Rhymes With Foreplay

There's a Party Going On!

2011-12-18T11:48:00.000-08:00

Actually there's several, but here are a few that I hope you'll be interested in attending.

The first one is going on now. I'm late, actually. Big surprise, huh? It's a multi-author, live chat and it's happening at Cassandra Carr's Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/BooksByCassandraCarr

If it's anyone like the last one, it should be a blast. You have to like her page before you can comment . While you're at it, why not "like" my page if you haven't already done so...shameless promo? You betcha!

http://www.facebook.com/AuthorPGForte

Next up (and something else I'm running late for) is the all day chat with Loose Id authors over at Love Romance Cafe

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LoveRomancesCafe/

C'mon, would you disappoint that face?

Finally, at the Here Be Magic blog http://herebemagic.blogspot.com/2011/12/december-will-be-magic-again-here-be.html we're feeling extra generous this holiday season.

http://herebemagic.blogspot.com/2011/12/december-will-be-magic-again-here-be.html

Here's the scoop:

A group of us at Here Be Magic wanted to do something really special to celebrate the season of giving. From December 17th until December 24th at 8:00 p.m., commenters on this post will be automatically entered to win one of three AMAZING prizes!

So tell us, Here Be Magic readers, what is the one thing that never fails to put you in the holiday mood? It could be a food or drink, a song or movie, a tradition.

Whatever it is, we want to hear about it! Three winners will be chosen at random. The first place prize can only be offered to U.S. residents, but international readers, 2nd and 3rd place prizes are open to all,so don't be shy!

First place prize is A BRAND NEW KINDLE FIRE!

Sponsored by Carina Press authors Christine Bell, David Bridger, Joely Sue Burkhart, Angela Campbell, Ruth A. Casie, Sharon Cullen, Seleste deLaney, Susan Edwards, PG Forte, Loribelle Hunt, Shona Husk, Jeffe Kennedy, Jane Kindred, Julia Knight, Barbara Longley, Linda Mooney, Janni Nell, Tia Nevitt, Nicole North, Cindy Spencer Pape, Jenny Schwartz, Veronica Scott, Keri Stevens, Eleri Stone, Dee Tenorio, Jody Wallace, Brenda Williamson, and Rebecca York

Second place prize is a Carina Press e-book “basket” with 26 books, including:Allegra Fairweather, Paranormal Investigator by Janni Nell, Badlands by Seleste deLaney, Cry Wolf by Angela Campbell, Dark Magic by Rebecca York, Dark Vow by Shona Husk, Demon Crossings by Eleri Stone, Golden by Joely Sue Burkhart,Heart of the Druid Laird by Barbara Longley, Her Dark Knight by Sharon Cullen,Hunting Human by Amanda Alvarez, Kiss of Darkness by Loribelle Hunt, Knight of Runes by Ruth A. Casie, Laird of Darkness by Nicole North, Quarter Square by David Bridger, Sapphire by Jeffe Kennedy, Steam & Sorcery by Cindy Spencer Pape, Stone Kissed by Keri Stevens, Tempting the Enemy by Dee Tenorio, The Devil’s Garden by Jane Kindred, The Sevenfold Spell by Tia Nevitt, The Twisted Tale of Stormy Gale by Christine Bell, The Viking’s Sacrifice by Julia Knight, This Winter Heart by PG Forte,Three Wishes by Jenny Schwartz, White Dawn by Susan Edwards

Third place prize is a $25.00 gift card to either Amazon or Barnes & Noble (winner’s choice)!

If you put your email address or Twitter handle in your comment, we can contact you, but we will also announce the winners on the blog and Tweet the winner’s names at 10:00 p.m. on December 24th (our twitter handle is @herebemagic if you want to follow along).

The winners will have three days to collect their prizes. If we do not receive a response, another entrant with a listed email address or Twitter handle will be chosen so that we can contact them directly.

So, There you have it. Happy Holidays!

Jingle Bell Hop!

2011-12-08T21:30:00.000-08:00

Greetings once again, Blog Hoppers! And welcome to Day Eleven! I've based my story here on the characters in my new steampunk holiday release, This Winter Heart...

Santa Fe, The Republic of New Texacali, 1870

Eight years ago, Ophelia Leonides's husband cast her off when he discovered she was not the woman he thought she was. Now destitute after the death of her father, Ophelia is forced to turn to Dario for help raising the child she never told him about.

Dario is furious that Ophelia has returned, and refuses to believe Arthur is his son—after all, he thought his wife was barren. But to avoid gossip, he agrees to let them spend the holidays at his villa. While he cannot resist the desire he still feels for Ophelia, Dario despises himself for being hopelessly in love with a woman who can never love him back.

But Dario is wrong: Ophelia's emotions are all too human, and she was brokenhearted when he rejected her. Unsure if she can trust the man she desperately loves, she fears for her life, her freedom and her son if anyone else learns of her true nature...

Today's story takes place eight years before the events in This Winter Heart, during the early (and happier) days of Dario and Ophelia's marriage. Enjoy! And remember, if you fall off the holiday tour bus and need to get back on, just go to www.justromance.me

Eleven Pipes on a Winter's Night

Santa Fe, The Republic of New Texacali, 1862

Ophelia’s breath fogged up the glass as she gazed out her parlor window at the wintry landscape beyond. A light snow had begun to fall again, just enough to further obscure her view. She frowned crossly and shivered as she used her hand to wipe the pane clean once again. Despite the fire blazing in the room at her back, the cold seeped in through the thin glass and she pulled her wrap more tightly around her. She’d be warmer if she were seated by her hearth, but she was hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband returning to the house and was reluctant to leave her post.

She couldn't understand what Dario was up to. He'd seemed so anxious to get back home, to have her all to himself once more. Or so he’d said, when he insisted they cut their trip short. Yet, no more than five minutes after they’d arrived home he’d hurried off in the direction of the stables, with an armload of blueprints he'd brought back from Pennsylvania with him, leaving her all alone to see them both unpacked. Whatever Dario was up to, out in the old barn he called his workshop, he’d been at it for hours.

Not that she had any reason to complain overmuch. She’d known when she’d married him that Dario was a man with many interests and many responsibilities. She’d never expected him to dance attendance on her every minute of the day. And, after all, this was her home now too. She should be able to find all sorts of ways to keep herself happily occupied—and for the most part, she could. It’s just that it was still the Christmas season and she was not quite ready for them to be done with their holiday yet. Tomorrow was Twelfth Night. Couldn’t they at least have prolonged their trip for the traditional Twelve Days?

She knew most gentlemen in Dario’s position would likely have insisted they not go away at all, but spend the entire Christmas holiday in their own home. Certainly, that was what her in-laws had expected them to do. The older Leonides had made no secret of the fact that they were counting on their son and his wife to attend all the more important year-end social functions, just as they had last year. They’d been most displeased when Dario decided they’d do otherwise.

Though she'd tried her best to hide it, her husband must have sensed how homesick Ophelia had been last year, how out-of-place and alone she’d been made to feel on that, their first Christmas as a married couple. He’d sworn to her that this year would be different and he’d kept that promise, calmly defying his family’s wishes and taking Ophelia to spend almost two weeks at her father's home in Pennsylvania. They’d visited her father and their friends, and gone to parties where she was welcomed, not shunned or stared at. Still, Ophelia couldn’t help but wish their holiday could have lasted just a few days more.

“Come away from that window now, missus,” Ophelia’s housekeep urged as she wheeled the tea-trolley into the parlor. “You’re going to catch your death of cold standing there like that. Why not come and sit by the fire now and have your tea.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harrison.” Ophelia turned reluctantly away from the window. She gazed in regret at the homey scene before her, the greenery decorating the mantel, the piñon logs crackling cheerily in the hearth, the gleaming silver tea service she’d received as a wedding gift, the plates piled high with delicacies. It was all so perfect and it only made her long for Dario’s company even more. How wonderful it would be if they could both enjoy spending the holidays here. Perhaps, if they had children they might, but almost two years had elapsed without a sign that any were forthcoming. Something Ophelia’s mother-in-law never seemed tired of mentioning each time she saw her. “Everything looks lovely, but I think I’d rather wait for Dario to return before I eat.” Surely, he would not be very much longer?

Mrs. Harrison frowned. “Well, I reckon Mr. Leonides can tell time as well as the next man. But he missed his luncheon too and if his watch hasn’t told him it’s tea-time yet, I’m sure his stomach will soon acquaint him with the fact. Either way, it’s no reason for you to go without. Look here now,” she said, indicating a plate of cookies. “Cook’s even included some of her special bisochitos, because she knows how much you like them. Only imagine the fuss there’d be in the kitchen if I were to bring the tea things back in without your having eaten them. Why, she’d be insulted, she would, and likely get to thinking you prefer the fancy food you were served back East to her own cooking.”

Ophelia was touched as always by the older woman’s concern for her. Her nose had already picked up the mouth-watering, anise-and-cinnamon fragrance of the little cookies she’d first tasted at her wedding feast and which she’d since come to associate with her new home. They were among Dario’s favorites as well, and she knew cook could be counted on to keep baking up large batches for his benefit on every holiday and special occasion, whether or not Ophelia ever ate another. Still, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want either of you to think your efforts weren’t appreciated,” she said, smiling as she crossed to the hearth.

She’d no sooner picked up one of the cookies, however, when the sound of the front door opening reached her ears. Footsteps approached, her gaze flew to the parlor’s open doorway. Her breath caught and her lips curved into an eager smile, just as always seemed to happen whenever Dario appeared. “You’re just in time for tea,” she said in greeting.

Rubbing his hands briskly together, Dario returned her smile. “Can it wait? There’s something I want to show you first.”

Ophelia blinked in surprise. “All right,” she replied, distractedly drinking in every detail of her husband’s appearance, just as though they’d been apart for weeks instead of mere hours. Snowflakes dusted the shoulders of his overcoat; more snow glittered in his dark hair. His cheeks were rosy, flushed with cold and his eyes, when he looked at her, glowed even more warmly. “What is it you want to show me?”

“Something I’ve been working on. It’s down in the workshop. Hurry and get your cloak and boots.”

“Mr. Leonides,” Mrs. Harrison interrupted, her tone scandalized. “Surely you’ll want to come in and have your tea and get yourself warmed up before you go out again, or drag Mrs. Leonides out into the cold?”

Dario shrugged. "It's not that cold and, in any case, we won't be out in it very long." He gestured toward the window. “Besides, it’ll be getting dark soon, and will only get colder. The tea will keep. Send it back to the kitchen, if it gets to be too long, and ask cook to make us another pot.”

“I’ll go and get my things,” Ophelia said, flashing an apologetic glance at her housekeeper. Mrs. Harrison rolled her eyes but made no further protest. She seemed more resigned to Dario’s manner, rather than aggravated by it. Then again, she’d been his housekeeper for quite some time now, Ophelia reflected. She’d been with the family, in one capacity or another, ever since Dario was a little boy and so had probably seen a lot of it.

As Ophelia made to hurry past him, Dario snagged her wrist and brought her to a stop. He lifted her hand to his lips and took a bite of the cookie she’d forgotten she was still holding. Then he licked at the sugar and cinnamon still clinging to her fingertips and smiled. “Delicious as always,” he murmured. A wicked smile played over his lips. Ophelia felt her cheeks grow warm. He wasn’t talking just about the cookies and, given his tone and the heat in his eyes, she didn’t think their housekeeper would be fooled into thinking he was either.

“Dario.” Her voice was weak, breathless, embarrassed. He chuckled in response.

“Hurry back.”

Her husband was pacing in the front hallway when Ophelia returned, just a few minutes later. He stopped to stare at her as she came down the stairs, still fumbling with the fastenings to the new cloak he’d bought for her last week in Philadelphia. It was made of red wool, floor-length, with a deep hood and trimmed in white fur. Ophelia thought it quite becoming and, if the look Dario was giving her was anything to go by, he thought so too.

“My God, you’re beautiful. Come here.” Dario’s voice was husky. He took hold of Ophelia’s shoulders, drew her close and slanted his lips over hers.

Ophelia could not repress the moan that slipped past her lips. Her breasts felt heavy and the liquid warmth between her legs had her pressing her thighs tightly together. She leaned even closer to Dario, craving more of his touch, more of his kisses, until the measured tread of footsteps in the back hallway reminded her of their location. She pulled back. “Dario, stop. We can't. What if someone sees?”

“And? What of it?” He raised one aristocratic eyebrow in a look that was so impossibly—and unconsciously—arrogant that Ophelia couldn’t help but smile. “Let them see. It seems to me I’ve every right to kiss my own wife in my own front hallway. Unless she objects?”

Ophelia shook her head. "No, of course not." But a few moments longer and they’d be doing more than just kissing. And that was something she would object to—at least in public. “I thought there was something you wished to show me?”

Dario's smile returned. “Right. Come along then.” He took hold of her hand and led her outside. As they walked through the gently falling snow, Ophelia glanced around appreciatively. Even partially obscured, the rocky landscape around them was nothing at all like the soft rolling hills she was used to. Still, it was a raw, rough beauty to the place and there was no denying it.

They stopped at last by the old barn that housed Dario’s workshop. The doors were massive. Thick wooden planks banded by iron, they looked impossibly heavy. Ophelia’s eyes widened in surprise when Dario pushed them open with ease. Curious, she looked more closely and soon realized it wasn’t just the well-oiled track or the chain and pulley that allowed Dario to accomplish such a feat. She recognized the workmanship on the pneumatic hinges attached to the door's frame, and knew her father had had a hand in their design.

Dario twisted a small handle located on the wall beside the door and blaus gas lamps set along the walls and rafters flared to life, illuminating the barn’s interior.

“What have you been doing in here all day?” she asked, still looking around. A large worktable, draped in a canvas tarpaulin, dominated the space.

“Come and see.” Dario grabbed hold of her hand again and led her toward the table. With a flourish, he whisked the canvas away, revealing a miniature landscape. Ophelia recognized it as a replica of their house and the surrounding property. “Well?” he asked eagerly. “What do you think of it?”

Ophelia stared at it in puzzlement. “It’s beautiful but…what’s it for?”

“It’s for you. It’s a model of the garden I’m going to build for you utilizing some of your father’s technology. I know you’ve been feeling homesick. I thought this might help.”

He was building her a garden? Something to make her feel more at home—here in his home. Ophelia blinked back her tears, so moved by Dario’s gesture that she could not find the words to express it. Not that she could have spoken them, even if she had found them. As it was, she had to swallow hard before she could talk at all. “Oh, Dario, thank you.”

“Wait.” He smiled again. “That's not all. There’s still one more thing more you have to see." He pressed a button on the side of the display and suddenly the air was filled with an almost-unearthly music.

“What are those?” Ophelia asked staring, mesmerized at the odd figures that had appeared within the display. They were strange little things, hunched–backed little creatures with feathery head-dresses. Each one carried a tiny flute and danced merrily amidst the miniature landscape.

Dario picked one up and place it on his open hand, where it continued to dance and play. “This is Kokopelli,” he said , his tone reverent. “The flute player. He's a very important spirit here. It’s said that it's his song that melts the snow and brings winter to an end. It’s also claimed that it’s he who fertilizes crops, who makes the land and all the plants and creatures on it conceive and bear new life. Although he's also known as a Trickster, occasionally.”

New life. Ophelia studied the little dancer more closely. Strange though it sounded, she could well believe the claims. There was something magical about the song. She felt it reverberating deep inside her, resonating with everything she was or felt or dreamed of being. Her head swam suddenly and she drew a long breath, feeling distinctly shaky. “And are there always so many of them?” she asked, gesturing at the table.

“Oh. That.” Dario laughed and gently returned the little doll to the table. “No, not usually. But I was so eager to get back here and get started on this that I completely forgot what day it was, along with the fact that you’d wanted to stay until after Twelfth Night.”

“I…it-it’s all right,” Ophelia stammered. She ducked her head, feeling guilty now for her earlier unkind thoughts. “I do understand that you have important things to do and cannot spend all your time with me. I’m grateful we were able to go at all.”

Dario reached out and drew her into his arms. “It’s not all right,” he said as he lifted her chin and gazed down at her sternly. “And there’s nothing more important to me than you.” He nodded at the table. “It's

the Eleventh Day of Christmas, Lia. And those eleven pipers are piping just for you.” He leaned in and brushed a tender kiss across her lips. “Because you are, and always will be, my own true love.”

“Oh, Dario.” Tears sparked in Ophelia's eyes. “I do love you so.”

“And I you, Lia,” Dario answered drawing her close. “No matter what happens. Always.”

http://www.jowsey.com/kokopelli/kokopelli.html

We Wish You a Steampunk Christmas

Changed forever after tragedy, a woman must draw strength from her husband's love. A man learns that love isn't always what you expect. A thief steals the heart of a vengeful professor. And an American inventor finds love Down Under. Enjoy Victorian Christmas with a clockwork twist in these four steampunk novellas.

A Clockwork Christmas anthology includes:

Crime Wave in a Corset by Stacy Gail

This Winter Heart by PG Forte

Wanted: One Scoundrel by Jenny Schwartz

Far From Broken by JK Coi

Stories also available for purchase separately.

Christmas Light Graphics provided by MUDTRAP.COM

The Clock's Running Out--Just One More Day to Wait!

2011-12-05T06:00:00.000-08:00

So...tomorrow's the big day. Being part of the A Clockwork Christmas anthology has already been such a great experience. The stories are great, my antho-sisters are fabulous. And it's been such a thrill working with Angela James and everyone at Carina Press.

And now it's time for me to tell you all a little bit about my own story, This Winter Heart.

Santa Fe, The Republic of New Texacali, 1870

Eight years ago, Ophelia Leonides's husband cast her off when he discovered she was not the woman he thought she was. Now destitute after the death of her father, Ophelia is forced to turn to Dario for help raising the child she never told him about.

Dario is furious that Ophelia has returned, and refuses to believe Arthur is his son—after all, he thought his wife was barren. But to avoid gossip, he agrees to let them spend the holidays at his villa. While he cannot resist the desire he still feels for Ophelia, Dario despises himself for being hopelessly in love with a woman who can never love him back.

But Dario is wrong: Ophelia's emotions are all too human, and she was brokenhearted when he rejected her. Unsure if she can trust the man she desperately loves, she fears for her life, her freedom and her son if anyone else learns of her true nature...
30,000 words

Read an excerpt

I had such fun writing this story melding secret-baby and lovers-reunited themes with classic sci-fi. For my setting I chose Santa Fe, because there's no place more festive during the holidays. I also chose to play fast and loose with History, envisioning a world where the Confederacy was victorious, the Louisiana Purchase never happened, and all the territory between Oklahoma and California was its own country.

Oh, and where automatons look and feel--and love--just like anyone else.

In the words of one reviewer:

"This Winter Heart is a heart wrenching but satisfying read. Ophelia is not the woman she appears to be, and when her husband Dario discovered this in a conversation with her father, he cast her out. Now Ophelia's father has died and she feels that she has no choice but to seek help from Dario, not just for her but for the son Dario does not know he has. The emotional depth of this novella is much more than one might expect."

Read more here

And, yes, btw, I'm including TWO different RTCs for This Winter Heart in the set. Never could choose.

We Wish You a Steampunk Christmas

Anthology includes:

Crime Wave in a Corset by Stacy Gail

This Winter Heart by PG Forte

Wanted: One Scoundrel by Jenny Schwartz

Far From Broken by JK Coi

Clockwork Countdown Day Three

2011-12-03T06:00:00.000-08:00

G'day, mates. Welcome to day three of the Clockwork Christmas antho countdown. My apologies, Jenny, but you know I had to do it. ;)

Today's post is devoted to Wanted: One Scoundrel by our Aussie co-author Jenny Schwartz. Jenny's the genius behind our Facebook page (just so you know) and if you haven't "liked" us yet...well, I sure don't know what you're waiting for.

