Sunday, November 08, 2009

Where Do You Like To Be Touched?

First, on this fine Sunday afternoon, let me just say that I appreciate the notes of concern I've gotten about Leonidas. After PJ (Pericles, Jr.) disappeared, I wasn't sure if he'd recover, but he seems fine, for a spider. He might have even eaten PJ, but I didn't see any evidence of it in his web, because if I had, I would have definitely given him the tongue lashing of his little spider life (No eating your friends, do you hear me!?! What will the neighbors think?). I just think PJ decided to move on to bigger and better bathroom sinks. His timing sucks, though. We are now into the "plague of the ladybugs" time of year, and he's missing the opportunity of a lifetime.
Anyway, back to touching. I like it. I like it a lot, so subsequently my characters fondle, feel, caress, stroke, etc., quite a bit. However, that kind of touching is not what I'm blogging about today. No, I want to know how you like to be touched as a reader. How do you want that book you paid good money for to make you feel after you've finished it? What part of you do you want to vibrate with satisfaction?
I ask this because I've been helping a friend out reading manuscripts, and to do this, I have to be very aware of what a reader might want to get out of reading the words and what the story I'm reading actually offers. Readers read for a variety of reasons. Some read to be entertained. Some read to feel a depth of emotion. Some readers desire that cathartic experience one can only enjoy safely by living vicariously through the exploits of non-existent people. Some want a combination of these, which is why we have a variety of genres available. Sometimes readers want a writer to touch their hearts, or their minds, or their souls, or their, er, well, let's just say other body parts.I know when I am looking for a book, I search for the kind that will feed my need at the time, and that varies. For example, I've had the urge to read something in the science fiction genre--probably a hormonal thing--but I have little to no time to read, so I needed something short and powerful. I picked Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, which I've read before, to satisfy the urge. So far it's doing a nice job...with benefits.The benefits are just the same as those derived from reading the manuscripts I've been assigned--I always learn something about my own writing by reading the words of others, whether published or unpublished. I've made a list below of a few things I will try to remember as I continue to write.

1. I don't ever want to put my reader in the position of reading to the end of the story just to find out how it ends, of having to plow through useless verbiage out of morbid curiosity to see how the story winds up. I want my readers to want to keep reading because they like the characters and the story, not just because they're determined to "get through" the book because they paid for it, and, darnit, they're going to finish it!

2. I want to make sure I start with something happening, even in my alternate universe-type stories. Reading paragraph after paragraph describing the liquid crystal city and the frog people who live there without some kind of conflict or action can be a turn off to the reader, and as an erotica writer, my job is to turn them on. Heh heh.

3. I want the promise I make at the beginning of the story to be the one I keep at the end. If I promise campy, vampy fun, I shouldn't change into something dramatic and literary in the middle somewhere. If I promise literary, intellectual read, I shouldn't let it turn into a melodramatic glitzy fluff, especially if it's my fault the story runs out of literary steam.

4. I don't want my sex scenes to become stale from lack of research. Um, I just put that in there in case my husband, who is currently crawling around under our house, reads this. Hint, hint. :)
I've learned much, much more, but I'd rather hear from readers. Where do you like to be touched when you read? Mind? Heart? Soul? Parts south of the waistline? All of the above? Or does it vary according to the phases of the moon? lol

Happy Reading!

Saturday, November 07, 2009

NaNoWriMo

Hi. My name is Esmerelda and I’m a compulsive editor.

Confused you, didn’t I? LOL. The title and the first sentence go together, I promise.

This is my first year participating in National Novel Writing Month. In the past, I was too intimidated to try. I mean come on. 50,000 words in one month? As if! That is a huge undertaking and being a pantser, made no sense what so ever. What happened if I got blocked? I didn’t have an outline to help me through, just this vague idea of where I wanted the story to go. What if I run out of words? What if I wrote crap and ended wasting my time? So on and so on. It was thoughts like these that kept me from jumping right on in. I know. I totally over thought it. I’m known to do that.

So what prompted me to do it this year?

I want to change as a writer, which leads us back to my opening sentence:

Hi. My name is Esmerelda and I’m a compulsive editor.

