Thanks for inviting me today, Delilah. I’d like to share a life lesson I learned about ten years ago with your readers.
My husband chews loudly. Seriously, you can hear him eat potato chips in the next room. And he sniffs. Instead of finding a tissue or taking a Sudafed, he sniffs. Repeatedly. I’ve come close to losing my mind during allergy season.
And, he buys too much broccoli.
My retired Navy husband is an awesome man, nicknamed Commander Integrity because he exemplifies an officer and a gentleman. He’s also an awesome husband—when not chewing or sniffling. Since he’s fully retired, he takes care of everything in our house, yard, and lives, so I can teach school by day and write books at night. I try not to complain about anything, yet that’s just what I used to do.
He does the food shopping and all the cooking. My job is to write the weekly menu and put the food away when he returns from the grocery store. Without fail, he buys too much broccoli. I mean, Army sized rations of broccoli. If it’s on the menu for one night that week, he buys enough for three nights. I used to roll my eyes, shake my head, and explain to him how much is in a serving of broccoli for two people. I don’t do that anymore. I simply love him.
One day about ten years ago, I was putting the groceries away—and rolling my eyes at the volume of broccoli—when God hit me with a spiritual two-by-four. It came to me that someday Commander Integrity could be gone from my life. I saw myself wandering the produce aisle of a grocery store and having an emotional meltdown in front of the broccoli. I then chastised myself for obsessing over something so stupid when I should have simply been appreciating having this wonderful man in my life. And the fact that he does the shopping. And the cooking. And all the other wonderful things he does for me.
I sat on the floor in front of the vegetable bin of my refrigerator and had a good cry that day. Then I took a vow that every time my husband does something unimportant that annoys me, I will focus on one of the fabulous things he does for me. Did I mention that he scoops and cleans the cat boxes? And cleans house now that I’m teaching again? How about car maintenance? He takes care of all that to ensure that I’m safe on the road, with exactly the right tire pressure. He not only pays the bills, but pays them with his money. And does all the yard work. (It’s true. I sleep with my yard boy.) And he checks Metric Junkie every morning and evening to track my book sales.
And did I mention that he puts up with me? Commander Integrity is a quiet, left-brained engineer. I am a right-brained, zany, impulsive, talkative, ADHD, creative person who is either doing five things at once or sound asleep when work needs to be done. Just tolerating living with me is a full-time job, I’m sure. And he excels at it.
I decided I did not want to be an elderly widow, standing in the produce section, saying, “Why wasn’t I nicer? Why did I complain over the silly, little things he did that annoyed me. I would give anything for him to be here right now, chewing loudly, sniffing repeatedly, and buying too much broccoli. If only I had the past forty years back so I could focus on all the good things he did for me, instead of complaining.”
Thank you, God, for giving me those forty years to do just that. It’s never too late to make this decision. We all do annoying things. And we all love people who do annoying things. If they are unimportant things, this is a way to tune them out and focus on a person’s good qualities instead.
Think about the lives lost on 9/11. More than three thousand people went to work and did not go home at the end of the day. Now is the time to appreciate everything about our loved ones.
Now, when my husband comes home with too much broccoli, I just smile and appreciate that I have him—and remember all the wonderful things he does for me. And I plan another meal or two with broccoli.
What annoying habit does your loved one have? And what positive trait of theirs can you focus on instead when they do that irritating thing?
UNFORGETTABLE
The 9/11 spirits aboard USS New York are back! Their mission: help Adam, Gwyn, Mike, and Cate find their happily ever afters—and stay alive. As the only person who can see them, Lieutenant Gwyn Pritchard tries to help the spirits move on to the light. That is, when she’s not helping Gunnery Sergeant Adam Connor heal from his PTSD—or falling madly in love with him.
Captain Cate Hawkins, has run from her unconventional childhood by becoming a Marine Corps pilot. But when a mission in East Africa goes awry, she finds herself in a race for her life. After burying the hatchet with Cate, Navy pilot Mike Nikolopoulos wants nothing more than to rescue his new love. If the spirits help him save her, they’ll finally be free to move on. But can Mike overcome a sudden fear of flying to find his way to Cate before terrorists repeat “Black Hawk Down”—with a female American pilot this time?
Award winning author, Heather Ashby is a Navy veteran who taught school and raised a family while accompanying her Navy husband around the United States, Japan, and the Middle East. In gratitude for their Army son’s safe return from Afghanistan and Iraq, she now writes military romance novels, donating half her royalties to Fisher House Foundation in support of wounded warriors and their families. Her son serves as her cover model, helping to raise money for Fisher Houses around the world. Heather lives in Atlantic Beach, Florida with her retired Navy husband. Unforgettable is the fourth and final book in the “Love in the Fleet” series.