Now, on with the blurbage...

All suffragette Esme Smith wants is a man. A scoundrel to be precise. Someone who can be persuaded to represent her political views at men-only clubs. As the daughter of the richest man in Australia, Esme can afford to make it worth the right man's while.

Fresh off the boat, American inventor Jed Reeve is intrigued by Esme's proposal, but even more interested in the beauty herself. Amused that she takes him for a man who lives by his wits, he accepts the job—made easier by the fact that he already shares her ideals. Soon, he finds himself caught up in political intrigue, kidnapping and blackmail, and trying to convince his employer he's more than just a scoundrel...

26,000 words

Read an excerpt

The first romance novel I remember reading (way back in the day) was Victoria Holt's Pride of the Peacock, which was set in Australia. I walked away from that book with a new passion for three things. The romance genre, opals and Australia. Reading Wanted: One Scoundrel was like being reunited with an old friend...oh, and did I mention the hero is from California? Really, what's not to love about that?

Aside from all of that, however, this is a bright, light-hearted, romantic read. He has secrets, she has an agenda and the reader has a lot of fun watching them sort it all out.

Reading thru the Night had this to say about it: "Now this was a fun one. And it was totally PG-13. This setting is in the Outback, which totally rocks my world because I don't think I've ever read anything set in Australia. And then, furthermore, I don't know if I studied anything that HAPPENED in Australia. My American education lacking somewhere along the way. I guess I assumed that Australians went through the same woman's suffrage movement, but it just seemed out_there. Wanted: One Scoundrel is sorta about that BUT with a cool *scoundrel*. Oh there were also some nifty inventions, a villain, a heiress, some kidnapping, and overall ACTION-PACKED PLOT. Two thumbs up over here. "

Read more here

Reminder: every comment enters you for another chance to win a full set of these lovely Romance Trading Cards, which I should mention were designed by our own JK Coi (yes, we're all just multi-faceted that way *cough* I wish *cough*).

We Wish You a Steampunk Christmas

Anthology includes:

Crime Wave in a Corset by Stacy Gail

This Winter Heart by PG Forte

Wanted: One Scoundrel by Jenny Schwartz

Far From Broken by JK Coi

Stories also available for purchase separately

The Countdown Continues...

2011-12-02T06:00:00.000-08:00

Three days to go 'til the release of A Clockwork Christmas--and, by the way, I still can't decide which I love more that title or the cover! I've been over the moon about both for months now.

Today I'm going to talk about JK Coi's story, Far From Broken. Once again, let's start with the blurb:

Soldier. Spymaster. Husband.

Colonel Jasper Carlisle was defined by his work until he met his wife. When the prima ballerina swept into his life with her affection, bright laughter and graceful movements, he knew that she was the reason for his existence, and that their love would be forever.

But their world is shattered when Callie is kidnapped and brutally tortured by the foes Jasper has been hunting. Mechanical parts have replaced her legs, her hand, her eye...and possibly her heart. Though she survived, her anger at Jasper consumes her, while Jasper's guilt drives him from the woman he loves. He longs for the chance to show her their love can withstand anything...including her new clockwork parts.

As the holiday season approaches, Jasper realizes he must fight not just for his wife's love and forgiveness...but also her life, as his enemy once again attempts to tear them apart.
27,000 words

Read an excerpt

Can I admit to being just the tinsiest bit jealous when I first read this story? Here's a gorgeous, heart-wrenching, romantic steampunk tale about an estranged married couple (she with some mechanical parts) struggling to reconcile with each other in the aftermath of a tragedy. One spouse has been keeping secrets, the other feels betrayed, there's guilt all around...

Um, yeah. That sounds about right, doesn't it? It sounds quite a lot like my own story, in fact. Except that Far From Broken is set in England--steampunk's native land. And, I have to admit it, though it's not often I'm out-angsted (what? it is too a word!) JK does it with ease. Seriously though, if you're a fan (as I am) of dark, haunting love stories--this one's for you.

One of our Goodread reviewers had this to say about it:

"My favorite - just - of this series (yes, it was that good a series). It is the most atmospheric, the hero and heroine feel incredibly real, and it's hard to believe how much character and plot development the author has managed to pack into this little novella."

Read the rest of the review here

And remember, comment on this or any of the other countdown posts (or all of them, if you want more chances to win) and you'll be entered in a drawing to win a complete set of these lovely Romance Trading Cards.

We Wish You a Steampunk Christmas

Anthology includes:

Crime Wave in a Corset by Stacy Gail

This Winter Heart by PG Forte

Wanted: One Scoundrel by Jenny Schwartz

Far From Broken by JK Coi

Stories also available for purchase separately.

Clockwork Countdown

2011-12-01T11:21:00.001-08:00

Whoo-hoo! Only four days left until the release of Carina Press' steampunk holiday anthology, A Clockwork Christmas. I was pretty thrilled to learn my story had been chosen as part of this anthology, but once I'd read the other stories in the collection, I was totally blown away. Now, with less than a week to go, I guess it's too late for them to tell me it was all a mistake. lol!

So, to celebrate, I'm stealing a leaf from antho sister, JK Coi's book. I'm going to be posting sneak peeks at all four of the stories here and awarding a set of Romance Trading Cards to one lucky commenter.

First up is Stacy Gail's Crime Wave in a Corset. Here's the blurb:

Roderick Coddington is on a mission to make Cornelia Peabody pay. After identifying her as the thief who stole a priceless Fabergé egg from his dying sister, he finds her and shackles a deadly timepiece to her arm. If she doesn't return the egg by Christmas morning, she will die.

Normally seven days is more than enough time for Cornelia to carry out the perfect crime, but Roderick's intrusion into her life is beyond distracting. He challenges her mind, and ignites her body with desire she's never felt before. But worst of all, he threatens the independence she values above all else...

As Roderick spends time with Cornelia, he realizes there's a lonely soul hidden beneath her beautiful but criminal veneer. Falling for a thief wasn't part of Roderick's plan, but plans can change and he has no intention of letting another priceless treasure get away from him.

33,000 words

Read an excerpt

This is pretty much your classic caper story. It's a fast-paced adventure tale with a holiday flare and a steampunk twist. The characters are just how I like them--both brilliant, both wounded, a perfect match for each other. And neither one as cold-hearted as they try and pretend.

What's been interesting about the reviews the collection has been receiving is that practically every reviewer has their own favorite story from the anthology--and it's never the same one! Still, it's no surprise that Kimba the Caffeinated Book Reviewer had this to say about it:

"My favorite tale is Stacy Gail’s Crime Wave. I adore the spunky, intelligent wit of Cornelia. The chemistry between her and Roderick is delightful. The plot was exciting and I would love to read a full length version of this story. "

Read the full review here

Oh, and that's the delicious RTC for this title. Yummy, right?

We Wish You a Steampunk Christmas

Anthology includes:

Crime Wave in a Corset by Stacy Gail

This Winter Heart by PG Forte

Wanted: One Scoundrel by Jenny Schwartz

Far From Broken by JK Coi

Stories also available for purchase separately.

Carina Press Facebook Giveaway Going on NOW!!

2011-11-24T17:23:00.001-08:00

Love Holiday anthologies? Love contests? Well then you definitely don't want to miss this very special giveaway from Carina Press! Check it out:

Carina Press Facebook Giveaway

There’s still time to catch the Carina Press Facebook giveaway! Each day this week we select two winners of our special Carina Press holiday collections. Each winner will receive both a digital ebook and exclusive print copy of the book!

Today is your last chance to win our male/male collection Men Under the Mistletoe, featuring short stories by Josh Lanyon, Harper Fox, Ava March, and K.A. Mitchell.

Tomorrow you could win a copy of A Clockwork Christmas, our holiday Steampunk collection! Read some of the best steampunk fiction by JK Coi, PG Forte, Stacy Gail and Jenny Schwartz.

All of our holiday collections will be available as of Dec. 5, but if you want a sneak peek, enter at the Carina Press Facebook page!

There's still time to win!

2011-11-23T20:16:00.001-08:00

I have one more book up for grabs over at the The Romance Reviews.

Just check out the Year End Splash party site here: www.theromancereviews.com/event.php read the excerpt on my website for the answer, and good luck!

Here's today's question: In "The Spirit of the Place" (available from SynergEbooks) who is helping Marsha plan her wedding?
- contributed by PG Forte
a: Her twin sons and her fiancé
b: Her two best friends
c: Her daughter Jasmine
d: No one--she's on her own
Join the contest now! Sign up Now or Login!

Hint: Check out http://www.OberonCalifornia.US/Spirit.htm

Remarks: Giveaway: The Spirit of the Place by PG Forte (ebook)

Good luck and have fun!

Enter to Win!

2011-11-15T13:17:00.001-08:00

The Year End Splash is still underway over at The Romance Reviews.I have another book up for grabs today, November 15.

To enter, just check out the question here: www.theromancereviews.com/event.php read the excerpt on my website for the answer, and good luck!

Here's today's question:

In "Iron" (available from Liquid Silver Books) what is it that the old women of Kilbanning are sure blacksmith Gavin O'Malley must need?
- contributed by PG Forte
a: A new wife
b: A new pair of shoes
c: A brace of partridges for his Christmas dinner
d: Someone to see him home after a night at the pub
Join the contest now! Sign up Now or Login!

Hint: Check out http://www.pgforte.com

Remarks: Giveaway: Iron by PG Forte (ebook)

YES! Party at TRR

2011-11-05T09:03:00.000-07:00

In case you hadn't heard, there's a party going on over at The Romance Reviews--a Year End Splash, to be exact--and I'm one of...well, a whole lot of fabulous authors and publishers who've gotten involved.

I'll be giving three books away during the month of November, and the first is up for grabs today, November 5.

To enter is easy. Check out the question here: www.theromancereviews.com/event.php read the excerpt on my website for the answer, and you're in! There are several giveaways happening every day this month, so you have many chances to win.

Check back often, good luck and have fun!

Today's question (it's #9...coincidence? I think not!):

In "This Winter Heart" (available this December from Carina Press & as part of the "A Clockwork Christmas" anthology) with whom is Ophelia traveling?
- contributed by PG Forte
a: Her mother
b: Her father
c: Her son Arthur
d: Her pet parrot
Join the contest now! Sign up Now or Login!
Hint: Check out http://www.pgforte.com
Remarks: Giveaway: This Winter Heart by PG Forte (ebook)

No Waiting for the Big Audi-O

2011-10-02T20:17:00.000-07:00

Waiting for the Big One, my first erotic-romance and still my shortest book ever is now available as an audio-book from AudioMinx

BLURB: Everyone in LA is waiting for The Big One - the big break or the big quake. Gabby's no different, but she's also waiting for the Big O—the elusive, G-spot, ultra orgasm.

She thinks Zach, the super hot musician who's just moved into her building, might be able to give it to her. But her friend Derek, a martial arts instructor with whom she's co-writing a screenplay, keeps getting in the way.

Gabby refuses to even consider Derek for the role of soul mate because she fears sex will ruin their friendship. Derek has his own script in mind, and it doesn't include sharing Gabby with anybody.

When an early morning earthquake hits LA, Gabby realizes who her leading man has always been. As for the Big O...well...she's ready for her close up.

This is the book my critique partners all-but dared me to write. It was intended as part of an astrology-themed series, hence the preponderance of astro references with which some reviewers found fault. (boo, hiss. Some people just can't take a joke.)

This was also just about the funniest book I ever wrote, at least until I started writing with the Nine Naughty Novelists. (our even more totally humorous story, the first of many, I hope, can be found HERE)

I'm ridiculously excited about this release. Perhaps because it's my first audio-book (lot of firsts there). Or perhaps it's just because I feel like the narrator nailed my viewpoint character, Gabby. But, don't just take my word for it, have a listen:

Book of the Year...maybe?

2011-09-17T13:28:00.000-07:00

So, it appears that Old Sins, Long Shadows has been nominated for book of the year from Authors After Dark (under vampire romance, obviously!)
Living forever is hard, but loving forever? That’s damn near impossible.

Children of Night, Book 2

1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.

Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.

When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.

Product Warnings

This book may not be suitable for readers with an aversion to emotionally damaged vampire heroes. Caution is advised if you have experienced prior sensitivity to any of the following: costume parties, fencing lessons, interspecies, inter-generational or intra-gender dating, occasional mild violence, and/or recreational blood-drinking.

Also, Anything You Want--a fabulous book by fellow Naughty Niner Erin Nicholas is in the running for best Contemp Romance.

Suppose the solution to all your problems is the one thing you never wanted…

It figures the one time Sabrina Cassidy is determined to do the responsible thing, karma kicks in. After four years on the road chasing her musical dream, she’s stranded six hours from home with no money, a ruined credit history—and morning sickness.

Out of options, she swallows her legendary independent streak and calls the only person who won’t hang up on her. Luke, the man she left behind.

Marc Sterling’s first instinct is to protect his business partner and best friend from another broken heart. That means letting her think she’s talking to Luke, then finding a way to send her in the opposite direction.

When he shows up at her hotel room, there’s something in the air beside their customary insults. Sure, her rebellious attitude, smart mouth—and purple panties—still drive him crazy, but now it’s a different kind of crazy. The kind that has him driving her home instead of to the nearest airport.

And when Luke offers to solve all her problems if she’ll only say “I do”, Marc realizes he’s just crazy enough—about her—to forget whose heart he wanted to protect.

Product Warnings

Contains two people who don’t like each other very much, a Toyota that can’t quite handle the road trip home, and a spontaneous proposal. Or two. Or three. And foreplay with—what else—pie filling.

If y'all are inclined to vote for either of us, or any of the other fine books that have been nominated, here's the link:

https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/69XZZKW

Hard at Work Blog Hop

2011-09-02T21:00:00.000-07:00

Welcome back Blog Hoppers! For today's post I've decided to share a little excerpt from my erotic romance, Let me Count the Ways. It was the obvious choice, really, because Mike is definitely "hard at work".

Don't think accountants can be sexy? Well, read on!
First, however, I just wanted to remind you all that if you get distracted by any of the yummy treats we have in store for you this weekend and fall off the tour bus (so to speak) getting back on is as easy as clicking on this URL: http://www.justromance.me/bloghop

The blog hop will run from Saturday the 3rd to Monday the 5th and winners will be announced at our end-of-hop chat. This time around, I'm hosting the chat starting 8 PM EDT on Monday, September 5. @ http://www.oberoncalifornia.us/Chat_Room.html

And now, on with the excerpt...and the eye candy. Cause, really, who ever has enough of that?

Blurb: She's thinking fling. He's thinking forever.

As the owner of The Body Electric, LA’s hottest new exercise studio, sexy, former film star Claire Calhoun has her pick of studly young men eager to do her bidding. Small wonder she’s used to calling the shots, both in and out of bed.

All that changes the night the actress-turned-entrepreneur has one mojito too many at a party and decides it would be fun to pick up her accountant, Mike Sherman.

Claire has been Mike's fantasy since the first time he saw her bare it all for the camera. Now, she's in his bed and he'll do whatever’s necessary to keep her there. But he's not a stalker, right? He's just a devoted fan.

Claire:

Mike appeared to be absorbed in his work when I breezed into my office, vigorously fanning my face with one hand. “Whew, that was fun.” I was glad I could blame the flush on my cheeks and the breathlessness in my voice on the exercise. When Mike’s eyes met mine, I was even more glad he was too far away to notice the pounding of my heart.

Then he dropped his gaze and refocused on the papers in front of him, without so much as a single word.

Silence filled the room. Feigning indifference, I hopped on my desk, uncapped the bottle of water I’d taken from the refrigerator downstairs and gulped half of it down. I was now annoyed as well as disappointed. If I had any sense at all, Mike’s present disinterest would have had a chilling effect on my libido, but, apparently, I’d learned nothing from my last marriage.

“Have you ever tried Capoeria, Mike?” I asked when I could think of nothing else to say. I was just trying to make conversation although, given Mike’s wide range of interests, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he used to teach it.

“No,” he answered shortly.

“Oh, you should. It’s so much fun.”

“So you’ve said.”

More silence. Dead air. God damn it. Why should I even bother? If Mike was no longer interested, I should just find someone who was. How hard could it be? He wasn’t all that, after all. He was older, mostly bald, hardly in the best of shape. And, at the moment, he was as cranky and out of sorts as an entire cast of sleep-deprived, PMS-positive Divas in the midst of a chocolate famine. Never a good look for a man. And, yet... it was still all I could do to keep from launching an ambush, shoving his chair away from the desk, straddling his lap, unzipping his fly...

Maybe he wouldn’t be ready for me, but so what? I knew how to get him there quick.

But was it worth it? Did I want to have to work that hard for any man’s attention?

Well, maybe. Just remembering how hot we’d been together was enough to start me creaming. One night wasn’t enough. I wanted more of what we’d had. I wanted to be naked under him now. And, like a moth drawn to his particular brand of fire, no other candle was going to do it for me.

Groaning in disgust at my own weakness, I let my head fall back and slowly trailed the cool plastic cylinder down my throat, hoping it would slow my racing pulse. Capoeria might be great exercise, but it had obviously done nothing to diminish the horniness I was feeling. I was tempted to slide the bottle between my thighs, to rub its frigid surface against my heated flesh and maybe ease the fluttering pressure in my sex. Would Mike even notice if I did? I raised my head and caught him staring, eyes dark with what could only be lust. Oh, yeah, he’d notice. Good. I felt my mood lift. So much for disinterest.

Bracing my hands on the edge of the desk, I leaned forward. “So what’s going on here, Mike? I don’t even get a greeting now? What’s up with that?”

He frowned, the heat in his gaze diminishing as his eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about when you first got here today. I said hi and you totally blew me off.”

“Claire, I did not blow you off.”

“You did. You completely ignored me.”

“How? I said hello, didn’t I?”

I snorted. “Barely.”

“Well, you were occupied.”

“Oh, please. What kind of excuse is that?“

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Hmph.” I thought about that as Mike once again focused on his work. It was plausible, I supposed. And really very considerate, if looked at in just the right way. I still felt slighted. “Very thoughtful. But hardly necessary. We were just fooling around.”

“Yes, that would have been my impression too. It’s a mystery to me why you do it.”

“What does that mean?”

Mike sighed. “It means I don’t understand why you waste your time with these... with these young guys in their... beachwear.”

Beachwear? “This is about clothing? What’s wrong with the way they were dressed?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

Damien and Raul had been dressed appropriately, I‘d thought, in white tanks, bearing the studio’s logo, over black Lycra shorts. It was a look that was only slightly more casual than my own apparel, a lime colored, cap sleeve, scoop neck T and matching yoga pants. Mike, in comparison, was almost overdressed in khaki pants and a sage-green linen shirt. The stud I’d admired last time was once again glittering in his ear and a two-toned Rolex Oyster was clasped around his wrist. I had to admit he looked good. Attractive. Moderately affluent. Mature. Respectable. And angry.

But why? “What are you so angry about?”

“I’m not angry.”

Right. Not much. Once again, I considered Mike’s appearance, contrasting it with that of Damien and Raul. I recalled their hard sculpted bodies, their gleaming, oiled muscles, their... Oh. The corners of my mouth quirked upward. “Mike... are you jealous?”

“No.” He continued to work steadily, but the heightened color in his cheeks and the grim set of his jaw gave him away. “Of course not.”

“Mike...”

