Hello Sexy Readers,

My name is Sierra Brave, and I’m excited to be featured on Delilah’s blog today! A big thank you to her and you for having me. In my recently released book, Real Cowboys Love Cats, the heroine is a volunteer with a Trap-Neuter-Release (TNR) program.

So what’s a TNR program?

First, let’s discuss what TNRs are not. TNRs are by no means an alternative to responsible pet ownership and aren’t meant for cats that could easily fit into a family and be adopted.

TNR organizations attempt to manage feral populations through the non-lethal option of capturing strays, finding low or no cost spay and neuter resources and then returning the animal to it where it was found.  TNRs have both pros and cons and as many opponents as proponents. Advocates of TNRs believe the program saves cat lives while also allowing feral cats to thin vermin populations. Detractors believe TNRs are irresponsible at best and dangerous at worst. Personally, I think anyone willing to donate their time in an effort to help others (humans or animals) is admirable. Which side of the debate you fall on is up to you, but either way, please spay and neuter your pets.

Sources/Resources for more information on TNR Programs:
Pro – http://forallanimals.org/community-cats-and-trap-neuter-return-faqs/
Pro – https://www.alleycat.org/our-work/trap-neuter-return/
Con – https://blog.nationalgeographic.org/2017/03/08/tnr-is-dangerous-both-to-cats-and-to-other-animals/
Con – http://www.takepart.com/article/2014/03/31/sorry-cat-lovers-trap-neuter-release-flat-out-doesnt-work

So, onto the main event! Real Cowboys Love Cats is a smoking hot, BBW + cowboy/shifter romance. Although the book is the second installment in the Horse Mountain Shifters series, it’s a standalone with a HEA and absolutely no cheating.

Real Cowboys Love Cats

Having grown up isolated from other shifters, Abram’s not completely comfortable in his own skin. Nevertheless, after the death of his beloved human mother, he relocated to Horse Mountain to reconnect with his father’s side of the family. Love was the furthermost thing from his mind until he met Maddie.

When Maddie meets Abram, she’s smitten but doesn’t see much of a future. A man, who doesn’t like cats, should be a deal breaker for a mountain lion shifter like her. Yet every time he’s near, her body goes crazy. Could he possibly be her fated mate?

***

Excerpt:

Absently, he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Wow. She’s super cute. She had porcelain skin and a short, button nose that accented her high cheekbones and heart-shaped face. Stop staring. You’re here on official business not to flirt with hot babes. His silent, self-scolding did nothing to deter his pounding heart; he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She lifted a meowing meat-bag from her lap, bringing his count to three, before placing the orange tabby on the floor. How can someone so good-looking have so many disreputable pets? As she stood, he eyed her full figure with interest. The tiny bounce in her step as she walked over made her large breasts jiggle beneath the snug tee shirt she was wearing. She stopped in front of him and presented her hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Maddie.”

***

Sexy Snippet:

He yanked her arm before twisting it behind her back while reaching out and grabbing a fistful of her hair and then pulling it taut. It’s as if he can read my mind! He began to buck his hips, gradually building speed. He pounded into her, creating an amazing slapping sound with each mighty thrust. “Yes! That’s it, Abram…so good.”

He leaned over her back, his lips near her ear. “You like?”

“Yes.” She teetered, balancing her weight on her knees and the one arm he’d allowed her.

“Then you’ll love this.”

***

Buy a copy of Real Cowboys Love Cats for only .99 or read for free with Kindle Unlimited.

About the Author

Sierra Brave is a multi-published author of blush-inducing, racy romance. She writes across genres, dabbling in a little bit of everything, including ménage and BDSM.  Her love of erotic fiction started in her last year of high school when she first read the sensual classic, Fanny Hill. She felt so naughty yet liberated with her copy tucked away in her book bag and hopes her work will have the same delicious effect on her readers.

Stalk Sierra!
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Freebie Alert

Wyoming is a land of contrasts. There’s the rugged peaks of the Teton Range on the west side of the state, just south of the geysers and painted pots of Yellowstone. On the eastern edge of the state, you have Devil’s Tower among the rolling hills of near Hulett. In between, you have miles and miles of prairie and high plains, where there are more cattle than people.

But in the middle, there’s a strange geological site that few tourists ever see.  Even from the highway that goes by it, you can easily miss it if you don’t know it’s there. Until a few years ago, you were able to stand right at the crumbling edge if you dared to look over the sight, but now it’s fenced off.

