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Guest Blogger: Ann Jacobs
Sunday, December 30th, 2012

Book Videos—are they worth it?

Impressive if they’re done right, book trailers may be a valuable tool to grab attention for a new release. I’m not certain they translate directly into increased sales—but then I haven’t found a way to determine whether any of my promotional efforts directly affect my bottom line. Still, I like trailers.

They can be pricey, though—particularly if live video is done by skilled professionals. Purchased trailers using stock photos and inexpensive music tracks can still cost upward of $150—a lot upward depending on the graphic artist/promotion company that you use, as well as the cost of photos and music the artist chooses.

Recently I discovered Windows Live Movie Maker (free from Microsoft) and found how simple it is to produce simple videos using it, from start to upload. The only other software I use to size, crop and modify stock photos—and occasionally to create a fancy text sign or two—is Adobe Photoshop. (It’s certainly not free or inexpensive, but I already had it. If I had needed to buy something simply to do these functions, not to play with for my own amusement, I would get Photoshop Elements or use one of the many free software selections online to perform these functions.)

So I can make my own book trailers. What materials do I need to make them?

  1. Book cover—the tone of the trailer needs to reflect the cover art since it’s     generally included as the beginning and/or ending frame.
  2. Some background music. I troll the web looking for free—or royalty-free—MP3s that reflect the tone of my books: dark, lively, romantic, etc. When I find free ones, I download them for possible future use.
  3. The story I want to tell in the video. I usually follow the content of blurbs I’ve already written for the book, which saves time and effort that it takes to select the photos and write the text.
  4. Some stock photos, either free (preferable) or royalty-free. (For a one-minute video, you’ll need the book cover and five to seven photos that illustrate the text on each frame. If you can’t find a suitable photo, you can write text on a blank screen and apply a text effect to it.)
  5. A few hours (how many depends on how much you play with your story line and how much you decide to crop/modify your images—the sample above, for my upcoming book, WILD ONE, has three frames that I created in Photoshop to use more than one image on a frame and to add fancy text. It took a while!)

Over the course of eight or nine months, I’ve accumulated a bulging folder full of stock photos, most of which I’ve found for free. I’ve bought and stockpiled a few Jimmy Thomas RNC cover shots and cropped them for use in trailers. And I’ve taken and filed away a lot of photos that I’ve taken, but I won’t use those that include people or readily identifiable landmarks unless I have releases—I don’t care to get sued.

Making book trailers is fun, a nice break from writing words. Since I write mostly contemporaries, putting videos together for them isn’t too stressful because I’ve been able to find a lot of free material that works to illustrate particular frames of my books. I doubt it would be nearly as easy to locate trailer material for historicals because of costuming and so on. If I wanted to do a video for a futuristic or a shifter story, I’d probably have to create many of the frames from scratch—something that would require a lot more graphic art skill than I have.

Happy trailering! Video trailering, that is! 🙂

Ann Jacobs

http://annjacobs.net
Follow me on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/authrannjacobs
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WILD ONE, book 3 of my Caden Kink series, coming Jan. 4 at Ellora’s Cave Publishing

Guest Blogger: Lily Rede
Thursday, December 27th, 2012

I Often Give Myself Very Good Advice…

One of the most challenging aspects of writing romantic suspense is that you basically have to split yourself into pieces to get it done.  If you’ve read Alice in Wonderland lately, you probably have a good idea of how romance writers operate – we spend a lot of time arguing with the creative side of our personality, which is approximately one part reckless adventurer, one part sex-crazed nympho, one part dark and scary gremlin, and one part petulant teenager.  Together, all these parts operate the fingers to get the words on the page, but most of the time, it’s like herding cats.

First and foremost, there’s the romance, which is the heart and soul, and in a lot of ways, the easy part of the story, for me at least.  Giving characters serious, toe-curling chemistry and then dumping them in a messy, impossible situation is the best part of the process.  I don’t know about other writers, but I take great glee in making things as obnoxious for my hero and heroine as possible – after all, you don’t want to make it too easy for them, do you?  It’s more satisfying if they have to work for it!

The second part of the process is the suspense, and this is where the serious challenge comes in, because you’re trying to accomplish a bunch of different things at once.  You want the audience to wonder what’s coming next, you want them to worry about the characters, and you want to avoid anyone figuring out the puzzle before you’re ready.  So, you have to write the conflict with all of its intricate little pieces, and then you have to go back and hide all of those pieces to keep your characters in the dark.  Then you have to rewrite the story backwards, or so it seems – do all the pieces fit?  Does it all make sense, or does the villain just reveal himself/herself out of nowhere without enough evidence?

