UPDATE: The winner of the free download is…Kim Smith!

* * * * *

Are you a fan of short stories? Have you ever read one? I love reading and writing them. Good thing, because one of my jobs is “editor” for sexy anthologies for Cleis Press.

I love short stories for many reasons.

• It’s a very short, satisfying journey to THE END.
• I can experiment with genre and see whether I’m any good at writing something different.
• Writing shorts cleans my writer’s palate much like eating bread at a wine-tasting.
• It’s just plain fun.

I write short stories for the collections I edit, but I also love to write them for other people’s collections. I get rejected the same as anyone else, so it’s still a rush to make the cut when a story is accepted. And because I normally retain all rights for the stories, I like to bundle them up occasionally into my own little self-pubbed volumes of Strokes. So far, I’ve published two. In a month or two, I’ll be publishing the third.  Today, I’m giving away a copy of the first volume to one lucky commenter. The second volume had to be republished a few months ago, and I lost all my reviews. 🙁 So if anyone happens to pick up a copy, I’d love you forever if you posted a review!

If you post a comment today, you’ll be entered
to win a free download of Strokes, Volume 1!

Strokes, Volume 2

Click to Buy

From New York Times bestselling author, Delilah Devlin, comes another naughty collection of seven bedtime stories—a week’s worth of nighttime reading pleasure.

Ride along with two soldiers, just returned from war, who find sweet release in “The Long Ride Home.” In “Tailgating at the Cedar Inn,” a woman has one last fling with two sexy construction workers. A cowboy kidnaps his “Runaway Bride” to get some sweet satisfaction. A woman travelling alone in Europe enjoys a hot steamy sauna in the “Textile Free” zone. In “Love in Bloom,” a florist tempts her high school crush. A naughty nooner with an office colleague ends in a “Quick Draw.” A dispatcher kicks inhibitions to the door when she seduces a younger truck driver in “Drive Me Crazy.”

Four of the stories have appeared in separate Cleis Press anthologies. Two of the stories were featured in Penthouse magazine! All the stories are featured in one sinfully hot collection…

Excerpt from “The Long Ride Home”…

White-hot sun beat down on the tops of our helmets. Sweat pooled between our shoulder blades and dampened the necks of our t-shirts. However, it was a hot, humid East Texas heat—so unlike what we’d endured for the past eleven months that none standing in formation really minded. We were home.

I watched it trickle down the side of one particular soldier’s neck as he stood in the row in front of me. Not for the first time, I thought I’d like the chance to lick it away.

Not that Staff Sergeant Mason Haddox had a clue how I felt. We’d been part of the same platoon—played volleyball and shot hoops, drove trucks over long, barely paved expanses of desert and mountains, and cleaned our weapons, side by side—but he hadn’t seen me as anything but another private who needed looking after.

And yet, his tall, muscled frame, black close-cropped hair and wintry blue eyes had made quite an impression. I’d lusted after him since the first time he’d shown up drill weekend, a month before we’d deployed. His steadfast calm during the most nightmarish day of my life had only cemented his attraction.

My nose started to itch, and I wrinkled it, hoping formation would break soon so I could scratch it. My feet were roasting in the boots sticking to the black pavement.

True to his word, our commander kept his speech short. A good thing, since SSG Haddox fidgeted, hands tightening and easing, swaying slightly on his feet as though waiting to spring into action. I knew he scanned the crowd seated in the bleachers from the corners of his eyes, hoping she’d show, that she’d changed her mind. I’d looked too and knew she wasn’t there—and wouldn’t be coming. I felt bad for him, but was also secretly hopeful he’d be ready to let go, that he wouldn’t do something stupid now we were back.

Just a month before we began preparations for our unit’s return from Afghanistan, Haddox had gotten the Dear John letter from his girlfriend, informing him she’d moved his belongings from their apartment into a storage unit. She’d included two keys taped to the page—one for the storage unit and one to his Mustang. She’d written she was sorry, but had he really expected her to wait all those months?

