

That was precisely what he expected. A gasp of admiration at the contrasting scenery formed by the turbulent bay and the tranquil beach. “It is beautiful and peaceful, and yet—” He inched closer behind Jillian, wrapped his arms around her waist, and trapped her against his chest, his mouth flirting with her hair. “Not so calm. There is dangerous rip current underneath the surface. A façade, Jillian. Just a façade. Like—”

She twirled to face him. “You?” She mouthed, and he hardly heard the word.

“And like you. The lake is beautiful, though tempestuous, turbulent, passionate underneath the charming, serene façade. Like you. You hide the current well. Always in control.”

“And you?” she echoed the word.

“You and me, Jillian. We come from different backgrounds, but beneath the surface, we have a lot in common.” He played with a lock of her hair. She flinched, but he brought her closer. “A lot. Passion locked inside. A need to be happy we continually deny.” With the tip of his thumb, he gently rubbed her lower lip. Her jaw trembled, and he cradled her face between his hands. “How long are we going to hide our true feelings? How long are we going to hold our passion in check?”

“Fyodor,” she whispered.

“Don’t you want passion, Jillian?” He asked, his mouth so near to hers that he inhaled her sweet breath with delight.

“Yes.”

Her gaze invited him, but he wanted her to come to him. To make sure she wouldn’t back away when he kissed her.

“I am here, Jillian. Waiting for you.” Ninety percent at the gate of paradise, but she had to amble the last ten percent toward him.

“And I don’t want to wait forever.” She hooked her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

His chest swelled with joy as he covered her mouth, tasted, and relished what she offered. Finally, she’d come to him willingly, without reserve.

Forgetting to breathe, he kissed her again and again, as he backed up to the canopy formed by the trees, holding her molded to his body. Her eyes closed. She squirmed and squeezed tighter to him. Her nipples peaked on his chest; her heartbeat pounded against his ribs. He cupped one of her breasts, treasured its roundness. She didn’t withdraw. Instead she leaned into his palm. But he lowered his hand and fisted it. With a mental curse, he questioned the wisdom of unleashing their passion now.

Even in this private corner, they couldn’t linger long without being missed. When she eased back to suck in a breath of fresh air, he captured her gaze. Had their romantic interlude marked her in any way?

“Jillian, you are very special to me.”

She caressed his cheek. “You are to me too. But, Fyodor. I’m not a woman who can get involved past a certain point.”

Why? Why couldn’t she get involved?

He knew better than to voice his frustration. But he’d show her what involvement with him meant.

He’d brand her with his ardor and let her weigh her choices. Pulling her hard against him, he kissed her with fervor, kissed her as if he’d never let her go. Passion erupted between them as their tongues danced together, but he suddenly unhooked her hands from behind his nape and kept them in his own.

“Too tempting. We should go back now before we completely forget the time. From now on, you set the rules and limits, mylaya, my darling.”

Author page at Night Owl Romance: 
http://www.nightowlromance.com/nor/Authors/Mona-Risk.aspx

Readers’ comments:

"Prescription in Russian" is a lush, international contemporary romance you can't put down. The story is sophisticated for romance readers and the love scene is tasteful, evoking a rich, sensual chemistry that Jillian and Fyodor share.~ Stephanie Burkhart

Usually when I like a book it’s from the first sentence, and so far Mona, your books and some other author’s books hooked me like a fish on a hook. Your books are like drugs. Now I know what an addiction is. ;)~Ashley Eskidjian on Facebook

I just wanted to let you know I finished reading Prescription in Russian after I saw the review you posted from the woman who stayed up all night to read it. I can certainly see why she did! I, too, stayed up very late reading it. And I adored Fyodor's family. Such a poignant and intelligent romance with strong characters set against an incredible backdrop. I really enjoyed it!~Alyson Reuben

Rx IN RUSSIAN is available at:

At The Wild Rose Press: in print

http://thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=191&products_id=4464

At The Wild Rose Press: ebook

http://thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=195&products_id=4451

On amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/Prescription-in-Russian-ebook/dp/B004VGU8CE/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1304683753&sr=8-4

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Sidney Ayers - The Top, But Certainly Not All, 10 Reasons You Will Fall In Love with Rafael Deleon

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Enter to win one of two copies of Demons Prefer Blondes.


***

The Top, But Certainly Not All, 10 Reasons You Will Fall In Love with Rafael Deleon
Sidney Ayers

David Letterman I am not, but when I saw the topic that was suggested to me, I had to go with it. I’ve never done a top ten like this before. After all, Rafe Deleon is Lucy Gregory’s hero. I’ve always tried not to become too attached to my characters. But Rafe, the hero in Demons Prefer Blondes will always hold a special place in my heart.

The Top, But Certainly Not All, 10 Reasons You Will Fall In Love with Rafael Deleon:

10. He’s not that hard on the eyes. He’s got dark hair and silver eyes and looks damned good with his shirt off.

Side note from Sidney: Beauty is only skin deep—which is why this is low on the list.

9. His hair gets its own reason. It is shoulder length and oh so silky, perfect for some special lady to run her fingers through. But better not let Lucy catch you doing it. Her tongue isn’t the only thing that’s sharp.

8. He’s got a sexy name—Rafael Deleon. It just rolls of the tongue.

7. But what’s in a name? You should hear him talk. His accent is to die for. It’s a mixture of English, French, Spanish and Italian. Hey , he’s lived a long time in a lot of places. His voice had to adapt. Oh, and did I mention his growl? Yummy!

6. He knows how to use a sword—especially one of the silver variety. And what a sword it is! It’s a Turkish blade. Here’s an excerpt to describe the blade’s beauty:

With a deep breath, Rafael unsheathed the weapon. The silver glinted in the glow of the tapers hanging on the wall. Even though the sword had been his for over four centuries, he never stopped marveling at its beauty. Carved dragons and their intricate breaths of fire wrapped around the hilt and vined their way down the blade. Sapphires along with rubies dotted their eyes and emeralds sprinkled along their spines. Nothing matched its exquisiteness. Save for that seductive swirl of emerald and amber that flashed in Lucy’s eyes. Who wouldn’t love a sword like that?

5. Despite the stony façade, lies a humorous side. Thankfully Lucy finds a way to whittle her way in and help unleash his inner comedian.

4. He’s dedicated and willing to make sacrifices to the Paladin (Good demons) cause. Those Infernati don’t know what they’ve got coming.

3. He’s a tortured hero. He’s gone through a lot through the centuries –especially where the opposite sex is concerned. Who doesn’t love a man who’s able to rise up from his past and remain steadfast in his ways.

2. He is dedicated to his family. He wants desperately to save his sister, but he’s ordered to go after the Arca Inferorum (Chest of the Damned) instead. (See #5)

1. He might appear to be stony, but there’s a true romantic soul inside him! He knows how to respect and treat a woman. And that’s a trait all men can and should possess. Not too unrealistic, huh?

So if you’ve already read Demons Prefer Blondes, what would make you fall in Love with Rafe Deleon? If you haven’t yet read the book, what sort of things make you go weak in the knees for a hero, real life or fictional?

DEMONS PREFER BLONDES BY SIDNEY AYERS – IN STORES JUNE 2011

A Bad Day For A Demon

Rafe Deleon is a senior demon and he resents like hell his assignment to Earth to retrieve the Chest of the Damned before it falls into the wrong hands. But then he meets beautiful, intriguing succubus Lucy Gregory, and she’s just unleashed a whole load of trouble…

Really Sucks For A Succubus

Lucy’s chic suburban beauty salon has suddenly become the Underworld’s center of mass chaos and destruction. The only good thing in a day going rapidly down the tubes is the arrival of a gorgeous demon who’s adamant that he can help her…

But Lucy has quite a few deeply unpleasant—not to mention deadly and hateful—surprises ahead of her, and surely there’s never been a worse time to try out a new boyfriend…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sidney Ayers writes light paranormal and erotic romance. Her manuscripts have won or placed in the MORWA Gateway to the Best, the Valley of the Sun Hot Prospects, the Passionate Ink Stroke of Midnight, the Heart of Denver Molly, and the Finally a Bride contests. She lives in Michigan where she is working on the next book in the Demons Unleashed series, Demons Like it Hot—in stores December 2011. For more information, please visit http://www.sidneyayers.com.