And then you still have to wind the romance story thread back into the suspense and make the two threads complement each other and work together to tell one complete story.

It’s exhausting.  And exhilarating.

The best emails I get are from readers going, “OMG, I never would have guessed he was the villain!  So scary!”  Those are the emails that make me hop up and down with delight, but I’d be lying if I said that the whole process isn’t a hair-pulling, nail-biting, coffee-swilling nightmare of a writing exercise that takes loads of outlining, structure, shredding of notes and ideas and sanity, and something no sane writer should undertake.  Ever.  Which is why, of course, I have two sequels planned for the Bright’s Ferry series – SAFE FROM THE FIRE, for February, and SAFE FROM THE STORM, for next summer.  LOL.

Why?

Because, when it comes down to it, the cheerful, loving, playful, flirty persona is really only happiest when the crazed, deranged, “let’s write a serial killer storyline” persona has dragged the characters through the muck to make sure that they really deserve their happily ever after.

Isn’t writing fun?

Safe From the Dark SMALLEST

Nursing a broken heart and a couple of bullet wounds, no-nonsense Evie Asher leaves her career with the NYPD to move into her grandmother’s old house in a small New England town in the middle of nowhere. She wants nothing more than a new start and a chance to forget the mistakes of the past and get her life back on track, minus the shootouts. Her plans are shattered when her new neighbor, the town’s hunky young mayor, starts receiving death threats from a dangerous stalker. Evie is unwillingly drawn back into a world of peril, and while her bruised heart tries to resist the out-of-control sparks that zing between them, she is forced to stay close to keep him safe as the stalking quickly turns to murder…

Colin Daniels has his hands full running Bright’s Ferry as their popular and busy young mayor. He doesn’t have time for stalkers or threats, much less a lovely gray-eyed cop with control issues who insists that the stalker is a member of the community, someone he knows and loves. When the situation takes a deadly turn, Colin finds that he has no choice but to give up some control himself and rely on Evie to protect him until they can unmask the killer. Passion sizzles between two stubborn hearts as they clash over the best way to handle a dangerous situation, but can they keep each other safe as the dark closes in?

SHIVERING AND COMPLETELY DRENCHED, Evie dropped her backpack on the Daniels’ porch.  It was a beautiful hundred-year-old farmhouse that was obviously in the process of being restored – scaffolding protected a new wing off the side of the two-story structure.  Evie spared only a quick glance around – her teeth were starting to chatter.

Fingers tight with cold, Evie raised a hand to knock.

Nothing.

Come on, come on. Read the rest of this entry »

Guest Blogger: A. Catherine Noon and Rachel Wilder
Monday, December 24th, 2012

Craft Therapy – The Zen of Weaving

“You have a weaving class looming.”

Groan.  My coworker said that to me and giggled about it for the rest of the afternoon, but he was onto something.  I’ve written before about crafts and their benefits, and it’s something we have to keep learning over and over.  Crafts bring pleasure but, more importantly, they bring us into the moment.  That class looming over me for the day reminded me that my life isn’t all about my day job.

I take weaving classes at the Chicago Weaving School with Natalie Boyett.  An amazing teacher, Natalie understands the Zen of art.  She knows how to be gentle and she knows how to inspire.  More than that, I find weaving puts me in the moment and while I’m working on the simple back-and-forth or counting, my mind relaxes.  From there, it’s an easy jump into my story.  Weaving makes me a better writer.  I’m sure it has that beneficial effect on other walks of life too; my classes are full of teachers, nurses, and professionals of all stripes.  We come because weaving is fun.  We stay because it’s a way of life.

Too melodramatic for you?  To New Age?  Let me share with you the magic and you’ll see what I’m talking about.

My project is a simple kimono.  The ancient art of kimono, developed in Japan over centuries, is a way of making clothes that shows off hand-woven fabrics.  From simple to ornate, they require little cutting or shaping and are a perfect way to use the product of our handweaving.

I decided to use a pattern from a classic weaving book.  A variation on a twill, it requires you to thread the heddles (put the yarn on the loom) in a certain order.  The process of doing so is mechanical and not very artistic:  put this thread in 1, this one in 3, that one in 2, then 4-3-1, then 2-1-4, or some other order.  It’s painstaking and detailed.

