DJ, my heroine in All Those Miles I Walked, is a woman I like and understand. We both like to travel, we both are open and hungry for everything that’s new and different. She’s way more sociable than me, but she’s still a person I feel close to. And now that she’s with Scott, we share one more common trouble—the Anxious Man.
Let me tell you a bit about him.
The anxious man is a highly intelligent, self-made, strong man who got where he is by sheer work. Maybe exactly because he’s used to controlling his own universe, he’s also someone who needs reassurances on your well-being whenever he decides to check on you, with no regard whatsoever for what you might be doing.
Let’s say at any given time of the day a thought (“Is she all right?”) crosses his mind. He acts upon that thought, and he texts or calls you.
From that moment, you have from 5 to 20 seconds to reply/answer.
Problem is, maybe you can’t because you’re, I don’t know, using the restroom, or cleaning the ceiling with a long-handled brush, or trying to get your son out from the lake-size puddle of mud the last rain created in front of your house.
Maybe you forgot to turn on the ringtone, and you’re peacefully filing your nails oblivious of the poopy about to hit the fan.
After an average of 10 minutes from the first text (and at that point you’ll have an average of 150 of them and at least 300 calls) (yes, the Anxious Man can defy time and squeeze all those messages and calls in just a few minutes) the police, fire department, an ambulance, and possibly the FBI and the National Guard will barrel down through your door.
Poopy. Fan. There you have it.
I’ve been with my husband for 18 years, and let me tell ya, that cool, self-controlled man can go bat-shit crazy if I don’t answer the phone in .3 nanoseconds. So does Scott in the story.
And you know what? I get it (mostly because of the almost 20-year-experience in the front line), and now I’ll tell you why.
The Anxious Man doesn’t do that out of a need to control you. There’s no jealousy or will to tell you what you can or can’t do. He’s not throwing you any alpha crap or Neanderthal-like claim.
Literally, he only needs to know you’re well. He doesn’t have time or inclination to hear about your shopping day or whatever else you’re doing. Nope. No need to keep it long; a simple thumb-up emoticon would do.
The fact is, he might be busy, his head might often be somewhere work-related, and he probably will forget some anniversary but the Anxious Man loves, and loves deep. So deep, he needs to know the most important thing in his life, more important than work, more important than his wellbeing: not that you love him, miss him, think about him, but that you’re alive.
Which means you can’t get mad. Or overly mad, at least. Sometimes I do get annoyed (okay, pissed).
So, because I learned from personal experience that people like me and DJ will never be reliable with our phones, I have a word of advice for all the people like Marco and Scott, and the relationships that follow.
Buy an iWatch or any device like it.
Tired of the constant heart attacks, my husband gave me one for our anniversary few years back, and now I never lose a call or text. I can reply anywhere with the littlest time and effort. It’s pretty, and it gives him peace of mind, and me the freedom from checking the phone or (the horror) having to turn on the ringtone.
You’re welcome.
All Those Mile I Walked
At eighteen, DJ had to make a choice–her heart or her dreams. Neither was wrong, yet either would break her heart. She chose the world. Over a decade later, she returns to Crescent Creek and to the one regret she’s ever had—Scott. Scott’s always been steady as a rocky reef. He’d loved once and when she’d left, his strong heart had crumbled like a sandcastle. Now DJ is back, and Scott wants nothing to do with her. The problem? They share Eva, a close friend of both, and now Eva needs their help. Because of her, he’s stuck with DJ and he’d be damned, the woman still gets under his skin. DJ is a free spirit who needs the road under her feet. Scott is a family man who wants to groom his roots. With danger on their doorstep and a baby to keep safe, how much are they willing to compromise for love?
DJ fished her cellphone from the bag, turned it on thinking nothing of it. 12 unanswered calls and 6 messages appeared.
Fear raced through her good mood. Something had happened to Eva? To her parents? She checked the call list. Scott. From all of the calls and texts.
Well, unexpected. From zero interaction to a gazillion? She called his number; he picked up probably before it even rang.