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Minnette Meador - Do You Believe In Ghosts?

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Just comment on this post to be entered into Minnette Meador's blog party contest. She's giving away a treasure trove of prizes including GC's from Amazon, Portland Totes full of Make in Oregon and Portland goodies, a chance for a $100 GC to Amazon, and the grand prize winner will win a Kindle full of books.

***
DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS?
by Minnette Meador

As he passed through, twenty or so ghosts littered his living room watching the last few minutes of the news. Keenan pulled air into his lungs before picking up the remote.

They were costing him a fortune. The TV, the radio, and even his computer were always on. Lights went off and on constantly. The heat would soar to eighty degrees in the middle of the summer and then plunge to fifty when the winter freeze set in. He couldn’t keep any pets; the instant they came into the house they hissed or yelped in terror and ran away. The neighborhood was full of cats that had once belonged to Keenan.

He couldn’t keep girlfriends either. The closer they got, the more convinced they were that he was on drugs, a serial killer, or terminally cracked. He hadn’t had a girl at his house in years; for some reason they got all heebie-jeebie on him when things started flying around or cold blasts of air unexpectedly lifted their skirts. One girl even had her panties removed, but not by Keenan. He was in the kitchen at the time. – A GHOST OF A CHANCE (JUNE 2011)

I’ve always been a fan of ghosts. Ghost stories, movies about ghosts, ghostly TV shows, and I’m even a member of the Ghost Hunters’ fan club. Let’s face it, I’m a devout ghostie

In my new book, A Ghost of a Chance, Keenan Swanson sees literally hundreds of ghosts. In fact, they make his life interesting (in a Chinese Curse sort of way). While I was researching and writing the book, it reminded me of my own experiences with ghosts.

When I was six, my family moved into a sprawling three-story house in NE Portland. It had plate glass leaded windows, a dumb waiter, even built in cabinets and shelves. There were four bedrooms and two bathrooms, just enough space for the seven of us. The night we moved in, my brother and I had to sleep in the same bed; the other stuff hadn’t arrived yet.

That night something very strange happened. I woke up in the middle of the night. Opposite the bed was a closet with the door open because of boxes. In the second story window inside that closet, I saw a very strange white face. It just hung there looking at us.

“Pat, do you see that?” I whispered to my brother.

“Yes,” he hissed back to me.

We both pulled the covers over our heads and shivered until we got up enough nerve to run to sleep in my parent’s bed. I know it was real: we saw it no less than six other times.

The second ghost I saw in that house was when I was there alone several years later. I must have been about 9 or 10 and sleeping in the downstairs bedroom. My sister had gone on a date and I was in bed sleeping. A noise woke me up and I thought it was Teri coming home. When I opened my bedroom door, there by the stairs in the shadows was a little girl. I could see the light from the top of the stairs shining in her eyes, her shoes, her dress. My reaction was almost the same as when I was six; I calmly closed the door, got back into bed, and pulled the covers over my head until Teri really did come home. I think I slept with her that night.

There were many other incidents in the house, but, though I was terrified, I later learned that there was really nothing to harm us. I did find out later that a car hit a little girl, who died out on the street in front of our house many years before, and that a painter had shot himself in the house.

Don’t forget, we’ll do a drawing for a free eBook of A GHOST OF A CHANCE from all the people who commented here…

AND…

I have lots of goodies to give away during my tour. For a chance to win, all you have to do is read and comment on this or any other blogs I’m visiting. Prizes include: several small Gift Certificates from Amazon, Portland Totes full of Made in Oregon and Portland goodies, a chance to win a $100 Gift Certificate from Amazon, and the grand prize winner will win a Kindle full of books. For every blog you read and comment on, you will be entered to win. A daily updated list of blogs will appear on: MINNETTE’S TOUR.

In the meantime, I hope you’ll check out my new book A GHOST OF A CHANCE. It’s full of ghosts, angels, demons, and one slightly used psychic who goes through a comedy of disasters to find his heart’s desire.

A GHOST OF A CHANCE
a paranormal romantic comedy
(Book I in the Ghost Series)
by Minnette Meador
RELEASE DATE: JUNE 22, 2011
Resplendence Publishing

Keenan Swanson is your typical, everyday graphic designer. Well, except for the hundreds of pesky, prank-loving poltergeists that make his life interesting (in a Chinese curse sort of way). He finds his situation precarious yet manageable—until witty, smoking-hot coworker Isabella enters the scene and Keenan decides he wants her all for himself. With a horny succubus who has other ideas, a burly city cop determined to lock Keenan away, and an evil entity who’s hell-bent on using Keenan’s seed to create a living demon, the reluctant psychic realizes he just might not come out of this alive—or with heart intact.

“Hysterical and very original!”

2-Time Rita Winner Wendy Warren

A GHOST OF A CHANCE - EXCERPTS

Keenan Swanson is your typical, everyday graphic designer. Well except for the hundreds of pesky, prank-loving poltergeists that make his life interesting (in a Chinese curse sort of way). He finds his situation precarious yet manageable--- Until witty, smoking-hot coworker, Isabella enters the scene and Keenan decides he wants her all for himself…

CHAPTER ONE – LIVING WITH STRANGERS

“Isabella, isn’t it?” Keenan hadn’t seen a ring on her finger, around her neck, or a Love John Forever tattoo any place noticeable, so he assumed she was available.

“Right. You’re Keenan. We met the other day.”

“Right.”

Usually he didn’t have problems talking to girls, but now it was harder than it had ever been. A hundred witty comebacks crowded his brain for attention, but not one of them could make it past the lump in his throat. His growing cock wasn’t going to be much help either; all it wanted him to do was blurt out, “Ya wanna?”

Bracing himself against possible rejection, and telling his cock to shut the fuck up, Keenan gathered his courage and charged into the fray. “Say listen, if you’re not…”

The elevator jarred to a halt and the doors burst open in front of them. At least fifteen people piled into the box, disregarding the “maximum occupancy” sign.

Keenan hit his back hard against the railing and suddenly found his arms full of warm, healthy girl.

The sounds around him came to a crashing halt when he fixated on those gorgeous almond eyes and full red lips. The urge to devour that mouth was irresistible. He felt like he was home. Her balmy scent marinated his brain, clouding out everything else. The velvet skin of her naked arms made his palms tingle.

A sudden terror seized him when he realized his rod stood at full attention, shouting, “Yippee!” Since the crowd had crushed Isabella against him, she must have felt it jumping like an excited dog against her stomach. To Keenan’s amazement, she didn’t say a word and smiled sweetly up at him. Her expression was almost pleased. It boggled his mind.

“Sorry,” he managed after a few precious seconds.

He let go and fully expected her to scrunch as far away from him as possible, a murmured “pervert” escaping her lips. Instead, she slid up next to him and stayed attached to his shoulder, turning her lovely breasts to the doors.

Keenan had a hard time keeping his eyes off them, noting with interest that both nipples were little rocks against the black fabric. He forced himself to focus on the bald spot on the head of the guy in front of him. He hoped to God the man wasn’t pushed back; in Keenan’s current state, it might be difficult to explain what rested against the man’s ass.

________________________________________

…with a horny succubus who has other ideas…

CHAPTER TWO – NIGHT VISITOR

The dream was so real.