Had I been in her shoes, I would have. But then, I knew the feeling of being so far from home that Skype and email couldn’t fill the loneliness. I’d survived it once. However, my husband’s second tour had severed our connection—that and the emails I’d discovered when I’d hacked his Gmail account. Ones he’d sent to a female corporal stationed in another province who was planning a little R&R rendezvous. As quick as that, my love for him dried up like a closed tap. I’d forwarded the email to my account, then sent it to him along with a request for a divorce.

So I knew what Haddox felt. The searing betrayal. The anger. Maybe she’d been a decent person, but personally, I consigned her to hell. The worst thing the person at home could do to a deployed soldier was abandon him when he was too far away to do a damn thing about it.

I hoped he didn’t plan to go find her now.

“Company, attention!”

I snapped into position.

“Dismissed.”

Cheers from our unit and from the family and friends who filled the armory motor pool rang in the late afternoon air.

Head down, Haddox stomped away, not bothering to share a word with anyone.

My sister waved and made her way through the throng spilling from the bleachers, a wide smile splitting her face. I gave her an answering smile, but couldn’t help darting a glance to watch that broad set of shoulders move toward the open motor pool gates—the only space large enough to hold the formation and the guests who’d come to welcome the Reserve unit home.

The buses that had delivered us from the airport were pulling away. Most of the soldiers and their friends and family were heading inside the armory for the welcome home celebration, but Haddox strode toward the parking lot.

I gave my sister a quick hug. “Go say hi to Shelby—he’s got it bad for you.”

She laughed and blushed. “Where are you goin’?” Then her gaze followed mine. “Seriously? I thought you said he was an asshole.”

“He grows on you. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

She gave me a smile and hitched her purse over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. But you better call.”

“Tell Shelby to grab my gear!” Out the gates I sped.

Haddox was already dropping his duffel bag into the trunk of a car—an older model black Mustang.

I halted beside him, trying to figure out what I could say to keep him from driving away.

“You forget something, PFC Hollister?” he asked, glancing to the side as he slammed down the trunk lid.

“Megan,” I said, suddenly breathless. “Thought you might like some company.”

His gaze narrowed. “Did you, now? I’m gonna blow the carbon out of the exhaust. The ride’s gonna be bumpy.”

“I don’t want to get in the way—if you have plans.”

“No plans.” He snorted. “Don’t even have a place to sleep. Didn’t your sister come to pick you up?”

“Yeah, but she’s all right with me leavin’.”

This time, his mouth twisted into something between a smile and a snarl. “Shelby?”

“Yeah. You know they’ve been writing each other.”

His gaze trailed straight down my body, then up again. “Get in.”

I strode quickly to the passenger door, opened it, and slipped into the bucket seat. Then I tossed my hat in the backseat and began unbuttoning my ACU-camouflaged jacket.

When he slid in beside me, one dark brow lifted, but he didn’t say a thing when I threw it into the back as well and sat in my sweat-damp shirt in the musty car.

“Better roll down the windows.” Then he said a little prayer under his breath and turned the key in the ignition. I buckled my seatbelt. The engine rumbled into life. With a quick, tight grin, he jerked the stick into reverse, and then punched it forward. We rolled out onto the street, heading west rather than east into town.

Hot wind whipped through the interior of the car, dispelling the musty air and tugging at my blond hair looped into a clip at the back of my head. I reached back and released it, then laughed as the Mustang roared.

Glancing toward Haddox, I noted the hard edge of his jaw, the hand wrapped so tight around the steering wheel, the muscles in his forearm tensed. I didn’t have to crawl inside his head to know he didn’t want me there, but I was.

Maybe I could help him out a bit. And maybe, he’d see me as more than a fellow soldier who’d shared the bench seat of a deuce-and-a-half truck a time or two. One I’d been driving when he’d had to talk me through a hail of gunfire when our transport convoy came under attack.