The area goes by the name of Hell’s Half Acre, and I’m sure the early settlers thought it deserved the title. It’s a lot bigger than half an acre-actually about 320 acres. It’s an area of cliffs and rock spires and boulders and an assortment of colors. It’s hard to imagine what geological forces created it.

Lori Grenville, the main character in my new release, Wolves’ Gambit, didn’t have the opportunity to visit Hell’s Half Acre while she was in Wyoming. (I couldn’t figure out a way to write it into the story.) She spent her time in the dusty plains nearer to the Bighorn Mountains. She didn’t have time for sightseeing anyway.

Wolves’ Gambit

Wolf-shifter Lori Grenville was rescued from near-slavery and a brutal pack leader by the Free Wolves. To pay back the favor, she’s dedicated her life to helping others in the same situation, leading shifters to safety and a new start, risking her life in the process. She’s faced down alphas and has no qualms in undermining pack structure.

Now she’s challenged with the task of restoring an alpha to his rightful place. If she gets it right, she can stop a war from ripping apart two packs and spreading across an entire state. If she fails, she’ll be among the first to die.

There’s still the option of walking away and letting the Jaeger and Destin packs destroy each other. That means she’ll fail in her original mission of rescuing the daughter of the Jaeger alpha before the girl is forced into marriage for political gain.

Lori hasn’t failed in a mission yet. This one may be the exception.

Excerpt:

“Breathe, dammit, breathe!”

Hands pounded on her chest. A spasm ran through her body and she gasped. Air rushed to her aching lungs. She struggled to breathe but her throat was blocked. She couldn’t stop coughing and bile rose. It settled at the back of her mouth. The acid mingled with the sweet flavor of blood and her stomach churned. She retched and a seizure wracked her body.

She was rolled on one side, too weak to protest. Her hair was gently brushed away from her face. She took a shuddering breath and spit, trying to get the bitter tang out of her mouth.

“I’ve got you,” a low voice said.

She heard the words both with her ears and her mind. She slammed the blocks into place. It was too risky to reveal herself when she had no defense against an attack.

A trickle of water slipped across her lips and her tongue darted out to capture it. “More,” she pleaded, and then coughed again.

“I’m going to sit you up so you can have a proper sip. Don’t worry, I have you, little human.”

Strong arms wrapped around her and brought her to a sitting position. The screaming pain in her leg settled into a dull ache. A warm body behind her gave her something to lean against. A cool object was pressed to her lips and she tilted her head back as water slipped into her mouth.

“Spit it out,” ordered a new voice.

Reluctantly, she did so. It seemed a shame to waste perfectly fine water.

“This time, swish it around and rinse out your mouth.” It seemed like a good idea. She didn’t want the bitterness of blood to ruin the water’s freshness. She spat out the third sip as well, and the coughing started again.

“It’ll get better. You can swallow this time.”

She lapped greedily as the water bottle touched her lips, demanding more. It was pulled away far too soon. She whined in disappointment.

“A little at a time.”

The swallow was bigger this time. She tried to open her eyes but they were glued shut. Like a tired child, she raised her fists to rub them. Someone grabbed her arms to stop her and she groaned.

“Let me wash your face first. We need to see what the damage is and don’t want to injure your eyes.” Another new voice. How many people were there?

While wet fabric stroked her face, she listened. She counted the breathing of four people close to her, but quiet murmurs told her there were many more nearby. A soft buzz in her head was either the beginning of a massive headache or a sign of many unheard conversations going on.

Buy links:
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1368542376
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/wolves-gambit-1
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1128396666?ean=2940159062932

GIVEAWAY!

And a Giveaway! In celebration of the release of Wolves’ Gambit, one or more lucky people will win an e-book version of Wolves’ Pawn, the first book of the series. You can enter here:

Rafflecopter http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/a7d27c8b1/?

About the Author

Born and raised among the rolling hills of western Pennsylvania, P.J. MacLayne still finds inspiration for her books in that landscape. She is a computer geek by day and a writer by night who currently lives in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains. When she’s not in front of a computer screen, she might be found exploring the back roads of the nearby national forests and parks. In addition to the Free Wolves’ stories, she is also the author of the Oak Grove series.

