For Captain Adam Zingh, the mission is simple–acquire one hundred wives for him and his crewmates to help colonize a new planet, far from Dominion rule. Rescuing prisoners from penitentiary in deep space should have been a simple in and out operation. The women would be grateful for a second change at freedom, or so he thought. However, he hadn’t yet encountered the stubborn captain of the prison ship.
When pirates overtake their ship, Evena McClure resists, mindful of her duty to protect the women under her command as well as her impending pardon.
The pirate and the prisoner have only a week to seduce the other side to their will.
Be watching! These titles are coming very, very soon!
Love cowboys? Ready for 12 sexy stories featuring cowboys who are also lawmen? How about a sexy slave auction on a planet far, far, away? Both are coming soon! And both are up for pre-order now! Click the covers to purchase!
Yeah, you have to wait–but I promise it won’t be long…
Babylonia Jones came to me by mistake or should I say it was by fate. I was at a conference and was walking past a table when I noticed this drawing on a flyer of a statuesque African-American woman with a city back drop and with guns strapped to her. I did a double take, backed up and grabbed the flyer. Later, when I got home I set the flyer on my nightstand and kinda forgot about her. Then one day she called to me again. I picked up the flyer and thought about who she was and what she was about. Ideas just started coming to me. I knew she was a paranormal, but I had no idea which one.
I later sent the picture to some author friends, told them her back story and had them help me brainstorm some ideas. Thus, Babylonia Delilah Jones was born.
Babylonia Jones has never fit in the human world. She can do things that regular people can’t. Her mother had always taught her to hide who she was for fear that someone from the government would come to take her away. When Babylonia found Amelia, her best friend who also happens to be a Vampire, she thinks that she has finally found her place in the world. Unfortunately the paranormals think she too human and don’t really accept her either.
Babylonia will do anything to fit in the paranormal world known as The Undercity. As a PI, that means taking the jobs that the other PI’s won’t. In the first book of the series, Babylonia has to follow after one of the most powerful Vampires in The Undercity to see if he has the Guiciai Talisman, which was stolen from a Witch. Babylonia finds herself in a world of trouble because, Zaid, the Vampire really doesn’t appreciate being followed and Tina, her employer isn’t what she claims to be.
The Undercity Chronicles of Babylonia Jones, P.I.
The Guicai Talisman
Here’s an excerpt:
Zaid finally sauntered out of the club.
There he is.
He looked the same as he did on the previous nights I’d watched him; tall, about six-foot-two, nice sleek body covered in an expensive suit that I guessed was tailored to fit only him. He was lean, but by no means skinny. His shoulders were broad and the few times I’d seen him without a jacket I noticed he had well-defined muscles in his arms and pecs. The cinched belt around his narrow waist highlighted a flat stomach and showed off a nicely formed ass—yes, on a couple of occasions, while I was cataloguing his looks, I did let my eyes linger on his ass, which was a very nice one, round and firm. The kind of ass a girl could take a nice bite out of.
My mouth salivated at the thought of doing just that. Not a for real bite, but a nice little playful nip. I’m sure he’d appreciate that. To hear Melia tell it, Vampires were into some pretty kinky stuff.
I shook my head.
Get your mind out the gutter and back on the target Baby D.
I snapped back to attention and put my hormones in check. Raging hormones plagued me ever since I took this job, but it’s an expected hazard. Vampires had something in their makeup that made women and men want to fall at their feet. Dealing with Vampires isn’t like how it’s portrayed in the Hollywood movies, where terrorized people run kicking and screaming away from them. No. In reality people go to them willingly.
Case in point, there were two creamy-skinned blondes, one on each of Zaid’s arms. Arm in arm, they walked along the red carpet that led to valet parking. To me the women looked like the cookie cutter versions of the women he’d taken home last night and the night before that; they were all pale, tall, blonde, gorgeous and wore tight clothes. These two had on dresses so short I could see the bottom of their butts hanging out as they walked.
“Have some pride ladies,” I muttered to myself. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you that your dress should be longer than your vagina?”
Zaid stopped at the curb and looked from left to right. I didn’t bother ducking past the rim of the cement rooftop barrier. Even with his great eyesight he couldn’t see me nestled on the rooftop more than a block from where he was, scoping him out with my high-powered binoculars. And, even with his sensitive hearing, he definitely couldn’t hear me talking to myself. There were too many other distractions between us for him to even get a lock on my location. Plus, he didn’t know he was being watched anyway—why would he be looking for me?