When he glanced up again, the scowl on his face wiped the smile from mine in a hurry. “Is that what you wanted Claire? Were you hoping I’d make a scene in front of your boys? Sorry to disappoint you.”

I could feel my cheeks flaming. “No, that’s not what I...”

“Excuse me. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Mike!”

He ignored me. Frustrated, I blew out an exasperated breath. I tried hard to hold on to my sense of outrage, he was acting like an ass. But it was impossible for me to stay angry with him. There was an odd tightness in my chest that wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t help but recall my own reaction, two weeks ago, to Derek and his class full of pretzels. How welcome Mike’s admiration had been to me then.

I cleared my throat. “For what it’s worth, I was not trying to make you jealous.”

Mike nodded. “Glad to hear it.”

“But, just in case you are feeling that way—”

“I’m not,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I told you that already.”

“Right. But if you were ever to, there’s something you should know.”

He was quiet for an instant and then, “What’s that?”

“The truth is I find you maddeningly attractive.”

He said nothing. If I didn’t know better I might have thought he wasn’t listening. But the slight trembling in his fingers gave him away.

“And very sexy.”

Still nothing.

“In fact it’s really quite distracting.”

He continued working.

“Mike?”

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice subdued.

“Do you know you’re blushing?”

“I’m not... blushing,” he muttered, even more quietly.

But he was. To the tips of his ears he’d gone completely pink. I think even the top of his bald head was rosier than usual.

“Mike?”

Another silence. Then, finally, “Yes?”

“Would you like to kiss and make up now?”

His hand clenched hard on the pen he was holding. Any harder, and I think it might have snapped in two. He raised his eyes to mine.

I smiled and batted my eyes a time or two. “Unless you’re too busy working?”

I’d forgotten how quickly he could move. I’d almost forgotten how well he could kiss. But the moment he clasped my face in his hands, the moment his lips touched mine, it all came rushing back. Oh, yes. I locked my hands behind his head and fell into his kiss. My only regret was that he couldn’t talk and kiss at the same time. There aren’t many ways in which fantasy is superior to reality, but that’s definitely one of them.

When he finally raised his head, I locked eyes with him and smiled. “God, I’ve missed your mouth.”

“Claire.” Mike groaned in response. He pulled me close once more, muttering between kisses, “You don’t know what it does when you say those things. These last weeks have been hell. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think straight.”

Huh? Bracing my hands against his chest, I pushed him away a little. “Why’s that?”

“Because! I didn’t know where I stood with you, or what you wanted. You were so vague when I asked about seeing you again. And you left so quickly.”

What the hell? “Mike, I was perfectly clear. I said it would be nice, didn’t I? Or something to that effect.”

He groaned again. “That’s just what I mean. Too vague. Too polite. I wanted a simple yes or no.”

Amused now, I couldn’t help but murmur, “Really? You’d rather I’d said no?”

Mike frowned. “Don’t play with me, Claire. You know how I feel. I’ve always been honest about my feelings for you.”

“And I haven’t been? I was not vague!”

“Maybe not intentionally,” Mike conceded. “But it felt vague to me. And then when you didn’t call...”

I held my tongue. It would have been easy to say, well, you didn’t call me, either, but would that accomplish? All this conversation was taking us into murky territory. I didn’t want a relationship with him. Not the kind where feelings could be hurt if someone didn’t call. “Why are we talking about this now? Don’t we have better things we could be doing?”

“Wh—what?” A frown furrowed Mike’s brow as he glanced around the room, his expression stuck somewhere between eager and doubtful. “D’you mean here?”

I felt my eyes widen as his meaning hit home. No, that was not what I meant.”

Or was it?

After all, it wouldn’t be the first time. I’d seduced Derek in this room once, although it hadn’t been easy. If there’s one thing that man prides himself on it’s his iron self-control. Something told me Mike would be a whole lot easier to bend.

I smiled. “Well, now that you mention it, sure. Why not? Unless you’d rather wait for some other time?”

“No.” Mike’s voice was flat and final. “That’s one mistake I’ll never make again.”

Mistake? What’s he talking about? Before I could ask, he’d pulled me in for another kiss. His hand tangled in the hair at the back of my head and he used it to lower me onto my back. From the sound, I think he must have used his other hand to clear my desk.

Read the rest of the excerpt here: http://www.pgforte.com/SexOfficeExcerpt.htm
Buy book here: http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com/books/letmecounttheways.htm

More Fun, Even With Summer on the Wane...

2011-08-27T08:39:00.000-07:00

I'll be chatting this morning...or noon, if you happen to be on the East Coast, at Long and Short Reviews: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LongAndShortRomanceReviews/ Come and join me while I talk about my Oberon series. Comment for a chance to win some great prizes--books or your choice of a nook, Kindle or $150. gift card.

Paranormal Week...er, Week and a Half Comes to PME

2011-08-11T22:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's Paranormal Week at the Perfect Man Event! My favorite week of all. Anyone wondering why that is? No, I didn't think so. And because paranormal is so very extra special, our week is extra specially long.

Here's the calendar. And don't forget to stop by often to meet those hot, hot men and maybe score some awesome prizes as well.

And, once again: check it out HERE and HERE!

Who's YOUR Perfect Man?

2011-08-07T10:40:00.000-07:00

Ack!! I should have posted this LAST week! Mea Culpa, ladies. Or, as Damian might say...I' ¡m tan muy apesadumbrado, me perdona por favor! Or something like that (I don't speak Spanish, myself).

Check it out HERE and HERE! And don't forget to stop by often, because there's a new post up every day with fun stuff to read, hot men to drool over, yummy pictures (I don't know where they find these things!) and lots of prizes!

And, once again: check it out HERE and HERE!

Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Thursday Spotlight: PG Forte

2011-07-14T08:27:00.000-07:00

Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Thursday Spotlight: PG Forte: "Serenading the Muse Let’s discuss muses. Mine has the attention span of a gnat. Luckily, she likes music. Even more luckily, I figured tha..."

Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Wednesday Spotlight: PG Forte

2011-07-13T12:41:00.000-07:00

Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Wednesday Spotlight: PG Forte: "Summer Reading I’ve always loved books and series that I could get lost in. The longer, the better. And summer was always the perfect time..."

Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Tuesday Spotlight: PG Forte

2011-07-12T08:47:00.000-07:00

Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Tuesday Spotlight: PG Forte: "Food Snobs Anonymous Among the Nine Naughty Novelists I’m known as the wine snob. Oh, but they don’t know the half of it! Really, it’s no..."

Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Monday Spotlight: PG Forte

2011-07-11T09:18:00.000-07:00

Long and Short Romance Reviews Archives: Monday Spotlight: PG Forte: "A More Congenial Spot “In short, there's simply not A more congenial spot For happily-ever-aftering than here In Camelot.” Alan Jay Le..."

Summer Solstice

2011-06-20T22:00:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the Sexy Summer Solstice blog hop. I hope you're all having a great summer so far--and a great blog hop!

Being as it's summer and I'm feeling lazy, I decided to post a short excerpt from my book Scent of the Roses here today.

Scent of the Roses is the first book in my Oberon series. All of the Oberon books are set around Wiccan holidays and Scent is set at Midsummer. That's Scout and Nick in the picture at left...aren't they yummy?

Here's the blurb, just to set the scene for you:

For twenty years, Scout Patterson has tried to run—from Oberon and from the mistakes and mysteries in her past. Now, she’s back and about to come face to face with the ghosts she’s never laid to rest and the love she thought she’d lost forever.

Memories of the girl he used to love have haunted Nick Greco for years, as have his dreams of what his life could be like if he ever found her. When Scout’s homecoming is followed by a reoccurrence of deadly attacks, Nick must rush to solve an all-but-forgotten crime. Or risk losing her again—this time for good.

As Scout and Nick are about to find out, some mistakes aren’t all that easy to mend and some mysteries can be murder.

Excerpt:

When Scout opened the door of her car she was immediately engulfed by the pungent odors of wood smoke and roasting meat, of sweetgrass and evergreens and incense. Gentle strains of music wafted along on the breeze – flute and fiddle, harp and drum. She felt her heart quicken. Down in the valley, Oberon’s Midsummer Festival was well underway.

Scout followed the music and the scents through the sun dappled woods, eagerly winding her way around the hastily set up campsites that would later house the all-night revelers. Passing stands of madrone and manzanita with their peeling red bark and gray-green leaves, slipping through groves of scrub oak and cedar and fragrant bay laurels.

Like most of the solar festivals, Midsummer was a two-day celebration. A balefire would be lit as darkness approached and people would dance and party in its glow throughout this, the year’s shortest night. Scout smiled as she remembered a time when her greatest ambition had been to stay and party the night away with them. Well, maybe that’s what she’d do tonight. Since she had to be in Oberon anyway, she could think of worse ways to spend her time than in fulfilling a few of her teenage fantasies. Besides, she had to have some stories to take back to Larry.

She glanced down at the dog. The poor thing was already panting. “Not too much farther now, girl. Then we’ll see about getting you some water, hmm? Would you like that?”

The dog rewarded her with another hopeful wag of her tail.

“You’re such a good dog,” she murmured, surprising both of them.

They passed out of the trees and found themselves at the crest of a hill looking over a large flat bowl of a valley. The grassy plain below them was dotted with brightly colored booths arranged in a loose circle around the bare patch of ground where, just after sunset, the balefire would be set ablaze. Off to one side, several carnival-style rides and amusements had been set up. And tucked discreetly away in what the organizers hoped would be a more or less downwind direction, an army of port-a-potties stood at attention.

A shrill cry above her head interrupted Scout’s thoughts. Looking up she caught a glimpse of a red tailed hawk, sailing the wind currents to its home on Mount Totawka. She smiled at the pleasant tug of nostalgia it evoked, and started along the path that would lead her down to the festival; the dog, as ever, following close on her heels.

The fairgrounds were awash with colorful signs and banners. Scout let the seductive pull of the music draw her through the crowd. She was at the foot of the stage before she recognized the insidious longing that had brought her there. The dream of being close to home, at long last, was flooding through her, again. She steeled herself against it.

She was here to observe, she reminded herself, sternly. To keep an eye on her dear, old friends, whose motives she had every reason to mistrust. To learn anything they might know that would help her in her quest.

But that was all she was here for. And although she might be willing to indulge herself with a few half-forgotten dreams during her stay, there was no way was she going to let any of them seduce her. Squaring her shoulders, she turned away from the music and headed off in search of answers.

Just in time for summer, all the Oberon books are on sale at Amazon. Buy Scent of the Roses here:

http://www.amazon.com/Scent-Roses-Oberon-ebook/dp/B00143Y9MW/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1308603887&sr=1-2

To learn more about the Oberon series, visit the website at: OberonCalifornia.US

There’s something magical about the tiny California coast town of Oberon, something that transcends explanation and defies description. Things happen there that could happen nowhere else. Clinging to sheer, corrugated green cliffs above a windswept strand of pale, golden sand, and virtually isolated amid a tangled network of canyons and creeks, Oberon is a hard place to get to. But it can be an even harder place to leave behind.

And just in case you lose the trail and need to get back on the hop, here's the link again: http://justromance.me

Be sure and follow the trail to the end to read more great stories, and for a chance to win cool prizes.

Random Adult Excerpt

2011-06-20T13:01:00.000-07:00

This is the beer and pizza scene from Love, From A to Z. It's a little bit spicy (and I'm not just talking about the pizza--haha) and I'm posting it for Erin Nicholas, Queen of...too many things to list right now. lol!

Heiress April Valenzuela has everything a girl could ask for--except love. But when her memory goes missing, she learns that all the money in her bank account won’t buy it back. Good thing she has hunky guitarist Zach Harris on hand to teach her everything she needs to know about love, from A to Z.

Buy the book here:
http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com/books/lovefromatoz.htm

The spicy aroma of pizza tickled my nose when Zach flipped the box open to hand me a second slice.

“Mmm.” I reached for it greedily. “Thank you.” Pizza was delicious, I decided, as I took a big bite.

The late afternoon sun moved slowly across Zach’s living room, gilding everything in its path with its warm, golden light. We lay on the couch; each of us propped up against one of the sofa’s arms; our legs entwined with one another along the seat. I took another bite and considered my situation. I felt a mass of contradictions at the moment; exhausted yet animated, happy and scared. I was lost. I was found. I was sated and spent. I was starving for more. What I should have been was sleepy--but I was too wound up to sleep.

After we’d finished in the bathroom, Zach had carried me into his bedroom, where he’d laid me on his bed and proceeded to make me scream several more times. By rights, I should have been depressed about that. At this rate, I was never going to make him my love slave.

You were never going to anyway, a tiny voice, way in the back of my mind, sneered at the very thought.

But, I didn’t know that. And, right now. I hoped the voice was wrong. I really hoped that, when I found out who I was, I would learn that I did belong in Zach’s strange world. That I was ‘his kind of woman’. And that I would find a way to make him my slave... at least part of the time.

Because, despite all the weirdness and uncertainty, despite having a lifetime memory that stretched back for all of about ten hours, at this precise instant, what I felt most of all was an underlying contentment. Some inner sense was telling me I hadn’t known too many moments like that in my life.

But I didn’t want to think about that. There was nothing I could do about it right now, anyhow. And, since that same inner sense was also saying this golden moment was not likely to last very long, I was determined to make the most of it while it was here. I took another bite of pizza and let everything else fall away.

Pizza, I thought, had to be the most perfect food ever invented, although, admittedly, my experience, at present, wasn’t all that wide. And pizza and beer together--now that was surely an unbeatable combination.

“What do you call this stuff again?” I asked, picking a small, white blob off the top of my slice and popping it in my mouth. Creamy and warm with a distinct salt tang, I loved the way it melted on my tongue.

Zach smiled. “That’s Feta cheese. You like it?”

“Mmm.” It reminded me of sex. “And the green stuff underneath?”

“Pesto. Basil, garlic, olive oil...I don’t know what else.”

“It’s good.” Pesto tasted earthy and pungent. It reminded me of sex, too.

“Yep,” Zach sighed, sounding pretty content, himself. “Green pizza and red beer. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

Nodding agreement, I leaned down and retrieved my bottle from the floor. After taking a sip I smacked my lips. “Delicious.” But it was better than that; really. It was refreshing in a dark, vibrant, exciting sort of way; like a cool, wet, never-ending kiss...

Come to think of it, everything reminded me of sex just now, even the soft cheese that was layered beneath the pesto. Soft, stretchy, springy; it brought to mind the tender sac that held Zach’s balls.

I moved my foot a little, stretching my leg as far as it would reach, until my sole was pressed against the bulge at Zach’s crotch. I rubbed him with my heel, back and forth in a little semi-circle, testing to see how much of that soft springiness I could feel through the denim of his jeans.

“Hey.” Zach swatted at my foot. “Cut it out. Stop that.”

He looked amused, however, rather than annoyed, so I decided not to take him seriously. I scrunched up my toes and pressed harder. “Stop what?”

Mischief gleaming in his eyes, he swallowed the last bite of his pizza and put down his bottle. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

Was I? I nibbled at the edge of my own pizza while I considered the matter. Truth was, I was feeling a little tired. “Not just right now, thanks. Maybe later.”

“That’s what you think.” Shifting backwards suddenly, so that he was out of my foot’s reach, Zach swung his legs over mine.

I sucked in a quick breath when his big toe nudged my pussy. I was pinned beneath his legs, naked under the pink robe. A thin layer of satin was all that separated my most sensitive flesh from his marauding foot. Heat spread through me at the thought, along with a faint trace of alarm. “Zach, don’t.”

“Don’t... what?” he mocked, using his other foot to spread my legs apart.

Tears stung my eyes as laughter competed with nerves. I still wasn’t completely sure I could trust him, after all, and with pizza in one hand, beer in the other, what could I use to defend myself if things turned rough? My elbows? Ha. But, even so, desire curled in my belly. My nipples peaked. I felt anxious, vulnerable... and almost more excited than I could stand. “Please...”

“You know I like it when you beg,” Zach murmured as his toe massaged my clit. Then his smile widened. His eyes met mine and breathing became that much harder, I could tell he was feeling the same thing I was: my juices soaking through the satin. “You like it too, don’t you?”

His voice alone made my clit throb, so intense it was almost painful, reminding me I was feeling more than a little sore. I shook my head. “No.”

“No?” All movement stopped. Zach froze, looking startled.

My sex pulsed, mourning the loss of his heat, already missing his toe’s tormenting pressure. Screw the soreness. I rocked my hips, trying to rub myself against his foot.

Laughter rumbled from his throat; low, sexy, triumphant. “Liar.” Still laughing, he lifted his legs from mine and pulled away from me completely.

“Pig,” I muttered, feeling bereft, abandoned, frustrated. My chest heaved and I briefly considered which one to hurl at his head--the pizza or the beer--until Zach solved the problem for me by removing both from my hands and then pulling me down on top of him.

“You are such a nut,” he murmured holding me still so he could kiss me.

“Takes one to know one,” I replied straddling his legs and stretching out on top of him. No question about it, I liked being on top; liked the feel of his body, broad and strong, laid out beneath me; liked the feel of his big hands cupping my head, his fingers tangling in my hair.

His lips were warm. He tasted of beer and pizza and male. Did all guys taste this good, or was it just him? I sank my teeth into his bottom lip, frustrated by the fact that there didn’t seem to be any way to get enough of him.

“Ow.” Zach’s hands closed on my shoulders. “What’d you do that for?” He held me away from him while his tongue snaked out to explore the damage to his lower lip.

“I like the way you taste,” I explained, feeling completely unapologetic as I braced my hands on his chest and gazed down at him. It was his own fault, after all. He didn’t have to taste that good.

Vote for Old Sins, Long Shadows

2011-06-04T07:59:00.000-07:00

Old Sins, Long Shadows received a verrrry nice review this week at Whipped Cream Reviews (AND a "Best Book" rating--I'm still grinning over that!) which means it's eligible for this week's "Book of the Week" honor.

You can find the review HERE. And, if you feel so inclined, voting is on the Whipped Cream home page, HERE.

I usually don't quite believe it when people say it's enough of an honor just being nominated (I know, I'm very cynical that way!) but in this case, it might be true. (Best Book--squeeee!)

However, winning would be really nice too, don't you think?

Sound of a Voice That is Still (the LZ excerpt)

2011-05-29T20:57:00.000-07:00

So I've been tweeting a lot of music today, blame it on fellow Naughty Novelist Kinsey Holley, if you'd like. And I decided I had to post this excerpt from Sound of a Voice That is Still because it's got a teeny little homage to Led Zepplin.

I've got a download for the first person to correctly name that tune!

Now only $2.99 at Amazon. Buy Book HERE

Blurb: Sometimes it seems like Spring will never come again. Sometimes the only alternative to living in inner darkness is death. In the depths of winter, Ryan and Siobhan will have to make a choice: to help each other heal . . . or die trying.

“So, what’s next Boss? You about ready for lunch?” Ryan asked. Siobhan looked up from her desk, startled to find him leaning over her, his big hands planted firmly on the desk’s surface. They were a lot like his feet, she decided; large and strong looking with long fingers and a light dusting of golden hair. They looked capable and sensitive and....

She looked away quickly, glancing around the room. He’d taken charge of the post-class clean up today, organizing the other volunteers with such efficiency that Siobhan had decided to devote a couple of minutes to catching up on some of her paperwork. But now, the place was spotless and unexpectedly empty.

“Has everyone else left already?”

He grinned suddenly. “Boy, you really do get caught up in your work, don’t you? They said good-bye, you know. You even answered them.”

