“America is now wholly given over to a damned mob of scribbling women, and I should have no chance of success while the public is occupied with their trash.”

Sounds like contemporary critics of the romance genre, doesn’t it? This little gem was penned by Nathaniel Hawthorne to his publisher in 1855 because his female contemporaries were reaping critical acclaim and outselling him.

I first heard this quote in a keynote speech this past October given by Maya Rodale. Intrigued, I wondered who was “Mr. Scarlet Letter” complaining about. This 2013 article gave me more than a clue:

https://www.bookslut.com/the_bombshell/2013_06_020173.php

Among this damned scribbling mob was the woman to whom Abraham Lincoln is supposed to have said, “So you are the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war.”

That’s right: Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Harriet Beecher Stowe? A writer of trash? Hardly.

Stowe had been writing for fifteen years before Uncle Tom’s Cabin was published in 1852. In addition to novels, she wrote non-fiction, poetry and a drama based on Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

Uncle Tom’s Cabin has gotten a bad rap through the years, but think about how radical it was for a White woman in the 1850’s to have a Black slave representing Christ at a time when her society was debating whether or not African-Americans were even human. We don’t have to imagine the impact of seeing slaves depicted with dignity, loyalty, and willing to be self-sacrificing had in that era. Even Lincoln recognized the power of her novel. What I never imagined was the backlash it received. Her depiction of African-Americans as human beings was so despised there was a slew of anti-Uncle Tom novels written to offset her novel’s impact. Needless to say, they failed.

As I’ve learned more about Stowe’s religious views and social justice activities, I understand better why her novel hit the nerve it did when it did. She wrote from her heart about a cause she believed in, unlike Mr. worried-about-having-no-chance-of-success Hawthorne. I’m eager to read more of her works and more works about her because I want to be a scribbling woman like her.

Better to Marry Than to Burn

Wife Wanted: Marital relations as necessary. Love not required nor sought…

A bridal lottery seems the height of foolishness to ex-slave Caesar King, but his refusal to participate in the town council’s scheme places him in a bind. He has to get married to avoid paying a high residence fine or leave the Texas territory. After losing his wife in childbirth, Caesar isn’t ready for romance. A woman looking for a fresh start without any emotional strings is what he needs.

Queen Esther Payne, a freeborn black from Philadelphia, has been threatened by her family for her forward-thinking, independent ways. Her family insists she marry. Her escape comes in the form of an ad. If she must marry, it will be on her terms. But her first meeting with the sinfully hot farmer proves an exciting tussle of wills that stirs her physically, intellectually, and emotionally.

In the battle of sexual one-upmanship that ensues, both Caesar and Queen discover surrender can be as fulfilling as triumph.

Excerpt:

WARNING! This is hot!!

With thanks to God, he pushed past her flimsy drawers to the moist welcome of her center. Her vaginal walls gripped his fingers with surprising force. No amount of twisting or turning wrenched them free. God, to have that grip surrounding his shaft.

He pulled back and studied her face. Eyes still closed, a sly smile bowed her perfect lips. She enjoyed this battling as much as he.

“Was I too brutal for your enjoyment, Mrs. King?”

Her eyelids rose with the slow grace of sunrise. A gleam as sly as her smile shone in her gaze. “You call that brutal, Mr. King?”

She unclenched her lower muscles, allowing his fingers momentary retreat. With great care, she grasped his hand then slid his fingers between her folds once more.

“Holy Christ, woman. What—?”

The gentle rubbing robbed him of his ability to think.

“Jesus, have mercy,” he wheezed.

She slid his fingers from her wet sex into his mouth. He moaned, lost in her delectable taste.

Without taking her gaze from his face, she raked her gloved hand down his chest, across his belly, to his groin. Anticipation tensed his muscles in the wake of her touch. He watched mesmerized as, with a practiced ease, she unbuttoned his fly, pushed past the fabric, sought, found and stroked his cock. Her woolen gloves imparted a delicious friction he couldn’t oppose, even if he’d wanted. Delight enlivened every muscle in his body, including his jaded heart.

Jesus. This couldn’t be more than arousal. Could it?

Her fingers squeezed and his body arched upward on the yes swelling his spirit with joy. He threw back his head, mouth open, ready to shout as he neared the point of release.

Then she let him go.

He doubled over, slain by the abandonment. His lungs constricted, bereft of air. Reason deserted him too.

She stood and smoothed down her skirts with the hand that had massaged his shaft more deftly than he ever had. Reseated, she grabbed the reins and snapped the leather against his horse’s rump.

