I have a new release coming on July 12th, and I thought you’d like to know some of the personal motivation that went into creating the story.
The title is a tribute to one of my longtime industry partners and friends, Kate Richards. She is the owner of Decadent Publishing, and I’ve worked with her for more than eleven years, both as a publisher and an editor.
Kate, the heroine of Protecting Kate, first appeared in Protecting Susan. In that book, Susan came to Kate’s farm for battered women to learn self-defense skills.
My favorite hero from Susan Stoker’s Special Forces series, SEAL of Protection, is Tex Keegan, He appears in all of my stories as a secondary character, including this one.
Read an excerpt from the book, and then learn how you can order a signed print copy!
Protecting Kate
For Kate Bartlett running Haven Farm was the realization of a dream. Helping battered and abused women build a new life was very satisfying. Of course, it left her with no personal life of her own but she put that on the back burner.
Dan Wolff left the SEALs with a nightmare that wouldn’t go away. It kept him from having a personal life and sent him to the small town of Dixville, Florida, where he served now as sheriff of the county. His biggest challenges were the rednecks who thought it was fun to get drunk and beat up their women, a situation that brought him into continuous contact with Kate.
But it all changes when a group of convicts escapes from the nearby prison and takes refuge in Dixville. Can Dan protect the women who make perfect shields? And will he and Kate finally give in to the attraction that sizzles between them?
Excerpt from Protecting Kate…
Clad in his battle fatigues, his face darkened with camouflage paint and his M4A1 rifle in his hands, Dan Wolff crouched in the thicket of trees, staring at the cluster of small adobe houses with straw roofing. At three in the morning, it was very quiet in this village, even though it was a hotbed of activity for the local gang in this small city. Was it too quiet? Should people be moving somewhere, or was everyone asleep? Were there only three gang members guarding the inside, or were there really more? As team leader, he hadn’t been happy with the scarcity of information they’d been given, and neither was their commanding officer, but they were running out of time to stage their rescue. Ten women had been taken captive by gang members who announced they were going to stage an execution to make an example of them. Send a message not to mess in gang territory.
The women had come down here on a trip from the States to study the country and have a vacation. Although why the fuck anyone would want to take a pleasure trip to a place overrun with gangs was beyond him. Oh sure, the resorts were beautiful, and the areas immediately surrounding them were gorgeous. But there was always a sliver of fear in the area that one or more of the gangs would decide to have a little fun. It had happened before, and he’d bet his left testicle it would happen again. Of course, he fervently hoped it wouldn’t come to that since he was intensely fond of both of them.
But the women had been appalled at some of the conditions they’d seen on their trips to the smaller villages—another idiotic move—and talked about bringing organizations to the country to help correct it.
What he wasn’t fond of was the sketchy information they’d been given. Their commanding officer had busted his butt to get as much as possible, but the gang holding the women made sure what was known was sketchy and frequently changing. So, they went with a rundown full of holes. Unsure number of gang members involved protecting the women, but not more than four. Which room in the house they were sequestered in, but probably one of the bedrooms. And more like that. But he was the team leader, so it was up to him to make apple juice out of apples, even as he cursed the newly minted CO every minute.
After he used his night- vision goggles to study everything around them, doing his best to make sure gang members wouldn’t come flooding out of the trees, he waved his team forward. As described, there was only one man guarding the front door and two lounging against a junker across the street. Dan figured they were pretty damn overconfident.
He gave the signals they’d prepared, two of the SEALs crept up on the gang members against the car, and two more of them breached the door, with four others as backup. But when Dan had his men kick the door down and roll in with their guns at the ready, all hell broke loose. Unlike the few gang members they had expected, there were several in the house, standing behind the women who were bound and gagged…and terrified, not to mention other terrorists in a second room. They’d laid a trap so successfully that even checking out the scene ahead of time had revealed nothing.
Fucking shit!
“Back off, back off,” he shouted to his men, but, by then, it was insanity.
Bullets were flying, people were shouting, and bodies were falling. It was a totally fucked-up mess.
