How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
Project Dynamo “…is a veteran-led, donor-funded organization on a mission to deliver hope and safety in the chaos of war and conflict zones where the U.S. government does not have a presence.
“Project DYNAMO launched in the wake of the U.S. pulling out of Afghanistan, leaving behind not just American citizens but countless allies in dire straits.
“Fast forward two years, and the story’s much the same, only the locations have changed – Ukraine, Sudan, the ravages of Hurricane Ian, the fires in Maui, the unrest in Haiti – you name it, we’ve been there.
“To date, nearly 7,000 men, women, children, and yes, even their beloved pets – have been pulled from the brink by Project DYNAMO. That’s 7,000 stories of hope, all lives given another shot, all because we step in where others can’t or won’t.
“We’re the ones working in “The Grey Space,” when the government is unable or unwilling to provide assistance. We’re about action, about making the impossible happen, because at the end of the day, it’s not just about the rescues; it’s about humanity.”
Please leave a comment and I’ll donate to help Project Dynamo continue their work. Thank you!
Blurb:
Another erotic fairy tale with Princess Katherine and Prince Cole.Susan Baer is not only a successful businesswoman and founder of Baer Hugs, health centers for women, she’s also beautiful. But she hasn’t always been that way. She’d spent her teen years lost, lonely and anxious, wondering if she would ever find a place to fit. Now, with those years behind her, she longs to find her special person. Though she’s not the overweight, nearsighted girl with braces anymore, she’s still lonely and there are no prospects in sight to share a happy ever after.
Suddenly, three golden-haired men come into her life. All successful, all gorgeous. And all with their own unique problems. One is too rough and hard in his treatment; one is too soft and wants her to take charge. The last is…well, let’s just say he’s not available.
Will Susan ever find the one man who’s “just right?”
Excerpt: It was five minutes before nine o’clock in the morning at Baer Hugs, a health club for women. No need to check the big Seth Thomas clock on the wall for confirmation, Susan could set her watch by them. At the same time each weekday morning, every trainer, aerobics instructor and nutritionist, who wasn’t involved in a class, found a way to observe the parking lot and front entrance. That’s when Duncan Morrison arrived for work.
Not that she blamed them for wanting to stare. He was gorgeous. Over six feet of rippling muscle, the smooth grace of a ballet dancer and shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world. Make that two worlds. They were broad. She knew because she saw them flex and settle each day when he took off his suit jacket. It did such things to her insides that she almost missed the dimples deep enough to swim in or the way the slightest amusement could make his lips turn up in a smile and light the deep, rich blue of his eyes.
Yes, his shoulders were a distraction. Almost distraction enough to keep her mind off the way his blond hair tipped his ears and had started to curl against his nape.
The difference was Susan Baer didn’t have to stand around and watch Duncan make his way in from the parking lot in order to quench the lust in her heart. He was her assistant. She could gaze at him all day. Nonetheless, this morning she stood where the hall gave way to the lobby of the building and watched, right along with everyone else.
Sighing, she gave in for a moment to the natural tug on her emotions, the strong need to share her life with someone, to end the loneliness she’d always felt. She wanted to love and be loved, and now, at this point in life, she was ready and able.
In the business world, all she’d wanted to prove, she’d proven. A good portion of what she’d wanted to accomplish, she’d successfully completed. But when it came to personal goals, she hadn’t even begun.
So, considering where she’d started and where she was now, it was grossly unfair that she wanted to do more than gaze at Duncan. It was harder and harder to ignore the tingle that radiated through her each time they touched. Almost impossible to keep the longing out of her voice when they talked about anything non-business related. And she wondered how he missed the fact that she wandered into his office to ask questions she already knew the answers to. Undeniably, the attraction was driving her crazy. Yet she had to remember that he was an employee.
And, of course, there was the annoying fact of his being gay.
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
In my normal quest to find organizations that benefit the military and service families, I don’t think I’ve ever donated to the DAV—the Disabled American Veterans Charitable Service Trust. This charity rates a 100%, 4-star rating from Charity Navigator. The DAV Charitable Service Trust is: “dedicated to one, single purpose: empowering veterans to lead high-quality lives with respect and dignity. To carry out this responsibility, the DAV Charitable Service Trust supports physical and psychological rehabilitation programs; enhances research and mobility for veterans with amputations and spinal cord injuries; benefits aging veterans; aids and shelters homeless veterans; and evaluates and addresses the needs of veterans wounded in recent wars and conflicts. For those of every era, the Trust also supports programs that benefit the caregivers and families of ill and injured veterans.”
Please comment! For each comment I will donate to this worthy organization.
Desire Me Again
Blurb: The hopeless romantic believes that a soulmate exists for each of us. That there is one person who makes us feel how good it is to love them. For some couples, things trigger them to push that love away. They find out too late they’ve lost true-love. Sometimes genuine love deserves a second-chance at the happy ending that eluded them the first time.
Desire Me Again is an eclectic assortment of short stories exploring a second-chance at love. The collection is as diverse as the authors who wrote them. Here’s a chance to read the work of talented writers you may not have read before. Within these pages, there are blends of tender, often moving and thought-provoking stories.
Featuring: Annabel Allan, Patricia Elliott, R.M. Olivia, Carol Schoenig, Virginia Wallace, Gibby Campbell, Dee S. Knight, Alice Renaud, Jan Selbourne, Zia Westfield
“Tom,” Mrs. Henderson exclaimed. Like everyone he knew in their town, she stretched the one-syllable word into two. Tah-um. Until he’d joined the Corps he didn’t really know what people meant when they talked about southern accents. Now he considered the soft consonants and extended vowels charming. Part of being home.
Glancing over her shoulder, Tom saw Sandy stick her head around the kitchen wall. “Hey,” he called out to her. Then concentrating on her mother, he held out a bouquet. “These are for you, Mrs. Henderson.”
She flushed like a schoolgirl when she took the flowers. “How did you know that tulips are my favorite?”
He hadn’t. He’d asked the florist to put together something cheerful that an older lady might like. He hoped the brightly colored blooms might bring a smile to Sandy, too.
“Just a guess,” he answered.
“Come in, come in,” Mrs. Henderson backed up and held the door wide.
He stepped into a living room that had seen very little change in the last two decades. It was neat but held a slight whiff of shabbiness. Mrs. Henderson would probably call it comfortable rather than shabby. Tom wondered what Sandy thought of it.
Finally, the woman in question emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. The night was warm and she looked as though she’d just finished doing dishes. Her hair was damp and stuck to her forehead, and a light sheen of sweat clung to her cheeks. His groin tightened when he noticed that her shorts hugged her hips and her sleeveless blouse was slightly dampened, too, showing her white bra through the thin fabric. His mind filled with ways he could make her body slick with sweat, the ways he could make her much more than warm.
“I know I said we should try to get together before I leave, but I didn’t actually mean tonight.”
“I’m sorry to barge in, but I wanted to ask you to dinner tomorrow night.” Before Sandy could form “No, thank you,” as her lips where shaping up to do, he interjected, “And your mom, too.”
Her mother’s eyes widened and she slapped the hand holding the tulips to her chest. “Oh, my! Sandra, we have a beau!”
Sandy smiled. Then she turned to him. “I don’t know. We have so much to do here.”
“Sandra, please. It will be so much fun. I haven’t had dinner out since your father last took me, and that’s been…at least three years.” She turned to Tom. “Could we go to that cafeteria up on the highway?”