Hands slithered over Keenan’s body, but they were detached somehow. It was hard to describe. Starting on his scalp, the hot tickling sensation sent tendrils of pleasure down his gut and directly into his cock. It was painfully erect, aching for a good hard squeeze, but he couldn’t reach down to touch it.

A weight pressed down on his body, holding him to the bed. Keenan could actually feel his body sinking into the mattress. Something heavy, like invisible clay, pressed against his face. He couldn’t move. He wasn’t scared at all…just horny as hell.

The hands massaging his scalp moved down to his face, pressing his eyes closed with what he could only assume must have been thumbs. They moved down his face and found his lips, parted them, and thrust a slender finger into his mouth. There was no taste, but the soft, warm texture electrified his senses. He sucked on it instinctively. It was deeply sexual and made his cock throb in anticipation. To his utter dismay the finger slipped from his mouth and trailed down his chin.

Keenan opened his eyes. Light from an outside streetlamp illuminated the foot of his bed and half his dresser. When she appeared in a wisp at his feet, he had to struggle to lift his head enough to see her.

Naked heaving breasts came into view; the nipples were long, slate hard, and the areolas black against dark skin. Her waist and hips were slim. Stretched fingers pinched the nipples, making them longer, more rigid. The triangle of her pussy was bald, the slit dark and inviting. Hazy clouds covered her face, making it soft and featureless, but billowing tendrils of black hair twisted out from around it, flowing in a wind Keenan couldn’t hear. It moved in a watery dance. The covers glided slowly down his body. The soft touch of the silk made his cock twinge in agony and he gritted his teeth to hiss his pleasure. Electric shocks ignited the nerves in his neck, shoulders, and arms. When Keenan was completely exposed, he wasn’t cold. His cock sprang into ready position. The hair on his arms and legs snapped with static.

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Justine Elyot - From a Great Height

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Enter to win a eCopy of Cat and Mouse!

***
From a Great Height
Justine Elyot

Layla, the heroine of my short novella Cat and Mouse, has a head for heights. So much so that she has made it her mission to scale the roof of every tower block in London so she can tag them with her signature in spray paint. A young woman who has known only hardship and neglect in her life, she finds some peace of mind up there, close to the clouds where nobody else can get to her. Or so she thinks.

Because somebody else is determined to get to her, and that somebody else might have the one thing to offer that she fears the most - love. Adam is a police officer who has become intrigued, even obsessed, with capturing the mysterious graffiti artist, and a chance encounter that ends with an unexpected kiss only serves to deepen his obsession. When they fall for each other, it's both from, and at, a great height.

I suppose the tower blocks of London are an unorthodox setting for a romance. For me, they are fascinating buildings, rooted in everyday grime, rising up away from it all. This was the feeling I wanted to capture in Layla's character - a person mired in a bad past, literally aspiring to escape it.

The block atop which the most dramatic scenes play out is Balfron House, on the Brownfield Estate in the East London suburb of Poplar.

Like its more famous twin, the Trellick Tower in fashionable Notting Hill, it was designed by brutalist godfather Erno Goldfinger and is listed as a building of special historical interest. I don't think I'd like to live here, but something about its bleak functionality has always intrigued me.

Is this the weirdest setting ever for a romantic rendezvous? I wonder.

I'm offering a copy of the book to one commenter, chosen at random, by the end of the month. Not sure if Cat and Mouse is for you? Check out this excerpt for a flavour.

"The day this doesn’t take my breath away, Layla thought, I will stop.

That day was still far distant, though, for Layla’s reaction to the sight before her precipitated the familiar reactions—awe, wonder, fear, exhilaration. All around her, lights shone—the stars above and beyond, the beacons of the city below. Leaning over the safety rail at the edge of the roof, Layla looked down hundreds of feet to the sleepless streets. Pinprick pairs of headlights drifted along the roads here and there, while a cluster of dots appeared to be brawling in the closed-up shopping precinct. But all of that urban ugliness was far away from here. Up here, it all looked beautiful, from the brutalist-style tower blocks opposite her to the distant, shining curve of the River Thames.

She let her breath trickle out slowly, drinking in the nightscape, before stepping back and reaching for her backpack. Time was of the essence. She had to leave her signature and get out of here fast. She retrieved her spray paints and set to work, the intricate tag now coming easily to her where she’d once had to take time and care. The exquisite combination of hearts, flowers and barbed-wire knots decorated the roofs of dozens of the city’s dilapidated, residential tower blocks. Layla meant to decorate each one before moving on to the greater challenge of the skyscrapers at Canary Wharf.

“Every helicopter pilot knows my name,” she told herself with satisfaction, finishing her handiwork with a flourishing signature. Layla, 2011. “And so does he.”

Speaking of whom…

Layla packed her paints and hurried back to the rail, looking down into the street. A blue flashing light advanced along the access road. Layla inhaled sharply—he’d been quick tonight. At least, she calculated, he would have to spend some time dealing with the hooligans outside the shops before he came up to try and find her. There was still plenty of time.

Hoisting her backpack over her shoulder, she shinned back down the skylight ladder, closing it carefully behind her. She knew better than to bother with the battered elevators, so she began a leaping descent of the twenty-three flights of stairs instead, keeping a sharp eye out for discarded needles or other dangers on the way.

She’d just made it down to the central lobby when she saw his uniformed figure, together with his partner, buzzing the concierge outside the heavy double doors. She squashed herself beneath the stairs and waited.

After much buzzing, an elderly man shuffled over to the doors, breathing stertorously and cursing under his breath. “Yeah, yeah, what now?”

“There’s a girl on your roof, Sir. I don’t know if you realized.” Adam’s voice, always so strident with that sardonic edge, rang through the dingy lobby.

“Girl? Eugh, better than that pirate radio station last month, at least. Go up. Oh, you want me to come up too? Oy. It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“I’m aware of that, Sir.”

Layla stifled a giggle, picturing Adam’s face, one eyebrow wearily raised.

“Luke, why don’t you stay down here and keep an eye on those youths—make sure they’ve dispersed. This’ll only take one of us.”

Ha! thought Layla. He wants all the glory for himself, of course. Mustn’t let his partner share any of the credit.

She waited until Adam’s impatient footsteps were distant echoes, followed by the heavier tread of the concierge, before crawling back out. She scanned the hallway for traces of Luke and, finding none, sauntered out onto the concourse.

She knew she would be well and thoroughly hidden in the maze of alleys and walkways that made the estate such a favorite of petty criminals before her pursuer had even made it onto the roof."

Cat and Mouse is available now from Resplendence Publishing: http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/m8/301-200-302-488-1--cat-and-mouse-by-justine-elyot.html

Thank you for reading!

Justine Elyot
http://justineelyot.com

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Cheryl Brooks - So you want to be an alien?

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***
So you want to be an alien?
By Cheryl Brooks

Have you ever wished you could choose what you were? Not simply change how you were put together as a human being, but that you could be a different species altogether?

As a writer of The Cat Star Chronicles series of science fiction romance, I’ve created several different alien species, but would I actually want to be one of them? Maybe. My Zetithian heroes are the best lovers in the galaxy, but when it comes to sex, their females take a lot of persuasion. As a Zetithian woman, I’d be something of an oddity because I can’t imagine not falling for any Zetithian man on sight. Who wouldn’t want a guy who can purr, not to mention all of their other interesting sexual characteristics and abilities?

How about a Norludian? They’re downright ugly—fishy lips, bulbous eyes, sucker-tipped fingers, and flippers for feet—and they never wear clothing. Plus, they have some mating habits that most humans find repulsive. Nope. Don’t think I’d want to be one, even though they are pretty funny and make great sidekicks.