It is, though, one half of the process of weaving.  Once you’ve dressed the loom, you’re halfway done.  Magic.

Once the loom is dressed, we weave a header to even out the threads and set the stage for our pattern.  I’m using a lovely but fussy rayon thread for my warp, which is the red/blue in the photograph.  My weft, the yarn I use to weave, is a rich teal.

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After the header, we start with the pattern.  This, too, is done in a particular order.  The difference is that now we begin to see the magic that is weaving.

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It looks like the thread is almost beaded, as the rayon shines like fire in the light.  I can’t wait to see more of the fabric as it appears.  It’s meditative.  I look forward to my Thursday night classes all week, because I know I’ll get to spend four hours away from the world, in my little magic bubble of fiber.  When I emerge, butterfly-like, it’s with a renewed appreciation for the art of our ancestresses and not a few plot ideas.  As I weave, so shall I write.

And that, my friends, is the magic of craft.

Happy holidays!


“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”
– E.E. Cummings

My links: Blog | Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon | LinkedIn | Pandora

Knoontime Knitting:  Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Ravelry
Noon and Wilder links: Blog | Website | Facebook
Team Blogs: Nightlight | The Writers Retreat Blog | Beyond the Veil | LGBT Fantasy Fans and Writers
Publishers: Samhain Publishing | Torquere Press

Check out BURNING BRIGHT, available from Samhain Publishing.
Check out EMERALD FIRE, available from Torquere Books.

Check out “Taking a Chance“, part of the Charity Sips 2012 to benefit NOH8, available from Torquere Books.

Watch for TIGER TIGER, coming July, 2013, from Samhain Publishing.

Guest Blogger: Nikki Lynn Barrett
Friday, December 21st, 2012

Writer’s Support

I’m a believer that writers need a lot of support.  The family- making sure the writer gets the time in to write, for some, maybe read what they wrote, if the writer wants to share. To rejoice in the milestones, to spread the word….and so on and so forth. I know not every writer has that. I’ve heard stories where the families don’t show that kind of support, and that startles me. I am surrounded by so many people that do show me support. My mom and dad have a copy of my book. In fact, my dad snatched my proof copy and wouldn’t give it back until he finished the story.  My dad has always been an honest person, and he was touched by my book. He shares my excitement with all the milestones so far. He is the one that gave me the love of reading, and was never ashamed to admit that I’m a faster reader than he is. Lol.

My mom used to buy me tons of books, and it’s because I wanted them! Christmases, I got piles and piles of books! She bought me the spiral notebooks and pens so that I could write. I wrote my first poem at 12, after suffering the loss of a neighbor who was far too young to leave this world, and so I wrote about it. I stuck the poem in my headboard and I guess my mom came across it, and showed it to our neighbor, the grandmother of that sweet baby girl we lost.

My husband, who is also another honest person. Sometimes he’s blunt, even too blunt. But he supports my dream of writing, and he read through my now published book, edited it, formatted it, helped with the print copy process, and even shares it on his Facebook wall for his friends to see. He doesn’t read romance, he’s more of a fantasy reader (Terry Goodkind, David Farland) but he enjoyed my book.

My best friends, some of my writer buddies and partners….Where would I be without any of them?  Could I write without the support of others? I think so, but it’s still really great to have those on my side, to share the ups and downs of this process.

Most of all, to bloggers/revewiers and readers. They are the driving force for me. Yes, I’d write just for the sake of writing, I always have, but it’s the response that I’ve gotten already that tells me I’m doing something right as a writer. I’ve gotten some great reviews that brought me to tears, and frankly, I’m still in the clouds. I may not come down for awhile.

If you’re a writer, I hope that you always follow your dreams, even if you do or don’t get the support, but know that there’s always someone that loves what you do.

I just wanted to share my thoughts on that today.  Thank you for allowing me to do thank, thank you for reading, and thank you to my host today for sharing my words.

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The Secret Santa Wishing Well

The magic of Christmas has been lost to Jacob Winston. At the suggestion of his ill sister, Jacob takes a job as a Secret Santa at the mall, hoping to restore his Christmas spirit. Even that doesn’t seem to work, until a special little boy ambles up to make a very special wish…

Cheyenne Jensen is struggling to raise her two kids without the help of her ex-husband who refuses to acknowledge his daughter’s existence and doesn’t provide for the son he does. This Christmas is shaping up to be as heartbreaking as the last, until her son Ben’s kind actions lead a stranger to them.

