Thursday, May 11th, 2017
Hi Delilah Fans! Have you ever had one of those dreams where you feel like you’re so awake that when you wake up, you still think all that really happened?
That’s where this story came from. I can still see the man, still remember the magical touch of his skin. So I’m sharing it with you in hopes you can help me out. That’s because I don’t know how the story ends!
He wasn’t my type. I went for the slightly shorter, less sinewy man whereas this guy loomed several inches taller with an almost lanky frame. My tastes had ranged from blond and blue-eyed to dark and dangerous. I’d never given much consideration to men with light brown hair and eyes that were—what, amber? I stole another glance.
Damn. He noticed my brief examination. One of his eyebrows rose slightly, asking. I quickly looked down and broke out in a little sweat. Damn damn damn.
I told myself no. A chorus of reasons shouted in my head—that I didn’t know him, that we were standing in a hotel hallway waiting for an elevator. Anyone could walk up. Additional major point: accosting a stranger simply wasn’t something I would do.
The handle of my heavy briefcase itched against my sweaty palm. I could assign this momentary insanity to fatigue. Like all such conferences, this one had turned into a three-day blur of classes on everything from specialty cost coding and catastrophe adjustment to the latest on defining a collapse under a property insurance policy. But I was ready for home, a long hot soak in my tub and a mindless couch session with a bottle of wine and my cat Winston.
My body responded to his attention. There was this urge, whatever recess of hell it sprang from, that caused my thighs to clench. I licked my lips, hoping my libido would tuck its tail and slink away. Maybe if I gave myself a few more minutes and a couple of deep breaths…
Nope. Not working. Jesus, how did anyone exude such sensuality?
I couldn’t avoid another furtive glance. His lips fascinated me, halfway between full and thin, sensual with a little flare at the bow and curling upwards at the corners. Tan and weathered, his skin stretched over prominent cheekbones and a bold jaw. And his neck, which happened to be directly in my line of vision—its intriguing cords and hollows disappeared into the open throat of his white shirt.
Oh, I could almost taste the salt on his skin. Feel the pulse in his throat against my lips.
I had seen him around the hotel, once passing along the corridor when I arrived for the first day of the conference, another time on the other side of the cocktail lounge where I hid at a dark corner table and sipped my wine. He’d been alone there, and I fantasized that he would appear at my table. I would allow him to join me and we would sit smiling in the dim light to pursue witty conversation with just enough innuendo. I refused to imagine what would happen afterwards, but I dreamed about him that night and woke up wet.
What the hell was wrong with me? I’d been around. Mild wear and tear, enough to consider any potential hook-up through slightly jaded eyes. No big hope left that some special ‘one’ lurked out there for me.
Now this? I wanted to slap myself for being ridiculous.
But, damn it, here I was at the elevator feeling as if my body had disconnected from my brain and would do what it pleased no matter what I thought.
Maybe it was that we were both leaving and I’d never see him again. Really, it wasn’t a choice I made. I was standing there with my briefcase gripped in my hand and a garment bag slung over my arm, my other hand seized on the handle of my wheeled travel case. Hands sweating. Knees trembling. Wanting a stranger so much I was about to embarrass myself in public.
The elevator was taking forever. He was standing a couple of feet away, looking up to watch the elevator numbers frozen on floor twelve. He too had a garment bag over one arm and his travel case handle in his other hand, looking so incredibly fabulous in that simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up those tan forearms and in khaki slacks that looked a little wrinkled. I even checked out his shoes, Sixties style cordovan loafers, winey brown color, well-polished and clearly loved.
I could almost hear the switch flip in my head. Brain turned off. Instinct taking over.
I turned into him holding my gear on either side of me. He accommodated me by holding his luggage away from his body. With only a brief glance up at his face, I registered on his amusement, his welcome. As if we had known each other forever and this was going home.
I nestled my full length against him and brushed my lips against his neck, and oh god he felt good. At every point of contact, which actually was the entire front of me, he felt good. The strength of his thighs, the solid press of his loins, his hard chest—right there against me, holding his own, not backing away. And his neck—Jesus Christ, this was chocolate and musky wine and that skin, that soft velvet flesh that had served its time in the sun, warm and strong and scented with a heavenly fragrance of aftershave and soap and him.
