Thanks so much for welcoming me to your blog, Delilah. I always enjoy visiting! I’d like to share my inspiration for writing the Dr. Brogan Corkie Matchmaking Doctor series.

I’m so excited to introduce a new series — Dr. Brogan Corkie Matchmaking Doctor. I’ve been busy working on this series for the past year. I originally had the idea for this story two years ago. I’m a physician, and I work at an Urgent Care Clinic. I frequently see patients with infectious illnesses and advise them to stay home from school or work until they’re no longer contagious. Sometimes, it’s difficult for working parents to find care for their sick children — often they just can’t take a day off, and it’s nearly impossible to find a caregiver willing to look after a child who is ill. It also isn’t easy for someone living on their own to cope when they don’t feel well. I thought caring for the sick when they are temporarily ill would make a great job for a retired doctor, since a doctor wouldn’t be daunted by the illness.

That’s how Dr. Brogan Corkie’s character was born. Initially, I was going to have her look after the sick in their homes, and then bring two people together in that context. But when I started writing, I ended up giving Brogan a hobby — she enjoys cooking and catering for people and that became her second career. She uses her cooking know-how, her medical knowledge — and her matchmaking skills — to care for other people. I “upgraded” her M.D. from Medical Doctor to Matchmaking Doctor. Brogan is the romantic catalyst — she brings couples together and then through good advice and a warm heart she weaves her magic to make love happen. And throughout the series, Brogan’s own heart gets tangled up in romance, too! Medicine — it truly is a work of heart.

Don’t Drop the Baby
(Dr. Brogan Corkie Matchmaking Doctor Book 1)

Genre: Medical Romantic Comedy
Rating: PG

Dr. Brogan Corkie is happily semi-retired from medicine and now has time for other hobbies. Her passion for food is only second to her skill at matchmaking!

Ross Skye, owner of BabyCare, a high-end line of baby merchandise, is injured in an accident, and Brogan uses her cooking, medical — and matchmaking — skills to help him out. Dr. Lauren Kane is taking care of her nephew for two weeks, and Brogan agrees to babysit while Lauren is at work.

Two years ago, Ross and Lauren dated. At that time, Lauren wanted kids, but Ross wasn’t keen. Now the tables have turned, and Ross is trying to convince Lauren that they’d make an awesome parenting team. Brogan suggests they test-drive parenthood by looking after a simulated baby for a week — a computerized version that eats, sleeps, wets, and cries. Ross and Lauren experience the “joy” of having a newborn firsthand, and the bar is set pretty low. Their first goal is: don’t drop the baby. The second goal is to find out if their love for each other will survive the test of…parenting.

Excerpt Don’t Drop the Baby

Lauren picked up her phone on the first ring.

“Hey Lauren, it’s Ross.”

“Hello, Ross.”

Aloof and frosty. She must not have his name stored anymore or she wouldn’t have answered the phone. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

Ross winced. So far, so terrible. He jumped right to the chase. “Brogan mentioned that you’re taking Joey to her house this afternoon. I wondered if you’d consider changing your plans and bring him here instead.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

“They delivered some of the new merch from BabyCare, and I’d love to see how Joey reacts to it. He’s the perfect demographic.”

Silence. “Ross, you have a whole team of researchers and developers. I’m sure any product sent to you has already had extensive testing. I can’t see how my nephew’s reaction to it is going to make one iota of difference.”

His jaw dropped. He was glad she wasn’t in the room with him to see it. “Joey’s your nephew?”

She sighed. “Ross, what is this really about?”

“I didn’t realize Joey was your nephew.” His brain couldn’t get past this simple fact.

“Not that it’s any of your business. Are we done here?”

This was going nowhere fast. He decided to come clean. “Actually, Lauren, I’m asking as a favour.” His voice was sombre. “Since the accident, I’ve had trouble sleeping. I wake up with flashbacks.” It was hard to admit. “The only restful sleep I’ve had was when I fell asleep holding Joey, so I wanted to try it again.”

“So you can patent it?”

He grinned reluctantly. “I wish I could.”

“Eventually you’re going to have to deal with the demons, you know. You can’t just hire out a baby.”

“Maybe I’m rethinking having my own.” As soon as the words came out, he regretted it. “I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of this. Blame it on the lack of sleep. I know this is a temporary solution, but I’m desperate. Please Lauren. Could we just try? I have a roomful of BabyCare merchandise that I’d be happy to give you in exchange. You could take your pick.”

“My sister does love your stuff.” The grudging reluctance in her voice gave him a glimmer of hope. “Is Brogan okay with this?”

“Yes. And I promise, if he doesn’t settle with me, then Brogan can take him home.”

She sighed. “All right. As long as he’s happy and gets his sleep, I’m okay with it.”

“Thanks Lauren, I appreciate it.”

“Be good to him, Ross. I’m trusting you.”

“Of course. I’ll treat him like he’s my own.”

“Wasn’t that part of the problem?”

“Good point. I’ll treat him like he’s a pair of 100-level tickets to a Stanley Cup final game.”

Lauren laughed. “We’ll be there in half an hour.”

Buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0847SFBFV

About the Author

Award-winning author Linda O’Connor started writing romantic comedies when she needed a creative outlet other than subtly rearranging the displays at a local home décor store. Her books have enjoyed bestseller status. When not writing, she’s a physician at an Urgent Care Clinic. She shares her medical knowledge in fast-paced, well-written, sexy romances — with an unexpected twist. Her favourite prescription to write? Laugh every day. Love every minute.