I unbuckled my belt, ignoring his deep frown. I turned in the seat and reached for the buttons of his jacket, flicking them open then parting each side.

He didn’t say a thing, but his nostrils flared, his jaw sawed tighter.

I gripped the front of his t-shirt, bunched it in my hand, and tugged it from his ACU trousers.

His stomach jumped, and he sucked it in, making just enough room for me to get my fingers behind the waistband as I unbuckled, unbuttoned and tugged down the zip.

“Dammit, Hollister,” he said, his voice rough as gravel. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

His gruff tone spurred me on. “Not if you keep your eyes on the road,” I said, tilting up my chin. Then I leaned over his lap, folded down the elastic band of his boxer briefs and pulled his cock upright.

It’s a good thing I don’t expect life to be fair, or organized, or simple, or even sane because it never seems to turn out that way. As I’m sure anyone over 30 knows, making a plan is like begging for something to happen to thwart it. Despite all that, I am quite content with my life. In the final analysis, it’s never boring!

Last year marked a milestone in my career life ( the evil day job career) After fifteen years with the same firm, there was a management shuffle at the top and I found I couldn’t stomach the new company policies. They may have made great financial sense to someone but I like to be able to look myself in the eye without feeling sick. So, I left and started my own firm. I think that was one of the scariest moments in my life, but I felt I had no other choice. I may not be getting rich as an entrepreneur, but I am so much happier and I have all that free (unpaid) time to play with the grandkids and plot world domination, or at least my next book.

It took me the last six months to get my new business in order, but now things are looking up! So, on to career #2! Writing. Prudence dictated that I spread my works out in order to protect myself from unforeseen disasters (see paragraph one) So I now have two publishers and I have embarked on the scary road to Indie Publishing. It’s really not all that scary once you take the plunge. Sort of like jumping off a cliff – once you’re committed you start to enjoy it.  My first release on Amazon is a re-release of a title that never sold very well in its original incarnation. I reworked  the story, gave it a sexy new cover and voila! Love and Wishes is up for sale.

One of the choices I was forced to make on this journey was whether to publish on a variety of platforms such as Amazon, Nook, Apple and Smashwords, or to enroll the book in Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program. The catch to the program is that you have to give Amazon exclusive rights to the book for 90 days at a time. The upside is that theoretically the program will help you to find new readers. I decided to go with it for the first 90 days and see what happenes. I won’t get paid a per book price for this, but a share of  the pot based on my sales through the program. I’m curious to see how well this works out. So far 75% of the book’s distribution is through Kindle Unlimited so I’m hoping that translates into a reasonable payout as well as some new readers for me.

All in all, it’s been a year of firsts and I’m looking forward to seeing what this new year will bring!

Anne Kane
www.AnneKane.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/annekane
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/anne.kane.author
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/sassic123/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/list/2870136.Anne_Kane

LOVE AND WISHES

Genres: Paranormal, Futuristic
Themes: Magic and  Mayhem
Release Date:  January 1, 2015
Author: Anne Kane
http://www.annekane.com
BUY NOW!

Jenna has a secret— her alien blood makes her completely lose control during sex. It takes a strong man to be able to stand up to her demands, and so far she hasn’t found one strong enough to want to come back for more. On the eve of the biggest Sci-Fi convention in the known universe, she makes a wish. Now it’s up to Doug, the sexy troubleshooter from the Wishes Gone Wrong department of Wishlabz Inc. to make sure it comes out right. Because a wish gone wrong can be a very dangerous thing…

EXCERPT:

Jenna eyed up the green-skinned alien, making sure to keep a healthy distance between them. Maybe she should have been a little more specific when she’d wished for a lover with stamina. Like, maybe she should have specified that he be a nice male, a nice human male. She’d never met a demon, but this character seemed to fit the description. He had the horns, the fiery red eyes, and that total lack of consideration for anything anyone else said.