“Where in the fucking hell are you?” he said quietly, anger vibrating in his voice more than a guitar string.
“Okay. Not really prepared for that, but okay. We’re across the road, at the beach.”
“Damn it, DJ, you’re supposed to text me when you leave.” She had to move the phone closer to her ear to hear his words.
“I know. We’re just across the road.”
“Are you in the house?” he asked. Still very much pissed, but at least he’d gone back to a human tone, one she actually heard.
“It’s basically the same.”
“It is not.”
“Okay, my bad. Besides, I didn’t realize I’d agreed to a middle of the morning text. When did it happen, by the way?”
“Damn it, DJ.”
Oh god, back to hissing. “You said it already. A few times, in fact.”
She brushed sand off from Henry’s legs, blew the boy a kiss that made him smile. Then heard a voice in the background of the call, then Scott saying to someone, “They’re fine, they’re at the beach.”
“Who is with you?”
“Charlie.”
“You called the sheriff? Where are you?”
“At Eva’s, ready to bust the fucking door down.”
“That seems extreme.”
“You don’t text me, don’t call me, and don’t pick up the damned phone,” he said, anger making his quiet words a bit breathless. “What am I supposed to do?
“Calm down would be the first thing, I guess.” DJ had always thought he might have a stroke, at some point. All control freaks like him did. Maybe today was the day, who knew? “You saw us at 8 this morning, two hours ago. You could have waited until, let’s say, lunchtime before freaking out this big.”
“I could kill you right now,” he said, so evenly it might actually have been truer than truth.
“You might want to be careful with what you say while Sheriff Charlie is there with you. By the way, tell her I say hi. Actually, can you give her the phone? We planned a spa day for next week but I’ll have to postpone it until Eva comes home.”
The Pit and the Passion: Murder at the Ghost Hotel is my new mystery romance, set in Sarasota on the Gulf Coast of Florida. As John Ringling saw when he first arrived at the turn of the 20th century, it is a paradise.
“A beam of red light shot through her window. Sunset already? She got up, fixed herself a drink, and took it to the balcony. She watched as the sun sank into the gulf, long, needle-like pincers of light stretching out as though it wanted to hook the horizon and hang on for dear life. Like Kilroy, whatever was pulling it from below won the battle and the sun dipped, leaving its signature green spot as a token of affection for the world.”
This is what it’s like to live on the Gulf Coast of Florida. By day the sky is the deep blue of Paul Newman’s eyes; at close of day it’s flooded with a full palette of reds, oranges, pinks and purples. I have a lot of pictures of my granddaughter—I have even more pictures of sunsets in Sarasota!
Here’s the story of The Pit & the Passion:
At midnight, in the darkness of a deserted hotel, comes a scream and a splash. Eighty-five years later, workmen uncover a skeleton in an old elevator shaft. Who is it, and how did it get there? To find out, Charity Snow, ace reporter for the Longboat Key Planet, teams up with Rancor Bass, best-selling author. A college ring they find at the dig site may prove to be their best clue.
Although his arrogance nearly exceeds his talent, Charity soon discovers a warm heart beating under Rancor’s handsome exterior. While dealing with a drop-dead gorgeous editor who may or may not be a villain, a publisher with a dark secret, and an irascible forensic specialist, Charity and Rancor unearth an unexpected link to the most famous circus family in the world.
The Milky Way spread a swath of cream overhead. One small cloud trundled across the sky. Behind it peeped a gibbous moon. The beach was wide here, sweeping south in a twelve-mile-long arc but ending only a few yards north of her at a severely eroded cliff.
Not a soul stirred on the sand, except for a couple of willets picking their way along the edge of the water. She turned and headed toward the cliff.
Someone had left a beach chair out. She sat and watched the waves, listening to the chittering of the sandpipers and the putt-putt of a trawler far out. She assumed the rustle behind her was a ghost crab and kept quiet, hoping to catch a glimpse of it. She loved the way they would stop, half in and half out of their holes, their eyestalks waving. They’re so sure they’re invisible.
Charity?”