Social Media ~
Website https://www.lindaoconnor.net
Twitter https://twitter.com/LindaOConnor98
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/LindaOConnorAuthor
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/795688.Linda_O_Connor
Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/Linda-OConnor/e/B00S7CNLEA

By her 21st birthday, Jessica had completed two years of college, put 1,685 miles between herself and her family, got married, started work in a federal prison, got pregnant, and obtained an (illegal) abortion. That should have been enough adventure for any intelligent, well-raised young lady.

But Jess was just getting started.

Not that her seven years with Parker Grant came without sacrifices:

Excerpt…

More than anything, I wanted this to be his plan, not mine. Such a proposal belonged to men and I was well aware I was violating time-honored courtship norms. But I had waited all my life for a man to take the initiative, make me feel loved. I longed for him to sweep me up in his arms, tell me he couldn’t live without me, and get down on one knee to reveal the diamond ring that symbolized his promise. Whisk me away to be his wife forever.

My failure as a woman meant I would never have that.

His response, after a period of quiet pondering, came in a soft, stern voice. “I won’t have a wife who smokes.”

A flush swept up my neck. How could he agree to get engaged and criticize me in the same breath? Was this an excuse for saying no?

I stuffed away hurt feelings, not seeing far enough ahead to recognize the harness he was slipping over me. At the time, I prided myself on my ability to be whatever anyone required me to be. But then, what choice did I have?

“Okay! No problem,” I chirped. “No more cigarettes.”

*~*~*

And its rewards:

Excerpt…

At our southernmost destination, we checked into a resort nestled in the midst of tangled forest that curled down to the banks of the Pagsanhan River. In the resort’s sprawling dining room, open to jungle fringing the sides of its big vaulted roof, we sat around a huge fire pit to drink rice wine, feast on chicken adobo with rice, and exclaim over the custard of soft coconut they served for dessert.

A routine for the tourists included dancing the native “tiningaling.” First the demonstration: held close to the floor, two long bamboo poles were rhythmically clacked together and apart while trained dancers performed a series of jumps in and out of the poles. The tourists were expected to try their luck at this, and with the help of more rice wine, Parker and I managed to jump at the right time to avoid having our ankles whacked.

After the festivities and giddy on wine, we left the common hall and retired to our tiny room with its one window looking out into darkening emerald night.

I stood at the window. “How do people live out here, without telephones or television, without roads?”

“They probably have a lot of sex,” he muttered, coming up behind me and running his hands over my hips.

“You’re twisted.” I laughed as he pulled at my clothes.

“In all the right ways,” he laughed back.

We finished undressing each other and fell groaning into the bed.

“I love you, Parker,” I said later. My head rested on his chest, both of us sweaty from our bout of lovemaking.

“I love you, too, Jess.”

I meant it. I felt joyous in the experience of honest affection for him. I felt cared for, protected. Somehow things were right. We made love again, drawing out the embraces until the Filipino maid knocked with towels and halting instruction that the electricity and water shut off from ten p.m. until six a.m.

Looking back fifty years to tell her story, Jessica struggled with concerns about how to avoid hurting people who had been part of her journey. About how to avoid tarnishing her modern-day reputation and the lives of her grown children. More than once as editor and publisher of Jessica’s story, I (Liz Ashworth) questioned whether it would all be worth the effort.

Not many young women today appreciate the obstacles facing women of the late 1960s and early ’70s. So many things taken for granted in 2020 were mountains not yet climbed fifty years ago. And who among readers today want to delve into the torment of that era?

Jessica was driven to tell her story, and I’m glad I helped her. It was an emotional experience for both of us. No matter whether the book becomes a bestseller or even sells one copy, Jessica has satisfied herself that her story is told, that the love, despair, guilt, and frustrations she experienced are preserved as a testimony to life in those times. This is one woman’s story in the framework of her relationship with Parker Grant.

About Jessica

When I was nineteen, I longed to be a writer. Actually, I was a writer, winning awards in high school for poetry and essays. But what I slowly came to realize was, I had no life experience. So you could say that I started living my life in a way that gave me something to write about.

My memoir chronicles seven years of that fully-lived life. From age 18 to 25, I saw some of the world and a lot of adventure, what would later become poignant memories of a man and the times we shared. Now as the fire crackles in the stove and wind howls at the window, I can sit back in my comfortable chair and smile at the story I have written.

But it wasn’t just me writing it. I enlisted the help of my friend, Lizzie Ashworth, to put this story together and make it come to life. I can’t thank her enough!

Ebook buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08121M6VZ
READ FREE! On Kindle Unlimited

UPDATE: The winners are… Delaine McLafferty, Misty Dawn Cecil, and Elaine Swinney!
*~*~*

Besides my series, I have written some very sexy standalone stories, too! I forget about them because I’m so busy trying to keep up with series, but I shouldn’t. In fact, I should go back and look at my workplan, because I deserve to write something completely fun and one-off!

If you haven’t read the books below, now’s your time to peruse, and I’m including an excerpt from one of them so you can sample some of the fun. Several of them are menage stories, so if that’s your thing, be sure to check them out!

Contest

For a chance to win your choice of one of the books below,
tell me your weekend plans!

Click on any cover to learn more about the story!

Excerpt from Handy Men…

The impulse came like a flash of lightning—hot and searing—all the way to the bone. An idea born of a need she hadn’t felt in a long, long time…and inspired by one red-hot handyman in butt-hugging jeans and a snug T-shirt.