“Go away. I have no intention of going back to your place, wherever that might be.” She had a sinking feeling his place might be in a whole other dimension. Taking another step backward, she felt the cold cement of the wall behind her. “This is one huge mistake.”

The monster roared something unintelligible and stomped his big green foot. Glowering at her with those demonic eyes, he moved sideways, cutting off her escape route. If the drool dripping from the side of his mouth was any indication, he might be planning to make a snack out of her.

She snuck a look past him, hoping someone would notice the big green alien and come to her rescue. Unfortunately, at the biggest Sci-Fi convention on the known worlds an alien really didn’t stick out the way he would on Saville Row or at the opening of a new play on Broadway. She sighed, flicking the safety on her tazer to the off position as she pulled it from the top of her knee-high boots. Sometimes a girl just had to get mean.

“What will it take to convince you that I’m not going anywhere with you?” She brandished the tazer in front of her, hoping it held a big enough charge. She didn’t recall “oversized alien demon” being one of the settings. “Now run along and play nice with the other Trekkies.”

“Oh, I love a gal with her own tazer.” Read the rest of this entry »

I remember the first time Matt brought Erin home.  They were sixteen and had a project to work on together for English class.  Erin stayed for dinner and like mysterious liquid in beakers heated by Bunsen burners chemistry sizzled between them.  They teased each other, one-upped each other and laughed non-stop.  They were so cute together.

Erin wouldn’t date Matt for fear of losing his friendship.  But they attended prom and weathered a lot of stuff together before graduation.  When Erin was in college they (finally) started dating.  When they broke up you’ve never seen anything sadder than my son with a broken heart.  They got back together briefly (after all the warm fuzzies I’d had for Erin were gone) and broke up again.

They went their separate ways and had relationships with others.  For long periods of time there was no contact between them.  We never said anything to Matt but in the minds of the rest of our family, we all agreed he was trying to replace Erin.

Fast forward fifteen years.  They were both in a time and a place and a maturity level where reconnection was made possible.  The chemistry was still there.  I’d never see Matt happier.  The two of them literally glowed when they were together.  Those warm fuzzies?  They came back.

That was two years ago.  Erin had just finished law school and job hunting was tough.  Matt suffered through a debilitating, undiagnosed illness and major surgery.  Erin was with him every step of the way and twenty-four seven during a long hospitalization and months of recovery.

Valentine’s Day 2014 they got engaged.

I asked Matt if he regretted all the years they were apart.  He says he can’t.  Everything they experienced apart made them who they are now and led them back to each other.  Erin says in the back of her mind she always felt they’d find each other again.

I started writing NOBODY’S FOOL the year after Matt and Erin graduated from high school inspired by that chemistry between two BFFs.  Although it is not based on their relationship at all, I wanted to capture that soulmate feeling of “no one knows you like I do.” And loves you anyway.  NOBODY’S FOOL is my story, not theirs, but I couldn’t seem to finish the book until I knew how their story would end.

Nobody’s Fool

She’s home to make amends. He’s out to get a little revenge.

But the heart he breaks could be his own.

The Jolie Kramer who left Oak Ridge at eighteen isn’t the same one who’s home for her ten-year high school reunion. The old Jolie hid her secrets and insecurities behind her popular-girl image.

The new Jolie has returned triumphant from NYC older, wiser, and ready to make amends for the bridges she burned. Especially the one between her and Court Harrison, her biggest supporter since childhood.

Court hates to admit he’s still hung up on Jolie, and he’s vowed to finally put the past way, way behind him. She wants to kiss and make up? He’ll give her a taste of her own medicine. Make her fall for him—only this time, he’ll be the one walking away.

But his plan works a little too well, and by the time he realizes their feelings are real, it’s too late. She’s onto him, and he’s lost the only woman he’ll ever want. Unless she falls for plan B, which contains two things she can’t resist: a career challenge, and a chance to get a little revenge of her own.