She jumped straight up, knocking the chair backward.
“What th—?” Her heart pounding, she turned. At that moment, the cloud shrouded the moon, and in the sudden darkness she could only make out a form.
“Who…who’s there?”
“It’s me. Rancor. Rancor Bass.”
She held out a hand and encountered a broad chest, lightly furred. She pulled it back quickly. “Are you…are you…”
He snickered. “Naked? As a matter of fact, yes.”
She backed up. A splash told her that her brand-new sandals were likely ruined. She vaulted out of the water and landed between two bare arms.
“Easy there, Charity. I hardly know you.”
“Stop it, Mr. Bass. And let me go. If I were you I’d drop that conceited tone. I wouldn’t be caught dead in your arms.”
His voice came low, laughter licking at its edges. “You don’t feel dead to me. In fact”—she tensed at the touch of a finger on the inside of her elbow—“you feel very much alive. And quite…fresh. Call me Rancor.”
“Rancor Bass, you leave me alone.” She tried to walk around the shadow, but an arm snaked out and caught her. She opened her mouth to scream and found two lips smothering hers. She stood quite still, fear and…something else…oh my God, desire?…taking over her senses.
He let her go. “Couldn’t resist. Wanted to see if those defensive walls could be breached.” He sat down in the chair. The moon came out from behind the cloud and cast a pale glow on his hair. “You’re a tough cookie, Charity.”
She wanted to deny it, to tell him how vulnerable she could be, but knew that would be very stupid. She wanted to kiss him again but knew that would be even more stupid. So she settled for a grunt and walked away.
He didn’t follow, and as she reached the dunes, she felt an unexpected twinge of disappointment. Could this man be the one? Nah. Still, preoccupied by this novel notion, she decided to skip the police station and go straight home. As she turned into her condominium parking lot, the obvious question finally occurred to her. What the hell is Rancor Bass doing naked on the beach in the middle of the night?
Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents, the last thirty years were spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, policy wonk, non-profit director, and parent. After many years in academia, she worked for the U.S. Senate, the U.S. Department of the Interior, in several library systems, both public and academic, and at the Torpedo Factory Art Center.
Ms. Spencer has published eleven romantic suspense novels, and has two more in utero. She has two fabulous grown children and an incredible granddaughter. She divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.
I’m a writer, and sometimes, writers walk away from their computers—shocking, I know. What is it I do when I drag myself away from endless critiques, edits, blog post writing, beta reads, promoting—oh, yeah—and actual writing?
I ADORE yoga. I was hooked a long time ago, before yoga was cool. The studio where I take class is relaxed and full of energy.
People shy away from yoga because—I’m not in good enough shape, or, I’m not flexible enough, or, it’s too much like a religion.
Phtttp, I say. I’m not in the most fabulous shape, and I’m no longer 24 years old (quite a shock to me), but I still go to three yoga classes a week, at least. As to flexibility… I happen to be one of those who is flexible, but the other 99% of the people in class aren’t. Does that stop them from coming to class??? NO! As to it being like a “religion”? Sorry. Nope. You can get as deeply involved in yoga as you wish, adapting to an Ayurvedic lifestyle and living on a mountain in Tibet, or you can go to a couple of classes a week and revel in the calmness that flows through you at the end of class then stop for a burger and fries on the way home.
The studio where I take class has recently introduced wall yoga. I’m like a kid in a candy store. My favourite position is Bat. Yup, we hang upside down like bats. It looks scary, but it’s safe, and the stretch your spine gets is fantastic. (I’m the one in black.)
What kinds of yoga are there? The traditional ones: Hatha – Vinyasa – Birkram – Kundalini – Restorative – Yin and many many more. New versions of the older styles are being created – wall yoga, hot yoga, aerial yoga, paddleboard yoga, and so on.
I’d suggest starting with a gentle hatha and/or a restorative class. You will get the feel of yoga and begin to develop some confidence.
So, forget all your fears and go try a class. Don’t like that class? Try a different kind. Don’t like that studio? Find a different one. Just make sure the teachers are qualified. A cheap class with an unqualified teacher is definitely not recommended. Once you find your perfect match, you’ll know it.