When it was over, three gang members were dead, four of Dan’s men were wounded, and all the women were either wounded or dead. He called for emergency pickup, and those of his men still functioning were able to hold the rest of the gang off until two choppers arrived, cleared the area, and landed to pick everyone up.
He had no idea how he was going to live with the memories of all the people who had been killed on a mission he led. In the debrief, his commanding officer had tried to assure him it hadn’t been his fault. That their information had been bad. A trap, in fact. That he, the CO, took full responsibility for it.
But Dan couldn’t deal with it. Despite efforts to change his mind, he resigned from the SEALs, determined to bury himself as an ordinary civilian, with no mention of the military at all. Someplace where, hopefully, he could redeem himself enough that the nightmares would stop.
He had no idea where that place would be, but he knew just the person to ask.
Yes, I’m an Aussie but I’ve always been one to embrace other National holidays, like Independence Day and Bastille Day. I love the idea of people celebrating and acknowledging the history of their country.
Let’s be honest, who doesn’t love an excuse to eat, drink and be merry while surrounded by family and friends. And I’m a sucker for a glorious fireworks display.
I’d love to hear how you’ll be celebrating tomorrow…
While we’re on the topic of celebrating, I’ve had two celebrations of my own recently.
At the end of May, I celebrated fourteen years as a cancer survivor! Woo Hoo!
I had just turned thirty-one when I was diagnosed with breast cancer and at the same time discovered I have BRCA2, a genetic predisposition to Breast and Ovarian cancer. After chemotherapy and reconstructive surgery, I’ve learnt to embrace the positives in life and fourteen years later, I’m still grateful for life’s opportunities.
(I got this tattoo in Vegas in 2013, and I wasn’t drunk!)
Which brings me to my other celebration…
The Athlete
The Athlete – Book 2 in the 5 Shades of Brothers Browne series is available on e-book through Amazon and KU from today. Another Woo Hoo moment!
High school sweethearts √ Second Chance at love √
Sweet and Spicy √ Browne brothers’ banter √
‘Dane was easy. All he wanted, was to play footy.’
Recently, ‘The Great Dane’ Browne has been questioning whether he can return to the elite level of Australian Rules Football and more importantly, whether he wants to.
Katelyn Jennings has never really made peace with the breakup with her high school sweetheart and for good reason. Working as a nurse in the rural town of Kingston Creek, a chance encounter will put her heart and her life through the ultimate test.
They’re about to discover whether you can move on from your first love. And for Dane, it’s about discovering who he really is AWAY from the game.
**While this book forms part of a series, there is enough backstory about the brothers and the first book so this novel can be read on its own. Perfect for those who love the second chance at love trope**
Excerpt from The Athlete by Deb Robinson:
‘Touch me.’ His deep, whispered invitation read her thoughts. ‘Touch any part of me you wish.’ And when his lips pressed hers, she felt them curve. She loved when their lips smiled against each other’s.
Her confidence circled, imploring her fingers to return to his shoulders. Courtesy of her degree in nursing, she knew them as deltoids. She touched the curve of his neck, discovering warm and smooth skin. Those itchy, eager fingers, caressed tender veins before continuing their exploration. Musculus pectoralis, firm and bulging. The minor, triangular muscle lay beneath its major counterpart, both important. As was the…
‘Are you reciting parts of my anatomy?’ The disbelief in his voice had her eyes widening. Her mouth slid open. ‘I heard you say, serratus anterior. If I didn’t interrupt, you’d be reminding yourself of how the subclavius muscle along with the pecs, form the axilla.’
‘I…’ Faltering, she found she was as surprised as he, but for a different reason.
‘Yeah, I know all about the inner workings of the anatomy,’ he confirmed, with a smirk. ‘I took some classes after we broke up.’
She’d forgotten his youthful eagerness to learn all the fundamentals in order to get the best out of his performance on the field. In turn, it was enhancing this off-field performance. As a nurse, she was impressed. As a woman, she was quickly becoming hot and bothered.
Her gaze had not left his, so when his fingers joined hers, she flinched. Those tender fingers urged hers to trail the glorious crests and valleys, low on his torso.