My web site: www.barbarameyers.com
Buy Link for Nobody’s Fool: https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5303/nobodys-fool
My WordPress blog:  http://barbmeyers.wordpress.com/
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/BarbaraMeyersAuthorPage
Twitter: @barbmeyers

I am running a Catch My Release contest during the month of January.  There will be five winners and multiple ways to enter.  Details on my web site and FB Author Page.  Posting a comment on this blog post during the month of January 2015 equals one entry.  Winner will receive their choice of one of my books.

What do you think about the idea of visiting a retreat where you could focus solely on your art or hobby? What would you focus on?

I’m Lisa Carlisle and I created an art colony at the Chateau DeRoche for the setting in my series Chateau Seductions. The romances are set at an art colony on a remote New England island. Artists can escape the intrusions of everyday life on a remote island to work in an elegant castle complete with writing nooks, libraries, painting studios, and more.

If you could attend a setting like the Chateau DeRoche, would you find yourself engaged or quickly bored? How long would you like to spend there—a few days or months?

The series began with Dark Velvet. The latest release is Dark Muse and I’m working on the draft for Dark Stranger. Here’s more on the latest in the series:

Dark Muse

Dark Muse
Chateau Seduction series

It takes time before Gina Meiro warms up to people and her shyness is often misunderstood. She hasn’t had to worry about meeting new people at a remote art colony until a new resident arrives—a rock guitarist more suited for a billboard. Her carefree days of painting at the medieval-styled castle on a remote New England island are shattered when she stumbles right into his welcome gathering.

After a falling out with his band, Dante Riani wants nothing more at Les Beaux Arts on DeRoche Island than solitude to work on new songs. When a shy young painter asks to paint him at sunset, he’s tempted by the opportunity to be alone with her.

Someone at the colony claims to know what Dante is and asks for his help. Dante fears his plans are coming undone, especially as grows more drawn to Gina. Her scent and vulnerability are too difficult to resist. But he must stay away from her—she would never understand his secret.

Excerpt

Gina bit her lip, building up the courage to speak her mind. “Actually, I was thinking something,” she confessed.

“Go on.”

“It may sound weird, and feel free to say no if it is.”

Dante’s eyes widened. “Something kinky?” he teased.

“No,” she swatted his arm. “Nothing like that.”

“How disappointing. So what’s on your mind?”

“I noticed you when I was inside the castle.” She left out the part about how long and how many days she had done this. “The silhouette of you playing guitar against the sunset is a perfect juxtaposition. Dark against light. The color contrast. The musician playing into the sunset. Brilliant.”

“Hmm.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m wondering where this is going.”

“Would you mind if I painted you one day?” Read the rest of this entry »

I have a book to finish slamming today. And I can’t wait to type THE END so I can give my poor hands a rest. I’ve written so many words these past few days that my stumpy little digits ache.

Since I don’t want to spend my fingers on a blog, I’ll get right to the point. I have a book coming on February 10th that’s up for pre-order now! It’s a historical western set in Two Mule, Texas—and yes, to those of you who pay attention, it’s a prequel book to the Lone Stare Lovers series. I love this story. It has tons of humor and sweaty sex. And isn’t this the prettiest cover ever?

And what’s with the title of this blog? Just havin’ some fun. And if you say you don’t know what Gunsmoke is/was, well that’s just sad. 🙂 Miss Kitty, Marshall Dillon, Festus… If you were like me, you were always waiting for Miss Kitty and Matt to get it on…

Comment for a chance to win a free download of one of my Lone Star Lover books!

At the close of the old year and start of a new one, the Internet sets itself on fire trying to keep up with everyone posting resolutions, goals, plans and wishes for the year to come. I’m definitely one of those ambitious planners  dreamers. I even spent part of December taking a wonderful online course, “How to Write 50 Books a Year,” offered by Delilah and her sister Elle James. (Writers: take this class the next time it’s offered. It’s amazingly useful.) With the help of that class, I developed not only an ambitious set of work-related goals for 2015, but a workable plan to achieve said goals.