What has all of this got to do with my latest book? Absolutely nothing. But here’s the book anyway. 🙂
Excerpt from Two O’clock with the Billionaire
Derek squeezed her hand and walked toward the entrance. Arianne looked at nothing but the uniformed and gloved doorman who opened the large glass door. Once inside, she realized she’d stepped out of the proverbial pan and into the fire. Before her was a crowd of black tuxedos, evening gowns and glittering diamonds. Derek leaned close. “We head over there and give our coats to the girl then we get a drink. We sip the drink. Sip, can you say sip?”
With pursed lips, she nodded. Her trembling fingers fumbled and her beaded Prada clutch fell to the floor with a loud thump. Arianne froze. How could she do something so stupid? She waited for the roar of humiliating laughter from the other guests.
Derek picked up the bag and offered it to her. “From the look of terror on your face, slamming vodka shots is the only thing you want.”
Glancing around to see if everyone was staring at her, Arianne mumbled, “Sip the drink. We sip the drink. Don’t slam the drink. Okay, I got that. Then what?”
About the Book
Two O’clock with the Billionaire is Daryl Devoré’s latest hot romance. A contemporary romance sweetened with a bit of vanilla sexcapades.
Where Derek Davenport is concerned, women only had one thing in mind: trap him into a marriage. The perfect way out? Hire a courtesan. While partying with his buddies he places an online ad that reads – Woman Wanted.
Unemployed and nearing financial desperation, Arianne is forced to step out of her comfort zone and answers an ad that reads Woman Wanted. With minimal hours and excellent pay, she accepts the position of courtesan to a handsome billionaire.
Their sexual antics cause emotions neither is willing to admit it. Will Arianne and Derek drive each other crazy…or will they fall in love first?
I will give away a copy of an earlier book—What Happens in Bangkok—to a reader who can correctly guess one of these three things:
My favourite colour – ???
My favourite pop/soda – ???
My favourite dessert – ???
First, I want to thank Delilah for having me. Again. She’s been one of my go to people this past year when things were tough. I don’t think I ever let her know but I thank her with all my heart.
Last year, 2017, was a harsh year on myself and family. My husband of over thirty years was diagnosed with colon cancer and my writing was put on hold for all the right reasons. That doesn’t mean I didn’t write, I did but all the normal things like submitting or getting an indie piece ready just didn’t happen. Most of the things I wrote didn’t make it to publishing at all with the exception of one or two small pieces for my very understanding publisher.
I’d been blessed in many ways and was always watching out for a great opportunity and found myself answering an email that was interested in Paranormal/Urban Fantasy type stories. Well, it just so happened I had one I’d done nothing with for years. It was a quirky story that really needed a home and it found one with Romance Collections. Since the story was already completed, I sent it off to an editor as we waited for final word on my husband’s condition.
I swear the hallelujah could be heard throughout the world as we learned he was in full remission. I then told him very bluntly that it was my turn. I needed to get back to publishing and everything about it. And yes, I’m writing nearly six to eight hours a day. I have to intersperse it with class work as I found a wonderful Folklore and Fairy Tales one that was just minutes from my house.
Though the journey to publication this time was harder than most, I must say that the reward at the end is always worth it.
First a little bit about the anthology itself.
Mystic Realms
Coming April 10, 2018
What goes bump in the night? What causes you a fright? While the answers for each may vary, I promise that these stories will not leave you wary.
From vampires and demons to shifters and creatures that you’d never suspect, this set will leave you breathless in the best possible ways.
So, don’t be afraid. Come, step inside our realm. Allow the mysticism of romance in many shapes and forms fall over you like a veil of sweet, soothing, spine tingling comfort.
We promise…you won’t be sorry.
Books inside this set…
Secrets of the Hollows (Book 2) – Nicole Morgan
What’s a girl to do once she falls in love with a demon?
Fallen – Tamsin Baker
Gabriel thought he’d do anything to earn his way back into Heaven. He was wrong.