The man fired the militant gleam in her eyes as she brushed bronzing powder across her cheeks and swiped carmine “eat me” red lip stain across her mouth.

She didn’t give herself time to rethink the decision, reaching for the phone before her usual, cautious self reasserted control. No more couch potato cry-ins for her. No more self-imposed exclusion while she figured out what to do with the rest of her life. Today, a new Pamela Dwyer was reaching for the goddamn gusto.

The anger felt good. Especially after the shock she’d received moments ago when she’d surfed the internet for the latest gossip about her ex.

One glance at Andrew’s Facebook page, and Pamela’s confusion over what the hell had happened to her life dried up. He’d blocked her from his page, but his profile picture had been changed from Andrew’s handsome, craggy face to the soft innocence of his newborn son’s.

The picture said it all. And no doubt every one of their friends here in Austin, who’d rallied around her when he’d left, would now pour out their congratulations to him, while privately agreeing he’d done the only thing he could do to be happy.

Tears had stung her eyes, but she’d refused to let them fall. Instead, she’d blinked them away, closed out the screen and glanced through the blinds at her immaculate lawn. The perfect lawn and landscaping to surround the perfectly appointed house she’d won in the divorce settlement.

But back to that lightning strike…

Across the street, a man had stood atop a ladder while he fished leaves from old Mr. Johnson’s gutters. It wasn’t the fact the old man had spent money to hire someone to do odd jobs around his place that caught her attention, although that was plenty unusual all by itself. It was the way the sunlight glinted on the younger man’s hair. Glints of gold she could see from over thirty feet away. And once her attention was snagged by that halo-like glow, her gaze couldn’t help but trail down the long, lean, buff lines of his healthy frame.

From the back, the man was perfection. Then he’d turned to the side, no doubt to say something to Mr. Johnson who hovered at the bottom of the ladder. The old skinflint would supervise the handyman to make sure he got every nickel’s worth of his money. However, not a hint of irritation showed in the handyman’s expression. His smile had been quick—a flash of white teeth against a tanned face.

Pamela had breathed deeply, enjoying the surge of heat flowing through her veins. So much better than the cold, hollow feeling in her womb. Arousal had bloomed, fresh and unexpected, washing over her, lapping away the disappointment. Leaving her…expectant. Feeling younger than her thirty-eight years.
There were times in a woman’s life when she had to grab the bull by the horns or she’d never taste passion again. Pamela decided then and there that her time was now.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell chimed.

Christ, do I really have the guts? She’d had twenty minutes to get icy cold feet.

She held her hand in front of her face and blew against her palm then sniffed. Mouthwash still works.

Before opening her door, Pamela bent over, shook her head then straightened, giving her straight blonde hair an extra fluff. She pasted on a smile—not too wide or eager—one she’d practiced in front of the bathroom mirror to make sure it reflected just the right amount of casual interest. She didn’t want to scare him away. At least not before she had a chance to practice being a femme fatale.

However, after opening the door, her smile faltered just a bit. Up close, the repairman was more of a rangy lion than a bull, and even more attractive than her secretive glances through the blinds had revealed. Thickly muscled arms and a broad chest stretching a green Handy Men tee filled her vision.

Maybe she should have targeted someone more in her league—and at least fifteen years older. However, when she’d seen him working on the rain gutters of her neighbor’s house and watched the way he moved gracefully up and down the ladder, a plan had begun to form. One she was too invested in to back out of now.

“Your neighbor said you were havin’ trouble with a garbage disposal?”

Good Lord, his voice was deep and sinful. Her greedy glance shot up to meet his, and she noted the crinkles of amusement at the sides of his eyes. Blue eyes with golden coronas around the pupils. Yum.

Realizing her mouth hung open, she snapped her jaw closed. “Uh, yes. Trouble with the disposal. That’s why you’re here.”

It was the truth, so she didn’t stutter over it. However, she didn’t mention she’d thrown a handful of screws into the sink to make sure the old disposal seized. Her plan to lure him into her house was working like a charm. She wished her ex could see her now. Plain Pam, reliable Pam, boring, defective Pam had a few tricks left.

“I’m Jeff McCaffrey,” he said, and held out his hand.

Blowing out a little breath to release her tension, she gave him her hand and shook. “Pamela,” she said quickly.

His palms were callused and large. She slid her hand slowly from his, enjoying the scrape. Even if things didn’t work out, she’d have plenty of sensory details to savor later to go along with the lovely picture he made.

“Um…” He lifted the toolbox with a flex of impressive biceps and raised his eyebrows.

It took a second to register that he needed her to move away from the door. Feeling flustered, she stood back and waved him inside. She closed the door behind him and followed eagerly on his heels into the hallway.

He halted abruptly.

Unable to stop her forward momentum, Pamela held out her hands to brace herself—and cupped his ass.

His head swiveled to glance back at her, a slight, dazed smile curving his mouth.

She paused a second too long before removing them, but it was his own damn fault. His ass was too much temptation for her to resist a little squeeze. “Sorry about that,” she muttered, palms and face burning. Lord, she was thirty-eight, and he had her blushing like a teenager. Her flirting skills were woefully rusty.

He cleared his throat and pointed toward the door on the left. “The kitchen?”

“Yeah,” she said, sounding a little winded, but her fingers tingled and her skin felt on fire. She hadn’t wanted to come on to the younger man like a cougar in heat, but he was fine-fine-fine.

He swung open the door and walked to the counter, where he set his toolbox beside the sink. “What sort of noises was it makin’?”

