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Archive for November, 2015

Two New Releases–Penthouse and a New Night Fall Story!
Tuesday, November 17th, 2015

Guess who’s in the December issue of Penthouse? Pretty cover, sexy pics, and my smutty little story, “The MILF Man“, right there on page 116. Ain’t my mama proud? She is, actually. I know. We’re not the typical family living in the Bible Belt—and this is my third appearance in that esteemed publication. Look for it in the stores NOW!


And there’s the second cause for celebration, the release of the next story in the Night Fall series: Night Fall on Dark Mountain.


After the death of one of the members of the super-secret police unit aligned with the Vampire Council in southern Florida, werewolf Max Weir becomes the chief suspect. Sure a greater villain has used a were-clan’s hatred of vamps to strike against the unit, Max travels to the mountains of North Carolina to seek the truth and hopefully renew the centuries-old truce between the weres and vampires.

Alec Weir has a problem on his hands. The new sheriff on Dark Mountain must walk a fine line between upholding were-clan laws and saving his vamp-loving brother from certain death. Alec must find the traitor in the clan responsible for the attack on the vampires or watch his brother die. If that wasn’t enough, his chosen mate, Stasia McGwyre, seems to still hold a candle for Max.


I hope you’ll give both a try. I’d love to hear what you think. 🙂

Heather Hambel Curley: The Missing Stairs OR My hour and a half as an archaeologist…
Monday, November 16th, 2015

hc2015-10-25 11.05.47

It pains me to say it, but this year marks eleven years since I graduated from college.  It was 2004 and my hair color was blonde.  I was convinced my fresh, magna cum laude graduating, 3.93 GPA Communications Bachelor degree with a specialization in corporate communications was going to promptly lead to a job in communications/public relations/corporate communications.


What happened instead, was The Hubs came home from military deployment and we moved to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, where we earned seven dollars per day as volunteers with Harpers Ferry National Historical Park.  That is, until the volunteer funding ran out and we worked to earn free park housing.

That’s the kind of thing you only do when you’re independently wealthy, or twenty-two years old.

Most of our time was spent as period dressed interpreters, meaning I spent eight hours a day in a corset, hoop skirt, and dress running a Dry Goods Store.  The Hubs ran the Provost Marshall’s office.  It’s a separate blog post entirely, but in short it was really fun and we did a lot of crazy things the general population doesn’t do, such as but not limited to: sassing Confederate soldiers when they steal bread from your dry goods store.  Have said Confederate pick you up and put you back in your dry goods store.  Smack soldier with a broom.


At some point, it was decided that the current bus depot in Lower Town was going to be moved like, 200 yards to the left and a nice, covered pavilion constructed to keep the elements off park visitors.  Before you can do this kind of thing in a historic district, you first do an archeological survey.  You know, just in case something really, really awesome and/or important is laying underneath the pavement.

My writer brain said, “We’re totally going to find a body.”

The park service knew exactly what was under the pavement.  They knew that it was the site of a two-story house, probably used as housing for US Armory and Arsenal employees prior to the Civil War.  The structure was destroyed in a flood in the early part of the 20th century.  There were full-time archeologists with the park, but it was a pretty big job–that had to be finished as fast as possible–so a bunch of us volunteers from around the park got to help out.

It was all very exciting.  In fact, my debut novel, With Me Now, is about an archaeology student helping out with an archeological survey in Gettysburg.  And, in her survey, they found something pretty exciting.

In 2004, during our archeological survey, we didn’t.

We found lots of broken nails.  We found a rat skull.  We found modern-day beer bottles and broken glass and lots and lots of rocks.  I cannot stress enough that we found a lot of rocks.

And then, just before the dig was over, we found a staircase.

The staircase probably at once led from the main floor of the structure down into a cellar.  In fact, at the base of the stairs we found a lot of garbage: broken pieces of porcelain.  They were probably pieces of dishes or cups that had shattered, white porcelain with intricate blue or green designs.  Occasionally, we’d find two pieces and could fit them together like puzzle pieces.  It was strange, holding these tiny shards of the past in your hand, knowing that over one hundred and fifty years ago, someone else held them.  Discarded them.  Forgot them.

That was the haunting thing about the missing stairs.  They once had been an integral part of someone’s day to day life.  A person, long forgotten to history, tramped up and down the stairs without thinking about it, much like I go up and down my stairs here at home.  They took them for granted, they really didn’t think much about not having them.  Then, before long, the house was gone.  The stairs were missing.

hcCaptureI think, for me, my dad is my missing stairs.  I never thought I’d grow up without him, yet, here it’s been over eight years since he passed away.