Cursed – Tracy Goodwin
Forbidden love. Dangerous prophecies. Limitless power. Fate is a witch.
Avenging Aingeal (Protectors of the Earth 1) – Lynn Crain
Bound by vengeance, she is humanity’s one hope…
Her Fate, His Mate (Wolves of Windsor Woods) – Krista Ames
Can she accept all he is and all he stands for?
Sleeping in the Dragon’s Den – Lexi Thorne
His Hungry Dragon My Curious Desire; His Tattoo Curse My Wet Dreams
Dark Side of the Moon – Laura Baumbach
Vampire rentboy vs. the world.
Angel Vindicated – Viola Estrella
Some sins are hard to avoid…
A Wolf’s Touch – Christine Donovan
Can she love him–wolf and all?
Dr. Magic (Vampire Island, Book 1) – Jo Grafford
One more dance with the devil…
Dark Heat – Jan Springer
Betrayed by her two forced mates, she hides within Vampira.
Torkel – Mardi Maxwell
Love unites them in the mists of time.
Silent Storm – Sadie Carter
Sometimes the monster is the good guy…
Tangled Sin – Georgia Lyn Hunter
She was the light in his eternal darkness…
Seduction’s Scent – C.I. Black
Giving in to temptation threatens everything.
Ghost Mate – D. Anne Paris
She was going to kill him even though he was already dead.
Living on the Edge (Clan Book 1) – Laverne Thompson
Mate wanted. Dead or alive.
The Warrior’s Curse – M. Elliott & T. Eden
What comes next may be the end of it all.
Three Days From Hell – Dariel Raye
Can a permanent resident of Third Hell be trusted?
Just Tell Me What You Want – Tina Donahue
Her wishes will leave him breathless…
Lynn Crain’s story…Avenging Aingeal
Series Title: Protectors of the Earth
Book Number: 1
Aingeal Cochran is on a mission to save humanity from itself when suddenly she’s staring head-on at her forgotten past. Lukas Everhard must bring her up to speed regarding the real enemy before allowing himself to love her completely. In learning about her past and mission, Aingeal realizes the best is yet to be and she will do anything to protect those she loves. For Lukas, Aingeal is the mission.
Excerpt:
Arching an eyebrow, I stared at him. No one in this facility could begin to hold a candle to me and I knew it. Worse, they knew it. “Whatever gave you the idea any one could kick my butt? Cause I know you can’t.” I sat there and listened to his buddies all crack up as Jonathan’s ears turned red. Now this was something I could really get into.
“Ever heard of Lukas Everhard?” The flash of puppy-like adoration almost made me lose it right then.
“You’re joking right? Everhard?” I couldn’t contain myself any longer and laughed so hard tears flowed from my eyes. That would be the day.
“You’re just a bitch who won’t know what hit her.” His face took on a hard edge and if I hadn’t been so bored, I might have backed away.
“And you’re just an ass who will.” The orb bobbed in my hand as I stood, dangerously close to being thrown when something huge grabbed my wrist.
“You know the rules here. No fighting in the mess hall.” The object didn’t remove itself from my body.
I whirled furious, jerking my arm away, energy in both hands now and was stopped short by the man who stood before me. I was not a small woman, yet this man dwarfed me. Slowly, my gaze moved from his chest to his wide shoulders to his face and stopped there. Ice blue eyes stared at me without one bit of emotion attached to the look. He’s one cold cookie. I blinked rapidly almost as if I had been hit in the gut. This man was not going to take my crap in any way, shape or form. While I might be able to fool Darien somewhat as I had learned since I had arrived, I would never be able to fool this one.
Then there was the fact I felt more aware of him sexually than I had been with anyone else. Ever. There was a charisma about him which made me want to throw myself into his arms and beg to be taken. And it was more than his physical appearance because if truth be told, this man looked good…the best I had ever seen…again a rarity for me to note. It was as if he were palpable under my hands even though we weren’t touching. My crotch tightened once more and I shook my head to clear my errant thoughts.