P.J. MacLayne can be reached on: 
Facebook https://facebook.com/pjmaclayne
Twitter https://twitter.com/pjmaclayne
Google + https://plus.google.com/u/0/+PJMacLayne/posts
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/P.J.-MacLayne/e/B00HVE8WZI
Blog http://pjmaclayne.blogspot.com/
BookBub https://www.bookbub.com/profile/p-j-maclayne

Growing up I was a sucker for history. How people lived in ages past always intrigued me. Born in 1956, I grew up a child of the 60’s Black is Beautiful movement. Nacent pride in being Black — as we were calling ourselves then — intensified my curiosity. I hungered for anything and everything that could teach me African American history. That’s why TV shows touching on the hidden stories of African Americans stick with me to this day.

I remember Ossie Davis guest starring as an ex-slave caring for his son on Bonanza. Watching Yaphet Kotto on High Chaparral where I first learned about Buffalo Soldiers. I can still see the boxed paragraph with illustration in the pages of the old TV Guide highlighting the episode. Little did I know as I watched those shows and others like them I too would be using historical fact to create historical fiction.

My most recent novella, Better To Marry Than To Burn, was inspired by a true story.  African-American married women in Arizona mining towns advertised back East to bring marriageable women West. They convinced the unmarried miners to settle down instead of fighting over prostitutes all the time. What a great set up for an opposites-attract second-chance romance.

This wasn’t my first encounter with the concept of mail-order brides. I used to watch a show called Here Come The Brides about three brothers who owned a logging company in Seattle. Bobby Sherman, a teen idol back then played Jeremy the youngest Bolt brother who stuttered and David Soul, later of Starsky and Hutch fame, played Joshua the middle brother. Its premise was the Bolt brothers had loggers who were tired of having no women in their lives and were ready to quit. The solution was to send oldest brother Jason, played by Robert Brown, back East to Massachusetts and return with single women looking for husbands. Many would be available and willing thanks to the lack of men created by the Civil War. I remembered the show had done excellent episodes on finding mates for Jewish and Chinese characters. Somewhere in the dusty recesses of my memory I knew they had done an episode trying to match African Americans, too. Was the memory real or had I made it up? Lo and behold, Google showed my memory was still good.

“A Bride for Obie Brown” had aired in 1970. I was pleasantly surprised to rediscover who had played the roles of Obie and his intended bride Lucenda. They’re now household names although I wonder if some of you may not be old enough to know who they are. Here’s a hint: their equally famous partners were actress Tyne Daly and jazz musician Miles Davis. Can you name them?

Better To Marry Than To Burn

Erotic African-American historical romance
Release date: April 25, 2018

Learn more here: https://amzn.to/2JyLKu1, here: http://bit.ly/2DHdb0x and here: www.michalscott.webs.com.

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.

Caesar King’s ad for a mail-order bride is an answer to Queen Esther Payne’s prayer. Her family expects her to adhere to society’s traditional conventions of submissive wife and mother, but Queen refuses. She is not the weaker sex and will not allow herself to be used, abused or turned into a baby-making machine under the sanctity of matrimony. Grateful that love is neither required nor sought, she accepts the ex-slave’s offer and heads West for marriage on her terms. Her education and breeding will see to that. However, once she meets Caesar, his unexpected allure and intriguing wit makes it hard to keep love at bay. How can she hope to remain her own woman when victory may be synonymous with surrender?

Excerpt:

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?”

Thanks to Delilah Devlin for hosting me on her blog.

I’m excited to tell you about TEXAS LIGHTNING, the first of my Texas Time Travel Series trilogy (Try saying that fast three times ☺). Reader reports have been very enthusiastic. Except for the words “damn” and “hell” a few times, this is a sweet romance. The second and third of the trilogy are TEXAS RAINBOW, releasing April 18, and TEXAS STORM, releasing May 25.

Years ago, I discovered the time travel books of Kathleen Kane before the author switched names and subgenre. I fell in love with time travel featuring ordinary people. I also have enjoyed the time travels of other authors, such as Beth Trissel, Linda LaRoque, Diana Gabaldon, and Peggy L. Henderson.

I especially enjoy the idea of a character from the past coming forward to today. Think about it—when someone goes back in time, they know what’s going to happen in that era. On the other hand, when a person comes forward, everything is new and requires huge adjustments in learning and attitudes. What a challenge for a character—and what fun for the reader. If there’s mystery and/or suspense, even better.

This is what I wrote in OUT OF THE BLUE, when an Irish woman from 1845 plopped down in contemporary Texas to help a detective solve several murders and discover who was trying to frame and kill him. Except for this book, my new trilogy is a departure from the usual books I write, but still in a western setting.

TEXAS LIGHTNING depicts Penny Terry as she stumbles forward into a complicated scheme to steal the ranch that had been hers. While unraveling the mystery, she learns why her father was killed. In this case, there’s even a fabulous treasure. Of course, she also falls in love.