Tom laughed. “We can go anywhere you want.”
Mrs. Henderson snapped her head back toward Sandy. He knew the minute Sandy gave in. Her shoulders slumped slightly, but she smiled at her mother. “If Tom is willing to make every other man in town jealous by escorting the lovely Henderson women out to dinner, who am I to stand in his way?”
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. Thanks for your help and your participation!
This month’s charity is one near and dear to my heart: the Shriners Hospitals for Children. https://www.shrinershospitalsforchildren.org/shc Charity Navigator has awarded Shriners Hospitals “with its prestigious Four Star Charity award. Such distinction recognizes Shriners Hospitals for Children for its sound fiscal management and commitment to accountability and transparency.”
When I was ten-months-old, a polio epidemic struck Sioux City, Iowa and the surrounding area. Polio was not at all uncommon in the early 1950s, but this epidemic was horrible. I had been walking at nine-months. Then one morning I was crying in my crib and when Mom came to get me, I couldn’t stand. We have never figured out why I contracted the disease and no one else in my family did.
While my case of polio wasn’t that severe. I didn’t die and plenty of people during that epidemic did. If not for the Shriners Hospitals for Crippled Children (as it was known then), however, I might never have danced or run or played hopscotch. Or walked down the aisle to the man I love. A few years ago, a girl asked why I limp, and I told her that I’d had polio. “Polio?” she said. “You must be really old!” I laughed at the time but with the incidence of polio increasing lately, it’s not so funny. Children must be vaccinated against this deadly disease or else the Shrine Hospitals will be needed again to treat the results of this terrible virus.
The Shriners Hospitals never charge a family for any medical care. When I went into the hospital for surgery, I was generally there for a a month or even two. During that time, they housed me, fed me, schooled me, entertained me, and provided all medical care, before and after surgery—all for free. Our only responsibility was to get to the hospital and home. I received the very best of care in a safe and clean environment, with the best medical staff, and I will be forever grateful.
Please leave a comment and I will make a donation to an organization for which I have lasting gratitude. Thank you!
Let’s celebrate a wedding at New Year! One Woman Only is a story of second chances and the fulfillment of true love. What better way to end one year and start the next?
As one of a set of triplets, Jonah Goodman has always stood out as the least academic—and the last one to take the world, or commitment, seriously. Thing is, that’s not really who he is. But who can he convince of that? Not his family, who see him as they always have. And maybe not his one love, the sweetheart he left behind in high school but with whom he is now sharing an erotic holiday. Will he get his second chance to prove to Kelly that he is a loving man who wants more than a sensual few days, but a real relationship with the woman he lost once and doesn’t want to lose again? With that chance and Kelly’s love, Jonah knows that a “good man” can become a better man.
Kelly turned at the sound of Jonah’s voice behind her. Dinner had ended. All three of the boys had given best man speeches and Eve had even given a very creditable matron of honor speech, considering she had only known Marilyn and Caleb a short time. Lots of toasts had been raised and finally the live band had struck up the music. Caleb led his bride onto the floor for a foxtrot—a dance more than half of the guests had no idea how to do, including her.
Facing Jonah she sighed inwardly at how scrumptious he looked. Sure, his face was pretty much displayed on his brothers’ heads, too, but there was something different about Jonah. His nose was just a little crooked from when Bobby Hendricks had broken it in ninth grade and his eyes held an especially bright sparkle in his eyes when he smiled. Maybe… Well, she didn’t know what caused the difference between Jonah and his brothers. Whatever it was, she had never been fooled by the so-called identical nature of the identical triplets. She’d wanted to be his girl since elementary school. Thought she would be in high school. And then forced every last thought of him from her mind from senior year on.
Until now.
“I don’t know how to foxtrot.”
He shrugged. “Who does except those over fifty?” He glanced at his folks, still alone on the dancefloor, although a few couples were wandering out to join them now. “We can pretend.”
She mentally compared standing on the sidelines alone now that Mama Rio left the party, or being held in Jonah’s arms. Smiling, Kelly held out her hands. “Just don’t step on my toes, Jonah Goodman, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Together they walked onto the dancefloor. He took her right hand in his left and placed his right hand on her waist. Fortunately for them, the music changed to a slow tempo. Kelly laid her head on Jonah’s shoulder, and he tugged her closer as they swayed to the music.
“This is nice,” he murmured.
“Yes it is,” she replied. So very nice. He smelled good. Beneath the light citrus fragrance of his aftershave was a slight whiff of pure man with maybe a twinge of motor oil or something so Jonah it brought tears to her eyes.
He rubbed a path up to her shoulder blades and gave a squeeze. “You fit me perfectly, Kelly.”
“I do?”
“You sure do. I think our hearts can feel each other beat.”
Kelly chuckled. “Smooth talker. Face to face like this our hearts are on opposite sides.”
“Hey! I’m trying to be romantic here.”
She sighed. “Keep on. It’s appreciated.”
Author Biography:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. And all three offer some of the best romance you can find! Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
For two years Jack and I lived just outside Chicago and his brother and sister-in-law still live in the city. It breaks our hearts to see the state the city is in and hear about the violence that kills so many, especially the innocents like Janari. To help a bit, we’d like to donate this Christmas season to 1 Jar Foundation (www.1jarfoundation.org) so some little kids can receive gifts. 1 Jar’s mission is: “Protecting and securing a purposeful future for our kids and all youth!” Working to ensure a safe environment for Chicago kids to grow and develop into productive adults, Janari’s mom and family have moved from tragedy to a giving, loving resource for children of all walks of life. We’re happy to give to such a worthy cause for a city we love. Please comment and help us!
Blurb: Two exceptional novellas featuring two men engulfed in a war no one understands or wants—Vietnam. They’re both hoping for a miracle with little expectation of finding it.
Jan Selbourne lends her award-winning writing talent to A Miracle in the Outback. Nick Saunders is in a hurry to escape a family argument and also to return to his Army base in Wagga Wagga. He doesn’t need another complication. Rachel Garth is a woman with a broken down car, a small girl, a deadly snake, and a baby on the way. She needs Nick’s help. He doesn’t know it, but he needs hers, too.
In award-winning author Anne Krist’s The Miracle of Coming Home, Army PFC Tom Stabler wins a trip to his parents’ Nebraska farm for Christmas. He needs the time away from the war. Lately, he’s been feeling lost and too alone. Trouble is, being home is almost as bad. Then Susan Swensen arrives, just as sweet and pretty as he remembers. Can Susan help him find himself again, or will it take a miracle?
This December, Finding a Christmas Miracle will be released in paperback.
Noelle’s face turned red as she let out another loud wail.
Ellie pointed to the crib. “Mum, Noelle’s crying.”
“I know, I know.” Rachel closed the sliding glass doors and pushed the hair out of her eyes.
Another louder squeal.
“Mummy, Noelle.”
“I can hear her, Ellie,” Rachel snapped, and went to the sink to wash her hands. “The whole bloody street can hear her.” She picked up the little noise machine and felt the wet clothing. Pulling off the soaked nappy, she reached for a clean one to wrap around the squirming baby.
“Scream, feed, and pee,” she muttered as she opened her blouse. Like an alarm clock, every three and half hours, day and night. So different from quiet, placid Ellie and she was so tired. As soon as the little piranha finished feeding, she’d give Ellie colouring pencils and toys and try to snatch an hour’s sleep.