‘Rectus abdominis,’ he muttered against her earlobe. The flirty, sensual tone sent her inner pleasure erupting into a fireworks display.
Her fingers caressed that final, stomach clenching hill before her hands swerved, one left, one right. They tightened their hold, just a little, feeling the strong bone beneath the layers of epidermis. Silence, heat and lust swirled.
‘The hipbones connected to the…’ His attempt at singing had her smiling. It had her own confidence peaking as her fingers dipped brazenly lower.
‘To your jocks,’ she retorted with a sultry whisper, her fingers trailing the hem of dark fabric, ending at the hard wall of muscle just above his pubic bone. His tremble had her grinning before moving her mouth to his ear. ‘That’ll teach you not to tease me, Dane Browne.’
His light laugh was adorable right up until she saw the thick and scolding layer of lust. ‘I think we’ve had enough exploration for one day.’ And beneath that layer was his steely, match day expression. ‘When the day comes, that I get to explore you, you better be ready. Because I intend on leaving no part of your anatomy untouched.’
Writing the Guardian Security series has been and continues to be one of my most rewarding projects. Moving Target, Book 1, has been through several revisions. It was the very first book I wrote but not the first one I published. It changed personality several times before it hit the marketplace.
When I was writing it, everyone in the group of authors I belonged to helped me and gave me advice. One of the things they told me was, “Write about things you know and use familiar areas as settings.”
Moving Target is set in a small Texas town just like the one we lived in at the time and the hero’s house is the house we had built.
I struggled to get that first book finished, mostly because the plot I had just wasn’t working. Then I read Cry No More by Linda Howard. I wrote Moving Target (at that time titled Run for Your Life) in an effort to create a hero like Linda Howard’s Diaz. It was successful and inspired me to create the series.
Silencing Memories, Book 2, was based in part of a plot from an episode of CSI. And the Vanetta ranch is based on one just outside San Antonio, Texas, close to where we lived. Killing Lies, Book 3, came from an idea I got from a friend of mine talking about a friend of hers!
Running Scared, Book 4, came from some articles I read about the illegal use of digital games in the espionage business. And Finding Redemption, Book 5, was born when I read an article about Mexico’s Quintana Roo Jungle. But mostly, I wanted to base a hero on the man who was my son’s closest friend and who died way too soon of a heart attack.
The latest release in the series, Missing Pieces, features Dino Brancuzzi, the best friend of the star of Finding Redemption, who is based on a friend of my son. Many of Ethan Caine’s characteristics showed up in Dino, and I wanted to tell his story. Also, I have a huge fascination with civilian Black Ops stories.
This entire series holds a very special place in my heart, and I hope you will take the journey through all of the books to meet some very interesting characters and go on some exciting adventures.
Here’s a taste of the first five books in the series and then keep reading for Chapter One from Missing Pieces.
Moving Target
They’re trying to kill her, and she doesn’t know why…
Kathryn Holt knows only that she has to get far away as fast as she can. In a frantic, cross-country odyssey, she transforms from pliable Kathryn to feisty, determined Kate Miller, staying one step ahead of the killers on her trail. Then Fate delivers her into the hands of a dark knight with a tortured past. The safety he offers is as tempting as he is.
After having his perfect life ripped apart, recluse Quinn sees protecting Kate as his chance for redemption. He never plans on wanting the guarded beauty, never mind falling for her. Denying the explosive chemistry between them is useless, and as danger closes in, he must fight to expose the killer or risk history repeating itself.
Silencing Memories
Just when architect Alexis Craig thinks she’s gotten her life back on track, the terrible nightmares return, and out of nowhere, a stalker sends note to her office. Photos follow, then emails, and she can’t dismiss the threat any longer. Hiring security seems the logical answer, but there’s nothing logical about her body’s reaction to the sinfully sexy expert bent on keeping her safe.
Guardian Security partner Nick Vanetta believes there’s more behind the situation than a simple fixation, and he wonders if the answer is buried somewhere in her past. As they dig deeper into her family history, the sizzling attraction between them burns hotter and the job becomes much more than playing bodyguard to this headstrong woman. To protect the woman he loves, he must find the stalker…before it’s too late.