Ah, but it’s Christmas time and the magic has begun.

When Jacob and Cheyenne meet, neither can deny their immediate attraction to one another. As situations arise that require they spend more time together, their feelings grow stronger and stronger.

With Christmas fast approaching, the pair learn what matters most in life. Now, if only they could ditch the ghost of Christmases past.

Maybe this holiday will bring some wishes come true- for everyone after all.

Excerpt from The Secret Santa Wishing Well

Jacob wasn’t far from her mind even when they weren’t talking.  Ben brought his name up constantly, admiration and love in his voice.  He really liked Jacob.  One night while tucking him into bed, Ben said something that melted Cheyenne’s heart.

“The wishing well with Santa worked.  He brought Jacob to us.  Jacob made sure my wish came true.  He really does know Santa!”  He’d said sleepily, closing his eyes with a big smile on his face.  But the words he said rang in her ears.  What was his wish?  With everything going on lately, Ben’s wish had slipped her mind.

So when Jacob called that evening, she mentioned it to him.  Asked him.  “What was Ben’s wish that day, Jacob?”

“Hmm?” he asked, obviously startled.  Distracted again.

“Ben said that the wishing well with Santa worked, that it brought you to us.  I’m curious what his wish was.”  Cheyenne leaned back into the couch, covering herself with the blanket.  She wanted to turn up the heat, but debated against it.  Ben and Desiree were warm enough, so why couldn’t she get warm?  If she turned the heat up anymore, she’d suffocate.  Not to mention the electric bill.

Jacob hesitated before answering.  “He wished for you not to have to work so hard.  That he could have a family, a daddy that loved him.”  Oh, Ben.  No wonder he thought Jacob was the answer.  Jacob had been there ever since the wish, since Ben met him.  He thought Jacob would be the daddy he always wanted?  That’s why he was so happy when he saw Jacob and Cheyenne exchange a hug or a quick kiss.

He had his sights set high.  Way too high.  While she wanted the best for Ben, he couldn’t go on thinking that Jacob was going to be a dad to him.  Jacob had his own life, though he’d been sharing time with them, it wouldn’t last long, would it?  With whatever he was dealing with that kept him at a distance, she predicted it wouldn’t.  Call it a fear, call it intuition, call it stupid, but when someone didn’t give their undivided attention and seemed to be shrouded in mystery, it couldn’t end well.

Cheyenne willed the tears not to fall.  What a wish for a six year old.  While her pride for her son was evident, the fact that a little boy had to wish for things like that tore her up.

“Cheyenne?  You okay?”  Jacob’s deep voice made her heart beat faster.

“I was just taken back.  Wow.  He shouldn’t have to wish for love from his father.  That’s terrible.”

“It is.  But you’re doing all you can.  You can’t control what his dad does, Cheyenne.  You have to know that.  Ben looks up to you.  He thinks the world of you.”

“He’s growing up too fast.  Sometimes he’s so much wiser than six.  I don’t always know how to react, or feel about that.”  A chill ran down her spine, spouting goosebumps on her arm.  She tried to shift positions, cover all of herself.  “I wish you were here.” She blurted.

Oh God, why did I say that out loud?  What was I thinking?

“I didn’t expect to hear that from you.”  Jacob’s voice went low, raspy.

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* * * * *

All About Nikki: Nikki Lynn Barrett lives in Arizona with her husband and son. She’s an avid reader, a dreamer, and loves everything about books. She runs a book blog, an online used bookstore, and writes various genres of romance. Nikki can also be found outside with her camera when a storm is near, snapping photo after photo. Her dreams of becoming a writer started when she was young, when she started writing books in one subject notebooks by the fifth grade. The Secret Santa Wishing Well is her debut book. You can visit Nikki’s site at: www.nikkilynnbarrett.blogspot.com for more information. She is working on her next book. Nikki would love to hear from readers. Email her at nikkilynnbarrett@yahoo.com

Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/NikkiLynnBarrettauthor
Twitter: @Stormgoddess925
GoodReads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6583655.Nikki_Lynn_Barrett

Guest Blogger: Lynn Townsend
Thursday, December 20th, 2012

Your Kink is not My Kink

authorpicHi everyone. My name is Lynn Townsend, and Delilah’s been so kind as to let me guest with her today. I really appreciate the opportunity. I have a story entitled “Big Trucks” in her upcoming anthology, Smokin’ Hot Firemen. It’s been exciting to work with Delilah, as I’ve really enjoyed her work. I wrote “Big Trucks” in a fever of excitement in about three days – I found out about the CFS maybe a week before it was due – because my uncle, several cousins, and my grandfather were all volunteer fire and rescue.

