The illustrator Norman Rockwell has been lauded and lambasted for projecting an image of America that was too mom and apple pie and White. If that’s your image of Rockwell, I’d like to give you a different one. One that confronted and encouraged through his works The Golden Rule (1961), The Problem We All Live With (1964), Murder in Mississippi (1965) and New Kids in the Neighborhood (1967). These works were created by a conscience rooted in the aspiration that “all men are created equal.”
Though never fully realized by the founding fathers, Rockwell imbued their aspirations in his Saturday Evening Postcovers, especially in his illustrations of FDR’s Four Freedoms. I can’t look at that series and not hear the words to songs of equality like “The House I Live In” or “You’ve Got To Be Carefully Taught.” Innocent as those covers seem, Rockwell was saying here’s how the world should be for everybody. Ironically, the Post’s policy wouldn’t extend that equality and respect to black people. Blacks on their covers had to be depicted in subservient positions. Rockwell left the Post in 1963 and accepted commissions from Look magazine where he could portray the flipside of the Post’s America. But sometimes Look found his work too controversial to publish, too. Fortunately, that didn’t happen often.
Criticized for his choice of subject and called a hypocrite and a lying propagandist, Rockwell painted the truth being shown nightly on TV news and revealed daily in newspaper stories about the Civil Rights struggle. I was a kid in the 60’s watching Americans of all races and creeds and religions marching in the streets, being doused by fire hoses and having police dogs turned on them because they believed all people are created equal and deserved to be treated that way.
The Norman Rockwell Museum has a virtual exhibit of Rockwell’s 1960’s works. Check it out here: https://bit.ly/37H3TCr where you can also hear from Ruby Bridges, the little girl in The Problem We All Live With.
Rockwell’s 1960s work asked Americans, “Which side are you on?” in the same way Walter Cronkite and Huntley and Brinkley and Gil Noble did in their network broadcasts. Sixty years later, these works are asking us the same question. Sixty years later, I hear us answering it in peaceful demonstrations being held all over the world, in paintings on the plywood of boarded-up Manhattan storefronts, in legislation passed to combat police brutality, in court decisions upholding LGBTQ rights. People are answering, “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you must become the law of the land.” Despite authorities and administrations trying to divide us, people are answering and choosing to be on the right side of history because “the time is always right to do what is right.” – Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
In the 1960s, Rockwell used his work to confront and encourage. May we use our resources to do the same today.
Haunted Serenade
All the women in Anora Madison’s family have lived as “Poor Butterflies”: 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, severing her ties with her mother Angela and with the man who broke her heart, Winston Emerson, the father of her child.
Six years later, she comes back to Harlem to make peace, but a malignant spirit manifests itself during the homecoming, targeting her mother, her aunt, Winston and their little girl. Determined to stop the evil now trying to destroy all she loves, Anora must finally turn to Winston for help. But will their efforts be too little too late?
He nodded thoughtfully. “Why not? Self-hate has bedeviled people of color all over the world for hundreds of years. Being looked down upon because you’re not White, accepting you’re incapable of self-determination because you’re dark and not light is being confronted everywhere. The independence movements in Africa. The Civil Rights movement here. Why wouldn’t it be challenged in your mother’s house?”
I’d listened to sermons about the devil, sung hymns and praise songs to put him in his place. But I’d intellectualized all that. Those were metaphors for the evil humans did. But what if that metaphor represented real energy, energy that had agency, agency that needed to be combatted?
“Come on.” Winston picked up a tray. “Let’s put the pumpkins in the windows. I need some physical activity to balance all this intellectual speculating.”
I took the other tray and followed him into the parlor. We placed a pumpkin on each sill of the bay window then lit the candle inside.
Cammie was right. They weren’t at all scary. Their grins glowed with welcome.
We ascended to the second floor and repeated our pumpkin placement and lighting ritual in each window.
“Winston, if Diana’s spirit is trying to help us, why did she attack you, Elizabeth and my mother?”
“When were they attacked?”
I shared with him my mother’s lame excuses for her broken wrist and the bandage on Elizabeth’s forehead.
He pursed his lips then firmed them. “I don’t think Diana’s spirit attacked them or me.”
“But you said the cold—”
“Is Diana shielding us from another presence, a presence that made the shutters close in her bedroom, that made the cabinet door hit me.” He tucked his empty tray beneath his arm. “What if the cold is Diana’s love, but the energy that attacks has its source in someone else?”