Rachel rested her head against the back of the sofa and reached over to Ellie. “You are such a good girl, come sit next to me. When we go shopping tomorrow, I’ll buy you a present for helping me with this noisy baby.”
Twice a week, she pushed the pram, with Ellie sitting on the toddler’s seat, to the shopping centre. Always early to avoid the heat and between feeds so Noelle would, hopefully, sleep. Then wash the pile of baby clothes and nappies. She’d take a few more dollars from her stash and buy more disposables.
Fifteen minutes later, Noelle had fallen asleep against her breast. She gently laid her in the crib, turned on the fan, and lay on the sofa.
A shrill noise jerked her awake. Blinking, she sat up and rubbed her eyes as the front doorbell shrilled again. No way was she climbing the stairs to see who it is. They can come back later when her mother was home. Probably the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Last week it was the Mormons and she’d told them where to go in very blunt language.
She lay back down and felt herself drifting off when footsteps on the side path made her sit up. Two men in suits were walking towards the sliding glass doors. They looked around the back garden before knocking.
Now alarmed, Rachel hesitated before opening the door a couple of inches. The two men produced ID badges.
“Rachel Garth?” The tall man with piercing eyes asked.
“Yes.”
“Detective Thomas and”—his hand flicked to the man beside him—“Detective Jones. Sydney City Police. We’d like to talk to you.”
The Miracle of Coming Home
Susan Swensen flew into the small three-bedroom house she shared with Carol Buley and Mildred Hammersmith. “I won!” she shouted. “I won, I won, I won!!”
Carol stepped out of her bedroom and into the hallway, brushing her hair and already In her blue flannel pajamas. “Won what?”
Susan dropped an envelope on the scarred coffee table and threw off her wool cape, tossing it onto the used couch dressed up in a winter slipcover. A Christmas tree displayed prominently over the center cushion. Brightly wrapped gifts beneath a midnight-blue sky scattered with stars filled out the rest of the space. This was the second year the women had used it to hide the worn arms and cushions of the sofa, and it saddened Susan somewhat that it would be the last. The three would graduate from nursing school in June and go their separate ways.
She reached to remove the pins that secured her white cap to her blonde curls and then slid the bobby pins onto the edge of the cap before placing it carefully on the table. Then she picked up the envelope and removed the letter she’d read three times already.
“Susan Swensen. This is to inform you that your submission to the Home for Christmas contest sponsored by WCHI Radio Chicago has won one of seven prizes. WCHI has confirmed that PFC Thomas J. Stabler will be transferred from Saigon, South Vietnam to Norfolk, Nebraska (via Omaha, Nebraska) on or about December 16, 1970 until December 27, 1970. The Department of Defense is relaying this information to PFC Stabler’s commanding officers and to him. WCHI is happy to be a part of this Christmas homecoming. Thank you for your heartfelt submission. Merry Christmas! John Marbury, President, WCHI Radio.”
Susan looked up at Carol with a smile that felt like it might split her face. “Tom is going to be able to come home for Christmas.”
Reviews: “Both stories grab your attention quickly and carry you along with the fast moving plot lines! Both main characters are flawed perhaps due to the service to their country! One saves a young mother about to deliver her second baby alone in the outback. The other brings the Vietnam war home! Kudos to both ladies for their exemplary stories!” 5-star
“Two fabulous reads with relatable characters and heartwarming emotion. Both stories dealt with war but we saw the personal side of it and the way the horror impacts normal people. … I was rooting for both couples to find their Happily Ever After.
“Both novellas are stirringly heartwarming holiday romances.” 5 Stars”
“Well done, both ladies.” 5 stars
“For heart-warming Christmas romance, the two novellas in Finding a Christmas Miracle certainly fit the bill.” 5 stars
“Two wonderful books. … I enjoyed every turn of the pages. So good to feel the love Always in awe of this wonderful talent Of putting words to paper. Looking forward to the next novellas.” 5 Stars
“YOU CAN’T GO WRONG READING THESE TWO BOOKS!!” 5 Stars
Author Jan Selbourne: Jan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.
Author Anne Krist: A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! Once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
When a woman atoning for past sins heals the human avatar of an ancient god, she’s drawn into a perilous dance of destiny and desire. From the first, Dr. Elena Navarro senses that the wounded man she discovers outside the gate of her rural clinic is not an ordinary mortal. With his chest ripped open, Jorge Pélikal still demonstrates unnatural strength and power. Elena is irresistibly attracted to Jorge, although he warns her their coupling could open the gates of chaos and cost her life. Despite his dire predictions, they fall in love. Gradually Elena comes to understand that Jorge is a supernatural player in a cosmic drama that will determine the fate of the earth and of mankind—and that even if he triumphs in his apocalyptic struggle with his nemesis, she may lose him forever.
Note: Serpent’s Kiss was previously published by Totally Entwined. This new edition has been re-edited, revised and expanded. Reader Advisory: This book may not be appropriate for individuals with a fear of snakes.
Excerpt: “Doctora!” The voice rose out of the darkness—the voice of the man who had vanished that morning from a sealed room, leaving no trace but a brilliant, multi-colored feather. As if conjured by her thoughts, Jorge Pélikal emerged from the shadows. He waited at the foot of the steps, mutely requesting her permission to ascend.
He looked far healthier than when she had seen him last. His step was firm and strong, with no indication that he was in pain. His hair cascaded over his shoulders, gleaming in the light of the rising moon. She could not see his face—he was still too distant—but she could smell him. Vanilla and wood-smoke—the same scents that were evoked by the mysterious token she had found under the bed.
He was dressed in rough-woven trousers and a peasant’s cotton tunic, all in white. His skin, in contrast, was a deep cocoa-brown.
Elena’s heart rose into her throat. He was beautiful. He was dangerous—she sensed this—not because of what he might do, but because of who he was. But who exactly was he?
“Jorge! Why did you run away?” She gestured for him to join her on the porch. In an instant, he stood in front of her, a half-smile on his full lips.
He grasped her hands. His skin was cool now, and moist like the jungle night. His fever is gone, she thought gratefully. Joy bubbled up in her chest. She almost laughed. She had thought that she would never see him again.
“I had no choice. I was in grave danger. And by remaining in your clinic, I was placing you in danger.”
“Moving when your chest has been ripped open and is held together by nothing more than a few feeble stitches wasn’t exactly the safest thing to do,” she scolded. “But I’m happy to see that you’re so much better.”
“Much better, thanks to you…Elena.” He squeezed her hands. Desire raced through her, sharp, irrational, irresistible. “I’m sorry that I had to return and place you at risk once again. But I left something behind. Something important.”
“I know. I have it, hidden safely away.”
He searched her face, apparently trying to determine how much she knew about the feather. “Give it to me, then, and I’ll leave you in peace.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No—I don’t want you to go. I’ll give you the feather, but only if you promise to spend the night with me.” Listening to herself, Elena was appalled. What was she saying?
She had not planned this. She was keeping the feather for him and had honestly intended to return it. But now she wanted him, with a single-mindedness that drove out all reason. She would do anything to satisfy this uncharacteristic craving. She could not let him escape again.
He cupped her cheek in one of his strong brown hands. Elena nearly swooned.
“You don’t know what you’re asking. It’s not possible.”
“I know what I want. What I need. And I won’t return the feather until you give it to me.”