CHRISTOPHER BERGERON – BIO
Christopher Bergeron is a retired Major in the United States Marine Corps, with twenty-four years of service. His ten deployments include combat tours in Desert Shield/Desert Storm; Somalia; Kosovo; Haiti; Fallujah, Iraq; and Helmand Province, Afghanistan. Chris’s travels have covered the globe, including more than twenty countries. He lives with his wife and son in Rockford, Michigan, where he is currently a Communications/Marketing student at Grand Valley State University. Unforgettable is his first novel.
For the first time in forever, I’m going to Little Rock for a Diamond State Romance Authors meeting! I swear it’s probably been a year and a half since I attended. Hope I recognize some folks… My sister Elle James is speaking, so I’m going for moral support and because she’s making me go. 🙂
Post a comment today, and you’ll be entered to win a free download from either my Lone Star Lovers series or my Triple Horn Brand series! Here’s the question…
Churches have crosses and steeples, governments buildings have flag poles… What might you like to put on your roof to set it apart from everyone else’s?
What would I put on my roof… A giant book? The head of a hellhound? How about a weather vane with a witch riding a broom? Have fun with your answer!
And in case you didn’t know, I do have a sexy, new story out there right now…
Two construction workers come to the aid of one woman looking for a last taste of freedom…
Note: This 6000-word short story was previously published in Penthouse Magazine and Suite Encounters: Hotel Sex Stories, and has been revised and expanded. It may be short in length, but it’s not short in passion!
When the blare of a TV sounded from outside, I had third and fourth thoughts about my decision to stop here for the night. What the hell? Why had someone moved their television set outside rather than watch in the seclusion of their room where the sound would be somewhat muffled?
I gritted my teeth, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and reached for shorts and a tee, slipping them over my nude body and the keys into my pocket before I stomped to the door and flung it open.
Not that the two men sitting on the truck noticed me—at first.
Under the single flood light that illuminated the parking lot, I noted the construction company logo on the side of the pickup backed up to the door of the room beside mine. Then I eyed the large men seated on the sides of the truck bed, their shirts gone, faded jeans stretched over thick thighs. Their attention was glued to the basketball game, blaring from the small screen of the TV they had set in the bed of the truck on top of a white ice chest. They held Budweisers in their grips.
At last, one of the men’s heads turned. He spotted me then whistled at his friend. Soon both their gazes peered down.
I felt foolish standing in my bare feet with my wet hair spiked around my head. Why hadn’t I simply put a pillow over my head to muffle their noise? But I was testy. Moody. I’d lost my job, had a blow-up with my boyfriend over the fact I wouldn’t be splitting rent with him for a while, and cut my nose off to spite my own face by breaking up with him. Homeless now, I had no options. Grandma’s in Little Rock was my last resort.
Tonight would be my last night of freedom before I moved under her roof and abided by her rules. She’d pay the bills—if I knuckled under and went back to school. Something I resented after being on my own for a couple of years, living by my rules.
Which might have been exactly why I remained rooted to that spot. The men seated on the truck would never meet Grandma’s high standards.
Sweat gleamed on their naked chests and both of them were thickly muscled and a little dirty—as though they’d come straight from work without the benefit of a shower.
The shine only served to emphasize the depth of the musculature and their starkly masculine features. Their tanned skin stretched across cheeks and jaws that were sharpened to rough edges by hard work.
Both their gazes homed on me, and while I knew the smart thing would have been to retreat without a word to my room and relock the door, I tilted my chin and thrust out my chest. “Can’t you watch the game in your room?”
“We botherin’ you, sweetheart?” the one closest to me said, sliding off the truck to land in front of me.
I peered a long way up and frowned into the face tilted my way. We stood close enough I could see the bristles of his evening shadow. He wore a ball cap that shadowed his eyes, but glints of blond hair shone beneath it. “It’s late. I was trying to sleep.”
“It’s not that late,” he drawled. “Join us for a beer?”
I glanced behind him and noted the grin on his buddy’s face. He was bare-headed with shaggy brown hair and a devilish quirk to his firm lips. The game seemed to have lost its fascination. Their gazes drank me down like I was long cool drink.
I barely resisted the urge to jut my hip and twirl my hair.