As I write this blog entry, it’s the sixth day of 2015. (I know you’re actually reading it on January 12, but I had to get the post to Delilah ahead of time). I’m already behind on the word count I needed to finish all the planned books by the end of December 2015. I’ve also started a book that wasn’t on the original work plan, one that popped into my head on January 2 and demanded to be written now. According to calculations I made before I conceived this new novella, I have more than half a million words to write this year, and I can now add another 25,000 words minimum to that. You think I’d be panicking.

But I’m not.

At my age, which is older than Taylor Swift and younger than the average mountain, I’ve learned that no plan survives contact with the enemy, as Eisenhower should have said but didn’t. (It was actually a 19^th-century Prussian field marshall named Helmuth Von Moltke, as I discovered when I went to double-check the quote. The literal translation from German is much clunkier, so I’ll stick with the version that Eisenhower may or may not have paraphrased.)

Life likes to keep things interesting. Sometimes it’s in good ways, like throwing a new book idea at you when you were already looking at six or seven books for 2015. Sometimes it’s in a more mind-boggling fashion, like discovering in December, while you’re petting your shiny new 2015 work plan, that you’ve just been assigned a new editor who may have her own ideas about which book she’ll want when. And sometimes it’s just plain stupidity, such as the gaping plot hole into which your almost-finished book falls. (By “your,” of course, I mean “mine.” I know by this point in my career there’s always enough narrative rope to pull the book out of the hole, but when it happens it does kind of spoil the hope of wrapping the first draft up by the end of the week.)

But I can handle these changes of plan. Realizing I’ve mentally committed myself to writing more than half a million words in a year is daunting, but it’s nothing compared to some of the things I’ve done to my poor characters. If I can guide my heroes and heroines in defeating angry demons or government agencies run by evil sorcerers—and finding true love in the process—I can write the narrative of my year so it has a happy ending, even if there are a few plot twists along the way.

What are your goals and/or dreams for 2015? Post something about them in the comments and one random commenter will win a copy of my new (sexy!) paranormal romance Witches’ Waves.

About Teresa

Teresa Noelle Roberts started writing stories in kindergarten and she hasn’t stopped yet. A prolific author of short erotica, she’s also a published poet and fantasy writer—but hot paranormals and BDSM-spiced contemporaries are her favorites. Or they were until she discovered that SF romance offers new possibilities for wild sex, imaginative adventure and love beyond boundaries, so she’s added that sub-genre to her repertoire. Oh, and she’s also half of the writing team known as Sophie Mouette, writing mostly light-hearted spicy romances (with occasional forays into erotica).

Teresa is a crunchy granola girl who enjoys belly dance, yoga, medieval re-creation, playing in the ocean, cooking, and growing more vegetables than she and her husband can possibly eat.  She’d enjoy sleeping, too. She thinks. But it takes so much time!

She shares her home in southern Massachusetts with her husband, a Leo in law enforcement, and two overstuffed cats. She and her husband often plan vacations around food, history, and/or proximity to water.

Find Teresa at www.teresanoelleroberts.com, like her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AuthorTeresaNoelleRoberts or follow on Twitter, where she’s @TeresNoeRoberts.

And check out her alter ego Sophie at www.sophiemouette.com.

About Witches’ Waves

Witches’ Waves (Duals and Donovans: The Different, book 4)
Samhain Publishing

“The overall message is one of hope and the healing that love can help bring, w/some really hot sex […] for good measure.” Four stars—Romantic Times

“This novel definitely hooked me for this series.”—From Me to You Video, Photography and Book Reviews

“Well written and full of emotional depth.”— Manic Readers

Buy links: Samhain /Amazon / Amazon UK / B&N Nook / Kobo / iBooks (iTunes)

The ocean is on their side. But the fight is on land—and it’s about to get dirty.