I will write one chapter, then polish, polish, polish, before sending it off to my CP’s. Guess what happens? Four chapters later, something happens and then I have to go back and re-edit that same chapter I’d already labored over, then I could get even further into the story and what? DAMN! Sigh. Go back and change it again. A vicious cycle, I tell you. One I see as a flaw in myself as a writer. One I want to break away from because, click, click, the light bulb has finally turned on. I’m wasting time. I could have a story finished so much quicker, if I just wrote the blasted thing in one sitting, THEN went back and added in and EDITED.

So NaNoWriMo isn’t about me getting a 50,000 word first draft this year, (that will be next year). This year is about changing the way I write. I’m on day seven. Writing might be a little slow, I’ve written right at 7k, but I haven’t edited.

I will admit I feel like it is killing me. LOL. It is the hardest thing I have ever done to keep trucking along when I’ve hit a spot I know has affected another portion of the story. I have a nice little notebook sitting beside my laptop and jot down, ‘make sure to change the heroine’s reasoning for such and such.’ Or ‘this kiss needs to be pulled back on, because the kiss in Chapter 200 needs to be THE kiss.’ And so on.

I’m hoping by the end of the month, I’ve seen the advantages of just writing and embrace it. I guess time will tellJ

So anyone else Nanoing?

Esme
www.esmereldabishop.com

Midwest Book Review, Reviewer's Choice



This wolf is in hunting mode. :) I loved it for its autumn color look. Think he's looking for his very own turkey???

Reviewer's Bookwatch: October 2009

Midwest Book Review picked up Reviewer's Choice for:

To Tempt the Wolf

Amy J Ramsey, Reviewer

www.trinagon.blogspot.com

Rating 4.5

"To Tempt the Wolf is an extremely enjoyable and fascinating read. I am impressed with the way Spears has added her own unique twist, mixing it into the realm of shape shifters. She has successfully achieved creating a story that the reader will become absorbed in. The characters are wrote exuding life-like characteristics, the background is full of vivid description, making it easy for the reader to visualize and the plot was perfectly blended, keeping the reader guessing till the end. I am left satisfied and anticipate Terry Spears next book. This book is recommended to any readers who have a taste for the Paranormal, Supernatural, Shape Shifter and Romance genres."
~~Amy J Ramsey, Reviewer

Woohoo!! So I've got the bug man out here killing off my carpenter ants and fire ants, hopefully, and I've got my fan going and my window open because I think I'm breathing in all this stuff. The bad news is I might have termites and it would cost me $3600 to fumigate the place. I'm going to get some more estimates!


Relative Danger just came out!! I thought it wasn't being released until later in November...but I just saw it on Amazon--under my YA name. argh.

I was always a big fan of Agatha Christie, and so her works greatly influenced my writing of this story, except, it's got romance! :)

Relative Danger~~~Agatha Christie's novels never got this hot!


Murder, mayhem, and family secrets abound when some beneficiaries of an insurance magnate's last will and testament plot to get their money early. During a week of togetherness orchestrated by her not-quite-departed uncle's will, headstrong heiress McKenna Sutherland has to team up with resort manager Thomas Hampton, the man who stole her heart five years ago, or she'll lose her inheritance--to him! McKenna and Thomas need to uncover the villain among a cast of colorful characters who have joined them for the week, each of whom has a stake in the ultimate outcome--Uncle Sheldon's money, and loads of it. Thomas's job is to keep Sheldon's faked death a secret, while he makes sure McKenna isn't next on the killer's hit list. With everything around them a lie, can Thomas regain McKenna's love and trust before it's too late? Find out in this twisting Agatha Christie-like tale of suspense!

To purchase: Amazon

I'm off to a long day at work, so have fun and a bug-free day!

Terry

"Giving new meaning to the term alpha male!"

www.terryspear.com

Friday, November 06, 2009

Tossing in a little Eye Candy

by Kristin Daniels

I know, I know... You're saying, but Kris, wait! It's not Eye Candy Week here at Fierce Romance! I've busy as all get-out with wrapping up several projects that have been hanging over my head along with working on a self-imposed deadline, so I wasn't able to get anything written for you guys ahead of time. And today? Today I'm headed out for a little fun with a great friend. You know, lunch, shopping, real girly kind of stuff. So please forgive my little Eye Candy toss in (somehow I'm pretty sure you'll all will!). Enjoy!

These just make me want to stay in bed all day...




And these are... well, just because... :)



See you guys next week!

Triple Threat Winners

And the winners are...Armenia and Cathy M. Congratulations! Since you both included your email addresses in your posts, I'll go ahead and email you a copy of Triple Threat.