“Bobby, the night clerk, can vouch for us if you’re wonderin’ whether we’re safe,” the one beside me said, amusement lingering in his husky voice.
I shouldn’t have been tempted. However, my body still hummed pleasurably from the heat I’d drawn with my own lazy fingers. Even sweaty, the two men were tempting. Both young, in good shape. Both interested if their sharpening gazes were any indication.
And what the hell? It wasn’t as if I had anyone to answer to. Not at this moment. There was no boyfriend to betray.
My mouth went dry and I swallowed. “Is the beer cold?”
*~*~*~*~*
If you’d like to check out more of my recent short story releases…
Raise your hand if you heard Julie Andrews singing that line. *raises hand proudly*
As I was brainstorming possible blog topics, my mind took off in about forty directions. The part that came back into focus was singing that song so, I figured I’d go with it.
In no particular order, here are few of mine:
Chocolate chip cookies (without nuts).
Saturday afternoons with no plans and nothing pressing on my to-do list so I can read or write or make jewelry to my heart’s content.
The feel of a fresh, warm breeze blowing on my face while the sun shines down on me.
I just love pretty new colors on my toes.
Holding my sweetie’s hand.
The smell of the original Baby Magic soap on a freshly washed baby.
Getting the email from an editor or publisher saying “We love your manuscript and want to publish it!”
Being presented flowers gathered from the yard by one of my kids.
The smell of summer rain.
Having the kids greet me with enthusiasm when I get home from work or when I pick them up. “Hi, Mommie” or “Momma!” is just the best. Shoot – even the dog greeting me at the door with a toy in her mouth and her tail wagging makes me smile.
Getting a phone call or text from that special someone, for no reason at all. Just because they were thinking of me. HI!
The sound of falling snow after the ground is covered. Yes, there is a sound. If you haven’t heard it, when winter rolls around again, listen for it. The still of the night is the best time to hear it.
I could keep going on, but I want to hear from you. What are a few of your favorite things? Things that make you smile just thinking about them? Everyone who leaves a comment will be included in a drawing for an ebook copy of any of my backlist books (Risky Business, Cherie’s Silk, Working It All Out, Mystic’s Touch, Ghostly Persuasion or Loss of Control).
Be sure you check out my new release, Your Wild Heart.
Wildlife biologist, Isabelle Acker, meets sexy park ranger, Wyatt Powell. His Wolf sits up and takes notice of her, but when he learns why she came to the park, he becomes wary of her intentions. After all, as far as the general population knows, there are no wolves in the Black Hills.
Ordered by his Alpha to keep an eye on the smoking-hot biologist, Wyatt finds it difficult to keep his hands to himself. He wants to possess her, to share everything about his life, but that might endanger the Tao Pack. But the attraction proves too great and, unable to deny his Wolf, he takes her with a passion he didn’t know he possessed.
However, their sexual bliss is short-lived, and on the night of the full moon, more than one secret is revealed. When all is said and done, they must each decide—is what they have between them true love or just hot sex?
Dena Garson is a Process Redesign Specialist by day and a writer and jewelry designer by night. She is raising two rowdy boys who play lots of sports which forces her to spend way too much time on the practice field and/or sidelines. Thankfully she has a loyal and loving Labrador Retriever to listen when she complains and a spoiled cat who reminds her daily she is merely a servant.
Hi, again! I recently did a guest post about 5 reasons to get a tattoo. Why? Because I love biker romances and one of the things I love about bikers is their hot, sexy tattoos!
And, of course, I love writing about bikers! Why? Here are my nine top reasons.
1. Domination
I love writing stories where a strong alpha male takes control of a woman and a rough, tough, leather clad bad-boy biker is as alpha and dominant as they come!
“You’re mine now. I’ll do whatever I want to you, and you’ll do whatever I tell you. Now and while we ride together.
(From Wild Ride.)
2. A sense of danger
These bad-boys are big, rough and intimidating. I love the breathless excitement the heroine experiences when he takes control
In a sudden movement, she felt herself pushed back against the building. Her breath caught as his big, solid body crushed her tight to the cold brick wall.
Oh, God, had she made a mistake? He was so big and intimidating, and right now, he looked determined and… almost feral. He pivoted his hips forward and she could feel a hard bulge against her stomach, proof that he was aroused by her. Anxiety spiked through her, and a little fear, but right alongside those feelings was a wild surge of excitement.
He grabbed her wrists and pushed them over her head, then held them tight, his striking midnight eyes locked on hers. She could feel the erratic pounding of her blood pumping through her veins.