Killing Lies
After her husband was killed and she lost her unborn child, Sarah Madison believed she’d never find love and happiness again. Instead, she has channeled all her energy into her job as assistant to the sexy CEO of Guardian Security. When he proposes a marriage of convenience, the chance to become a mother is tempting, and so is her new prospective husband. His only flaw—the distance he keeps between himself and his sweet little daughter.
Reno Sullivan’s life is a mess. His first marriage was based on a lie, and the fiery death of his wife left him to raise a baby—a constant reminder of his wife’s deceit. He desperately needs someone to mother the child and take charge of his personal life, and his no-nonsense assistant is perfect for the job. Unfortunately, the alluring woman in the bedroom next to his chips away at his determination to maintain the hands-off clause in their agreement and the ice around his heart.
A near-tragedy and Reno’s fear of love could kill Sarah’s hopes of turning their fake marriage into happily ever after…
Running Scared
When computer program designer Zoraya “Zoe” Lombardo wakes up next to her business partner’s dead body with a gun in her hand and no memory of what happened, the first thing she does is run. The second thing she does is call the one person she trusts to help her—the man she abandoned two years ago. He’s not as bossy as she remembers, but he’s sexier than ever. She made a mistake not listening to his warnings, and she’s more than willing to kiss and make up…if she can just stay alive long enough.
Zak Delaney, partner in Guardian Security, never expected to hear from his ex-fiancee again. After Zoe left, it took him a long time to put himself back together. Now he must cast aside his hurt and anger in order to protect her. He’ll have to rely on his resources at Guardian Security to clear her name and every ounce of his self-control not to fall for her charms again. But as danger closes in, Zak will have to learn to trust Zoe as much as she trusts him or face losing her again…and this time for good.
Finding Redemption
Lisa Mallory’s marriage from hell ended with her husband’s unsolved murder. Four years later, her eight-year-old son, Jamie, is kidnapped. When every other avenue of finding him fails, she turns to her brother’s best friend. He’s not the man she’d have chosen, but to get her son back, she’ll suffer anything…even the desire he stirs that she’d thought long dead.
Ethan Caine, former Marine/special ops agent, is dealing with his own private hell. All he wants is to be left alone with a bottle of whiskey to drown the guilt of surviving a mission gone wrong. When he finally agrees to go after Jamie, he certainly doesn’t want the boy’s mother slowing him down. Besides, she makes him ache to have her naked and beneath him. Worse, she stirs dreams of the future…something he doesn’t deserve.
Passion explodes between Ethan and Lisa in the exotic Quintana Roo jungle, even as the past and present threaten to steal it all.
Missing Pieces
Ten years ago, Jen LaCroix left Dino Brancuzzi carrying a big secret. Now, her life is in danger and he’s the only man she can trust.
When a valuable shipment disappears from the museum where she works, the finger points to her and the number of dangerous people after her continues to increase. Leaving that secret, Dino’s nine-year-old daughter, Deanne, with Ethan Caine, Jen finds a place to hide in the Caribbean.
Dino is stunned to discover he has a daughter and immediately launches a search to find Jen and protect her. He might have made the biggest mistake by not realizing in time that he loved her all those years ago, but can he forgive her for keeping the child a secret?
Read Chapter One from Missing Pieces
A suburb of Detroit, Michigan
Jennifer LaCroix took a breath in an attempt to still her galloping pulse and get herself under control. What an unbelievable mess this was. And just how had it all ended up in her lap, anyway? It had to be Sutherland, that jerk, pointing his finger in her direction. She’d never liked him or trusted him, not in all the years she’d worked at the museum, and now she had even more reason not to.
Chaos reigned all around her. A shipment of antiquities, the largest yet, was scheduled to arrive at the museum for a special show. They’d be on display for three months, thanks to the owner who’d loaned them, and the entire shipment had somehow disappeared. Craig Sutherland, the museum director, swore he’d never signed for them, but the shipping company driver insisted he had. Meanwhile, they were missing.