He was probably trying to figure out if any Witches were in the area. Vampires could sniff out Witches and, while they weren’t scared of them, usually tried to avoid them. And if he did have Tina’s talisman I’m sure he wanted to steer clear of her.
Zaid lifted his chin and turned his head in my direction. He then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shuddered on an exhale.
What the hell is that all about?
He opened his eyes and if I didn’t know any better I’d think he was looking right at me.
A. M. Griffin is a wife who rarely cooks, mother of three, dog owner (and sometimes dog owned), a daughter, sister, aunt and friend. She’s a hard worker whose two favorite outlets are reading and writing. She enjoys reading everything from mystery novels to historical romances and of course fantasy romance. She is a believer in the unbelievable, open to all possibilities from mermaids in our oceans and seas, angels in the skies and intelligent life forms in distant galaxies.
I have another short story, and by the end of the week, I’ll have one more ready to go. First, Playing the Field is an LGBT story about two female soccer players. If you read the Cleis anthology, Girls Who Score, then you read the original version before I decided to expand it. Enjoy the excerpt I provide below. And no, I’m not a soccer player myself, but my daughter was, so she helped me with the “choreography” for the scene. Hope you enjoy! By the end of the week, I’ll have the next Stepbrothers Stepping Out story ready! Be watching for the announcement!
And because I love to do it, I have a question for you now. Answer for your chance to win your pic from among the many short stories I’ve published.
Sweat stung my eyes. I lifted the edge of my blue jersey and wiped my face, never losing sight of the black and white ball flying across the grass field.
“One minute left!” Coach shouted from the sidelines.
It’s just a damn game, I reminded myself, but still my stomach plummeted. We needed one point to enter the penalty phase. One lousy point to tie this game up.
The Sharks were playing like damn minnows, letting the Vipers kick our asses up and down the soccer field—our home field. And from their grim expressions, every one of my team members felt the same urgency. If we didn’t win, this would be the last game of the season.
For me, it was about more than just the game. The last game was also my last chance to work up my courage to do what I’d been fantasizing about since the team had first started training in early spring.
A green jersey bumped past me, the Vipers’ player turning her head to give me a smirk before loping on her coltish legs down the field to follow the ball. Anger flared.
One lousy point. I stretched my shorter legs, heart pumping so hard inside my chest the shouts from the sparse crowd in the bleachers faded away. My focus narrowed to the ball zigzagging from one Viper player to the next, my own blue-jerseyed teammates showing the strain in their grim expressions as their movements lost fluidity and grace, and they clumsily tried to muscle close enough to steal away the ball.
I stretched one last time, edged up to the player dribbling the ball between her clever feet, then swept out my foot, catching her ankle and sending her sprawling, then stole the ball.
I wasn’t the most graceful player, wasn’t the star, but I had the goddamn ball now. I lowered my shoulder and bumped a Viper out of the way, then pivoted on my toes and aimed myself and the ball toward the opposite end of the field.
From the corner of my eye, I saw her, backing up toward the other team’s goalie box.
Vicky Moldina gave me a little wave, and I tipped my chin, but didn’t want anyone catching my intent, so I ran to the right, skirting their players, lowering my shoulders and putting on the bull dog face I’d been told intimidated the hell out of other teams—something that always set my own team laughing, because they knew me better.
However, if they’d read the deadly intent in my heart, the searing determination, they’d have wondered who the hell I was.
My thoughts and heart slowed. I repelled the next player who moved in to steal the ball with a sharp, sly elbow. I charged forward, then zagged to the left, leaving two opponents to tumble over one another, and then headed on a parallel path with their goalie.
Vicky backed up again then shot toward the goalie.
I kept on my parallel path, then tried a move I’d failed more often than I’d completed, kicking the ball with my heel to send it like a bullet to Vicky who was poised in front of the goalie’s box.
Our star striker grinned, swept out her foot to catch it—but something happened.
Usually so graceful, her foot rolled over the top of the ball, her ankle turned. She fell in a heap to her knees, then beat her palms against the grass as a green-shirted bitch gave a whoop and stole the ball away, racing toward the other end of the field.