He removed his hand, leaving her mourning for his touch. “I could force you.” Though his voice was soft, his words rang with power.
“Go ahead and try.” Elena’s words were defiant, but there were tears in her eyes.
“You don’t understand what you ask. If we couple, you and I, we will open the gates of chaos.” He hovered close, leaning over her, gazing into her eyes. His scent made her dizzy.
“I don’t care. So be it.”
“No. I dare not, Señora.” Taking a step backward, he glanced around the porch, as if seeking a way to push past her and enter the clinic. She moved to block the door, legs apart and hands on her hips.
Perplexity marked his handsome features. She didn’t doubt he was strong enough to physically overpower her, but he seemed reluctant to do so.
“Please.” Now his voice held a note of supplication. “Be reasonable, Elena.”
“Don’t you want me?”
“What I want does not matter. I must do my duty and refuse you. The tasks before me will be difficult enough without the distraction of love.”
Love? That wasn’t what she was asking for, was it? The desire that raged through her seemed as far from love as a fierce hurricane from a gentle spring shower. At the same time, her intuition told her that a single night in Jorge’s arms would never be enough.
Introductory Essay: Embracing the Shadows
What makes paranormal romance so popular? I’ve been pondering this question for a while. Readers, it seems, are happy to consume as many tales about vampires, shape shifters, ghosts and psychics as we authors can produce. You’d think that they’d get bored, but that doesn’t seem to happen. Why not?
I’ve got a theory. We’re all tempted by the dark side.
The realms of paranormal romance are vast, but most books offer characters with dual natures, torn between normal humanity and―otherness. The “other” aspect conveys special powers―unnatural strength, heightened sensation, hidden knowledge―but always at a price. The characters suffer because of their power. Blood-drinkers and half-beasts are ravaged by conscience because they maim or kill. Immortals bear the weight of lonely, isolated centuries and the pain of watching mortal companions wither and die.
In my novella Fin d’Espoir, vampire Etienne de Rémorcy haunts the forest around the ruined plantation of his former mistress, guilty, bitter and alone. He has sworn to never again taste human blood, but when the woman he rescues begs him to take her, he cannot resist. My prescient hero Kyle in At the Margins of Madness can see the future but the fury of his visions drives him insane. In my new release Serpent’s Kiss, Jorge Pélikal is the incarnation of an ancient god but each time he makes love to his human mate he comes close to killing her.
In the paranormal genre, power and darkness go hand in hand. Yet somehow, we are attracted to the darkness. We brush the suffering aside; we want to feel the power. A vampire isn’t sexy when he’s fighting against his blood craving. Only when he sweeps his victim into his arms and buries his fangs in her flesh does he make us breathless and moist.
How many books have you read where the human hero or heroine willingly submits to “the change”, the transformation that will make them “other” as well? How many characters, in contrast, manage to resist the pull of the dark side? Not many. Normal mortal life seems absurd, bland and empty after you’ve tasted power. This is especially true because sex on the dark side in erotic romance is always more intense, more extreme, transcending the limits that bind ordinary humans.
Even a villain with supernatural powers tempts us. A well-written antagonist should invite enough identification that the reader can understand what moves him to do evil. The best bad guys are ambiguous, able to justify their deeds so well that they draw our sympathy. They dazzle us with their logic and their beauty, until we can’t see their wickedness. Lucifer still looks like an angel as he bargains for your soul. Stefan Aries, my villain in At the Margins of Madness, is handsome and brilliant enough to make Kyle want him, despite his being a murderer. Jorge’s evil twin Teodoro Remorros is suave, handsome, and terribly convincing as he tries to persuade Elena to abandon Jorge and the world he’s trying to save.
We’re drawn to the dark side, I think, because it’s an escape. Sometimes the real world leaves us feeling so powerless―we can’t help wanting the ability to take control, to bend the world to our will the way our paranormal characters do. Who wouldn’t want to leave the dirty dishes and the unpaid bills behind and slip away into the night, to slink through the shadowy streets scenting for blood or to howl, unfettered, at the moon?
The dark side calls to us in paranormal romance. Every time we open a new book, we flirt with the possibility of ecstatic surrender.
About Lisabet
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
My latest book, Serpent’s Kiss, is dedicated to my father. He has been gone for for nearly fifteen years, but I still feel his presence, every day. During the time since his passing, the pain of loss has healed. I’ve come to understand that he’ll always be with me, in my memories and in my heart.
More than any other individual, it was my dad who inspired me to read, and to write. He had the gift of words, and passed it on to his children. I recall him reading aloud to my siblings and me, folk tales, fairy stories, adventures like Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe. He told his own stories, too, inventing worlds and characters for our pleasure. There were the Gulkons, terrible demons who lived in the fire on the hearth, and Houligan, the god of snow. (I grew up in chilly, stormy New England.) I still remember sitting spellbound while Dad recounted his story of the hapless wizard Thomas Carl Sefney who had to touch his wand to every one of the monster’s thousand tentacles before it consumed him.
Both my parents encouraged me to write. My first poems date from about third grade. During my childhood I wrote fantasies about Martians and ghosts, and plays about the Beatles and politics. In my adolescence, too shy to speak to any of my crushes, I poured out my adoration in anguished free verse. In my twenties and thirties, I wrote science fiction and first tried my hand at romance. Finally, in my forties, I actually managed to publish something (other than in my high school newspaper). My first thought was to call my father.
My dad and I shared favorite books, characters and authors. When he and I got talking about Sherlock Holmes or Frodo Baggins, H.P. Lovecraft or Edgar Allen Poe or Anne Rice, the rest of the family would roll their eyes and leave us to our obsessions. I never had any difficulty figuring out what gift to get him for his birthday or Father’s Day. There was always some book that I had seen or heard about that I knew he’d love.
I never did introduce him to my erotica, though. I was so tempted to show him the pile of paperbacks with my name on the cover, the multiple volumes I had penned or edited. I wanted to autograph him a copy of my first novel, telling him how much he had contributed to my literary endeavors. I wanted him to be proud. However, I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. I recalled the way he reacted when I gave him Anne Rice’s BDSM classic The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty – an embarrassed grin and a “oh, that’s interesting”. We didn’t discuss that book much. Though I would have welcomed the opportunity to open up to him about my own pursuits in the world of sex and sensuality, dominance and submission, I sensed that he would rather not know.
I guess that there are just some things you can’t share with your parents, no matter how close you are. But at very least, I can acknowledge him as my lifelong inspiration.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
There are events in our lives that we always remember where we were when we heard it happened. For me, some of those events were when John Kennedy was shot, when Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon, when Captain Jeremiah Denton arrived home from his imprisonment in Vietnam, and, of course, when the towers and Pentagon were struck and the folks on United 93 made the ultimate sacrifice. On this Memorial Day weekend, the time is appropriate to remember all those who died on September 11, 2001, as well as those who died in service of the fall of the towers and the events that resulted afterward.
On the morning on 9/11/2001, Jack and I were living in San Francisco. Jack had a conference in San Diego the next day and we were on the road, making the drive. We had called his mom in Virginia before we left and she said a plane ran into the trade towers in New York, but gave no further details. I think, like most, she was in shock from what she had been watching on TV. We were in a hurry. We expressed some semblance of horror that such a thing could happen, but we still had a vision of a small plane glancing off the iconic buildings. We had no idea at all that the world had just shifted.