“Crunchy?”

“Crunchy?” His lips twitched.

She shrugged. He was the “Mr. Fix-It”. He’d figure out soon enough what the problem was. Maybe he’d think the screws in the disposal had gotten there by accident.

He reached beneath the cabinet next to the sink and flipped the switch.

Metallic grating made her wince. The poor thing ground worse than her ex’s teeth.

Without looking back, he said, “Don’t touch the switch. I don’t have my tongs, so I’m gonna stick my hand down there to see what’s happenin’.”

In his hand went, and he turned slightly to the side, his gaze meeting hers while a frown drew his honey-brown brows together. When he pulled free, he held a screw. “Wonder how that happened?” he drawled.

She grinned brightly. “Serendipity?”

“Wha—?”

So maybe not a brain surgeon, or even much of a reader, but the calculated stare he returned told her he wasn’t stupid. He pulled out another and laid it on the countertop, and then another. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me, Pamela?”

UPDATE: The winner is…Christine!
*~*~*

Following the same theme as my last post, where I introduced or reminded you about an older series that’s been updated, I’m including an excerpt from the second book in the Danger Zone series, Mutiny’s Bounty. It’s my favorite story in the series because of the shark cage scene, which I share a bit of below. And of course, it’s sexy as hell. The hero’s a SEAL, and my heroine falls quickly into insta-lust (who wouldn’t?) then love, because again, he’s hot, heroic, and knows just how to turn a girl inside out.

Remember, the first book, Dangerous Liaisons, is on sale for just $0.99! That price is not going to last long!

But then, you really don’t have to read the stories in sequence, although I think you’d enjoy the series better! Or if your reading time is limited, you could just jump straight to Mutiny’s Bounty, because, again…sexy as hell, SEALs, danger at the bottom of the sea, an excursion on a billionaire’s yacht…

Contest

Solve the puzzle. Then tell me where you’d like to travel to enjoy this kind of scenery! Win a $5 Amazon gift card!

Excerpt from Mutiny’s Bounty

Dex strode aft and glanced over the side of the boat to the escort skiff bobbing on a gentle sea.

Justin raised a hand to wave.

Dex touched his earpiece. “How’s everything going?”

“No worries. Except Johnny thinks something’s up with the engine. It’s been hiccupping a bit.”

Damn. Dex blew out a breath. “If he’s worried, radio back to shore to muster another boat. Halloran has a cruiser we can put to use.”

“Will do. Is your lady friend nervous about the dive?”

“Not too much.” Dex grinned. “She’ll have me in the cage.”

“No worries then. No Great White’s a match for a SEAL.”

Dex gave the men another wave then pushed away from the side. There wasn’t a cloud in the clear blue sky. The sea was calm. Shrugging off his momentary frisson of unease, he went in search of Lace. She’d be his focus throughout this adventure. Still, he ran up the metal steps and entered the bridge, eyeing the captain who gave him a little wave and the other white-suited crewman, who was one of Halloran’s guards.

Dex nodded toward the screen, free of any blips. “No other boats in the area?”

“Screen’s been clear since we left the island. We’ve got it covered. Enjoy the dive.”

The other man’s grin was friendly enough. Unworried, Dex nodded then headed out the door. The other white-suited guard was probably serving drinks while keeping watch. All the activity of the staff and the dive team seemed to be business as usual. Dex didn’t know why his gut was telling him something wasn’t right, but he trusted his instincts. Always.

After taking more steps to the highest platform where a couple of guests were sunning themselves, Dex gazed out over the ocean. The water was calm and a deep, dark blue. Still nothing on the horizon. Looking down, he spotted Lace, holding onto the rail while she made her way toward the back of the yacht. Likely, she was beginning to get jittery about the dive.

Shrugging off the bad vibes, he took the stairs to the lower deck. The cage holding the first pair of divers was being winched up. They dropped their breathing apparatuses and grinned at Troy and his crew, the female bubbling an excited, “It was awesome!”

Dex glanced at Lace. She stood in the raised, caged platform, the spotter’s cage, gazing downward, likely counting fins. While her attention was drawn there, he went to the diving gear, chose a BCD, and then grabbed a tank, regulator, and weight belt. He checked filters, attached the regulator, then checked the tank’s pressure, assuring himself he had plenty of air for the short dive. He inspected the regulator and the alternate, checked inflation and deflation of his BCD.

Everything was in order, all the equipment well-maintained. He stripped off his tee, toed off his shoes, and placed his earpiece atop the folded bundle. Gearing up, he noted Lace heading down the ladder from the spotter’s cage and walking over to Troy.

Dex joined her, giving her a quick grin. “Still time to change your mind.”

She shook her head. “I watched the others. The cage is sturdy. And I have no wish to stick my hand outside the bars to try to pet them.”

Troy laughed. “We’ve got tiger sharks and Whites. Should be a good show.” He turned to Dex. “You ready?”

Dex gave him a nod, and then handed Lace goggles and a weight belt. “This will keep you from floating to the top of the cage.”

Her smile stretched across her face. “I actually think this will be fun. I didn’t much like swimming above them, but the cage is almost like wearing armor.”

Minutes later, the second couple exited the cage, and one of Troy’s team opened the cage door and signaled for them to enter. Dex followed Lace as she ducked through the entrance. Once inside, she donned her goggles and belt, and then reached above her for the hookah tube with the mouthpiece.

“Anything goes wrong with the air in the tube…” he held up the alternate regulator, “I have this. Just remember to breathe in through your mouth, exhale through your nose.”