“Get up there.”

The wagon jostled Caesar from side to side. Still unable to straighten up, he looked into eyes gleaming with triumph. Her lips curved in a regal smirk.

“Was I too brutal for your enjoyment, Mr. King?”

Buy links:
Wild Rose Press – https://www.thewildrosepress.com/books/better-to-marry-than-to-burn
Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Better-Marry-than-Michal-Scott-ebook/dp/B07BK1JPKX/

Thanks to Delilah for letting me pop onto her blog on my birthday. Shout out to all my fellow Scorpios!

I just launched the latest novel in my steamy contemporary Thirsty Hearts series. For a few years, I’ve outlined some books that added a paranormal twist. I’m fascinated by the world of psychics and cartomancy and have developed a total tarot card addiction that’s finally under control now that I’m channeling that energy into my writing. Kisses & Kismet features an enemies-to-lovers story with a twist of magic. There’s a psychic, a ghost, and a hero with a sly secret.

Kisses & Kismet

The heroine, Lilith Carver has suppressed her abilities as a psychic and a medium since a frightening incident with her foster sister when they were teenagers. Lilith and Kali, her sister, have been estranged, but the death of Kali’s boyfriend brings them back together. It also puts both women at odds with the man’s son, Jamie Wylde. Jamie and Lilith have sparks from the start as they’re on opposite sides of a fight over the Wylde family estate.

Lilith will do anything for her sister—even use the gifts she’s tried to ignore to uncover Jamie’s secrets. Jamie’s plan to exclude Kali from the Wylde fortune has one obstacle. Lilith. Equally matched and battling to win, Lilith and Jamie find themselves wanting to win at love above all else.

For more on Kisses & Kismet, read the excerpt below. As happens when I’m writing, I fall in love with the characters and the world. I have a story brewing in my mind for Kali as well, so stay tuned! It will be a second-chance romance, and when you read Kisses & Kismet, I’ll bet you’ll be able to guess with whom.

Buy Links:
Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07XHT9FPY
Apple – https://books.apple.com/us/book/kisses-kismet/id1479304700
B&N – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940160899992
Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/kisses-kismet

Excerpt from Kisses & Kismet:

Jamie lifted his chin to a haughty angle, but his evasive glance told me I was right. Preston was trying to tell me something. If I wanted to help Kali, I would have to set fire to the carefully reinforced walls at the edges of my psyche and listen.

“And you should be more careful of the truth,” I snapped.

“No. Your sister should.”

“What does that mean?” I edged closer to him.

“Ask her.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” He flipped the watch at his wrist to eye level. “Shit. I’m supposed to be somewhere.”

“You can’t run away. This isn’t over, you know.”

“Oddly, I do,” he grunted with a grim smile. “You’re relentless.”

I took another step forward and poked the center of his chest. The grumble of my own voice through gritted teeth shocked even me. “You have no idea.”

His gaze snatched down to mine as he took a half step back, trapped against the open door of his fancy car. The electricity between us crackled on my skin. My breath quickened.

The dim light of the parking garage played with the angles of his face. The perfection crumbled. A rogue curl of dark hair slipped to his forehead. The arrogant mask he wore fell away revealing confusion, trepidation, and hurt.

He straightened his shoulders, adding to his height as he stared down at me, and sneered. “Is this your plan? You corner me in a parking garage and start touching me and giving me your best siren’s eyes?”

“Siren’s eyes?”

He cackled and lifted his hands up as if touching me might give him some incurable disease. “God, you and your sister are alike. But I’m not my father. I’m not going to let a little horniness make me lose my mind.”

I covered my mouth and mockingly wretched. “Ugh. I’m going to lose my lunch.”

“Really?” He snickered under his breath. “Yes. That’s why you touched me.”

“I was making a point. If you’re horny, that’s your problem.” Still, I stepped away from him. “Understand this: I’m not going to let you railroad my sister.”

I spun on my heels and stormed away, not totally sure where I parked or if I was even on the right level of the parking garage, but I didn’t dare risk looking confused. I kept walking to the other side of the elevator. Finally, the screech of his car down the exit ramp pierced through the roar of rushing blood in my ears. I closed my eyes, clenching and unclenching my fists to relax.

If I was going to fight for Kali, I needed to control my emotions. Because when they controlled me, that was a disaster.

