Do You Want to Play a Game? Again?

 

Next week I'm doing a soft relaunch of my novella Truth or Dare, the first book in my previously published trilogy Games We Play. Book two releases March 3 and book 3 on March 17--all three are available for preorder now. It's the first time I've done a pre-order and I'm a little nervous about it. I'm starting off very slowly with this because I don't want to mess up, and I'm still not sure of the best way to go about promoting a release when the book's not new. 

Considering I have a nine part series I'm also hoping to release this year, I guess I'd better learn quick!

I spent most of this past week reformatting all three of the books and something unexpected happened. I fell  back in love with my characters. So, let me introduce you to a few of them--or reintroduce you, if you're one of the folks who missed them the first time around. 

The Wild Geese Inn, which is where all the stories are set, is a smallish resort hotel that has seen better days. Located in the fictional town of Atlas Beach. And, seriously, WTF is wrong with my fellow New Jerseyans that no one ever thought to give that name to an actual town? Atlas Beach that was once a very popular Destination of Choice for Jersey Shore-goers but now, much like the hotel itself, it's fallen out of favor. And that was before Hurricane Sandy showed up to beat the everliving crap out of it. The the town is rebuilding. The hotel? Ah, that's where our story begins.

"Wild Geese" is a term that was first coined in the 16th century. It initially referred to a particular brigade of soldiers who left Ireland to fight in France. Over the next few centuries the meaning changed--as frequently happens! At first it was applied to any Irish soldier who left to fight abroad, and gradually it began to be used to reference any Irish emigrant.

The Inn was founded by an unnamed ancestor of our protagonists. All we know is that he, or she, came from Ireland, settled in Atlas Beach and opened a hotel. It's possible the pub came first, and the hotel came later (in fact that's very, very possible--and would explain a lot!) but now it's just one big, sprawling, Victorian-era, conglomeration of accomodations. There's the hotel itself--a grand old building that's big on charm and romance, but totally lacking in modern amenities. And, it's haunted. There's a restaurant, the aforementioned pub, the only part of the package that works year 'round and which, seemingly, has a boggart attached to it. Boggarts are Scottish, and how it came to live in an Irish pub is anyone's guess. There are also beach cottages that are located on the adjacent blocks, and which--by and large--are only habitable during the summer months. 

The property has been in the same family since it first opened, but since it has always been handed down along the matrilineal line, the names keep changing. When the story opens, matriarch Moira Walsh Gallagher has just passed away, leaving the hotel to her three adult grandchildren, Brenda Donovan, Luke Kelly, and Gwyn Carmichael. 

Great-grandfather Walsh (Moira's father) is the closest thing the family has to a patriarch, and given that his wife kicked him to the curb, we can assume that he wasn't a very good one. He's the man responsible for the family curse, but since no one believes in the curse anyway, they don't hold it against him. Much.

Gwyn Carmichael is the youngest of the cousins, although given that there's only a five month age difference between Brenda (the oldest) and  and Gwyn (the youngest) with Luke more or less in the middle, that doesn't mean much. Out of the three cousins, she's probably the one who's spent the most time at the hotel--she and her mom even lived there for awhile when she was a kid. So it's not surprising that she's also the most emotionally invested. Currently, Gwyn's in charge of the hotel and restaurant. She's the only one of the cousins on speaking terms with the hotel ghosts.

Berke Weidman was Gwyn's college boyfriend--the good guy who still managed to break her heart when he left her for his bad boy best friend Cam Steiner. Gwyn hasn't seen either of the men since the super hot, totally disastrous Valentine's Day weekend the three of them spent in one of the hotel's cottages. 

Now, it's Valentine's Day once more and they DID NOT just show up at her door again! Gwyn's ready to peace out on whatever the guys are planning, but it seems the ghosts have other ideas.

Luke Kelly is the middle child of the three cousins. Well, technically, of course, they're all only children, but... Luke's birthday falls midway between the two girls', and "between the two girls" is where he spent most of his childhood (no! NOT like that!) breaking up their squabbles and attempting to keep the peace, etc. 

Luke's domain is the pub, and his two bête noires are the boggart who messes with the bar, and Kristy DiLuca, who messes with his head, and his heart, and always has. Luke's a sadist, and even if Kristy hadn't friend-zoned him back when they were kids, he'd still be reluctant to introduce her to all his kinks. 