The setting is a ranch in Central Texas on the Medina River somewhere between Bandera and Medina. Bandera touts itself as “The Cowboy Capital of Texas”. My family once stayed at The Mayan Ranch, a dude ranch near there. Our daughters and I fell in love with the ranch and the area. My Hero prefers to read about riding horses and ranching rather than experiencing them first hand. Hero was a good sport but would rather have been fishing. ☺

Texas Lightning

How can two people from different eras own the same ranch?

Penelope Jane Terry knows everything about ranching in spite of being a lone woman. She is determined to send to jail the rustlers who believe they can steal what is hers… until she is caught spying on their dirty works and must ride for her life. What Penny doesn’t count on is being hurtled over a 120 years into the future.

Jake Knight believes the attractive woman who stumbled into his home one rainy evening either has amnesia or is certifiably insane. Unless, that is, she is in league with whoever is trying to drive him out of business. Someone is trying to force him to sell his ranch by staging a string of damaging incidents. Jake’s been kept so busy making repairs that he can’t run his ranch properly. Even if he were stupid enough to wish to sell, the ranch is so firmly entailed that no one can break the conditions.

Jake gradually learns Penny is who she claims, no matter that time travel is supposed to be impossible. They’re locked into a clash only one of them can win. If an outsider weren’t trying to kill Jake as well as bankrupt him, perhaps he and Penny might be able to reach an agreement. And, then they discover there is a huge treasure….

TEXAS LIGHTNING Excerpt:

Finally, the lights of home shone faintly in the distance. Nothing had ever looked so good. She couldn’t keep going much further. Damned if blisters hadn’t burned on her heels from walking so far in wet boots. She was near frozen in these wet clothes.

Wait.

How could she be so cold now when the heat earlier had nearly suffocated her? Nevermind, she just wanted to be home, safe, and in her bed. There stood the fence next to the paddock. Almost home now, keep walking.

Don’t pass out, don’t fall. One foot in front of the other. You can do this. Stumbling from fatigue, she labored up the front steps onto the long wrap-around porch and bumped into a rocker. Who’d put that there? Just like her cook to move stuff around without telling her. How she’d love to sink into it and rest. First, she had to send for the sheriff and find out if Star came home.

At the door, she paused and listened for men talking—rustlers waiting to waylay her. She heard no sound. Lights shone so brightly, her cook must have waited up for her with every lamp in the house lighted. She eased opened the door, listened again, then walked in and leaned her rifle against the stair’s banister.

“Did Star come home?” She unbuckled her gun belt and hung it on the newel post—not something she’d do under ordinary circumstances.

Tugging off her gloves, she avoided a couple of cactus spines stuck in the fingers. How had they remained there without her feeling them? No matter, she sat down on the third stair tread to remove her boots.

She should have gone around to the back door, but she couldn’t walk another step. Weariness and sore muscles overwhelmed her and she wanted nothing more than to shuck out of her wet things and lie in her nice bed—if she could summon the energy to walk upstairs. Eyes closed, she leaned back against the stairs. She heard footsteps approaching and raised one foot.

“Had me a passel of trouble. Help me get these danged boots off, would you? Then I’ll tell you all about it.” A dog’s cold nose pressed against her cheek. She jumped and pushed her hair out of her eyes. A black and white dog stared at her. “Who are you?”

“His name’s Rascal.” An unfamiliar baritone said, “He’s mine.”

She looked up.

Whoa! The man who faced her was a stranger. In spite of her wariness, her mouth dropped open in awe. Instead of her arthritic middle-aged cook, this man was young and tall and definitely fit. And handsome. Unbelievably, mesmerizingly handsome.

He might be as comely as a fairy tale prince, but the regal disapproval on his face appeared anything but friendly.

Energized by fear, she jumped to her feet and grabbed her rifle. “Who the heck are you?”

He crossed his arms and ignored the Winchester pointed at his middle. His dark hair glistened in light that seemed too bright. Dark blue eyes had tiny creases at the corners, as if he laughed a lot.

He sure wasn’t laughing now.

“I might ask you the same question. And what are you doing tracking in mud and dripping water all over my foyer?”

“Your foyer? This is my house, and it’s been my house since my daddy and I built it six years ago. Don’t you think for one minute I’ll let you steal my ranch.”

The dog growled, the fur of his ruff bristling.

The man snapped his fingers. “Quiet, Rascal.”