About the Author

Kris Jayne is a devoted writer, reader, and traveler. She spends her days blissfully sweating out the writing process in the Dallas area with her dogs, Otis the Shih Tzu, Rocco the Terrier, and Red the Foxy Mutt.

Her passion for writing is only matched by her passion for the adventures of travel. In 2008, she let a friend talk her into sleeping outside for the first time in her life when she climbed Mount Kilimanjaro. If you’re buying her a gift, she has a penchant for single-malt Scotch and scarves.

In addition to Kisses & Kismet, Kris launched two holiday romances in November and has a sexy, friends-to-lovers book launching in January.

For more about all of her books, follow her online:
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/krisjayneauthor/
Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/krisjayne/
Bookbub – https://www.bookbub.com/profile/kris-jayne?follow=true
Join my VIP offer list – https://krisjayne.com/join

Thanks so much, Delilah, for the chance to meet your readers.

Until a few years ago, I was one of those readers—literary snobs who look down their noses at romance for the usual stupid reasons: too corny, too predictable, too fluffy. Then I read a few online articles about how fun and lucrative writing erotica can be. I thought, what the heck? Let’s try.

I have never had so much fun with a writing project! My first steamy romance, Through the Red Door, nearly wrote itself, though it damned sure didn’t edit itself. I’ve totally immersed myself in the world of romance, gobbling books like popcorn, filling my ears with romance podcasts, and joining the Romance Writers of America. From skeptic to romance mega-fan in two short years, I’m totally addicted to passionate, heartfelt stories with happy endings.

My Book Nirvana series offers steamy contemporary romance set in a bookshop in Eugene, Oregon. Why a bookshop? Ever since I was a wee lass, I dreamed of owning one. Add to that my fascination with historical erotic art and literature, and you’ve got the perfect setting for love to bloom: an indie bookshop with an extensive erotica collection behind a locked red door. Of course, there’s a cool, quirky coffee shop next door.

I love stories in which a couple’s powerful physical attraction leads them to consider a partner outside their usual M.O.—one who just might turn out to be their perfect match. That’s how it happened for my husband and me, as well as for Clara, the bookshop’s owner, and Laurel, her assistant. I’m currently writing Book 3 in the series, featuring Margot, Clara’s spiky-haired young assistant, a senior at the University of Oregon.

I sort of pulled the setting out of a hat. I wanted to set my series in a college town. I’d heard that Eugene has a lively arts scene and a rich counterculture legacy from the hippie era. After much online research, correspondence, and hours on Google Earth, I finally made the trip. Eugene is even lovelier than I’d imagined, and I look forward to many return trips to this sparkling jewel on the Willamette River.

Wherever I travel, I make a point of visiting the local indie bookshops. Here in Tacoma, Washington, we have a very special one. King’s Books welcomes readers, writers, and local artists with a huge, well-curated collection of new and used books, as well as thirteen book clubs, plus writers’ groups, author events, art fairs, and more. I had a blast at their Romance Bookstore Day event. King’s Books’ collection has “a little bit of everything,” with a special focus on social justice, female authors, and authors of color. The children’s collection is especially popular, offering young readers books with strong female protagonists as well as characters from a wide variety of backgrounds. Rather than having a “Diversity Section,” King’s Books strives to showcase diversity in every section of the bookshop.

Meet Herbert, shop cat since 2015.
He’s a sweetheart and will gladly share his book recommendations.

Through the Red Door, Book Nirvana #1

Letting him inside could be her salvation…or her undoing.

Clara Martelli clings to Book Nirvana, the Oregon bookshop she and her late husband Jared built together. When rising rents and corporate competition threaten its survival, her best hope is their extensive erotica collection, locked behind a red door. In dreams and signs, her dead husband tells her it’s time to open that door and move on. When a dark and handsome stranger’s powerful magnetism jolts her back to life and he wants a look at the treasures of that secret room, she can’t help but want to show him more.

Professor Nick Papadopoulos is looking for historical erotica. Book Nirvana’s collection surpasses his wildest dreams, and so does its lovely owner. A widower, he understands Clara’s battle with guilt, but their searing chemistry is too strong to resist. Besides, he will only be in town for two weeks, not long enough for her to see beyond the scandal that haunts his past.

Excerpt:

Nick pressed his back against the red door and blew out a long, shaky breath. He’d heard about Book Nirvana for years, but nothing prepared him for what he found inside. The shop was aptly named, that was for damned sure.