“Oh.” Siobhan felt herself coloring. “Well, I guess the dog--”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “It’s raining again. I let them both out for a run on the grass a little while ago, but I don’t think they want out any more right now.”

Oh,” she said again. “Well, then yeah, why don’t you go ahead and get lunch.”

“What about you? Aren’t you eating?”

“Oh, um, sure. I was just going to fix something here. I don’t want to go out today, what with the rain and all.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I figured. That’s why I brought my lunch with me today.”

Belatedly, Siobhan remembered the brown paper bag he’d been carrying that morning. “Oh.”

“You know you keep saying that, don’t you?” The light from her desk lamp danced in the depths of his eyes as he teased her. “Oh, oh, oh, oh? Wait, let me guess. Led Zepplin, right?”

“Hmm. Very funny,” she said, allowing herself a tiny smile.”

His own smile gleamed brighter. “That’s better. Now, come on, you’ve been working all morning. Take a break.”

Ryan watched her as she ate her salad; methodically forking up bits of tuna, spinach, walnuts and raisins while her mind was so obviously elsewhere that he didn’t even have to hide his interest. Just as well, because that was getting harder to do. He’d learned a lot about her in the last week. But the more he learned, the more he realized how much he didn’t know. Yet. And the more deeply he wanted to delve into the mystery of her.

A faint warning rang in his mind. Was he getting a little too obsessed here? He’d been down that road before, and he’d paid the price for his foolishness. In fact, he was paying for it still; in the form of one busted leg that just wouldn’t heal right.

Last September he’d let himself get too caught up in the excitement, the tactics and the chase. He’d gotten carried away, gotten careless. And almost gotten killed. He thought he knew better now, than to put himself into another situation where he could not control the outcome. He thought he’d learned never to dive headfirst into anything, anymore.

There was very little danger of this turning into anything more serious than a brief, bright interlude in an otherwise damp and dismal winter. But all the same, it wouldn’t hurt to take precautions. He should’ve been taking them all along. But for some unknown reason--

Siobhan looked up just then, their glances colliding. Self-consciousness registered in her face. “Sorry, I guess my mind sort of drifted. Did you say something?”

He hadn’t, but, “What were you thinking about just now?” he asked, deflecting her question with one of his own. “You looked like your mind was a million miles away.”

For an instant she looked even more flustered. She waved one hand in a vague, dismissive gesture. “Oh, no, not really. But listen, remind me to have you fill out one of the volunteer information forms before you leave today, okay?”

“Information forms?” He popped the last bite of his pickle into his mouth and began to stuff the wrappers from his lunch back into the bag. “What kind of information are you looking for?”

“Oh, just standard stuff. You know, name, address, phone number, availability, other interests. I usually get them filled out first thing, but...um, well, you didn’t exactly apply in a conventional manner, so--”

He couldn’t help himself. His gaze drifted to her lips and lingered there. “Really? It didn’t seem all that unconventional to me. Think we should try it again?”

Her mouth tightened abruptly. “No. There’s no need for that.”

Despite her frown, he felt his mood improve. So, she was trying to get some information about him, huh? That sounded promising. He smiled at her. “Sure, I’ll fill out your forms. And while we’re remembering things, don’t forget about my ticket for the dinner.”

“Right.” She sighed. “How many did you want again?”

“Just one,” he answered, a little surprised at the question. “Why? how many did you think I wanted?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She poked at her salad some more. “I just...well, I guess I just thought you might be bringing a date, that’s all.”

He leaned back in his chair and pretended to consider the matter. “A date, huh? Yeah. That would be nice. And, to be honest, I was thinking of asking someone if she wanted to go with me, but I don’t know if I should. I’m not exactly sure how she’ll react to the suggestion.”

“What?” She stopped poking and raised her head to stare at him. “Oh, come on. Are you serious? You’re worried about asking someone for a date? Yeah, like you’re really going to be devastated if you get turned down.”

Ryan shrugged. “Hell yeah, I will. I’m a sensitive guy. And this woman...you know, she’s kinda been sending some mixed signals. When you’ve only known someone less than a week, well sometimes it’s hard to know where you stand.” He lowered his voice to ask softly, “So? What do you think? Do I take the chance?”

She looked at him very strangely. Finally she cleared her throat, and looked away. “This woman...I take it she’s someone I know?”

He smiled again. “Yes, Siobhan. You could say that.”

She nodded once or twice. “Well, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. I mean, I think she’d be flattered.”

Flattered, huh? He felt his smile widen into a grin which he tried his best to hide by taking a last sip from his soda. “Well, now, I don’t know why you should feel that way about it, but--”

“No, I mean it Ryan. I’m sure Erin would love to go to the dinner with you.”

“Erin?” He stared at her in almost complete consternation. “Who the hell is Erin?”

She looked surprised. “Well, I just assumed-- What do you mean ‘who is Erin’? You know damn well who I’m talking about. You’ve worked with her three times this past week. Who else are we--”

“The kid who works here? That Erin?” Confusion gave way to outrage. “Jesus Christ. Are you crazy? What the fuck are you thinking? She’s gotta be what? All of eighteen, maybe?”

“No.” Siobhan shook her head. “No, she’s at least twenty. Actually, I think she’s twenty-one. And anyway, you’re the one who said I knew the woman. Who were you talking about?”

“Well, who do you think I’m talking about? I’m talking about you, of course!”

Her face went from pale to red in an instant. “Me? But, Ryan, I--”

He looked at her coldly. “Why the surprise, Siobhan? You have to know I’m attracted to you. Or did you think I went around kissing every woman I came into contact with? You’re one of the more interesting women I’ve met in...several years, I think. Or, at least, you were a lot more interesting when you weren’t acting all coy and trying to fix me up with teenagers.”

She glared at him. “I’ve never acted coy in my life. I just-- well, what are you thinking, huh? You’re telling me Erin’s too young for you? Well, fine. You’re too young for me, too.”

“Seven years, Siobhan. Stop trying to make out like we’re from different generations. And anyway, even if Erin is twenty-one--which I seriously doubt, by the way--that’d still make her fourteen years younger than I am. Twice the age difference between you and me. And you were all for that a minute ago.”

“Oh, I was not all for it,” she grimaced. “To be honest, I thought it was incredibly shallow of you. But-- and anyway, what makes you think you know how old I am? You’re just guessing about that.”

“I never make guesses if I don’t have to. I don’t know why you’re so sensitive about the subject, but unless you’ve been lying to the DMV all these years, I know exactly how old you are.”

“The DMV? You’re saying you had me investigated?”

Investigated? “Huh! Not hardly.” He shook his head, disgusted by the absurdity of the idea. An investigation would have taken a lot more time and turned up a lot more information than he’d thought necessary. But, how the hell had they gotten on this subject, anyway? And what was she afraid he’d find? Whatever it was, he hadn’t found it. Not yet, anyway. He shrugged. “I just checked a few records. It’s not that big a deal.”

“The hell it’s not. It’s an invasion of privacy. I could have you sued. How dare you check up on me? What gave you the right to do something like that?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry if it upsets you. It was just...well, after I’d stuck my foot in my mouth like I did last week--you know, asking you about having kids? I just figured...well, I didn’t want to say anything else that might hurt you. That’s all.”

She looked away, and he was startled by the bitter smile on her face. “Why does everybody do that?”

“Do what?”

She turned back to face him, an expression of cool disdain in her distant blue eyes. “It’s so unbelievably arrogant. Do you really think if you don’t talk about it, then I’m not gonna remember that my daughters are dead?”

“No, it’s not--”

“Oh, yeah, and there’s the look. Like everyone’s so afraid of what I might do. What are you afraid of, Ryan?” She cocked her head to the side. “You think I might try to kill myself so that I can be with them? That’s what you thought that first night, isn’t it--on the beach? Or are you just afraid I might cry? You’re telling me a big, strong man like you can’t handle a few tears? You gonna run away if I start to lose it now? You know, maybe you should reconsider dating Erin. ‘Cause, now that I think of it, she’s probably way more your speed anyway. Young. Uncomplicated. Nothing in her past for you to check into. No trauma. No pain. No reason for her to start crying when you least expect it.”

“Hey. I wasn’t running anywhere this morning, was I?” he reminded her, none too gently, crossing his arms and returning her cool stare with one of his own. “When you found those toys on your porch? And believe me, sweetheart, you weren’t looking all that happy then.”

“Oh, so I have to be happy all the time now, too?” Her smile turned even more bitter than before. “Well, now, that might be asking a bit much.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Yeah, I get sad sometimes, Ryan. Sure. Sometimes, when I think about them, I even cry. Is that really so awful? You think I don’t know that no one wants to hear me talk about it? Well, I know it! But it doesn’t stop me from thinking about them. Or missing them.”

She hugged herself tightly, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her eyes wide, and endlessly dark as she stared off into the distance. “Sometimes...sometimes I think it’s the not talking about it that makes me so crazy.”

He stared at her as she sat there, lost in thought. Looking lovely and tragic. Like a queen from some old Irish fairy tale, facing down her doom with a dignity that was completely unconscious. She wasn’t asking for his help. She wasn’t asking him for anything, in fact. Which made the offering all the easier.

“So, talk, if you want to,” he said softly, smiling at the surprise that registered on her face as her gaze swung back to lock with his. “Go ahead. I’ll listen.”

Buy at Amazon

Sunday Chat and post-Rapture Ramblings

2011-05-22T10:08:00.000-07:00

I'll be chatting this morning...or afternoon, depending on where you are I guess. And I'm assuming no one disappeared into the rapture, although, I must admit to being impressed with Mr. Camping's ability to predict earthquakes with surprising accuracy. Who knew?

Anyway...

The chat. Yes, I should talk about that. It will be at Romance Books R Us. That'll be me, although they seem to want to call me PJ. Which, really, I should be used to by now and to tell the truth, I kind of wished I'd thought to call myself that, if it weren't for the fact that I used my real initials and all. But, however, I'll be talking about my new release, Old Sins, Long Shadows with maybe a sneak peek at some of the other things I've been working on. Who knows? It's two hours. I could come up with a lot of stuff in that time. I do love to chat, you know. *g*

The link is: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/rbruchat/ Love to see you there!

In the meantime, here's an excerpt ('cause I love those too!)

Dawn tinged the sky as Damian made his way home, but he paid it no mind. He wasn’t at all concerned about the lateness of the hour. At his age, he was more than strong enough to be able to function at close to normal capacity no matter what time of day it was. And given the surfeit of blood he’d consumed over the course of the night, a few extra minutes exposure to sunlight didn’t even rate a second thought.

There were, however, other circumstances that did concern him. He paused in the mansion’s entry hall to scent the air, searching for any hint of danger, any sign of impending ambush. With two Lamia Invitus in residence, only a fool would proceed without proper caution.

Satisfied that the coast was clear, he headed for his room, his muscles protesting as he climbed the stairs. His body felt pleasantly and thoroughly used, aching in all the right places.

Once inside his room, he slipped off his shoes and let down his hair. Perhaps he wouldn’t even wash before bed. As tired as he was, he’d no doubt sleep soundly, but it was early evening that was still the most difficult part of his day. If he could wake up tonight with the scent of so many strangers lingering on his skin—how could that not help to ease the craving with which he usually awoke? The craving for that which he could no longer have.

He turned to his bureau to retrieve his hairbrush. He might be willing to put off bathing before bed, but failing to give his hair its customary one hundred strokes—that was simply too uncivilized to contemplate. As he reached for the brush, a slight motion in the mirror caught his gaze. He turned around, scarcely daring to believe his eyes. “Conrad?”

“You failed to return to the party as I’d requested,” Conrad said as he rose from the chair in which he’d been seated.

“Imagine my surprise to learn you’d gone out instead.”

The husky edge to Conrad’s voice set Damian’s heart racing. His body, so recently sated, ached with need. An all-too-irrational hope took root in his soul. “Wh-why are you here?”

“I believe my questions take precedence,” Conrad replied as he crossed the darkened room. “Where have you been? I won’t ask what you’ve been doing, since that, at least, seems obvious. You stink of blood and sex.”

Damian shrank back against the bureau as his knees went weak once more. After all this time, how was it Conrad still had the power to affect him like this? He curled his fingers around the dresser’s edge, determined to hold himself erect by whatever means necessary. “Sí. I imagine I do. It’s hardly the first time and, strangely, I don’t recall it ever bothering you before.”

If anything, the reverse had once been true. For ages it had seemed as though nothing excited Conrad more than the knowledge there had been others before him. Damian’s heart tripped and faltered, recalling the hours of furious lovemaking that had so often followed; of a passion so intense he doubted anyone human would have survived it.

“Did I say I was bothered?” Conrad replied, stopping right in front of him; just out of reach, yet still so close it was all Damian could do to keep from lunging at him. “I was merely making an observation.

Old Sins, Long Shadows

Children of Night, book 2

PG Forte

ISBN: 978-1-60928-450-3

http://store.samhainpublishing.com/sins-long-shadows-p-6311.html

http://www.amazon.com/Old-Sins-Long-Shadow-ebook/dp/B004TDN7XQ/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_1

Living forever is hard, but loving forever? That’s damn near impossible.

1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.

Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.

When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.

Product Warnings

Release Day!! Old Sins, Long Shadows

2011-05-03T14:26:00.000-07:00

Is there anything better than a new release? No, I didn't think so.

Old Sins, Long Shadows

By: PG Forte | Other books by PG Forte
Published By: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
ISBN # 9781609284503
Word Count: 100018
Heat Index

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket (.mobi), Rocket, Epub
Read More

About the book

Living forever is hard, but loving forever? That’s damn near impossible.

Children of Night, Book 2

1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.

Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.

When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.

Product Warnings

An excerpt from the book

Copyright Â© 2011 P.G. Forte
All rights reserved -- a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Vampires are nothing if not adaptable. It’s a survival skill; as crucial as fangs. Either you learn early on to blend in, to fold seamlessly into the mise-en-scene, to successfully “pass” as mortal, or angry mobs armed with torches and wooden stakes are likely to figure prominently in your sure-to-be-short-lived future. Conrad Quintano knew this as well as anyone could. Over a thousand years as one of the blood-drinking undead had taught him that nothing was so constant as change.

Still, some changes were indisputably harder to adapt to than others…

“I’m leaving now.” The slight hint of a tremor in Damian’s voice did nothing to soften the defiance implicit in his words.

Sprawled in his favorite armchair, Conrad opened his eyes long enough to cast a single glance in his direction. “So I see.”

His chin tilted proudly, Damian hovered in the doorway of Conrad’s study. He was dressed in somber black, his ankle-length traveling coat draped lightly atop his shoulders in deference to his injuries. In his hand he clutched a small, leather valise.

Conrad stared in consternation at the bag. He’s been packing for the past several hours. Is that single bag all he has to show for it? Conrad could only assume the rest had been stored in the attic, or boxed up so that they might be forwarded to him later. Not that any of it mattered—he could take the whole household away with him, for all Conrad cared. He closed his eyes again, blocking out the sight of his lover’s face, still stained and streaked with tears. “I thought you’d already gone.” He’d certainly delayed his departure long enough. The night was almost behind them.

“Conrad…”

“Get out,” Conrad replied wearily. What was the point of any more conversation? The time for it had passed. If Damian did not leave now, he’d be traveling during the day. He’d be risking sunlight, exposure, discovery, death. I swear he does these things on purpose—just to add to the grief he causes me. It was not the first time he’d had such a thought. “I should have left you where I found you.” If he had, then maybe now, almost four hundred years later, he’d be over the worst of his loss. Instead, it had only just begun.

“You’ve killed it, you know.” Damian’s voice throbbed with sudden passion. “Everything. All the love I’ve ever felt for you… I didn’t think it possible, but now…I swear to you, Conrad, I shall hate you forever. I shall die with your name on my lips, cursing the day we met.”

“Enough!” Conrad thundered, half rising from his chair and glaring furiously at him, the man whose love he’d cherished, whose life he’d blighted, whose flesh he’d ravaged in an unthinking rage. “Will you be quiet? Get out of here. Now!” How much more of this does he think I can take? How much more damage might I do to him if he stays?

When Damian still hesitated Conrad shifted his gaze, deliberately allowing it to settle on Damian’s injured shoulder. He lifted his lips in a sneer that exposed the tips of his unsheathed fangs and snarled, “Or have you not yet learned your lesson? Shall I school you again?”

Damian’s face blanched. Without another word, he turned away. The swiftness of the motion caused the skirts of his coat to swirl out around him in a manner that would have sent entire generations of vampire-loving romantics into a swoon, had they but been there to see it. Unfortunately, the effect was largely wasted on Conrad who was not the swooning type and felt only a grudging appreciation for the dramatic beauty of his lover’s exit.

And then he was gone. The beauty snuffed out like a candle. The pleasure Conrad had always taken in it destroyed. The slamming of the heavy front door half a minute later bore witness to his departure. Conrad winced at the sound, forcing himself to stay in his chair despite the sudden panic that hammered at his senses. Like a dying swan it beat at his soul, insisting that it was not too late. There was still time to catch him, still time to reclaim what was lost, what was his…what was gone.

No. Never. Hurry! Go after him. Now! Beg his forgiveness, if you must. You’ve every right to him. You’ve every reason to command his return—do so!

Conrad held his ground. “For what purpose shall I bring him back? That I might kill him the next time he angers me?” That would only result in even greater anguish.

Dark silence settled around him and was all too soon dispelled by the bright, insistent sound of birdsong, by the slow, inexorable march of daylight across his wall. It was only then Conrad realized that, for almost the first time in over one hundred years, the shades had not been drawn across his chamber windows in advance of the dawn. Light continued to spill in through the unguarded glass until he was finally forced to bestir himself.

Given the great disturbance of the night before, it was hardly surprising that no servant had dared to enter his rooms this morning. Those who hadn’t deserted him entirely were likely cowering in their beds praying that, for once, the myths might prove true, that the coming dawn might turn him to ash.
We really must give some thought to the idea of hiring a new staff, he decided as he reached for the velvet drapes. One made up of sturdier souls this time around. He’d have to make sure that part was clearly understood. He’d have to remember to tell Damian…

But no, he was forgetting himself. There was no “we” any longer and, in the future, he would not be telling Damian anything.

As he dragged the curtains roughly along their rods, he spared a single thought to the question of where Damian might have gone to find shelter this quickly, or if he’d found shelter at all yet. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps…

He pushed that thought away, as well. It would not do for him to be thinking in this fashion. He could not bear it if he had to face each and every dawn of the next five or ten centuries wondering about things that were now beyond his control.

For that matter, to hell with the servants also. He’d close up the house and let them all go. He’d travel abroad. Perhaps he’d tour the continent for a season or two, or maybe he’d go out west. He’d heard it said, recently, that there was money to be made in California, and it was past time he began his life anew in any case.

Vampires were nothing if not adaptable. Had he not said so himself, time and again? So be it, then. He was Vampire. He would adapt. He would embrace this change, as he had so many others, for everything did change, eventually, did it not?

I shall hate you forever…

Well, almost everything.

As Damian’s parting words echoed in his mind, Conrad’s vision blurred. He had to blink several times to restore his sight. Only time would tell if they would be proven true, but Conrad did not doubt he meant them now—and why should he not?

What Conrad had done was unforgivable. True, he’d been goaded beyond reason by Damian’s decision to take up with another Lamia Invitus—a vampire who, like Conrad himself, had undergone the brutal turning intended to make them beasts and leave them broken—but did that excuse Conrad’s actions? Had he not just proved himself no better than any other of his vile kind?