And now, back in Harpers Ferry, the stairs are missing again.  Once the survey was finished, the pit was filled in and paved over.  A pavilion and concrete bus depot sit over our site, solidifying that fact that, unless something changes, no one will ever see the stairs again.

Since then, I’ve written three novels and signed publishing contracts for two.  That’s something my dad would be proud of.  And, unlike The Missing Stairs, I’ll never forget him.

By Line: Heather Hambel Curley writes historical fiction and sassy paranormal romance.  She’s an unabashed One Direction and tattoo fan and enjoys the occasional cupcake.  For more on Heather, you can visit her blog at  With Me Now is available for purchase at Amazon.

Jenna Ives: Programmed for Power
Sunday, November 15th, 2015

Sometimes I wonder if readers realize how much work actually goes into the creation of a book. Authors stress about their cover, their blurb, and, of course, the story itself. Authors agonize over every word, because we want a reader to be swept up in a story they can’t put down. We want to make the reading experience the best it can be!

For me, it all starts with a “what if” game. Either before I fall asleep, or out on my balcony with my evening glass of red wine, or even in the dentist’s office while waiting for my 6-month cleaning, I’m always playing this mental game with myself: if this, then that. Most ideas I discard, but it definitely gets the creative juices going! One evening I was watching the news, and, given the scary state of our world, I wondered… What if the world was almost destroyed by another war? What would life be like afterwards?

You wouldn’t think a romance series could spring from such a sobering thought, but… bingo! My Tau Cetus Chronicles was born. Think post-apocalyptic. Think dystopian. Think police agents and… sex robots.

I’ve been working on this series for the last three years, and I’m thrilled to announce the release of Programmed For Power, book #3 in The Tau Cetus Chronicles. All of these books can be read alone, but fans had been asking me for the story of the planet’s premier, Theus. It’s probably my favorite of the series so far.


As the powerful premier of war-torn Tau Cetus, Theus presides over an uneasy post-apocalyptic peace. Many plot against him, including a traitor on his own High Council as well as one rogue woman who dared to steal a precious keepsake from his past. Capturing Leora Smith offers Theus a chance at personal revenge, but she awakens emotions in him he thought long dead. Even so, it takes an assassination attempt to spur Theus to reassess a future with either this prisoner who makes his blood run hot or the cold Beautiful Doll robotic lover who’s been the perfect match for his lifeless existence until now.

Ahem. This is a completely different sort of romance triangle, trust me!

In book one of the series, Programmed To Please, very human police agent Jai Turner goes undercover as a Beautiful Doll sex robot to take down the planet’s most notorious weapons manufacturer, Marque Callex. But neither Jai nor Marque are what they seem, and their week together has consequences neither expect.

In book two, Jai’s police partner Leith Wyatt actually DOES fall in love with a Beautiful Doll sex robot, but discovers that Ginger has somehow achieved sentience. Together they help save Tau Cetus from a coup attempt against the ruling High Council.

And in Programmed For Power, a lot of favorite characters are back in supporting roles, which I hope will make readers happy. As powerful as he is, in this story Theus comes to realize that his fate rests in the strength of one woman’s love.

Here’s an excerpt:

“Keira, my dark one…”

Theus watched as his words woke the Beautiful Doll sex robot from her hibernation mode. Her eyes opened, she moved from behind the partially folded screen in the corner of his office, and then walked slowly toward him.

She was beautiful. Hair black as midnight, dramatic blue starburst eyes, and a body tailored to meet Theus’ exact physical preferences. She was naked beneath a sheer silk sarong, the diaphanous wrap leaving little to the imagination but just enough to incite a man’s fantasies. She was the perfect female, designed to fulfill his every sexual need.

So then why was he frowning as she came to a halt in front of his desk?

Because she reminded him of her creator, Anson Carron. Theus’ enemy.

As premier for the last decade, Theus and his High Council had fought to keep the peace on Tau Cetus in the aftermath of the Great War, a conflict which had wiped out nearly half the planet’s population. There were still troublesome areas of Tau Cetus that weren’t under the Council’s control, but for the most part, the planet was at peace.

No thanks to Anson Carron.