“Got it,” she said, her expression tense but happy.

Dex glanced behind him just as the cage door swung closed.

Troy stood outside the cage, giving him a hard stare. “You take care of her, and no one gets hurt.” He turned the latch to close it.

Dex cut a glance around him, noted that the dive crew members were opening plastic tubs, pitching aside spare BCDs, and pulling out firearms, pistols and rifles. Dread clenched his gut. Trapped inside a cage, he couldn’t make a move.

Lace’s fingers curled around his wrist. “What’s happening?”

Through the bars, Dex’s gaze locked on Troy’s grim smile. “They’re taking the boat. My crew—”

“Will be busy fishing you two from the bottom of the sea,” Troy said. “They won’t be able to follow us because their engine’s about to seize. While they’re occupied, we’ll be rounding up Halloran and his rich friends, and inviting them to wire funds to our accounts. By the time that second escort boat headed this way arrives, we’ll be long gone.”

Lace curled her body against his. Automatically, he grabbed her waist.

“You’ve got another boat coming,” Dex guessed, his heart beginning to race as he realized there wasn’t a thing he could do. Already, the chain holding the cage was tightening, lifting them off the deck.

“Like I said, if your men don’t try anything stupid, everyone lives. I’m not a murderer. I’m just looking out for my retirement.” Troy gave another grin, one that was tight. His eyes gleamed beneath lowered brows. “Stop worrying about what’s happening up here. You’re gonna have your hands full.” He angled his head toward Lace.

The cage rattled and shook as the crane swung it out over the water. Another chum bucket was lowered over the side. Dex’s attention went to the sharks circling beneath them, and then to the woman standing beside him, her eyes wide as saucers, and her body beginning to shake. “Grab tight to the cage, baby. Hold your breath as we go down. Soon as we’re in the water, I’ll share my tank. We’ll be okay.”

With the cage poised above the water, Dex knew what was about to happen. He grabbed the rail and sank to his knees.

Lace did the same, staring back at him.

The moment the crane released the cage, chain rattling through the winch, they dropped into the water. A second later, they were fully submerged and lowering fast, Lace’s eyes widening behind her mask, her lips pinched closed and cheeks billowing as she held her breath.

Counting the seconds of their descent, Dex cleared his mask, put his regulator into his mouth, purged the water from it, and sucked in air. Then he slid his hand down the hose to the alternate regulator. With the cage still sinking, he held the rail with one hand and moved toward her.

He held up the yellow alternate regulator, but before allowing her to put it in her mouth, took out his own, showing her how to insert it, then hitting the purge button to let out water, before exaggerating an indrawn breath.

Lace followed his lead, at last breathing through the alternate. The panic in her face lessened as she breathed, and they both gazed upward. The chain rolled out, snagged at the end, then released. The cage free-floated the last few feet to settle in the sand at the sea bottom.

Thank you for having me, Delilah.

A couple of days ago, I was archiving my 2019 author interviews and guest blogs and it occurred to me that every interview began with the question — “What inspired you to write your book?” The next question asks about our characters — “Are they based on people we know or pure imagination?” “Was the story planned or did it grow as the chapters increased?” And, every author has a different story concerning what inspired him or her to write their story. That’s the beauty of books, each one is new and unique for the reader, taking us on an adventure from the first page.

My first attempts at writing were full of enthusiasm and scenes in my head but lacking in the essential substance – inspiration.

It was by chance while sitting in the doctor’s waiting room that I picked up a three month’s old journal and read an article on how a person’s true character emerges when faced with life-threatening danger or massive upheaval. For example, the tough guy turns to water and runs, the small insignificant person steps up and takes charge. An idea was forming in my head, and again, by chance, I was sorting through old family papers and came across my grandfather’s World War One military record. He served with the Australian Imperial Forces in Belgium and France and was involved in some of the bloodiest battles. He came home but was never the same, and it was years before he could talk about the horrors of that war. I decided to research the events leading up to the German invasion of Belgium in August 1914, and what followed was called The Rape of Belgium. I was reading the atrocities my grandfather spoke about. There was the inspiration and the setting for my first book, Behind the Clouds.

Behind the Clouds

Barely tolerating each other, Adrian and Gabrielle Bryce are trapped in Belgium as the clouds of war loom over Europe.

Plunged into a nightmare of lies and betrayal they flee for their lives as the Germans cross the border. Narrowly avoiding capture, witnessing death and atrocities, they reach safety as two different people – only to face charges of treason and a woman who’ll stop at nothing to see Adrian dead.

Excerpt…

He’d barely slept because of this throbbing foot, and he was as thirsty as hell. Hobbling to the canal he drank the murky liquid, then dipped both his feet into the cold water. He let out a slow sigh as the cool water soothed his aching extremities. Gabrielle knelt at the water’s edge beside him to wash her face and push wet fingers through her hair to slick down the untidy curls. Her voice was low and angry.

“What was she like?”

“What are you talking about?” he scowled, dreading what was coming.

“Sigrid, Maryanne, whatever her name was,” she snapped back.

“What are you trying to do Gaby? Force an argument?”

“No, I’m not forcing an argument. I really want to know. You preferred that woman’s company to mine and your children’s and because of her and my uncle and your unbelievable stupidity, two innocent people have died, and we are forced to rely on each other to stay alive. Are you proud of yourself? And was her beauty and obvious bedroom expertise worth all of this?”

Adrian clenched his jaw and turned away, angry and embarrassed.