My lips savored him in that brief moment, brushing along the column of his neck as if he was my last sip of water in a desert. In those few seconds—minutes?—that I stood there pressed against him, I had no sense of shame, no regret, no worry, no question. My mind stood still. I wanted never to move.
Millennia existed between us, former lives, lost memories. A tremor passed through him. Or maybe it was me. Nights we would hold each other. The touch of his lips against mine. Joys and agonies, the raw force of life energy surging through us.
All that could ever be existed in that moment, in us. Children. Stormy nights wrapped in his arms, soup bubbling on the stove. Old age bestowed gently as we held hands.
And then it ended. I don’t know how it ended. Maybe it was the elevator. A musical ‘ding.’ We moved apart. On the way down, I fought to overcome the searing embarrassment of what I’d done. One minute I was in full body contact with a man I didn’t know, oblivious to anything but him, and the next minute we were on opposite sides of the elevator with a crowd of people between us including two kids and a dog.
The elevator reached the lobby. People filed out and I didn’t dare look up. Mildly heartbroken, I started toward the door to hail a taxi.
He was standing there in the lobby, waiting for me as if we’d made a plan, a promise. My heart lunged against my ribs. Had we? Could it be that simple? (to be continued?)
Dear Reader, is there more to this story? Do they say a few words then walk away? Do they ride together to the airport then wait for their flights in a quiet booth at the nearest cafe?
What would you do? Send me your idea at firstname.lastname@example.org. I’ll post all replies in my next newsletter.
Lizzie Ashworth lives in the wilds of the Ozark Mountains with three cats, two hound dogs, and too many deer in her yard. She’s been writing her entire life and wants her readers to know how much she enjoys sharing her naughty stories.
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Wednesday, May 10th, 2017
UPDATE: The winner is…Toni Whitmire!
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I like to read books that make me smile and those about family. I’ve written mysteries and romance and, in this new series, chose to combine them. I realized it would be fun to have two main characters and make them identical twins. One would dread sex because of her sole previous marriage. The other would love sex and have three exes who still want her and shower her with finery. But she’s still trying to find that elusive soul mate. Who just happens to be the man who will take her sister’s breath away and make her feel things she’d thought impossible.
My oldest daughter is a wonderful special ed teacher who loves her challenged students; so do I. That’s why I made the sister who didn’t want romance again have a handicap: she’s dyslexic, which causes her problems. She also has a neurosis that she’s struggling to overcome.
Because I adore older people, I gave the sisters a sweet, spry mother who lives in a retirement home in bayou country, where they and I happily reside. Mom’s cadre of buddies love to give her twin daughters advice about romance. Things they hear from other (or make up to pass the time) might help or hinder trouble the twins when murder comes around and aims at one of them.
Who can they believe? Who can they trust? Is love real—or is the man who seems perfect a killer?
I hope you enjoy their story!
Amazon | Nook
I stood in a rear pew as a petite woman in red stepped into the church carrying an urn and stumbled. She fell forward. Her urn bounced. Its top popped open, and ashes flew. A man’s remains were escaping.
“Oh no!” people cried.
“Jingle bells,” I hummed and tried to control my disorder but could not. Words from the song spewed from my mouth.
“Not now,” my twin Eve said at my ear while ashes sprinkled around us like falling gray snow. She pointed to my jacket’s sleeve and open pocket. “Uh-oh. Parts of him fell in there.”
I saw a few drops like dust on the sleeve and jerked my pocket wider open. Powdery bits lay across the tissue I’d blotted my beige lipstick with right before coming inside St. Gertrude’s. “I think that’s tissue residue,” I said, wanting to convince myself. I grabbed the pocket to turn it inside out.
“Don’t dump that.” Eve shoved on my pocket. “It might be his leg. Or bits of his private parts.”
“Here Comes Santa Claus,” I sang.
She slapped a hand over my mouth. “Hush, Sunny.”
The dead man’s wife shoved up from her stomach to her knees, head spinning toward me like whiplash.
What’s your favorite Cajun food or food from the South? (Mine is boiled crayfish. You’d better get out of my way if there’s only one of them left.) One winner will be chosen at random and receive your choice of Delilah’s e-books. Get your stomachs thinking!
Tuesday, May 9th, 2017
UPDATE: The winners are…Shirley Long, Patricia Stanley, and Kate Kelly
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UPDATE: Part 4 is out!
Get your copy here!