Three times Carron had challenged the Council. First, he’d stolen highly-regulated weapons and sold them to rogue regulators bent on fomenting insurrection. Next, he’d attempted to kill the Council’s weapons manufacturer and right-hand man, Marque Callex, in order to assume his position of power. And most recently, Carron had tried to assassinate the five members of the High Council and take control of the planet for himself.

And yet, with all those treasonable offenses, none struck as close to home as Carron’s theft of a particular diamond a year ago. That crime was personal.

Theus set his jaw, his rage at the theft still fresh even after all these months.

Anson Carron was now dead. After taking the robot manufacturer into custody in the wake of his failed assassination attempt, Theus had successfully tortured out of him the missing diamond’s location. Then, with the Council’s backing, Theus had ordered Anson Carron’s execution for his crimes.

And just a moment ago, he’d dispatched two of his best agents to recover the stolen gem.

“You called, Theus?”

The bell-like voice of the Beautiful Doll pulled Theus from his troubled thoughts. Keira was one of only two left of her kind. Anson Carron had agreed to convert all the rest of his Beautiful Dolls into robot soldiers and put them under the command of the High Council. It was a way to save his neck after the botched shooting of Theus’ weapons manufacturer, Marque Callex, last year. But even long before that, four years ago to be exact, Carron had gifted Theus with Keira in an effort to curry favor.

Beautiful Dolls were sex experts, legendary for their skill, programmed with an almost infinite number of ways to please. Anson Carron had run a highly profitable business with his Dolls, addicting men and women to sex with his clever male and female robots.

He should have stayed a simple purveyor of prostitution; he should never have reached for more power than that.

Theus swiveled in his chair and reached to unbuckle his belt. “Come around my desk, Keira. I’d like fellatio two.”

The Doll paused, tilting her head. “You’ve requested fellatio or fellatio two 92% of the time I’ve been with you, Theus.”

Theus’ hands paused in their work, and he arched an eyebrow in surprise. “It’s probably because the suction of your nineteen miles-per-hour mouth can reduce even the most potent man to mush.”

“92% fellatio, 1% missionary, 1% doggie-style, 1% ride ‘em cowboy, 1% split the bamboo, 1% padlock, 1% pair of tongs, 1%—”

“Enough.” Theus frowned. Was he really so predictable? There’d been a time when – like any normal man – he’d been eager to try out every sexual position a Beautiful Doll was capable of, but obviously those days were gone. Hell, it wasn’t the Doll’s fault. He could still recall Keira’s trick of tightening her body while he was inside of her, squeezing the very orgasm out of him. Or pistoning him like a jackhammer while riding his cock. She was an amazing piece of technology, but these days, he only used her when he needed physical release or a distraction from work. The excitement was gone.

“Come here.”

The Doll dutifully walked around his desk and sank gracefully to her knees. Theus finished unzipping his trousers and reached for himself.

“Let me do it, Theus.”

Theus closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Maybe it would help if he imagined that the rubbery-like feel of Keira’s artificial fingers belonged to someone else. But who? There was no one Theus could even fantasize about.

Well, there was one. But that had been long ago. A precious memory, kept tucked in his heart.

From the day Theus had been named premier of Tau Cetus’ High Council, his life had become too dangerous to let in a real woman. That’s why Keira was perfect for him. No one could harm her. No one could threaten her hoping to get to him.

The ruler and his robot were the perfect pair.

If only Theus could be happier about the arrangement.

Luckily, when Keira’s mouth closed around him with her vice-like grip, his mind went blank and his body took over.

Buy links:

What do you think? Sound like an interesting start to a future love triangle? I’ll be picking one lucky winner at random to win an e-copy of Programmed For Power who can answer this question: what kind of gem did Anson Carron steal from Theus? (Hint: answer can be found in the excerpt.)

My thanks to Delilah for having me as a guest today!


Need your help finding a title… (Contest)
Saturday, November 14th, 2015

Remember that poll I ran for your favorite pick from among ideas y’all pitched to me for a story I’ll have in n upcoming cowboy collection? That title will also be the next story I have in the Cowboys on the Edge series. One of your top preferences was Cowboy Law. I liked that. But of course, then I played with variations, and this one struck me: Cain’s Law. So now I have a title, the hero’s name, and soon a cover. Do you like this for the image I want to use? He’s a little skinny (maybe my cover artist can stretch him a bit!), but I love the blue, love his pretty face, and all the shadow. So thanks so much for helping me “find” that title! Now, I have to think up a story to go with the title and the picture…

I need your help again.

