Thanks so much for having me on your blog today, Delilah!

I’ve always been fascinated and inspired by reading other author’s biographies. When I find a new author that I like, one of the first things I do is go to their website and read their about page to discover their story about how they got ‘the call’ (from their agent or publisher) or how they began to seriously pursue writing. It’s a bit like a fairy tale to me.

Most authors say they’ve always been writing since they could hold a pencil, and I’m no different. But while writing my recent release, EVIL SPEAKS SOFTLY, I thought, what if the relentless muse was more of a curse than a fairy tale?

My heroine in EVIL SPEAKS SOFLTY, Liv, is a successful author. Writing is the only thing she ever wanted to do. It’s all she’s ever known. Most of the women in her family were writers so it was a natural choice for her—or was it? Once she discovers that her success could be attributed to an ancient family curse she begins to question whether her talent to write is genuine.

Everyone has a story to tell. Even the dead.

They were never supposed to meet. Fame came easy for Liv by following in the footsteps of the female writers in her family. The cycle repeated for decades…until Liv changed the story. Her villain doesn’t like the revision—and he isn’t a fictional character. In his story, the bad guy always wins.

They were never supposed to find love. Liv never questioned her demanding nocturnal muse, or the strange incidents in her old, family home until she met Gage. His job was to watch her from afar, not reveal the truth about the curse and the stories of the dead. They’ve broken all the rules. Together they unravel secrets as they strive to stop the cycle. Liv’s ability to find love, and protect her loved ones, hangs on the fickle whims of the dead—and they’ve got nothing to lose.

Excerpt

“I met this strange man at the bar last night. He told me some really weird stuff.”

I paused. When she remained silent, I continued. “He said it was related to my writing.” She watched me with the fascination of one who desperately wanted to look away but couldn’t. As if a deer blinded to the oncoming headlights, she was fixated, trapped. “He said to talk to you.”

I searched her face. I knew my Grams. When resignation settled on her features a knot clenched in my stomach from either fear, or the excitement of validating Gage didn’t fabricate the story. Perhaps he wasn’t crazy.

Grams slowly closed her eyes and opened them again. “He found you?”

I nodded.

She turned to stare out the frosted window where the birdfeeder sat frozen over from the recent snow. “I can’t believe he took that risk. Watchers are never to approach the Recorders. It could totally upset the balance.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth.

When she used the same terms as Gage, my anxiety elevated. I expected her to deny his claims and then we’d laugh about the incident. “Grams, please tell me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I took a deep breath. “Some weird things happened last night. Occasionally I notice unusual things, but it’s an old house and I have an active imagination, but this time it scared me.”

Buy Links for Evil Speaks Softly:
Amazon | The Wild Rose Press | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | Google Play | iBooks 

About the Author

Maureen Bonatch grew up in small town Pennsylvania and her love of the four seasons—hockey, biking, sweat pants and hibernation—keeps her there. While immersed in writing or reading paranormal romance and fantasy, she survives on caffeine, wine, music, and laughter. A feisty Shih Tzu keeps her in line.

Amazon Author Page:
http://www.amazon.com/Maureen-L.-Bonatch/e/B00KHY1KK8/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1
Twitter: https://twitter.com/mbonatch
Blog: http://www.maureenbonatch.com/blog/
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3103486.Maureen_L_Bonatch

An author’s work is never done. It sounds like a trite truism, but it is my life. For those of us who self-publish as well as working with New York (aka hybrid authors), this is especially true, because we have, essentially, multiple bosses tossing deadlines at us willy-nilly.

I’m basically running my own business, which, let’s be honest, is NOT what I signed up for. I am responsible for sending out invoices, paying vendors, auditioning voice artists, researching marketing strategies, and doing (shudder) math. I have to be on top of industry changes, know who is who in the field and try to keep track of what readers REALLY want. Oh yeah, and write, edit, package and sell my product. Meanwhile, all this is taking place on a merry-go-round that never stops changing. During an earthquake. In the middle of a tornado.

Beyond that…I have a life that I like to live sometimes. Meals I want to eat. A dog who wants her tummy rubbed. And a family who expects me to appear occasionally.

To make matters even more interesting, places like Amazon and Facebook frequently make arbitrary changes that seriously influence our ability to make a livable wage.

Is it any wonder authors often ask ourselves, “Why am I doing this again?”

I just got a real, hard-core down to earth reminder.

See, when I was a little girl, my pre-school teacher told my mother that I had a learning disability so horrible, I would never learn to read or write.

My mother—who was an Amazon Warrior of her time—did not accept that. She made it her goal to give me a love of books—though torture. Every night she read me one chapter (no more). I eventually became so frustrated to know what was going to happen, I learned to read. THAT is true motivation.

My mother was reduced to coming into my room every night to confiscate my flashlight.

And my emergency back-up flashlight.

Needless to say, I learned to read, though I am still (and always will be) severely dyslexic.

Can I have a shout out to the inventor of spellcheck???

So that explains why I love books, but why romance? Maybe because I read 2-3 romances a day when I was a blossoming young woman? Maybe because they are perennially satisfying? Maybe because I love the magic of bringing three souls together in a perfect love triangle?

Three? you ask.

Yes. Three. Not that I write ménage. (I don’t) The magic three are the hero, the heroine…and you. You are part of the magic. You are why I love to write, despite the frustrations and unfuns. (No pressure).

But there’s a little more to the story, if you will indulge me.

Why do I love Highlanders so much?

Because of her. That woman who refused to let me be labeled as a dummy. Who refused to let me fail. Who insisted on reminding me that I wasn’t weird (I was) but rather that I marched to the beat of my own drum.

My mother.

My mother, the Scot.

Directly descended from Mary Queen of Scots. A woman whose family hailed from Kinloch Rannoch. A woman who wore the Stewart Plaid every day. A woman who fought for me like a tigress.