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Did you love the first three installments of my short story series, With His SEAL Team, Parts 1-3? Yeah, they were short, but sizzling hot, right? Well, I’ve wrapped up Part 4. This time, we get to see the story from Hunter’s point of view! If you haven’t read the first three, click on the covers to check them out!
I don’t think Part 4 will be the last, but it depends on you. As always, if you love the story, and want more of my sexy SEALs, all you have to do is let me know! Part 4 should be live later tonight or tomorrow. I’ll be sure to update this post with the link when it does! Be looking for it!
Let me know in the comments whether you’ve read any of Sara’s and Hunter’s stories. I’ll choose three winners to gift a copy of their choices of one of the first three installments.
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Read an excerpt from Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His SEAL Team, Part 4…
I’m Hunter. It’s the name I was born with, and the name my SEAL buddies let me keep, due to my uncanny instinct for finding enemy combatants. I’m not an easy guy to know. Most women might give me a look, but there’s something in my eyes I’ve been told, that makes them wary about coming closer. A hint of violence that only freaks find sexy. Freaks—and Sara, my little sister. Stepsister, that is. Sara never seems to notice I’m a badass.
From day one, when our parents introduced us, she treated me as though I didn’t have a single hard edge and like my silences were invitations for her to speak. She was so chatty and flirty that first day, my dad had laughed his ass off, because he knew I had a certain reputation already, and she was oblivious to the danger. Blissfully so, because she couldn’t help hugging my arm and leaning into me, so happy to have a brother, she’d said, and “I can’t wait to do things with you, Hunt.”
“Hunter,” I’d ground out, not knowing how to shake off the pretty, blonde princess who wore pink from head to toe and had sparkles on her eyelids.
My dad had cleared his throat and given me a warning glare to play nice, but Sara hadn’t noticed how uncomfortable I was. Or, so I’d thought. I just hadn’t figured out how smart she really was, and how much my frowning resistance challenged her.
No, even during that first meet I’d felt a sense of doom weighing on my shoulders as she’d blinked her pink-sparkled lids and given me her wide-eyed stare. Her blue eyes had captured me, and I’d felt like I was falling. Right then, I’d felt my first stirring of arousal for the one girl who should have been completely off-limits.
However, Sara didn’t “do” boundaries. More than once, she’d flounced into my room in her undies to ask to borrow something—a pencil or a hairbrush—then root around my room, turning and bending, making sure I noticed her cute ass or how nicely her tits filled her bra.
Once, she’d even picked the bathroom lock to walk in on me while I’d jacked off. She’d paused in the doorway, then hurried inside, closing the door behind her, while I’d reached for a towel to hide my erection. She’d plopped onto the closed toilet seat and proceeded to tell me I had to let her watch or she’d tell my dad I’d “borrowed” his porn.
Sure she’d lose her nerve, I’d given her a steady glare and continued, all the way until I’d pumped come into the towel. I’d been angry, but also entranced, because while her cheeks had reddened, her nipples had poked against her T-shirt and her breaths had come faster. After that day, I stopped being shocked when she barged in to catch me nude in the shower or in my bed.
Fucking her had been inevitable. And sweeter than anything I’d ever experienced. And although I’d paraded other women in front of her, trying to do the right thing by ending her attraction—even after I’d joined the Navy and become a SEAL, with my own apartment, my separate life—I’d continued to allow her to invade my space. She’d show up at my place, smile at my girlfriends, then wait around for them to leave before doing her best to show me that she was the only girl for me.
When she couldn’t afford her apartment, I’d told her she could stay with me—until she got back on her feet. But she’s never left, and I’ve never asked her to.
Fact is, I need her. She’s my sunshine. When I come back from a mission feeling ready to shred something with my fists, she banishes the darkness. Only she can provide me sweet release from the ghosts that haunt me. She taunts me with lust and bad behavior. Teases me by flirting and fucking my friends.
She knows I like to watch her fuck. What she doesn’t know is that I don’t see them at all. Her face, her ever-changing expressions, fascinate me. Her body, to me, is perfection—supple, light gold skin stretched over tits that make me salivate and an ass that makes me hard when it twitches. Every undulating motion, every quiver and bounce, draws me deeper and deeper into lust for her. That my friends love her, too, is something I’m getting used to.
The way I see it—Sara will never be alone. If, someday, I catch a bullet or stomp on a mine, I know she’ll be devastated, but there will be three men ready to console her, look after her, and love her.