Duals and Donovans: The Different, Book 4

Long held captive as the Agency’s secret weapon—a blind witch with visions—Meaghan has come to a line she refuses to cross. Rather than betray the infant “child of five bloods” to the Agency’s scientists, she chooses death. Except when she throws herself into the ocean, she doesn’t die. Her repressed water magic comes to life.

When the sodden, delirious witch drifts into Kyle’s arms, his otter dual instincts tell him to get her to the Donovans as fast as possible. Even though one particular surfer-dude Donovan broke his heart.

Declan Donovan continually kicks himself for pushing Kyle away, but his touchy combination of water, earth and lightning magic is too volatile, and Kyle wanted more than Deck was ready to give.

When they come together to help Meaghan control her new magic, it leads the Agency straight to the child of five bloods. They’ll have to dive head-first into total trust—in their magics, in themselves and in each other—to save the child and stop the Agency once and for all.

Warning: Contains an oceanful of sex between an ethereal blind heroine who swears like a pissed-off Marine, an overly serious otter shifter, a would-be beach bum who may be descended from a Norse god, in permutations as fluid as the sea – and themes of abuse and recovery.

Series blurb:

Welcome to an America where the non-human Different and magically gifted humans live among ordinary people. Witches are both feared and honored, but shape-shifting Duals are treated as second-class citizens. The Agency, a government agency that’s supposed to monitor illegal uses of magic and Different abilities, has developed its own dangerous agenda. But when Duals and witches join forces, the Agency and other bad guys aren’t going to know what hit them.

And neither are the witches and Duals. Witch magic grows from the positive energy of love and sex–and the only thing better than one dual for sex magic is two of them!

Ever since seeing Gone With the Wind when I was nine years old, I’ve been fascinated with the Civil War era. Of course, growing up in the South, I was surrounded by antebellum homes graced with Greek Revival columns, steeped in legends that fired my imagination as surely as Sherman burned a swath to the sea.

But the Civil War was more than a brother against brother fight to hold onto an archaic and brutal way of life. The Civil War furthered not only the rights of African-Americans, but those of women as well.

American Red Cross founder, Clara Barton, stated that the Civil War caused “fifty years in the advance of the normal position” of women.

Historian, Barbara Welters, referred to mid-nineteenth century women as “hostages of the home.” Women were supposed to be pious, pure, submissive, and domesticated. The Civil War changed that.

Some women worked as nurses, a job that prior to the war was held mostly by men. The women’s rights movement flourished under luminaries such as Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton.

And then, there were women who donned uniforms, disguised themselves, fought—and sometimes died—alongside men.

Some were wives who couldn’t bear to be separated from their husbands. Still others saw the war as a chance for independence.

Sarah Rosetta Wakeman, who fought with the 153^rd New York Volunteers, wrote home to her family, “I am independent as a hog on ice.”

It is estimated some 400 females fought during the Civil War. These women’s struggles and intrepid strength inspired the character of Union soldier, Alice O’Malley, in my historical, lesbian romance, Beguiled.

About Beguiled:

The Civil War has torn Isabelle Holloway’s world apart, and now she has little help to manage her vast Georgia plantation. But when the Union Army leaves a brash Yankee Zouave behind, Isabelle is inexplicably moved to nurse this gravely wounded, startlingly beguiling soldier.

Alice O’Malley wants nothing more than to recover from her injuries, don her male attire, and rejoin the Federal Army. But after the alluring Southern Belle discovers her true identity, their clash of wills soon transforms into passion-filled nights in each other’s arms. Alice has been in love with a woman before, and fears risking everything for her enemy lover. As war returns to Isabelle’s doorstep, Alice discovers the wounds of the heart are far more vital to heal than the wounds of the flesh.

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Kindle | In Print

Excerpt:

With a sigh, Isabelle ventured into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you feeling better? Do you still have fever?” Before she thought better of it, she touched the back of her hand to Alice’s forehead. She was cooler than before but still warm to the touch.