Who was this man? He didn’t look the type but maybe he was one of the men stealing her cattle. Could he and his dog have been waiting for her? She gripped the rifle with all her strength. Why hadn’t her cook shown up to help her?

Oh, no, had they killed him?

He glared at her. “Lady, I don’t know who you are, but this is my house, get it? I grew up here. My daddy grew up here. My granddaddy grew up here.”

Penny’s knees trembled, but she fought fear to appear strong. “Don’t try and trick me. The Double T ranch was started by my granddaddy in 1836. No con man is going to steal it from the Terry family, and you can take that to the bank.”

“The Terry family hasn’t owned this since Penelope Terry died in 1896. The Knight family has owned it since then.” He threw up his hands. “Hell, why am I arguing with a crazy woman?”

“Crazy?” She was about to light into him when the first part of his statement hit her. “Hey, what do you mean, I died? I’m as alive as you, whoever you are.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I see you’re alive. I said Penelope Terry died. Are you hard of hearing as well as nuts?”

Increasing fear spiraled inside Penny, knotting her stomach. How could this man think her dead? What kind of trick was he working? Had she been conked out long enough that her cook sent men out to look for her and they decided she’d died?

Forcing herself to appear calm when she shook inside, Penny stood erect. “I’m Penelope Jane Terry and you can see I’m very much alive…”

Amazon US buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07B6R1K44?ref_=pe_2427780_160035660

Amazon UK buy link: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Texas-Lightning-Time-Travel/dp/1986339459/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1521667698&sr=8-3&keywords=Caroline+Clemmons

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/s/ref=nb_sb_noss/138-9010344-2686736?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Caroline+Clemmons

About the Author

Through a crazy twist of fate, Caroline Clemmons was not born on a Texas ranch. To make up for this tragic error, she writes about handsome cowboys, feisty ranch women, and scheming villains from a small office her family calls her pink cave. She and her Hero live in North Central Texas cowboy country where they ride herd on their rescued cats and dogs. The books she creates there have made her an Amazon bestselling author and won numerous awards. Find her on her blog, website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Google+, and Pinterest.

Click on her Amazon Author Page for a complete list of her books and follow her there.

Follow her on BookBub.

Subscribe to Caroline’s newsletter here to receive a FREE novella of HAPPY IS THE BRIDE, a humorous historical wedding disaster that ends happily—but you knew it would, didn’t you?

DJ, my heroine in All Those Miles I Walked, is a woman I like and understand. We both like to travel, we both are open and hungry for everything that’s new and different. She’s way more sociable than me, but she’s still a person I feel close to. And now that she’s with Scott, we share one more common trouble—the Anxious Man.

Let me tell you a bit about him.

The anxious man is a highly intelligent, self-made, strong man who got where he is by sheer work. Maybe exactly because he’s used to controlling his own universe, he’s also someone who needs reassurances on your well-being whenever he decides to check on you, with no regard whatsoever for what you might be doing.

Let’s say at any given time of the day a thought (“Is she all right?”) crosses his mind. He acts upon that thought, and he texts or calls you.

From that moment, you have from 5 to 20 seconds to reply/answer.

Problem is, maybe you can’t because you’re, I don’t know, using the restroom, or cleaning the ceiling with a long-handled brush, or trying to get your son out from the lake-size puddle of mud the last rain created in front of your house.

Maybe you forgot to turn on the ringtone, and you’re peacefully filing your nails oblivious of the poopy about to hit the fan.

After an average of 10 minutes from the first text (and at that point you’ll have an average of 150 of them and at least 300 calls) (yes, the Anxious Man can defy time and squeeze all those messages and calls in just a few minutes) the police, fire department, an ambulance, and possibly the FBI and the National Guard will barrel down through your door.

Poopy. Fan. There you have it.

I’ve been with my husband for 18 years, and let me tell ya, that cool, self-controlled man can go bat-shit crazy if I don’t answer the phone in .3 nanoseconds. So does Scott in the story.

And you know what? I get it (mostly because of the almost 20-year-experience in the front line), and now I’ll tell you why.

The Anxious Man doesn’t do that out of a need to control you. There’s no jealousy or will to tell you what you can or can’t do. He’s not throwing you any alpha crap or Neanderthal-like claim.

Literally, he only needs to know you’re well. He doesn’t have time or inclination to hear about your shopping day or whatever else you’re doing. Nope. No need to keep it long; a simple thumb-up emoticon would do.