In the ten years Jen had worked here, she’d never seen such pandemonium. But of course, a disaster like this had never happened before, either. When the discovery was made three days ago that the latest shipment of artifacts had gone missing, everyone went crazy. Of course, they did. Those artifacts were rare and uber costly. Some even said priceless. Crazy was a mild term for how it had been since then. FBI agents were all over the place, and the museum board was everywhere, scrutinizing everyone and everything. Giving everyone the third degree.
The board was also doing its best to clamp a lid on things, because if the owners of the artifacts heard, there’d be ten kinds of hell to pay. The blowback might even cause the museum to close. The story was all over the media, the board was in an uproar, the staff was in a panic.
Sutherland was sweating bullets, despite his efforts to maintain control. Major donors were involved in the museum, many of them thanks to his efforts. If they all pulled their support, the place would definitely close. No wonder Roger Welborn, the chairman of the board of directors of the museum, was raising holy hell and rightfully so. He was angrier than she’d ever seen him. It was almost as if they’d been stolen from him personally. Thank the lord, at least, he wasn’t here today, throwing his weight around, telling her how the museum was his responsibility and if she knew anything at all, she’d better tell him or get herself a good lawyer.
Sutherland, who was also her immediate boss, still denied any involvement, of course. Said he hadn’t even been at the museum the day the shipment arrived. That it was scheduled for a different day. The driver was now nowhere to be found, and the signature on the receiving form was totally illegible.
And now, here she was, headed yet again for the room the federal agents were using. Why? She’d already told them everything she knew at least five times. Answered their questions a million times. But the damn suits had summoned her for questioning yet again. Summoned! Read the rest of this entry »
As a writer, I’m fascinated by women who use their agency to tell their own stories or stories others need to hear. This is particularly true of formerly enslaved women like Ida B. Wells Barnett, Harriet Jacobs, and Elizabeth Hobbs Keckley. I’d like to share today about Elizabeth.
In 1818, Elizabeth Hobbs Keckley was born into slavery in Virginia. The family that owned her allowed her to learn to read and write. She also learned sewing, the skill that eventually set her up in her own business. While still enslaved, her owners moved her to Missouri in 1846 where she used her sewing talent to raise money for her owners. It was here that she first caught Mary Todd Lincoln’s attention.
Elizabeth’s owners agreed to set her and her son free if she could raise $1,200. By 1855 with the help of vigilance committees, she was able to raise the money. She used her skills as a seamstress to pay back these loans. In 1860, she moved to Washington D.C. and built a dressmaking business thanks to referrals from Varina Davis, the wife of Jefferson Davis. One of Elizabeth’s patrons ordered a dress from her for the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln. This patron recommended her as a dressmaker to Mary Todd Lincoln. The rest as they say is history.
She was an integral part of the Lincoln household and recounts her life with them as part of her memoir, Behind the Scenes: Or Thirty Years A Slave and Four in the White House. However, the work was not as well-received as the narratives of other former slaves. Her recounting was seen as a breach of trust between her and Mary Lincoln. The book had poor sales, and she lost customers because of the controversy it created. The White House Historical Association has a fuller account of her life as a slave and her time in the White House on their website:
She did not let the book’s reception get her down. She defended what she did and continued to help others by teaching other Black women how to sew and founding two organizations to aid other Blacks: the Contraband Relief Association, a relief organization for Blacks freed by Northern troops and had come to Washington D.C. as “contraband of war,” and the National Home for Destitute Colored Women and Children. In 1892 she moved to Ohio to accept the position as head of the Department of Sewing and Domestic Science Arts at Wilberforce University. It is believed she suffered a stroke and returned from there to Washington D.C. where she died in the hospital she helped found. She was eighty-nine years old.
I love learning about women like Elizabeth Keckley, women who used their abilities to make life better for themselves and others. Her life is a witness to perseverance and encourages me to press on at a time when parts of our society seem hell-bent on stripping women of their rights. Share a story of your own about persistence in the comments for a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card.