She had never felt so alive.
God, she wanted him to take her. Right here. Right now.
(From Hot Ride.)
3. Attitude and sheer sex appeal
These men have a cocky, bad-boy attitude and love to shock. In Hard Ride, I love it when Shock says to Liv:
“Sweetheart, it’s not a date I want from you.” He leaned in closer, his hot breath stirring her hair. His groin pressed against hers, the hard bulge of his erection telling her exactly what he did want. “I want you naked and moaning,” he said, “my hard cock driving into you. I want your hands all over me,”— his gaze dropped to her lips— “your mouth all over me. I want to fuck you so hard, you scream my name at the top of your lungs.”
The hand on her lower back pulled her tighter against his pelvis, so she could feel exactly how long and hard he was. “And after you do that, and you’re lying gasping on the bed, I want to do it all over again.”
(From Hard Ride)
4. Camaraderie
Steele’s gang of bikers is not a typical motorcycle club. They are six friends who ride together, running from the shadows of their past. They share a closeness I admire, with playful banter and very serious trust. They are a close knit group that shares everything.
Wild Card gestured to Steele, still asleep on the ground. “That man always has my back. Same with every one of his crew.” He locked gazes with her. “If you let him, that man will protect you and take care of you to the best of his abilities. And believe me, that’s saying something.”
(From Riding Steele)
5. Group sex
As I said, these six hot bikers share everything. That’s the perfect opportunity to have my heroines enjoy a romp with not one, not two but… yes, all six men. Gotta love that! 😉
6. Deep, dark secrets
All of my bikers in the Ready to Ride series have a deep, dark secret from their past that is explored during their story. One of my bikers, Magic, even has a tattoo with script that says “My secrets are my own.”
7. Danger, chaos and happenstance
Anything can happen. In both the first two stories, Rip, who is an ex-cop, gets drawn into a bar fight, prompting his heroine, Raven, to say:
“So will this be a regular thing now that I’m riding with you? Being thrown out of bars?”
(From Wild Ride)
Then there’s Wild Card, whose name tells you right off the bat that he’s trouble in the making. Wild Card means well, but sometimes gets them into trouble, like when he “accidentally” kidnaps Laurie in Riding Steele, prompting Steele in frustration to ask him:
“How the hell did you miss the fact that the plan was not to kidnap the woman?”
(From Riding Steele)
8. Protectiveness towards his woman
I love the intense masculinity and authority of the hero, contrasted with the incredible protectiveness he feels for his woman.
9. Possessiveness towards his woman
Not only are they protective of their women, but possessive, too. (Yes, even though they share.)
Steele pulled her into a deep kiss. “You’re mine. And nothing and no one is going to change that.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. She should say something. Set him straight.
But she liked the possessive look in his eyes. Directed at her. Despite the fact he was willing to share her, it was clear he wouldn’t give her up to anyone.
(From Riding Steele)
What about you? Why do you love biker heroes? Everyone who comments will be put in a draw to win a copy of Hot Ride!
~~~~~
Hard Ride (Ready To Ride series)
Opal’s latest book, Hard Ride, is initially being released in ebook form as a novel in three parts. The first part came out last week (April 7) and the second part this week (April 14).
Being forced to submit to a dominant biker may solve all her problems, if she doesn’t fall for him.
Liv never expected to find herself trapped in a dark alley facing a band of rough bikers. And she certainly never expected to see him again. Back in college when they dated, he was heir to his family’s business empire–and their fortune. She expected him to become a billionaire. Instead, he’s the heavily muscled, tattooed member of a rough biker gang…and just as sinfully sexy as ever.
When Shock sees Liv again, he’s ready to pay any price to have her in his bed and on his bike. Shock has his own scars to deal with, but he soon learns that Liv is in desperate need of financial help, though she won’t tell him why. So he offers her a sensual deal: his help for her complete submission. Can Liv entrust Shock with her secret…and how can she stop herself from falling for the hard rider?
Excerpt:
Once out on the street, which was pretty deserted at this time of night, Liv started walking down the road. She wanted to grab a cab, but there were no cars at all on this road right now. After a few minutes of walking, heading toward a busier street, she started to get nervous. It was at times like this she wished she still had her car, but with the drain on her finances, it was a luxury she could no longer afford.
There were some men hanging out on the corner ahead. Rough-looking men. Maybe she should go back inside and have the bartender call her a cab.
She turned and started to walk back, but as she got close to the bar, a few more rough-looking types exited the bar and started walking toward her. Their gazes locked on her.
