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Archive for April 3rd, 2016

Lizzie Ashworth: Faint Heart (Contest)
Sunday, April 3rd, 2016


Hi Delilah Fans! Spring has sprung and it’s sending our pulses up. Ready for some fun?

All of us authors who write sexy romance have a problem that you can help solve. It’s all about WORDS! I’m running a little contest right now on my Facebook page. If you enter, you’ll have a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift certificate. How to enter?

Like I said, it’s about words—those pesky scribbles we use to convey our thoughts, emotions, and activities. These essential bits of modern civilization are especially bothersome when you’re a romance writer. How many different ways can you say ‘sex’?

Yes, we’re probably even more tired than you of hearing all those terms for body parts or acts of passion. But what other words are there? Writers are pretty much limited to anatomical terms (clitoris, penis, ejaculate—you get the idea), or common nicknames (pussy, cock, seed)—and yes, I know the clit is not the same as the pussy, a term which describes the vulva and/or vagina. Or your favorite feline.

Flowery terms are also overused: bud, petals, folds, center, arousal, manhood… What’s a writer to do?

So please, give me a hand. Visit my Facebook page [ ] and add your vote. What do you prefer—anatomical, nickname, or flowery? Your comment enters you to win that gift certificate and, more importantly, gives me some important feedback. THANKS!

Now for the teaser excerpt from my novel Faint Heart:

Morgan Woods took his time rambling back to his office, sorting through the last of the pink message slips. The phone rang, and he collapsed into his chair before answering. Somebody from the Chamber asking politely but persistently about this year’s dues. He made excuses and let the phone down gently before pulling open the bottom drawer and taking out a bottle of scotch. He poured a generous dose into his well-used tumbler and leaned back.

A familiar anxiety coursed through him. No matter what he did or how hard he worked, he never felt like he’d done enough. And it never was enough. For years, he’d held on believing he could build a successful business, take over for his dad, and support them both so his dad could enjoy retirement. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he even toyed with the idea of finding someone to love and maybe raise a family, his dad’s idea more than his own. When Cara Carson crossed his radar, that thought popped to the surface.

But he wasn’t any closer than he’d ever been in opening himself to a serious relationship. Farther away, really. Maybe he needed to face reality and admit it might never happen. Marriage and family were highly overrated, anyway.

He should know.

The whiskey’s heat warmed his neck and almost immediately began relaxing muscles that had been screaming at him since sometime before lunch. Maybe he was getting old. Maybe sitting at a desk or behind the controls of a big Cat had made him soft. Shoveling mud had put his whole body to work. It almost felt good, in a self-torture kind of way, like a vicious deep massage or a too-hot sauna. He looked through the messages again, sorting them by priority.

The front door slammed. “Back here!” he shouted. He waited to hear the footsteps, one man or another coming in late off a job to unload gear or get the work sheet for the next day. He hadn’t checked the clipboards. He stood up and started out of the office, and came face to face with Ms. Carson.

“Oh!” she began. “What are you doing here?”

Damn, she had a way about her. His jaw pulsed. “What am I…? I work here. What’s your excuse?”

She glared at him and peeked around him toward Dutch’s office. “Is Mr. Woods here?”

“No, he’s out sick. I think Margaret told you that each of the nine times you called. Didn’t she?”

Another glare. Well, let her glare. He was too tired and stressed out to care much about this little princess or her project. Unfortunately, she hadn’t lost any of her appeal since he last saw her. Her dark hair had partly come loose from the tie on the back of her head, and wafted in strands along her cheeks. The same petulant expression on her lips made him instantly crazy. It might not be a good idea that she was here when he was exhausted and rapidly sinking into the cozy glow of good scotch.

In spite of his more honorable intentions, his gaze traveled over her body, the proud jut of her breasts inside that nondescript shirt, the curve of her luscious ass, the long legs that had been draped over his arm… He cleared his throat and brought his stare back to her indignant face, fighting to keep a lascivious grin off his face.


Visit my blog [] for the rest of this hot excerpt.

SPRING SPECIAL!  I’ve got a discount going until April 9. The regular $2.99 price for Faint Heart is knocked down to 99¢ at Smashwords. []

Thanks for reading!

I live in the wilds of the Ozark Mountains with my cats, hound dogs, and whichever child has taken up temporary residence between grad school and relocation. I’ve been writing my entire life and can’t express how wonderful it is to share stories with readers like you. Every book comes from my heart in the hopes that you’ll find a bit of pleasure within these pages. Thank you for your kind words and appreciation! You make it all worthwhile.

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