Three short whistles blew. I bent at the waist, hands braced on my knees as I dragged in deep breaths. My gaze remained on Vicky who pushed up from the ground.
She met my gaze and mouthed, “Fuck.”
I shrugged and forced a smile. “Just a game.”
We shared small smiles while our teammates pulled together, remembered their manners, and gave Vicky half-hearted pats to console her before lining up to run past the other team, slapping hands and offering insincere congratulations.
I ran behind Vicky, wishing I hadn’t passed the ball to her. Not because I was disappointed with the outcome, but because I didn’t want this to be the memory she took away from the game. I didn’t want our friendship tainted even a little bit. Not that it was a deep one. Or even very personal.
After my teammates huddled with the coach and offered each other hugs and promises to meet for lunch or dinner during our break—none of which would happen—I trudged toward the showers in the rec center.
“Dinner at Hooters!” Coach called out.
I grinned. We’d have had Outback if we’d won; the threat of Hooters had been meant to spur us toward victory.
As players headed to their lockers, Vicky limped toward the coach’s wire equipment cage. She dug beneath balls and netting then pulled out the first aid bag.
I didn’t like the little wince she gave and moved toward her. “Did you hurt yourself when you took that tumble?” I asked, my voice a little thick because hell, it was her I was talking to.
She wrinkled her perfectly shaped, narrow nose. “It’s my knee. I felt something pull.”
“Do you need to go to the emergency room?”
She shook her head, sweaty tendrils of dark hair shaking against her cheeks. “It’s probably just a sprain. I’ll wrap it after I shower.” She pulled a rolled ACE bandage from the pack and started to put the bag back into the cage.
I reached for the bag, taking it from her and rummaging inside. I pulled out a small jar of Tiger Balm and held it up. “I’ll massage it before you wrap. It’ll feel better faster.” Lord, my cheeks began to burn. Had I given myself away in my eagerness?
Her brows furrowed—just a subtle motion, almost indiscernible, but the glance that swept my body was less so. Subtle, that is. “All right. After we shower.”
After we shower. I know my jaw sagged just a bit at the way she’d emphasized that one little word. Drool pooled in my mouth. I followed her as she turned away, heading to her locker to pull out a plastic bag with her toiletries and a fluffy white towel. I did the same, hurriedly, a little nervous now.
I was reading too much into her words. Still, when we entered the open shower room, I hesitated before setting my items on the slatted wooden bench beside hers. When she raked her jersey over her head, I followed suit and stripped.
Most of the girls were already finishing up. One by one, spigots turned off, towels slid around nude bodies, and they trailed out the door, leaving us alone.
Good locker room etiquette would have been to choose a spigot on the opposite side of the room, but when she strode to the far corner, out of sight of the open doorway, I followed, choosing one right beside her and trying hard not to let my gaze linger on her gorgeous frame.
A small half-smile kicked up one corner of her mouth before she turned her head, closed her eyes, and let the hot water sluice over her hair and face, giving me the perfect opportunity to ogle her long, lithe body.
Which I did until she opened her eyes. I quickly glanced away.
She squeezed shampoo into her palm then handed me the bottle. Her fingertips glided against mine before dropping away. Swallowing hard, I squeezed shampoo directly onto my hair, then set the bottle on the floor.
With our gazes locked, we began to soap our hair.
Nothing had ever been this hot.
We’d both no doubt showered in open stalls in high school—naked women with slippery bodies—but I, for one, had never been this aware. With her hands raised, massaging her scalp, soap slithered down in long, winding ropes that caressed her shoulders, her small round breasts, and taut belly. Her legs parted, widening her stance a little so that I could admire the small, smooth labia framed so perfectly by her muscular thighs.
“My knee’s throbbing,” she whispered.
My gaze darted up, and soap slid into my eyes. I grimaced and turned my hot face into the spray before blinking back at her. Her lips were pursed in a smile; her eyes wrinkled at the corners with silent laughter.
God, if she was teasing me because she knew I was queer I thought I might never get over the embarrassment. But she turned, showing me her ass, and then glanced over a shoulder, one dark, arched brow raised. “It’s okay for you to wash it. The others are gone.”
“You sprain your hand, too?” I blurted.
Although my voice was gruff, she didn’t seem put off. She squeezed soap from her short hair to trail down her back then faced the white tiles.