Thanks for dropping by, everyone! Hope you all enjoy the Three Kinds of Wicked series and follow Trey's adventures into next year.

Thursday, November 05, 2009

Where in Time Is Trey? (Take him home this month)

Win a copy of my e-story, Triple Threat, by posting a comment
today.

It's my turn for Trey this month. If you haven't been following Trey's adventures in the Three Kinds of Wicked series first launched in July with Liane Gentry Skye's Wicked Temptation, you've been missing out on some deliciously sexy hot menage stories, featuring a time-traveling hunk named Trey.

For my story, Triple Threat, I stuck with my favorite genre to write--romance with a touch of intrigue and danger. All of the writers in the series contributed to Trey's physical appearance and emotional make-up. Then we just ran with our own stories to create unique situations for Trey. He's always the third wheel for a couple in each story, but what a wheel!

Today I'm posting an excerpt from Triple Threat, which was released this week from Red Sage Publishing. Enjoy and don't forget to check out the other stories in the Three Kinds of Wicked series and keep track of Trey's adventures as he travels through space and time.

And remember, one poster today will win a copy of Triple Threat.

Exerpt:

And then he came.

He rose from the shimmering highway as if ejected from the asphalt, black on black. As the Harley drew closer and the whine of its engine pierced the dense silence of the desert, goose bumps rushed along Brandy’s arms.

Agent Coltrane tensed beside her, and as the biker slowed down, Coltrane reached into the open trunk and pulled out his gun.

Brandy squinted at the stranger, his longish, dark hair blowing behind him beneath the abbreviated motorcycle helmet, his black T-shirt molded to his body by the wind. He didn’t look like one of Vinnie’s boys, but you couldn’t be too careful.
The motorcycle pulled onto the shoulder of the road, churning up sand and grit. Brandy covered her face with her hands to protect it from the particles needling her flesh.

Agent Coltrane growled beside her. “Let me handle this.”

What did Coltrane plan to do, shoot the biker and steal his motorcycle? For being one of the good guys, Agent Coltrane had a dangerous edge.

It turned her on.

He shoved his weapon in the back of his waistband and pulled his wrinkled T-shirt over his head, hiding all those rippling muscles from her greedy gaze.

She’d been happier to find him in her trunk than she’d let on. Even though she’d been making her own way in the world longer than she could remember, she welcomed the support and protection Agent Coltrane and his big gun represented in the middle of the desert. Of course, he was hardly the type to wrap her in his arms and soothe away all her fears.

She had yet to find the man capable of that.

The stranger cut the bike’s engine and slid from the Harley. The action jolted her since man and machine seemed welded together into one powerful entity.
His black motorcycle boots crunched the gravel as he ambled toward them with the grace of a jungle cat, unusual for a big man.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Coltrane widen his stance and hook one thumb in the front pocket of his jeans. The pocket closest to his weapon.

The biker stopped in front of them and dragged the helmet from his head. He shook out his hair, as blue-black as a raven’s wing, which skimmed his broad shoulders.
“Do you have a problem?”

His voice, low and as smooth as aged cognac, insinuated itself into her core, stirring up those old feelings of longing, of wanting to belong to something, to someone. She leaned in toward him to catch the last syllables from his lips.

Agent Coltrane snorted. “What was your first clue?”

Brandy drew her brows together and shot Coltrane a warning look. This man in black had the ability to help them, and Coltrane couldn’t tame his sarcastic tongue. Coltrane really had to work on his people skills.

“You look...lost.” Their savior shrugged and shoved his dark sunglasses to the top of his head, sweeping his hair from his face.

Brandy sucked in a breath and stepped back. The man’s eyes looked almost black in the fading desert light and their intensity dominated his beautiful face, all sharp angles and shadows.

She clutched her hands in front of her to quell her compulsion to run her palms across the deep lines bracketing his mouth.

Pain. His eyes and the harshness of his mouth spoke volumes of pain.

Definitely not one of Vinnie’s guys. Couldn’t Coltrane, even with his limited understanding of the human heart, understand that?

“We’re not lost. She...we ran out of gas.”

The stranger nodded as if it were the most normal thing in the world for a couple to run out of gas two hours out of Vegas.

Coltrane took charge, as usual, but at least the rod up his back seemed to bend a little. He must’ve realized the biker posed no threat to them. Despite his height and muscular build, the stranger possessed a calm gentleness.