While driving down I-5 we found a radio station, and finally the sheer panic and awfulness of what had happened on the east coast began to sink in. We had gone a couple hundred miles when we turned around and went home, only to huddle in front of the TV, trying to understand how such a thing could happen—like the rest of the nation.
One of the good things to come from that miserable day was the Tunnels to Towers Foundation. The foundation helps families of first responders and military personnel who have fallen. These families not only have to deal with the loss of a loved one but also their income. Tunnel to Towers pays the mortgage on their houses—in full! The relief this must bring is a gift for the soul as much as the benefit of a physical structure. I am honored to gift them this Charity Sunday.
Please comment. Do you know about this organization?
Mystic Desire is a collection of short paranormal romance stories. This is a chance to read and discover the work of a diverse group of very talented authors.
The themes in this book are varied, as are the collection of characters and artifacts, including Native American dream catchers, mystical jewelry, and characters such as lustful vampires, hot warlocks, a grumpy leprechaun, a ghostly terrier, a zombie apocalypse and things that go bump in the night.
From soft and tender love to hot passionate, kinky sex, there is something for everyone in this anthology.
The Sweetest Magic of All – Alice Renaud When a sexy apprentice witch and a hot warlock go back in time to locate a magical amulet, they find more than they bargained for. It’s May Eve, the most magical night of the year, and normal rules don’t apply…
An Awareness of Evil – Dee S. Knight Only two things stand between evil and a small girl: the visions of Amanda McMasters and Detective Brendan Gilchrist. Neither can afford to be wrong.
Bewitching the Wolf – Zia Westfield The Witch, Alice Humphreys has poured her heart and soul into creating a magical B&B where guests experience the fantasy vacation of their dreams! Brodie MacEwan has been sent to investigate the mysterious death of his uncle. He never expected to discover his soul mate in his dreams. But is the illusion real? Alice knows that there is something all too predatory about the Scotsman and he makes her body tingle in places it shouldn’t!
Calling All Angels – Lora Logan Elijah Baker, an immortal tasked with fighting against demons that exist on earth, finds peace when he meets his new neighbor, Celeste. But when he realizes that their love comes with a cost, he is faced with choosing between his calling and a chance at true love.
Dream Catcher – Callie Carmen Long ago, a medicine man had made a matched set of dream catchers as a wedding gift to protect the Chief’s daughter and her warrior husband. He had called upon the benevolent spirits to keep the two soul mates safe and in a loving, healthy marriage. It was foretold that if the two dream catchers were ever divided the new owners would be drawn together as soul mates. Was that possible?
Life Saving – Anne Krist Saving lives isn’t just for adults. Sometimes the innocent magic of a child can do the job better.
Love from the Mist – Patricia Elliott When Jace Warden learns that his brother plans to announce his engagement at a family get together, he flees to the other side of the world to escape the joyous celebration.
Or at least attempts to… His plane never makes it, and he winds up trapped on an island. Little does he realize, he’s not alone; there’s a mischievous little entity milling about, and she wants to play.
Love Knows No Apocalypse – Patricia Elliott Getting stranded in the middle of a storm was not Samantha Wheeler’s idea of an ideal situation, especially in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. But fighting zombies was the easy part; her heart, though, was a whole other matter. Thanks to a man named Steve Jones.
When they find themselves in danger, she has to decide what’s more important – dying for someone she loves or surviving.
Love that Binds – Carol Schoenig On the outskirts of a small town where nothing grows, a young girl, Ianthee, is being bullied and accused of being a witch. Young Caleb, inexplicably drawn to Ianthee, comes to her rescue. Before they can explore their feelings, Caleb and his family disappear. What happened to him, and what part does a long-ago legend play in their lives?
Love’s Ghost – R.M. Olivia “Sorry, babe. I know it hurts to hear.” John frowned. I’ll make this brief. I spoke to the man in charge and he is giving me one last chance.”
“Come again?”
“I’m allowed to make love to my wife one last time before I have to cross over. So, are you ready for your husband? Are you ready for me, Ingrid?” He lifted my chin up and ran his thumb along my lips. I felt a chill go down my spine. How could this be real? How could this be happening?
The Anniversary – Richard Savage A cruel twist of fate wrenched Evelyn and Peter apart on their wedding anniversary. Evelyn’s life descends into darkness. James enters her life giving her a chance of happiness. Evelyn discovers a piece of jewelry, that has the power to grant her time with Peter on their anniversary. She adores James, but needs Peter. Can she ever really let Peter go, while there’s still a chance they can be together?
The Mortal Vampire – Suzanne Smith Remy enjoys life as a vampire, never giving a thought to sucking every last drop of tasty blood out of his unfortunate victims and leaving them door nail dead. But his cold and carefree existence changes the day he crosses paths with the beautiful and mysterious mortal Angela.
Through the Veil – Jan Selbourne A beautiful March day in 1875 ends in tragedy when the wagon carrying Helen and Marcus plunges down the mountainside. Generations pass before Rachel Finlay finds an old sepia photo of a man and woman. She knows them but she’s never met them and now, for the peace of mind she desperately craves, she goes back to where it began. In time, through the veil, knowing she may never return.
Unconditional Lust – Breanna Hayes The massive, hideous merrow leader, Muruch, craves the taste of human flesh. Confined to the ocean, he feeds his horde with sailors from ships pulled into the maw of the Bermuda Triangle. When US Army Captain, Nurys Shaye, puts her life on the line to save him after being captured, his hunger for human flesh is shadowed by the desire for her body and her love. Will she be able to see past his appearance and trust him to break down her walls and teach her to feel?
Author Dee S. Knight: A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! Once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
The mission of Boot Campaign is: “At Boot Campaign, our mission is to unite Americans to honor and restore the lives of veterans and military families through individualized, life-improving programs. … Our individualized programs are designed to show gratitude to our nation’s veterans, brighten the holiday season for their families and provide high-touch, customized care to treat the root cause of invisible wounds of war, such as posttraumatic stress, traumatic brain injury, chronic pain, self-medication and insomnia. programs are designed to show gratitude to our nation’s veterans, brighten the holiday season for their families ” The incidence of suicide is far greater in veterans than in the majority of the population, but helping end the threat of suicide isn’t the only help our vets need. Check out the Boot Campaign website and see what all they do.
The book for the month is Naval Maneuvers, one book near and dear to my heart! It’s dedicated to my dad, who proudly sailed the seas for 24 years, for my second father, who believed “once a Marine always a Marine,” and who demonstrated the finest qualities of the Corps in love of his family, and to my own hero who has always shown the best military traits in living life and loving his women. And to all the men and women who serve daily, and to their families: thank you!
Blurb: Men and women of the armed forces experience lust and love pretty much like everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist attraction of “duty, honor, service” as a man might apply them to a woman’s pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty sexy, compelling force for which you’d better be armed, whether weighing anchor and moving forward into desire, dropping anchor and staying put for passion, or setting a course for renewed love with anchor home. Explore the world of love and the military and see just how hot Naval Maneuvers can be.
Excerpt: “And what is your name, pretty?” Mel Crandall addressed the dinosaur bones in an undertone, bending nearly to face level. The skeleton displayed an open mouth and rows of fierce, sharp teeth.
“Roger,” a man standing next to her said in a low voice. Startled, she looked up. Up being the operative word. She stood a decent five feet ten inches, and he beat her by a good half foot. She studied him. He ignored her.
