Hi Delilah Fans! Have you ever had one of those dreams where you feel like you’re so awake that when you wake up, you still think all that really happened?

That’s where this story came from. I can still see the man, still remember the magical touch of his skin. So I’m sharing it with you in hopes you can help me out. That’s because I don’t know how the story ends!

He wasn’t my type. I went for the slightly shorter, less sinewy man whereas this guy loomed several inches taller with an almost lanky frame. My tastes had ranged from blond and blue-eyed to dark and dangerous. I’d never given much consideration to men with light brown hair and eyes that were—what, amber? I stole another glance.

Damn. He noticed my brief examination. One of his eyebrows rose slightly, asking. I quickly looked down and broke out in a little sweat. Damn damn damn.

I told myself no. A chorus of reasons shouted in my head—that I didn’t know him, that we were standing in a hotel hallway waiting for an elevator. Anyone could walk up. Additional major point: accosting a stranger simply wasn’t something I would do.

The handle of my heavy briefcase itched against my sweaty palm. I could assign this momentary insanity to fatigue. Like all such conferences, this one had turned into a three-day blur of classes on everything from specialty cost coding and catastrophe adjustment to the latest on defining a collapse under a property insurance policy. But I was ready for home, a long hot soak in my tub and a mindless couch session with a bottle of wine and my cat Winston.

My body responded to his attention. There was this urge, whatever recess of hell it sprang from, that caused my thighs to clench. I licked my lips, hoping my libido would tuck its tail and slink away. Maybe if I gave myself a few more minutes and a couple of deep breaths…

Nope. Not working. Jesus, how did anyone exude such sensuality?

I couldn’t avoid another furtive glance. His lips fascinated me, halfway between full and thin, sensual with a little flare at the bow and curling upwards at the corners. Tan and weathered, his skin stretched over prominent cheekbones and a bold jaw. And his neck, which happened to be directly in my line of vision—its intriguing cords and hollows disappeared into the open throat of his white shirt.

Oh, I could almost taste the salt on his skin. Feel the pulse in his throat against my lips.

I had seen him around the hotel, once passing along the corridor when I arrived for the first day of the conference, another time on the other side of the cocktail lounge where I hid at a dark corner table and sipped my wine. He’d been alone there, and I fantasized that he would appear at my table. I would allow him to join me and we would sit smiling in the dim light to pursue witty conversation with just enough innuendo. I refused to imagine what would happen afterwards, but I dreamed about him that night and woke up wet.

What the hell was wrong with me? I’d been around. Mild wear and tear, enough to consider any potential hook-up through slightly jaded eyes. No big hope left that some special ‘one’ lurked out there for me.

Now this? I wanted to slap myself for being ridiculous.

But, damn it, here I was at the elevator feeling as if my body had disconnected from my brain and would do what it pleased no matter what I thought.

Maybe it was that we were both leaving and I’d never see him again. Really, it wasn’t a choice I made. I was standing there with my briefcase gripped in my hand and a garment bag slung over my arm, my other hand seized on the handle of my wheeled travel case. Hands sweating. Knees trembling. Wanting a stranger so much I was about to embarrass myself in public.

The elevator was taking forever. He was standing a couple of feet away, looking up to watch the elevator numbers frozen on floor twelve. He too had a garment bag over one arm and his travel case handle in his other hand, looking so incredibly fabulous in that simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up those tan forearms and in khaki slacks that looked a little wrinkled. I even checked out his shoes, Sixties style cordovan loafers, winey brown color, well-polished and clearly loved.

I could almost hear the switch flip in my head. Brain turned off. Instinct taking over.

I turned into him holding my gear on either side of me. He accommodated me by holding his luggage away from his body. With only a brief glance up at his face, I registered on his amusement, his welcome. As if we had known each other forever and this was going home.