“Could you ride over to Buzzard Flats, get us some gas, and then bring it back here? I’d pay you for our gas, your gas, and your time.”

The man’s grim mouth quirked at the corner. “There is no Buzzard Flats.”

“W-what do you mean? I saw the sign back there.” Brandy’s arms flailed at her sides. They couldn’t be on this road much longer. There were only so many roads out of Vegas, and she didn’t want anyone else following her. Coltrane represented danger, but at least he didn’t want to kill her.

“Buzzard Flats is a ghost town.”

“Shit.” Coltrane slammed his fist against the car. “Can you make it to the next town then? We’ll wait for the gas. It should be cooling off out here in a few hours.”

“You look like you’re in a hurry. It could be dangerous waiting out here.”

Brandy’s head snapped up in unison with Coltrane’s.

Agent Coltrane placed his hand behind his back again, his fingers tracing the handle of his gun. “What do you mean by that?”

The man flipped his sunglasses back over his eyes and shrugged. “The desert looks empty during the day, but it’s filled with creatures, some more dangerous than others.”

Brandy pressed her fist to her mouth as her heart skittered in her chest. Yeah, and Vinnie’s thugs were probably the most dangerous creatures of all. A cold dread seeped into her skin, and she tottered forward.

The stranger’s tattooed arm shot out, curling around her waist. His warm breath tickled her ear. “You’ll be fine.”

Closing her eyes, she leaned against his strong arm, resisting the urge to fall against his chest. Damn Coltrane. As good as it felt leaning against this hot biker for support, she wished it had been Coltrane to break her swoon.

Her eyelashes fluttered, her eyes meeting Coltrane’s, burning with a blue fire as his gaze darted between her face and the stranger’s arm around her waist.
“You’re right.” Coltrane sliced a hand through the air. “We need to get off of this highway. Now.”

“I can help.”

The dark man’s arm tightened around Brandy’s waist, and she almost fell into another swoon—one of desire not fear. His scent enveloped her, a touch of cologne, a fresh, masculine soap, and a dollop of sex. She drank deeply.

“What do you suggest?” Coltrane crossed his arms over his solid chest, making himself look large and in charge.

The stranger pointed into the dusk draping the highway and said, “There’s a small desert community off the road and off the map. Mostly artists, wanderers, gypsies. They might even have some gas.”

“Is it within walking distance?” Coltrane jerked his thumb toward the Harley. “Because that bike isn’t big enough for the three of us.”

“If you don’t trust me—” the man finally relinquished possession of Brandy’s waist “—you can take Brandy on the motorcycle, and I’ll give you directions to the camp. I’ll start walking, and you can return for me.”

Coltrane reached back and pulled out his gun. Pointing it at the stranger, he said, “Spread ‘em.”


Wednesday, November 04, 2009

Science Fiction - for Women?



"There is no reason for any individual to have a computer in their home." Kenneth Olson, President and founder of Digital Equipment Corporation 1977

Be wary of predicting the future. No one can. But it’s fun to try, and that’s why science fiction is a well-loved genre in fiction. But it’s a genre that doesn’t seem to appeal too much to women. Why not?

A well known science fiction blog has been talking recently about why the phrase ‘science fiction’ seems to be such a turnoff for women readers. Some reasons given were: there’s not enough romance in the genre. Or, women still harbor the notion that science isn’t for women. (Say it isn’t so!) But when I think of well known science fiction works – they are virtually all written by men, for men, and do not explore romantic relationships in any depth.

So, a reasonable question raised in the blog is - should there be a new name for science fiction with romance? Are there enough female writers publishing stories with a strong science fiction element and a strong romance at the core?

Since I’ve recently sold a story which I’ve labeled ‘futuristic’, this question is of great interest to me. And, I must admit, I never realized there could be so much controversy over the labeling of genres.

We have several authors on this blog who write paranormal, and that genre seems to be reasonably well established as the home of all things ‘otherwordly’, involving characters and circumstances which aren’t considered factually possible in our world. The fairy I show here, for example, could easily feature in a paranormal or fantasy story, but not in science fiction.

Science fiction, mostly likely because of the word ‘science’ seems to encompass stories where the non-factual elements could realistically happen at some point, though not today. It doesn’t seem possible that men will ever really shapeshift into wolves, but it does seem possible that we will travel in space to presently unknown worlds.