My mom passed on the 20^th of September after a long difficult battle with Alzheimer’s. It was so hard saying goodbye, even though it was a blessing and a well-deserved rest.

When something like this happens, you look at your life and you ask yourself, why am I doing what I am doing? Does it matter? Is it enough?

If I can please one reader, I feel like it does. It is.

Thanks, Mom, for helping me find my passion.

Thanks for believing in me.

Thanks for giving me a way to reach others and (maybe) make the world a better place for a little while for that one reader.

For you.

*~*~*

Sabrina’s newest release is from St. Martin’s Untamed Highlander Series…And yes. It’s a Highlander…

The Highlander Is All That
by Sabrina York

Elizabeth St. Claire has always been hard to please. Dreaming solely of Highlander men her whole life, no prancing London Lord can stand a chance at winning her heart…

… But perhaps a Scotsman can.

Elizabeth watches intrigued as the Highlander of her dreams, a Scotsman named Hamish Robb, arrives to oversee her season at the behest of her cousin, the Duke of Caithness. Elizabeth doesn’t hide her feelings for the striking Scot. But Hamish, determined to obey his order to protect the St. Claire sisters, steadfastly rejects her every seducing lure.

Believing that the debutante Elizabeth deserves a better, wealthier man, Hamish continues to turn away from her affection, even though he doesn’t exactly want to. Can this Highlander Scot resist the tempting seductress’ attempts to win his heart?

Read an Excerpt!

He emerged in the kitchens and, after greeting the plump and friendly cook—and snagging a scone from the cooling tray—he followed her directions out into the garden.

Ah yes. This was what he needed. The scent of mown grass, a hint of flowers, fresh air, and sunshine. He turned his face up to the sky and soaked it in.

Granted, it was a watery sunlight, and it struggled to shine through the haze of coal dust, but it beat the hell out of a musty carriage. He strolled along the path, studying the immaculately trimmed hedges, perfectly arranged rosebushes, and the affected pond in the center of the garden.

Everything was prim, proper, and utterly controlled. How British.

He missed the wild heathers of the Highlands, the raw scraggly trees that clung to the cliffs of the coast, the cold breeze gusting from the sea.

While he had been honored that Lachlan had entrusted him with this mission—for it clearly was important to the duke to support this family he had not known he had until recently—Hamish hated being away from home.

He had a business to run and had been in the process of seducing the lovely widow Dunn when the duke’s summons had come. But when a duke commanded one’s presence, one responded.

Ah well. The lovely widow could wait.

Hamish stilled and the little hairs on his nape prickled as he caught the trail of a tantalizing song. Like a sailor called by a siren, he followed the sound. As he rounded a corner, a whimsical gazebo came into view. There, leaning against a column, was his angel…

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE OF THIS SCORCHING TEASER AND BE THE FIRST TO ENTER TO WIN THE HIGHLANDER IS ALL THAT TIARA! http://sabrinayork.com/the-highlander-is-all-that-untamed-highlanders-from-sabrina-york/

Hey there! I’m up bright and early today. What does that phrase mean, anyway—bright and early? It’s  dark as midnight outside at the moment. And you know, I stumbled over the “dark as midnight” too. I wanted to write “dark as fuck”, but figured you might not like that word outside of a scene where the F-word is definitely being used as a verb. The “dark as fuck” is a remnant of a relationship I had with an Irishman. He loved that phrase. Now, it slips far too easily off my tongue and fingertips…

So, there was absolutely no point to that opening paragraph. Hope you didn’t mind the meandering segues. I have a feeling it’s going to be one of those days. I have a shit-ton of editing to do today, and how will I be starting my day? I’m headed to the Pumpkin Days Festival, which a little nearby church in the sticks holds every year. The kids always love it, so of course, we have to go. Games, food, PUMPKINS.

Do you have big things planned for today? I have a suggestion! Read the excerpt below from Hard SEAL to Love, and tell me you’re not tempted to find a SEAL book-boyfriend!

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Comment for a chance to win one of my Uncharted SEALs stories
PLUS an Amazon gift card!
Click on a cover to explore the series!

Hard SEAL to Love

Former SEAL, “Big Mac” McLane, is sure he earned all kinds of bad karma somewhere when his next mission with Charter Group is to guard the “Love Boat” and a pretty program director. Okay, so the cruise line is sponsoring a special cruise for wounded soldiers and their significant others—a great cause. Mac doesn’t doesn’t know a thing about spending time with “good” women, but Kylie Hammond is full of surprises. After the initial shock of meeting her, he feels like he has two left feet whenever she’s around. So he’ll do his job, keep it strictly business, fade into the background whenever she’s around, but Kylie seems to have other ideas…

Kylie knows the muscle-bound SEAL isn’t exactly gung-ho for his new assignment, and she isn’t exactly the “princess” he expected, but she can’t be more pleased. The big man’s the yummiest thing she’s ever seen, and coaxing blushes and glares from him becomes her favorite sport. Then someone aboard the ship is killed. The thing her charity most feared—a terrorist attack at sea—appears to be underway. Now, she has to trust Mac and his team to keep her wounded soldiers safe.

Read an excerpt…

Five hours later, Mac stepped through the entrance of the Hampton Inn. The lobby was a study in orderly chaos. Suitcases were lined up and stacked against one wall. Men and women, some in wheelchairs or walking with crutches and walkers, and missing limbs—some multiples—filled the space.

Mac tamped down a feeling of guilt for being able-bodied and whole as he walked through the throng, nodding now and then as he passed the veterans. He headed to the concierge and asked where he could find Kylie Hammond. After being informed which conference room Soldiers’ Sanctuary had commandeered to hand out welcome packets to arrivals, he headed down a hallway, relieved he didn’t have to push through a sea of bodies. He was ready to start this op. Sooner the better. Five days would fly by, and then he’d have the down time he needed to get his head on straight before the next assignment.

Stepping inside the room, he noted two long conference tables filled with plastic buckets of folders. Three elderly men manned the table.