Mordrials are very cool. They appear to be human but can communicate telepathically and control the elements to some degree. Talk about power! Of course, with my luck, I’d only be able to commune with slugs and conjure up a drizzle instead of a thunderstorm. I’ll have to think about that one…

Herpatronians are strong, but they’re typically nasty and look like gorillas. Nope. Don’t think I want to go there…

Davordians are essentially humans with luminous blue eyes. I’d love to have the eyes, but Davordians are all sluts—males as well as females—to some degree. I might be able to handle that if I had gorgeous eyes, otherwise, I’d seem pretty ridiculous.

Hmm… what else? There are the Statzeelians, but their males are so nasty they have to have a female chained to them whenever they’re out in public to keep them from starting brawls—keeping them calm by sexual stimulation. Their clothing facilitates this need—the men’s pants are crotchless—but since the women’s dresses are made of a material that keeps them warm but doesn’t hide a thing, I’m not sure I’d like that, either. Plus, Statzeelians have flat noses and six fingers on each hand. Not being into wearing rings, I don’t need another finger, and with a flat nose, I’d never be able to keep my glasses from sliding down. Very annoying!

The Aquerei are introduced in my latest release, Virgin, and are able to breathe under water, but they’ve got stinging tentacles sprouting from their heads and have very round eyes. Crossing them with humans makes them more attractive—as Dax, the Zetithian hero of Virgin discovers when he meets Ava Karon—but the purebloods are pretty scary.

Actually, now that I’ve run through some of these, remaining human is sounding better all the time. Perhaps it’s time to come up with a new species. Maybe one where the men are hunks, the women are gorgeous, and they all have wings. I’d love to be able to fly. Perhaps I could be a cross between this type of alien and a Mordrial and marry a Zetithian whose mother was an Aquerei. Now, that would be cool.

What about you? In all the books you’ve read or the movies you’ve seen, what type of alien appeals to you the most? Would you want to be a Romulan or a Vulcan? Or maybe a Hut like Jabba? Or an Ewok or a Wookie? Or something entirely new? The possibilities are as endless as your own imagination. Set it free and dream!

VIRGIN BY CHERYL BROOKS—IN STORES JUNE 2011

He’s never met anyone who made him purr…

Starship pilot Dax never encountered a woman he wanted badly enough. Until he met Ava Karon… And he’ll never give his body without giving his heart…

Dax is happy to take Ava back to her home planet, until he finds out she’s returning to an old boyfriend…

As their journey together turns into a quest neither expected, Ava would give herself to Dax in a heartbeat. Except he doesn’t know the first thing about seducing a woman…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cheryl Brooks is a critical care nurse by night and a romance writer by day. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America. She is the author of The Cat Star Chronicles series and lives with her husband, two sons, five cats, five horses and one dog in Indiana. For more information, please visit http://www.cherylbrooksonline.com.

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Deborah Cooke's - Flying Blind Excerpt

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***
FLYING BLIND by Deborah Cooke
YA Paranormal Romance

Zoë is the Wyvern of the Pyr – the one female dragon shape shifter with special powers. But Zoë is at the bottom of the class when it comes to being Pyr, and her powers are AWOL. Worse, there’s no reference book to consult, and the last Wyvern is dead….

Everything changes when Zoë’s best friend is bullied and Zoë reacts. Before she can blink twice, her inner dragon is loose, and she’s suspended from school and headed to a shape shifter boot camp with guys she’s known all her life. But soon she’s doubting her powers – and even some of her friendships.

Zoë quickly realizes she has to master her powers yesterday – there’s danger ahead and boot camp is a trap. A secretive group, the Mages, want to eliminate all shifters and the Pyr are next in line – unless Zoë and her friends can solve the riddle and work together to save their own kind…

An excerpt:

I’m probably not the only fifteen-and-a-half-year-old girl who’d like to get the Puberty Show on the road. Even Meagan got her period last year, which was why she was trying to help. But my best friend didn’t know the half of it.

That was because of the Covenant. I couldn’t confide in Meagan because I’d had to swear to abide by the Covenant of our kind. I come from a long line of dragon shape shifters—Pyr, we call ourselves—and we pledge to not reveal our abilities to humans on a whim.

That would include Meagan.

The Covenant goes like this:

I, Zoë Sorensson, do solemnly pledge not to willfully reveal the truth of my shape shifting abilities to humans. I understand that individuals may know me in dragon form, or in human form, but I swear that I shall not permit humans to know me in both forms, or to allow them to witness my shifting between forms without appropriate assessment of risk. I understand also that there will be humans who come to know me in both forms over the course of my life – I pledge not to reveal myself without due consideration, to beguile those who inadvertently witness my abilities, and to supply the names of those humans whom I have entrusted with my truth to the leader of the Pyr, Erik Sorensson.

Do humans know we exist? Sure. Humans always have – thus the dragon stories they tell. But knowing dragons exist, believing that they are actually dragon shape shifters and being convinced that your neighbor is one of them are entirely different things.

That’s probably a good thing.

The Covenant came about pretty recently. During the Dragon’s Tail Wars, some Pyr decided they wanted to be more active and visible. My dad, though, remembers when we were hunted almost to extinction. The Covenant is a compromise, between putting it all out there and living in secret. So, humans might see Sloane on the news, appearing at the scene of natural disasters to help – he’s the tourmaline dragon – or Brandt - the orange dragon – making another daring rescue, but they don’t know their names or where they live in their human lives.

We teenage Pyr had to pledge to the Covenant after Nick tried to impress the twin girls living next door, and his dad caught him.

I still thought it was funny that they hadn’t been impressed.

I, in contrast, was awed by Nick in dragon form.

The fact is that most humans don’t believe they could personally know a dragon shape shifter. Those twins thought Nick had pulled some kind of illusion to make himself look more cool than he is.

So, in a way, we might as well be a myth.

Which is funny, if you think about it.

The trick is that the dragon business is all theoretical when it comes to me. I’m the daughter of a dragon shape shifter, so I should also be a dragon shape shifter. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Except it’s not happening. Nothing special has happened to me. I can’t do it and I don’t know why—much less what I can do to hurry things along.

Dragons are by nature patient. That’s what my dad says. He should know, seeing as he is about twelve hundred years old. That’s supposed to reassure me, but it doesn’t.

Because dragons are also passionate and inclined to anger. I know that from spending my life around all those dragon shape shifters who are my extended family. And the fact that my dragon abilities were AWOL—despite my patience—was seriously pissing me off.

The Pyr are all guys—men and their sons—except for me. The story is that there’s only one female dragon at a time, that she’s the Wyvern and has special powers.

Yours truly—I’m supposed to be the Wyvern.

The issue with there only being one female dragon shape shifter at a time is that the last one died before I was born. And it’s not like anyone has her diary. Zero references for me. Zero advice.

Zero anything.

Just an expectation from my family and friends that I’ll become the font of all dragonesque knowledge and lead the next generation to wherever the heck we’re going.

Sooner would be better.

No pressure, right?

-----------

Deborah Cooke
http://www.thedragondiaries.com

-----------

A NIGHT OWL REVIEWS BOOK REVIEW

5 Star - Top Pick Title

This author hit the nail on the head with the title, "Flying Blind." The reader is introduced to Zoe, your "typical" teenager. Until you start reading.

Zoe is anything, but typical. She is a dragon shifter, and not just any dragon shifter, but the Wyvern.

She is a very special dragon that is the prophetess of her people, the Pyr dragons. When her powers start to emerge, she is sent to dragon boot camp. It’s a weeklong camp that is designed to challenge all emerging Pyr dragons. Unfortunately things aren't as they appear and Zoe and her friends must find a way to save the rest of their kind from a threat that was thought to be extinct.

This story crosses the boundaries. It will appeal to both teen and adults across the board. The story is engaging and fun. It’s bringing to life a world of dragons and magic that appeals to all.

Reviewed by: Angibabi4 | May 19, 2011 | 9780451233882

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Myne Whitman - Can Love Be Rekindled?

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***
CAN LOVE BE REKINDLED?