I nestled my full length against him and brushed my lips against his neck, and oh god he felt good. At every point of contact, which actually was the entire front of me, he felt good. The strength of his thighs, the solid press of his loins, his hard chest—right there against me, holding his own, not backing away. And his neck—Jesus Christ, this was chocolate and musky wine and that skin, that soft velvet flesh that had served its time in the sun, warm and strong and scented with a heavenly fragrance of aftershave and soap and him.

My lips savored him in that brief moment, brushing along the column of his neck as if he was my last sip of water in a desert. In those few seconds—minutes?—that I stood there pressed against him, I had no sense of shame, no regret, no worry, no question. My mind stood still. I wanted never to move.

Millennia existed between us, former lives, lost memories. A tremor passed through him. Or maybe it was me. Nights we would hold each other. The touch of his lips against mine. Joys and agonies, the raw force of life energy surging through us.

All that could ever be existed in that moment, in us. Children. Stormy nights wrapped in his arms, soup bubbling on the stove. Old age bestowed gently as we held hands.

And then it ended. I don’t know how it ended. Maybe it was the elevator. A musical ‘ding.’ We moved apart. On the way down, I fought to overcome the searing embarrassment of what I’d done. One minute I was in full body contact with a man I didn’t know, oblivious to anything but him, and the next minute we were on opposite sides of the elevator with a crowd of people between us including two kids and a dog.

The elevator reached the lobby. People filed out and I didn’t dare look up. Mildly heartbroken, I started toward the door to hail a taxi.

He was standing there in the lobby, waiting for me as if we’d made a plan, a promise. My heart lunged against my ribs. Had we? Could it be that simple?         (to be continued?)

~~~

Dear Reader, is there more to this story? Do they say a few words then walk away? Do they ride together to the airport then wait for their flights in a quiet booth at the nearest cafe?

What would you do? Send me your idea at ashworthlizzie@gmail.com. I’ll post all replies in my next newsletter.

~~~

Lizzie Ashworth lives in the wilds of the Ozark Mountains with three cats, two hound dogs, and too many deer in her yard. She’s been writing her entire life and wants her readers to know how much she enjoys sharing her naughty stories.

Sign up for Liz’s free monthly e-newsletter. Liz’s Hot News – Free monthly newsletter with excerpts, freebies, pre-release deals, and much more. Sign up at http://eepurl.com/bHOyS9

Follow Liz for free erotic short works, hot photos, and the occasional rant on her blog at http://lizzieashworth.com/

Like Liz’s Facebook author page for updates on other nice and naughty works https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLizzieAshworth/

UPDATE: The winner is…Toni Whitmire!

* * * * *

I like to read books that make me smile and those about family. I’ve written mysteries and romance and, in this new series, chose to combine them. I realized it would be fun to have two main characters and make them identical twins. One would dread sex because of her sole previous marriage. The other would love sex and have three exes who still want her and shower her with finery. But she’s still trying to find that elusive soul mate. Who just happens to be the man who will take her sister’s breath away and make her feel things she’d thought impossible.

My oldest daughter is a wonderful special ed teacher who loves her challenged students; so do I. That’s why I made the sister who didn’t want romance again have a handicap: she’s dyslexic, which causes her problems. She also has a neurosis that she’s struggling to overcome.

Because I adore older people, I gave the sisters a sweet, spry mother who lives in a retirement home in bayou country, where they and I happily reside. Mom’s cadre of buddies love to give her twin daughters advice about romance. Things they hear from other (or make up to pass the time) might help or hinder trouble the twins when murder comes around and aims at one of them.

Who can they believe? Who can they trust? Is love real—or is the man who seems perfect a killer?

I hope you enjoy their story!

Amazon | Nook

I stood in a rear pew as a petite woman in red stepped into the church carrying an urn and stumbled. She fell forward. Her urn bounced. Its top popped open, and ashes flew. A man’s remains were escaping.

“Oh no!” people cried.

“Jingle bells,” I hummed and tried to control my disorder but could not. Words from the song spewed from my mouth.