One of them who sported a gray buzz cut and a surprisingly muscular build glanced his way. He lifted his chin in greeting.

Mac decided he was as good a place to start as any and strode toward him.

The old man held out his hand. “Joe Olinksy,” he said, in deep, loud voice. Then he leaned against the table edge and whispered, “You with Charter?”

Mac eyed him then glanced at his two buddies who were moving closer. His presence as part of the security team was supposed to be on a “need-to-know” basis.

Grinning, Joe waved a hand. “We’re part of your support. Eyes and ears only. We’re a little too long in the tooth to be the muscle, but we’re here to help. We’ll be staying in the stateroom next to yours.”

Skeptical that this band of elderly brothers could be of any service at all, Mac drew a deep breath and gave Joe’s two companions another look.

“This is Morty,” Joe said, pointing toward a thin man with a round, pot belly. “And that’s Sly.”

Sly smiled, and his teeth were blindingly white and little too large in his mouth.

“Ex-marines, 3rd Division during Viet Nam,” Joe said. “You a SEAL like Wiley?”

“Semper Fi,” Morty said, grinning.

Mac grunted, revising his original assessment. These guys had seen real action. “I’m looking for Kylie Hammond.”

“She’s out in the atrium,” Joe pointed toward the windows behind him, “getting a cup of coffee. She’s been manning the tables since dawn. And don’t worry about us. We can handle ourselves. After all our help on the last cruise, Poppy made sure to add us to the team. We’ll have your six.”

The three elderly men hadn’t been mentioned in any of the briefings he’d attended back at HQ. Wiley for damn sure hadn’t said a thing, but then again, Wiley had looked a little smug when he’d heard Mac was being assigned to protect his wife’s best friend. He cleared his throat. “Mac McLane by the way,” he said, giving a nod to all three men.

“We’ll see you aboard the Oceanus,” Joe said.

Mac left them and thought about calling Wiley to find out why the hell he hadn’t mentioned his geriatric buddies. Just to bitch because he was already dreading the coming minutes. He didn’t have a lot of experience with Ms. Hammond’s brand of womanhood. He’d served with women in the field, and slept with the women who swarmed bars outside Navy bases, hoping for a hookup with a SEAL.

Women outside those two categories tended to make him nervous. In his experience, women had served only two purposes, as support and/or stress-relief for a SEAL. Not that he looked down on them. He liked the women he’d known. But he hadn’t had to think much about what kind of impression he made or how to talk to them. He could be gruff and blunt. What the hell would he talk about for the days and nights he and the princess would be glued to each other’s sides?

Entering the atrium, he glanced around for someone who fit the picture he’d made up in his mind. She’d be pretty, no doubt. He couldn’t imagine anyone who was friends with Poppy Shackleford and attending her social functions looking any different.

Most of the small round, brightly tiled tables were filled with men and a few women. Probably wives of the wounded soldiers, who’d be accompanying their husbands on the cruise.

One woman sat alone, her head bent over her cell phone which lay flat on the tabletop, a tall Styrofoam cup beside it. Her hair was a mass of dark brown curls. Her body, what he could see of it hunched over the table, was slender. Her bare arms and the tops of her shoulders, revealed by an olive tank, showed well-developed muscles. She wore no jewelry, save for a watch on an olive-colored web strap. Faux military-issue? And now he wondered whether she was one of those who was so enamored of military men she wore cammo pajamas. He’d met a few like that. As he moved nearer, she must have sensed someone watched her.

The woman’s gaze lifted from her phone and locked with his.

As he took in her features, he slowed his steps. Wide-set green eyes whose gaze never wavered, tan skin, rose-colored lips, cheeks that were prominent and high. She was lovely, but didn’t wear a hint of makeup. She didn’t need it. Unbidden, interest flared inside him, heating his blood.

“Are you Mac?” she asked, her voice even and little husky.

His tongue felt thick as he gave a crisp nod and replied. “You Kylie?”

Her smile was a little tight, but she pushed up from the table to greet him, her arm reaching forward.

When he looked down at her hand, with its long fingers and short bare nails, his gaze dropped to her legs. Another shock stole his breath. She wore shorts which ended at mid-thigh, revealing one long, nicely turned limb paired with a shapely thigh that disappeared into the black cup of a prosthetic limb.

As an author, I get asked all the time where I get my ideas. Truth is, I get ideas everywhere—the news, TV, a dream, a snippet of overheard conversation…

A few months ago, I was pushing up against two deadlines. I needed a story for Elle James’s Brotherhood Protectors Kindle World launch, and I needed an idea for a short story for the Blue Collar anthology. I had covers for both and kept looking at them, hoping for inspiration.

Both have to-die-for covers, but nothing came to mind. Then one day, I was babysitting the 4-year-old across the road. When she went down for a nap, I began surfing the TV for something to watch. I paused on a show in progress—Rocky Mountain Bounty Hunters. Now, I never watch reality TV. I find it annoying. But the show caught me. Within ten minutes, I was reaching for my notebook and scribbling like mad. I spent the rest of the afternoon researching bounty hunting.

One reality TV show gave me the inspiration I needed for both books. In Big Sky SEAL, my heroine’s a bounty hunter with a tracking dog. For Blue Collar, I wrote a story about a bounty hunting duo who become “involved”. I had so much fun with those stories, I am now planning an entire Montana Bounty Hunters series! The first book releases in November.

Pre-Order your copy!

Today’s release, The Bounty, is the story I wrote for Blue Collar. I’ve also included pages from Reaper, just to give you a little taste of my hero. I hope you love bounty hunters as much as I do! And if you want more installments featuring Buttercup and Bulldog, just let me know…

Read an excerpt…

After we’d dropped Lenny at the jail, Bulldog remained silent as we drove.

My arm stung like hell, so I was fine with the quiet for the first while.