I’m loud and proud about being an erotica writer. If someone asks me what I do, I tell them. My family – some of whom are excessively conservative – all know. I’ve been really upfront; they’re welcome to read my work or not, approve of what I do or not. I honestly do not care. As a note, if you’re a friend of mine, I never, ever expect you to buy my books just because you know me. I won’t ask you about it. If you tell me you bought it, tell me you liked the story, great, I’m happy to run my mouth, but I am never going to put you on the spot about it. You don’t have to like my work just because you like me.

Which leads me nicely into my topic of discussion for today;

Your Kink is not my Kink.

I’ve had a couple people come up to me, eyes all shifty, and whisper, “Do you really like that stuff… bondage and spankings and stuff?” Usually they’re referring to my story in Lustfully Ever After, “Garden Variety,” which is sort of bondage-weird.

The entire stalk shuddered, forcing her to wrap her arms around it, holding her balance.  “Liked that, did you?”

The vines around her shifted, moving, enclosing her.  Thick coils wrapped around her thighs, forming a swing, spreading her legs.  Her feet left the tentative safety of the stalk and Jackie was cradled in the air, supported only by the vines and leaves.  More vines looped over her arms, encircling her wrists like manacles.

Gentle tendrils, like fingers, explored her body.  She groaned, arching against the containment of the vines.  A vine twined in her thick blonde hair, tugging, prickling against her scalp.  More vines formed, touching her, caressing.  Jackie writhed, helpless against the overwhelming sensations.  Vines wrapped themselves around her breasts, tugging at the sundress until it was shredded, baring her skin.  The tendrils, like fingers, rolled her nipples, teasing them firm and taut.

The vine in her hair pulled, arching her spine, drawing her head back to bare her throat.  A tendril snaked up her leg, nuzzling at her soft, sensitive inner thigh.  Jackie shrieked with sudden wanting, her hips bucking against the maddening, seductive caress.  The tendril teased, achingly gentle, rubbing against her suddenly molten clit, drawing moans and whimpers from her mouth.  It tickled around her feminine folds, exploring, teasing, withdrawing each time she felt the tension building across her shoulders and chest.

Jackie cried out, thrashing against the vines that held her mostly immobile.  Her breasts ached, nipples hard, as the vines twined around the round globes, squeezing and teasing the tips to rosy peaks.  She could barely move as the vines tightened, pulling her thighs apart and her arms up, stretching her to every sensation, beyond her capacity for thought, leaving only molten desire, tinged with frustration.

“Please, please,” she begged, cresting up towards relief, then pushed back again as the vine between her legs slowed its relentless torment.  Slow and easy, the vine stroked her clit, plump and wet.  It flicked and squeezed, rubbing, caressing.  Jackie grew hot, her muscles shaking and contracting desperately.  Sweat beaded across her forehead, along the column of her throat.  She panted for breath, air burning in her lungs.  A final spasm and she shattered into a million pieces.  Cries of rapture and relief forced from her throat as she came, shuddering intensely.

Confession time: I adore a genre of Japanese animation (called anime) that’s referred to as hentai. (Hentai is a kanji compound that essentially means “sexually perverted”.) You can look it up, if you care to. It’s pretty strange and often very non-consensual. And I love it. Tentacle perversions, girls who can only orgasm if their sisters are touching them, demon sex ninjas, raising Lucifer from hell in an all girls’ school…. I watch yuri and yaoi (lesbian and gay erotic animation… yaoi actually translates to something like “goes nowhere, does nothing.”)

Despite my deep delving into perversion – some of which comes through in my work, as it very much did in “Garden Variety” – I also have some sexual hang-ups. (Humans are just weird.)