From the first jingle of the brass bell over the doorway, he knew this place was something special. The sweet, almost edible scent of books, both new and used, wafted out to greet him. The early-summer sunlight bathed the shop in a welcoming glow and highlighted the colorful posters on the walls—Peter Max’s psychedelic sunset pointing toward the art books, the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine above the music section, and a lush still life of fruit, bread, and wine for the cooking section. Further down the long, narrow space, comic superheroes, a futuristic spacescape, an armored knight charging into battle, and, above a lacquered red door at the rear, Ingres’s La Grande Odalisque threw a languid glance over her bare shoulder—at once an invitation and a dare.

But the jewel of the collection was Clara herself. His friend at the University of Oregon told him about the pretty shop owner, but “pretty” hardly did her justice. Her unruly dark hair glimmered with just a hint of red fire. Those eyes—dark, like the Pacific on a stormy day, somewhere between green and gray—eyes a man could get lost in. Something about this woman set his pulse to revving like a race car at the starting line. Caught off guard by her startling beauty, he’d behaved like a horny teenager, ogling as her delicate fingers fiddled with the locket between her breasts. She noticed, too. Damn.

Buy links: Amazon Barnes & Noble Google Play Kobo iTunes

Runaway Love Story, Book Nirvana #2

Fierce passion or long-cherished dreams…she can’t hang onto both.
She hates average…he’s as average as they come.

High school history teacher Doug Garvey is trying to enjoy his last few weeks of summer vacation, but receiving his final divorce decree hits him harder than expected. After a brief fling fizzles, he fears love just isn’t in the cards for him. If only he could find someone who’s real, someone interested in something beyond herself…maybe a new running partner who can keep up with his more carnal appetite. When sexy, straight-talking Laurel runs across his path, he dares to hope again.

He’s done with social-climbing posers…she’s ambitious and has big dreams.

Fired from an art gallery, Laurel Jepsen shelves her pursuit of an art career in San Francisco to help her beloved great aunt Maxie move into assisted living. While out on a morning run, she’s harassed by a group of teens until a tall, broad-shouldered hottie steps in, pretending to be her boyfriend with a kiss that makes her wish it were true. But she’s only passing through, not looking for a relationship.

Their fierce chemistry burns up the sheets—and the couch, the shower, the forest—but falling in love would ruin everything. Laurel can’t stay in Eugene, and he can’t leave. Doug’s only hope is to convince her the glittery life she’s after could blind her to the opportunities already in her path.

Get your copy here!

I’m writing a series about a cat café. But I don’t have cats. Huh?

I love cats. I have known cats and enjoyed them in small doses. But tragically, I am very allergic to cats, so I cannot let one keep me as a servant. (I’m getting allergy shots, so maybe that will change in the future.)

Instead, my husband and I keep ferrets. They are similar to cats in some ways. When they play, they are as rambunctious as kittens. Like adult cats, they sleep most of the time.

So I will write about a cat cafe, which gives me a chance to look at lots of pictures and videos of adorable cats and kittens, such as this slide show of 29 Cats Taking Naps In Odd Positions from Pawsome.

As far as the café side of things go, the novel mentions several delicious baked treats. The recipe for Cookie Dough Brownies (link is to my blog) is included at the back of Coffee and Crushes at the Cat Café. I add a from-scratch brownie recipe there, but here’s the quicker version, just in time for holiday parties and cookie exchanges!

What’s your favorite pet? What’s your favorite sweet treat? Please share!

Coffee and Crushes at the Cat Café: A Furrever Friends Sweet Romance

What do you do when you meet the guy of your dreams? Set him up with your sister, of course.

Kari doesn’t have time for love when she’s opening her new cat café. Renovating an old restaurant, hiring employees, fighting with the health inspector – oh, and welcoming 16 shelter cats – keeps her plenty busy. She’s doing this for the cats, the community, and most of all her family. The café will give her sister, Marley, a job worthy of her baking skills.

Then a tattooed military vet wanders in claiming to be a master baker himself. The café doesn’t need another baker, but maybe Marley needs a man. Surely she’ll fall for a guy this sweet, this sexy, this tasty.

Colin has other ideas. It’s Kari who makes him want to pour on the sugar and turn up the heat. But he’s spent the last two years recovering from physical and psychological wounds. Is he really ready for a relationship? He’s not even sure he should commit to Samson, the fluffy marshmallow of a cat who steals his heart.

Get this sweet romance on Amazon, or free with Kindle Unlimited.