His expression was so dark, I didn’t dare try to make small talk. When he missed the turnoff to the agency, I straightened and darted a glance his way. His narrowed gaze swung toward me, daring me to say a word. I sat back, my heart thudding hard inside my chest. Just how pissed was he?

Twenty minutes later, we pulled onto a gravel road. Once we passed the first curve, I saw a single-story house ahead. Gray stone and wood. A metal roof. He reached up to hit a button above his windshield, and a garage door rose.

So, this was his house. He’d brought me home. But would he cut me into tiny pieces and feed me to the Rottweiler jumping against the fence, or was he planning to read me the riot act in private, because he intended to yell and didn’t want the world to hear?

I hoped for a third option. One where he pushed me face-down over the first piece of furniture we met and delivered his frustration in the sexiest way possible.

He pulled the SUV into the garage, hit the button to lower the door, and then turned to give me another glare. “Get the fuck inside.”

I was tempted to chide him about his tone. Not his words. I wanted to be the fuck inside…fucking.

Without a word, I slipped out of the truck and headed to the wooden stairs leading into the house. I stepped inside a mud room then through another door and into the kitchen.

Bulldog entered behind me and closed the door.

His hands grasped my shoulders and turned me toward the table.

My heart stuttered—was this the bending over part? No, he pushed downward, forcing me into a chair.

“Unwrap your arm.”

Disappointment turned the corners of my mouth downward. Slowly, because the shirt stuck to the bloody stripes, I peeled away the shirt while he headed toward the sink.

He ran water then pulled a washcloth from a drawer and wet it. Next, he strode back to the table, pulling out a chair to sit beside me. He laid the washcloth over my arm.

It was hot, and I winced.

“Got to soak the blood to loosen it,” he said.

His voice was softer but no less growly, and my pulse raced.

When he wiped away the smears of blood, he shook his head. “Should have let him go, Buttercup. These’ll leave scars.”

I raised my chin. “Would you have?”

He grunted and completed his task, then stood, opened a cabinet above the stove, and pulled down a first aid kit. After he’d rubbed antiseptic gel over my wounds, he wrapped clean gauze around my arm and secured it with surgical tape.

“Thanks.” I kept my eyes cast downward. “But I could have managed on my own.”

“I know.”

I lifted my head and found him studying me.

His mouth tightened. “You handled yourself well. I just didn’t like you anywhere near that shithead.”

“Oh.” And because I was feeling off-kilter, his change in demeanor sending my insides swirling, I did what I always do when I feel a little afraid. I brazened it out, giving him a slow, seductive smile and a wink.

Instead of putting him back in his bad mood, his reaction to my taunt was a narrowing of his green eyes. He glanced at my mouth then shot out a hand and wrapped his fingers around the back of my neck to pull me toward him.

When his mouth slammed over mine, I gasped, giving him entry.

Bulldog might have been a big guy, but there was nothing lumbering or bearlike about his reactions. They were lightning fast. His tongue invaded my mouth, pushing past my teeth to stroke my tongue.

I gave a kitten-like mew, very un-me, and melted against him, my hand landing on his broad, bare chest, and my fingers tangling in his hair. Then he gripped my waist and slid me right off my chair onto his lap. Shock blasted through me at how much I liked the quick way he took charge.

He bent me backward, an arm around my shoulders. His free hand slipped between my legs and pushed against the damp denim, cupping me then squeezing my sex. “You’re fucking wet, Buttercup,” he rasped when he raised his head to let me breathe. Then slowly, daring me with his steady stare, he removed his hand from my crotch and cupped my breast through my clothing. “This okay with you?”

I managed a nod, and before I drew another breath, he went to his feet, with me in his arms, and strode through the house, past a living room filled with deep leather seating, down a hallway, and into a bedroom. His bed was enormous, an Alaska or a Wyoming-size King. He crawled onto the mattress on his knees and stepped toward the center before he set me down. Then he began stripping away my holster, my belt…my tee and bra…my shoes and pants. When the only thing I wore was a pair of bikini panties, he halted, backed off the bed, and began stripping off his own clothing, flinging each piece to the side while he kept his hungry stare on me.

But I wasn’t any woman waiting on a man to decide what happened next. I lifted my bottom, scraped down my panties, and threw them at his face.

Magnificently nude, he leapt toward the bed, diving toward the middle.

I rolled away, and just had my feet on the floor, when his arms wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me back against his body. He sat on the edge of the mattress and bracketed my legs with his thick thighs, then smoothed his rough palms over my skin, starting at my breasts then moving down my belly to my pussy. I squirmed in his arms trying to turn, but he kept me faced away as he felt me up, sending tingles through me.

Again, he cupped my breasts, and I felt his tongue slide from the center of my back upward, following my spine. Goose bumps prickled on my skin. My breaths grew short. Fuck, oh fuck. I wanted him. “Bulldog,” I said, shivering hard inside his embrace.

“Don’t fight me, Buttercup. Don’t move. Let me do you the way I have to.”

He turned me until I faced him.

I stood with my arms at my sides as he raked my body with his gaze. His for the taking, because I wanted to be taken.

I couldn’t resist dropping my gaze to his cock, so thick and straight, jerking against his belly to the beat of his heart.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” I whispered and shivered hard again.

He reached to the side, slid open a drawer in the nightstand, and pulled out a condom. With his lips pulling back from his teeth, he cloaked himself, then scooted backward on the bed and patted the mattress beside him.

I crawled toward him then lay on my belly beside him, hiding my face against the coverlet, because I knew my expression would give away just how badly I wanted this. I rubbed on the mattress, because my skin burned and my nipples ached.

He kissed my shoulder and climbed over me, his weight pressing me deep into the mattress as he fisted his hand in my hair and held me down, then slipped his legs, one at a time between mine, waiting for me to open to him.

When he rooted his cock between my legs, my breath shuddered out. His lower body scooped against me, rubbing against my ass as he teased me with the tip of his cock sliding between my slick folds.