My second book, A LOVE REKINDLED is all about love and romance. As a Nigerian woman, I chose to write this novel to provide insight into two characters in a loving relationship as well as the ethnic violence I witnessed in Nigeria. I believe romantic fiction with African characters and settings is an unexplored niche both in Nigeria and internationally and I plan to write a series of such books. My first novel, A Heart to Mend, also set in Nigeria, was very well received and garnered a substantial following on blogger, Facebook and Twitter. It was also subsequently published, to good reviews, in Nigeria.

In A Love Rekindled, I explored the possibility of re-uniting with a first love. There are a lot of anecdotes from people, positive and otherwise. Most people seem to think it is not a good idea to try to rekindle love, especially that first love one finds when still young and idealistic. But what if it were possible? What if after what one believes to be a life changing, heart breaking episode, fate gives this second chance to love again? From a Nigerian perspective, I give my hero and heroine the chance many only dream of.

There are a couple of issues that came up while I was writing this book;

First, the reason most given for not rekindling love with an earlier partner is usually that an ex is an ex for a reason, and for some that is true. But in some cases, you are parted from your exs because of circumstances. I have read about people who meet their first love again on Facebook, Twitter and other social media sites, and because they are now married, they don’t know what to do about it. But what if these people weren’t married and were single and still attracted to the ex, would they not try to find ways to rekindle their love?

The next theme was forgiveness. Personally, I believe that one should forgive 70 times 7 times but I also know itt can be difficult. Some create a difference between forgiving and forgetting. Some say they will forgive but never forget. Be that as it may, I always say that forgiving is a two way street. It is not enough to just forgive but the person that you are forgiving needs to know what happened and get the opportunity to make allowances. You both have to own that forgiveness in order to fully heal.

Short Synopsis

Ten years ago, Efe Sagay dreams of winning the United States Visa Lottery and escaping a country torn apart by instability, until she meets Kevwe Mukoro, a fellow university student. Kevwe is happy to remain in Nigeria; only he wants Efe by his side. Over time, Efe finds true love with Kevwe, and promises to marry him after graduation. Their dreams clash when Efe wins an American Visa and fresh violence erupts between their warring ethnic groups. People close to them use this conflict to their own ends and their love becomes one of the casualties. Efe travels to America, nursing a broken heart.

Now, Efe is back in Nigeria to take up a high profile job in Abuja. Closer home, pressures to get married mount, and her nights are plagued by nightmares of Kevwe's betrayal. When another Mukoro comes to her office, she knows it’s a matter of time before Kevwe returns to her life. They finally meet again, yet renewed desire is no match for bitter memories of heartbreak. Kevwe claims he's never stopped loving her, but while she does not want to lose him, the traumatic events of the past have to be resolved before she can give in to rekindled love.

An Interview of the Hero of A Love Rekindled, Kevwe Mukoro is an identical twin.

- How would you describe yourself? Confident, a go-getter, caring

- Is it true that you enjoy spending hours and hours in your engineering design studio? Yes, I do. After all, my job is my passion. I've been dreaming of having my own company for two decades, and I'm proud of how far I've come in setting it up and growing it to this extent, in spite of all the challenges I've had to face. My vision is to make this the number one engineering design company in Nigeria, so I have to put in a lot of work in pioneering new products to achieve this dream.

- A little bird tells us that you're technophobic. Is that true? Well, I'm not the kind of person to go crazy over the latest gadgets. After all, what is technology for but to enable us to be more productive in our work and lives? I use AutoCAD on my computer at work, but I don't see why I should spend hours on Facebook and Twitter when I shoudl be working on a design project.

- What's your idea of a romantic evening with a loved one?
I'd take my loved one out to a quiet place for dinner and drinks. Then we'd move on from there to a nightclub where we could end the evening dancing the night away.

- Who is more impulsive - you or your twin brother?
I have to say that I am - he's the level headed one, whereas I sometimes fly off the handle. But we're not that different - I can also be composed when I want to be.

_____

A Love Rekindled is now available for purchase on; Amazon as Paperback / Kindle, B&N as Print and Nook ebook, Smashwords in various formats Paperback on Createspace.

If you want to know more about me, check out my website and blog, Myne Whitman Writes. I am also on Facebook and Twitter at /Myne.Whitman and @Myne_Whitman

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Erin Quinn - Celtic Legends

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***
Celtic Legends 
by Erin Quinn

Celtic legends often speak of warriors so overcome by bloodlust in battle that they are changed. The fury and killing, the peril of certain death, and the instinct to survive merge into something that overcomes the warrior’s humanity, leaving him a savage beast bent on destroying his enemy. Men who have lived through war recount the moments up to the first strike but often have no memory of what came after until it is all over and they wake, as if from a nightmare, to find themselves blood drenched and exhausted beyond belief.

The Celts had a name for this phenomenon: Riastradh.

Tiarnan, the hero of Haunting Desire, is no stranger to the frenzy of battle. His entire life has been spent defending his way of life, his family, his lands. If the memories of the bloody battles he’s fought had stayed with him, he would likely go mad. It is not until he meets Shealy O’Leary, Haunting Desire’s heroine who has traveled through time, that he learns why he is such a formidable warrior. When his enemies take Shealy from him, he will stop at nothing to get her back and that means embracing the beast within him and giving it free reign.

Here is an excerpt of the scene where Tiarnan faces what he’s become:

Wariness canvassed the air between them, reinforced by the suspicious glances they all exchanged.

At last, Jamie said, “Let’s start with the clearing.”

“The clearing?” Eamonn demanded. “What clearing?”

Jamie gave him a cold look. “The one with a hundred body parts in it.”

That shut Eamonn’s mouth, but Tiarnan didn’t feel any satisfaction from it. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t want to talk about the clearing. He didn’t want to discuss the bodies.

“What about it?” Eamonn said.

“Tiarnan here killed about twenty men in just under five minutes. Granted he’s not my brother”—and Jamie shot him a look that seemed to contradict that statement—“but I know the man, and I’ve never seen him do anything like that before.”

Tiarnan opened his mouth to deny that he’d done anything out of the ordinary, but no words came out. Suddenly a flashing assault of images filled his head. Men, charging him with their weapons drawn. Tiarnan, looking down on them from what seemed a great distance. Blood. Everywhere, blood.

“I always thought he had wee bit of the riastradh in him,” Liam said in a very calm tone.

Riastradh. It was said to transform a man into something that wasn’t quite human, something that knew only death and destruction. A creature that would battle until no blood was left to spill. A man-beast that probably resembled the drawing he’d just seen. Tiarnan swallowed hard, feeling Shealy tense against him. Every damning image in that journal seemed to confirm that the prophecy was true, but he knew his own heart. He’d betrayed it once. He would not do so again.

Encircled by his arms, settled between his spread knees, he knew Shealy was remembering the image in the journal as well. Her words echoed silently between them. You were like five men and ten feet tall. . . . He prayed she wouldn’t turn and look at his face, wouldn’t see the horror lurking in his eyes.

“What does that mean, reeastr. . . ?” Reyes asked.

“It’s the frenzy that comes over a man in battle,” Eamonn answered in a choked voice.

“It’s more than that,” Liam said, giving Eamonn a dirty look. “Tiarnan, you remember the night of our sister’s wedding, when you fought a dozen of Cathán’s men at once?”

“Not only Tiarnan fought,” Eamonn said. “I was with him. You weren’t.”

“I was a boy,” Liam answered coldly. “And forced to stay behind.” Liam turned back to Shealy. “My brother Michael told me later. The odds were twelve to three. It was an ugly situation, but in the end, Tiarnan brought down eight men in the time it took Eamonn and Michael to kill five.”

A hushed silence followed and Tiarnan felt the curious eyes of all upon him.

“When we came on you, T,” Jamie said. “You were . . .”