Here’s a short excerpt when Kari meets Colin:

He leaned back in his chair and studied the large, framed poster of kittens on the side wall. “Who wouldn’t like cats? As for coffee, I’m not a connoisseur, but I like a good cup, and I can learn all the fancy stuff.” His gaze returned to her. “I started cooking mainly to feed myself. I was getting flabby from too much fast food.”

He didn’t look flabby now.

A smile softened his lips. “Turns out cooking is fun. Focusing on the colors, the smells, the tastes. That helps keep me in the moment better than meditation. Eventually I got into baking.”

Kari sat up straighter. “You bake?” They already had a baker: her sister. But Marley couldn’t work seven days a week. Plus, this would give Marley and Colin something to talk about. Something to do together. Marley’s son was nine. He was old enough to handle his mother dating, and Marley needed more fun in her life.

Colin liked cats. He did yoga, baked, and knitted. He was open about his need for counseling. Lots of checks on the nice guy list.

Colin leaned forward and said in a seductive voice, “You should try my salted caramel blondies.”

About the Author

Kris Bock writes novels of romance, mystery, and suspense. Her Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series features the employees and customers at a cat café. Watch as they fall in love with each other and shelter cats.

Kris also writes romantic suspense set in the Southwestern U.S. If you love Mary Stewart or Barbara Michaels, try Kris Bock’s stories of treasure hunting, archaeology, and intrigue in the Southwest. Read excerpts at www.krisbock.com or visit her Amazon page. Sign up for the Kris Bock newsletter for announcements of new books, sales, and more.

Thank you for inviting me to write a guest blog.

In 1915, my grandfather and his brother enlisted with the Australian Imperial Forces and set sail for what so many believed would be the adventure of a lifetime. Teach the Germans a lesson and be home by Christmas. For the next three years they were involved in horrific battles on the Western Front – Amiens, Fromelles and Villiers Bretonneux to name a few. Both came home but were never the same men again.

In 2015, I joined an Anzacs on the Western Front tour, visiting those battlefields. Looking at the lovely towns and villages it was hard to imagine the horrors of that war until our guide held up enlarged photos of blackened, treeless wastelands torn apart by shelling and littered with bodies of men and horses. Visiting the immaculately kept Commonwealth War Graves and memorials was humbling. Thousands of graves of young men who never came home. Particularly sad was the inscription on so many headstones – “Known Only to God”. I could only assume their bodies were unrecognizable and their identity discs destroyed or buried in the mud or blown elsewhere. When our guide told us the huge numbers of deaths in each battle, it brought home the utter waste of that war and how awful the task would have been identifying and recording deaths and injuries on their service records.

After the tour ended, I got to wondering if it was possible for a soldier to swap identity discs with another who had been killed in battle. In those days, war service records were hand-written with basic personal descriptions – name, date of birth, place of birth, marital status, nationality, religion, height, weight and colouring. Curiosity grew to a real need to know because I was sure it would have happened — a soldier suffering shock and wanting to escape or desperate to make a new life somewhere else. As a historical fiction author, I believe we must research the era of our story to provide an authentic as possible background. We can’t throw our characters headfirst into history and hope for the best. So, I contacted London’s Imperial War Museum and the Australian War Memorial in Canberra asking that question — were discs stolen or swapped. Both replied that it was possible, but the chance of discovery was very real and the penalties very harsh. Neither would confirm it did happen but that was good enough for me to begin my third book, The Proposition.

The Proposition

They met on the eve of battle. One enlisted to avoid prison, the other enlisted to avoid the money lenders. On the bloodied fields of France, Harry Connelly collapses beside the corpse of Andrew Conroy. It’s a risk, a hanging offence, but it’s his only hope for a future. Harry swaps identity discs. Now Andrew, he’s just another face in post war London until a letter arrives with a proposition, plunging him into a nightmare of murder, family jealousy and greed. To survive he must live this lie without a mistake, until Lacey, the truth and the consequences.

Excerpt

“Excuse me, call of nature.”

The niggling coil of unease had been growing and now, as Andrew watched the dining room door close behind Elliot, his instincts were jabbing at him. His host had been charming and hospitable. Last night, after a delicious dinner at Browns Hotel, they’d touched on their family connection, unsure of what to say without offending the other. Elliot had twirled his glass between his fingers. “My grandparents made a lot of money from the textile industry, my father sold seventy percent of those businesses and invested in other profitable enterprises. To put it simply, he was a very astute, successful businessman, but I’m afraid he was not a good husband and father. He cared little for us and it distresses me that he cared even less for you and your mother.”