The fact is, he might be busy, his head might often be somewhere work-related, and he probably will forget some anniversary but the Anxious Man loves, and loves deep. So deep, he needs to know the most important thing in his life, more important than work, more important than his wellbeing: not that you love him, miss him, think about him, but that you’re alive.

Which means you can’t get mad. Or overly mad, at least. Sometimes I do get annoyed (okay, pissed).

So, because I learned from personal experience that people like me and DJ will never be reliable with our phones, I have a word of advice for all the people like Marco and Scott, and the relationships that follow.

Buy an iWatch or any device like it.

Tired of the constant heart attacks, my husband gave me one for our anniversary few years back, and now I never lose a call or text. I can reply anywhere with the littlest time and effort. It’s pretty, and it gives him peace of mind, and me the freedom from checking the phone or (the horror) having to turn on the ringtone.

You’re welcome.

All Those Mile I Walked

At eighteen, DJ had to make a choice–her heart or her dreams. Neither was wrong, yet either would break her heart. She chose the world. Over a decade later, she returns to Crescent Creek and to the one regret she’s ever had—Scott. Scott’s always been steady as a rocky reef. He’d loved once and when she’d left, his strong heart had crumbled like a sandcastle. Now DJ is back, and Scott wants nothing to do with her. The problem? They share Eva, a close friend of both, and now Eva needs their help. Because of her, he’s stuck with DJ and he’d be damned, the woman still gets under his skin. DJ is a free spirit who needs the road under her feet. Scott is a family man who wants to groom his roots. With danger on their doorstep and a baby to keep safe, how much are they willing to compromise for love?

Amazon: ebook  paperback | iTunes | B&N | PDF and More

Find me:
on my blog at http://www.viviana-mackade.blog/

Excerpt

DJ fished her cellphone from the bag, turned it on thinking nothing of it. 12 unanswered calls and 6 messages appeared.

Fear raced through her good mood. Something had happened to Eva? To her parents? She checked the call list. Scott. From all of the calls and texts.

Well, unexpected. From zero interaction to a gazillion? She called his number; he picked up probably before it even rang.

“Where in the fucking hell are you?” he said quietly, anger vibrating in his voice more than a guitar string.

“Okay. Not really prepared for that, but okay. We’re across the road, at the beach.”

“Damn it, DJ, you’re supposed to text me when you leave.” She had to move the phone closer to her ear to hear his words.

“I know. We’re just across the road.”

“Are you in the house?” he asked. Still very much pissed, but at least he’d gone back to a human tone, one she actually heard.

“It’s basically the same.”

“It is not.”

“Okay, my bad. Besides, I didn’t realize I’d agreed to a middle of the morning text. When did it happen, by the way?”

“Damn it, DJ.”

Oh god, back to hissing. “You said it already. A few times, in fact.”

She brushed sand off from Henry’s legs, blew the boy a kiss that made him smile. Then heard a voice in the background of the call, then Scott saying to someone, “They’re fine, they’re at the beach.”

“Who is with you?”

“Charlie.”

“You called the sheriff? Where are you?”

“At Eva’s, ready to bust the fucking door down.”

“That seems extreme.”

“You don’t text me, don’t call me, and don’t pick up the damned phone,” he said, anger making his quiet words a bit breathless. “What am I supposed to do?

“Calm down would be the first thing, I guess.” DJ had always thought he might have a stroke, at some point. All control freaks like him did. Maybe today was the day, who knew? “You saw us at 8 this morning, two hours ago. You could have waited until, let’s say, lunchtime before freaking out this big.”

“I could kill you right now,” he said, so evenly it might actually have been truer than truth.

“You might want to be careful with what you say while Sheriff Charlie is there with you. By the way, tell her I say hi. Actually, can you give her the phone? We planned a spa day for next week but I’ll have to postpone it until Eva comes home.”

He closed the call.

The Pit and the Passion: Murder at the Ghost Hotel is my new mystery romance, set in Sarasota on the Gulf Coast of Florida. As John Ringling saw when he first arrived at the turn of the 20^th century, it is a paradise.

“A beam of red light shot through her window. Sunset already? She got up, fixed herself a drink, and took it to the balcony. She watched as the sun sank into the gulf, long, needle-like pincers of light stretching out as though it wanted to hook the horizon and hang on for dear life. Like Kilroy, whatever was pulling it from below won the battle and the sun dipped, leaving its signature green spot as a token of affection for the world.”