Her stomach clenched and a chill quivered through her.
Damn Carl for leaving her stranded here. Ordinarily, she would never come to a place like this, especially alone, but Carl had insisted the only time he could meet her was after his shift as a bouncer at a nearby bar.
She turned down an alley beside her. She was pretty sure it led to the next block and she could probably catch a cab there. Or at least slip into the all-night diner she’d seen on the way here this evening.
But as she walked down the dimly lit alleyway, she wondered if she’d made a grave mistake. She couldn’t see very far ahead, but shouldn’t she see streetlights from the next block? Or headlights of cars driving by?
She heard a sound behind her and glanced over her shoulder as she picked up her pace. Her breath caught at the shadowy shapes of three men behind her. She lurched forward and ran smack into a big, solid body. She gasped as she pushed herself back from a man with a broad, muscular chest and thick, tattooed arms.
I think writers of all genres get asked this from time to time and, if one writes erotica, the question sometimes comes with an implied ‘What sort of weird/depraved/ plain odd/ person reads these?’
I have two utterly and totally true stories I love to tell in reply.
First one was shortly after my very first erotic short story was published in Best Women’s Erotic 2000. (Yes, we are going back a bit.) I was at some corporate function or other – before the dh retired I went to quite a few as I am a really nice wife. Anyway I was talking to a group of similarly really nice wives, when a young woman, I’d only just met said, ‘I understand you write erotica.’ Now, all I knew about her (other than that she was also a company wife) was she’d once been a Baptist missionary. So, bracing myself for some sort of lecture or snide look, I replied in the affirmative, and waited. She asked the title of the anthology. I told her, keeping my voice as neutral as I could but biding my time to pick up the cudgels, if necessary. Then, to my astonishment, she went on the tell me how, by the time they got their three small children to bed, she and her dh were exhausted and to liven things, they used to read each other erotica to ignite the spark.
After I closed my mouth, I couldn’t help myself smiling and almost hugged her. I think I offered to send her a signed copy.
Second story was some years on. I was at a group book signing organized by my publisher in a Borders in Akron. (The fact it was a Borders rather dates this too.) This lovely, old lady came up to the table and picked up a copy of Power Exchange. Now, when I say ‘old’ lady I don’t mean someone in her 60s. Her hair was totally white, she was slender but had the no waist no hips, body shape some really old women have and in addition, her skin had that translucent quality I associate with extreme old age. At a guess, she was in her mid-eighties if not older. And there she was with a copy of Power Exchange in her hand and all I could think was ‘Dear Heaven! If she reads that, the poor old soul will have heart failure.’
As tactfully as I could, I said, “That’s BDSM erotica.” She gave me the most gloriously, wicked smile and said. “I know dear, it’s it best, isn’t it? I love your books and my online friends have been saying I must get this one. “ She went on to tell me she’d been a widow for 20 years and never had been one to troll the bars looking for men but, with a nice, sexy read and her vibrator, she was a very contented and satisfied woman.
She went down the table, bought an armload of books and went off. I decided I wanted to be like her when I grew up.
So, for whom do I write? I write for twenty-something Baptist missionaries who are worn out after running after preschoolers all day but still love and desire their husbands, and I write for eighty or ninety something widows who still feel the need.
When Robert speaks, in his slow, deep, ‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ voice, he gets my undivided attention. Chicken with Holy Basil can’t compete.
This was our wedding anniversary and I expected a surprise. But what? A bright, red butt plug with a green ribbon round the base? A pale-as-the-inside-of-an-oystershell, vibrating egg? Quilted, purple silk restraints? That had covered Christmas and Easter and my birthday.
Our first wedding anniversary could be anything.
He set a black, velvet jewelers box on the table. Had Robert turned conventional? Buying me a string of pearls or perhaps an add a bead necklace. Possible but highly improbable.
He nudged the box closer to my wine glass. “Open it.”
I had it opened just enough to glimpse the white satin lining in the lid, when our waiter reappeared. All he wanted was reassurance our meal was perfect but I almost slammed the lid on my finger. Maybe it was matinee length pearls but you can’t be too cautious in public. Not when you’re married to Robert Kelly.
Checking to make sure no solicitous waiter or maitre d’ loitered, I snapped open the velvet lid. It was pearls alright but I’d never wear these to the opera – I hoped.