One Breath Away
Sentenced to hand for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. Never having been courted, cuddled or spooned, Mary now fears any kind of physical intimacy when arousal forces her to relive the asphyxiation of her hanging. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.
Wealthy freeborn-Black Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing a relationship with Mary was foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex.
Then just as Eban begins to win Mary’s trust, an enemy from the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…
An excerpt from One Breath Away…
Home at last, she’d see if meeting Eban meant this night would be good.
Since her ordeal, her sex rivaled the Chihuahuan Desert in dryness. Yet Eban’s gaze had summoned the fragrant flow that even now moistened her core. Could it be her body had finally healed? She swayed, dizzy with expectation.
The squeak of the indoor pump provided no distraction from the lingering tingle where Eban’s fingers had rested against her spine, where his lips had kissed her hand. She focused on her task to temper her excitement.
Fill the bucket. Lift the bucket. Carry the bucket. Empty the bucket. Fill the bucket. Lift the bucket. Carry the bucket. Empty the bucket.
The pans she filled slowly simmered then steamed on her small, pot-bellied stove.
Her heart seized as she fingered the simple gingham curtains covering Harvest Home’s windows. Harvest Home’s humble kitchen contrasted sharply with the trappings that had graced Mary’s Manor, her Weston restaurant expansion.
She’d looked up the word manor and decided her place would imitate that kind of luxury as much as possible. Brocaded drapes and white, linen tablecloths had dressed up the Manor’s supper room. Slipcovers made from the same linen covered the cushioned chairs. White, bone china and delicate silverware completed the picture of elegant dining she hoped to draw.
A Franklin stove, indoor pump, double sink, polished counter tops and spacious storage cupboards made the Manor’s kitchen a dream made true. Nothing lacked for the grand opening. Picturing couples enjoying themselves in her simple but elegant setting had become her favorite pastime.
Then Judah Little and his lies thwarted her plans. Thwarted. A good word. A true word.
“But not for long,” she whispered. “That dream will come true just as this dream might come true tonight.”
As a writer, I love all the characters who’ve shared their stories with me, but the Salvation Pack holds a very special place in my heart.
When I met them a decade ago, I’d planned a five-book series. Nine books later I was done. Or I thought I was. All the original pack members had their stories, along with new members we met along the way. What else was there to write about?
You know what they say about the best-laid plans, right?
I couldn’t stop thinking about the next generation, the kids of the original pack members. And I wasn’t the only person with questions. Readers kept asking me for more, so I dove back into that world and created the Salvation Pack: The Next Generation series.
While there may be more stories to tell in the future, Wolf in the Night is the last one I’ve planned for this series. The original pack is aging. I need to stop while everyone is happy and vibrant and loving life. It’s my happily-ever-after for a wolf pack I’ve loved for almost a dozen years. They’ve brought so much joy to my life.
I’ll be forever grateful to Jacque LaForge, Armand LaForge, Cole Blanchard, Gator Rollins, and Louis LaForge for changing my life forever.
I hope you enjoy Wolf in the Nightas much as I do.
Wolf in the Night
Salvation Pack: The Next Generation, Book 5
Driving home from a trip, Emma Matheson is run off the road in an abduction attempt. Seems the alpha of her father’s former pack never forgave his defection. To settle the old score, he plans to force her to mate with a male of his choosing—his son, Dmitri.
Dmitri Gribkov wants no part of his father’s revenge. A loner by choice, nothing has prepared him for sexy, stubborn Emma. He’ll do whatever it takes to protect her—even if it means losing her.
Determined to control her destiny, she does her best to escape, even as the attraction between her and Dmitri sizzles. Doesn’t take long for her to realize this huge, sexy wolf is a protector at heart.
Tracking and killing are what he does best. Before this is over, he’ll have blood on his hands, but winning her love will be the hardest battle.
From Wolf in the Night…
Fear had a taste, something she’d never realized until tonight. It was metallic and nasty. Her shirt, damp with sweat, clung to her torso. Some of her hair had escaped her braid and fell into her eyes.
She’d thought she was going to die.
Her throat throbbed. Her ribs ached. And tears filled her eyes.