While he searched for the right words, Reyes blurted, “You were a fucking giant, man. Like eight feet tall, like a killing machine.”

Zac nodded and said, “You were ripping them apart with your bare hands. I thought Jamie was dead when you turned on him. I thought you were going to kill him, too.”

Tiarnan could feel his face growing hot with disgust. Was it true? Had he become riastradh? A mindless monster? He remembered looking down on his victims. He remembered the red-hot fury, the feeling that they’d threatened him. Threatened those who were his to protect. More than that . . .

“Is that what happened before?” Jamie asked Liam. “When he fought those other men, did he . . . grow?”

Liam looked at Eamonn. “I thought it was my imagination that changed him,” Eamonn said. “It was dark and it happened so fast . . . I couldn’t be sure that my eyes hadn’t tricked me. I convinced myself they had and I never mentioned it. Michael never said a word either, but I don’t think he saw—he was too busy trying to stay alive.” Eamonn made a small, choked sound. “To him you were always stronger than any other man could be. If he’d seen, it would have only confirmed what he believed.”

In the confession there was bitter truthfulness, the admission of jealously, the shame of being the one who harbored it against his own brother.

“Do you remember what happened, T?” Jamie said. “Today, in the clearing?”

“No. Not really. Just bits. Pieces.” Blood. Gore. Violence. “If you say it’s true, then I believe you, but do not expect me to explain because I can’t.”

Jamie nodded calmly. “Not looking for an explanation, my friend. Just want you to be aware that it happened. You saved all of our asses and so we’ll just tell you thanks, and be done with it. But the next time you feel that power coming on, you need to recognize it, you understand? I’ve served with some of the baddest motherfuckers to take a breath and I know there’s a fine line between being the best fighter and the most dangerous one. You just remember who your friends are.” Jamie paused. “And we’ll do the same. We got your back.”

The lecture might have sat irritably on his shoulders if he hadn’t sensed the sincerity and the honest compassion in Jamie’s tone. They weren’t afraid of him, though he thought that Reyes was right and he might have easily murdered Jamie when they’d come upon him.

Moved by that pledge of friendship, Tiarnan nodded. In his arms, Shealy sat less stiffly. Ellie was looking at him over Shealy’s shoulder. The thumb was still in her mouth and her eyes were solemn. He brushed a finger over the soft petal of her cheek and she sighed, the small sound anchoring him to this moment, stripping him of any defense he might have once possessed. These two females were his ballast, and if being riastradh enabled him to protect them, then he would embrace it.

“I will not forget who fights with me,” Tiarnan said softly. “I will not forget who I fight for. And I will not forget my friends.”

Haunting Desire, book three in the Mists of Ireland Series, April 5, 2011

“Erin Quinn weaves pure enchantment in Haunting Desire.” ~Kathryne Kennedy, bestselling author of The Elven Lords series

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Erin-Quinn/e/B0028OI2BA/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Barnes & Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/erin-quinn-haunting?store=book

Indie: http://www.indiebound.org/search/apachesolr_search/Erin%20Quinn%20Haunting

Borders: http://www.borders.com/online/store/SearchResults?keyword=Erin+Quinn+haunting&type=1&simple=1

50 word description

Haunting Desire: In a world gone wrong, the only way to save everything he values is to sacrifice the one woman he was meant to love.

Cover Copy

A woman lost in a nightmare

Shealy O’Leary thought the ancient Book of Fennore a myth until she and her father are sucked into the past—and into the cursed no-man’s land called Fennore. There Shealy learns that she has a rare power that their enemy seeks. Aided by the dangerous and compelling warrior, Tiarnan, Shealy must find her father and learn how to wield her gift to save those she loves or die in this waking nightmare...

A man desperate to regain his honor

After failing both his land and people, Tiarnan was damned to spend eternity in the black heart of Fennore. His only hope comes in the shape of a beautiful, frightened woman from the future. For she possesses a gift she is unaware of. A gift with the power to save ...or destroy them all.

A desire that drives their destiny

Together, Shealy and Tiarnan begin their perilous quest—a mission that draws them closer and closer together. And as the odds against them mount, so does their passion. The intensity of their bond electrifies the couple, their love powering Shealy’s gift and Tiarnan’s strength. But their newfound connection threatens to ruin them both—and bring to life a long ago prophecy of devastation and betrayal...

About The Author

Erin Quinn (also known as Erin Grady) is an award winning author. Writing as Quinn, her titles include the Berkley Mists of Ireland series (HAUNTING BEAUTY, HAUNTING WARRIOR and HAUNTING DESIRE). Book four, HAUNTING EMBRACE will be out in October 2011. Writing as Erin Grady, she has three stand alone titles, also by Berkley, including WHISPERS and ECHOES. Her books have been called “riveting,” “brilliantly plotted” and “beautifully written” and have won, placed or showed in the WILLA Award for Historical fiction, Reader’s Crown, Orange Rose, Golden Quill, Best Books, Booksellers Best, and Award of Excellence

She lives in Arizona with her husband, two daughters and three dogs (all of whom have made debuts in her stories—the dogs, that is, not the husband and kids.)

BOOK TITLE: HAUNTING DESIRE
URL: www.ErinQuinnBooks.com
Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GCxlyzRRVq8



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Tula Neal - Blacks in Antiquity

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Enter to win an eBook of "Daughter of Egypt"!

***
Blacks in Antiquity
By Tula Neal

Few writers who set their stories in ancient Rome or in ancient Egypt feature black characters and most movies set in those time periods ignore the fact that black faces were not an altogether uncommon sight in either Rome or Egypt. The ancient kingdom of Kush in the land of Nubia which straddled present-day Egypt and Sudan was an important trading partner for Egypt, supplying it with gold, ivory, incense, pottery and exotic animals but there were frequent wars between them and Kush. Some Kushites lived in Thebes and other cities of ancient Egypt and intermarried with Egyptians, some even rising to become pharaohs through intermarriage and political machinations. It was not until around 727 BC that a Nubian king conquered Egypt, however, founding the 25th Dynasty. The far-flung nature of the Roman Empire also ensured that blacks were part of it. Remember, the Roman empire bordered Northern Africa and, in the East, stretched down the coast into modern-day Sudan. In fact, blacks were quite likely to be soldiers, merchants, diplomats, general and yes, slaves and servants, in Rome. In the 3rd century, Saint Maurice was the black leader of a Roman legion who was also a Christian. When he refused the Emperor Maximian’s order to fight against fellow Christians, he and his men were executed.

The more recent history of Europe is also entwined with the history of blacks. The Moors who swept into the Iberian peninsula in the early 700s and stayed for 800 years were a racial mixture of African, Berber and Arab. The Moors introduced something of a golden age to Europe, bringing as they did much of the accumulated learning of the Greeks, India and Egypt. The Moors embraced scholarship and learning and tolerated other religions. It is from their time in Europe that the story of Morien, the black knight of the Arthurian legends, comes.

Despite the expulsion of the Moors from Spain in the 15th century, blacks continued to live in Europe and to make their mark, so much so that in the 1500s Queen Elizabeth I requested the mayors of her major cities to expel their black residents because they were becoming too numerous. James IV of Scotland appears to have been more generous and his treasurer records several gifts of money and gowns to black women at his court. Were they courtesans? Did they have aristocratic lovers? We don’t know but it’s fascinating to speculate. And then there’s the Bard, himself, recent scholarship points to the frequency with which blacks are mentioned in Shakespeare’s plays as proof, not only of how visible blacks were even during his time but of his own possible interaction with them. Was Sonnet 127 his tribute to a black lover ?

Tula Neal
Author of The Gladiator’s Woman, Daughter of Egypt and the forthcoming, Love of a Courtesan
http://tulaneal.blogspot.com

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Terry Spear - Mystery in the Highlands

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Enter to win one of two copies of Heart of the Highland Wolf!