In the meantime, she’s ours to share. An arrangement that naturally progressed from me giving Sara a thrill by allowing my friends to catch glimpses of her naked, to letting them watch her being fucked by me. When I’d invited them to her bed, I’d had reservations, worried that my bond with Sara would be strained, until I’d noted the way she looked at me when she was with them, like this was our foreplay. I love my brothers, but I made it clear from the start that whatever happened was strictly for her pleasure. They were free to play, to enjoy her company, but she’d never be theirs.
Marco, Payton, and now Harley, are all respectful of my claim. They engineer “alone time” for the two of us. Like this morning. At dawn, the three tapped on my door to tell me they were headed to the gym, and then told me which bed Sara occupied.
Marco gave a waggle of eyebrows. “She’s sleeping.”
Which meant she wasn’t, and the game was on.
As I entered Harley’s bedroom, Sara was playing ’possum, pretending she still slept, although she knew that I knew she was faking it.
Now, I wore the smile I knew made her shiver—if she were able to turn and see it. But “little sis” wasn’t in any position to turn, or move in any direction for that matter. I’d found her nude on Harley’s mattress. Not even a sheet covering her body. She lay on her belly, her legs spread, her arms at her sides, and her face turned from the door.
Harley had left the door open, likely at her request. A tease for me. She liked setting up little seductive scenarios. Loved being caught doing something nasty. When Marco, Payton, and I were around, she went to great lengths to give us peeks of her body sure to incite us into acting.
This morning, she and I were alone in the house. So this little scene was meant for me. And I’d taken full advantage, hustling back to my bedroom to dig through my closet for the small duffel filled with items I’d collected for her pleasure.
While she “slept”, I fastened Velcro bonds around her ankles and attached them to rugged canvas bands I hooked to the bedrails, and then slowly tightened them to ease her legs farther apart. I did the same with her wrists, trying not to laugh as she’d muttered and snored, keeping up the act, although I could tell by her shortening breaths and the glaze on her pussy that she was getting very excited.
I’d had a week to hunt for just the right hardware to play out this fantasy while she’d been on a trip I’d paid for her—accompanying Harley on a special cruise for disabled vets. Although I’d urged her to go, every day she’d been gone had been an agony.
I doubted Sara knew how much I’d missed her. How I’d ached for her. No matter how many times I “cleaned my rifle”, I was left wanting. When they’d both returned, looking tanned and wearing lazy smiles, I’d ground my teeth, knowing Marco and Payton wanted a turn with her, too. I’d let them have her—even though it about killed me—because I’d seen the catlike curve of her mouth as she’d mounted Payton while he sat on the couch. I’d tensed the moment Marco came behind her, pushing away her hair to nibble on her shoulder while he’d slowly fed his cock into her ass.
When both men had begun to stroke her, Sara’s gaze had locked with mine, challenge gleaming in her baby-blue gaze. She’d driven me out of my mind—breasts bouncing, her bottom lip swelling as she bit it over and over, her back bowing as she’d come.
Yeah, I liked to watch her having sex with my best friends, but there always came a time where I had to have her to myself, to remind her who she belonged to—heart and sweet, hot pussy.
Monday, May 8th, 2017
UPDATE: The winner is…Debra G!
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As always, I want to start by thanking Delilah for letting me come hang out here with you all. It’s always a lot of fun to play here.
It’s a shiny new season, which makes people sometimes want a fresh start in different areas, maybe something big like a job, or a new home, or smaller like a hobby, or just cleaning out a closet—my mom and grandma always did huge, empty-all-the-cupboards spring and fall cleaning every single year, and I never understood it; after all, who cleans things that are already clean. But sometimes that fresh start isn’t by choice. Maybe an employer has to down-size, or, worse, close. Maybe a family member far away needs a caregiver and there isn’t anyone else willing. Lots of us have experienced some of these fresh starts, by choice or by necessity. It’s part of life.
Spring seems like a good time to get some of the by-choice fresh starts underway. Mini-house cleaning (the windows always need a good scrub after winter, right?), or getting rid of old clothes we no longer wear to make room for a few new pieces. Culling a collection that doesn’t mean as much now as it did when we started it. Those are reasonable, I think. Some of us set bigger goals—redoing a room, or planning a vacation.