It’s been a stressful year and many of us will be staying closer to home this summer. If you expect to be spending more time in the backyard this season, here’s a cool and refreshing adult beverage you can make ahead of time and enjoy whenever you like.
Summer Slush
Ingredients:
1 – 12 oz can of frozen orange juice
1 – 12 oz can of frozen lemonade
¾ cup of sugar
5 cups of water
2 cups of vodka
In large freezer proof container, mix in order given and freeze.
Serve ½ glass of slush with 7 up or ginger ale.
Things you can do at home!
Now that you have your drink, here’s some things you can do at home this summer.
1. Throw an indoor picnic. On a rainy day, spread a blanket on the living room floor, thrown down some pillows and enjoy picnic foods—fruit, cheese, crackers, fried chicken, pasta salad, or whatever you desire. If it’s an adult picnic, you can throw in a bottle of wine, light a candle and make it romantic.
2. Have one night a week where you try a new recipe. Get your family involved and all of you take turns choosing. They don’t have to be complex recipes—unless you’re so inclined. Keep it simple and fun. Fire up the grill if you have one.
3. Dessert night! I’m sure you’re seeing a theme here. Spend a day baking some tasty treats and enjoy. Or recreate a traditional English tea, complete with scones and cream.
4. Have a movie marathon day. Pick a movie series, load up on snacks, and watch them back to back. Lord of the Rings, Die Hard, Bourne Identity, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Mummy. There are plenty to choose from. Or have a theme movie day—Disney, horror, comedy.
5. Take a walk or a drive somewhere different. Doesn’t have to be far. We all tend to be creatures of habit and take the same routes or go to the same places.
6. Read a book. Take yourself out to the backyard, the balcony, or walk to a park (maintaining social distancing) and enjoy a few hours.
And if you’re looking for something to read, you might want to check out ARCTIC BITE, the second book in my Forgotten Brotherhood series, out now.
Arctic Bite
Forgotten Brotherhood, Book Two
Being immortal doesn’t mean you can’t die. It just means you’re damn hard to kill.
When Alexei Medvedev joined the Forgotten Brotherhood—paranormals hired to assassinate other paranormals—he knew it wouldn’t be a cake walk. But his next target is one of Death’s own Reapers gone rogue. For the first time since he started this gig, “damn hard to kill” feels more like “damn near impossible.”
Tracking Cassie Dobbs brings him to a remote bar in small-town Alaska, where this hot-as-hell Reaper is casually serving drinks, as if she doesn’t have a bounty on her head from Death himself. Alexei is dangerously intrigued. Everyone in the Brotherhood knows the first rule: don’t fall for your target.
But Alexei soon has bigger problems to face than an unexpected attraction. They only send assassins after those who deserve to die…or so he’s been made to believe. Now that he’s met Cassie, though, he’s not so sure.
What if everything he’s been told is a lie, and the person he’s been sent to kill is the only one who knows the truth?
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, 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.
Project Runway. Face Off. Skin Wars. Top Chef. Hell’s Kitchen (only while I’m editing). Bar Rescue.
Okay, I could go on, but I won’t. Because this episode of Binge Watch Confessions is about Bar Rescue.
It started at first because, apparently, my muse likes the soothing background music of men screaming. I’m sure there’s a lot for a therapist to unpack there, but that’s for another day.
But I was flipping channels, and there was Jon Taffer yelling at a beleaguered bar owner who is too stuck in his own way to get out of his own way.
That part wasn’t all that interesting, but then he brought in his bar experts. A mixologist for the drinks and a chef for the kitchen. Now, I get my fill of foodie stuff in other places, but the drinks.
Oh, that was interesting. Drink programs tailored to the bar, either by theme or location. Or both. It was fascinating and I ate it up. I watched as they explained why stirring a drink or shaking it made a difference. As they used fresh ingredients and explained the reason it made drinks better. For a person who got a degree in the background tech of theater, it spoke to me.
I like to craft. To make. I guess it’s not all that off base that I became an author. Crafting stories.
Well, in XAVIER, the heroine is True Sinclair, and she is a mixologist hired to craft a drink program for “The Majestic” a bar at a resort that caters to shapeshifters. It’s a resort that is being brought back to its heyday after years of being dormant.
The idea is to create a place where shapeshifters can just “be” and not worry that they have to protect themselves from humans or people who are curious. The entire town is a place where shifters have been open about their lives since its foundation.