“Not now,” my twin Eve said at my ear while ashes sprinkled around us like falling gray snow. She pointed to my jacket’s sleeve and open pocket. “Uh-oh. Parts of him fell in there.”

I saw a few drops like dust on the sleeve and jerked my pocket wider open. Powdery bits lay across the tissue I’d blotted my beige lipstick with right before coming inside St. Gertrude’s. “I think that’s tissue residue,” I said, wanting to convince myself. I grabbed the pocket to turn it inside out.

“Don’t dump that.” Eve shoved on my pocket. “It might be his leg. Or bits of his private parts.”

“Here Comes Santa Claus,” I sang.

She slapped a hand over my mouth. “Hush, Sunny.”

The dead man’s wife shoved up from her stomach to her knees, head spinning toward me like whiplash.

CONTEST

What’s your favorite Cajun food or food from the South? (Mine is boiled crayfish. You’d better get out of my way if there’s only one of them left.)  One winner will be chosen at random and receive your choice of Delilah’s e-books. Get your stomachs thinking!

UPDATE: The winner is…Debra G!

* * * * *

As always, I want to start by thanking Delilah for letting me come hang out here with you all.  It’s always a lot of fun to play here.

It’s a shiny new season, which makes people sometimes want a fresh start in different areas, maybe something big like a job, or a new home, or smaller like a hobby, or just cleaning out a closet—my mom and grandma always did huge, empty-all-the-cupboards spring and fall cleaning every single year, and I never understood it; after all, who cleans things that are already clean.  But sometimes that fresh start isn’t by choice.  Maybe an employer has to down-size, or, worse, close.  Maybe a family member far away needs a caregiver and there isn’t anyone else willing.   Lots of us have experienced some of these fresh starts, by choice or by necessity.  It’s part of life.

Spring seems like a good time to get some of the by-choice fresh starts underway.  Mini-house cleaning (the windows always need a good scrub after winter, right?), or getting rid of old clothes we no longer wear to make room for a few new pieces.  Culling a collection that doesn’t mean as much now as it did when we started it.  Those are reasonable, I think.  Some of us set bigger goals—redoing a room, or planning a vacation.

I’ve seen a lot of (and written some) books that start with one of the main characters undertaking a fresh start in their life, some voluntarily and others not, that sets them on a collision course with something they never planned for, sometimes something that turns their fresh start upside-down so they wind up with yet another fresh start.  It’s one of the things that keep us reading, I think, watching how they adjust to the unplanned roadblocks that pop up and make the characters rethink what they thought they knew or wanted.

One of the things I’m starting over this year is my publishing plan–my publisher closed their doors a couple of months ago, so a whole lot of authors had to add some major tasks to their to-do lists for the year.  I’m still trying to rework my writing goals for the year while I figure out what to do with Hunting Medusa and the other two unpublished books in the trilogy.  I have a lot of (scary!) options on my plate so have been doing research to whittle down that list and make the best choice I can for my books.

In the manuscript I’m rewriting now, the heroine has chosen to make a fresh start—she’s accepted a new job in a state where she doesn’t know a single person.  But she has a few months to wrap things up before she goes—sell the house where she grew up, find a place to stay in the new state, get in as much time with her BFF as she can.  Romance is definitely not on the list for now, but when her BFF’s older brother sets his sights on her, what can she do?  She’s had a crush on him since they were kids, but he never really saw her…until now.  It’s sure going to make that fresh start a lot more difficult, though, when she has to leave.

What are some of your favorite ‘fresh start’ stories?  I have a signed copy of Hunting Medusa to give away–everyone (US residents over 18) who comments will be entered into a drawing via RandomResult.com. 

About the Author

Elizabeth Andrews has been a book lover since she was old enough to read. She read her copies of Little Women and the Little House series so many times, the books fell apart. As an adult, her book habit continues. She has a room overflowing with her literary collection right now, and still more spreading into other rooms.  Almost as long as she’s been reading great stories, she’s been attempting to write her own.  Thanks to a fifth grade teacher who started the class on creative writing, Elizabeth went from writing creative sentences to short stories and eventually full-length novels. Her father saved her poor, callused fingers from permanent damage when he brought home a used typewriter for her.