Not yet. She couldn’t break down until she was safe. She sucked air into her starving lungs, unable to remember ever being so winded. Exhaustion, along with an adrenaline dump, was making it difficult for her body to heal.
It was the first time in her life anyone had intentionally tried to harm her. Growing up with an overprotective father and overprotective siblings, she’d lived a charmed existence, filled with love and acceptance.
None of it had prepared her for this … hatred. Ivan despised her, had enjoyed hurting her. Now he was gone, driven away by this mountain of a male.
She blinked several times, but he didn’t disappear, wasn’t a figment of her oxygen-deprived brain. The wolves of her pack were the deadliest she’d ever known. This one, the one Ivan had called Dmitri, might be the most dangerous she’d ever met.
Shaggy black hair fell around massive shoulders. The lower half of his face was covered by a thick beard. His eyes were the same color as the dark amber honey she used to sweeten her tea. Every muscle was sculpted and rippled when he moved. There wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him anywhere.
N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, assassins, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.
Want a peek inside the book coming out on June 21st? It’s part of the Athena Project series, which includes these books written by the fabulous Desiree Holt, Reina Torres, Jen Talty, and Regan Black inside Elle James’s Brotherhood Protectors World!
(And yeah, I know the picture says June 28, but it’s the 21st!)
Victoria’s Six
Read an excerpt!
A hard shoulder butted against her belly, taking away her breath. Not that her adversary today had given her the full might of his movement. Still, he managed to fold her over that said hard shoulder as he straightened and swept her off her feet. As she sailed behind him, she forced herself to go with it instead of tensing in anticipation, tucking in her chin before landing. Her surrender to the move lessened the impact when her back slapped the mat.
Dragging in a deep breath, Victoria Cross gave her sparring partner a stern glare. “You could’ve warned me we were starting again.”
He arched an eyebrow.
Yeah, that had been the point. He’d wanted to surprise her and check out her moves. He’d already made his opinion of her fitness for close-in, hand-to-hand combat measures perfectly clear. If they ever faced that sort of attack, she was to let him lead. Step behind him. Let his superior size and strength take the lead. Always.
Logically, she could see the sense of it. He was an ex-SEAL, built big and tall, not an ounce of lazy flab on his muscular frame. At thirty-seven, he was still in his prime. Battle-hardened.
And dear Lord was he hard.
Shoving that thought aside, she accepted the hand he offered her and let him pull her up in front of him. “You were holding back,” she said, frowning. Something that irritated the shit out of her because it was becoming a pattern. One she was trying to break because he needed to learn to trust in her skills and abilities.
“I used an appropriate amount of force,” he said, one corner of his mouth kicking up.
That half-smile and the deliberate deepening of his southern drawl had her seeing red—he was patronizing “the little woman.” She shot out both hands, slamming them against his chest while at the same time sweeping out a foot to catch him behind the ankles.
He didn’t budge.
She’d used the same move when sparring with her last partner and had planted his butt on the mat numerous times.
Logan Tackett sighed, gripped one of her arms, and turned her, folding her into his embrace so tightly she couldn’t use her elbows to strike his gut. Further, he quickly kicked out and hooked a leg around her ankles, preventing her from stomping on his foot. He had her completely trapped and under his control.
His head lowered, and he spoke into her ear. “You done?”
Seeing as they’d already spent an hour beating punching bags and each other, she relaxed, glad none of her friends were there to see her so overmatched. They’d have laughed themselves silly. “You can let me go now.”
“You sure?” he asked, his breath stirring the hair sticking to her cheek that had come loose from her ponytail.
“We have a meeting with Jake Cogburn in the conference room,” she reminded him while gritting her teeth.
His leg released hers. His arms fell away. When he stepped back from her, she felt a stirring of cool air against her sweaty back and strangely missed his warmth. “I’m heading to the shower,” she said. “See you at the meeting.” Then she quickly moved away, trying to leave behind some conflicting feelings—irritation with herself for not meeting the moment because she’d been working hard to earn his respect and disappointment that he’d let her go.