Kristy has loved, lusted, and longed for her good friend for as far back as she can remember. But Luke grew up with two gorgeous cousins, and Kristy could never believe he could ever really be interested in plain old her. Little does he know, but she'd love for him to do all the kinky stuff he's dreamed of doing. Luckily for the two of them, the boggart's got their  back...or does he? Pinning all your hopes on a mischief-making spirit is probably not the best idea! 

Brenda Donovan is the most responsible of the cousins, or at least she thinks she is. But, then again, she also thinks she knows best because she's the oldest. Needless to say, the other two don't take that all too seriously. Still, they happily put her in charge of the business side of things, because that's what she trained in, having gone to school to study hotel management while the others got more hands-on experience. 

Like her cousins, Brenda has always dreamed of someday returning to Atlas Beach and running the Wild Geese Inn. But, now that someday is here, she's not sure the three of them are ready for it. The hotel's losing money and unless Brenda can come up with a solid plan, the three of them are going to lose their entire inheritance.  That's where Max comes in...or so she thinks.

Max Murphy is a bit of a dark horse. He's working undercover at the Inn. Brenda thinks he's helping her negotiate a profitable sale of the property. Brenda's cousins think he's warming Brenda's bed. There's more going on than any of the cousins realize--but is it destiny taking a hand, or the family curse kicking in? Only time will tell...

Click HERE to read the prologue!

Gwyn has her hands full these days trying to help save the family business -- a quirky hotel on the Jersey Shore. She has no time for romance. But when the two men with whom she once spent a drunken menage weekend show up with a sexy proposition, how can she resist? Berke and Cam might have broken her heart once, but Gwyn is older now and wiser. She's not looking for forever. She just wants a good time. And, after all, it is Valentine's Day. 

 For Berke and Cam, the weekend isn't just about fun, or adding some spice to their marriage; it's about winning back the woman who got away, and convincing her to give a committed three-way relationship a shot. They each have skills that could help make the hotel a success -- and they're not above bartering to get what they want. but first they have to get past the walls Gwyn's built to keep them out. But while Cam's biggest concern is making sure Gwyn doesn't break Berke's heart a second time, Berke is worried about what Cam will think if he learns about Berke's part in screwing things up the last time around.

Buy Links (more Coming Soon)

Free For the Holidays!

 

My Ugly Christmas Sweater story, Counting On Christmas (which is a sequel, of sorts, to Let Me Count the Ways) is currently available as a FREE READ. 

Mike's been a very good boy this year and Santa Claire has the perfect present picked out for him--one that's both naughty and nice! ​ 

***This story was originally released as part of the Nine Naughty Novelists' Ugly Christmas Sweater story collection *** ​ 

Click HERE to download.

This story is ONLY available during the Holidays--to make it a little special--and THIS YEAR, to make things even MORE special, I've decided to make Let Me Count the Ways available too.

She's thinking fling, he's thinking forever. 

 Sexy former film star Claire Calhoun is used to having her pick of studly young men. Now that she and Derek have called it quits, however, the actress-turned-entrepreneur is feeling vulnerable. After one mojito too many at a party one night, she decides it would be fun to try something new-in this case, Mike Sherman, her staid accountant and long-time fan. 

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

Click HERE to download

And here's an excerpt from Let Me Count the Ways. Because I  love excerpts. 

Claire 

The gallery was crowded. The music was loud and not to my liking. And although some of the art on display was interesting enough, let’s face it; I wasn’t in the market for any more investments. I’d sunk almost everything I had into The Body Electric, which was still in its ‘hot new thing’ phase. Sure, business was good—for now. But who knew how long that would last? 

Still, the evening wasn’t a total loss. The drinks were complimentary and the bartender was to die for. I sipped my mojito and looked him over once again. 

He caught my look and smiled. “How is everything?” he asked, meaning my drink. 

“Just delicious,” I replied, making sure he knew I didn’t. 

Could I just say right here that I love men? For, oh, so many reasons. Just the sheer maleness of them. Even the sight of a five o’clock shadow on a rugged, square chin can turn me on. Can make my skin burn. Can make my fingers itch with the urge to touch and make me quiver as I imagine soft, sandpapery warmth in all my most sensitive places. Then there’s the strength in their hands, their fingers. The softness of their lips. The musk of their sweat. I swear those veins that stand out on their arms when they flex their muscles are enough, sometimes, to make me crazy. Not to mention the muscles themselves. 