Today, Elliot had proudly introduced him to his pride and joy, a dark grey Austin-20hp and they’d motored smoothly out of London and onto the soft Essex countryside. When they’d stopped at Thaxted’s Swan Inn for lunch, Elliot had commented, “Every spare acre in Essex has been growing vegetables, doing their bit for the war effort and rationing.” When they continued on to Saffron Walden, he’d pointed to his left, “Railway station, a branch line from Audley End. Made a big difference to this town.” They’d stopped briefly in High Street, then through the marketplace, bumping over cobblestones to a wider road and finally stopping at the entrance of a large Victorian house. He’d been shown to his room overlooking the rear of the house with its garden rows of vegetables.

Elliot had apologised again, business to attend to and please make himself at home. Not used to the substantial meals, he’d slept until five pm. At seven pm, he’d joined Elliot in the dining room where silver serving dishes containing roast beef, baked potatoes and green vegetables sat on spirit warmers. “Very informal this evening,” Elliot had said breezily. “I asked my daily help to prepare something easy for us, so please, help yourself.” The only time his host’s friendliness disappeared was when the daily help tapped on the door to tell him she’d answered the phone and left the message on the phone pad. Something was very wrong, or perhaps he was too jumpy from living on this tight rope of lies.

The door opened again. “Much more comfortable,” Elliot grinned. “More wine?”

“No thank you, I might not be able to climb the stairs, but I must thank you for another very pleasant evening.”

Elliot’s grin disappeared. “It’s time to discuss the business proposition which will give us both what we want.”

“I confess I was intrigued when I received your letter,” Andrew replied guardedly.

“You will perform a service and if that service is completed satisfactorily, I will pay you three hundred pounds and pay your outstanding debts.”

Andrew went perfectly still. “Perform a service?”

“You will impregnate the woman I married.”

About the Author

Jan Selbourne grew up in Melbourne, Australia. Her love of literature and history began as soon as she could hold a pen. Her career started in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting then a working holiday in the UK brought the history to life. Now retired, Jan can indulge her love of writing and travel. She has two children and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.

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Although it has been decades since I left India, cricket still has a place in my heart. So baseball was a natural transition. I did court football once (the one they play in Europe) but I love baseball. Hence, my hero, Rafael Henley, is a ball player. He had to be a pitcher because the body mechanics involved fascinates me. Karma Deepika Huntington is an independent woman and my books all feature strong female characters.

Invariably, a lot of food is featured in my books. People are always getting together and making a meal. It is such a basic need and necessity. Rafael Henley has everything he has ever wanted. Except for that one thing. He thought he had it but lost it. Karma is not his type at all, fiercely independent and self-sufficient. Opposites do attract, they just have to have the right environment to blossom. My protagonists wear many hats. Just to name a few, Rafael is a father, a baseball pitcher, a chef and an avid reader; Karma is a sports writer, a foodie who likes to make pizza from scratch, a loving daughter and a writer.

I’d just finished another book set in Bollywood and New York and wanted a change, so I set Karma’s Slow Burn in an undefined city on the shores of a lake. There is a river, the St. Lawrence, which is less conspicuous. I see Lake Ontario every day and every day I’m struck by how big it is. How it seems to reflect my moods. Like today, on this mild autumn Halloween day, the sun has decorated it with golden sprinkles, lifting my almost blue mood to a bright red.

Karma’s Slow Burn

Karma’s Slow Burn, promo price of $1.99 on pre-order
until date of release on 1 Feb 2020.
Buy Links:
www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07ZJSZD5X
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/957769

Sportswriter Karma Huntington is going to hit Rafael Henley, star pitcher for the Sliders, hard to avenge her husband’s death. Rafael cannot ignore the chemistry between them and decides a one-night stand is in order. Karma agrees. Just to get that itch off. But once they get into each other’s pants, things get complicated. Revenge and guilt take a back seat with sizzling chemistry in control. Rafael likes willowy blondes and women who don’t look to him as their protector. Yet here is, lusting after the complete opposite: petite, raven-haired, Karma with a rose tat running up her neck. Can Rafael overcome the dark secret he hides and give in to what his heart wants? Will Karma finally admit she needs Rafael?

Excerpt Karma’s Slow Burn

When she finished the article, Karma called an Uber, packed her stuff and left the bar to wait for her ride. It was a dark evening, thick and heavy clouds hanging from the sky. Karma could sense a thunderstorm coming. The air was moist, filled with an earthy fragrance. She took a deep sniff. She half-turned when she heard gravel crunching behind her. A hairy arm snaked around her shoulders. Fumes of alcohol hit her nose. Coarse hair rubbed against her cheeks. He was huge. Her back rubbed against his soft belly. God! She hadn’t thought of him at all! Was this the way her beautiful evening was going to end? No fucking way!