I must write the next story in my Uncharted SEALs series. Here are the titles I have so far:


As usual, I have no idea what the next story will be about. But I need another provocative title. Each of these titles inspired my story. Let’s brainstorm. Throw out any idea you have. There’s no such thing as a dumb idea in brainstorming, because your suggestion might spawn an idea in someone else’s imagination. That’s how brainstorming works.

Submit your idea(s) for a chance to win a free download of either
Controlled Burn from my Cowboys on the Edge series,
or one of the first three books in the Uncharted SEALs series. 

Melissa Snark: Interview with Logan Koenig
Friday, November 13th, 2015


Fantasy Gab is a nighttime talk show dedicated to covering the latest developments in fantasy news, including the review of new books and movies. The host, Sam Smarmy is a tall, thin Caucasian man who has appeared to be in his mid-thirties for the last fifty years. His pale skin has a plastic quality and his fangy smile gleams with the wattage of a thousand light bulbs. Sam has worked on a variety of game shows and sitcoms, including The Newlywed Game and Family Feud, prior to becoming the host of Fantasy Gab.

As the opening credits to the show finish rolling, the camera reveals Sam Smarmy seated in a black recliner. He flashes his bright smile until the applause fades.

Seated to Sam’s left is a gorgeous young man in his twenties with spikey brown hair and startling amber eyes. He sprawls in his chair, arms on the rests, legs wide.

msLogan-wm“Good evening,” Sam says. “Tonight, we have a special treat for our audience. Welcome Logan Koenig, werewolf heartthrob!”

“Thanks, Sam. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“How does it feel to officially be a literary hottie?” Sam asks.

Logan’s brow climbs. “Is it really official?”

“Yes, it must be since ‘Literal Hotties Naughty Books Reviews’ has provided our forum this evening and here you are…”

“Wow.” Logan suggestively touches his stomach just above the top button on the fly of his jeans. He jerks away and shakes his hand as if burned. “Oh yeah, I’m smokin’.”

Women in the audience shout and scream.

Sam’s eyes glow; his canines get a fang on. “That you are. That you are.”

Logan only grins.

After a second, Sam licks his lips and clears his throat. “I’m going to start with a question from our audience. Logan, Christine from San Francisco wants to know—what’s your sign?”

A small smile plays on Logan’s lips. “I was born under a bad sign.”

Sam grins. “With a blue moon in your eyes?”


“Have you got yourself a gun?”

“More like claws and teeth.” Logan smiles to show off those teeth.

“Okay, enough, enough, before I hear from Alabama‘s legal reps,” Sam says, waving his hand. “So you’re a werewolf, eh? That makes you a pretty dangerous fellow.”

“I don’t think of myself as dangerous.”

“You don’t? That’s interesting,” Sam says. “I understand your author once characterized werewolves as ‘killing machines—tanks with claws’.”

“That’s a gross exaggeration. We’re more like SUVs with claws.”

The audience responds with laughter and scattered applause. Sam waits until it fades. “How would you describe yourself? Are you more of a lover or a fighter?”

“Lover. Definitely a lover.” Logan smiles and winks for the audience.

Sam chuckles. “Tell me about your role in ‘Hunger Moon’.”

“Sure. As the story opens, I stand accused of having murdered my mother two years before. Only I have no memory of the night in question.”

“Your own mother?”

Logan’s hands fist and he hesitates before answering. “Yes.”

“A convenient case of amnesia?”

Logan’s amber eyes flash. “There was nothing convenient about it.”

Sam clears his throat. “After Valkyrie Victoria Storm comes to town, she agrees to help you investigate the murder in hopes of clearing your name.”

“She agrees eventually but it wasn’t all that easy convincing her to help.”

Sam grins. “Is it true you threw Victoria’s car into a lake?”

Logan relaxes into his recliner. His grin is cocky. “Hey, I lost my phone over that. Besides, did you see her car? I’ve seen nicer toilet seats.”

Sam’s eyes twinkle. “Was Victoria inside the vehicle when you tossed it to its watery grave?”

“It got her out of her clothing, didn’t it?”

Sam snickers. “Let’s talk about why Melissa Snark recently retitled the series—”

Logan’s brow arches. “Retitled?”

“Yes, retitled,” Sam says. “The series, formerly called ‘Norse Werewolves Urban Fantasy’ was recently renamed ‘Loki’s Wolves’. Do you have any inside information you’d care to share?”