So, when I was researching drinks to “transform” into shifter-themed drinks, I was shocked to find out that somehow I’d tied a plot point into a neat little bow. Without realizing it.
My hero, Xavier, is a panther shifter. He crafts his own moonshine for himself and his friends. During my research, I discovered that a slang name for moonshine is PANTHER’S BREATH.
Well, goodness…wasn’t that…odd.
Xavier releases next Tuesday and is on a preorder sale that will continue for a short time after release.
Xavier
He thought he wanted his freedom and his solitude more than anything else in the world… until he met her.
Xavier Salazar lives the life that he wants. He has his friends and his home carved into Mystic Mountain. It’s his retreat, his refuge. When a gorgeous woman shows up in town to help make the resort’s bar a brilliant success, he’s torn. Xavier is determined to drive her away, but his panther wants to touch her all over, hide her away in their den, and add to the family that he was slowly creating around himself.
Oh, he was going to fight… hard. And yet, even he knew he was probably fighting a losing battle.
True Sinclair is at the top of her profession. Being a world-class mixologist means she knows how to blend all kinds of things together. She just can’t fathom why Xavier treats her like he’s oil and she’s water. There was no doubt that he was combustible around her.
At first, he can’t seem to force himself to be civil or even make an effort to share the same town, but she finds herself drawn to the dichotomy warring inside of him.
True knows what he is and she knows what she wants, but she won’t wait around forever if the man who makes her blind with love and drunk with passion won’t even meet her halfway.
Here’s a story you might not be aware that I wrote. It first appeared with Montlake as a serialized story, issued in eight increments, and then offered as full-length novel. I loved writing this story. I did an enormous amount of research for it, studying Egyptian mythological figures, the Land of the Dead, the history of The God’s Wife… A real thing, by the way. And of course, I had fun setting the bulk of the story in present-day New Orleans. There’s no more perfect setting for the story of a mummy being brought back to life.
Crescent Moon
From ancient Egypt to present-day New Orleans, a woman of exceptional strength is called to protect against an unspeakable evil…and to experience an unforgettable seduction.
Khepri still isn’t used to being The God’s Wife. The daughter of a common farmer, she’s more comfortable being friends with servants than employing a whole team of them. Being the wife of Amun affords her luxuries she only dreamed of, but her dreams are not always a haven…they are also filled with demons. Lately she’s had doubts about the role she’s been thrust into. She’s had yearnings for another sort of life, one where she’s loved intimately, rather than only adored from afar.
When a powerful man lures her away from her temple, she’s thrilled at the chance for an adventure. Her adventure quickly becomes a nightmare when the handsome vizier mummifies her alive. Pure of heart and body, she’s the warrior he foresees will battle a demonic pharaoh if ever he awakens. Khepri’s sure he’s insane, until she awakens in a distant future. Alone and needing a guide in this strange and garish new world, she turns to the troubled man who set her free…
When New Orleans police detective Justin Henry Boucher is called to the Garden Museum to investigate stolen Egyptian artifacts, it’s not exactly the adrenaline rush he used to get working a homicide. But with a reprimand on his record and a sorrow he can’t shake, he will take what he can get — as long as he can keep his badge. What he doesn’t count on is having to keep his cool when he finds one of the priceless artifacts — a golden-skinned goddess wrapped in fabric like a mummy, left to die and needing his help. She’s a mystery he’s determined to unravel. She might also be the cure for his lonely heart.
Comment for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card! Do you love stories based on history and myths?
An Excerpt from Crescent Moon
One last time, her mind drifted, peacefully content…no shadows or disquiet to disturb her…allowing her to separate the parts of herself, first body from spirit…and then the mournful, dying part of her soul to dwell forever in the pit, while what remained, the part that would be born again, floated upward on golden wings.
Her sprit ba left her mortal shell and spread its wings, flying through the small bright hole in the ceiling, leaving behind her swaddled human form, which lay on a bare wooden bench. One, two, three strong surges of her fluttering wings and she flew toward the sun, free at last and feeling grateful to her husband for his generous gift. Her wings caught an updraft and she held them still, floating on the wind, the glorious waning sun warming her back.
Her spirit flew above white limestone cliffs and past a deep quarry littered with enormous blocks of carved stone. A sudden gust riffled through her feathers, forcing her to fly west, high above a barren valley.
But at last, her ba tired, circling downward, searching for the great river to lead her home. But no familiar white-washed city dwellings, no temple walls lay below. No fields of cotton and wheat.
