The Year of the Rabbit Blog Hop!

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!

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

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 

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.

Feeling Lucky?

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 

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.

It's My Birthday!

...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...

...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...

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.

*****

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

Myths and Legends

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.”