Conrad pulled the final curtain closed and turned away from the windows. “Via con Dios, mi amor,” he whispered. “Wherever you are. And wherever you go I pray your God will protect you as I could not. But I, too, can swear upon forever. And I swear to you now that however great the time or distance you put between us, it will never matter. For I shall love you always, just the same.”

Buy the book HERE

The Year of the Rabbit Blog Hop!

2011-04-22T21:30:00.000-07:00

Greetings, blog hoppers! Welcome to the Year of the Rabbit Blog Hop. Once again we have our awesome tour bar at the top of the page (courtesy of our awesome tour guides—thank you Alanna and Michael). Simply follow the bunny trail for hot reads and a chance to win some fabulous prizes.

If you stumbled upon this tour by accident (or if you happen to fall off along the way) not to worry! Just visit http://justromance.me/bloghop/ to start at the beginning. And please try and join us for our end-of-the-bunny-hop chat, Sunday 7 p.m. EST in Gem Sivad's chat room

And now for the fun part. My story takes place at a Hollywood Premier party. The characters are Doc, a drunk veterinarian; Jim, an anxious bounty hunter; and Candy, a picky stripper. Enjoy!

The Year of the Rabbit: A Tale of Two Girls and a Bunny

Bloody footprints. What a way to start the weekend. As I made my way up the footpath that led into LA’s Hancock Park, better known to tourists and the world in general as the La Brea Tar Pits, I couldn't help but shake my head at the irony. Unlikely as it sounds, being here was actually an improvement over the way I’d previously been working on getting the weekend started.

Up until twenty minutes ago, which is when my office switchboard finally got through to me with the message that a veterinarian was needed here STAT, I was down at the Sunset Grill, getting shitfaced in an effort to forget the shameless gold-digger who'd so recently broken my heart. And, I gotta tell you right now, the couple of rounds I'd already gone with Jose Cuervo hadn't come close to doing the trick. But a job's a job, right? And unless I decide to blow my pay for tonight's gig on new Manolos, I’ll actually be putting money into my bank account this weekend, instead of drinking the sucker dry. So, yep, definitely an improvement.

I hadn't gone more than a couple of yards before I ran into an impediment in the form of a plush, red velvet rope that had been stretched across the path. I swayed to an only-slightly-unsteady stop and stood there, blinking up at the two ginormous security guards, somewhat incongruously dressed in tuxedos, who were stationed on the other side of the rope, effectively blocking my way.

“Can I help you?” one of them inquired, staring down at me in a distinctly unblinking way.

Inquired—that’s an educated way of describing the grunting sound that issued from his cavernous mouth. But, that's the kind of gal I am. Educated. And I got a wall-full of diplomas to prove it.

I pulled myself up to my full five-foot-four—inches, five-six, if you count the heels, I guess, and flashed my ID badge in his face. “I got a page. Someone paged me. I’ve been called in on a...ooh, whatchacallit again? Oh, right, on a consult. I'm here to consult.”

The big guy frowned dubiously as he snatched the piece of plastic from my hand. “Says here you’re a veterinarian,” he said, stating the obvious and glinting suspiciously at me at the same time. I tried to look impressed because, hey, for a guy like him, I figure that probably counts as multi-tasking. I may have overdone it, however because his glint quickly morphed into a leer as he looked me over, idly flicking my card with his finger. He wasn't my type—not by a very wide mile—so I pretended not to notice. “So what kinda business is it brings an animal doctor to a premier anyway?”

“That's for me to know and you to find out,” I answered, but that didn't exactly get the response I was hoping for either. “Take me to your leader?” I suggested next. Still no response. I sighed. “Okay, look, you've got bunnies here, don'tcha?” I waved my arm in the general direction of the park. “Oryctolagus cuniculus domesticus? Well, apparently, someone saw a trail of bloody footprints and figured one of the little critters musta gotten hurt.”

“Cunni…what?” He was lookin’ at me now as though I’d grown an extra head in the last two minutes and, to be honest, I couldn’t really blame him. How anyone in the movie biz could think it a good idea to host an opening night party in a place synonymous with slow, sucking death was a mystery to me as well. Why they’d then choose to compound the event confusion by adding two dozen live rabbits to the mix…well, even sober I’d have a hard time with that one.

“Rabbits,” I said, taking my card back and reinserting it into my wallet on only the third or fourth try. I repeated the word for emphasis, drawing it out nice and slow in hopes of igniting a spark of recognition. “Raaaa-biiiits. You know, like Peter? Bugs? Roger? Little Bunny Foo Foo? Tell me, is there even an outside chance of any of this getting through that cranium of yours?”

Jumbo’s frown turned ugly and I began to wonder if I wasn’t about to be scooped up, like a field mouse, and bopped on the head. Luckily, his partner—the one who’d been passing the time talking into his cufflink, trying to make like he was James Bond, I guess—nudged him in the ribs. “Let her through. She’s legit.”

I tried not to smirk as I weaved my way between them, but I don’t think I was particularly successful.

The museum’s grounds had been transformed for the occasion. Klieg beams swept across the sky. Twinkling party lights shimmered in the branches of the surrounding trees. Colored spots illuminated the life-sized models of prehistoric animals (which had been strategically placed in the tar, just in case you’d missed the point of all that prehistoric death) and shone prettily on the small herd of placidly grazing rabbits—all of them perfectly healthy as far as I could tell.

The movie being celebrated was called The Year of the Rabbit; a psychological thriller set in LA’s Chinatown—which, I might point out, is hell and gone from this neighborhood. I’m just sayin’. I guess maybe it was the reviews that put someone in mind of the tar pits; the ones calling the film “dark and terrifying.” The ones that claimed it, “sucks you in and doesn’t let go.” Still, as far as I know there aren’t any actual rabbits in the film, so it’s still something of a stretch, in my opinion.

The park was packed with the usual premier crowd—beautiful people, dressed to the nines. Waiters in traditional, pre-revolutionary Chinese costumes, bearing trays of dim sum and drinks, circulated. I stopped one to ask the whereabouts of my presumed patient.

“No rabbit,” he said in response to my query. He nodded at his tray. “Only duck.”

Yeah. So not what I was asking. Still, when in Rome, I guess. I helped myself to a coupla dumplings, flagged down a second waiter and relieved him of a flute of champagne and then continued on my trek.

I’d just about finished my circumnavigation of the park—that’s another educated word, in case you’re wondering—when I saw her. My Candy. A drop-dead gorgeous, artificially buxom, platinum blonde dressed in a gray satin bunny costume, complete with gray satin bunny ears, a gray satin bow-tie, fishnet stockings, and an expensive pair of fuck-me heels that I knew from personal experience added a good four inches to her height. She'd been a mid-sized brunette with a much smaller rack the last time I'd seen her—which was about four days ago in the middle of my living room, just before she walked out of my life. Or so we both thought.

She was not the bunny I was looking for tonight. She was, in fact, probably the last person in the world I wanted to see right now, but try telling that to my feet, which appeared to have developed a mind of their own, and seemed foolishly determined to convey me straight to the sexy siren's side.

“Of all the gin-joints in all the world,” I found myself muttering as I drew closer even though, technically, there wasn't a whole lot of gin in evidence here tonight.

The guy she was with looked nervous. Now, that might have been 'cause of the way she was draped all over him, like a cheap slut...I mean suit. Or it might have been the carrot she was teasing him with. I guess she was trying to feed it to him, but it looked more like she was getting ready to poke him in the eye. Then again, the reason his nerves were on edge might have had more to do with the heat he was packing. He looked kind of like a hit man to me, or maybe a mob enforcer—but, then again, that might just have been the tell-tale bulge under his jacket talking. Either way, I guess I probably should have had the sense to keep my distance, but I didn’t.

I was only a few feet away when Candy glanced over and saw me. I didn't like the way her eyes narrowed or the way the corners of her mouth drew down as she said, “What’s up, Doc?”

I have to admit, her question stopped me cold. It’s not like she'd never called me that before—it's been her pet name for me since we met—but all the same, it's just not every night you get to hear that particular line popping out of the luscious red lips of a life-sized gray bunny—satin or otherwise. Laughter began to bubble up inside me, but before I could formulate a suitable answer, she’d stepped away from her gentleman friend and pulled me aside.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded in an angry whisper. “Are you following me?”

I shook my head. “Don't flatter yourself, babe. I'm here on a job. I was called in because one of the bunnies was injured.”

“But you’re a veterinarian!” she hissed. “You treat animals, not people!”

“Exactly.” I pointed at the leporids lounging in the grass. “Animals,” I said, helpfully. “See? There they are.”

“This is just bullshit. I told you the other day: it's over between us.”

I couldn't help but grimace. “I know. I remember.” She'd been real clear about that. And I can't say she didn't have her reasons—all of which I heard about. In very. Great. Detail. I think my favorite part was when she claimed that my idea of foreplay was telling a girl, “Why don't you take off your shirt?” Which was completely unfair, by the way, and she knew it too.

It wasn't foreplay, okay? I'd been flirting with her. It was a stupid line and I only tried it the once and, even then, I kind of meant it as a joke. Also, I may have been a little bit drunk at the time. Which was the other thing that hurt. If she'd broken up with me because occasionally I hit the bottle a little too hard, that I could have dealt with. But I tend to babble when I'm nervous and, even when I'm not, it's still a whole lot easier controlling what goes into my mouth than what comes out.

“Trust me,” I told her. “If I knew you were going to be here, I'd have told them to send someone else. But, what the hell are you doing here anyway? And why are you dressed up like that? Not that I don't appreciate the view, but it's a little late for Halloween, isn't it?”

She tossed the carrot she'd been holding into a nearby bush, fisted her hands on her hips and glared at me. “For your information, I'm here to audition. I can't strip forever, you know. That's why I’m trying to break into film.”

“Yeah, but...why the bunny costume?”

“ It's obvious, isn't it? This movie documents a year in the life of a Playboy Bunny, right? And that man over there—” she said, waving over my shoulder in the unhappy hit man’s direction. “Is a studio big-wig. He could give me the break I need.”

“I don't think he's with any of the studios,” I felt obliged to point out. “And, even if he is, he's carrying a gun, so probably not that big a wig.”

“It's not a gun,” she corrected, smiling coldly, making what I can only assume was a badly misplaced reference to one of Mae West's more immortal lines. “He's just happy to see me. And you’re jealous.”

“He's wearing a shoulder holster!” I snapped, getting really angry with her now. She knew my insecurities all too well—the bitch. “What the fuck are you talking about? And, just FYI, the movie? Year of the Rabbit, right? Not a documentary.”

“Oh, what do you know?” she asked, looking slightly uncertain for the first time that night.

“More than you, apparently.”

“Everything all right over here, Candy?” a deep voice asked anxiously from behind me.

I glanced around in surprise. Shit. For a moment, I'd forgotten all about Mr. Big-wig-Studio-Hit-Man.

“Everything's fine, Jim,” Candy replied, batting about ten pounds of false eye-lashes in his direction. No joke, she could end a heatwave with those things. Somewhere in South America, I thought irrelevantly, a butterfly just got blown to pieces by a freak windstorm. Candy continued to smile sweetly at her hit man. “Doc was just leaving. Weren't you, Doc?”

Suddenly, I was feeling ornery. “Good to meet you, Jim,” I said as I turned 'round to face him. I grabbed his hand and pumped it with enthusiasm. “Candy tells me you're with the studio. Is that right?”

“Studio?” Jim repeated, sounding mildly puzzled. “No. I'm not with a studio. I'm a bounty hunter.”

“A bounty hunter—no shit?” I stared at him in surprise. At least the gun was explained. “Wait, don't tell me, let me guess. You're hunting wabbits—right?”

“Well, actually...”

“I don't believe this.” Candy rolled her eyes in disgust. “Thanks for nothing,” she muttered, glaring at both of us in turn. Then she spun on her heel and flounced away. I'll admit I watched her go with more than a touch of regret. It was just before Easter and she was my Candy-Bunny. I wanted to nibble on her ears. I wanted a piece of her tail. I was, in fact, completely mesmerized by the sight of that fluffy, white cotton-ball swinging back and forth with each sway of her hips. The cottontail, by the way, is a specifically American rabbit and is in no way related to the domesticated or European rabbit. Just in case you were curious.

“So...are you really a doctor?” Jim asked, his voice breaking through my Candy-induced trance.

“Yes, I am really a doctor,” I answered. I get just a little tired of all the people who assume that only people with the initials M and D after their names qualify as “real” doctors. “What's it to you?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe you could help me out. See, I have this little problem. My doctor calls them anxiety attacks; says they're a form of PTSD. Sometimes I freeze up, see? It happened with the last two skips I was trying to take in. This'll be my third strike. If I mess up on this, I'll be washed up, out of the business.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?” I asked, frowning at him in no small amount of confusion. Did he think I was some kind of therapist?

“I thought you could maybe give me something. Pills, an injection—anything you got. Just to help calm my nerves, you know?”

I needed something to calm my nerves, too, damn it. Didn't mean I was about to start popping horse tranqs, however. “Damn it, Jim,” I growled at him. “I'm a doctor, not a drug pusher!”

“Sorry I asked,” he said, looking dejected in that way that only a really big, heavily muscled, armed man can. For some reason, I kind of felt sorry for him.

“Tell me about the guy you're after tonight,” I said, by way of apology as I flagged down a waiter and got us each a drink.

Jim shook his head. “Well, first of all, it's not a guy. I'm looking for a woman. An international jewel thief who goes by the name The Rabbit. Word is, she's gonna hit this premier.”

“You can't be serious,” I muttered as I glanced around. Not that there weren't jewels a plenty in evidence tonight, because there certainly were, but... “The Rabbit? Really?”

“No joke. And the price on her head is huge. If I can find her and take her in, I'll be sitting pretty.” Jim gulped down his champagne then stared in disappointment at his empty glass. I passed him mine.

“So what does this thief of yours look like?” I asked, absently scanning the crowd, looking for Candy. Pathetic, I know. But what can you do?

“Brunette, about five-five, slender build.”

“That's not much to go on, Jim,” I pointed out, watching as Candy made nice with her new friend: a vivacious redhead, dripping in diamonds...

I think you had to be really looking for it, to see what happened next. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately, it all depends on your viewpoint, I guess—I was really looking. It was all I could do to hide my smile as one of Red's earrings went missing. “You know what, Jim?” I said, as I signaled once more for the waiter with the drinks. “I think I might be able to help you out, after all.”

***

A short while later, my work done, I was heading out of the park when I heard the clatter of stilettos behind me and a voice I knew well calling after me. “Doc! Wait!”

I turned, more than a little surprised to see Candy trotting down the path with a large, fluffy white rabbit clutched to her heaving chest.

“Is this what you were looking for?” she asked, panting a little for breath as she came to a stop.

There were large, rust colored patches on both of the rabbit's hind legs. Big enough to account for the bloody footprints, but nowhere near life-threatening. Nothing that a good cleaning, some antibiotics and maybe a few tranqs couldn't fix. Unfortunately, I was fresh out of tranqs, at the moment. I'd have to take him back to my office to take care of him. I looked from the rabbit to the girl and back again and smiled sadly. “Oh, yeah. Definitely what I was looking for.”

“About the other day,” she began, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I didn't really mean all that stuff I said.”

I blinked in surprise as I felt unexpected warmth blossom in my chest. “You didn't?”

She shook her head, blonde curls bouncing with the motion. “I was just...I dunno, feeling especially picky, or something. But I thought maybe, if you wanted, we could...try it again?”

“I'd like that,” I said. Then I leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “But, you've been a very wascally wabbit.”

She gasped softly and pulled back, eyes wide. “You know?” A flood of color rose in her cheeks.

I nodded, unable to stop the satisfied smile that curved my lips. “I know.”

“That...that bounty hunter. Is-is he...”

My smile widened. “Sleeping.”

“Sleeping?” She stared at me, forehead puckering up. She's real cute when she's confused.

“Like a really relaxed...horse.”

What can I say? Sometimes a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do to protect what's hers. And don't think I feel even a little bit bad about that.

“Now, let's get that bunny back to my office so I can patch him up,” I said. “That is, if you've gotten everything you came here for?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said smiling slyly. “I think I got even more than I'd planned on getting.”

She looked cold, so I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then I took the rabbit from her arms and we headed toward the sidewalk, where I'd parked my car. All in all, I had to admit, the weekend was turning out much, much better than I thought it would. Bloody footprints. Who knew they'd lead me to the woman of my dreams?

It's the Luck of the Irish Bloghop!

2011-03-17T01:37:00.000-07:00

Click here for Details

Welcome back once again, blog hoppers and a very happy St. Patrick's Day to you all! Once again we have our awesome tour bar at the top of the page (courtesy of our awesome tour guides—thank you Alanna and Michael). Simply follow the trail for yummy reads and a chance to win some great books, a Kindle 3 and other prizes.

If you stumbled upon this tour by accident (or if you happen to fall off along the way) not to worry! Just visit http://justromance.me/bloghop/ to start at the beginning.

This time around, as you probably already know, we're treating you to stories with an Irish theme, featuring a certain set of words. It should be fun to see what everyone comes up with! And you all get to help decide whose story wins.

My story is set within the "world" of my novel Iron. Here's the blurb for the book:

Nineteenth century Ireland. Blacksmith Gavin O’Malley is a bitter man, with a heart as hard as the iron he forges. He wants his life back—the one that was stolen from him the day his wife died in childbirth—taking their firstborn son with her.

When Aislinn Deirbhile, an immortal, shape-shifting fae, arrives on his doorstep, he knows he’s in luck. For Aislinn can give Gavin everything he’s been missing: A devoted-seeming wife in the image of his beloved Mairead, and children who are sure to outlive their father. Now, all he has to do is find a way to keep her—without losing his immortal soul in the process.

But Aislinn has an agenda of her own. On the run from a vengeful fae lord who’s vowed to either make her his or end her existence, she knows the iron that allows Gavin to take her captive will also keep her pursuers at bay. In order to put herself permanently beyond her enemy’s reach, however, Aislinn will need something more. She’ll need to win Gavin’s heart and convince him to willingly part with a piece of the very soul he’s trying to save.

And here's my story...

Gavin O’Malley rarely smiled. 'Twas a fact to which any of his neighbors in the small town of Killbanning would readily attest. Such had been the case for many a year now, ever since the untimely death of his wife, the presumed love of his life. Word in the tiny Irish village was that sure and whenever Gavin stood upon the green grass and the shamrocks that covered Mairead’s grave he must feel the kiss of death upon his own soul, as it were. It was this, or so they believed, that kept the smile from his face and froze his heart so that the love he might have given to another was all but withered away. Nor did anyone expect him to ever be recovering from his grief—not until he had joined his love on the far side of the grave.

In heaven there could be no doubt but that Gavin would wear a smile. Especially an it were a heaven such as an Irishman like himself was most certain to love—a green and pleasant land where the whiskey ran freely and horses were forever grazing in fields of shamrocks, just waiting for someone to come along and ride them.

But, recently, there’d been a change come over O’Malley and he was smiling now though there was none 'round to see it. What's the reason for the change, you ask? Ah, but there's a story worth the telling!

To be sure, the good people of Killbanning had no idea of all that had happened down at O'Malley's forge these past few months—and was happening still. And wouldn't they have had their knickers in a twist were they to be after knowing the cause for this alteration in the fortunes of one of their own? Oh, their tongues would be a-wagging most fiercely, I can assure you of that! There'd be much shaking of their heads if any had had the least inkling about Aislinn Deirbhile, the beautiful Faery princess whom Gavin had been sheltering—and who was even now, if they but knew it, seated by his fireplace with a book in her lap and a wee glass of whiskey within her grasp; her tongue peeking out to lick her lips every now and again when the story reached an especially good part; drumming her fingernails on the arm of his chair if the tale grew tense.

