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.
No, something forbidden.
Buy Burning Bridges or Read for free on KU
About me:
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.
Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
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Excerpt:
Excerpt from Weighing Anchor:
Excerpt:
I have a very small family. I’m an only child. In Jack’s family, his parents had his brother and him, and neither Jack nor his brother aspired to having children. So if I want to ask about memories, I have few choices.
and aircraft carriers and far below the water line. Did he ever have any harrowing experiences? What was it like working in those conditions? How did he sleep in an area filled with other guys, and did he get homesick?
Especially in this season, there is much to be grateful for. There is so much, in fact, how does one limit it to a few? Don’t know… But I’m going to try.
and I learned things I’ve never forgotten. It planted my feet firmly on the ground and centered me. Plus, it gave me a perspective on everything in life since. As hubby says, once you’ve started to jackknife coming down Donner Pass in a blizzard, the meaning of “stress” changes forever more.
experience things most people have not. I’ve been able to write. I’ve enjoyed both working and not working. I’ve been blessed, totally and sincerely. It’s such a wonderful feeling!
I have to say, I am not a very good cook and I’ve become worse since being married. My family used lots of seasoning, so at one time I knew what I was doing with them. But Jack likes no seasoning—not spices, herbs, salt, or pepper. Nothing. He says he likes the taste of food as it is meant to be tasted. So I’ve learned to eat food the same way and that somewhat limits what one can do in the way of creativity. Consequently, my culinary acumen has suffered. I do still have a few dishes I cook and Jack eats them or he fixes a sandwich. (Okay, that’s not accurate. I fix his sandwich.) One of my favorite comfort foods is goulash, or what some call hamburger and macaroni.
with a slice of crusty bread and maybe a salad. Doesn’t matter—it takes me back to my childhood. Funny thing. Years ago when I first started making goulash for Jack and me, it didn’t taste the same as when Mom made it. I asked her why and after relaying how I made it, she asked when I added the secret ingredient. Once I started that, the flavors were the taste of home. See if you can spot the secret ingredient.
heritage. At any rate, this is not a difficult recipe but for some reason, we only had it for holidays and other special dates like birthdays throughout my years of living at home.
I hope you love this dish! It’s got childhood written all over it, though it’s my childhood, not yours. Maybe you’ll want to adopt it, though.
happen in the first chapter because you have to be concerned with character introduction and plot hints. But using a prologue, the author can spend all of his/her time engaging the reader with emotion in what follows. You know me—I’m all for engaging!
examples and see where the author might have gone wrong. As for me, I never skip prologues. I might not read the rest of the book if the prologue is terrible, but at least I’ll have a good reason for it.