Elizabeth found her mother’s stash of romance novels as a teenager, and—though she loves horror—romance became her very favorite genre, making writing romances a natural progression. There are more than just a few manuscripts, however, tucked away in a filing cabinet that will never see the light of day.

Along with her enormous book stash, Elizabeth lives with her husband of more than twenty years and two young adult sons, though no one else in the house reads nearly as much as she does. When she’s not at work or buried in books or writing, there is a garden outside full of herbs, flowers and vegetables that requires occasional attention.

Hunting Medusa

The Medusa Trilogy, Book 1

When Kallan Tassos tracks down the current Medusa, he expects to find a monster. Instead he finds a wary, beautiful woman, shielded by a complicated web of spells that foils his plans for a quick kill and retrieval of her protective amulet.

Andrea Rosakis expects the handsome Harvester to go for the kill. Instead, his attempt to take the amulet imprinted on her skin without harming her takes her completely by surprise. And ends with the two of them in a magical bind—together. But Kallan isn’t the only Harvester on Andi’s trail…

Check it out here!

Today, let’s take a moment and introduce you to an author you’ve probably never heard of:  Grace Risata…  (In the interest of honesty, I interviewed myself for Delilah’s blog…yes, I usually talk to myself, so I figured why not go full on ‘crazy’ and do a complete interview!)

ME:  Hello.  How are you today?

Myself:  I’m fine!  Thanks for having me.  What would you like to know?

ME:  Tell the readers of Delilah’s blog a little bit about yourself.  All they know so far is that you’re a little strange.

Myself:  I prefer the term ‘eccentric’ because it sounds a little bit more sophisticated.  Well, I’m a new author who published three books in 2016 and I’m actually publishing my newest release, “My Dirty Vacation” in a few weeks.

ME:  Sounds good.  What kind of books do you write?

Myself:  I specialize in contemporary romance, heavy on the comedy aspect and VERY heavy on the steam.  I like realistic situations so the reader can envision herself as the main character.  I love alpha males, sexy bedroom scenes (I have a tendency to involve food in some of my intimate scenarios), and lots of humor.  You will ALWAYS find a Happily Ever After in my full length novels.

ME:  What don’t you like in books?

Myself:  I hate cheating, love triangles, secret billionaires, and heroines who make poor choices.

ME:  Why don’t you tell us about one of your books, please.

Myself: I’d be happy to!  My best-selling book is called MOWED.  It’s a very steamy humorous erotic romance.  Here is the synopsis:

Curvy girl Pepper is accustomed to flying under everyone’s radar. Being a big girl hasn’t led to many dates or exciting adventures. All of that was about to change.

Through the small-town rumor mill, Pepper learns her old teenage crush just moved back to town. Jason was the star quarterback, prom king, and also Pepper’s neighbor from across the street.

One day he sees Pepper out mowing the lawn and makes her an offer of no-strings attached, no-holds barred sex that has the potential to benefit them both.

Nothing quite turns out the way either of them thought it would.

Click to look inside and find out what happens when the simple act of mowing the lawn turns into so much more…

WARNING: This story contains a plentiful amount of graphic sex scenes (over EIGHT of them…yes, I counted…including ones involving Barbeque Sauce, Pirates, Ice Cubes, and Handcuffs). They are all M/F and absolutely consensual. If you’re looking for a sick, twisted, dark tale – please go elsewhere, you will NOT find it here. All my stories come with a guarantee that you will crack a smile, find a happily-ever-after ending, and never have to deal with an annoying cliffhanger. There’s also no cheating, no love triangles, no unicorns, and no murder. 