I don’t like anything food-based. The idea of someone drizzling honey or chocolate sauce, or whipped cream onto me and licking it off? Ug. It makes my spine crimp up and I get all cringe-y. And that’s considered a pretty mild kink, as far as kinks go. I hate being sticky. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Over the years, I’ve managed to work myself up to tolerating flavored lubes, but that’s probably as far as I’m ever going to get.

But just because in my real life, I would never, ever, I have a strange fascination with reading or watching other people do things that I wouldn’t. Shokolada is a wonderful guy I met a few years back at a sci-fi convention. He’s an amazing cross-dresser. He keeps his beard, I’ve never seen him in make-up, and doesn’t try to “pass” as a woman. He just likes wearing dresses and has the most awesome legs I’ve ever seen. Tina freaking Turner wishes her legs looked that good. Wow.

Anyway, Shokolada (http://chocmess.com/mess/)  runs a website that talks about the sexual fetish, WAMming, Messy Play, Sploshing. Whatever you want to call it, it’s generally a pie upside the head. I would not really be amenable to participating in this particular fetish, either on the giving or receiving end.

But man, I’ll tell you, I can’t stop reading about it. It fascinates me. Reading about it can get me feeling all twitchy and wanting someone to kiss and pet me. Just, don’t put pudding in my ear, ok?

His kink is not my kink. But his kink is okay.

No judgement here. I wouldn’t want to do it, but I’m certainly glad that other people do!

And that’s what writing erotica is about; finding what you like. There’s certainly a lot of stuff out there.

And the most important thing to remember is, just because you don’t like it, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Humans are weird.

When I’m not guesting at someone else’s site, I can be found at my own blog, Paid by the Weird, (http://paidbytheweird.blogspot.com/) or on Facebook  (https://www.facebook.com/LynnTownsendwriter) generally being obnoxious.

Guest Blogger: Mahalia Levey (Contest)
Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

Good Morning! I’m so excited to be blogging here today.

When I first sat down to write this story, I never believed I could take a very short story and spin the plot out to where it is today. In the past few years, I’ve learned that what you plan on writing out doesn’t always turn out as expected. In the beginning, Amara and Marisol was a f/f story with no plans on adding a hero to the mix. Out of nowhere this strong male who met the females through The Delightful Kitten made an unforgettable entrance that couldn’t be oppressed. My sweet heroines found in him the mate who could complete them emotionally, and physically. I’m excited to have readers take a journey into the world of the Kanima and into the lives of three unique individuals, one who fought tooth and nail most of the way.

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Amaranta Costa uses her Kanima as an avoidance tactic, until the one person she cherishes most is taken from her. When Gavin Ford enters the fray uninvited, she’s forced to accept the help of his pack to find her mate.

Trusting others isn’t her forte. Though her inner jaguar accepts him hands down, the woman in her fights his dominating, take-control nature. Unlike Marisol’s soft personality, Gavin’s wolf challenges her at every turn. She can find no escape. His abrasiveness both sets her on edge and pleases her. She finds being in Marisol’s arms isn’t enough; the all-consuming need to be his burns to her core. There’s no denying the chemical attraction arcing among the three of them.

Will she reach out, and accept the love and support waiting for her?

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Mari flicked a gaze between them and nudged her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Amara jumped so fast at her words their heads collided.

“That fucking hurt. You have a head made of steel, Amara.”

“Damn it. Baby, I’m sorry. You surprised me. I can’t believe you think I’m interested in him,” she hissed low, offended by the accusation.

“You’re acting funny. Really odd. I’ve never seen you behave this way.”

“Drop it, sexy. I don’t want dick.”

“Keep on lying to yourself,” Mari volleyed back. Amara barely heard the last few words out of her lover’s mouth.

“Marisol.” Amara growled. “Drop it now.” Damn crazy woman goaded her into anger. Seeing the red haze begin to cloud her vision, she took a few calming breaths to shove her jaguar back in place.

“Ladies?” Gavin moved to come between them.

“Back off, mongrel.” Amara turned her body to the side, shoving Gavin with all her strength away from them. The bulk of his large frame crashed into the wall, knocking knick-knacks onto the floor. Draven and Theron both rose, she assumed to intervene.

“Kitten, sheath your fucking claws.” He extricated himself from the raining sheetrock and paint to stalk over to her. Rage sparkled in his eyes. He reminded her of a Berserker. Not good. Her calculations told her she could take him and win. The accuracy of such thoughts, when balanced against her ego, said otherwise. “No, you didn’t just call me some ridiculous, endearing term. We’re fighting right now. Stupid dog.”