Confused, she made her way back to the dismal pit. Not wanting to enter, she flitted around the opening, feeling weary and afraid.
Something dark awaited her. Some horror in the shadows.
And then she spotted the man with the dark, watchful gaze standing beneath the opening, his arms outspread to catch her…
Her heart pounded against her chest, the sound intruding on the vision. Khepri’s eyes slammed open.
Freedom was only a dream, a memory. How long had she been sleeping?
Slowly, Khepri grew more aware of her surroundings. Pressure enveloped her from head to toes. Frayed edges of linen strips surrounded her eyes. An ache centered in her head made her want to gasp, but when she tried to draw a deep breath, the constriction around her chest made the movement impossible. She couldn’t feel her fingers or toes. Her body, other than her head and chest, was numb. Something was terribly wrong. Short, panicked breaths huffed in the silence.
She blinked, bright sunlight streaming through a hole in the rock ceiling above, blinding her, making her eyes tear. Unable to turn her head, she peered beneath the fringe of her dark lashes, through the openings left in the fabric, gazing upward. Her sight cleared slowly, but was filtered as though looking through the gauzy curtains that surrounded her bed in her tiny house inside the temple walls. But the haze obstructing her sight wasn’t merely physical. It was a thin curtain pulled over her mind. One placed there, purposely, to confuse.
Her head reeled, not understanding, not recognizing where she lay. The sickly sweet scent of frankincense tickled her nose.
“Precious little warrior, you are awake.”
If she could have drawn a deep breath, she would have spit. Sudden fury trembled through her body. She didn’t understand what was happening, but knew he was the one to blame. She wanted to rage against him, ask how he dared abduct her. She was Amun’s wife, his mortal consort. But the only sound that scratched from her throat was a tiny whimper.
“You have questions,” he crooned from beside her. “We have little time. Pharaoh’s army marches. They will find us soon. We must bury the nameless one, hide him before they can entomb him. No one must ever find his body. He will not sleep in a sarcophagus. No texts will be written to reawaken him, no mask placed over his head so that he may recognize himself in the afterlife. He must not rise.”
Her lashes drifted downward. She remembered the moment the handsome, lying vizier stepped off the plank lowered from the side of the barge.
“Pharaoh is dead,” he’d said, his voice uninflected.
Her heart had grown still. The news was devastating to be sure, but why had he traveled so far from Luxor to tell her?
And then snippets of memories bombarded her mind.
Khepri moaned, spreading her lips and baring her teeth to catch the edges of the strips surrounding her mouth, but they were stiffened and wouldn’t give. Her eyes rounded in fear as she realized how dire was her predicament.
He bent closer, his dark eyes alight with sympathy. But then he moved away. Taking with him his masculine scent, musk she’d once found attractive. The odor mocked her now.
Although she feared him, she wanted to cling to the sight of him, didn’t want to feel so alone, so trapped and helpless. Perhaps she could reason with him. But he was insane. Would no one stop him?
Deep in her throat, she gurgled, nearly choking on the tears that leaked from her eyes and burned the back of her throat. “Please,” she whispered.
From a distance, she heard his footsteps. He drew nearer, holding in one hand a slender reed with one end frayed and trimmed to form a brush and dripping red paint, and in the other a palette, red pigment swirled. He leaned over her and made strokes on the coverings enclosing her chest, down her belly, splitting over her thighs and moving down to her toes.
“What are you doing?” she rasped, as some of the cool liquid seeped through to touch her skin.
“Painting spells, Khepri, Amun’s wife. Introducing you to Anubis, the protector of souls, entreating him to keep you close until you are needed. To hide you from Osiris so your soul will not be judged. Not yet.”
“Until I am needed? I am needed at the temple.”
He tsked and continued to paint, accompanied by the soft chuffing sounds of bristles rasping on resin-hardened fabric.
Her tears quickened, soaking her skin beneath the wrappings and leaking into her hair. “I am The God’s Wife. You have no right.”
He sighed and strode back into view. When he leaned over her, sympathy no longer shone in his eyes. A deep furrow dug between his sharp dark brows. “I need quiet to think,” he said, his words peppering her like hard pellets.
He placed a hand over her nose and mouth, cutting off her air.
Panic made her gurgle, but she was unable to fight. She stared upward at his gleaming eyes until darkness closed over her vision.
It’s been a little more than a month since I began self-isolating. I’m an introvert, so staying home isn’t that difficult for me. It’s the stress surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic that I’m having a harder time with. It’s the worry about family and friends, the wondering when this thing will finally end and what it will mean for the world when it does.