Logan shakes his head. “Not a clue.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“No. In fact, this is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Is that because you haven’t been on the set of ‘Battle Cry’, the sequel to ‘Hunger Moon’?”

Logan frowns and his jaw clenches. “That’s correct. I’ve been given a few token text messages with Victoria but other than that, I don’t have a key role in the next book.”

Sam develops predatory intensity. “Are you being written out of the series?”

There is dead silence in the audience.

“Absolutely not.”

“Are you sure?”

Logan’s eyes narrow and take on a dangerous gleam. “My fans wouldn’t tolerate it.”

Women in the audience scream in support. Ladies shout: “We love you, Logan!” and “I want to have your baby!”

“See?” Logan says with a confident grin. “The author knows her entire series would collapse without me.”

Sam chuckles. “Quite the ego you’ve got there. Well then, go ahead and share with us what your future holds.”

“The next book after ‘Battle Cry’ will focus primarily on me.”

Sam claps his hands. “Delightful. What can you tell us?”

“Sorry. Sworn to secrecy.” Logan draws a cross over his heart with his index finger.

“Harrumph.” Sam clears his throat. “Well, what about the title? Does the book have a title yet?”

Logan flushes and mumbles something indistinct.

Sam cocks his head. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Could you repeat it?”

Logan sighs and speaks louder. “The author’s working title is ‘Run Logan Run’.”

Sam chortles and slaps the arm rest of his chair. “Ha, that’s quite clever.”

“Melissa thinks so,” Logan says, rolling his eyes.

“I notice you’re on a first name basis with Mrs. Snark.”

“I am.”

“One final question before we’re out of time,” Sam says. “Lori from New York City wants to know—boxers or briefs?”

Logan grins. “Commando.”

Female screams swell as the closing credits for Fantasy Gab roll.

Hunger Moon is part of Edge of Never: A Unique Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy Boxed Set.  New York Times, USA Today, and Other Bestselling Authors

Join us at the Edge of Never … Obliterate the lines between fantasy and reality with nine spine-tingling tales from your favorite bestselling and award winning authors. Dragons, gods–fallen and otherwise–ghosts, vampires. A touch of steampunk. More than a splash of romance. From magical lands to a chilling glance into post World War II Europe, Edge of Never has something to tempt everyone.

msEdge of Never Box New WEB 09092015Amazon US:
Amazon UK:
Google Play:



Author BIO

msMelissaSnark author photo for bookSubscribe to Melissa Snark’s newsletter for new releases, prizes, and lots of fun. (Just copy & paste the link into your browser.) You’ll get a free ebook just for signing up!

Author Melissa Snark lives in the San Francisco bay area with her husband, three children, and a glaring of litigious felines. She reads and writes fantasy and romance, and is published with The Wild Rose Press & Nordic Lights Press. She is a coffeeoholic, chocoholic, and a serious geek girl. Her Loki’s Wolves series stems from her fascination with wolves and mythology.

Where to find Melissa on the Internet:

Email: melissasnark at
Facebook author page:
Amazon Author:

Thursday, November 12th, 2015

It’s an exciting month for me! I have two books out on Nov 17th. BOOTS AND THE HEARTBREAKER and MONTANA SEAL under my pen name Elle James. Be sure to sign up for my Newsletter. I’m giving away some great prizes. I have a Pink Kindle I’ll be giving away soon. So stay tuned! You have to be a subscriber to win! Look for my newsletter on Nov 17th!

Sign up here:

Now for the teaser into BOOTS AND THE HEARTBREAKER….



Come visit the Ugly Stick Saloon!

Colin McFarlan’s back is against the wall. Two brothers have caved to their mother’s threat to sell the ranch if they don’t get married and give her grandkids—now it’s his turn. Too bad the only woman he’s ever loved is the one who came between him and his brother Brody.

When Fancy returns to Temptation, he’s determined to steer clear of the gorgeous real estate agent, who looks good whether dressed up in a pencil skirt or dressed down in cowboy boots.

Fancy Wilson made mistakes. Getting engaged to Brody was the first. Weeping in Colin’s arms—and falling into his bed—on the night she and Brody broke up was the second. She’s not adding to her sins by falling for Colin all over again. She’s had enough heartache.

Yet when Colin asks her to help break up a romance between his mother and the notorious town heartbreaker, she can’t resist. But soon they’re scrambling to undo the damage they’ve done…before it destroys their last chance for happiness.