The guy had a solid profile, strong chin, chiseled cheekbones, and a straight back with muscular shoulders. Short brown hair. He wore glasses and stared straight ahead, but glasses couldn’t disguise the laugh lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes. His posture was near perfect and he was not overweight, as evidenced by the trim fit of his jeans and red polo shirt that clung enough to give evidence of a low body/mass index number.
As a doctor, she immediately noticed body characteristics before actual looks. But with this guy, examination in lieu of admiration was hard. Men were often put off by the fact that she paid attention to whether they looked sallow or flushed, or if their hands were cold or warm before she “saw” them. She noticed if a man’s eyes were dilated or glittered with fever before she registered eye color. Dates started with mini examinations before she relaxed enough to enjoy personalities, but that’s just the way she was. Men had to take it or leave it. Sadly, most left it. Which was why she talked to dinosaurs at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History all on her own.
Mel moved on to the next exhibit, a shorter built specimen but still tall and with a nasty spiked tail. “I wonder what you looked like,” she murmured. “What color were you, what did you eat, and what’s your name?” She bent to read the exhibit information.
“Gray. Grass.” That same guy had followed her. Rather than having a strong profile, she was beginning to think he was a weirdo. “Annnd, roger.”
Quickly, Mel moved to the next exhibit. “And you are–”
“Roger.”
He stood beside her again! Mel started to look for a museum guard but saw none. Great. Planting her hands on her hips, she turned to him. “Stop following me,” she said loudly enough that people in the general area turned to see what was happening.
The guy said, “Hold it.”
Hold it? Hold it, as in “Wait a minute, little lady?” She opened her mouth to lay into him when he turned and removed his glasses, showing her the richest, most chocolatey brown eyes she’d ever seen. The words stuck in her mouth.
“I’m sorry, what?”
In a lower voice she said, “You’re following me from exhibit to exhibit and talking to me. I want you to stop.”
“I didn’t realize…” He wiggled the glasses at her. “I’m working here and I’m afraid I didn’t notice you.”
Well. What was worse, that he was a pervert following her place to place, or that he wasn’t a perv and hadn’t even noticed her?
His brow furrowed while he studied her. “Yes. Yes.” Then he shook his head. “Roger.”
Again with that Roger.
“Gotta go. Later.” Then he smiled at her. “Just a minute, okay?” He folded the glasses and put them first in a protective case. Squatting, he placed a briefcase on the floor and opened it. He stored the glass case inside a pocket. Then he removed something from his right ear—an earbud?—protected it and also put it in the case.
Mel watched all of this with curiosity. He expected her to wait for him? What arrogance. And yet, wait she did. When he stood, holding the case in his left hand and smiled once more, her heart stuttered. The guy was drop dead gorgeous—at least to her understanding of the word. Normally, she appreciated the male form, mostly from a medical viewpoint. This man she enjoyed with pure pleasure.
And Good God. He hadn’t been talking to her, he’d been talking to whoever was on the other end of that earbud. Embarrassment flooded her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you were…” She slid her hand between the two of them and then to the exhibits.
“No,” he said. “I apologize. I shouldn’t be testing this stuff around people. The last time I did it a kid thought I was calling him Roger.” His voice had a soft drawl to it. Western Virginia or North Carolina, maybe? Somewhere in the mountains. It felt like a cool stream as it ran over a body hot and tired from hiking: refreshing and invigorating, at the same time soothing and relaxing. She wanted him to talk more.
Stop that! She laughed. “I thought you were naming each dinosaur.” He smiled and dimples indented his cheeks. His eyes crinkled and Mel’s breath caught. This guy should come with a warning label. Approach with caution.Could bring on lustful intentions and ultimately, broken hearts. Take only in small doses and in public places.
He held out his hand. “David Stimson.”
She took it gingerly, half expecting lightning to bolt between them. Nope. Nothing. So much for romance novels. He had a nice hand, large and warm with healthy pink nails, and she grasped it firmly. “Melissa Crandall.”
“Nice to meet you. Do you mind if I wander along with you?” Grasping the briefcase with his left hand, he deftly moved to the left of her.
“No, please. It’s a free country.” She walked to the next dinosaur re-creation. “And this one is…” She half waited for his pronouncement.
“Not Roger,” he said, stopping her heart with that killer smile again. He leaned over to read the information. “Torosaurus latus. It says here that these bones were dug up in North Dakota, but that the Torosaurus roamed from Canada to Texas, and that he had the biggest head of any land mammal.”
“Well, I guess that’s something to be proud of,” Mel responded. David laughed and she found herself smiling back. When she moved to the next exhibit, he strolled along with her.
He pointed to the next specimen. “Poor guy. Starved to death.”
“Oh, yeah? How do you know?”
“Can’t you tell? He’s all bones.”
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
Gigi’s Playhouseis a worldwide organization dedicated to helping children and young adults with Down syndrome become better developed and to be accepted by their communities and their families. A large number of pre-birth children who are detected to have Down are aborted. Gigi’s Playhouse show what a joy and blessing those children can be. Their mission is: “To change the way the world views Down syndrome and to send a global message of acceptance for all.” Please check them out. One of their 55 locations might be near you if you have a need, or near someone you know. Thanks for commenting!
My book this month is The Man of Her Dreams.
Blurb: It will take a heck of a psychic to keep Dan from getting killed. Is Cassandra that good?
A woman who has traveled thousands of miles searching for a tall man with brilliant blue eyes, a man she’s been dreaming of for months.
A man whose life is in danger—or so the screwy woman having dreams and visions says—but who doesn’t believe for one minute in the occult.
A man who has been thought dead for two years and who disappeared with a bundle in stolen cash.
How will these three come together? And who will be left standing at the end of their encounter?
Excerpt: “What did you mean that after seeing me you thought you might be in the right place?”
A few moments passed while Cassandra considered what to say. People so often took her precognitions the wrong way. Finally, she screwed up her courage and turned to him.
“This is going to be hard for you to understand. I’ve… seen you before. I’ve had dreams for the past several weeks that feature you pretty prominently. I recognized you as soon as I saw you.”
Dan glanced at her, incredulity plain on his face and then he chuckled. “I have to admit, I don’t think any woman has ever told me that she dreamed about me before. Not literally, anyway. You mean you had a dream about a guy like me.”
“No, I mean I dreamed about you, you specifically. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.” She looked out the window to the side of the road, seeing only pines and a house here and there, in the growing darkness. Dan didn’t speak immediately.
“What is it you dream? Something enjoyable, I hope.” His words were light but his tone made it clear that he wasn’t happy with the subject.
“Actually…” She turned to look at him again, “I’m glad you asked, because I wondered how I was going to bring this up. I dream that you’re dying. Drowning. You need to take special care around water.”
Dan glanced at her again, his lips compressed and his eyes narrowed into slits. “Not so pleasant then. Good thing I don’t believe in that sort of stuff. I noticed you’ve got California plates. The land of nuts, they say. No offense, but maybe there’s some truth to that.”
Cassandra glared at Dan. “You’d do well not to toss around old clichés and misconceptions, considering how many there are about the South. I appreciate your stopping and helping me as you have, but let’s not go any further down this path of conversation.” She lapsed into silence.
Fortunately, Dan didn’t try to engage her in any more talk. She’d have to consider how to bring up the subject of her dreams again when maybe he’d be in a more receptive frame of mind. She hadn’t traveled over three thousand miles to give up after one brush off.