They’d be quite green with envy, all those good Christians, if they'd been made privy to any of this, for there’d be no stopping them from jumping to the very logical conclusion that the Fae must've gifted Gavin with a pot of gold—or even several pots of gold, as her kind was wont to do—as thanks for his gallantry to her the previous winter.

And so she would have done too, had he not turned her down when she’d offered it. Quite shocked O’Malley’s neighbors would be to learn of that! Or to know of the reward he was receiving instead; one that consisted, for the most part, of kisses and cuddles and making love.

Not that they had anything against kisses and cuddles and making love, you’ll be understanding, just so long as they were kept in their proper place—within the bonds of Holy Matrimony. But, in any case, 'twas not this—the kisses and cuddles and the making love, as it were—that was putting the smile on Gavin’s face this fine day. At least not directly. But I digress…

Now, as sometimes happens, O’Malley had had occasion to ride to Dublin on business and was even now on his way back home. It was a most pleasant ride, especially on such a lovely Spring day. There was nary a cloud in the sky and the green fields all around him were abloom with flowers and there was naught but the gentlest breeze, soft as a silk scarf, blowing across his face.

I think it was that breeze as was the very thing causing him to smile, for it carried the fragrance of all those flowers to his nose and that couldn't help but bring the Fae to his mind.

Tall and fair was she, with bright flowing hair and eyes as gray as mist. She'd been dressed in a fine silk gown, all green and gold, when first he saw her and he thought then that in all the green world there could be none so fair as she.

But beautiful and magical though the Fae may be, they do have their weaknesses and one of these is an inability to handle objects made of iron. A sore trial that had been proving to be for poor Aislinn, forced as she was to find shelter within a blacksmith's home!

And so it was that when Gavin went up to Dublin he'd made several purchases—and it was these that were putting the smile upon his face today. Nor was it the new leather boots he'd acquired for himself that filled his heart with satisfaction, I'll have you be knowing. 'Twas rather the gifts he was bringing back for the Fae that most pleased him—gifts sure to gladden any woman's heart, or so he thought. Gifts of cookware—that's what he planned on surprising the Fae with! Covered baking dishes made of earthenware quite handy for making stew,wooden spoons with which to stir the stew, a copper tea kettle, even a cunning tin rack which could be set upon the hearth and used to toast bread.

Ah, now, I know what it is you're thinking. Sure and cookware is not the type of gift any woman would be overjoyed to receive from a man—and a royal princess, such as Aislinn was, even less so. And, in most cases you'd be right! But not this time. For though it might be hard to imagine a less romantic gift, it showed a surprising amount of thoughtfulness on the part of the smith, who might not be expected to understand how it galled the lass to be always at his mercy, so to speak, unable to fix a decent meal for herself without fear of injury due to the iron pots and pans and other utensils with which the smith's hearth was furnished.

So now, as you'll see, the day has mostly passed and O'Malley has just returned to his forge. He's still wearing a smile as he comes through his own front door, arms laden with packages. Aislinn lays down her book and returns his smile. She rises from her seat by the fireplace, eying the packages curiously. No doubt she's hoping that at least a few of them contain food for, you see, the poor thing has had naught to eat the whole time the smith was gone but for the aforementioned whiskey, some cheese and a bit of brown bread to go with it.

“What's all this then?” she asks, trying hard to hide her hunger. And even though Gavin is generally as quick with his words as anyone who'd kissed the Blarney Stone, it takes him more than a moment to find his tongue.

“Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes,” he says at last. For it seems to him she looks lovelier each time he sets his eyes on her and this evening in particular. She's wearing her own green dress again—the one cut scandalously low across the bodice so that her nipples are almost peeking out over the top of it. Her hair is tied up with a silk scarf, also green, and elegant ear bobs, fashioned out of gold and set with glittering stones—green again—dangle from her earlobes. Sure and those jewels she's wearing are, without question, each worth a great deal—as much as a pot of gold, most likely—yet they only serve to bring his gaze back to her face. Indeed, it would take a much greedier man than ever Gavin could be to notice anything beyond the Fae's bright smile—even though said smile has turned quite wry at the moment.

“I thank you kindly for the compliment. And pleased I am to see you as well. But, tell me, might I not be getting an answer to my question any time soon?”

“Aye,” says Gavin heaving a happy sigh. “That you will.” Then he crosses to his table and begins to unload his burdens upon its scarred surface. “Come and see.”

The Fae's eyes grow wide as the smith commences to unwrap the gifts he's brought—and, yes, there's some food among them as well—and he cannot help but notice when her nipples peak beneath the thin silk of her gown. Finally, when everything's laid out upon the table, he turns to her. “Well?” he asks, not quite hiding a smile at her excitement and obvious surprise. “What have you to say to all of that?”

“Are they for me then?” Aislinn asks, reaching out to just barely touch the lid of one dish—just dragging the tips of her fingernails across it. Gavin shivers in response, and it's as though it's him she's touching; as though he can feel the bite of her fingernails as they rake across his own bare skin.

“Aye,” he answers her, though he has to swallow hard to do it and his voice is husky and thick. “Do they please you?”

“They're quite wonderful,” she says as she raises her eyes to his face and smiles again—and he all but loses his breath entirely, she's that lovely. “However can I thank you?”

“I'm sure you can think of a way,” Gavin says; by which he means that agreeing to stay with him—to accept a permanent place beside his fireplace and, perhaps, within his heart—would be all the thanks he'd need. But I don't think the Fae has quite understood, for her smile glimmers even brighter and she chuckles in a decidedly sly manner as she slips into his arms.

“Indeed and I'm sure you're right,” she murmurs, her voice little more than a purr. “Perhaps something like this would suit?” So saying, she rises up on her toes and kisses him. As she cuddles against him, he can feel her nipples poking his chest. Her tongue tangles with his and he's lost. It's naught but kisses and cuddles he's thinking of and...no, what are you thinking? They're not about to make love. Not yet anyway; for the smith has it in his head that do to so before the Fae's been properly fed, would be unmannerly of him and, in case you've missed it, he's trying to be on his best behavior with her. But after dinner...oh, well, to be sure, making love is not something he'd be likely to hold off doing any longer than that!

After a long, long interlude of kisses and cuddles—so long, in fact, that Gavin's beginning to forget his resolve to not make love to her yet—Asilinn asks, “Mightn't we begin using them now?”

“Using what?” Gavin asks, for sure and his ability to think has been severely impaired. His mind is taken up entirely with thoughts of kisses and cuddles and making love—aye and nipples and tongues and earlobes and other assorted body parts—and he is, in fact, all but tongue-tied with lust.

“Why, all this lovely cookware, of course!” Aislinn says—and this time she doesn't smile, she laughs out loud, so amused by Gavin's befuddlement she can scarcely help herself. “Wasn't that your purpose in bringing them home to me?”

Home. The word wends its way into Gavin's heart, bringing back his smile. It pleases him to hear the Fae refer to his cottage in such a fashion and, indeed, that was his purpose and so he's quite content with himself, at the moment, and with her as well. “Aye, it was indeed.”

“Good,” Aislinn says, still with a smile, as she disengages herself from his arms. “Then I have just one question for you.”

As always, Gavin cannot stop himself from returning the smile. “Just one? Well, that's a first, surely. And what would this question be then?”

“This kettle,” she says as she picks up the copper kettle, quite pretty with its verdigris, and lets it dangle from her fingers. “Why is it green?”

*****

The story doesn't have a title yet. Perhaps someone would like to suggest one? I'll offer a signed Romance Trading Card to the best answer...once the cards arrive, that is. Here's a picture of what it looks like.

Iron
P.G. Forte
ISBN 978-1-59578-585-5

When Aislinn Deirbhile, an immortal, shape-shifting fae, arrives on his doorstep, Gavin O'Malley knows he’s in luck. For Aislinn can give him everything he’s been missing. Now, all he has to do is find a way to keep her—without losing his immortal soul in the process.

More Luck of the Irish

2011-03-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I've gotten my act together and posted something for Six Sentence Sunday, but I'm on a bit of a blog roll, if you will, so here's six sentences from Iron. If you're interested in reading more, just check out the blog post below this one.

And, in keeping with this week's theme, here's six sentences in which my very Irish hero is about to get very lucky indeed. lol!

Gavin groaned. “Ah, Aislinn, no one else has ever spoken to me thus. To hear you speak of such things, ’tis like putting a spark to dry tinder; for, in truth, you set me aflame with your words.”

Aislinn pulled him tight against her and whispered in his ear. “Then do as I ask, mo chroí, and take me now. Put your rod inside me and I’ll speak such words as will make your hair ignite.”

And don't forget to stop back here between Thursday and next Saturday for the Luck of the Irish Blog Hop for fabulous stories, the chance to win some great books or even a Kindle!

Click here for Details

Iron
P.G. Forte
ISBN 978-1-59578-585-5

Feeling Lucky?

2011-03-12T11:19:00.000-08:00

Not counting e-Bay, or last year's best dressed blog award--ooh, or that game of Bingo I played while on vacation with my grandmother when I was about nine years old--I don't think I've ever won anything. It's no big deal or anything, just the luck of the draw. Some people have it, others don't. I generally don't. Which is why it was such a huge surprise when my book Iron was chosen as one of the finalists in Epic's 2011 e-book awards for Paranormal Erotic Romance. I guess for once I entered something in the right category. Much thanks to everyone who dissuaded me from entering it as a Historical Romance!

The winners will be announced tonight and even though I took one look at the books I'm up against and said, "It's an honor just being nominated," I'll admit to feeling a bit excited today. Lightning could strike twice...couldn't it? I also love that this is all happening so close to Saint Patrick's Day because this is such an Irish book and that's such an Irish holiday and maybe I'll have the luck of the Irish...

Anyway, to celebrate all this good stuff--'cause it's still a pretty cool thing either way--I thought I'd post a couple of excerpts. I also wanted to take the chance to remind you all to stop back here between Thursday and next Saturday for the Luck of the Irish Blog Hop--and maybe you'll get lucky too.

Click here for Details

We're doing something different again this hop; creating short, Irish-themed stories for you to vote on.

Yes! More voting! I'm clearly on a roll here!

My story for the blog hop will involve the characters from Iron (because, c'mon, given the theme, who else am I gonna write about?) but I'm not going to say any more about that now. You'll just have to come back and read it on Thursday.

In the meantime, on to the excerpts...

Excerpt #1. This scene occurs very early in the book--the day after Aislinn's arrival when Gavin still has a lot to learn about the Fae. I've included this one because it will help explain part of the story I'm posting on Thursday.

Since several of the windows in the cottage faced the road, Gavin had hoped Aislinn might have been looking out one of them, so to have observed his victory over her enemy. But, when he let himself in he found her seated by the fireside singing softly to herself as she sewed, seemingly unaware of anything that had transpired outside of the room.

He stared at her for a moment, entranced not just by her song but by the cozy, domestic picture she made. Though the fire had burned low, the room had never seemed so warm or welcoming to him. By comparison, his usual existence seemed colorless and drab.

When she glanced up at him, the look in her eyes had him wondering if she hadn’t read his mind. Was she mocking him again? Surely the glow on her cheeks was suspiciously rosy, but when she smiled it was with such disarming sweetness Gavin couldn’t help but smile back.

“What’s all this?” she inquired, laying aside the green gown she was repairing and nodding at the bundles in Gavin’s arms.

“Why, I’ve brought home the Christmas,” he replied, feeling suddenly expansive as he deposited his bounty on the table and shrugged out of his jacket. “Come and see.”

His neighbors had done him proud this year. He’d been gifted with both a Barm Brak cake and a loaf of brown bread, a jug of ale, several hand-sized mince pies, one sack of oranges, one of turnips and another of potatoes, and a dressed goose all ready to be roasted for tomorrow’s dinner.

The fae eyed the food greedily. “But is it all for tomorrow then? Can we not eat at least some of it now?”

“Now?” Gavin glanced at her, askance. “Why, today’s a Fast Day. Don’t you be knowing anything about church law? You shouldna have more than one full meal today.”

“Indeed?” the fae replied waspishly. “Well, and if ever I should feel myself bound to abide by the rules of your religion I do hope I shall recall that. But, at present, I feel no such compunction. Besides, you’ve already left me here to fast for most of the day, as it is. Do ye really mean to starve me then?”

Gavin frowned. “And, if you do starve, how would that be my doing? Are ye so helpless then, you could not have fed yourself? Or is it that you think I exist to be your servant? If you wanted to eat, why did ye not cook yourself something afore now?” Aislinn’s lips tightened and she looked away as though reluctant to answer. Gavin glanced toward his hearth where all the implements anyone would need to fix a meal stood ready, most of them made by his own hand, or that of his da. All of them of iron. And, finally, understanding dawned. “Ah-ha. You couldn’t, could ye?”

Aislinn hesitated for a moment then finally shook her head.

“’Tis because of the iron, isn’t it?”

She nodded, even more reluctantly.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Gavin allowed himself a small gloat at the fae’s expense. ”Well, now, my fine lass, this is a pretty mess you’ve made for yourself, is it not? Perhaps you should ha’ given a little more thought to what you were about afore you forced yourself upon me and made me take you in.”

“I did think about it. I knew exactly what I was facing coming here.”

Gavin grimaced. “Having met your intended, I canna say as I’m surprised. I believe I’d sooner take a chance at starving, too, rather than find myself fallen into his clutches.”

Aislinn’s mouth tilted in a rueful smile. “Aye. ’Tis what I thought as well.”

“Ah, well,” Gavin sighed, unbending just a little. “I suppose a spot of tea wouldna be out of place. Especially when I’ve a heathen such as yourself as a houseguest.” As the insult registered, anger flashed in Aislinn’s eyes. Gavin smiled mockingly and allowed his own gaze to rove openly over her figure, feeling certain that her treatment of him this past twenty-four hours more than justified any insolence he cared to show her. But insolence soon turned to incredulity. “Sweet Saint Joseph. Woman, where the devil did you get that dress you’re wearing?”

“’Twas in the chest in your bedroom,” Aislinn replied, sounding puzzled by the question. “You did seem offended by my nakedness this morning, and I thought it more fitting that I find something other than your shirt to wear. Did I do wrong?”

“Nay,” Gavin muttered, looking away. It was just that he remembered the garment too well and had thought never to see it again—one of the reasons he’d stored it out of sight, rather than giving it away. It was the dress Mairead had been wearing the day she’d informed him he was to be a father. He remembered how her breasts, swollen by her condition in a way he’d found endlessly fascinating, had filled the bodice to the straining point. He’d wanted to fill his hands with them, to draw their distended nipples through his fingers and marvel at the sweet globes in all their ripe fullness. But she’d waved him away when he tried to embrace her, insisting she was too uncomfortably sore to endure his touch. And also insisting that, until such time as she could conceive again, there was now neither reason nor need for the two of them to lie together. Gavin had never been certain which had given her more joy—the thought of the babe growing inside her, or the fact that she’d finally found an excuse to avoid his bed.

“You’re not pleased,” Aislinn said quietly.

Gavin shook his head. “’Tis not that. I’m just surprised to see it. And I wouldna thought it would fit you so well as it does.”

“Well, I did have to let the hem down.”

“Aye, that you’d have had to do,” he sighed, as he hung the kettle on the hook over the fire. “She was just a little slip of a thing as wore it.” Small but spirited, or so Mairead had seemed to him at one time; with eyes of the brightest blue, a smile he thought would surely one day break his heart. And an unexpected coldness that seemed to grow worse each day they were together, and which was what finally ended up doing to him what her smile could not. He took the dishes down from their shelves and the silverware from their drawer and stacked them on the table. “Well, now,” he said, after clearing his throat to dislodge the lump that had formed there. “If dishware isn’t a problem for you, why don’t you see about setting the table for us?”

Excerpt #2. This scene takes place several months later and, obviously, Gavin and Aislinn have grown much closer.

The weeks continued to pass and it seemed to Gavin that if only time were not rushing away from him, as it was, he might have a chance to think rationally about the matter. But time did not stop and rationality was nowhere to be found, and all too soon it was summer.

All at once, the roses were in bloom and the constant chirping of baby birds begging for their next meal had been replaced by the lazy drone of bees foraging among the flowers. The branches of the apple tree, which had long since lost their blossoms, were bent now under the weight of green fruit and the warm, sweet scent of clover greeted Gavin whenever he stepped foot out of doors.

But the changes to the landscape were insignificant next to the alteration the season had wrought in Aislinn’s appearance. She was even lovelier now than she’d been when first he saw her. Though how that was possible he didn’t rightly know, for she’d seemed then to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Now, however, her cheeks were rosy and flushed—even though she’d not set foot outside since that day he’d dragged her to the forge—and there was a new lushness to her body that held him utterly transfixed. It was as though she embodied summer; as though the season itself radiated from her, charging the atmosphere around her until Gavin would have sworn he was living within a sun-drenched glen, or a palace of sorts; anything other than an ordinary cottage.

But, that was just by day. At night, her presence infused his rooms with all the warm, wild glory of a sultry, star-studded night—and she the brightest star of all—until the mere sight of her, lying beside him in bed, left Gavin awe-struck and dazzled, too hesitant to even touch her.

“You’ve a peculiar look about you,” she observed, on one such night, her brow puckering slightly as she studied his face. “Is aught wrong with ye?”

He started to shake his head no, and then changed his mind. “Aye,” he answered, struggling for words. “Perhaps. Or, nay, now I think on it. ’Tis you. ’Tis everything about you...do you know how beautiful you are?”

An amused smile curled one corner of her mouth. “I do, aye, for ’tis summer, is it not? Do you not recall my saying you knew naught of my true nature, having never seen me at this time of year?” She cast back the covers so there was nothing hiding her from his sight and stretched languidly. “So, Gavin O’Malley, do you like what you see? Does it please you? What is it you feel when you look at me? Tell me. For ’tis been a long time since I’ve been admired by a man who was seeing me thus for the first time.”

Gavin’s eyes roved greedily, taking it all in. But his thoughts were a muddle and, “How do I feel?” Ah, if only he knew the answer to that. He felt...distracted, conflicted, confused, humbled and, “Fearful,” he replied at last.

“Fearful, are ye?” A silvery laugh broke free from Aislinn’s lips and swept through Gavin, brightening his spirit like a sudden shower after a dusty day. “And what is it you’re afraid of then, my darling one? Surely not of me?”

He nodded, still reeling from the effects of her laugh. “Aye, of you, indeed. Mortally afraid, I be.”

“You silly man,” she murmured, circling her arms around his neck and grinning up at him. “And why, pray tell? Dost thou think I would ever hurt you?”

Gavin sighed. Reaching a hand to her head, he fingered a strand of her hair, which still gleamed gold, even in the starlight. “Lass, I think you could very well destroy me. And I think you know it, too.” He shook his head. “I’m a simple man, Aislinn, whereas you...”

“Are not so simple?” she supplied helpfully, as her smile dimmed and turned mocking.

“Not even a little bit.”

“Perhaps not. But, I didn’t ask for it to be thus, you know. Besides, mo chroí,” she murmured wickedly, her smile returning as she rubbed her mound against him. “I’ve always been one who’s enjoyed the simple things life has to offer.”

“Have you now?” He took hold of her hips and pulled her against him, letting her feel the growing length of his shaft, enjoying the smoky look it brought to her eyes, the slight hitch in her breathing. Fearful or not, he planned to take full advantage of all that she offered; for he was a man, after all, and she was a risk well worth the taking. “And would I be one of those simple things to which you’re referring, then?”