"[Man will never reach the moon] regardless of all future scientific advances." Dr. Lee Forest, father of radio and the Audion tube, Feb 25, 1967

I used the phrase ‘futuristic’ to describe the genre for my story, mostly because it is set in the future. I enjoy using settings other than our own because there is so much room for plot manipulation. In different worlds, you can have different customs, and make them believable. If you’re writing in the future, you can massage some of those pesky laws of physics and other sciences through new inventions. That’s why stories set in the future generally have some element of science fiction to them. It wouldn’t seem to be “the future” if science and technology were exactly the same as it is today.

"Everything that can be invented has been invented." Charles Duell, US Commissioner of Patents, 1899

Yet, I never thought of my story as falling within the science fiction genre because the romance is front and center. The ‘science fiction’ part is only as much scientific detail as I needed to support the plot.

There was some animosity on the blog towards romance in general, and alpha males and eroticism in particular. So the concept of ‘science fiction romance’ may be a hard sell. But I wouldn’t rule it out. I think you could find people fifteen years ago who said Anne Rice had covered the vampire world sufficiently well. Thousands of stories later…Never try to predict what people will like.

"[Television] won't be able to hold on to any market it captures after the first six months. People will soon get tired of staring at a plywood box every night." Darryl F. Zanuck, head of 20th Century Fox in 1946

So my question to you all is: Do you read science fiction? Do you care if it has a romance or not? Does the mere phrase ‘science fiction’ make you head for the hills?

But I want to end on this quote to inspire any aspiring author:

"We don't like their sound. Groups of guitars are on the way out." Decca Records rejecting the Beatles in 1962

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

Kilted Lover Excerpt & Contest Winners


I'm thrilled that Kilted Lover, my contemporary erotic romance novella (with a touch of paranormal) from Red Sage, is out now. This is one of my all time favorite stories I've ever written. Part of this has to do with the hero. Not only is he yummy-hot (see pic above) and wears a kilt, but he's also protective, sensual, alpha, caring and filled with internal conflict. He wants the heroine, but at the same time, having her goes against his own internal code of honor. What will he do and how will he resolve his conflicts?
***
When kilted caber-tosser Scott MacPherson tosses Leslie Livingston over his shoulder to rescue her from two armed thieves trying to steal her priceless amulet, they are thrust into a deadly but sexy adventure. Though Leslie already has a lukewarm, uninterested boyfriend, her attraction to Scott is white-hot and undeniable. She wants to lick this tall, muscular alpha male all over and explore the depths of eroticism with him. But will he want anything more than one night once the danger is behind them?
Read an excerpt or Purchase


Winners of the Under the Kilt contest are Lisa J and Sue QLady48. Congrats!! Please email me for details and prizes. nicole (at) nicolenorth.com
***
To be entered to win more prizes (like books, Celtic earrings, or a calendar) during Nov. and Dec. please join my newsletter.
***
Kilted Lover: Chapter 1 (excerpt)