His teeth dragged on my earlobe, and he whispered, “I’m gonna fuck you up, babe. Fuck hard and deep. You ready, Buttercup?”

I made a sound—half-laugh, half-sob. Ready? Never. But I quivered underneath him and strained to lift my ass, needing him to take me now.

With one hand still lodged in my hair, he lifted his hips and slid his free arm beneath my waist to raise my hips.

I braced on my knees, my belly barely off the bed, because that’s all the room he gave me, and then he was rutting against me, pushing between my folds, quick in and out slides, penetrating only a couple of inches.

“Don’t tease,” I said, hissing when he tightened his fingers on my hair. My scalp stung, but the pain only made the tension winding inside my core tighten more. Already, my lips were clenching, releasing, trying to capture his cockhead as he wet it in the fluid drenching my sex.

“You want this,” he whispered, pushing a little deeper then withdrawing.

Way past worrying about my pride, I whimpered. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“One thing, babe. One thing before I give it to you. Promise me.”

My pulse pounded in my ears. “Anything, just please, Bulldog…”

He nuzzled into the hair beside my ear. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

What’s your favorite part of Fall? Mine? I love the changing of the leaves and all the colors.  Not a big fan of the cold, and it’s funny because I am from Illinois born and raised and I hate the cold.  It gets cold here in Illinois especially during the winter, but I don’t want to talk about that now because what comes after fall is Halloween, then Thanksgiving and Christmas. UGH. I have not even started and probably won’t shop for Christmas until the week before. Lol! I always say I am going to start early it never happens. Oh my. See now, I am talking about Christmas. When will this end? I know—Dec 26^th.

Well I have always like fall, and I have many many memories of growing up in Macomb, IL going to my Grandma Opal’s for Thanksgiving and Christmas Dinners. There were always the football games, beer and lots and lots of food. My grandmother had 26 grandchildren and 15 great grand children when she passed away.  I was in recruiting in 2009 when she passed away. I think it was probably one time in many years that I completely cried my eyes out. She was a great lady but taken in small doses as she got older. ha ha.  I am sure my children will say that about me as I get older too.  Naw, my grandma would give you the shirt off her back, and I learned a lot from her growing up.  I think she was one of the main reasons I joined the military because it was the one way I knew for sure I could give back.

So back to Fall… What do you do in the Fall do you have a tradition that you do every Fall? Winter?  What is your Family Tradition?  I would love to hear them.

A Little about Me…..

If I’m new to you I will go through the whole speech. 😍😍 I hope you don’t mind. 😍😍😍

I served in the US Army for 23 years. At 45, i decided my time had come, and I retired out with 100% service connected disability. Long story. So now I am here to introduce you to my work and to me. (Scary, I know but hold on for a wild ride)

I write Military Romance with SMOKIN’ ALPHA Males and STRONG ALPHA Females mixed with some suspense.

I will always have strong male and female characters in my storylines.  Romance and action will always grace my stories as well as some suspense and mystery.

ALWAYS, ALWAYS my stories have HEA – Happily Ever After.

I am currently working on my second novel of the Warranted Series called Warranted Desires, due out in soon.  My first Book Warranted Pleasures was released by Limitless Publishing July 25th. Author on 4 Anthologies—Craving Soldiers and Craving Secrets releases on Aug 29th. Craving Christmas releases Nov 29th, and Counting Stars around Feb 2018

I started my writing career while still serving in the US Army. I am a mother of 4, grandmother of 2 little girls, and wife of 24 years.

I have made it a MISSION of mine since retiring that I recognize Fridays As “Buddy Check Friday’s”. Where, not only do I call or text fellow Veterans and Family, but I put a post on my group page my authors’ page and my personal page to remind all to check on your Battle Buddy. As a Veteran and sufferer of PTSD, I recognize first and foremost how important friends and family are and to know to remain vigilant and to seek help when I need it. That is where fellow Veterans, friends, and family come in because we will a lot of times not seek you out you must seek us out.

Now, let’s Be Book Buddies!

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Intro the men of the 9th

So I am going to introduce you to a couple of the Men of the 9th today. My first one is kinda my favorite. I guess its because he was my first. LOL. He broke my writing cherry.

Who wants to meet Chief Warrant Officer Raleigh Fitzgerald?

He is my Alpha and all male lol and the main lead in what is now becoming a whole new Series about the 9th Special Forces Reapers.”Bringers of Death and Destruction” is their motto.

Eventually, it will be an entire world of hottie, alpha and the strong women who fall for them.

Ok, this my dears is my Raleigh from my Warranted series. I seriously want to lick him. I really don’t care where.

We can stare at him for a moment then I will show you an excerpt from Book 1 of Samantha and Raleigh’s story.

The insignia is special forces unit insignia, and the other is the warrant officer branch insignia.

So my novella Snowed In introduces you to the youngest member of the 9th Special Forces. I think you will like him. He is a cutie from Georgia, young and all southern stud.

So this novella is set during the time that Warranted Pleasures takes place, and is the story of Jackson and Annabelle. Jackson is a member of Raleigh’s SF unit.

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★‿¸.•*´´*•.¸(*•.¸¸.•*)¸.•*´´*•.¸‿★

Excerpt  WARRANTED PLEASURES
BY SHANNON NEMECHEK
4.7 out of 5 Stars on Amazon
57 ★★★★★ Ratings
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Raleigh opened the door to O’Shea’s Pub and walked in. He scanned the bar—no Sam. He scanned the tables—no Sam. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her as she emerged from the bathroom. Her long, blonde hair draped over her bare shoulders, and her legs were so long they could almost reach the sky. She was tanned from head to toe, and the dress she had on left nothing to the imagination. It melted into her skin like it was made for her. The heels she wore inched her almost as tall as him. WOW! She is amazing! He could lose himself in those eyes and that smile. He could forget about everything this world offered and just concentrate on making her every wish come true. Because right then, at that very moment, she was everything he had ever wished for and so much more. He wanted so badly to take her in his arms and whisk her away to a remote island and make her his forever. He could feel himself shake as he walked towards her. He knew he had to get it together or he would look like a fool.