“Oh, you are indeed, mo chroí,” she breathed delightedly. “Without a doubt.”

Iron
P.G. Forte
ISBN 978-1-59578-585-5

It's My Birthday!

2011-02-27T16:14:00.000-08:00

...and I've decided to celebrate--witness the confetti. Too much? Anyway, as I was saying, I've decided a party is in order. So I'm going to give away a download of one book from my backlist (HERE) to the commenter who comes up with the best idea for a birthday present or how I should be spending my birthday.

Not that there's anything wrong with the way I'm spending this birthday, but it is somewhat quiet and lacking in an abundance of festivity. Although there were mimosas and homemade (not by me) cinnamon rolls. Mmm. Brunch. Gotta love it.

And, in the meantime, I'm going to post a brief excerpt from Dream Under the Hill. This is the first scene of Nick's birthday. It ends up being quite an eventful day for the poor dear, but in this scene everything is perfectly halcyon, just like a birthday should be. Enjoy!

Blurb:

The Spring Equinox falls in the month that nearly all Native Traditions recognize as being one of Big Winds—big changes. And big changes have certainly come to Oberon this spring… along with an ancient evil that must finally be laid to rest.

In a month marked by birth, death and marriage, the inhabitants of Oberon must all come to terms with what’s really important to each of them—important enough to die for.

Only one thing is certain. When the winds of change finally stop blowing nothing—and no one—will be the same.

Excerpt:

Today was Palm Sunday, and if he’d still been a good Catholic, Nick knew he’d probably be getting ready to attend Mass. But the Church was something he’d long since fallen away from, and, Good Catholic was a category from which he’d been definitively barred, not just for his divorce and subsequent re-marriage, but for a whole host of supposed sins that, according to canon, had irreparably stained his soul. And while he would have liked to once again experience the feelings of Absolution and Grace, that he used to receive from the sacraments, all things considered, he didn’t miss it very much.

What he would miss, however, were mornings like these, cooking breakfast for his family, and sharing some quality time with his son, Cole.

“You having fun there, buddy?” Nick asked the little boy, smiling at the two year old’s attempts to stir the batter for this morning’s waffles. “You’ve been at that a while. Think it’s almost ready?”

Cole shook his head. “Noooo,” he replied, still gamely slapping the big wooden spoon around in the bowl; clearly intending to beat the batter into complete submission.

“All right, we’ll give it a little longer then,” Nick told him, chuckling to himself as he went back to tending to the orange hollandaise sauce he was making for the eggs Benedict.

Sunday breakfast was Nick’s new sacrament. It was also his favorite meal to cook these days, which was odd, considering the one item he’d always considered his signature dish—meatballs––wasn’t usually thought of as a breakfast staple. However, since his family was, once again, eating Sunday dinner at Lucy’s house, more often than not, breakfast had become his one chance to really cut loose.

Not that his breakfasts were always as elaborate as this morning’s meal, but today was special. It was his forty-fifth birthday, and he felt like celebrating.

He also felt like staying home, drawing the day out, enjoying the time with his family and friends. Which was partly why, when Sinead had invited them all to the inn for breakfast, he’d declined. Much as he loved his friend and appreciated her cooking, he didn’t want to go anywhere today.

The impulse surprised him. He’d realized only recently that he’d finally begun to think of this house as home.

After almost three years, it was long overdue. It was high time he learned to relax into his new life, to accept that fate had handed him a second chance, to stop worrying that it might all be taken away again.

He took the hollandaise off the heat, checked on the home fries warming in the oven, and then took a minute to stir the tomato sauce simmering on the back of the stove.

The aroma, when he lifted the cover off the pot, wafted him back to his own childhood, and made him happier than ever to be spending this time in the kitchen with his own son. “Does that smell good, Cole?” he asked.

The little boy nodded and mumbled, “Yeshh,” but absently, as he continued to concentrate on his work.

At this rate those waffles might end up being part of Monday’s breakfast. “You know you can stop that now, if you want,” Nick suggested, but as he half expected, Cole shook his head stubbornly. “All right, well, let me know if you get tired.”

The rest of breakfast was either warming in the oven or chilling in the fridge––less the eggs, of course, which he’d poach while the waffles cooked––leaving Nick with nothing to do but contemplate dinner.

After breakfast, he’d put the lemon-garlic chicken in the oven, make the meatballs, and stuff the manicotti. Once all of that was accomplished, there was only kale to sauté, eggplant to fry and a huge antipasto salad platter to assemble, with olives, artichokes and marinated mushrooms, roasted peppers and zucchini, a variety of cheeses, smoked meats, capers, anchovies, tuna––and anything else he could think of.

Lucy had offered to make the antipasto as part of her contribution to the meal, but again he’d declined. It was the first dish he’d been allowed to ‘cook’ as a boy helping his parents in the kitchen, and he’d retained a special fondness for it.

Maybe Cole would like to help him with that, too, he thought, smiling as he turned to his son again. “Okay, why don’t you give me that, now, Cole,” he said, attempting to gently pry the bowl of batter away from him.

Cole’s eyes narrowed. From the angry set of his chin and the way he was scowling, Nick was pretty sure he was getting ready to pitch a tantrum.

Quickly, he took the pan of home fries from the oven and spooned a few of them onto a plate. “Here, try these potatoes. Tell me if they’re good.”

For an instant, Cole’s eyes narrowed even more, but then he smiled, reaching eagerly for the plate in Nick’s hand. Nick smiled, too. Despite his own mother’s insistence that Cole was the image of Nick as a baby, Nick didn’t think it was an easy call to make. It was hard to determine which of his parents Cole most resembled. Until he smiled, and then it was no contest. He was Scout all over, when he smiled.

“Happy birthday, Dad,” his daughter, Kate, murmured, drifting into the kitchen to give him a hug.

Nick hugged her back. “Thanks, sweetie. Are you ready for breakfast? I was just about to start the waffles.”

“Okay,” Kate replied agreeably. She smiled at her brother. “Are those good, Cole? Can I have one?”

Cole stopped chewing and looked at her. It was hard to know what he was thinking, but no was his favorite new word, and Nick would have been not at all surprised if he used it now. Instead, Cole extended his hand, and the very soggy looking potato he’d been clutching, toward his sister.

“Mmm. Yum, yum,” Kate said, only pretending to eat it.

Nick smiled at his children. He didn’t have a lot of personal experience with sibling relationships, but he was surprised and gratified by how well his kids seemed to get along. Probably the age difference helped with that, he thought. Still, a toddler and a teenager? He must have been out of his mind starting a second family when he was already in his forties. But, crazy or not, it was what Scout wanted, and he knew he wouldn’t have done a single thing differently.

However, given how strained things had become between them; how moody and short tempered he’d been of late, he wondered if she realized that was still true? Maybe, it was time he made sure she did.

“I tell you what, Kate,” he said, as he poured some coffee into a mug. “Keep an eye on Cole for a couple of minutes, while I go upstairs and wake Scout. Then we can all have breakfast together.”

*****

To read more about this title (including reviews and another excerpt) click on the button.

For more information on the Oberon series, visit the website at www.OberonCalifornia.us

While we're on the subject...

2011-02-24T02:00:00.000-08:00

...of Spring. What, you missed my obsession with the season? Well, anyway, I have a post up at the Nine Naughty Novelists' blog today all about my adventures this week in wineland. But, it seems I'm not yet ready to put the topic to bed and so...here's an excerpt from Touch of a Vanished Hand--book 5 in the Oberon series.

True, the story takes place at the height of Summer, but it's set in a winery so, it works for me. Also, it's got a fabulous new cover as well.

Excerpt:

Nick brought his motorcycle to a stop in the winery’s parking lot. He took off his helmet, and felt the moisture on his skin evaporate in the dry heat radiating from the yellow stone walls.

He looked around grudgingly. Lupa e Cervo was certainly a showplace, no question about it. Christ, even the parking lot offered a fabulous view.

The massive granite blocks that made up the mansion in which the winery was housed were mellowed to a buttery hue, softened by ivy, by bougainvillea, by time. Endless rows of grapevines surrounded the building. They curved over the hills in every direction, drawing the eye along with them. Although Nick knew it was an illusion, the impression that they extended all the way to the ocean which could just barely be seen--a blue smudge far in the distance--was almost irresistible.

And it all belonged to Adam Sasso. Scout’s stepbrother. The only family she had left and, for the past six months, a pestiferous pain in Nick’s butt.

“Nice view,” Ryan remarked taking off his own helmet. “Guess I didn’t really get a chance to see it last time.” He sighed--a little too heavily, Nick thought, given the circumstances.

“Yeah.” Nick eyed the other man curiously. Ryan seemed unusually quiet today. “Thanks for coming out here with me.”

For a moment a look of surprise flashed across Ryan’s face. “Oh, uh...yeah, sure. No problem,” he said as he climbed off his bike. “What’s the deal here anyway?”

Nick shrugged. “Ah, who knows. Sasso’s claiming someone’s been attempting to break into the place. I asked him if he wanted to file a report, but of course he can’t prove that anything’s going on, so he declined.”

Nick paused to light a cigarette. Adam was up to something. That was why he’d asked Ryan to tag along. He wanted a witness to this meeting--just in case. He focused his attention on the view as he shook out the match, and tried hard to shake off the feeling he was being manipulated. “Scout’s show is happening in a little less than two weeks. Supposedly I’m here to offer any suggestions I can think of in the way of increased security.”

“Security, huh?” Ryan chuckled as they headed up the stairs and across the wide stone terrace. “Think maybe the guy’s wishing he’d taken a few of the dogs, after all?”

“Yeah, maybe.” The dogs would have been a good idea. But although Nick, Ryan and most of their friends and relations had all adopted at least one of the supposedly wild dogs which had terrorized the town for months, Adam had declined that offer, as well. At the time, he’d claimed he had all the security he needed. Nick couldn’t help but wonder what had happened in the meantime to change his mind.

The view from the terrace was even more impressive than the view from the parking lot. From here, he could see a small, white farmhouse, bracketed by trees, anchored on a postage stamp lawn of emerald green. And, beyond it, the distant shimmer of a tiny lake, set like a sapphire in the wide gold field that was home to half a dozen peacefully grazing horses.

“Nick. Thank you for coming.” Adam’s voice came out of the shadows, the rest of him emerged an instant later.

With his shoulder-length, blond hair, patrician features and wide green eyes Adam Sasso looked like he had just stepped from the pages of GQ. He was impeccably dressed, as always, and his gracious tones and graceful nod of greeting seemed too studied to be genuine.

Nick supposed he was meant to be impressed by Adam’s sudden appearance--or possibly discomfited by it--but he’d met enough guys like Adam in his life to know better than to take any of them too seriously.

They were pretentious SOB’s, the whole lot of them. Former nerds who’d reinvented themselves and seemed honestly to believe that being smart and financially stable gave them special rights--placed them above the law. Nick usually took great pleasure in putting them back in their places.

A pleasure which fate had denied him in this case.

“Adam.” He nodded curtly at the closest thing he had to a brother-in-law. “You remember Ryan, don’t you? What can we do for you?”

Adam gazed unblinkingly at Ryan for a long moment before slowly extending his hand. “Yes, of course. You were with Siobhan Quinn at the dinner here last February, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, that was me.” Ryan shook hands with him briefly, and then looked away across the terrace. “Nice place you’ve got.”

“Thank you.” There was a thread of amusement in Adam’s voice. He turned to Nick. “Come on, why don’t I show you where the problem is?”

*****

To read more about this title (including reviews and another excerpt) click on the button.

For more information on the Oberon series, visit the website at www.OberonCalifornia.us

Speaking of Spring...

2011-02-23T10:11:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot about Spring this week--never mind what the calendar says, or the likelihood that it will start raining again tomorrow. Never mind the fact I'm wearing socks this morning because it's really not as warm as it could be. Bottom line: the sun's out, the sky's blue, there are flowers in bloom. It's Spring, damn it.

And, because it's Spring, I'm celebrating with an excerpt from my quintessential spring book, A Taste of Honey.

Ooh, and here's a look at its snazzy new cover:

Excerpt:

Lucy drove out to the nursery early that afternoon, with the windows rolled down. No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom, an album she’d ‘liberated’ from her teenage son’s music collection several years earlier, was blasting from the Explorer’s CD player, and a plan for fixing the deteriorating relationship between her husband and her son was cooking in her head. In fact, if things worked out the way she hoped they would, she might even be able to give her own relationship with Dan some added spice.

It was a glorious Spring day. The air along the coast was warm and lushly scented with yerba buena, eucalyptus and sage. Fat, majestic puffs sailed across the sky, casting cloud-shaped shadows onto the earth and sea below, further mottling the already variegated landscape. When she turned off the coast road onto the canyon drive that led to the nursery, she saw that the hills that lined the way, gray-green, emerald, and gold for most of the year, had been transformed. They’d blossomed overnight into an almost endless expanse of orange and blue--mostly California poppies and lupine--disrupted only where the spiky silver foliage and dried flower heads of wild artichokes broke through to tower above them.

It was the same thing that happened every year, but, as always, the beauty of it took her by surprise and made her catch her breath.

It was a perfect day for a picnic, she had decided after leaving Marsha and Scout that morning; and so she had gone home and packed a basket with which she hoped to tempt Dan to join her at Seth’s ball game this afternoon.

The relationship between the two men in her life had become so strained of late. And, even though she had taken care to pack all of Dan’s favorites--marinated artichoke hearts, olives stuffed with sun dried tomatoes, roasted eggplant and goat cheese sandwiches on fresh foccacia bread, and a mint-mango salad--she wasn’t sure that even that would do the trick.

It wasn’t so much that she feared her husband’s relationship with their son was in any real danger of becoming irrevocably damaged, as had happened to Dan’s relationship with his own father; although the possibility had certainly occurred to her, and more than once. It was just that it was so very obvious how much both he and Seth were suffering from their estrangement. And it would be good for Seth to see that, annoyed as he often was with him, his father still supported his efforts.

Besides, she knew very well that her own attendance at his games was almost more frustrating for Seth than supportive. Despite all her years as a spectator, Lucy still seemed to be missing the finer points of the game. Their mutual interest in baseball had always been a passion that Dan and Seth enjoyed sharing. And really, what was the point of sports, if not to allow men the opportunity to renew their bonds with one another without shedding too much blood?

She pulled off the road before she reached the nursery’s main entrance, unlocked one of the gates that led directly into the fields, and detoured through the back of the nursery’s grounds to check on her hives. Sunlight shimmered in the air, and as she walked through the field she breathed in deep lungfuls scented with the heady fragrance of flowering plants and warm earth. The bees were everywhere; crawling on the flowers, filling the air with their busy flights, and clustering around the hives’ entrances in a carefully choreographed confusion. Lucy reminded herself to keep all her movements slow as she moved among them. She was entranced by their gentleness as they detoured around her. Even without the honey, she’d enjoy keeping them. Of course, she hadn’t been stung yet, although everyone who worked with bees assured her that it was inevitable, and she hadn’t yet been forced to contend with a swarm, either. Perhaps she’d feel a little less enthusiastic after either of those occurred. But for now, it was a terrific little sideline business.

She watched the bees for several minutes longer, observing their activity, trying to take a count of the bees as they moved in and out of the hives, as she’d been taught to do; looking for anything unusual, any suggestion that the hives were ailing. Finally, satisfied that all was well, she slowly turned and walked back towards her car. She’d come back out here this weekend, with all her equipment, so she could inspect the hives properly, but right now, she had an even more interesting project to work on.

Seth was not the only one whose bonds with Dan could use a little renewing, she thought. It had been months since she and Dan had enjoyed the kind of romantic adventure she had planned for them. Altogether too many months. And man could not live by sports alone.

She’d included a jar of her honey in the picnic basket. If she and Dan could find a private, secluded little spot for their picnic, perhaps she’d find a way to increase his appreciation for her new hobby.

*****

Click on the button to read more about this title--including reviews and another excerpt.

For more information about the series, visit the Oberon website at www.OberonCalifornia.us

Myths and Legends

2011-02-20T10:15:00.000-08:00

It's Spring! Well, okay, not really. But it feels like it today, or at least it looks like it, what with the sun finally coming out from behind the clouds and the cherry trees in bloom. I love cherry blossoms. In fact, I think I may need to get my son to add some falling cherry blossoms to my tattoos.Hmm...

Cherry blossoms make me think of cherries--which I love, btw--and that reminds me of cherry trees, and that reminds me that tomorrow is President's Day. Which might seem an odd train of thought to a lot of people because you just don't hear the old story about George Washington and the cherry tree much anymore. With good reason, I might add, since it's completely fictitious. Not, of course, that there's anything wrong with fiction!

I guess it must be coded in our DNA, this urge to create not just stories but myths, legends, fables...or, as some might term it, lies. But a made-up story that pretends to be real created to teach children the importance of telling the truth? I know it's early and I haven't had much coffee yet today, but my mind is seriously boggling.

As luck would have it, I've been working this week on a story about three people who are all lying, mostly to themselves, but to each other as well. And, no, I'm not going to share anything from that one just yet because I'm just not that far into it.

Instead, I'm going to share a snippet of Old Sins, Long Shadows, the second book in the Children of Night series and the sequel to In the Dark. I wish I could share the cover with you all as well, but I can't yet. Trust me, however, it's gorgeous!

This series is about vampires, so it fits in well with the whole "myths and legends" title of this post. In this book, a lot of the focus is on Conrad and Damian: how they met, how they fell in love, how they fell apart and came back together again. I have several more books planned and there's still a lot that hasn't been revealed about their respective backgrounds--and, oh, the reviews I'm going to get about all the loose ends I've left hanging! I can only imagine. *sigh*

Still, I'm as satisfied as I can be with this book. Maybe too satisfied as I'm having a little trouble letting it go so that I can work on other books. So, I'm going to post the blurb and a bit of an excerpt here, and then go back to working on...I don't know...something else. Look for this book to be available on May 3rd. Just a little over two months away. I can't wait.

For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad struggles against the urge to bring his estranged mate back to his bed. Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.

When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives, it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.

“Ah, there you are!” Damian swept into the kitchen, startling Conrad, who was seated at the table. “Good. I’ve been looking for you.”

Conrad fumbled the PVC blood bag he was holding, nearly dropping it. He bit back an oath and glanced up, scowling. Damian was dressed as though he’d just come from the gym, and all in black like a damn cliché. His dark hair was pulled away from his face and the scent of exertion still clung to his skin. Conrad’s fingers clenched more tightly around the bag in his hand. His heart pounded with a savage rhythm. Of all the people he could not bear to be this close to right now, with his hunger running rampant and his self-control at low ebb, Damian undoubtedly topped the list.

“What do you want?” he growled, frustrated by his inability to tame the simmering need that even now was urging him to grab Damian by the throat, slam him against the nearest surface, bury his fangs in his neck and reclaim what was his. He buried his fangs in the bag instead and felt his gut heave at the faint chemical taste.

It tasted wrong. It was always going to taste wrong. And it was never going to be enough to satisfy either his hunger or his thirst.

“I need to talk to you about something.” Seemingly oblivious to Conrad’s foul mood, Damian pulled out a chair and seated himself. He was close enough to Conrad they could have clasped hands on the tabletop had either of them been so inclined. Close enough that they might speak softly to each other and not be overheard. Entirely. Too. Close.

“Very well then. Talk.” Forcing himself not to recoil, Conrad swallowed another mouthful. Another tremor wracked his frame. He tried not to imagine the pitiful picture he must be presenting. He would survive it. His pride had taken worse hits than this over the centuries.

Damian made no answer. Conrad glanced impatiently at him. “Well?”