Alice froze. Her eyes widened and the look of shock in her blue eyes caused a strange fluttering in Isabelle’s stomach. Alice’s stare captivated Isabelle’s, refusing to relinquish its hold—direct, penetrating, seeming to take her in all at once. The innocent touch suddenly became charged with something akin to lightning. Something too intimate. Dangerous.

Shaking herself into motion, Isabelle withdrew her hand and brushed her hair back toward her chignon. Even though she curled her fingers into a loose fist, she could still feel the ghost of warm, dewy skin. She rubbed her palm on her apron, wishing she’d checked her reflection in the mirror. Her nose was probably red. Tear stains doubtless shone on her face.

Heat rose and settled in her cheeks under Alice’s piercing stare.

Clearing her throat, Isabelle averted her gaze. “W-what possessed you to join the Union Army?”

“After the emancipation proclamation was issued, I felt I needed to help right an injustice.” Alice’s hint of a brogue overshadowed the meaning of her words.

Isabelle regarded her once more, trying to absorb the meaning. “Lincoln signed that proclamation over a year ago.”

Alice’s chin dipped in a nod. “Aye.”

Isabelle wanted to argue that the proclamation did not refer to slaves in Union-held portions of the Confederacy, but she couldn’t shake the rampant images in her head of Isabelle charging into battle. “You’ve been in the Union Army for a year? An entire year? How’d you hide…your identity?”

Alice shrugged one shoulder. “When you can shoot straighter, march farther, and fight harder than any man, they don’t tend to ask too many questions.”

One corner of Isabelle’s mouth twitched as she fought off a grin. It irritated her that she found humor in the thought of a woman—this woman—fooling so many men. But she did.

From where she sat, Isabelle studied the remnants of Alice’s uniform with its distinctive red, blousing breeches and blue, cutaway jacket decorated with red piping. “Why the Zouaves?”

Alice raked a trembling hand through her short hair. “A good many other Irish were in it. I knew they’d accept me. Besides, the uniform concealed…more.” With that, her plush lips curled up on one side in a smile that sent a jolt of something Isabelle couldn’t define straight to her pantalets.

She swallowed, instantly dismissing the unwelcome sensation. “Laws of mercy! You’ve all but ruined your chances of making an advantageous marriage.” Heat crept up her neck. Her pulse accelerated and she didn’t know why.

Perhaps merely because the idea of wearing a man’s clothing, of pretending to be one, seemed so taboo. So decadently sinful.

“Married? Me? Oh no. I’ll never stand at the altar. Of that you can rest assured.” Alice dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand.

Isabelle blinked. What sort of woman wouldn’t want to marry? But she knew the answer to that. The sort of woman who’d join up with the army and fight. The sort of woman whose livelihood wasn’t dependent on a man. “How will you make your way in the world? You can’t go on pretending to be a man forever.”

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Her Beguiling Bride

Be sure to pick up a copy of the novella length sequel, Her Beguiling Bride!

Three years have passed since Isabelle Holloway gave her heart to Alice O’Malley, the brash woman Union soldier left on the doorstep of Isabelle’s Georgia plantation. Now Reconstruction Era taxes threaten their home, and Isabelle must decide between the female lover whose touch sets her flesh and soul ablaze, or a cold marriage to a wealthy man and an even colder bed. In hopes of saving the plantation, Isabelle and Alice travel to Savannah where doors close at every turn. Until Alice tenders a scandalous proposal that could cost them everything…or offer them the love of a lifetime.

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About Paisley Smith
Paisley Smith is a full time author who can usually be found in front of her computer either writing, chatting, promoting or plotting. It’s a glamorous life…working in one’s pajamas. She attended college in the Deep South where she obtained a slew of totally useless degrees and developed an unrelenting sense of humor. Website: http://PaisleySmith.net