Saturday at about 1:00 a.m. I typed “The End” on my most recent project. All day it was as if the sun shone for the first time in months. I had been in the “writing cave,” as authors often say, and kept my head down, completely in the dark about anything going on around me.
We work hard to get what we want, don’t we? We put everything else aside and concentrate on our goals. But when we meet them…ooooh, when we meet them, the sun shines again and life bustles around us.
Big hot pink and white azalea blossoms are blooming here now. Last week it was the tiny wine-colored redbud trees. Everywhere I look there’s new life. It’s as if we’re offered a new beginning every spring. And coming out of my writing cave, this beautiful new beginning couldn’t come at a better time.
In the third book of my Descended of Dragons series, fiery redhead Stella Stonewall learns of an ancient curse that, if lifted, could alter the course of history. It could offer an entire race of people a new beginning.
A Bitter Betrayal Stella Stonewall exposed her scaly side to save the man she loves, the soulful and sexy Ewan Bristol. But her troubles have only just begun. A treacherous betrayal at the hands of a trusted confidante leaves her running for her life.
An Impossible Choice An unlikely savior offers Stella a way out, but it means leaving everything—and everyone—behind. Can she give up the only home, the only friends she’s ever known to save herself?
A Chance to Have It All Stella learns of an ancient curse that, if lifted, could change everything. To alter the course of history she must trust her former lover Rowan Gresham, and she must trust the machinations of fate: that she may be the key to it all.
Betrayal Foretold is a fast-paced, emotional ride through the mesmerizing world of Thayer. This third book in the Descended of Dragons series, a new adult fantasy romance, is a can’t-put-it-down story of loss and self-invention, of survival, and of the selfless pursuit to secure the happiness of friends.
Romance readers are AMAZING! And . . . so is Habitat For Humanity, a charity that I love supporting and volunteering for. So, I thought, why not pair the two and help a deserving family receive a home? And, the Diana Cosby’s Romance Reader’s Build A Habitat For Humanity Home fundraiser was born.
I contacted Habitat For Humanity office in Grayson County, Texas, where I’ve had the honor of helping with several builds and spoke with Laurie Mealy, Executive Director. She embraced the project, and was thrilled at the thought of pairing romance readers, who love stories where heroes and heroines overcome challenges to make their dreams come true, with making the dream of a home for a deserving family a reality.
How it works:
As readers send contributions to Habitat for Humanity of Grayson County, a bar beneath the home on the upper right side of the homepage on their website will fill in, with total donations to date listed below. The goal is to fund an entire home – $55,000. Donations can be sent via PayPal by ‘clicking’ on the house, which takes you to the donation page, or by mailing a check or money order to:
Habitat for Humanity of Grayson County
901 N. Grand Avenue
P.O. Box 2725
Sherman, TX 75091
I kicked off the challenge by donating $200. As I write this, we’ve raised $7,524. I have total faith that romance readers together are an unstoppable force, and as the stories they love, they will leave a deserving family with a happy ending.
My sincere thanks to everyone for helping make an incredible difference in a deserving family’s life. For when they walk into a Habitat For Humanity house, it’s more thank mortar and wood, but a place where they can call home.
Diana Cosby, International Best-Selling Author
About the Author
A retired Navy Chief, Diana Cosby is an international bestselling author of Scottish medieval romantic suspense. Books in her award-winning MacGruder Brothers series are translated in five languages. Diana has spoken at the Library of Congress, Lady Jane’s Salon in NYC, and appeared in Woman’s Day, on USA Today’s romance blog, “Happy Ever After,” MSN.com, Atlantic County Women Magazine, and Texoma Living Magazine.
After her career in the Navy, Diana dove into her passion – writing romance novels. With 34 moves behind her, she was anxious to create characters who reflected the amazing cultures and people she’s met throughout the world. With the release of the third book in The Oath Trilogy and the e Box Set of the MacGruder Brothers series, she is now preparing for the release of the first book in The Forbidden Series, Forbidden Legacy, on 16 August 2016!
Diana looks forward to the years of writing ahead and meeting the amazing people who will share this journey.