“I’m waiting,” she persisted. “I presume you also showered her with gifts and expensive baubles while we would be lucky to see you on our birthdays.”

Something snapped inside him. His face was tight with fury as turned back to face her.

“If I could get up and walk away, I would. Just what are you trying to achieve? We’ve avoided capture by the skin of our teeth, we have no idea how to get away, the Germans are pouring into Belgium, thousands will be killed, and you want to know if I showered her with gifts. Why don’t we concentrate on getting out of here and then you will be free of me? Now for Christ’s sake leave it alone.”

“You want to get up and walk away?” her voice dripped scorn. “Did I walk away from that lonely empty life in that big lonely house? Making excuses to your children, visiting neighbours on my own. Did I show such contempt for our marriage vows?”

“You forgot to mention entertaining Charlton in my home,” he snarled and flinched as Gabrielle’s hand slapped his face.

“Yes, your home,” she yelled. “I may have lived there and given birth to your children there, but it was always your home. I pray to God we will return to England and you can enjoy your home and your expensive, treacherous harlots!” Her hands clenched into fists. “Yes, Brian did share my bed. You were never there. You couldn’t care less about me or our children. You were so besotted with that German harlot’s devious charms you had no idea what was going on. She was exceptionally clever, and you were exceptionally stupid.”

Adrian rubbed his cheek and pointed his finger at her. “If you hit me again, you will be sorry. You want to know what she was like. I’ll tell you…She had long wavy auburn hair, a figure that made men’s eyes water and yes, she had expertise in the bedroom. She could drink me under the table and she could discuss politics like a man. She was exceptionally clever and yes, you are right, I was exceptionally stupid because I hadn’t a clue she was German or she’d bedded a cabinet minister, or she’d been on other assignments for your uncle. I’ve answered all your questions and I don’t give a damn whether you believe me or not, but I’m bloody ashamed of myself. And I hope to God we’ll get back to England so you can do whatever you want, and I won’t have to listen to your harping sarcastic tongue. Are you happy now?”

“Oh yes, very happy, thank you. Who wouldn’t be, sitting here with you on the damp ground beside a canal without food or clean clothes,” her eyes glittered with contempt. “How does it feel you, a cabinet minister and my uncle shared her? I wonder if she kept an inventory of her jewelry and gifts to remember who gave her what.”

He pulled his feet from the water and stood up. “I’m not listening to your ranting anymore, nor am I waiting here for them to find me.”

“You can’t face the truth, can you?” she shouted at him. “Well, unpleasant as it is, you need me and I need you to survive. When we reach safety, you can go back to the life you enjoyed with your sophisticated women without the inconvenience of an unwanted wife. And, if we get out of here, I don’t want anything to do with you. Not even a Christmas card.” Her lip curled. “A gentleman never breaks a business contract but it’s of no consequence to break your marriage vows.

Adrian reached down and roughly pulled her up to face him. “I can’t face the truth? It’s a pity you didn’t marry that useless fop Charlton eight years ago, because he’d have been the target for your sainted uncle’s lunacy instead of me! Christ, you haven’t shut up about your miserable marriage but look where it’s got me! Stitched up like a bloody weaver’s loom, set up as a traitor, hiding like a fugitive. And why? Because I had the temerity to marry you.” He turned his back and hobbled over to the grazing horse.

“I’m leaving. Are you coming with me or staying here?”

Gabrielle’s face mirrored the shock she felt at Adrian’s words. Her foot lashed out sending a small log into the water and she walked up to Adrian, her fists clenched, then without warning, she burst into tears. “I have no choice,” her voice was raw with emotion. “All I want is to get out of Belgium and go back to my children and never see you again.”

Adrian gripped her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You’ll get your bloody freedom one way or the other. If we get out of this, I’ll gladly give it. If I’m shot, you can play the grieving widow for a day or two. Now shut up and help me get this horse into the shafts.”

He heaved himself up onto the driving seat knowing damn well they were suffering huge reactions to the events they had witnessed. His insides were ripped apart enough without her rubbing his face in it again and again. How could he have been so bloody naïve? It wouldn’t matter how loudly he protested his innocence, the fact remained his mistress had wheedled far too much information from him and a senior government minister named Edmund. Good, God! Sir Edmund Charters! Close to the Prime Minister, related to the Foreign Minister. That old fool must be nearly seventy, and you Bryce, are the biggest fool of them all.

Buy links:
https://www.amazon.com/Behind-Clouds-Jan-Selbourne-ebook/dp/B017NSKITO/
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/behind-the-clouds-jan-selbourne/1122916686?ean=9780992821593

Author links:
https://www.facebook.com/jan.selbourne
https://nomadauthors.com/JanSelbourne
https://twitter.com/JanSelbourne
https://www.linkedin.com/in/jan-selbourne-2817b6140/

What a phenomenal man Martin Luther King Jr. was. Each time I read his essays and sermons and speeches written fifty to sixty years ago, I marvel at his prescience, his forethought, his ability to inspire as well as be inspired. Asked to find a reading for my church’s 2020 MLK Jr. service, Dr. King’s sermon, “Birth of A New Nation”, called to me.