This is what it’s like to live on the Gulf Coast of Florida. By day the sky is the deep blue of Paul Newman’s eyes; at close of day it’s flooded with a full palette of reds, oranges, pinks and purples. I have a lot of pictures of my granddaughter—I have even more pictures of sunsets in Sarasota!

Here’s the story of The Pit & the Passion:

At midnight, in the darkness of a deserted hotel, comes a scream and a splash. Eighty-five years later, workmen uncover a skeleton in an old elevator shaft. Who is it, and how did it get there? To find out, Charity Snow, ace reporter for the Longboat Key Planet, teams up with Rancor Bass, best-selling author. A college ring they find at the dig site may prove to be their best clue.

Although his arrogance nearly exceeds his talent, Charity soon discovers a warm heart beating under Rancor’s handsome exterior. While dealing with a drop-dead gorgeous editor who may or may not be a villain, a publisher with a dark secret, and an irascible forensic specialist, Charity and Rancor unearth an unexpected link to the most famous circus family in the world.

The Pit and the Passion: Murder at the Ghost Hotel
The Wild Rose Press, January 22, 2018 (Crimson Rose)
Mystery, Humorous/Romantic Comedy
Rating: PG13
418 p.; 97370 words

Excerpt (PG): The Man on the Beach

The Milky Way spread a swath of cream overhead. One small cloud trundled across the sky. Behind it peeped a gibbous moon. The beach was wide here, sweeping south in a twelve-mile-long arc but ending only a few yards north of her at a severely eroded cliff.

Not a soul stirred on the sand, except for a couple of willets picking their way along the edge of the water. She turned and headed toward the cliff.

Someone had left a beach chair out. She sat and watched the waves, listening to the chittering of the sandpipers and the putt-putt of a trawler far out. She assumed the rustle behind her was a ghost crab and kept quiet, hoping to catch a glimpse of it. She loved the way they would stop, half in and half out of their holes, their eyestalks waving. They’re so sure they’re invisible.

Charity?”

She jumped straight up, knocking the chair backward.

“What th—?” Her heart pounding, she turned. At that moment, the cloud shrouded the moon, and in the sudden darkness she could only make out a form.

“Who…who’s there?”

“It’s me. Rancor. Rancor Bass.”

She held out a hand and encountered a broad chest, lightly furred. She pulled it back quickly. “Are you…are you…”

He snickered. “Naked? As a matter of fact, yes.”

She backed up. A splash told her that her brand-new sandals were likely ruined. She vaulted out of the water and landed between two bare arms.

“Easy there, Charity. I hardly know you.”

“Stop it, Mr. Bass. And let me go. If I were you I’d drop that conceited tone. I wouldn’t be caught dead in your arms.”

His voice came low, laughter licking at its edges. “You don’t feel dead to me. In fact”—she tensed at the touch of a finger on the inside of her elbow—“you feel very much alive. And quite…fresh. Call me Rancor.”

“Rancor Bass, you leave me alone.” She tried to walk around the shadow, but an arm snaked out and caught her. She opened her mouth to scream and found two lips smothering hers. She stood quite still, fear and…something else…oh my God, desire?…taking over her senses.

He let her go. “Couldn’t resist. Wanted to see if those defensive walls could be breached.” He sat down in the chair. The moon came out from behind the cloud and cast a pale glow on his hair. “You’re a tough cookie, Charity.”

She wanted to deny it, to tell him how vulnerable she could be, but knew that would be very stupid. She wanted to kiss him again but knew that would be even more stupid. So she settled for a grunt and walked away.

He didn’t follow, and as she reached the dunes, she felt an unexpected twinge of disappointment. Could this man be the one? Nah. Still, preoccupied by this novel notion, she decided to skip the police station and go straight home. As she turned into her condominium parking lot, the obvious question finally occurred to her. What the hell is Rancor Bass doing naked on the beach in the middle of the night?

Buy Links:
Wild Rose Press: https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-titles/5533-the-pit-and-the-passion-murder-at-the-ghost-hotel.html
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Pit-Passion-Murder-Ghost-Hotel-ebook/dp/B078JY8RLY
ITunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-pit-and-the-passion-murder-at-the-ghost-hotel/id1332026896?mt=11
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-pit-and-the-passion-m-s-spencer/1127750685?ean=2940158925351
KOBO: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-pit-and-the-passion-murder-at-the-ghost-hotel
Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/M_S_Spencer_The_Pit_and_the_Passion_Murder_at_the?id=F-tGDwAAQBAJ

About the Author

Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents, the last thirty years were spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, policy wonk, non-profit director, and parent. After many years in academia, she worked for the U.S. Senate, the U.S. Department of the Interior, in several library systems, both public and academic, and at the Torpedo Factory Art Center.