If I’ve grabbed your attention, I would like to let you know that it’s on sale for only 99 cents on Amazon.  Here’s the link: https://www.amazon.com/Mowed-Erotic-Beautiful-Comedy-Romance-ebook/dp/B01M1FJ7IL

ME:  Thanks for being here, Grace, and good luck with your writing career.  One last thing…where can we find you online?  Got any social media links?

Myself:  Yes, I do.  Thanks for asking!  You can “follow” my blog (The icon in the right corner of the website) and get exclusive access to new releases and Advanced Reader Copies.  I also post random tidbits about what’s going on in my life.  You’ll find posts about recipes gone wrong, product tests gone wrong, and vacations gone wrong.  Yes, I’m a magnet for a trouble.  However, it sure makes for entertaining stories!

Grace Risata
Website https://gracerisata.wordpress.com/
Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/Grace-Risata/e/B01AUXMZAO
Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14888691.Grace_Risata
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/Grace-Risata-1692337781051007/

Thank you for joining me today and, as a parting gift, I’d like to invite you download a free story on Smashwords or Instafreebie.  Here are the links to “Unicornia” https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/625171   and “My Dirty Bet” https://instafreebie.com/free/lFQoA. 

Enjoy!  I’d also like to give a giant “THANK YOU!” to Delilah Devlin for having me.

The book is free!
Griff Montgomery, Quarterback

He wants to find a wife. She doesn’t want to marry again –ever. Not exactly a match made in heaven. Or are they? Ten years ago, Griff Montgomery, star quarterback of the Kings and womanizer, became a stand-in father for his widowed sister’s kids. His happy family life collapsed when she and her new husband moved to California.  Griff wants his own family. But where does a “player” go to find his ideal mate?

Having sworn off marriage forever, Lauren Farraday barely kept her life together after her divorce. With her career shaky and depression closing in, the last thing she needed was a courtroom battle with a sexy athlete.

Forced, by a judge, into an uneasy truce, the pair denied their growing chemistry. Wary of Griff’s reputation with women, and hiding a secret, Lauren keeps him at arm’s length. Determined, Griff  marches toward his goal. Can the quarterback handle the truth or will he walk away, like he always has in the past?

AMAZON
http://www.amazon.com/Griff-Montgomery-Quarterback-First-Book-ebook/dp/B014RQ9RXI/

BARNES & NOBLE
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/griff-montgomery-quarterback-jean-joachim/1121169106?ean=2940152284850

KOBO
https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/griff-montgomery-quarterback-2

ITUNESAPPLE BOOKS
https://itunes/.apple.com/us/book/id1037359895

GOOGLE PLAY
https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Jean_Joachim_Griff_Montgomery_Quarterback?id=Ui5lCwAAQBAJ

AMAZON U.K.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Griff-Montgomery-Quarterback-First-Book-ebook/dp/B014RQ9RXI/

SMASHWORDS
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/575684

AMAZON CANADA
https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B014RQ9RXI

AMAZON AUSTRALIA
https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B014RQ9RXI​

Jean Joachim, multi-published author
First & Ten series (football romance)
Contemporary & military romances
Romantic suspense & sweet romance
Website: www.jeanjoachimbooks.com

I’ve been publishing romance and erotica for more than fifteen years, but I’ve never had anything like a “best seller”. I shouldn’t complain—I have loyal readers and receive lots of five star reviews—but commercial success has eluded me.

I’m not alone. The majority of my author peers are in the same boat. We slave away at our computers, pouring our passions onto the page. We devote scarce cash and scarcer time to the uncomfortable task of blowing our own horns. We blog, tweet, facebook (is that a verb?), run tours and giveaways, make guest appearances (like this one), all in the hope that readers will notice us and buy our books.

Sometimes it feels like a pretty thankless effort. I’m willing to bet that most of my colleagues have fantasized about being the next FSOG. TV appearances. Movie deals. Parties with the elite. And of course cash, lots of cash, enough to pay the bills with plenty left over for luxuries. I’m certainly guilty of this sort of day dreaming. It’s a heady vision.