Warning: Breaking up is hard to do, but reunion sex can be oh, so fine!

Amazon | Nook | IBooks | Kobo | GooglePlay  | Goodreads


Copyright © 2015 Myla Jackson
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Colin McFarlan stared into his beer. The pressure was on.

“It’s your turn.” His brother Angus nudged him in the side. “I’ve got Gwen and Dalton. Brody has Jessie. There’s only three weeks left in Mom’s ultimatum.”

“Tell me about it.” He lifted his long neck bottle and swiveled on the bar stool at the Ugly Stick Saloon.

The usual Friday night crowd did nothing to boost his spirits. Sure, there were ladies in the bar, but half of them were already taken.

“What about the Banks twins?” Brody nodded toward the gorgeous blond-haired, blue-eyed identical twins giggling at something Sam Whitefeather was telling them.

“I don’t know.” Colin cringed. “They’re so young.”

“Young?” Angus snorted. “Since when does that bother you? Besides they’re both twenty-two and legal, freshly home from college.”

Colin took a long swig of his beer and rolled it around in his mouth before swallowing. “I’m just not feeling it.”

“What’s to feel?” Angus asked. “You find a woman, get engaged and be done with it. Mom will be happy, she’ll stop making insane threats of selling off the ranch, and we can all get back to work without worrying about having our home sold out from under us.”

“Yeah, what’s keeping you?” Brody, the middle brother sat on the other side of Colin. “You’ve always loved women.”

“Right. Women. Plural of woman.” Colin pushed a hand through his hair. He’d always played the field, dating a woman for no more than three dates before cutting her loose. He’d always found something not quite right about the fit, and didn’t want any clingy goodbyes.

No single woman had captured his attention and kept it. Except one. Fancy Wilson.

No sooner had he thought of her, the woman on his mind walked through the entrance, smiling up at Dusty Cramer, the local sheriff’s deputy on a rare Friday night off duty.

Damn. There went Colin’s evening. He had just about talked himself into asking one of the Banks twins to dance. Now, all desire to dance with Hayley or Alexis fled. How could he dance with them when all he could think about was how beautiful Fancy looked in a tight, blue jean skirt and cowboy boots?

The real estate agent, who usually wore a pencil skirt and suit jacket, and made them look sexy as hell, appeared even more amazing in the casual attire. She reminded him of that one night eight years ago that had changed his life.

The night she’d called off her engagement to his brother Brody.

The same night she’d cried in Colin’s arms and they’d made love.

He’d gone from happy-go-lucky to destroying his brother’s trust and losing the girl he’d fallen for. Brody moved to the west end of the country and refused to come home.

It had taken eight years and his mother’s ultimatum to bring Brody back.

Fancy had left town not long after Brody, moving to Dallas to start over.

Colin knew that because he’d heard through his mother’s grapevine. Not only had she started over, she’d done pretty well for herself selling real estate. Why she’d decided to return to Temptation was beyond Colin’s comprehension. She could make so much more money in Dallas, and marry the high-powered man of her dreams. A small town girl making it in the big D.

A f**kin’ Cinderella story.

Colin’s gaze captured Fancy’s for a moment. Then she turned to Dusty and laughed up at him, her smile wide, green eyes twinkling. Since she’d been back in Temptation, she’d dyed her hair back from auburn to her natural blond. The woman would look good in black, brown, auburn or blond hair. Hell, she’d probably look good bald and with half her teeth, just to make Colin more miserable.

“What’s wrong, Colin?” Angus leaned close. “You look like you ate a lemon. Are the Banks girls really all that bad?”

Colin straightened and set the beer bottle on the bar. “Not at all. I think I’ll ask them to dance.”

“Both of them?” Brody laughed. “Might be a little hard to do in a two-step.”

“Not a problem. They’re playing ‘Cotton-eyed Joe’.” Colin pushed to his feet and strode across the floor, refusing to glance Fancy’s way, although he could see her in his peripheral vision.

He stopped in front of Hayley. Or was it Alexis? It didn’t matter. “Would you two care to dance?”

The two young women squealed delightedly and jumped to their feet. “Of course we would,” they said in unison.

Oh good, he’d get matching comments in stereo. Colin’s jaw tightened to keep from saying anything disparaging to the women. He just wasn’t in the mood for any of this.