***
Mystery in the Highlands
by Terry Spear

I always loved reading mysteries when I was younger—Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, children’s mysteries, and really, anything that included an unsolved mystery. And so even though I write the paranormal, what greater mystery is there? The mystery of the unknown.

While I was writing this blog, I was listening to an audio book that is a romance, but is filled with ghosts and a group who are both ghost-type hunters, yet also trying to explain a murder, not from a paranormal aspect.

It’s fun for me to have the mystery in my stories—in HEART OF THE HIGHLAND WOLF’S case—the mystery is in who Julia Wildthorn is—besides being a sexy red werewolf. Ian MacNeill knows she’s lied about her name, her occupation, and her reason for being at his castle, and he’s bound and determined to learn the truth.

But Julia also is seeking to uncover a mystery—a family box hidden away in the interior of the castle, and she must pilfer it without getting caught—not an easy matter when she learns the castle occupants are a werewolf pack, not just a Highland clan. What is the importance of the box and what does it contain?

Just as one mystery seems to be solved another or two take its place. Some mysteries are for the characters to solve as we know the answer ourselves. Then, the fun is seeing the characters trying to solve the mystery while we can sit back and enjoy. But some are just as much a mystery to the characters as for us. And then we have to keep on reading to see the resolution. Want to know a secret? Often I am reading right along, not knowing the answer either. Oh, eventually, I have to work out the mystery and share it. Then I go back in and drop hints and clues along the way. But before that happens?

I’m trying to figure it out myself. I’m definitely not a plotter who plots out the entire book before I write it, but a pantser who writes by the seat of my pants. If I try to plot out the story, it would never be written.

When I was trying to come up with the way I would take care of the bad guy at the end of HEART OF THE HIGHLAND WOLF, I thought of several different scenarios. But then I came upon one that would be perfect. Whenever we mention something in some detail, it should be important to the story. Even describing a room, or an artifact. Otherwise, why bother? It’s like setting a stage in a play. We can’t have everything on stage, just that which will give the feel of the setting.

So when the heroine arrives at the castle, she describes some important aspect of it. And that will be extremely important at the end.

I can’t tell you what it is, of course. But if you read HEART OF THE HIGHLAND WOLF, be sure and drop me an email and tell me what you believe it was! Do you love mysteries in the stories you read? Here are some points to ponder—what does a werewolf wear under his kilt? How does a wolf slip around a castle unnoticed when the occupants’ senses are as highly attuned as hers?

Thanks to Night Owl Romance for having me here today!

Terry Spear
http://www.terryspear.com
http://www.facebook.com/#!/terry.spear
https://twitter.com/#!/TerrySpear
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tspear

HEART OF THE HIGHLAND WOLF BY TERRY SPEAR – IN STORES JUNE 2011

Each holds a secret they can’t possibly overcome alone…

Julia Wildthorn is sneaking into Argent Castle to steal an ancient relic, but reluctant laird Ian MacNeill may be the key to unlocking the one answer she really wants discovered…

From brilliant storyteller Terry Spear, modern day werewolves meet the rugged Highlands of Scotland, where instinct meets tradition, and clan loyalties give a whole new meaning to danger…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A retired lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Army Reserves, Terry Spear has an MBA from Monmouth College. An eclectic writer with a PW Best Book of 2008 (Heart of the Wolf), she writes paranormal romance as well as historical and true life stories for both teen and adult audiences. Spear lives in Crawford, Texas. For more information, please visit www.terryspear.com.

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Jody Wallace - A Summer Plan

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Enter to win eBook copies of Survival of the Fairest and One Thousand Kisses. These are books 1 and 2 of the Fey Realm Series!

***
A Summer Plan
by Jody Wallace

I work from home and have two youngish children. And I live in Tennessee where the temperatures are breaking record highs this summer, not to mention the cicada infestation. But summer must be endured, and I, clever gal that I am, had A Summer Plan.

First, my whole family, as per usual, would kick off the festivities with a week at a non-commercial beach in North Carolina. Just the immediate family and other families around us, waves and fun all day, nesting sea turtles all night.

Second, my kids and I were going to engage in a series of dance and music enrichment classes that would supply us with exercise and intellectual stimulation...and keep us from tearing the house apart out of overheated boredom.

Third, I was going to devote some time to helping my beloved younger sister prepare for the late August birth of her first child. And fourth, I was going to work my way down my TBR stack to depths I had only previously dreamed of reaching.

I knew when creating My Summer Plan that writing and career aspirations should be dialed down, due to the presence of my perfectly charming and yet very time-consuming offspring. Thus, for my career health, I planned to self-publish a few short stories. In fact, anticipating my goal, I began the proceedings to release a spoofy, scifi short called "Field Trip" http://www.jodywallace.com/books/fieldtrip.htm.

I had everything under control, right? Right??

You've all read this book before. I know you can see where this plot is headed. Rocky shoals. An embankment. A comeuppance. A rude awakening. Something horrible.

Well, not so horrible as an Oprah book! My mom decided to take a trip to the hospital with a "heart episode"-- you know, because people happily choose these things -- and I realized I would need to pack up the kids to spend half the summer at Grandma's instead of in my comfy suburban home. Technically, the kids and I will be jaunting back and forth between the mountain and the suburbs every week, but the end result is the same.

All my plans were for naught. No beach. No classes. No leisurely sifting through the TBR or watching movies with hubby after the kids were in bed. No helping my sister coo over onesies and tiny, useless shoes. I stayed up way late a couple nights to finish the process of publishing "Field Trip", but I'd need to set aside my other career goals until school started.

But then.

While I was visiting my mother the first nervewracking day in the hospital, I got a message on my answering machine. From an editor. With an offer for one of my books.

And then.

My short story hit some Amazon best seller lists.

And then.

The extended family decided to vacation at my Mom's house since the beach wasn't an option. After all, we loved seeing each other as much as we loved the seafood and sand. Most of the cooking and cleaning would be on me, but Mom was excited, the kids were excited, and it was a decent substitute for the beach.

As I finish this post for the Night Owl blog, we're about to head to my mother's. Do I have plans for the week? Of course I do! Plans are wonderful coping mechanisms for this wacky thing called life. However, I will try not to beat myself up if my plans blink their yellow cat eyes at me and wonder why in the world I expect them to jump through hoops when they're perfectly happy lounging in a sunspot, listening to the piercing whine of the cicadas outside in the record high temperatures.

***

For one lucky commenter

As part of helping you meet your summer goals, however they may be disrupted, I am offering a double-download of my two Fey Realm books from Samhain Publishing: Survival of the Fairest (http://www.jodywallace.com/books/survivalofthefairest.htm) and One Thousand Kisses(http://www.jodywallace.com/books/onethousandkisses.htm).

Stay cool, everyone!

Jody Wallace
www.jodywallace.com / www.meankitty.com

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Rod Raglin - Environmental Romances

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Enter to win a PDF of Not Wonder More - Mad Maggie and the Mystery of the Ancients by Rod Raglin. 

***

Environmental Romances. Addressing important environmental issues in the context of a contemporary romance by Rod Raglin

Wondering about “Not Wonder More”

How do we, as individuals, benefit from preserving wilderness?

When I began writing “Not Wonder More” - Mad Maggie and the Mystery of the Ancients, I wanted to personalize the issues of loss of habitat and species extinction.

How do we, as individuals benefit from preserving wilderness? Jobs versus conservation has been the catalyst for many confrontations but this is an over simplification of what is lost when we destroy entire species and eco-systems for the short term economic gain.

Most people are familiar with the statistic: every minute, an area of forest the size of five football fields is clear-cut in the Amazon. But despite worldwide attention the problem is not being resolve, it’s getting worse. The Amazon rainforest is disappearing faster and faster. If you were to travel up that mighty river you’d be greeted not by endless lush forest, but by soy farms and cattle ranches.