“Oh, shit.” Mari squeaked and slid from her arms to Draven’s. Amara’s jaw dropped open. Her girlfriend wasn’t going to rub her back and calm her down. Instead, she took a front row seat. Heat suffused Amara’s face. By the look of things, the lapdog brothers of his stayed back, intent to watch, not interfere. In a dark alley on an equally eclipsed night, she’d find herself worried to go up against him. He drew his body larger with every step he took toward her. Amara quaked in her boots, not from fear but from the new awareness sparking within her. A feeling she didn’t like one bit.

Her heartbeat danced a new cadence as she fought between darting away and standing her ground. So what? A little plaster is good for a person. She curbed her rampant thought.

“We don’t have time for this. There’s a madman loose. I must hunt.” Hackles raised, she backed up a step for each one he took closer to her personal space. Gavin could easily reach out and shake her like a rag doll but apparently chose not to. She had no idea what his aim was or how to strategize a way out of venting his anger. Her gaze honed in on the growing bulge in his pants. When he turned from her and walked over to Marisol, she sucked in a deep breath, a sigh of relief. He murmured something to her girlfriend and she nodded her head yes to him.

“What are you two conspiring to do?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Gavin snapped her way, baring his fangs. He pivoted, heading in her direction, his jawline twitching.

Every assassin knew all entrance and exit points in a house. In the position she found herself against the far wall, nowhere to go, her only way out was to fight. I don’t want to hurt him.

Where her traitorous thought came from, she hadn’t a clue. He drew closer to her by taking larger steps than her small ones away from him. His scent hit her nose and her jaguar paced under her skin. Her pussy began to throb. To ache. Gods, the slight twinge intensified, bringing her to her knees. On wobbly legs she rose to stand her ground, defiant, her claws unsheathed for self-preservation. Her mouth salivated, wanting a taste. His eyes glimmered in amusement. She watched him trace his bottom lip with his tongue. Her nipples hardened from the sensual act. A brief thought of what his lips would feel like grazing along her skin flitted through her mind.

“What are you afraid of?” His coarse question broke through the erotic thoughts stream-lining in her head. The second he stepped close enough to cage her body between the walls and his chest, she faced self-truth.

“You. Me.” Her second word was lost to their audience as his mouth crushed down on hers and she was taken in a tailspin of sensations. His possession dragged her into an abyss of dark pleasure. Anger never tasted so good. She heard herself moan and couldn’t stop herself from running her hands up his chest, her body leaning into his for more. Gavin angled his head to part her mouth with his tongue. The taste of him sent shards of electricity to pulse between her thighs. Her needy cunt creamed. Startled by his effect on her, she struggled to break free, and realized she’d just become an active participant in Gavin’s kissing game, with her mate as audience in the room with them. Guilt overwhelmed her and she panicked. Gavin nipped her bottom lip between his teeth and bit. The look on his face told her they were by no means finished yet. He gave her one additional suckle, let go, and pushed off the wall out of her close proximity. Like a beast guarding his territorial rights, she watched him scowl at the additional members of his team who’d come in at an inopportune time, including some she-bitch to the right of the room, whose attitude hit her full blast.

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Contest:

I have a wonderful Satin and Steel coffee mug and keychain to give away. Comment with your email address for a chance to win. For additional chances, like me on facebook and follow my twitter @hales300

Author Bio:

Being smart and sassy with a great sense of humor comes easily for Mahalia Levey. An avid reader of books, she found herself enchanted with disappearing completely into the worlds authors created. One day she vowed to herself she’d be one of them. Then family life came, and college right after. Swayed from her childhood course of action, it took many years for her to get

back to that place she held dear as a child. Now she is running full steam ahead to keep up with the many ideas flowing freely. She plans on taking her work to higher levels and expanding her genres. Her main focus is giving her readers variety. Her works in progress include paranormal, fantasy and mainstream romance. Taking characters and watching them grow past what she’s imagined is her true passion.

www.mahalialevey.com
www.facebook.com/mahalialevey
www.twitter.com/hales3000
www.goodreads.com/mahalialevey

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Guest Blogger: Sandra Jones (Contest)
Monday, December 17th, 2012

Fedora is the winner! Congratulations! ~DD

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Sandra Jones’s Casting Couch

Sandra JonesI’m so excited to be a guest on Delilah’s blog. We’re in the same RWA chapter, and I can tell you, she’s a fabulous lady.