After several minutes of tense silence, he pulled up in front of the Green Hills Inn. “I’ll wait here while you find out if they have a room.”
Cassandra went inside, returning shortly with a key. Opening the back door to reach for her suitcases, she said, “Thanks very much, Dan. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me. Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Wait a minute.” Dan jumped out of the truck and grabbed her suitcases. “I’ll take these up for you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Just get on inside, will you?” he said harshly.
Cassandra scowled, but walked through the lobby to the elevators, where she jabbed the Up button. At room 410 she slid the keycard into the slot and opened the door just enough to admit herself. Turning, she wrestled her suitcases from Dan.
“Thanks again. Bye.”
As she backed into the room and dropped her bags beside the bed, Dan put his hand against the door to stop it from closing and followed her in.
“Wait just a damn minute,” Cassandra started, “you’ve got no right to come into my room. Just because you helped me out doesn’t give you any claims, and I’ll thank you to leave. Now.” Fire filled her tone. She’d been single long enough to know how to take care of herself, but she was a little tired for a fight.
“I’m not asking for any claims, lady. I’ve just got something to say to you, and I think it will be in your best interest to listen up. There’re a lot of superstitious notions still believed by some people in the South, but most people are going to look at you like you’re crazy if you go around telling them you’ve been seeing and hearing things. And rightly so, to my way of thinking. So just a friendly word of warning. However long you’re in my town, you’ll get along better if you keep your little loony visions to yourself.” He had stepped right up to her and looked directly down into her eyes.
“Your town?” She felt the heat from his body and his breath softly blowing her hair. Although she knew she was frowning and appeared in control, inside she trembled. Like a tug-of-war, he had the power to pull her closer while she fought to remain steady, cool, and calm. Or at least appear that way. With effort, she steeled herself.
“My town, California.”
“Point taken. Now you can leave. Or do you have any other words of wisdom to pass on?”
His eyes fell to her mouth then slowly moved back up to her eyes.
“I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you,” he murmured. Grasping her shoulders, he lowered his head and kissed her, softly at first, but then harder as his body began to respond.
Without meaning to, Cassandra moaned, falling into the kiss as she leaned into him. His lips were soft and warm. He used them to massage hers and coax them into opening. His tongue was light on her lips, silky, brushing them as if to imprint their texture and form. She forgot for a moment that she had only known this man for a couple of hours.
Just as he tried to slip his tongue between her lips, she came to herself and pushed against him. She caught her breath and without thinking, slapped him hard across the face.
Shock filled his eyes, and then anger as he stepped back. She could see her handprint on his cheek and knew that it had to have hurt, because her hand hurt. Putting her fingers to her lips as though to erase his kiss, she stared at him.
“I hope you enjoy your short time in Greenwood and have a safe journey when you leave. Dill will take good care of your car. Goodnight, Ms. Hudson.” He turned and stormed from the room. A minute later, alerted by the unmistakable noise from the diesel engine, she strode to the window and watched him pull away from the motel and onto the street.
Cassandra took her bag of toiletries into the bathroom and undressed for her shower. Although she was shaken from the kiss and her initial reaction to Dan Morgan, the water beating against her body helped relax her. By the time she had put on her soft cotton gown, she knew she could sleep.
However, she hadn’t been in deep sleep very long before the dream started again.
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
A few weeks ago, I saw a news feature of a playground in Toms River, New Jersey. The B.W.J. Barnabas Health playground is very special because it’s designed to fit every level of ability a child can manage. (The playground can also be used by adults who have special needs and even some recovering from surgery.) The design of the playground is phenomenal, all due to the vision of Christian Kane, the town of Toms River, and corporations who pitched in to help. Kane’s brilliant idea is to benefit his son who was severely injured in a car accident as an infant, but who now, and age 8 or so, wants to play baseball.
The mission of the complex is: The Toms River Field of Dreams (TRFOD) is a project with a mission to encourage and engage our communities (Monmouth and Ocean Counties), with a focus on those with special needs, in physical and social activity by building a community complex to provide opportunities for special needs individuals of all ages and abilities to engage, explore and socialize together.
If you check out the website, scroll down the Home page and watch one of the videos that describe this amazing place. You’ll see why I’m so impressed. This donation will be going to the Toms River complex, where they still have work to finish. But these types of playgrounds can, and should, be available all over the country. Think of the joy! Thanks for your help!!
My book this month is a fantasy and study in adults who need special things, things that will—mysteriously—make their dreams come true. Your Desire
Blurb: Your Desire. A mysterious shop appears in town for one reason: to bring the spice of passion and the thrill of love to one special person. Magic is in more than the item purchased—it’s in the heart of the buyer, often hidden, usually surprising. And after enchantment takes hold and the fantasy is fulfilled? The store fades from sight and memory, only to reappear somewhere else. Maybe in your town…?
Excerpt: The whir of a sewing machine traveled across the ether. As intended, the sound blended with the those of a lawn mower in Cleveland, a blender in Dallas, an electric razor in Seattle. Some people, those specially attuned to properties outside the normal realm of humans, heard buzzing that could have been a sewing machine, but it was faint and truly indistinguishable for what it was. More like a mosquito at the ear. They heard it but couldn’t decipher exactly where to swat, so they did their best ignore it.
Of course, the sound was not supposed to be heard, and therefore not investigated. The very few who did hear it clearly, who also heard Nigel and his granddaughter clearly, well, they generally resided in a hospital setting where three squares a day were provided and tranquility came in the form of little green pills. At the least, they saw a shrink three times a week. Their knowledge wasn’t taken seriously.
This worried Nigel, but what could he do? It wasn’t his fault humans had devolved to the point where they no longer believed in enchantment. He shook his head and tsked as he sewed. When he was a boy learning the business from his grandfather as his granddaughter now learned from him, no one would have believed the universe could get to this point, where people believed in the “magic” of technology but not the magic that could be found in their own hearts.
Of course, challenges were exciting, and skeptical humans certainly kept him on his toes.
Absently, he hummed as he completed the final seam on the full, purple satin skirt. He pulled it from the machine, snipped the threads and shook the material out before pinning it on the dress form.
“Edwina! I have the skirt finished. Come here, dear.” Standing back to cast a critical eye over how the skirt hung, he held up an artist’s rendition of what the final product should be. He looked from drawing to garment, made a few small adjustments to the pleating around the waist and nodded in satisfaction.
“Hey, Gramps,” his granddaughter said, bounding into the room.
For the millionth time, he mentally cringed at the lack of style in today’s youth. Their kind had the ability to appear any way they wished. Glancing in the mirror, he saw a debonair David Niven reflected back. The sleeves of his snowy white shirt were rolled to his elbows, but the Windsor knot in his tie was perfect, as was the knife-sharp crease in his trousers and the shine on his shoes. When he rolled down his sleeves and put on his jacket, he would look every inch the gentleman. Quirking his brows in approval, he unconsciously ran a fingertip lightly over his moustache. Instead of selecting what he would consider an appropriate shell, Edwina—a name which screamed propriety—chose to look like a bag lady gone wild.
Like today, for instance. Long blond hair, streaked with pink and purple, pulled up into a ponytail to hang down the side of her head. Black lipstick and eye shadow. Two earrings in one ear and four in the other. A bright orange tank top and faded jeans—separated scandalously by a good three inches of bare stomach—looked as though they’d been worn (and torn) for centuries. And her feet—her lovely, dainty feet!—were shod in horrid, ugly brown things that not even the most desperate soldier in Caesar’s army would have donned.