By the end of 1956 Dr. King had gained national attention because of the success of the Montgomery Bus boycott. In 1957 he, his wife Coretta Scott King and a number of prominent African Americans were invited to witness the independence ceremony of Ghana from Great Britain in March 1957. Moved to tears and joy by the experience, Dr. King went back to his congregation — the Dexter Avenue Baptist church — and in a sermon entitled “Birth of a New Nation”, told the history of Ghana’s struggle for independence and the personal history of its first prime minister, Kwame Nkrumah. Dr. King shared how Ghana’s non-violent ousting of the British intersected with their own fight against segregation. He told his congregation, “Ghana reminds us that freedom never comes on a silver platter.” He warned them to be ready to be spoken about badly, to possibly have their homes and their churches bombed because “freedom never comes easy. It comes through hard labor and it comes through toil” while also reminding them that the aftermath of nonviolence is the beloved community and redemption and reconciliation.

Reading as well as listening to this sermon provided a critique to my mind of many MLK Jr. services I’ve attended over the past thirty-seven years. So many gloss over the hardships Dr. King and those in the civil rights struggle endured but chose to face, so the world could be a better and more just place. Very few acknowledge, as Dr. King did, the connection shared by all struggles against oppression and the importance of making alliances, of fighting not only for your rights but the rights of others. Too often these services focus on the dream portion of his 1963 speech, but not on the bounced check that motivates the fight to make the dream come true.

I hope the portion of this sermon that I chose to share will inspire those attending our MLK Jr. service as the examples of Ghana and Kwame Nkrumah shared by Dr. King inspired the members of the Dexter Avenue congregation. I hope after hearing his words and the songs we sing and the reflections shared, we’ll leave this year’s service with “We Shall Overcome” ringing in our ears, not as a wistful prayer but as a declaration to fight against the injustice anywhere that is a threat to justice everywhere.

May you all have an inspiring MLK Jr. Day, too.

Better To Marry Than To Burn

Freed Man seeking woman to partner in marriage for at least two years in the black township of Douglass, Texas. Must be willing and able to help establish a legacy. Marital relations as necessary. Love neither required nor sought.

Excerpt:

She sidled up to him, cupped his erection and fondled his balls.

“Ready for bed or ready to bed me?”

He moaned, placed his hand atop hers and increased the pressure. Already hard, he hadn’t imagined he could get any harder.

“Is that beautiful brass bed new?”

He gulped. “Ye—yes. Bought it—bought it for the honeymoon.”

“I’m ready to be bedded now,” she whispered. “Or is that something we must negotiate?”

All thoughts of dinner vanished.

“No,” he rasped, leaning forward, as hungry for her lips as he was to be inside her.

“Good.” She stepped back, out of reach. “But, let’s be clear…” She bent over, so her butt protruded toward him. She massaged each buttock so her crack parted invitingly. “Tonight it’s the Greek way or no way.”

He blinked, stunned by this demand to be taken anally. His master had had books filled with drawings, depicting naked Greeks wrestling. Those pen and ink depictions flashed before him now. Arms constrained by arms, legs entwined with legs, butts and groins enmeshed in snug contortions. He’d love to take Queen that way, experience first- hand the erotic intimacy etched in the men’s struggle-laden features.

He took one step toward her then stopped. No. One day, he would…but not tonight. Not their first time. Their first time would be the nose-to-nose, chest-to-breast, cock-to-vagina coupling he’d hungered five years for.

Buy link: https://amzn.to/2KTaGPH
Website: www.michalscott.webs.com
Twitter: @mscottauthor1

UPDATE: CONTEST CLOSED! All commenters will receive the prize!
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I think it’s important to write about what you know. I’ve had a varied background, living in different locations, doing various jobs, and I’ve read many books where the author writes about something they know nothing about. It is disappointing, and draws the reader right out of the story. My best advice is—Do your homework or write what you know.

I was born in southern British Columbia and have lived most of my life here, but when I was eleven, my family moved to the North Peace River area to a place east of Fort St John, BC. We homesteaded, which means we claimed a piece of land and built a small log house on it.

The local school had two rooms, and went to grade 8, so by the time I was thirteen I was doing home schooling, but my older sister and I took turns walking our younger sister the two miles down the dirt road to the bus stop as she was attending the two-room school.

It snowed a lot. One day, I had walked my sister to the bus stop with our dog Captain as company. Captain liked to chase rabbits, and I could always tell because he yipped his way through the woods as he ran.

The road had been ploughed, so the snowbank was a good eight feet high. I got my sister onto the bus and turned to head home, calling for Captain who had disappeared partway down the road chasing rabbits. I could hear him yipping as he drew nearer and nearer, then he barreled out of the trees and up the snowbank. I called him, thinking he would come to me and accompany me on the road home, but he kept going, down the bank and across the road as fast as he could run, into the trees on the other side.

I soon realized why. Over the snowbank behind him came two timber wolves. They paused at the top of the bank, eying me on the road below.

I thought I was dead. So I raised my arms above my head and waved at them, yelling as loudly as I could as I ran toward them. They loped down the bank across the road into the trees after Captain.

What I noticed was Captain running flat out, but the timber wolves loped. They have much longer legs than a regular dog. I didn’t think I would ever see my dog again. I walked the two miles home, and Captain arrived about noon. Totally exhausted, he slept on the floor in front of the fire for the rest of the day.

This was not the first time I had seen wolves, there were lots of them up there, beautiful creatures. They hung around our house because we had animals, a cow and calf, chickens, pigs, geese and dogs. We knew they were there from the howling that could be heard most nights. But it was the closest I had been to them while alone.

I used this encounter in my book, False Confession. The rock band travels north to play for a friend’s wedding, and some of the band members encounter a wolf on their return journey.

False Confession

Did Glory fall for the wrong man, or is someone lying?