Karma let her bag slide from her shoulder and her body went slack. With her head hung forward, she bent her elbows and jackknifed them into the softest part of his belly with all her might. It got a grunt from him and loosened his arm around her shoulder. She flipped around to face him, lifted her knee and jabbed it into his groin while slamming her ringed fingers on his nose.

With a groan, he dropped like a stone even as her legs gave way under her and she flopped to the ground, sharp pricks from the gravel biting into the heel of her palms. She didn’t feel the stones tear through the skin or the burning pain in her knuckles.

“I see you don’t need my help.” From far away, Rafael Henley’s voice drifted toward her in the night.
In the glow of the streetlamp, she saw him pick up her bag and walk toward her, the sound of his soles soft on the gravel. He set her bag on the ground beside her.

“You okay, Karma?” The concern in his voice brought tears to her eyes.

Dammit!

Words refused to pass her lips. He came closer and bent down to her level. He took one of her hands in his. She winced and he frowned. Reaching forward, he put his arms came around her and lifted her to her feet. She stumbled against him then stilled as he brought her to his chest.

“You’re safe now, Karma. You made sure of that.”

She leaned her head on his chest, her hair screening her face and her hands trembling. Her blood pounded so hard in her ears and chest, she swayed on unsteady legs. His arms tightened around her. She wanted to say something but her lips were still locked. All she could do was fold her body into the comfort of his embrace and breathe in his clean smell, trying to erase all memory of the stink of the other man.

He was a solid wall against her wobbly legs. Her shaking body had him bend down and hook an arm around her knees. Not a word of protest crossed her lips. He carried her to his SUV and opened the door. He settled her in the seat, buckling her in.

“Wait, no. Have an Uber.” She managed to croak the words out.

“What kind of car?”

“White Camry.”

“I see him coming around the corner. I’ll let him know you don’t need the ride. I’ll take you home.”

Karma did not utter a peep of protest. For once, she let someone decide for her. When he got in the driver’s seat, he paused.

“Let me see your hands.” He switched the interior lights on. She refused to comply. He leaned over, grabbed them and turned them over. She sucked in a breath. “A few scratches and some bruising on the knuckles. Rewards of a warrior.” He nudged her chin up with a finger and looked into her eyes. She slapped his finger away. “And we’re back.”

She hated to show him her vulnerable side. She did not need a knight in shining armor. But she had needed his embrace. And that was it. Nothing more.

Fireflies in the Night

Literary Fiction, winner of the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Award; Best Books of 2016 by Kirkus Reviews; Starred Kirkus Review; Finalist Foreword Reviews Indie Fiction Award. A historical, coming-of-age novel.

Buy Link:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01HZS28CW

About the Author

Nalini Warriar dreamed of being a writer then forgot the dream for a bit as she went on to garner a Ph.D in Molecular Biology. While in her lab, the dream came back and hit her on the head and she’s never looked back writing through her years as a scientist. After more than a decade in cancer research, Nalini returned to the creative part of her soul and now devotes her time to dreaming up the perfect alpha male and feisty woman to appear in her books. Her novel, Fireflies in the Night, was a Foreword Reviews Fab Award finalist and won the Next Generation Indie Book Award in 2017. Kirkus Reviews awarded Fireflies in the Night a starred review and named it Best Books of 2016. Karma’s Slow Burn, a contemporary romance will be released in February 2020. She’s working on her next romance, a Crenshaw Brothers book, to be released in 2020. She lives in Ontario, Canada.

Author Links:
www.facebook.com/authornaliniwarriar
www.amazon.com/author/naliniwarriar
Twitter: @nwarriar

Do you love Halloween? I do, I do, I do. In the UK, where I live, a lot of people complain about it. “What is this American invention that has crossed the Atlantic and is spreading its commercialized tentacles everywhere, etc.” What those good folk don’t realize is that it’s all our fault. Yes, we British actually invented Halloween. Possibly in cooperation with the Irish.