Rationality returns after a few minutes. I’d never want to give up my day job. If I were famous, I’d probably be forced to. Plus, given the heat level in my work, I’m not sure I want the whole world to know who I really am. Best selling authors have to be seen, and there’s some comfort in being invisible.

Still, fame and fortune sparkle, seemingly just out of reach, whenever I release a new book. And I can’t help wonder what it would be like if those fantasies came true.

Those imaginings were the genesis of my new BDSM erotic romance, Damned If You Do. My heroine writes fabulously kinky romance novels, but for the most part labors in obscurity. Then one afternoon, a mysterious stranger offers her the success of which she dreams.

He keeps his part of the bargain. As her sales soar and her star rises, though, she discovers the down side of getting what you thought was your heart’s desire.

Here’s the blurb and an exclusive excerpt for you to enjoy.

Sometimes romance can be hell

Wendy Dennison is tired of being a starving author. The royalties from her critically acclaimed romance novels barely pay her bills. Her devoted agent Daniel Rochester may be smart and sexy, but he can’t get her the sales she needs. Then a charismatic stranger appears at her coffee shop table, promising her fame and commercial success, as well as the chance to live out her dreams of erotic submission. But at what cost?

Nothing you can’t afford to lose, my dear.

Seduced by the enigmatic Mister B, she signs his infernal contract. He becomes both her Master and her coach, managing her suddenly flourishing career as well as encouraging her lusts. Under her mentor’s nefarious influence, she surrenders to temptation and has sex with Daniel. The casual encounter turns serious when she discovers her mild mannered agent has a dominant side. As the clock ticks down to her blockbuster release and Mister B prepares to claim her soul, Wendy must choose either celebrity and wealth, or obscurity and true love.

Exclusive Excerpt (Rated R)

“Gwen, my dear! What are you doing out here?”

Mister B didn’t come from inside. She would have heard the party noise as he opened the door. He simply appeared beside her, as he had that first day in the coffee shop.

He wore a tuxedo with a purple brocade cummerbund, and shiny black shoes with pointed toes. His tourmaline eyes gleamed in the semi-darkness. When he strode closer to settle an arm around her shoulders, his movements had a taut, ferocious energy, like the tread of a panther. Despite her tiredness, arousal flickered through her, curling into a glowing knot in her pelvis.

“Too many people in there,” she replied, extricating herself from his companionable embrace. “And I’ve drunk too much as well. I wish I were at home, away from all this.”

“I’m afraid I can’t grant you that wish, not tonight. We have business to attend to—as I’m quite certain you recall.” His chuckle sent a chill down her spine. “You wanted fame, my dear. This sort of public performance is part of the price. However, I should think you’d find some consolation in your bank balance.”

He stepped behind her, slipped his arms around her waist, and pulled her buttocks toward his lean hips. He was hard. He was always hard. Wendy cursed her traitorous body as excitement flooded her pussy. She was like Pavlov’s dog, salivating in response to a meaningless stimulus.

He rubbed his erection against her satin-sheathed buttocks. She struggled not to squirm. Honestly, she didn’t want to encourage him. But then, what she wanted hardly mattered.

“So tonight…you’re going to take my soul?” she murmured as he sucked and nipped at the tender skin of her neck, just above his diamond-studded gift.

“Don’t think about that part, my sweet. Focus on the pleasure.”  One of his hands crept up to cradle her breast. The other raised her skirt.  He hooked the elastic of her lacy panties and dragged them down to bare her rear cheeks.

“No, don’t…” She struggled in his clutches as he exposed her. “Please, not here!” A finger slid down her rear crevice and tickled her sphincter. “No—wait…!”

“I’m going to consummate our agreement in the most appropriate manner, my dear. With my cock splitting your tight ass.”

“No!” Somehow she found the strength to wrench herself from his grip. She backed away, into the corner where the rail made a right angle. “Get away from me!”