What’s sexier than a cowboy? How about SEAL who’s also a cowboy? How about a SEAL/Cowboy who also doesn’t give up on love? I had fun writing this story about a woman wooed by her high school sweetheart relentlessly over the years of their separation—due to her stubbornness and his many tours of duty. In the end, what woman could resist such a heady combination?
Callie Murphy had never been one to moon over a man. Fairytale romances were best left to novels. After all, she’d seen first-hand how transitory love could be after watching her mother drift in and out of three marriages, only to be left disappointed when “true love” faded. However, the video Callie watched for the thousandth time stirred a wistfulness inside that left her feeling restless and thinking about what might have been.
Just the sight of that warm, steady gaze enveloped her in warmth. The deep timbre of his voice as he sang raised the fine hairs on her arms and caused her nipples to prickle, because she remembered that same voice murmuring in her ear in the darkness.
Knowing she’d never get his approval for security’s sake, she’d snuck this recording of their Skype session using a plug-in installed on her computer because she’d wanted something of him to linger after they’d said their goodbyes. This recording been made before their final breakup. Now, watching and listening to him was a form of self-torture. Wearing desert camouflage pants and a brown tee stretching across a well-muscled chest, his dark hair a little shaggy and his beard scruffy, he was all man. All complication. Those piercing blue eyes stared into the camera at her, steady and determined, and Callie couldn’t help the tears welling in her eyes.
Prickles of dismay swept over her as she imagined some other woman, someone not her, on the receiving end of one of his calls, being serenaded with that husky, smooth-as-silk voice. The last time he’d proposed, she’d been firm, making it clear she had no interest in leaving behind the life she’d built in Two Mule, Texas while he was set on a career in the Navy. Rightfully, he should have moved on. No one here in Two Mule would ever fault him. No one really understood why she kept refusing him, but then they hadn’t walked in her shoes through her childhood.
Her mother had followed that “broken road,” uprooting Callie three times, from the friends she’d made, from the roots she’d tried so desperately to sink deep into every place she’d lived. She’d never make that same mistake. Love faded, turned bitter and dark. When love ended, good people drifted apart, or worse, struck out at each other. She’d lived it, first-hand.
So when Derek had stood on her doorstep that last day before heading back to Little Creek, where no doubt his team would be deployed on more dangerous secret missions in the Middle East, Africa, or whatever foreign hellhole the powers that be scrambled a SEAL team for, she’d shut the door on everything he’d offered, despite the fact he’d been sincere—and despite the fact her own heart had twisted inside her chest at the disappointment darkening his eyes.
Watching the video now, him seated on a narrow cot strumming a guitar while he sang about roads leading him straight to some other woman, Callie couldn’t help sniffling. He’d known even before that last proposal that she’d say no. And yet, here he’d been, reaching out to her, letting her see inside his heart as he strummed out his pain.
Watching him as he’d given her a smile, and then sat back to pull his guitar across his legs, she remembered everything she’d felt—nostalgia for their long-shared past, irritation he’d never give up, and joy, deep inside, that his love had never waned, because she was selfish like that. Although she’d been unwilling to hitch her star along with his, she’d depended on his love. Read the rest of this entry »
I’ll share a little secret. When I sit down to write a blog, I don’t have a list of topics I’ve brainstormed ahead of time like most efficient/professional/great bloggers do. I wing it. But sometimes, I sit staring at that blank screen and can’t come up with a single light bulb idea to write about that day. So, I have tools at hand to help me when I run up against that hated blank screen/blank mind moment. I cheat.
I shared a “blog cheat” earlier this week. The Story Cubes post. Readers had fun devising themes and plots based on a game I keep on my desk. That I had this game for years and never opened the plastic—well, that’s the fun. I was surprised by how well it worked, and now, I’m wondering what would happen if I turned to the cubes when I run up against that blank page moment in a middle of book. I found a new, exciting tool.
I’ll share another “cheat”. One I have used before.
I’ve found a couple of different versions of this conversation starter—one in a book store, another on Amazon. This is how it works. The container is filled with little cards with questions you can ask. Usually, I read the question and “riff” off the idea to come up with something more appropriate for my audience. I tend to run with my own questions, because I love keeping my blogs personalized.
At random, just now (I swear it’s kismet!), I pulled a card from the case.
The question reads:
In your opinion, what is the best book title ever conceived?
So, now you know another of my secrets. And you have a brand new question to answer. Have fun with it!