It started with the pagans (doesn’t it always?). In Ireland, and possibly in parts of Britain, too, Halloween was called Samhain. In my mother’s homeland, Wales, it was Nos Calan Gaf, Winter’s Eve. And the Saxons called it Blood Monat, the month of blood. It was a festival that marked the arrival of winter. A time of magic and danger, when the barrier between this world and the Otherworld became so thin that gods and monsters could cross into our universe and walk among humans. On that night, people who had been enchanted and turned into animals could regain their human form, until dawn.

Later, the Catholic Church adopted the feast and made it into a festival of the dead. 1 November was the day of All Hallows, All Souls. So the day before became All Hallows’ Eve — Halloween. Still a time of danger and magic. Poor people went round to the houses of rich people and offered to pray for their souls in return for food. Rich people would bake special cakes to give out, called “soul cakes”. The practice was called “souling”. Irish immigrants took it to the US where it became trick o’treating.

So the monsters are still with us, though usually in the form of little kids wandering the streets in costume. Normal rules are still suspended — it’s the only night in the year when we positively encourage our children to accept sweets from strangers.

It’s also a perfect time to read ghost stories and paranormal tales. I would like to suggest two of them, which have been inspired by Halloween and the old Celtic myths that accompanied it.

MYSTIC DESIRE is a collection of brand new paranormal romance stories by talented BVS authors. Buy link: https://books2read.com/u/4j1AD2
It includes stories about hot warlocks, Native American dream catchers, mystical jewelry, lustful vampires, a grumpy leprechaun, a ghostly terrier, a zombie apocalypse and things that go bump and ooh! in the night. There is something for everyone in this anthology!

MUSIC FOR A MERMAN, on pre-order at the special promo price of $0.99 until the release date of 1 November, is Book 2 in the Sea of Love series, a fantasy romance trilogy inspired by Welsh folk tales. Buy link: https://books2read.com/u/mdG7Bw

Rob Regor knew that humans were trouble. All the shape shifting mermen of the Morvann Islands knew it. And human women were double trouble… especially when they were lying on the road in front of a digger.

Can Rob, merman and rookie cop, fight his attraction to the sexy eco-warrior Charlie? Can Charlie open up her heart to Rob, when a secret buried in her past surfaces and changes her completely?

Read below an extract from The Sweetest Magic of All, my story in the Mystic Desire anthology…

Saffy knelt on the grass and opened the book of spells. Book was a strong word for the worn diary in which Auntie May had recorded her enchantments, but all witches had books of spells. So she’d call it a book, just as she called herself a witch.

Though she was only an apprentice. A chill crept over her skin, as if a shadow had blotted out the summer sun. She stared hard at the spidery handwriting, but all she could see was the thin body of her aunt, almost swallowed up by the tubes and machines that were keeping her alive. Only one thing could help her now, the magical amulet that she’d once worn around her neck. The amulet had vanished a week ago, on the day she’d had a stroke, and they’d rushed her to the hospital in Swansea. No one had been able to find it since.

Cold enveloped Saffy and seeped into her limbs. The amulet was her aunt’s last hope. She had to find it. Now.

She took a deep breath. The familiar smells of the seaside meadow streamed into her nose, pushing back the icy fear that dug its claws into her flesh. Salt on the wind. Wildflowers. Good, rich earth, softened by the morning dew. “I can do this,” she said.

She placed the book on the grass and waved her hands above it, the way her aunt had shown her. Auntie May had made magic look so easy. Saffy had never managed to cast a spell on her own, but today she had to try, and succeed. She kept breathing, in and out, to keep herself calm. The spell to find lost objects was supposed to be easy. And this meadow was a special place, where the ancient magic of the world flowed fast and strong. Surely the spell would succeed here.

Saffy laid her hands in the grass, on either side of the yellowed pages. A ladybird landed on her index finger and walked down onto the book, as if to encourage her. She concentrated. All her life seemed to pour into the breath she was taking… into her tongue as it formed the words.

“Bound and binding
Binding, bound
See the sight
Hear the sound
What was lost
Now is found.”

She closed her eyes and waited for the vision that would show her where the lost amulet was. All she saw was the red light of the sun, shining through her lids. She opened her eyes. There was only the meadow, frothy with oxeye daisies, and the turquoise dome of the sky. A perfect midsummer day, mocking her and her pathetic attempts at magic. Bitter dismay surged, burning her throat and the back of her eyes. She let out a strangled cry. “Fuck and triple fuck!”

“What have you lost?”

The male voice, behind her, made her jump. She turned. A man, wrapped in a black coat, was staring at her, just a few feet away. A warm tide of embarrassment rose from her neck to her cheeks. He must have heard her say the spell. He’d think she was nuts.