Mister B put his hands on his hips and shook his head, his expression one of wounded disbelief. “I’m surprised at you. After all we’ve been through together, you reject me? Do you really want to give it all up? The adoring fans? The five star reviews? The fat advances and the hefty royalties?”

“Um…no, no, that’s not what I’m saying…”  Panic swept through her. To lose everything she’d worked for?  Unthinkable.

~~~

Get your own copy of Damned If You Do at your favorite bookseller:

Amazon US:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0727RZ39B/
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0727RZ39B/
Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/damned-if-you-do-lisabet-sarai/1126292735?ean=2940157395711Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/damned-if-you-do-10
Excessica: https://goo.gl/dZN3dr
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35009284-damned-if-you-do

And leave a comment on this blog, with your email, for a chance at one of three $10 gift certificates or three copies of my five star BDSM romance The Gazillionaire and the Virgin. For more ways to win, check out my release day post, here:
http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2017/04/out-today-damned-if-you-do-bdsm-pnr.html

About Me

LISABET SARAI occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website, along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance , she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.

Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Thank you so much for having me today, Delilah! I often have other authors send their characters to my couch for interviews, so I decided to do one today for Edward Bailey, the hero of Eros Element, the novel that I’m re-releasing today. It was originally published by Samhain Publishing in 2015. I’ve often wanted to sit and talk to Edward, or try to, so I decided to write a vignette rather than doing an interview.

Let’s pretend it’s 1870 in the alternate Aether Psychics universe, and I’m in a little university town in England. Across the pond the Civil War has raged on for almost ten years, and coal supplies are running short. Several scientists have unsuccessfully attempted to harness the power of the mysterious substance aether.

I’ve just made tea and am about to sit down with the latest journal to see what those crazy neuroticists – doctors who study and treat those with disorders of the mind – in Vienna have been up to when I hear a commotion in the waiting room.

“But he doesn’t have an appointment,” my office manager says, “and the doctor is busy.”

“It doesn’t matter, this is an emergency,” says a male voice. A deep, resonant male voice I recognize as belonging to Johann Bledsoe, the concertmaster for our town’s orchestra. His confidence – and the escapades it leads him into – are legendary, so I wonder what he could want with a neuroticist.

I hear another male voice, this one more of a tenor, “That’s all right, Johann. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Bledsoe argues, “You’re about to head on an expedition to god knows where, and you still time your water closet trips to the minute – I apologize, Miss. You know that’s not going to work.”

Intrigued, I emerge. “I’ll see the young man.” They both turn to me. The one in question matches Bledsoe in height, although his build is more slender, and he has the beginnings of the shoulder slump seen in academics. His dark hair contrasts with Bledsoe’s blond locks, and his face is more narrow, although his eyes look familiar. Ah, the cornflower blue eyes the Bailey family is known for. This must be Edward, the brilliant younger brother of the Duke.

“Hello,” I say. “I’m Doctor Dominic. What can I do for you?”

“Oh,” Bledsoe says. “I’d heard Doctor Dominic was a man.” I can see the hesitation at my appearance warring with the concern for his friend in his eyes.

“You may be thinking of my father.” And then I try a gamble to see if I can engage Professor Bailey. “He is a scientist of some renown. People often assume it’s he when they hear the professional title.”

“Right,” Bledsoe says. He’s gripping Professor Bailey’s arm. “Come, Edward, let’s go talk to the nice doctor.”

They follow me to my office and both sit on the couch once I settle in my chair. Bledsoe leans back, one ankle across the other knee, and the professor sits rigidly.

I fold my hands in my lap. “Tell me what brings you here today.”

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Professor Bailey says. “I haven’t had any problems since seven years ago, when I decided to order my life according to scientific principles.”

“Can you give me an example?” I ask, hoping he won’t tell me about bathroom habits.