Damian waved a hand at the bags heaped on the table. “What are you doing here with all of this?”

It was so stupid a question Conrad refused to even dignify it with an answer. “Is that really what you came down here to talk to me about? I would have thought you’d have better things to do with your time.” He drained the pouch in his hand, tossed it aside and was reaching for another when Damian put out a hand to stop him.

“Espere,” he said. “Querido, wait.” His fingers closed on Conrad’s wrist and time stalled.

A low growl rose from Conrad’s throat as he stared, transfixed, at the hand on his arm. His control began to slip. Furious, he lifted his gaze to Damian’s face and the hand was hurriedly withdrawn, but Conrad’s skin still burned from the touch. With his eyes locked on Damian’s, daring him to try and interfere again, he picked up a new bag and deliberately sank his teeth into the plastic.

Damian’s nostrils flared. “Honestly, if this is all you’ve been eating, it’s no wonder you’ve yet to regain your full strength. You need fresh food, Conrad. Living food. Shall I find you some?”

Conrad sighed. He knew exactly what he needed and didn’t need, as well as what he could and could not have. He drained the second bag and reached for a third, forcing himself to speak calmly. “No, this is not all I’m eating. But, this early in the day… I fear I do not always find myself in the proper frame of mind to attempt anything else.”

He toyed with the unappetizing bag while he considered his options, coming quickly to the same conclusion he’d already drawn. There were none. By later this evening the edge of his hunger would be blunted. The worst of his venom would have been reabsorbed. He would have more choices. Until then, no matter how much he wished to feed from the living, he would not do it. He couldn’t take the chance of damaging one of the staff. That would only cause trouble, start rumors and end badly. As for attempting to take nourishment from one of his own… Appealing though the thought of it was, as an option it was even less acceptable.

His gaze following his thoughts, he cast a glance in Damian’s direction. His eyes cut to the scarf knotted at Damian’s throat. Anguish flared. Did Damian mean for it to serve as a constant reminder to him of the injuries it covered—injuries Conrad himself had inflicted—or was that just a happy accident?

He forced his gaze back to Damian’s face and inquired coldly, “You weren’t by any chance thinking of offering yourself for the purpose of slaking my thirst, were you?” As he’d expected, Damian’s face blanched. One hand crept protectively toward his neck. Conrad sneered, cruelly amused by the sudden increase in the tempo of Damian’s pulse. “No. Not such a pleasant thought, is it?”

Damian swallowed hard. He placed both hands on the table and deliberately folded them together. His face impassive, he met Conrad’s eyes with a steady gaze. “You still aren’t sleeping well, are you? Is it the nightmares again?”

Above all else, Conrad hated that Damian should know him so well. That he could so unerringly pinpoint the exact location of every weakness, every fault line, every flaw. “Yes.”

“What can I do to help?”

Conrad sighed. “You can tell me whatever it is you came here to talk to me about and then you can leave me to finish my meal in peace.”

Damian frowned crossly. “Very well, then. We need to do something about the twins. They’re having a little more trouble adjusting to life here than I’d expected. I thought, perhaps, if I could explain to them—”

Conrad put up a hand to silence him. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Just enough so they can understand why—”

“I said no!”

“You did not even let me finish.” Damian’s dark eyes narrowed in annoyance. “How do you know what I was about to say?”

“It really doesn’t matter, does it?” Conrad asked in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. “I know you’re hoping I’ll change my mind about something, that I’ll agree to do things in a different way—your way. I have no intention of doing so.”

Happy Valentine's Day!!

2011-02-14T12:00:00.000-08:00

Since it's Valentine's Day (and since I still have all these pretty little hearts sprinkling the page) I thought I'd get into the spirit of things by posting an excerpt from Sound of a Voice That is Still.

This is one of my favorite Valentine's Day scenes, featuring one of my favorite couples...

Lucy took a long last look around the bedroom. It was perfect. Rose scented

candles stood ready on each of the nightstands, and in their bathroom a bottle of vanilla flavored massage oil steamed peacefully in the bottle warmer. A picnic basket

containing most of the ingredients for the meal she’d planned sat ready on the bed.

Olives and oysters and double cream Brie. And cherry tomatoes—out of season, of

course, and not nearly as good as the ones they’d get later in the year, but that could not be helped. She’d fared better with the avocados and the artichokes.

Two weeks of searching had turned up several bottles of a nice Cabernet that was a

near match for the wine they had shared all those years ago. She’d struck out when it

came to the fresh strawberries, however. To compensate she’d bought a box of

marzipan fruit and two cans of whipped cream.

She was ready. Closing the door behind her, she headed down the hallway toward

her kitchen to check on the rest of the meal. She looked at her watch, to see how much

time she had, and felt a momentary tightness in her chest when she saw how late it was. Where was he? Surely he wouldn’t be late tonight?

Not that there was any hurry, of course. They had all night to eat and talk, and to

love each other. To remember the way things used to be. Could still be. Were.

She could hear Mandy and Kate giggling in the family room as they watched one of

the videos she’d rented for them. She thought of Scout and her cousin, probably

already checked in at the spa—already in bed, perhaps. And Marsha, out to dinner with

Sam. She tried to rein in the jealousy which for weeks had threatened to overwhelm

her.

She’d had a whole lifetime of loving and being loved, after all. It was petty of her

to begrudge her two best friends a little of the same happiness she had, wasn’t it? But

she did, all the same.

As she checked on the artichokes, wiggling a couple of the outer leaves to see how

loose they were, she imagined how it would feel to slide one of them into his mouth, to feel the touch of his lips as they brushed against the tips of her fingers. The faint tug as

she pulled the leaf out again, and his teeth clamped down on it, resisting her. She

imagined the taste of and the feel of melted butter as it dripped down her chin. The

sweet aftertaste in both their mouths as he licked the butter away and then kissed her.

The artichokes were ready she decided, turning off the heat beneath the pot. And so

was she. Ready to break down the wall that had sprung up between her and Dan.

Ready to break through the silence that threatened to suffocate them both. Ready to

reclaim her marriage.

And reclaim her husband, too, from whatever it was that had stolen so much of his

attention recently.

She had everything she needed to accomplish her task, except for one little thing.

Dan still wasn’t home. She resisted the urge to check her watch again, and uncorked

one of the bottles of wine. It was just as well that he was late. It was a fairly young

vintage, after all. It could use a few minutes to breathe. She poured herself a glass of it, anyway, admiring the deep, clear color of the wine.

Three drops, red as heart’s blood fell on the white tile counter. She wiped them up

and licked her finger, and then turned at the sound of the door opening, her chest tight

again.

“Hey babe. Sorry I’m late,” Dan said, smiling as he came toward her. He was

carrying a bouquet of roses and a small, insulated paper bag.

Lucy could hear her heart thudding in her ears. “Hey, yourself,” she murmured,

putting her glass down, and leaning back against the counter. She cocked her head to

the side. “What’s in the bag?”

He put the roses on the counter and leaned in close. “Your Valentine’s present.”

He pushed her hair back behind her ear and nuzzled her neck. His voice was a warm

whisper. “Part of it, anyway. I thought maybe we could take this back to our bedroom

with us later, maybe have our dessert in there tonight?”

He brushed a brief kiss against her lips and then pulled away, and handed her the

bag. “Here. Take a look.” He rested his hands on the counter, one on either side of

her, and watched as she opened the bag.

“Lavender ice cream?” Her favorite. She stared at him in wonder. There was only

one place in town that made it, and then only during the summer. “How’d you get it?”

He flashed her his most mischievous grin. “It was easy. I just called and asked if

they’d make up a batch of it special for me. Told them I’d give them a real good deal

on the lavender this year, if they did. That’s why I’m late tonight, I had to stop

downtown and pick it up.”

Lucy clutched the pint container against her chest, mindless of the chill, as she

thought about the velvety smoothness of the ice cream, the sweet taste of lavender, the way it would feel later tonight, as it melted on her skin.

Dan’s eyes gleamed as he watched her. “Well? Don’t you have anything for me?”

She nodded and reached for his hand. “Come on. I’ll show you. Bring the roses,”

she said, smiling at him over her shoulder.

She’d been foolish to be so worried, she thought, as she led him down the hallway

towards their bedroom. Nothing had changed between them. They were still on the

same wavelength, still in sync. Still in love.

She dropped his hand as they entered the bedroom. Crossing to the bed, she pulled

down a corner of the bedspread, so he could see the rose petals she’d layered between the sheets: red and white, just like the ones he’d brought her.

He smiled at her from across their bed. “The red rose is a falcon and the white rose

is a dove,” he recited softly. “The red rose whispers passion and the white rose

breathes of love. Looks like we might have been thinking along similar lines today.”

“Hmmm.” She returned his smile. “Looks like.”

He frowned suddenly. “Except...I think I may have reversed the order of those

verses.”

She shrugged, and rested one knee on the bed. “Does it really matter?”

“No.” His glance sizzled as it wandered slowly over her. “Not at all. So, what are

you tonight? A falcon, or a dove?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “I haven’t decided, yet. Maybe neither.”

“Neither, huh?” He looked amused. “Why don’t you come over here and let me

change your mind about that.”

She peered up at him teasingly, “What’s your hurry, Cavanaugh? You got places

to go?”

“Just one,” he said. His glance went briefly to the basket on the bed between them.

“Are we having a picnic?”

She nodded. “Take a look.”

She held her breath and watched as he lifted the lid and looked inside; watched the

smile that slowly crept across his face, watched his throat work as he swallowed. He

remembered. Her heart soared at the look in his eyes when he looked at her again; at

the heat and the passion that blazed within them.

“C’mere,” he said and his voice, husky with emotion, warm and dark, set all her

nerves aflame. He reached for her across the bed and she went to him, she felt his arms close around her, felt the sting of tears in her eyes as he kissed her. His lips, warm and familiar, told her everything she wanted to know. All the things he hadn’t put into words in so long.

My favorite thing about this book is how all the couples' stories intersect and parallel each others. And I have rather a few couples, as it happens; four, to be exact--which is fitting since it's actually the fourth book I wrote, even though it's only number three in the series.

I hope you'll check it out, if you haven't already. It's available in paperback and digital formats and it's also one of the books I'll be signing in LA this April at the Romantic Times Booklover's Convention.

Paperback: 446 pages
Publisher: SynergEbooks (April 15, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 074430783X
ISBN-13: 978-0744307832

ebook: Word count 159,168
ISBN: 0744306892

Heat Index

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket, Epub

Spreading the Love Blog Tour

2011-02-11T21:00:00.000-08:00

Welcome back, blog hoppers and happy Valentine’s Day! Once again we have our awesome tour bar at the top of the page (courtesy of our awesome tour guides—thank you Alanna and Michael). Simply follow the trail for yummy reads and a chance to win some great books and other prizes.

If you stumbled upon this tour by accident (or if you happen to fall off along the way) not to worry! Just visit http://justromance.me/bloghop/ to start at the beginning.

A Rose for Rosa

He won't have remembered that it's Valentine's Day. As Rosa pedaled her way through the crowded streets on her way to meet Marq for their weekly coffee “date”, she reminded herself over and over again not to expect too much. It was too soon in their relationship for her to assume that February 14th meant anything to him other than another Monday.

It had been like-at-first-sight when the two of them met—both involved with someone else, both more than content with friendship…and a little harmless flirtation on the side. They’d shared laughter at each other’s jokes. They’d shared sympathy when their relationships ended. Then, just this past weekend, they’d shared a pizza, their first kiss, and the realization that their friendship had unexpectedly caught fire. But it was too soon to acknowledge that fact with hearts and flowers—wasn't it? It was just too soon for Valentine’s Day—much too soon.

Reaching the café, Rosa parked her bike, straightened her clothes, tried to settle her nerves. What was the big deal? It was just coffee with a friend—with Marquis—just like every week. But it really wasn’t like every week, and she couldn’t fool herself into believing that it was. Not with lacy red hearts decorating the café’s steam-fogged windows, or with memories of Marq’s lips on hers setting her own heart to pounding.

“Too soon,” she muttered to herself again. “Maybe next year.”

If only they’d figured things out earlier—even a couple of weeks earlier. But what was the use of “what ifs”? They hadn't figured things out earlier. And, now?

“It's just another Monday,” she told herself as she straightened her shoulders and reached for the door knob.

Warmth and chatter and the sweet smell of coffee and pastries washed over her as she stepped inside. Her gaze went at once to their usual table. Her heart sank when she found it empty. He was always here before her. Always. Unless he wasn’t coming.

There’d been a few times when one of them hadn’t been able to make it—although even from the start they’d each been scrupulous about letting the other know if they were going to be absent or late. Maybe she’d read things wrong this weekend? Maybe she’d scared him off somehow?

“Happy Valentine’s Day, pretty lady.”

Rosa’s heart stuttered at his words—and at the sight of Marq, on one knee, holding out a rose. “For me?” she couldn’t keep from asking, even as she blushed over her own stupidity. Of course it’s for you, you idiot. “You remembered.” There. That was at least a little better.

“A rose for my Rosa,” Marq murmured with a little smile. Then his eyes grew wide, his gaze vaguely reproachful. “Of course I remembered—did you really think I wouldn’t?”

“I-I thought, maybe, it was…too soon.”

Nodding, Marq got to his feet. “I know,” he said as he embraced her. “We really should have figured things out much earlier, shouldn’t we?”

“Things?” She returned his embrace, reveling in the spicy scent of soap and cologne and man.

Marq pulled away a little, gazing at her gravely. "Yes, "things"." He shook his head. “I think I’ve loved you from the start.”

“Oh.” Rosa’s heart sped up. She wouldn’t be needing coffee to get her blood moving this morning. In fact, she might never need coffee again. She couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. “Me, too.”

She sighed blissfully as his lips met hers again. So what if she hadn’t thought to get anything for him? They had time now. She could make it up to him. And next year…next year they’d both remember.

♥♥♥♥♥

My prize this time around is a download of Let Me Count the Ways.

She's thinking fling, he's thinking forever.

Former film star Claire Calhoun has been Mike's fantasy since the first time he saw her bare it all for the camera. Now, she's in his bed and he'll do whatever’s necessary to keep her there. But he's not a stalker, right? He's just a devoted fan.

To read more about this title, go to http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com/books/letmecounttheways.htm

If you enjoyed the stories posted during our New Year’s tour, and want to read them again (along with some additions) be sure to pick up your copy at:

http://justromance.me/planning/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Romancing-the-New-Year1.pdf

Romancing the New Year Blog Hop

2010-12-31T21:05:00.000-08:00

Woo-hoo! Welcome to the first blog hop of 2011. I'm sure you all know the drill by now, don't you? Simply use the bar at the top of the page, follow the trail all the way to the end (visiting lots of fabulous authors along the way) and you'll be entered to win a pre-loaded Kindle and other great books.

If you stumbled upon this tour by accident (or if you happen to fall off along the way) not to worry! Just go to http://justromance.me/bloghop/ to start at the beginning.

Also, don't forget to join us this Sunday, 7 pm EST, at Gem Sivad's chat room for the chance to win even MORE prizes! Details can be found HERE and HERE.

That strip of bare skin across Kristy’s back—the one that appeared in the gap that stretched between the hem of her shirt and her pant’s waistband whenever she bent to get something from beneath the bar, as she was doing right now—had been driving Tony crazy all evening. Working this New Year’s Eve party together—why had he ever thought that was a good idea?

Oh, yeah. The money. And the chance to spend time with her. Perhaps the chance to sneak a kiss at midnight.

That hadn’t happened though. When the balloons had dropped, just a couple of minutes earlier, they’d both been far too busy pouring drinks and making sure everyone's glasses were topped off for the thought to even enter his head.

The guests were kissing though, especially that one couple on the other side of the bar. They’d locked lips even before the final ten-second countdown had begun and if they’d come up for air any time since, Tony must have missed it. All around them, people continued to celebrate the new year with toasts and smiles and kisses…

“Hey, bartender, can I get another over here?”

...all except for the old man who sat alone at the end of the bar. nursing his porter Tony had no idea what the man was doing here tonight. Why come alone to a New Year’s Eve party? Why sit by yourself and drink alone all night?

“Bartender?” the man repeated.

“Yes, sir,” Tony replied. “Right away.”

But getting the man his beer meant passing behind Kristy, who was still bent over the bar. And that was a problem because all Tony could think about was how it would feel wanted to press close behind her, slide his hand up her back beneath her shirt, and pin her against the polished teak surface of the bar. He could imagine the look of surprise on her face as she'd turn to look at him, the flare of heat in her cheeks, the way desire might darken her eyes...

“Tony. What are you doing?” she’d ask.

“Don't move,” he’d say, using his other hand to tug at her pants; so curious to discover what type of underwear she had on.

A thong would be hot but he doubted that was the case. Wouldn’t the strap be visible with her bent over the way she was, her tempting derriere on display? Maybe a pair of bikini panties then…but, on second thought, surely there would be lines, if that were the case?

He glanced again at Kristy’s upturned butt. Could it be…?

“Going commando?” He’d raise an eyebrow, put on an expression of shocked disapproval. “Have you been a naughty girl this year?”

So, okay, the year was, technically, only a couple of minutes old and, besides, he was a week late for the whole naughty or nice thing, but who could resist the temptation she represented? He’d push his hand deeper into her pants, seeking the wetness that would let him know she was enjoying this game as much as he was.

She’d wiggle her ass, as though she were trying to get away, but her fingers would be clenched on the edge of the bar. She’d rock her hips, pushing herself more firmly into his hand with every motion until his fingers were sliding back and forth over slick, wet flesh. He’d lean in even closer then and whisper, “Do you need a spanking?”

At that she’d gasp. “Tony, not now. There are people watching!”

Well, that was a given. There would definitely be people watching them. Like those two at the back of the room. The ones who hadn’t once taken their eyes off that couple near the bar who were still kissing.

“Let ‘em watch,” he’d murmur, stroking harder.

“Hey! Buddy,” the man at the end of the bar barked suddenly. “Think there might be a chance of me getting that beer some time this year?”

Tony started, coloring as he was jerked back to reality. “Yes, sir,” he replied, shaking his head in an effort to clear away the fantasy.

He headed for the cooler where the beer was stored. “Behind you,” he said as he passed Kristy, his voice so thick with lust he barely recognized it.

She straightened abruptly and collided against him as she took a startled step backward. Her hair, and the scent of her fragrance tickled his nose and he reached for her without thinking.

“Careful,” he cautioned, instinctively taking hold of her hips to help her regain her balance.

“Tony.” She craned her neck to glance up at him, arching her back a little as she did, so that her butt brushed against his groin. He groaned softly. A faint flush colored her cheeks. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

"No problem," he said with a weak smile. Impulsively, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Happy new year.”

“To you too.” Kristy turned in his grasp and pressed against him, planting a kiss on his lips that seemed every bit as heated as the ones he’d been imagining. "A very happy new year."

oh, yeah, baby, Tony thought, the old man and his beer forgotten now. But, just as he was about to pull her closer, Kristy pushed out of his grasp. “No,” she whispered. “Not now. We’re working.”

Not now? Tony grinned. “So…you're saying...later then?”

Kristy flashed a wicked look as she spun around and bent down again to reach into the beer cooler. “Maybe,” she said as she passed him the beer he’d come to get.

The hell with that. Tony shook his head. “Definitely,” he corrected. Then he brushed his lips against hers and turned away once more.

Another couple of hours and this party would be over. Theirs would be just beginning. The New Year was already off to a great start.

*******

Happy New Year, everyone! I wish you all a very peaceful and prosperous 2011.

Please visit my website at: www.PGForte.com