When he had questioned her once about her appearance, she’d said with delight that she was starting her own trend. A Lauper-Madonna-Pink look. It was not something he’d understood. Today, after a quick perusal, he leaned closer.
“What is that?” He swiped his thumb across her cheek, then examined what was on the pad.
“Body glitter. Isn’t it cool?” She grinned at him.
Her enthusiasm, as well as her utter lack of self-consciousness, brought the slightest of smiles to his eyes, even as his mouth formed a moue of reproach.
“Yes, well.” He wiped his thumb on a handkerchief pulled from the pocket of his jacket, hanging on the wall behind Edwina. “‘Cool’ is what ice cubes provide. I don’t know what body glitter is good for.”
Giggles flowed from her, reminding him of when she was a small girl instead of the nearly grown youngster she was now. Where had the centuries gone? Despite the shudders her wardrobe caused, he loved Edwina enormously and strove to give her the very best education in what they did, which was make dreams come true.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
This month’s charity is Folds of Honor. The mission of Folds of Honor is: “To provide educational scholarships to spouses and children of America’s fallen and disabled service-members. … Honor their sacrifice. Educate their legacy.” So this charity helps two ways that are near and dear to my heart—it helps give people who need the boost an education they might not be able to afford, and it honors those who have given much. Please comment!
I wrote Burning Bridges as Anne Krist. It’s not an erotic romance, but it’s a book full of emotion and is a true love story. The hero, Paul Steinert, is in the Navy and is about to ship out for Vietnam when he first meets Sara Noland. Perhaps his child could have benefited from Folds of Honor!
Excerpt:
Virginia Beach, Virginia – January, 1970
“Of all days to debate about whether to wear the short skirt or the shorter one,” Sara wailed to her best friend, Cindy. “We’ll be lucky if we aren’t late.”
The blue Volkswagen Beetle sped down the highway. Or as fast as it could speed, with the tiny engine pushing from the rear, and Sara having to shift gears so often because of traffic and lights. She huffed in frustration.
“Oh, we have plenty of time. I had to make sure I looked just right. You never know who we’ll see,” Cindy replied with her usual assurance.
“I hope you’re right.”
“You worry, Sara, and things always turn out okay. Just keep your mind on driving and we’ll be fine.” Cindy clasped her hands and shrieked with excitement. “I can’t believe our parents bought us tickets to see Michael Wales!”
That brought a real smile to Sara’s face. “I know! Our parents are the best.”
She flicked a knob on the radio as she veered into the parking lot, silencing Neil Diamond’s “Holly Holy.”
“See? I told you. You worry too much. We’re here with a good ten minutes to spare.” Cindy flipped her straight blonde hair over her shoulder. She turned the rearview mirror toward her and applied a fresh coating of lip gloss.
“We’re only ‘here’ if I can find a place to park.” Sara maneuvered her little car up one aisle and down another, until finally, “Good! There’s one.” Before she could get to the space, a sleek, red Corvette swung in.
“Oh, no! That was our space,” Cindy cried.
Two men unfolded themselves from the little sports car, the driver with olive skin and hair as dark as the passenger’s was golden. The men started toward the building. Suddenly, the passenger looked at Sara and then back at the space.
The low-hanging sun framed him, a fair giant with short hair and the physique of a warrior. For a brief moment, Sara pictured him with sword and shield at the helm of a Norse sailing vessel. Her heart fluttered and her breath caught. Then she brought herself under control.
The girls watched as he talked to the dark-haired man and gestured to them. The driver looked around then shook his head before continuing toward the building. The blond shrugged apologetically at Sara and followed his friend.
“Shoot! I thought maybe he would have a heart.” Sara eased off the clutch and started forward again.
“They were cute.” Cindy swerved in her seat to watch the men as they picked their way through the parked cars. “I wonder what the chances are of seeing them–”
A piercing whistle cut through Cindy’s words. “Stop, Sara! The blond guy is waving at us.”
Sara turned to look behind them. The blond man was indeed waving, gesturing for her to come toward him. “What does he want?” she muttered. Deciding to ignore him, she drove on, turning to the right.
He whistled again.
“He wants you to pull around there. He’s still waving.”
“Oh, all right,” Sara grumbled. “But make sure your door is locked, Cindy. And don’t roll your window down.”
Cindy laughed. “You sound like my mother. What do you think is going to happen right here in the parking lot?”
Sara managed a U-turn and drove to where the man stood. Rolling her window down an inch, she said loudly, “What is it?”
He bent down to peer through the glass at her, a lopsided grin on his face. Good Lord, he was cute. Muscled shoulders and arms, angular, strong features, hair a rich blond, and dark, sapphire-blue eyes.
“Oh, my heavens,” she heard Cindy say under her breath.
For once, Sara understood her friend’s meaning. His grin made her stomach do flip-flops and her palms sweat.
“I don’t bite,” he said around a chuckle, motioning to the almost closed window. “I just wanted to tell you, there’s a place right over there. I think you can squeeze your Bug into it.” He turned and pointed at a half space at the end of the aisle, a couple of cars away.
Flashing him a look of gratitude, she put the little car in gear and pulled into the spot. The tall, handsome stranger followed.
When Sara turned off the engine, the guy opened the door for Cindy and held out his hand to assist her. Out of nowhere, a sharp pang of jealousy struck Sara. Its intensity and suddenness disturbed her. After all, she didn’t know this man; what difference did it make if he and Cindy hit it off?
By the time she collected her purse, stepped out and made sure the doors were locked, Cindy and the mystery man were like old friends. Again she felt the Green Monster strike, and gave a mental shake to rid herself of its clutches.
“Sara,” Cindy said, smiling dreamily at the tall man, “this is Paul Steinert. Wasn’t he just wonderful, finding us this space?” She tittered.
It was all Sara could manage, not to gape. Cindy always flirted but tittering was something new.
“Paul, this is my best friend, Sara Noland.”
Paul smiled and held out his hand. “Hello, Sara. I’m sorry about the other space. This one is closer to the door, though.”
She locked gazes with him and her tongue twisted in her mouth. Surges of heat flew through her body. If his smile had that effect, what would his touch do to her? Something wonderful.
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. She is the primary persona of three pen names—triplets, if you will: Dee, Anne Krist, and Jenna Stewart.
As noted above, Dee S. Knight writes erotic romance—emphasis on the romance! She was part of an anthology named a Top Pick in Romantic Times magazine (Resolutions) and the sole author of another Top Pick designation, for the paranormal erotic romance, Passionate Destiny.
“Sister” Anne Krist does not write erotic romance. Her book, Burning Bridges, has received high praise and multiple 5-star reviews because of the depth of the romance and emotion. Burning Bridges is Anne’s first book but she has a series planned that she hopes to have out soon.
Third of the triplets is Jenna Stewart. Jenna has tried her hand at ménage—in both historical and shifter books. She wrote the Sisters O’Ryan series set during the westward migration in the U.S., the Great Wolves of Men-Edge, and Unlikely Bedfellows.
Regardless of the name she uses to write during the day, their dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy. What happens during their nights are their secret.
For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join the girls on Nomad Authors. Sign up for Dee’s newsletter with Jan Selbourne and have access to fun free reads. Also, once a month, look for Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