***

Sitting here with Raleigh was almost a dream come true. She could smell his musky scent from across the table; the smell enticed her senses. She could feel her skin get warm and beads of sweat made their way between her breasts. Thoughts crept into her mind of all the heavenly things she would do to him if she got him alone in a room. It had been too long since Sam had felt a man’s touch—a real man’s touch. She wanted to be taken—body, mind, heart, and soul. Her heart ached for the love and tenderness of a man; Raleigh reminded her of the emptiness she had been feeling for quite some time. Could a guy like Raleigh make all her hopes come true? Or for one night, make her forget all her troubles and be a woman again? She didn’t care either way. There were carnal, sexual needs that she wanted to follow.

As she sat so close to the man of her dreams, the man who could fulfill her deepest desires and the fantasies she had yet to share, she had a feeling she could share any one of them with him and he would be more than willing to make them all come true.

In his deep southern twang, he asked, “Have you ordered yet?”

“Just a drink. I thought I would wait to order food once you got here.” Sam’s voice trailed off as she felt the distinct touch of Raleigh’s leg against hers. The heat she felt skyrocketed to pure pleasure. Is that by accident? Or is he playing with my emotions? She moved her leg just inches, testing the hypothesis that his touch was an accidental one. But his leg moved between hers and pressed them apart. Her heart quickened and her breath hitched. Without control, she had allowed his leg in deeper and could feel her wetness envelop her. She had deliberately gone without panties to avoid panty lines; now she worried he would inch ever so close feeling the wetness soak his jeans. The tablecloth had hidden what was going on under the table, so Sam was happy to oblige Raleigh’s advances. For one night only, she would put away her emotions and her inhibitions and just let the chips fall where they may. She already had a few drinks in her before Raleigh arrived. She was now relaxed enough to let herself go and enjoy where this may go. If she ended up in his bed, she would count it as a notch and let it go. She couldn’t fight her feelings anymore. She needed to be taken, and she needed it now.

The table hid Raleigh’s intentions, and he slid one hand on Sam’s leg and up the length of her thigh. The higher he moved up, the warmer it got. He hoped once he reached her spot she would be ready and willing to take his length and the pleasure he had secretly sworn to give her the moment he laid eyes on her. He could feel her legs tighten as he inched closer and felt her breath quicken the closer he got to her folds. I pray she isn’t wearing panties. As he reached within centimeters of her warmth and folds, the waitress arrived.

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*~*~*

CRAVING SOLDIERS
Operation Codename Wolverine
Unedited Excerpt
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B073KM3H7H

Sergeant First Class Logan Macalister stood steadfast as the dust and sand flew and laughed as he watched the young woman fumble around.  He had been waiting for this CIA agent for the last few hours, and he was ready to get back to the poker game he and the guys had started.  He was ahead a few hundred dollars and didn’t want to miss out on his winning streak.  He couldn’t see her quite well, but he could make out the figure and damn it was impressive.  “What I wouldn’t give to have those legs wrapped around my neck.  If the rest of her looks are as good as they are from the neck down we in business.” He thought as she approached him.  It had been months since he had seen a woman let alone been with a woman so lucky for him she was extremely nice to look at.

“Are you SFC Macalister?” she asked

“Yep, that’s me!” He said as he held his hand out to her “Logan Macalister but everyone calls me Wolverine.”

“Well, Wolverine how about getting me out of this dust-up and inside so I can sit down.”

“Yea, no problem.  Let me take your bag for ya.” He said as he reached for the bag draped over her arm.  “Looks heavy.”

“Yea, a bit!  I’ve been lugging it around for the last several hours.  I am beyond bushed.  I need a shower a bed and a drink.” She complained as she handed him the bag.

Logan grabbed the bag then motioned her to follow him.  “Follow me, ma’am, I will get you over to the command tent first.  You need to report to the commander first then personnel will get you set up with a bunk and a private area.  Once you get set up, I can show you where the shower facilities are.”  As they walked into the small makeshift building that looked as though it had been put together with cardboard and duct tape a blast a cool air finally hit her face.  “Whew, finally.” She thought as she stopped for a moment to take it all in and to take the scarf down from her face.  Realizing she was no longer following him Logan stopped and turned just in time to see Mackenzie as the scarf fell. 

His breath hitched, and his heart raced as he took the sight all in.  “My God! he thought she’s the most beautiful women in the world.  Why the hell is she in this rat hole?  Yep, he thought definitely have to get those legs wrapped around my neck.”  When she looked up at him, he realized her eyes were the darkest brown eyes, and her hair was long and dark drown with hints of auburn scattered about.  Then she smiled at him looking up thru her eyelashes, and that smile reached down to his dick and pulled it up and stretched it hard.  He now had a hard on from hell, and there was not a thing he could do about it.

“You good? He asked can we head on?” he knew he sounded like an ass, but he also didn’t want to stand around too long and reveal the raging hard on he had that was pushing against his pants.  It seemed obvious to him that his cock was trying to inch its way closer to her.  “Down boy.” He whispered to himself.

“What was that Sergeant?” she questioned looking back at him over her shoulder.

“Nothing all good back here!”

“Oh ok, I thought you said something to me!”

“Nope, all good back here.” He said as he pushed down at his crotch

“Good.  How much further to the commander’s office?”

“Just turn to your right up there, and he’s in there.  I will wait out here.” He said fumbling with his waistband.

“You’re not going in? “she questioned.

“Nope, no need I will wait for you out here.  Would you like coffee or water?”

“Water, please. As she turned into the commander’s office, I’ll grab it when I come out.”