He led them onto the dance floor, spun them both out and back into the curve of his arms. They giggled and settled into the dance, kicking their heels, backing up then moving forward, shouting “bullshit!” when it came to that part in the song.

An accomplished dancer, Colin could do the moves with his eyes closed and was tempted to do just that to avoid making eye contact with Fancy.

If having his old flame in the saloon wasn’t hard enough on Colin’s nerves, Fancy and Dusty stepped onto the dance floor as the song transitioned into a waltz.

“I’ll just sit this one out,” Alexis said.

“Thanks, dear.” Hayley molded her body against Colin’s and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Umm. You feel amazing.”

Colin muttered something, not even aware of the woman in his arms, his entire attention on how low Dusty’s hand was on the small of Fancy’s back.

Anger simmered below the surface and Colin’s muscles tensed. If Dusty’s hand drifted any lower…

Lindsay McKenna: Tangled Pursuit, a Character Interview
Wednesday, November 11th, 2015


CHARACTER INTERVIEW, Part 1:  US Navy SEAL Chief Wyatt Lockwood


There’s a wild filly who keeps avoid’n my lasso here at Bagram Army Base.  Captain Tal Culver, US Marine Corps, stole my heart from the first time I accidentally ran into her at Ops.  My SEAL team and I were coming in off an Op.  I didn’t know her at that time, but she was a Marine sniper and was there with her spotter, filling out paperwork at the Ops desk.  She had greasepaint all over her face and hands.  When I saw her, I realized instantly she wasn’t a man. Not because of her desert cammos and Kevlar vest she was wearing, either.  I guess my heart meter detected she was female, was all I can surmise.

Anyway, it was as if we both became aware of one other at the same instant.  I wore greasepaint, my cammo clothes filthy dirty and smelling to high heaven after six days out on a mission.

Our eyes met and held.  I felt such a bolt of lightning surge through me,  that it caught me completely by surprise.  I was stunned in place.  That had never happened before when I would meet a woman I was drawn to.  It was her spring green colored eyes, slightly tilted, that gave her an incredibly beautiful, exotic look.  Never mind she had greasepaint on instead of make-up.  I’d anchored to the spot and my mouth dropped open.  Her black hair was caught in a ponytail that hung between her shoulder blades, mostly hidden beneath the Kevlar vest she wore.

My whole body felt like it was on fire and I knew right then and there, I wanted this warrior woman.  There was nothing weak about her from the blazing look of disdain she gave me as I stood there, nonplussed.  Sheer, unadulterated confidence poured off her.  I saw her sniper rifle in a bag leaning up against the Ops desk.  I didn’t know the Marine Corps had ANY female snipers in their ranks, much less at Bagram.  How the hell did SHE escape my radar?  I think at that point I snapped my mouth closed, still holding her “don’t screw with me” glare in my direction.

She turned away, continuing to fill out the report at the desk, ignoring the hell out of me.  Well!  Women just did NOT ignore me.  Not ever.  I had little girls in kindergarten following me around, and then in grade school, high school and then, in the Navy.  I never wanted for a woman.  My team called me a babe magnet.  Yeah, that was pretty accurate.  Women have always been drawn to me.

But not THIS woman.  She was six feet tall, hard and lean bodied, and probably weighed around a hundred sixty pounds.  You couldn’t tell much beneath all the mannish gear she wore.   But my imagination filled in all those unknown blank spots beneath her Kevlar vest, two drop holsters on each thigh, a Ka-Bar knife wrapped around her right lower leg, the Camelback and radio equipment in her ear and attached to her left epaulet of her dirt stained blouse.

I WANTED her.  ALL of her.  She was MINE.  I made it my sole purpose in life to lasso this beautiful, proud and confident warrior into my bed.  Come hell or high water.

The disdainful look she gave me after she handed in her report to the Ops officer behind the desk was enough to make any man feel like a crispy critter torched in the flames of her narrow-eyed look.  And it looked like it would take hell and high water to convince her I was the ONE.

Texans don’t run from a fight; they run toward it.  And I knew in that nanosecond that Captain Tal Culver was going to be my ultimate challenge.  She threw down an invisible gauntlet between us as we stood there six feet apart, staring one another down like two alpha wolves checking the other out.  I wonder if she knew I was from Texas?   Then she’d realize the utter futility of saying ‘no’ and turning me down.  At that moment I gave her a cocky grin, letting her know I’d picked up that silent challenge.  She was mine. She just didn’t know it yet….