Nestling against the velvet padding and almost reflected in the gleaming satin lining of the lid, were six, large pearls: strung on a fine twisted cord, one end sporting a polished metal ring, plenty big enough for hooking and tugging with a strong middle finger. Read the rest of this entry »
A friend of mine found me two dolls that she just knew I had to own. Sure enough, I bought them. How could I not? It’s Chucky and his bride!
The first night I owned them, I was surprised by how nervous I was going to sleep. I love being creeped out. But just as I was falling asleep, I thought I heard tiny skittering footsteps on the floor—and I had to sleep with the light on for the rest of the night. They no longer reside in my bedroom. I placed them at the entrance of my office. Yeah, the little ones do not like rushing past the creepy dolls even if they’ve never seen the movies! 🙂
So that got me thinking. I love haunted houses. But they really aren’t any fun unless I have someone with me to share the creepiness. Here’s my question. Answer for a chance to win a free download of Once in a Blue Moon.
What would it take for you to spend a night alone in a creepy old haunted house?
Tagged: ghost Posted in Contests!, General|12 People Said|Link
Last 5 people who had something to say: ButtonsMom2003 - Laura - Jeanine Lesperance - Linda - Dana -
Setting is an important part of every book. It helps create the mood and can add texture and layers to the plot. As an author, I’ve set books in well known cities such as Chicago and New York. All I have to do is mention either of those places and the reader automatically envisions a bustling urban setting.
One of the things I like best about being a writer is that I get to create my own worlds. I can stretch my imagination and be as wild and bold as I please. Or I can pull from the past as I did in my Tapestries series when I patterned the fictional world of Javara after Medieval England, but with a twist. I created a history and mythology for Javara that included a lack of women, which was the driving force behind my ménage a trois series.
I’ve also created two rural towns—Jamesville, Maine and Salvation, North Carolina. Jamesville is loosely patterned after a town I lived in during the 1990s. It could be any small town in rural USA or Canada. There’s the diner where everyone eats, a hardware store, a general store and, of course, the sheriff’s department. Salvation is similar but the wider wilderness is more important for the Salvation Pack, my group of werewolves who just happen to reside there.
The books in my Hades’ Carnival series have been set in various states across America: Washington, North Dakota, North Carolina and Louisiana. In this series, I got to play with mythology as well. I took what is known about the Greek gods and put my own twist on it, creating a war between Hades and a lesser known goddess—the Lady of the Beasts. Of course, there had to be a curse on her faithful shapeshifting warriors. And there had to be a way to break it. Being a romance that meant only very special women could free the warriors and break the curse.
Flame of the Phoenix, a Hades’ Carnival novella, is being released from Samhain Publishing on April 14th.
Flame of the Phoenix
Hades’ Carnival, Book 6
Tilly Ledet has long been a friend of the immortal, shape-shifting warriors who follow the Lady of the Beasts, a willing helper in their battle against Hades. But now that Hades is free and unable to touch the warriors, Tilly is fair game.
When Phoenix shows up insisting she drop everything to go into hiding, Tilly balks. Phoenix is strong and courageous, but when she imagines being in his arms, the protective barriers guarding her heart slam down.
For the first time in his immortal life, Phoenix feels fear. Not for himself, but for the woman whose beauty and forthright nature heat both his mind and body. While one kiss easily ignites her passion, claiming her as his own will take more than heat.
It may require a sacrifice that could send them both up in flames.
Warning: This steamy love story may cause overheating and the possibility of bursting into flames. Read at your own risk.
What are some of your favorite fictional worlds? Be sure to share.
N.J. has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.
CHRISTOPHER BERGERON – BIO
Two construction workers come to the aid of one woman looking for a last taste of freedom…
These are a few of my favorite things…
First one was shortly after my very first erotic short story was published in Best Women’s Erotic 2000. (Yes, we are going back a bit.) I was at some corporate function or other – before the dh retired I went to quite a few as I am a really nice wife. Anyway I was talking to a group of similarly really nice wives, when a young woman, I’d only just met said, ‘I understand you write erotica.’ Now, all I knew about her (other than that she was also a company wife) was she’d once been a Baptist missionary. So, bracing myself for some sort of lecture or snide look, I replied in the affirmative, and waited. She asked the title of the anthology. I told her, keeping my voice as neutral as I could but biding my time to pick up the cudgels, if necessary. Then, to my astonishment, she went on the tell me how, by the time they got their three small children to bed, she and her dh were exhausted and to liven things, they used to read each other erotica to ignite the spark.
So that got me thinking. I love haunted houses. But they really aren’t any fun unless I have someone with me to share the creepiness. Here’s my question. Answer for a chance to win a free download of 