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*~*~*

CRAVING SECRETS
Breach of Trust
Unedited Excerpt
http://a.co/g0VBHhj

Madison’s heart sank when she heard her name. She was frightened, so she grabbed the broomstick again and prepared to smash whoever popped their head through the exposed hole in the old building. Gretchen grabbed Jasper. Madison hoped he would not bark, but it was too late. He was a small, strong little dog and had easily jumped from her arms and into the opening in the bricks.
Jasper’s barks echoed throughout the building. Madison could hear the man’s voice calling for her. As he got closer to the opening, she heard him say, “Madison, if you are in there, this is Chance Maxwell. I am with the CIA. Agent York sent me to come get you. I swear I will toss you my wallet so you can see I am who I say I am.”

Chance tossed his wallet toward the opening, and Gretchen popped her head out to retrieve it. Chance grinned as the old woman snapped him a look of disgust then went back into the building. Handing Madison the wallet, she then popped her head back out like a turtle from its shell.

“Is it him?” she asked Gretchen.

“Yes, child, it is the same man,” Gretchen answered.

“Okay, let him in,” Madison said.

Gretchen leaned back out of the hole, “Okay, you can come in,” she said. “But watch what you do, or Jasper will bite your cock off.”
***
Chance laughed.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. I am only here to help Ms. Madison,” Chance replied.

Chance crawled through the opening, his head down, watching for hidden items in the rubble that might hurt the knee or hands as he crawled through. Once he got all the way inside, he looked up then over to the right, and he saw her. She was even more stunning in person; her hair was a mess, her clothes torn, and she had on a pair of mismatched shoes. Her makeup had long since run down part of her face, but despite all of that, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on. Her eyes were deep green, and although her hair was disheveled and matted, it was blonde and hung past her shoulders. Even in this state, his cock took over his mind, and his cock started to thicken. What the hell, man? Get a fuckin grip. This is a woman in need of help, and a bath. He grinned to himself.
***
Madison peered at him, still holding the broken broom handle at the ready. “And what the hell are you laughing at?” she asked, waiting still holding the broomstick above her head.

“I am laughing at you, miss. Do you seriously think that would do any kind of damage whatsoever?”

“Well, it could, if I hit hard enough,” she replied.

“Doubtful, but I’ll take your word for it,” Chance replied, standing up and walking over to her and grabbing the broom handle.

“If you don’t mind, I will take that. I have something that will do a little bit more damage than that, so you are perfectly safe with me. I promise,” he said, winking at her then focusing on the small barking dog at his feet.

“Now, who is this little guy?” He bent down to pet Jasper’s head and scratch his ears. Jasper was now on Team Chance and was currently in the process of rolling onto his back for a belly rub.

Gretchen replied, “That, my dear, is Jasper, my guard dog. This is our home. Welcome. Welcome, young Chance, my name is Gretchen.”

“How long have you and Jasper been here?” Chance asked.

“Oh, we have been here for, oh, say, ten years. Well I have had Jasper for only four years. I found him abandoned down at the city center, not far from the cathedral. We have been together since. He protects me, and I protect him,” she answered.

“Well, you have a very nice home, Frau Gretchen.”

“Ah, poppycock! It’s a shithole, but thank you for saying so,” Gretchen announced as she laughed.

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Releasing Aug 29nd
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I really hope you will consider giving me and my stories an look through.  I know I am most likely new to you but I hope you will allow me to entertain you.  I know you have tons of choices, but I would be honored if you chose me.

Love and Hugs
Shannon Nemechek

He was her first Master, seducing her into a life of cruelty. Now she must take a journey to save her soul.

God, just his name made her stomach clench and a feeling of nausea roll through her. Even after all this time, she still felt as if she had to scrub every part of her body inside and out to rid herself of the vestiges of his control. How sick was that?

She was so preoccupied with her thoughts when she gave her car to the valet parking attendant, she didn’t look where she was going…

Until she bumped into someone and a hand closed over her arm.

“Well.” His mouth curved in that seductive smile that hid so much. “It’s been a very long time, Fallon. I understood you were hiding up in the Hill Country.”

She looked up to see him standing beside her, as if conjured by her very thoughts.

Brian Willoughby was tall; taller than Cord. So tall that when he stood next to her, he almost blocked the sun. And broad, every bit of him hard, solid muscle. His razor-cut blond hair still fell in precise lines to just above his collar and his deep blue eyes were still as chilly and penetrating. Power radiated from him, a power tinged with evil that unfortunately still had the ability to hypnotize Fallon in an instant.

At once her mind and body reacted, and she tried to push away the programmed response. Disaster and destruction were standing right in front of her if she didn’t get a grip. She knew exactly how junkies and alcoholics felt while trying to dry out. Nothing satisfied the sick hunger. Yet even knowing that, and with Claire’s conversation fresh in her mind, her body reacted automatically.

Think of Cord.

Fallon forced herself to breathe evenly. Heat burned her skin where his fingers rested on her arm. His touch was light but it might as well have been steel talons. She wanted to jerk away but the message didn’t seem to filter down from her brain.

“You heard wrong.” From somewhere she managed a hint of defiance in her tone. “I’m not hiding at all.”

“Oh?” He lifted one eyebrow in a too-familiar gesture. “I’ve missed seeing you.”

His fingers stroked her arm where they held her.

Ohgodohgodohgod.

She wet her lips. “I was just—reordering my priorities.”

His eyes raked over her. “I’ve missed you.” He took a step closer, shrinking the space between them. “You’ve missed me too. I know you have.” He bent his head so his mouth was at her ear. “You’ve missed me fucking you when you were bound so intricately you couldn’t move a muscle, and I could plow into you at will.”

His tone had that same compelling quality she couldn’t forget. She trembled at his words and the gush of fluid into her panties disgusted her. Yet at the same time, vivid images of the scene he described flashed into her mind and all the months dropped away. She found herself being lulled by him again. Falling into the same trap.

No! Cord! Think of Cord!

She extricated herself from his hold—but damn it, she missed his touch as soon as it was gone. “I have a new life. A better life. I could say it’s been nice running into you, but I’d be lying.”