I’ve seen a lot of (and written some) books that start with one of the main characters undertaking a fresh start in their life, some voluntarily and others not, that sets them on a collision course with something they never planned for, sometimes something that turns their fresh start upside-down so they wind up with yet another fresh start. It’s one of the things that keep us reading, I think, watching how they adjust to the unplanned roadblocks that pop up and make the characters rethink what they thought they knew or wanted.
One of the things I’m starting over this year is my publishing plan–my publisher closed their doors a couple of months ago, so a whole lot of authors had to add some major tasks to their to-do lists for the year. I’m still trying to rework my writing goals for the year while I figure out what to do with Hunting Medusa and the other two unpublished books in the trilogy. I have a lot of (scary!) options on my plate so have been doing research to whittle down that list and make the best choice I can for my books.
In the manuscript I’m rewriting now, the heroine has chosen to make a fresh start—she’s accepted a new job in a state where she doesn’t know a single person. But she has a few months to wrap things up before she goes—sell the house where she grew up, find a place to stay in the new state, get in as much time with her BFF as she can. Romance is definitely not on the list for now, but when her BFF’s older brother sets his sights on her, what can she do? She’s had a crush on him since they were kids, but he never really saw her…until now. It’s sure going to make that fresh start a lot more difficult, though, when she has to leave.
What are some of your favorite ‘fresh start’ stories? I have a signed copy of Hunting Medusa to give away–everyone (US residents over 18) who comments will be entered into a drawing via RandomResult.com.
About the Author
Elizabeth Andrews has been a book lover since she was old enough to read. She read her copies of Little Women and the Little House series so many times, the books fell apart. As an adult, her book habit continues. She has a room overflowing with her literary collection right now, and still more spreading into other rooms. Almost as long as she’s been reading great stories, she’s been attempting to write her own. Thanks to a fifth grade teacher who started the class on creative writing, Elizabeth went from writing creative sentences to short stories and eventually full-length novels. Her father saved her poor, callused fingers from permanent damage when he brought home a used typewriter for her.
Elizabeth found her mother’s stash of romance novels as a teenager, and—though she loves horror—romance became her very favorite genre, making writing romances a natural progression. There are more than just a few manuscripts, however, tucked away in a filing cabinet that will never see the light of day.
Along with her enormous book stash, Elizabeth lives with her husband of more than twenty years and two young adult sons, though no one else in the house reads nearly as much as she does. When she’s not at work or buried in books or writing, there is a garden outside full of herbs, flowers and vegetables that requires occasional attention.
The Medusa Trilogy, Book 1
When Kallan Tassos tracks down the current Medusa, he expects to find a monster. Instead he finds a wary, beautiful woman, shielded by a complicated web of spells that foils his plans for a quick kill and retrieval of her protective amulet.
Andrea Rosakis expects the handsome Harvester to go for the kill. Instead, his attempt to take the amulet imprinted on her skin without harming her takes her completely by surprise. And ends with the two of them in a magical bind—together. But Kallan isn’t the only Harvester on Andi’s trail…
Check it out here!
Sunday, May 7th, 2017
Today, let’s take a moment and introduce you to an author you’ve probably never heard of: Grace Risata… (In the interest of honesty, I interviewed myself for Delilah’s blog…yes, I usually talk to myself, so I figured why not go full on ‘crazy’ and do a complete interview!)
ME: Hello. How are you today?
Myself: I’m fine! Thanks for having me. What would you like to know?
ME: Tell the readers of Delilah’s blog a little bit about yourself. All they know so far is that you’re a little strange.
Myself: I prefer the term ‘eccentric’ because it sounds a little bit more sophisticated. Well, I’m a new author who published three books in 2016 and I’m actually publishing my newest release, “My Dirty Vacation” in a few weeks.
ME: Sounds good. What kind of books do you write?
Myself: I specialize in contemporary romance, heavy on the comedy aspect and VERY heavy on the steam. I like realistic situations so the reader can envision herself as the main character. I love alpha males, sexy bedroom scenes (I have a tendency to involve food in some of my intimate scenarios), and lots of humor. You will ALWAYS find a Happily Ever After in my full length novels.
ME: What don’t you like in books?
Myself: I hate cheating, love triangles, secret billionaires, and heroines who make poor choices.
ME: Why don’t you tell us about one of your books, please.
Myself: I’d be happy to! My best-selling book is called MOWED. It’s a very steamy humorous erotic romance. Here is the synopsis:
Curvy girl Pepper is accustomed to flying under everyone’s radar. Being a big girl hasn’t led to many dates or exciting adventures. All of that was about to change.