Ms. Spencer has published eleven romantic suspense novels, and has two more in utero. She has two fabulous grown children and an incredible granddaughter. She divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.

Find her events and news at RomanceBooks4Us:
http://www.romancebooks4us.com/M.S._Spencer.html

and Moonlight and Mystery:
http://www.moonlightandmystery.com/

Contacts:
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Twitter: www.twitter.com/msspencerauthor
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Linked in: www.linkedin.com/in/msspencerauthor

I’m a writer, and sometimes, writers walk away from their computers—shocking, I know. What is it I do when I drag myself away from endless critiques, edits, blog post writing, beta reads, promoting—oh, yeah—and actual writing?

I ADORE yoga. I was hooked a long time ago, before yoga was cool. The studio where I take class is relaxed and full of energy.

People shy away from yoga because—I’m not in good enough shape, or, I’m not flexible enough, or, it’s too much like a religion.

Phtttp, I say. I’m not in the most fabulous shape, and I’m no longer 24 years old (quite a shock to me), but I still go to three yoga classes a week, at least. As to flexibility… I happen to be one of those who is flexible, but the other 99% of the people in class aren’t. Does that stop them from coming to class??? NO! As to it being like a “religion”? Sorry. Nope. You can get as deeply involved in yoga as you wish,  adapting to an Ayurvedic lifestyle and living on a mountain in Tibet, or you can go to a couple of classes a week and revel in the calmness that flows through you at the end of class then stop for a burger and fries on the way home.

The studio where I take class has recently introduced wall yoga. I’m like a kid in a candy store. My favourite position is Bat. Yup, we hang upside down like bats. It looks scary, but it’s safe, and the stretch your spine gets is fantastic. (I’m the one in black.)

What kinds of yoga are there? The traditional ones: Hatha – Vinyasa – Birkram – Kundalini – Restorative – Yin and many many more. New versions of the older styles are being created – wall yoga, hot yoga, aerial yoga, paddleboard yoga, and so on.

I’d suggest starting with a gentle hatha and/or a restorative class. You will get the feel of yoga and begin to develop some confidence.

So, forget all your fears and go try a class. Don’t like that class? Try a different kind. Don’t like that studio? Find a different one. Just make sure the teachers are qualified. A cheap class with an unqualified teacher is definitely not recommended. Once you find your perfect match, you’ll know it.

What has all of this got to do with my latest book? Absolutely nothing. But here’s the book anyway. 🙂

Excerpt from Two O’clock with the Billionaire

Derek squeezed her hand and walked toward the entrance. Arianne looked at nothing but the uniformed and gloved doorman who opened the large glass door. Once inside, she realized she’d stepped out of the proverbial pan and into the fire. Before her was a crowd of black tuxedos, evening gowns and glittering diamonds. Derek leaned close. “We head over there and give our coats to the girl then we get a drink. We sip the drink. Sip, can you say sip?”

With pursed lips, she nodded. Her trembling fingers fumbled and her beaded Prada clutch fell to the floor with a loud thump. Arianne froze. How could she do something so stupid? She waited for the roar of humiliating laughter from the other guests.

Derek picked up the bag and offered it to her. “From the look of terror on your face, slamming vodka shots is the only thing you want.”

Glancing around to see if everyone was staring at her, Arianne mumbled, “Sip the drink. We sip the drink. Don’t slam the drink. Okay, I got that. Then what?”

About the Book

Two O’clock with the Billionaire is Daryl Devoré’s latest hot romance. A contemporary romance sweetened with a bit of vanilla sexcapades.

Where Derek Davenport is concerned, women only had one thing in mind: trap him into a marriage. The perfect way out? Hire a courtesan. While partying with his buddies he places an online ad that reads – Woman Wanted.

Unemployed and nearing financial desperation, Arianne is forced to step out of her comfort zone and answers an ad that reads Woman Wanted. With minimal hours and excellent pay, she accepts the position of courtesan to a handsome billionaire.

Their sexual antics cause emotions neither is willing to admit it. Will Arianne and Derek drive each other crazy…or will they fall in love first?

Buy Links: Amazon | Print

GIVEAWAY

I will give away a copy of an earlier book—What Happens in Bangkok—to a reader who can correctly guess one of these three things:
My favourite colour – ???
My favourite pop/soda – ???
My favourite dessert – ???