He reached out and touched her cheek, his knuckles grazing the skin. The contact sizzled and another kaleidoscope of memories and sensations bombarded her.

No!

Finding courage she didn’t know she had, she backed away two steps and glanced at her watch.

“Sorry, Brian. I really have to run.”

*~*~*

Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Addiction-Desiree-Holt-ebook/dp/B075MBFQP8/

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About the Author

USA Today best-selling and award-winning author Desiree Holt writes everything from romantic suspense and contemporary on a variety of heat levels up to erotic, a genre in which she is the oldest living author. She has been referred to by USA Today as the Nora Roberts of erotic romance, and is a winner of the EPIC E-Book Award, the Holt Medallion and a Romantic Times Reviewers Choice nominee. She has been featured on CBS Sunday Morning and in The Village Voice, The Daily Beast, USA Today, The (London) Daily Mail, The New Delhi Times and numerous other national and international publications.

Desiree loves to hear from readers. www.facebook.com/desireeholtauthor www.facebook.com/desiree01holt

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The Hidden Heart

Cara Montero had been kidnapped and then rescued by her sister Aly and Ram Torres.  Now free but traumatized, knowing she was going to become a sex slave sold to someone in Asia, she wrestles with PTSD symptoms.  When Ram and Aly have to leave, she feels as if she’s been abandoned, relying heavily on them.

Tyler Hutton, ex-SEAL, is assigned to take over and be there as a bodyguard and support for struggling Cara.  He’s destroyed his marriage two years earlier because of his own PTSD and doesn’t expect to be powerfully drawn into desiring more than a professional relationship with Cara.  He considers himself broken, just as Cara sees herself as shattered.  Can two people who are drawn to one another find a pathway to connect their hearts and openly admit they are falling in love?  Or will the dark past overwhelm the fragile, hidden hearts that yearned for a lifetime together?

Get your copy here!

One soldier had told Cara Montero at the shower facility that she was special, which apparently meant she would get better treatment than the other women imprisoned with her. The Asian male who had bought her wanted her skin in perfect condition, no bruises, her hair and body clean.  Cara was afraid to ask the soldier more, but because he seemed in a good mood, she did.  He said it was because even though she was twenty-four, which was “very old” for a high-class sex slave, the Asian wanted her.  Then, the soldier took a last drag on his cigarette, tossing the butt beneath his combat boot.  He looked at her lustfully, telling her that if his boss hadn’t already sold her for a million dollars, he’d like to get a piece of her for himself.

Now, caged with her companions, Cara huddled with the two women, trying to calm their trembling bodies. She suddenly saw herself back in Tucson with her parents.  How happy she’d been then! She and her sister had grown up so loved, cared for and supported.  Family meant everything to her and yet, here she was, a thousand or more miles away, alone, helpless and afraid.

In another week, the ship to Asia would take them all away, probably forever. And then?  Cara simply couldn’t fathom what would happen to her.  The other three women did not know their fate.  Only she did.  But Cara was sure they had been sold, too.

The door to the villa opened and shut.  Cara’s head snapped up, her eyes focused.  There was the head soldier—she didn’t know his name, but he terrified her. He was even crueler than his companions, clearly enjoying the pain he inflicted on the women.  And he was walking quickly toward their cell.  Only a dark brown tarp lay across the top of it, keeping rain off them when a storm passed nearby.

The soldier, bald, six-foot five-inches tall was a Russian with flat, gray eyes and a four-day growth of bear—and his gaze was fixed right on her.  She often heard the guttural language interspersed with Spanish, and sometimes, English slang.

Oh, no!  Cara slowly stood up, her hands against her roiling stomach.

He opened the door with a jerk and stepped in.  “You!” he snarled in poor Spanish.  “Get over here!”

Cara froze.  They were going to rape her!  She saw the hardness in the man’s eyes and noted his powerful muscles. He had an AK-47 hanging off a strap in front of him.

“Get over here!” he bellowed, and took a threatening step toward her.

Stunned, she forced herself to walk around the two women who were whimpering with fear, holding tightly to one another.  Her heart was pounding so heavily she didn’t know if she could make it to where he stood, his hands imperious on his hips, his glare eating into her like acid.  Cara knew if she didn’t obey instantly, they’d grab her by the hair and jerk her off her feet.  They had never slapped her since she’d arrived. Was all that about to change now? 

Lowering her eyes, head bowed, she walked to within six feet of the soldier. Earlier that day, three cars had driven up to the double wooden doors of the villa.  The soldiers had opened the doors and allowed the visitors into the spacious area.  Cara had seen one man leave each chauffeured car. All three were dressed in expensive business suits, and she could only guess what they were doing here.  In the past weeks since her capture, she’d sharpened her hearing, listening to snatches of conversation from the soldiers.

She’d found out that Emilio Azarola was a Sonoran drug lord who sent drugs across the border to America and kidnapped young girls, some as young as age twelve. They came from various cities, some from the United States, and others from cities and towns in Central and South America.

Azarola’s sex trafficking trade was growing, which was why this Huge cell that was roughly two-hundred square feet, had been built: it was a holding cell for his captives until their ships pulled into the dock.  From there, children and young women would be shipped to the Middle East or Asia.

The soldier glared at her.  “Come with me.”

Shocked that he wasn’t going to grab her or yank her by the hair, she hesitated, at a loss for words.

“Move!” he snarled, making a sharp gesture.

Cara leaped out of the cell and stood.  There was no place to run, to escape this place.  Furtively, she looked around, trying to see if such an escape was possible.  There was nothing to indicate escape.  Disheartened, she saw him looking at her, stripping her from head to toe with his colorless grey eyes.

Now she knew what it felt like to be a mouse about to be pounced on by a coyote.

“Go to that door,” he muttered, walking toward her, threatening her with his height and bulk.

Instantly, Cara moved, but she suddenly felt weak, her knees turning mushy. Oh, Dios….protect me….protect me…