“My amulet isn’t for sale,” Leslie Livingston said for the second time, wishing this line at the refreshment stand would move forward already. Every minute that the Charleston sun beat down on her was another step toward dehydration. And the jerk harassing her about the amulet made the situation twice as annoying.
“Come now, luv, I’ll give you a hundred US for it.” The gray-haired Englishman sipped his cola. Too bad she couldn’t have gotten in line ahead of him.
“No, thanks.” Her grandmother had given her the amulet years ago and she would never part with it. Even if it was worth only ten dollars, the sentimental value was priceless.
“Two hundred, and I’m being very generous.” The man beside her inched closer. His black dress pants and white button-up shirt seemed out of place at the Scottish Games.
She took a step back, hating close-talkers. “Nope, sorry. Why are you so interested?”
“I’m a jeweler and it’s an unusual piece. Two-fifty?”
Leslie sighed, though she felt like screaming. “No,” she said in a firmer tone.
“You’ve got to be joking. It’s only a peridot, for God’s sake. It can’t be worth any more than that.” His pale gray eyes took on a menacing quality.
Leslie was tempted to grab his drink and pour it over his head.
“Clearly it is, or you wouldn’t want it so badly.”
“How much did you pay for it?”
“It was a gift.” Move forward, people, she mentally shouted at those in line ahead of her.
“Three hundred, and you’ll be robbing me blind.”
“Leave me alone,” she said through clenched teeth. “Even if you offered me a thousand dollars, the answer would still be no.” The man’s hand shot out toward her chest and the amulet. She jumped back and slammed into a body so solid that it didn’t budge. Big hands caught her upper arms.
“What the hell are you doing?” The deep voice almost growled the words.
“I’m sorry—” Leslie began. But his eyes were fixed with malicious intent upon the British man.
“The lady said no. So beat it.”
With her back pressed against his hard chest, she felt his words resonate.
“Fine.” The Brit looked like he wanted to snarl, but he strode away, muttering about ignorant Americans.
Her rescuer released her.
“Thank you.” Leslie couldn’t help but stare up—way up—into his sexy face. His narrowed, sea-green gaze was pinned on someone far off to her left. The frown and clenched jaw emphasized his rugged, masculine bone structure. She noted his long, sun-streaked sandy hair, the white T-shirt stretched over his enormous chest, and the plaid kilt belted at his waist. A low-slung silver chain held a black leather sporran in place at the front of his kilt. Male earthiness emanated from his skin. But for the t-shirt, he might have been a fearsome warrior transported through time from the Scottish Highlands.
“No problem.” He fully focused on her, and the temperature climbed ten degrees. That made it around ninety in the shade, not unusual for September in the Low Country.
Music swirled from bagpipes in the distance. Voices mixed with laughter, and for an instant, she imagined herself far, far away with this luscious hunk. In Scotland? Chills and heat raced over her skin.
“That is an unusual amulet. What makes it light up?”
“What?” The large peridot encased in gold was indeed glowing.
She lifted the stone and the heat from it surprised her. “I have no clue.”
Though her grandmother had given it to her fifteen years ago, today was the first time she’d worn it. The story of its origins was lost in the mists of time. She’d always considered it gaudy and unfashionable, but she thought it appropriate today, a Celtic amulet worn to Scottish games.
“How old is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Now was he interested in it, too? Surely not. He didn’t look as if he would wrestle her for it.
“It’s your turn.” His attention lifted to her eyes and held her captive with the power of his stare.
Okay, that was just too sexy. Heat and awareness rushed over her. “My turn?”
He grinned and gestured toward the vendor.
“Oh, sorry.” She spun around, feeling a bit lightheaded, not to mention idiotic, and placed her order. Dear God, he was yummy. She had the mad urge to lick him.
That’s just stupid, Les. You’re a mature, responsible, respected veterinarian. You don’t have those kinds of thoughts.
Nicole North - Kilted Lover, Red Sage
Copyright © Nicole North, 2009
All Rights Reserved, RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Monday, November 02, 2009

The Better to Eat You With



Did Red Riding Hood get the story wrong when she said her grandmother had been eaten by a wolf? When Nicholas Wolfe surprises Elise at her lonely house in the forest, she decides to use him for sex like he did with her before he left years ago. They didn’t want the same things from life back then, but Wolfe is back to convince Elise to give him another chance.


THE BETTER TO EAT YOU WITH released from eRed Sage on November 1st. I had a great time writing this little twisted take on the Red Riding Hood story. I love reunion stories and I loved giving these lovers a second chance. I promise you'll never think about Grandmother and the Big Bad Wolf the same way again.

Excerpt:

She reached out her hand to him. “Come to my bed, Wolfe.”

He caught her gaze, held it, as if he was trying to read her mind. Elise thought she could almost read his mind, read the need burning there. He dove his fingers into her thick hair and grasped the back of her head, all the while studying her still. Silently. Intensely. She shivered, pinned beneath his gaze.

Then he crushed his lips to hers, demanding, claiming. She clutched his shirt and whimpered. Such a weak, foolish response. She tried to pull away, but he growled deep in his throat and changed the angle of his mouth, his lips moving roughly against hers, demanding her surrender. She melted against him then, opened to him, even though she knew she shouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She simply had no choice. He nipped at her bottom lip, then abruptly released her, leaving her dazed and needy.

Without a word, he stood and pulled her to her feet. He kept his hold on her hand and they crossed the yard together and walked into her house.

His gaze bore into her back as she turned and shut the door behind her, hotter than the sun had ever been. Before the click of the latch had even registered, he’d grabbed her by the shoulders and whirled her around to face him. His breathing was as rough as hers. Was his heart pounding as hard as hers too?

“Wolfe,” she breathed and stepped into his arms.


You can get your copy here.