Music teacher Glory has given up on men, with good reason. Then she meets the handsome lead guitar player in the band she has just joined.

Alex, body builder and construction foreman, is determinedly single because he’s given up on women. But that’s before he meets the keyboard player who just joined his brother’s rock band. Suddenly his interest is revived and he goes on a crusade to gain Glory’s attention.

But when Alex disappears and the police claim they have a confession giving damning evidence against him, Glory must make a decision. Can she trust the man she’s fallen for, or has she been fooled into believing a lie?

Find False Confession on Amazon & Books2Read

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Author Profile

Sylvie Grayson loves to write about suspense, romance and attempted murder, in both contemporary and science fiction/fantasy. She has lived most of her life in British Columbia, Canada in spots ranging from Vancouver Island on the west coast to the North Peace River country and the Kootenays in the beautiful interior. She spent a one-year sojourn in Tokyo Japan.

She has been an English language instructor, a nightclub manager, an autoshop bookkeeper and a lawyer. Now she works part time as the owner of a small company and writes when she finds the time.

She is a wife and mother and still loves to travel, having recently completed a trip to Singapore, Thailand, Viet Nam and Hong Kong. She lives on the coast of the Pacific Ocean with her husband on a small patch of land near the sea that they call home.

Sylvie loves to hear from her readers. You can visit her at her website – www.sylviegrayson.com, find her on Facebook and Twitter, or follow her on BookBub, Goodreads, and Amazon.

Excerpt – False Confession by Sylvie Grayson

“What’s she doing here?” Alex Vecchio glared around the dim upstairs storage room, which was theirs one night a week for band practice. The bar had cases of wine and hard liquor stacked against the far wall. Barrels of beer had been lugged in and placed near the elevator. A single light bulb illuminated the space, the walls dingy with age and the floor boards bare and unpainted.

He spotted his brother’s shaggy head. “Ryan? What’s going on?” His voice was low and fierce. “What’s she doing here?”

Ryan grinned as he pulled his drums from the case. “Hey, Alex. Have you met Glory?” His sandy bangs fell forward as he motioned toward the young woman on the other side of the room. She was bent over a keyboard, unfolding the legs and snapping the braces into place.

Alex lowered his brows and kept his face turned toward his younger brother, his voice a growl. “What’s going on? Why is she here?”

“Glory!” As she straightened, Ryan waved the young woman over. “This is my brother, Alex. He plays lead.”

Alex turned toward her. “Hi,” was all he managed, his body stiff with outrage. Her smile was sunny as she beamed up at him.

“Hi, Alex. Nice to meet you.” She thrust her hand out, and he was forced to give it a reluctant shake. “I didn’t know you were his brother. What a coincidence!” She was still smiling as she turned to Ryan. “Alex lives right next door at the townhouse complex. I’ve seen him a few times when I go off to work in the morning.”

Alex filed that comment away for further scrutiny. She’d been going off to work? In that getup? At five in the morning, her hair was up in a messy pony tail. She wore purple stretch shorts and a little pink tube top. He’d thought she was leaving fresh from the new neighbour’s bed. It was how her hair was kind of all every which way that had put that thought into his head. Well, and the time of day.

He was suddenly irritated by the idea that he’d rushed to judgement without much prompting. Grunting, he slung his guitar case to the floor and went down on one knee to unsnap the buckles.

“So,” Ryan continued blithely, “Glory is going to try out with the band tonight, she’s thinking of joining us.”

Alex’s head snapped up. “Joining us?” he barked, then felt his face flush. That sounded just a touch unfriendly, even to his own ears.

“Yeah,” said Ryan. “We need a keyboard. Pete plays sometimes but his strength is in the strings. This should round us out the way I’ve imagined the band sounding. I thought we’d give it a try tonight and find a few songs to work on that we can all play.” He waved at the other band members who were busy setting up. Pete nodded distractedly at their new member as he pulled his fiddle from the case and began to tune it.

Alex looked over at Glory. She was chatting with Eddie and laughing at something he’d said. That didn’t surprise him. Eddie loved women, all women. No wonder Corrie had left him. Again.

This woman was trouble. As she moved back to her keyboard, Eddie’s dark eyes followed, focused tightly on her ass clad in a snug pair of jeans.

She positioned her bench so she could see the other band members and settled down to play a few scales.

Alex noted the skinny legs on her pants and the high heels of her strappy shoes. Nothing but trouble. He shook his head and walked over to plug in. The air resounded with strings being tuned and keys pounded. He heard the thud of Ryan’s big drum as he snapped it into place in the harness.

His brother thumped a few drum rolls and silence fell. “Guys,” he said, “I thought we’d try a few suggestions from Glory. She’s got a sheet of numbers she likes to play, and we can just follow along to see how we sound.”

Glory nodded and immediately began the intro to one of Adelle’s old songs, “Rolling in the Deep.” Alex groaned silently. Not a bunch of chick songs! He so did not want to…

But as she played and the others joined in, the song began to hang together. They worked their way to the finale and she struck a chord to finish. Then she started the song again. This time she sang. Alex watched and listened, eyes narrowed as she got to the chorus. We could have had it all, she sang, then finished with— You played it, you played it to the beat.

When they stopped, the other guys clapped enthusiastically and he saw the pink flush on her cheeks as she laughed and waved them away.

Alex didn’t clap, but suddenly he felt like it. She was good, he’d give her that. He looked over at Ryan and saw him flash a smile. Little bugger, he was always trying to put something together, something bigger, something better. He just might have done it this time.