“Told you.” A snide voice commented somewhere off to my left.
I turned to look at my accuser, electricity leaping to my hand yet again. Some days I couldn’t control it at all. This could be a problem.
Stepping in front of me, the big man’s forefinger jabbed my chest in a hard push. “You. Me. In the sparring room immediately.”
I watched as he walked out the door, all predatory-like and with more purpose than I had seen anyone in this place have since my arrival. I eyed everyone else and realized it wouldn’t matter what I said, they were going to see if their man could best me. Sighing, I also knew I had brought this on myself. Vowing to make his fall gentle, I shook my head and followed him down the main corridor, wondering if I should even bother to introduce myself. I ran up to walk next to him and before I could even start, I was cut off by his raised hand.
“Don’t bother. I know who you are.” He kept his eyes straight forward.
Frowning, I watched him for a minute. “Yeah, but I don’t know who you are, now do I?”
He stopped in front of the sparring room door. “And that should make a difference how?” Shoving it open, he waved a hand. “Ladies first.”
“As if I’d fall for that one,” I muttered more to myself than anyone.
Scowling at me, he shook his head. “Look one of us has to go in first. The door isn’t big enough for us to go side by side.”
“Fine,” I said through clenched teeth. This would end bad, I could feel it in my bones.
NOTES: This book has adult situations and is meant to be read by those over 18.
Hope you enjoyed this little look into the process for getting my story out there. Writing is a fabulous career as it allows one to do it anywhere or that the necessary time off to handle a life challenge.
Don’t forget to pick up your copy of the Mystic Realms anthology today!
Thanks and see you around.
Lynn
About Lynn Crain
Award-winning author Lynn Crain writes full-time, weaving contemporary, fantasy, futuristic and paranormal tales, tame to erotic. Her home is in the desert southwest with her husband of 32 years. Readers can find her at lynncrain@cox.net or her website at http://www.lynncrain.com.
Where does pleasure come from? A lot of it comes from the mind, but an important part comes from the body. In modern culture, we take for granted what certain, er, body parts will look and feel like. But throw a little history and diverse cultures into the mix, and things can get…different. At a mission in Africa, Zenda and Gavin struggle with conflicting cultural mores and an overwhelming attraction to each other. Will passion define who they are or the other way around?
Gavin Douglas joins a Scottish mission as a carpenter to escape painful memories of his wife’s death from a back-alley abortion she tried to keep secret from him. The last thing he expects to find in Africa is instant attraction to a native.
For the past year, Zenda has devoted her time to Claymore Missionary, secretly erasing everything taught to her tribe’s children to prevent them from becoming whitewashed. Nothing else matters except claiming her tribal identity as a woman. But before her eagerly awaited rite of passage can take place, Gavin lays his own claim on her body, igniting desires she can’t face losing.
Gavin is horrified to learn of the physical transformation—and associated risks—she insists on undergoing. When he realizes his biggest loss may be yet to come, his only mission is to teach Zenda pleasure.
Daughters of Africa ~ African women who shaped the world and the men who love them
To his utter shock, Zenda grabbed the hem of her robe and lifted it up her legs and torso. Dumbstruck, he watched as it sailed over her head and landed neatly onto the nearest rock. Nothing remained on her body except her necklace and a brief loincloth.
Fully revealing her breasts. Tipped on the ends with nipples as dusky as soot, they made the most perfect picture he’d ever seen. A sudden weight pressed against his whirlygigs until he feared they might explode.
How could a girl who’d shied away from kissing flaunt her bare breasts as if they were no different than her elbows? He clearly had a lot to learn about Africans…
To cool his burning crotch, he waded in with her. Remembering the mission rules and the boy with the spear, he decided to leave his clothes on. Besides, he didn’t know what kind of sharp-toothed creatures might be lurking in the murky-brown pool.
Her chest looked even lusher with rivulets of water forming pearly webs across her dark skin. She couldn’t expect him not to touch her. The calm surface of the pond rippled as he scampered across the moss-slickened rocks underfoot.