Natasha
www.natashamoore.com

Sunday, November 01, 2009

Hunks After Halloween--A Different Breed

Another Halloween is past. Last night I pondered what makes this holiday so popular, especially among readers. My favorite, vampires? Wolves? Werewolves? Warlocks? Ghosts? No matter what the entity, a creative energy flows within and without writers who weave those paranormal romance tales.

But what about another breed of hero—the rough-and-tumble rodeo guy. He commands attention wherever he goes. Fiercely protects his loved ones. Casts a powerful love spell over any heroine ready for a wild ride. Takes many a fall but manages to get back on his feet. Sexy whether the sun’s up or down.

Jack Dodson is such a hero. He lives as hard as he loves, and he’s not used to focusing on one female at a time. All of that changes when he reconnects with Kimberly Taylor and realizes how much and who he’s really been missing all these years.

Whenever Kimberly Taylor’s around her childhood friend—former champion roper and rider, Jack Dodson —the sexual tension between them crackles more than lightning in the Texas summer sky. But both have learned the hard lesson that business must sometimes come before pleasure. Jack’s now co-managing a local ranch and bent on getting his life back together after a series of upheavals, injuries and dead-end relationships. Western outfitter Kim wants to slay her sexual demons and find out if Jack can bring the satisfaction so many have promised but never delivered.

During her vacation visit with the Dodsons she uncovers a sex-slave ring operated by the man who may become Jack’s next father. Rabid curiosity clashes with criminal minds and escalates the drama in a small town where love and loyalties are harder won than any rodeo trophies.



Roughrider -- Dirty secret is discovered

Shawna Moore | MySpace Video






Excerpt from ROUGHRIDER –


Another morning, another empty place beside me in bed. I stifled a yawn. Jack sure knew how to keep a woman awake and lull her to sleep. Each stretch of my arm and leg brought only a cool, dry sheet. Not a trace of body heat. I forced open my bleary eyes and looked around the room.

Jack had long since gone and taken his radio.

Less than three hours ago I’d drifted off connected physically and emotionally to a man for the first time in my life. Galen had always pushed me to my side of the bed. Told me I got too hot and kept him from resting.

And that lying, cheating bastard had kept me from exploring my truest passion for two years. Can’t run a business to save my life? Since kicking his ass to the curb I’d opened a second boutique featuring The Cowboy’s Connection’s brand of Western wear. Profits were up at both boutiques.

The gnawing in my stomach intensified. Skipping meals or eating like a bird could lose me a couple pounds of excess body fat but I couldn’t hope to make it through another day only on reserves.

The red numbers bored into my brain. Six thirteen. At this ungodly hour I craved two things—Jack and a tall glass of orange juice.

I sank onto the pillow. Orange juice or another hour’s sleep? Orange juice to wash down one of those crisp pastries Sue fried up and placed in the cow’s head canister. More rumbling. Damn. Why wouldn’t my body let me alone for a change?

From the cedar chest, I claimed the sleep shirt that never made it past my head last night. I tossed it back down. No. That thing was as sheer as the lacy curtains in the front room. Instead I slipped into a pair of jeans and grabbed the pink, clingy t-shirt from the chest of drawers. No bra was necessary for breakfast alone. Shame on me maybe, but if anyone hadn’t ever seen a braless woman they didn’t get out much in the world.

Or eat at The Lone Star.

The lime green flip-flops stayed in hiding so I padded barefoot toward the bedroom door. A turn of the key gained me access to the hallway and I plodded ahead, one foot in front of the half-numb other.

Voices carried up from the lower level. A man’s tone came louder and harsh enough to strip lacquer from every floor in this farmhouse.

“You don’t know where she went yesterday? Well I have a pretty damned good idea, Gloria.”

“Stop shouting or you’ll waken her.” Each word came out as though wrung from Gloria’s throat.

“I’ll do more than wake her when I find her. She has no right prying into other people’s business.” A masculine cough.

My heartbeat lodged in my throat. Paul Westcott. A cupboard door slammed. I hurried into my room, closed the door and locked it. Reaching the window, I shoved it the rest of the way open and worked myself out, feet first. A gust of warm wind slapped my face and upper body.


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Happy day-after-Halloween and reading,

Shawna Moore
TO HELLE AND BACK AGAIN -- Ellora's Cave
TORMENTED -- (Recommended Read) -- Ellora's Cave
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora's Cave

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