The bartender had it all going on—including a killer smile and a soulful, sweet expression beneath a pair of jet black brows. He was an actor, of course. Just like everyone in this town. At least, everyone under twenty-five. That seems to be the cut-off. By twenty-six you know if you stand the ghost of a chance or are just marking time. If you’re still in the business at twenty-eight it’s because you’ve either tasted success or figured out that there’s nothing else you’re suited for. 

When I was twenty-five, I thought I was Money. I had it made. It didn’t last. I wonder, sometimes, if it wouldn’t have been better—for me—if it hadn’t ever happened at all. Sure, I wouldn’t have been famous, but maybe I’d have been happy instead. 

Some days it feels like I gave up a lot to get here. Others, it feels like I gave up too much. Still, even on those other days, fame does have its perks. Maybe especially on those days. I’m a name. I’m a face. And I could still recall how the game was played. 

“What’s your name, sweetie?” I asked, getting into the role. The bartender’s eyes lit up. 

“Javier,” he replied, with another deadly smile. 

I pushed my glass across the bar and returned his smile with one of my own; every bit as lethal. “Well, Javier, the ice in my drink has begun to melt. Why don’t you be a darling and see if you can’t find a way to freshen it up for me, okay?” 

His smile disappeared. “Right away, Miss Calhoun,” he said as he hustled away. 

“Claire,” I murmured watching him run. Have I mentioned he had a nice butt, too? “Call me Claire.” 

Would Javier sweetie really be quite so attentive if I was just a washed-up, not quite middle-aged, no-one-in-particular? Not bloody likely. But even tarnished stars still have some shine. No doubt he thought I could open doors for him. That I knew people who knew people who would give him a break. And maybe I did. Maybe I would. For a price. 

Cold? Possibly. But don’t expect me to shed any tears over yet another aspiring Adonis. This town is full of them. And, male or female, we all have to pay our dues. There’s only one real difference between Javier and me and it’s this: when I was in his shoes I was wearing heels. 

In less than a minute, he was back with a fresh new mojito. I smiled my thanks. “So, Claire, what are you doing after the party tonight?” he leaned in to ask, ambition gleaming brightly in those sweet brown eyes. No doubt he’d checked out the room while he was re-filling my drink. He’d obviously concluded that I was either the biggest name here or the easiest to hit on. Maybe both. The next move was mine. 

Before I had a chance to make it, however... “Red wine, please,” a man’s deep voice ordered sharply. 

Startled, Javier scrambled back to work. I turned to find Mike looming menacingly behind me. He looked quite resplendent tonight, if a little grim, dressed in charcoal pin-stripes paired with an olive silk shirt. 

“Nice suit,” I said, as I took it all in. “Fioravanti?” 

Mike snorted in amusement. “Don’t I wish. No. Dolce and Gabbana.” 

“Also nice.” I continued to study him, idly twirling the straw around in my glass. “You clean up good.” 

“Thank you,” Mike said, shooting another stern glance in Javier’s direction. The slight clenching of his jaw drew my attention higher, to the small, brownish gold stone shining in his left ear lobe. 

“Is this new?” I asked, reaching up to touch it, my fingers grazing his cheek as I did. Mike’s eyes widened into an astonished expression. His gaze flew to my face. 

“Oops.” I grinned. “Sorry. I guess my fingers are cold, huh?” 

Mike shook his head. “No. Not at all.” Red stained his cheekbones. His skin felt very warm against my fingers. 

“Liar.” Clucking my tongue, I withdrew my hand. My eyes, however, stayed locked with his and a familiar thrill ran through me. I love being desired. Who doesn’t? I love that flash of heat that flares in a man’s eyes when he wants you. I could see it in Mike’s eyes now and it made it hard to look away. 

“Your wine, sir,” Javier murmured from somewhere far away. We both ignored him. 

“You don’t wear that all the time, do you?” I asked. 

“Not very often. Just special occasions.” 

“Oh? So is this a special occasion?” 

Mike nodded gravely. “Yes. Most definitely.”

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