It’s not just the Amazon. It’s everywhere. Just recently a group representing botanical gardens in one hundred and twenty countries stated that four hundred medicinal plants are at risk of extinction from over-collection and deforestation. This includes our own yew trees – the bark is used for the cancer drug paclitaxel.

You may think that most people get their medicine from a pharmacy. But in developing countries as many as eighty per cent of the people, or roughly two thirds of the world's population, five billion humans, rely almost exclusively on traditional medicines using natural substances, mostly derived from plants.

The truth is we don’t know what medicines are waiting to be discovered in nature’s pharmacy and if we destroy entire species we’ll never find out. The devastation is threatening the discovery of future cures for disease.

So how do you convey this information in a compelling and entertaining way?

Rather than have one of my characters expound this information like some boring scientist what if the plants (in this case the ancient trees) communicated this to my heroine? What kind of person gets messages from trees? Perhaps someone with schizophrenia? And so, Mad Maggie came to life.

Not Wonder More, Mad Maggie and the Wisdom of the Ancients is contemporary romance with paranormal undertones and the third in the series ECO-WARRIORS (see this website for the previous two). The manuscript is complete and will be e-published on Nov. 15, 2010.

Rod Raglin
http://www.rodraglin.com

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Linda Lael Miller - Creed's Honor Excerpt and Contest

Posted by Night Owl Reviews in

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Enter to win an author goodie package!

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CREED’S HONOR by Linda Lael Miller
www.LindaLaelMiller.com

On the heels of the #1 New York Times best-seller A CREED IN STONE CREEK, “First Lady of the West” Linda Lael Miller is back with the highly anticipated CREED’S HONOR (HQN Books; June 2011; $7.99), the second installment in the rugged and romantic “Creed Cowboys” trilogy. Miller introduces eager readers to Connor Creed, the dedicated rancher and cousin of Steven Creed from A CREED IN STONE CREEK, who is looking for his place in the Wild West.

A small-town cowboy’s life wasn’t always Connor’s dream, but he owes everything to his uncle, who took him in as a child, and works hard to keep up the family ranch in Lonesome Bend, Colorado. Connor’s routine is suddenly interrupted when his estranged, rowdier twin brother shows up and Connor begins to struggle with his own identity. But soon he meets Tricia McCall, a beautiful woman who also knows a thing or two about living someone else’s dreams. Together they might unexpectedly find their place right in Lonesome Bend.

Miller’s tales of Western romance are more than love stories with sexy cowboys; they are endearing tales of men finding the deeper meaning of life among the values of small-town life and the healing power of nature and of love. In 2007, Miller received the prestigious Lifetime Achievement Award from The Romance Writers of America.

EXCERPT, page 16-20

Conner Creed stood in front of her, one fist raised to knock again, a sheepish smile curving his lips. His blond hair, though a little long, was neatly trimmed, and he wore a blue denim jacket over a while shirt, along with jeans and boots that had seen a lot of hard use.

“Sorry,” he said, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, when he came face-to-face with Tricia.

“Do you know what time it is?” Tricia demanded.

His blue eyes moved over her hair, which was probably sticking out in all directions since she hadn’t yet brushed and then tamed it into a customary long, dark braid, her coiffure of choice, then the rag-bag bathrobe and comical slippers. That he could take a liberty like that without coming off as rude stuck Tricia as—well—it just struck her, that’s all.

“Seven-thirty,” he answered, after checking his watch. “I brought Miss Natty a load of firewood, as she wanted, but she didn’t answer her door. And that worried me. Is she all right?”

“She’s in Denver,” Tricia said stiffly.

His smile practically knocked her back on her heels. “Well, then, that explains why she didn’t come to the door. I was afraid she might have fallen or something.” A pause. “Is the coffee on?”

Though Tricia was acquainted with Conner, as she was with virtually everybody else in town, she didn’t know him well—they didn’t move in the same social circles. She was an outsider raised in Seattle, except for those golden summers with her dad, while the Creeds had been ranching in the area since the town was settled, way back in the late 1800s. Being ninety-nine percent certain that the man wasn’t a homicidal maniac or a serial rapist—Natty was very fond of him, after all, which said something about his character—she stepped back, blushing, and said, “Yes. There’s coffee—help yourself.”

“Thanks,” he said, in a cowboy drawl, ambling past her in the loose-limbed way of a man who was at ease wherever he happened to find himself, whether on the back of a bucking bronco or with both feel planted firmly on the ground. The scent of fresh country air clung to him, along with a woodsy aftershave, hay and something minty—probably toothpaste or mouthwash.

Tricia pushed the door shut and then stood with her back to it, watching as Connor opened one cupboard, then another, found a cup and helped himself at the coffeemaker.

Torn between mortification at being caught in her robe with her hair going wild, and stunned by his easy audacity, Tricia didn’t smile. On some level, she was tallying the few things she knew about Conner Creed—that he lived on the family ranch, that he had an identical twin brother called Cody or Brody or some other cowboy-type name, that he’d never been married and, according to Natty, didn’t seem in any hurry to change that.

“I’m sure my great-grandmother will be glad you brought that wood,” she said finally, striving for a neutral conversational tone but sounding downright insipid instead. “Natty loves a good fire, especially when the temperature starts dropping.”

Connor regarded Tricia from a distance that fell a shade short of far enough away to suit her, and raised one eyebrow. Indulged himself in a second leisurely sip from his mug before bothering to reply. “When’s she coming back?” he asked. “Miss Natty, I mean.”

“Probably next week,” Tricia answered, surprised to find herself having this conversation. It wasn’t every day, after all, that a good-looking if decidedly cocky cattle rancher tried to beat down a person’s door at practically the crack of dawn and then stood in her kitchen swilling coffee as if he owned the place. “Or the week after, if she’s having an especially good time.”

“Miss Natty didn’t mention that she was planning on taking a trip,” Connor observed thoughtfully, after another swallow of coffee.

The statement irritated Tricia—since when was Conner Creed her great-grandmother’s keeper? All of a sudden, she wanted him gone, from her kitchen, from her house. He didn’t seem to be in any more of a hurry to leave than he was to get married, though.

And he was using up all the oxygen in the room.

Did he think she’d bound and gagged Natty with duct tape, maybe stuck her in a closet?

She gestured toward the inside stairway. “Feel free to see for yourself if it will ease your mind as far as Natty is concerned. And, by the way, you scared the cat.”

He flashed that wickedly innocent grin again; it lighted his eyes, and Tricia noticed that there was a rim of gray around the blue irises. He had good teeth, too—white and straight.

Stop, Tricia told her racing brain. Her thoughts flew, clicking like the beads on an abacus.

“I believe you,” he said. “If you say Miss Natty is in Denver, kicking up her heels with her sister, then I reckon it’s true.”

“Gee, that’s a relief,” Tricia said dryly, folding her arms. Then, after a pause, “If that’s everything…?”

“Sorry about scaring the cat,” Conner told her affably, putting his mug in the sink and pushing off from the counter, starting for the door. “Truth is, the critter’s never liked me much. Must have figured out that I’m more of a dog-and-horse person.”

Tricia opened her mouth, shut it again. What did a person say to that?

Conner curved a hand around the doorknob, looked back at her over one of those fine, denim-covered shoulders of his. Mischief danced in his eyes, quirked up one corner of his mouth. “If you wouldn’t mind letting me in downstairs,” he said, “I could fill up the wood boxes. There’s room in the shed for the rest of the load, I guess.”

Tricia nodded. She had an odd sense of disorientation, as if she’d suddenly been thrust underwater and held there, and on top of that had to translate everything this man said from some language other than her own before his meaning penetrated the gray matter between her ears.

“I’ll meet you at Natty’s back door,” she said, still feeling muddled, as he went out.

***


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