She backed up a step, much more gracefully than he. When her eyes widened, he almost glanced over his shoulder to see if a lion crouched nearby. Until he realized the creature she feared was him. A dragonfly landed on her shoulder, flexing its lacy wings, ready to fly away at any moment.
What was she trying to do? Lure him into doing something that might get him into trouble? He’d broken the mission’s anti-lust rule today many times over. After all, he was a white man, the enemy. And she’d made it clear she didn’t care for the whites moving into her land and changing everything.
But a man had only so much self-control, and his had just run out. After locking an arm around her waist, he pulled her body into his and clamped his mouth on the peak of one breast. The dragonfly darted off, buzzing past his head.
Her sharp grunt raised the hair on his arms. Because he didn’t know if she’d done it from fear or pleasure. And what really shocked the hell out of him? He didna care.
She dug her fingernails into the back of his wet shirt as he sucked the other firm peak between his lips. His jaw convulsed, causing him to nick her puckered flesh with his teeth. She grunted again and churned the water into a frenzy with her flailing limbs.
He backed her against a half-submerged mangrove tree, grinding her soft pelvis against the curved root until the latter creaked and damn near snapped. He tugged on his belt, a heartbeat away from releasing his cock and spearing her with it.
Good God. I’m acting like a savage beast!
How could they exchange prayers about trees one moment and end up this way the next? He had no idea he’d been carrying around such pent-up needs. Never before had he felt such burning lust for any woman—of any color. Maybe he’d better head back to port and find a place where he’d be safer and saner. A place with no women.
With a wrench, he pulled himself from her. She wasted no time throwing herself at him, like a cougar leaping from a tree branch, until he fell into the water.
Sputtering, he surfaced for air. “What the hell did you do that for?”
She cradled her hardened, wet nipples in her pale palms, which didna slake his lust one damn bit.
“Y-you attacked me!”
“And you asked for it,” he said, still gasping from the water he’d choked on below. “Parading around in front of me half naked.”
She gazed down at her upturned breasts, understanding dawning on her face.
“Where I come from, lassie, you’re indecently exposed.”
Coming Soon
Jamaican Vibration (sequel to Jamaican Temptation) – a steamy contemporary menage set in, you guessed it, Jamaica!
Book One in the Vampire Island Series Over 60,000 words By Jo Grafford www.JoGrafford.com
** It will premiere in the Mystic Realms Box Set on April 10, 2018 **
** Available for pre-order sale of 99 cents at Amazon: http://a.co/dNku1oA **
A few months before her eighteenth birthday, Grace Livingston’s tragic world collides with vampire Stellan Romolov’s dark one.
Until then, she’s suffered more than any teenager deserves to suffer. Shouldering the loss of a parent, practically raising herself, keeping honor roll grades, and applying for a coveted dance scholarship has left precious little time for a social life. After one earth-shaking dance with Stellan, though, she realizes every step in her broken journey has led her to this moment — and him.
It’s an instant and explosive attraction.
She soon discovers the super hot and super sexy Stellan is far more than he seems. He sails ships and flies airplanes. He’s also the billionaire owner and chief surgeon of an all-new medical resort on a private island: On a mission to save humanity by healing one broken or badly burned body at a time.
Neither of them realizes their encounter has awakened a curse set in motion more than a century before, and every moment they spend together puts everyone they love in danger.
EXCERPT:
“You kept your word, Mr. Livingston. My pilot will return you to the mainland.” Stellan’s baritone voice washed over me, as crisp as the creases ironed into his black trousers. Up close, I deemed them a fine quality of silk, and the white gold watch that flashed at his wrist was no department store bargain. The Stellan I had known before was not so richly dressed. Nor so polished and sure of himself. Nor so bleak. Or so cold.
But those eyes! The deep blue was startlingly reminiscent of the other Stellan I knew so many years ago. His gaze had held secrets then, mystery and longing. They were aged now, darker, more jaded. I shivered. It was like staring into the eyes of an older, angrier ghost. The tenor and cadence of his voice was familiar, too. Every word he spoke revived the exhilarating happiness and excruciating pain of timeworn memories. Completely unnerved by the encounter, I fought to regain the power of speech.