Through the small-town rumor mill, Pepper learns her old teenage crush just moved back to town. Jason was the star quarterback, prom king, and also Pepper’s neighbor from across the street.
One day he sees Pepper out mowing the lawn and makes her an offer of no-strings attached, no-holds barred sex that has the potential to benefit them both.
Nothing quite turns out the way either of them thought it would.
Click to look inside and find out what happens when the simple act of mowing the lawn turns into so much more…
WARNING: This story contains a plentiful amount of graphic sex scenes (over EIGHT of them…yes, I counted…including ones involving Barbeque Sauce, Pirates, Ice Cubes, and Handcuffs). They are all M/F and absolutely consensual. If you’re looking for a sick, twisted, dark tale – please go elsewhere, you will NOT find it here. All my stories come with a guarantee that you will crack a smile, find a happily-ever-after ending, and never have to deal with an annoying cliffhanger. There’s also no cheating, no love triangles, no unicorns, and no murder.
If I’ve grabbed your attention, I would like to let you know that it’s on sale for only 99 cents on Amazon. Here’s the link: https://www.amazon.com/Mowed-Erotic-Beautiful-Comedy-Romance-ebook/dp/B01M1FJ7IL
ME: Thanks for being here, Grace, and good luck with your writing career. One last thing…where can we find you online? Got any social media links?
Myself: Yes, I do. Thanks for asking! You can “follow” my blog (The icon in the right corner of the website) and get exclusive access to new releases and Advanced Reader Copies. I also post random tidbits about what’s going on in my life. You’ll find posts about recipes gone wrong, product tests gone wrong, and vacations gone wrong. Yes, I’m a magnet for a trouble. However, it sure makes for entertaining stories!
Thank you for joining me today and, as a parting gift, I’d like to invite you download a free story on Smashwords or Instafreebie. Here are the links to “Unicornia” https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/625171 and “My Dirty Bet” https://instafreebie.com/free/lFQoA.
Enjoy! I’d also like to give a giant “THANK YOU!” to Delilah Devlin for having me.
Saturday, May 6th, 2017
Here’s another book—revised, fresh new cover—ready for your pleasure! But be warned. This story’s truly an alphabet soup sex-fest. There’s mf, mm, mmf…and a very pissed off brother of the lucky heroine. (His story’s next!) I hope you’ll pick up a copy this weekend, and if you do, I hope you’ll take time to post a review or tell a friend.
One quick question: have you read my Lone Star Lovers series before?
Thanks for your support! And enjoy!
How does a girl choose between the bad boy who needs her and the boy next door she’s always loved?
Dani Standifer arrives home at her West Texas family ranch a day early, ready to pick up where she left off with Rowe Ayers, her high school sweetheart. However, when she opens the door to their line-shack trysting place, it’s clear she waited a day too long. Rowe’s with someone else—another man. And not just any other man— it’s Justin Cruz, the bad boy with whom she shared one wild encounter, years ago.
Justin’s waited a long time for this moment. He knows his reputation, but since he seduced Rowe, he’s been a one-man cowboy—waiting for Dani to return and become the delicious fulfillment of his and Rowe’s needs—if she’s up to the challenge.
To her own surprise, Dani finds she’s more than ready to have both men in her life—as soon as she and Rowe teach Justin a lesson or two about love.
Their small town may not be ready for their kind brand of loving. And Dani’s brother Cutter’s mile-deep grudge against Justin throws in a complication that could break the foundation the three of them hope to build…
Get your copy here!
Friday, May 5th, 2017
UPDATE: The winner of this contest is…Alyssa Drake!
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I collect photos like some folks collect baseball cards or Fenton glass. In my down time, it’s not unusual for me to peruse the stock photo sites, looking for a little inspiration for future stories. I found this photo, and while I didn’t have a particular project in mind (still don’t!), the woman, the misty setting—they intrigued me. So I downloaded it.
Writers often use “photo prompts” to kickstart the brainstorming process. Today, if you’d like to play, you can try your hand at coming up with your own story idea. Doesn’t have to be long or involved. Just have fun!
If you do decide to play, there’s a free story in it for one lucky winner! You can choose any story from among my most recently released series, Night Fall, Cowboys on the Edge or Uncharted SEALs.