I’ve been writing the first draft of a new historical, and I’m spending countless hours online researching to get all the historical details correct. By day, I’m a librarian, so I find research half the fun anyway—I’m just weird like that, I know!

One thing that I can’t resist is finding pictures of actors who best fit the characters I envision. My current hero is based on a fairly popular actor, so finding pics of every angle and expression he wears is a breeze. Admittedly, I’m kinda crushing on him…but I think we’re all supposed to fall in love with our heroes at least a little. J

If I ever sell one of my stories for a movie, I’d be tempted to offer a few suggestions for the stars. For my casting couch, I’m looking for men who look great in chainmail, kilts, or cravats. Think Mr. Darcy, William Wallace, or Lancelot. Would the actor look alpha in a ruffled, unbuttoned shirt? If so, he’s my guy! Here are a few of my current obsessions:

Taylor Kitsch
Joe Maganiello
Gerard Butler
Ian Somerhold

Who would you want to see on a casting couch? Leave a comment for me on Delilah’s blog, and I’ll give one commenter a copy of the ebook!

The Author

Sandra Jones is the author of sensual historical romances. She worked as a bookseller and as a librarian, where she indulged in her love of old books. When not researching or writing, she enjoys being with family, reading, and watching British TV. A self-proclaimed history geek, she currently lives in a 1905 Greek revival home in the Mississippi Delta.

Sandra loves to hear from her readers: visit her website www.sandrajonesromance.com or on Twitter: sjonesromance Facebook or Pinterest

Sandra’s latest is HER CHRISTMAS KNIGHT, a medieval romance story included in FIVE GOLDEN RINGS: A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION, available in ebook now from Avon Impulse and in paperback in January.

Five Golden rings

FIVE GOLDEN RINGS

by Sophie Barnes, Karen Erickson, Rena Gregory, Sandra Jones, Vivienne Lorret

The holidays are a time for wishes, magic and, of course, love. Celebrate the season with this delightful collection of Christmas tales. What better way for Connor Talbot, Earl of Redfirn, to spend the holidays than convincing Leonora Compton that the only match she needs to make is with him!

The Duke of Ashton has had three years to plan for his perfect Christmas present—the Lady Eleanor Fitzsimmons as his wife. Now, all he has to do is convince the reluctant lady …

Phin Baldwin does not believe in Christmas magic … until the clever and beautiful Ginny Overton gets it into her head to show him how wonderful it can be when wishes come true.

Just returned from the Crusades, marriage is the last thing on Sir Caerwyn’s mind. But will he be able to resist Lady Nia, the thief of his boyhood heart, when she tempts him yet again?

Responsible Ethan Weatherstone is determined to save Penelope Rutledge—and her reputation—from her silly scheme, but can he save himself from the temptation of her lips?

Excerpt

He stepped away, leaving her still half-swallowed in the unfastened chain mail. God but she still stirred him, even dressed in pounds of armor. The shapeless form forced his eye to her beautiful face and made him long for the rest of her body hidden beneath. “Aye, you’ve become an excellent rider, skilled with a lance. But underneath all Padrig’s trappings, you’re still female.”

“I practice at the quintain more days than not, and I’m a good horsewoman. There was no combat in the event, so I was never in any danger. You must admit I convinced you.” Her face brightened and she stood straighter. “I’m sure you would say it was Serena’s influence again. Just like three years ago, the last night in our keep, before you left. You and I were to meet. When you arrived I wasn’t alone…”

His chest tightened. He’d kept the memory at bay for too long to let her remind him. He barked, “Now you want to tease me! Aye, you deceived me today, and you betrayed me then. What point are you trying to make?” Mayhap she enjoyed pushing the knife deeper into his heart.

 “Caerwyn, you’ve never believed me, but I’ll say it again. I’ve never been with another man. Look,” she turned her back to him, gathering her braids in one hand and twisting them up to hold on top of her head. “Do I look like a woman from behind now?”

“You know you do not.”

“I practice in mail often. My father disapproves, of course. Serena’s worn it only once. In armor, she would look like a man from behind, don’t you think?” She moved closer to the bed, took hold of the thick banister. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, the sight of her posture, so sensual, so seductive, yet so unpracticed…sweat glistened on his brow.

“Aye. I suppose…”

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