“Is it…really…you?” My hand slid from my throat to cup my mouth. Frantic hope warred with the impossibility of what my eyes beheld. I couldn’t bear the misery of waking from such a desperately real dream. God, help me! I wanted it to be real. I wanted it so bad I could feel old scabs tearing off. Stitches long since hemmed together ripping open anew, fresh blood gushing from what remained of my heart. I was breaking on the inside, shattering… “I thought you were dead.” The last word came out as a hoarse whisper. “How—”
“Grace!” He leaped toward me as my legs gave out.
My father’s arms tightened around me, but another set of arms wrested me away from him. They lifted me against an impressively ripped chest. Arms that at once felt breathtakingly familiar, ones I never thought to feel around me again.
My forehead dropped against a massive shoulder. I felt feverish and strange.
“I warned you,” Bax’s voice was fierce. “It’s too much too soon. I swore to you she didn’t know.”
What didn’t I know? My first husband is still alive? How long had Bax known? I wanted to scream and weep at the unfairness of it all, but I was too weak to lift my head.
“I will ask my own questions now.”
“Where are you taking her?” my father demanded.
“None of your damn business.”
“The hell it isn’t. She’s my daughter.”
“She’s my wife.”
“You have no right to haul her off like some—”
“I have every right. She is mine.”
Mine. Amazing how a single word could pack so much meaning, so much finality. Stellan, rising from the dead to claim me. It was preposterous. It was wildly amazing. It was a kaleidoscope of light and color completely consuming me. The voices faded, and my world skidded across memory lane.
ABOUT JO GRAFFORD
Jo Grafford is a lover of all things historical, romance, mystery, paranormal, fantasy, and action. She adores alpha males, strong-minded women, humorous sidekicks, diversity, vampires, Vikings, dashing lords, zombies, cyborgs…you get the idea.
She loves to stay in touch with readers on Facebook, Twitter, BookBub, and Instagram. Plus you can read free chapters of many of her books on Wattpad.
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This morning, I did something I rarely do. I slept in. All the way to 7:00! I felt lazy. Hell, I was lazy last night. I had washed my bedding, but didn’t have the energy to make my bed, so I rolled myself up inside a fuzzy blanket and slept on top of the unmade mattress. How many of you have done that? Does it bother you? I was too tired to care. 🙂
First thing I did this morning was make my bed. Then I headed to my office. I still haven’t had a cup of coffee. Who is this person? smh
Anyway, you know I have a new story out. REAPER’S RIDE is a glimpse inside Reaper and Carly’s lives AFTER their story, REAPER. I have to do that sometimes. Revisit characters I love. The trick is to find some conflict that will arise that they can push through. It helps to have plenty of external conflicts occurring around them, in their case—bad guys to hunt down. In this story, Reaper injures himself in the first exciting scene. And he handles it the way a lot of men do. Uh-huh. He ignores the pain, doesn’t want to talk about it, and goes right back out to hunt another douche, so Carly can’t make a fuss. It’s a fun story. Lots of action—hunting those bad guys and between the sheets. Thought you might like one of those sexy-time excerpts to get your Saturday going. Enjoy!
Sexy excerpt! You have to be old enough to read this!
When the door closed him and Carly inside, he didn’t spare a glance for the room. His gaze was on Carly, who walked nonchalantly forward and dropped their bag on the low bench at the foot of the bed.
With a glance over her shoulder, she said, “How’s that shoulder?”
“Throbs.” But someplace else throbbed harder.
“Oh.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Need help getting out of those clothes?”
“I’ll manage,” he said, keeping his tone low and even.
Her gaze slowly locked with his, and her pupils expanded. Her nostrils flared. But she turned away, keeping her face in profile. “We should probably rest. This day was really long.”
She watched him. He knew it from the prickle that crawled along his skin. And she was aroused. Reaper might be bruised and aching, but in no way would he rest before he fucked her all the way to heaven. Read the rest of this entry »