“Yes, I can.” He jerks his head at his friend as if to say, so there. “I keep a strict schedule. I eat the same things at the same time every day, and, well, it works.”

“I see. And your routine is about to be disrupted.”

“Yes,” Bledsoe says, leaning out of his relaxed posture. “We’re going on an expedition. I can’t tell you any more details, but Professor Bailey’s preferences will not be accommodated.”

“What prompted you to adopt these principles to your life?” I ask the professor.

He turns to his friend with a sigh. “Do I really have to go through this?”

“Yes, if you want to prove to her you’re as sane as you claim.”

“Fine,” the professor huffs. “A woman mistook me for my brother, and when she found out I’m the spare, not the heir, she dumped me.”

“Do you still have feelings for this woman?”

“No. But the incident demonstrated how people are messy and unpredictable, so I make the rest of my life neat and orderly.”

Obviously this is the only time I’ll see him, so I dispense some advice, although I typically prefer to wait until later sessions to do so.

“But as you’ve seen, life isn’t always going to cooperate with your efforts to make it orderly. I would recommend you face what you fear the most. And if that’s having your heart broken, then you may want to start with talking to women.”

I suspect he won’t have much of a chance to do so on an expedition, but his friend claps him on the back.

“Oh, this will be perfect, Edward. You can chat up that nice archaeologist Iris McTavish.”

I raise my eyebrows at the notion of a female archaeologist and mentally applaud her accomplishment at breaking through the male barriers of academia.

The professor stands. “You’re both being ridiculous. She’s so…”

“Pretty?” Bledsoe asks and rises, as do I.

“You leave her alone,” the professor says. “She’s not one of your actresses.”

I turn my head to hide my amusement. The professor may already be further on his way to attraction to this Iris McTavish than he realizes.

We say our goodbyes, and I assure Maestro Bledsoe that it will all work out. But as they leave, I have a little chill down my spine, like that of foreboding, and I suspect their adventure will not be as safe and orderly as the professor would like.

About Eros Element

The scientific method:  Love doesn’t obey it. Secrets skew the results.

After a dishonest woman broke his heart, renowned aetherist Edward Bailey buried the pieces under a strict routine built on solid, scientific predictability. Any deviation doesn’t just bother him—it short circuits his carefully cultivated balance.

A routine faculty meeting unexpectedly presents a twin challenge to his comfort zone. Not only does the beautiful Iris McTavish appear in her famous archeologist father’s place, Edward is forced to accompany her on an undercover expedition to find an element that will harness the power of aether.

Iris is determined to prove her worth as a scholar and scientist, and save the financially ruined house of McTavish without accepting an unwanted marriage proposal. But keeping her secret is difficult when she’s faced with Edward’s compelling gaze and unrelenting logic.

Amid clockwork spy devices, threats from a mysterious society who’ll stop at nothing to conceal their secrets, and plots from a guild bent on stealing them, Edward and Iris’s attraction sparks and gains momentum. But betrayal awaits them on the road from Paris to Rome—and the revolutionary discovery they seek could grind their hearts to pieces.

Warning: Contains a brilliant professor with a white-knuckle case of anxiety, a woman with an ahead-of-her-time spirit of adventure, real and made-up history, and a Grand Tour that serves up murder plots and secret temples along with wine, tea, and cream puffs. You may wish to pack your shovel along with your silks.

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About Cecilia

Author Cecilia Dominic, became a clinical psychologist because she’s fascinated by people and their stories, but she couldn’t stop making stuff up. By day, she helps people cure their insomnia in her private practice. By night, she writes fiction that keeps her readers turning pages past bedtime. Yes, she recognizes the conflict of interest between her two careers, but she prefers to be called versatile, not conflicted. Cecilia has been published in short and novel-length fiction as well as full-length nonfiction, and currently writes steampunk, urban fantasy, and chick lit. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia with one husband and two cats, which, she’s been told, is a good number of each.

You can find her at:
Web page:  www.ceciliadominic.com
Wine blog:  www.randomoenophile.com
Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/CeciliaDominicAuthor
Twitter: @CeciliaDominic
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