That last realization had her shaking her head. Logan was her partner. She’d never go there. Besides, she’d noted that he tended to have some old-fashioned views about a woman’s place in this organization. He’d have been fine with her if she kept to her lane—something she’d never accept.
This month on May 26th, my mother turned 92. As I thought about an African-American woman I wanted to honor in my post this month, Catherine Louise Williams Taylor Phillips came to my mind.
Lately, I’ve been asking her questions from a book/journal called My Mother’s Life: Mom I Want To Know Everything About You. I speak to her every morning and after our check-in ritual, I ask her if she’s ready for the question of the day. She says yes, answers what she can recall then shares anecdotes that have nothing to do with the question. That’s my momma.
I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the turn of the 20th-centuryth century song “M-O-T-H- E- R (M Is For The Million Things She Gave Me).” Here’s a vintage recording if you want to give a listen. It’s a schmaltzy ditty that touches my heart because of the mother I was fortunate to have. So today, I want to celebrate a few of the million things my mother gave me.
My mom was born on May 26, 1930 and was sent to live down South with her grandmother when she was a few months old. She shared with me that she didn’t even know there was a depression and regales me with stories of being the spoiled red-haired fox her uncles chided and chastised.
When Alex Haley’s Roots was televised, she wondered what the big deal was then proceeded to tell me about the Pitt family that owned her grandparents. When I let her know I’d decided to pursue a Masters degree two years after graduating from college and having worked in the big bad world of advertising, it was only then she shared that she had been hoping I would go back to school. She even declared, “Why who knows? You may want to go on and get a PhD.” That was the first time I realized my mother wished things for me, but by her restraint showed she respected that what I wanted when and if I wanted it was what was important.
In things small and large, she made it plain—not only to me but to my sister as well—that we were to be who we wanted to be. We weren’t put on this earth to live up to anyone’s expectations. She recalled a time my sister came to her with a picture she had drawn and said, “I couldn’t do it as good as Anna.” To which my mother assured her she wasn’t supposed to do it as good as Anna. She was supposed to do it as good as Muriel. When I felt unconfident or about to settle for less than what I was worth, I recalled her telling me with great vehemence, “You can scrub toilets before you kiss anybody’s ass.” She doesn’t remember saying this but I do, and I will always be grateful for the confidence those words instilled.
As a minister, I’ve helped families in which the relationship between mothers, daughters and sons was strained and far from loving. They can’t sing without reservation as I can the last line of the song I shared above but thanks to the love I have from my mom, I’ve found ways to help honor their struggles and woes.
The last line of M-O-T-H-E-R goes, “Put them all together they spell MOTHER. A word that means the world to me.” I will forever be grateful to my mother who means the world to me. For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share in the comments about someone who was a mother to you or perhaps you have mothered.
HauntedSerenade – by Anna M. Taylor
All the women in Anora Madison’s family have lived haunted by the curse of Poor Butterfly: women still longing for but deserted by the men they loved. Determined to be the first to escape a life of abandonment, Anora fled Harlem for Brooklyn, not only severing her ties with her mother Angela, but also ending her relationship with Winston Emerson, her lover and the father of her child.
Six years later, Anora comes home to make peace, but an unseen evil manifests itself during the homecoming and targets not only Anora, but her little girl Cammie.
With nowhere to run, Anora must confront the evil now trying to destroy her life. She vows to protect her daughter at all costs, but if that protection can only be found with Winston back in her life, how will Anora protect her heart?
Excerpt from Haunted Serenade…
In September 15, 1963, the one year anniversary of my aunt Diana’s death, four young girls in Birmingham, Alabama died when their church was bombed for its involvement in the Civil Rights movement.
My mother called that evening and inquired after my health and the health of my daughter Cammie – the granddaughter she vowed never to acknowledge.
Fear, anger and sorrow sounded in her voice. Mine too. We mourned those girls, their families and the sister/aunt we both loved. In that spoken grief, I silently mourned what had died between my mother and me.
The following month she called again, this time inviting me to bring Cammie to dinner. Like some sulky child, I felt tempted to ask what took her so long. Instead, I swallowed my hurt and came home.