There is no going back. This pandemic will change us all, not only individually but the entire world.
Humans are creatures of habit, and me more than most. I miss the little things in my weekly routine—breakfast out, running errands, stopping in at the coffeeshop/bookstore, going out for lunch and a movie, seeing my family. Little things, and certainly not important in the grander scheme of what is going on right now, but I still miss them.
But there are things I am doing to keep my spirits up and find joy. If you’re struggling with stress, there are things you can do that might help. First and foremost is to be gentle with yourself. These are unprecedented times. We don’t exactly have a playbook for this.
1. Call family or friends. Being alone can be tough for some people. I talk to someone in my family daily. Some days, I talk to all of them. It keeps us connected even though we can’t be together.
2. Discover a new show on TV, Netflix, or another streaming service. The last couple of Saturdays, I’ve binged on Netflix shows—Next in Fashion and Messiah. Two totally different kinds of shows. I’ve made Saturday a sleepy, do-nothing-much-of-anything day. If you have kids, it’s tougher, but maybe you can find things to watch as a family.
3. Exercise. It’s tough right now with having to stay inside. I’ve started walking around my apartment and I walk whenever I’m on the phone. If you have a yard, getting outside will certainly help. It’s cold here and there is still snow on the ground.
4. We all want to stay informed, but there comes a time when you need to turn off the TV and shut down social media. I’ve started turning on music. It can be soothing. If you want to rock out or have a dance party, that’s good too. Whatever works for you.
5. Journal. Get your thoughts down. It’s a way to help you work though what you’re feeling and going though. It can also be a record of this historic time that we’re living through.
6. Meditate. There are plenty of free programs or you can search YouTube. Or you can simply turn everything off, close your eyes, and simply breathe.
7. Cook or bake, if you’re so inclined. It’s a great activity if you have kids at home. I don’t do much of it because it’s only me at home. Too many cookies is not a good thing for my waistline.
8. Go online and check out some of the free video tours of famous museums and galleries being offered.
9. Find a new hobby or pick up an old one. If you’re not sure what you’d like to do, go online and look around. Between Pinterest and YouTube there’s not much you can’t find. And if you don’t have the money for a hobby, it’s still fun to watch other people and see what they’re creating. My sister has pulled out all her partially finished projects and is either finishing them or using the materials for a new one.
10. Housework. Yes, I said it. If you’ve been putting off a project, now may be the time to tackle it. Maybe not major home renovation but cleaning out a closet or the garage. I figure when this is over there are going to be tons of yard sales as people unload stuff they no longer want.
11. Draw a hot bath, sink into the water, close your eyes, and relax.
12. And finally, my go-to when my stress level is high is books. I wouldn’t make it without them. I’ve read some new ones and gone back and read old favorites.
If you like paranormal romance and are looking for a new read, you might want to check out Fury Unleashed, the first book in my new Forgotten Brotherhood series.
Fury Unleashed
Forgotten Brotherhood, Book One
Maccus Fury, a fallen angel, is trying hard to keep his sanity. Seems being an assassin might be catching up with him. Now, Heaven, or Hell, has sent a beautiful assassin to kill him. Lovely. She’s pretending to seduce him, and he’s okay with that. She’s smart and snarky—but she has no idea what she’s walked into. And he’s more than peeved that they only sent one person. They’re going to need an army if they want him dead.
Morrigan Quill is one of Hell’s bounty hunters. She sold her soul to keep her sister safe, and now she’s working off her contract by catching bad guys and dragging them back to hell. When Lucifer makes her a new offer––that’s definitely too good to be true—she can’t say no. All she has to do is kill a powerful and crazy-hot fallen angel, who will totally kick her ass in battle.
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, 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.
Hi! I’m Sierra Brave. I write sizzling romance across several genres. Currently, my favorites places to let my imagination run wild are romantic suspense and paranormal romance. My Horse Mountain Shifters series features rugged men and curvy girls.
The new and nasty COVID-19 virus has everyone locked inside their houses—and with good reason. As the mother of a chronically ill child, I’m all for everyone staying home, staying well and keeping infection rates as low as possible! Today, I’m going to share five ways to pass the time during self-isolation.
Spring cleaning – not a lot of fun but now’s a great time to go through those old clothes and other household items, deciding what to keep, what to pitch and what to donate when we can venture out again—and lots of people will be in need so having charitable donations at the ready is a good thing.
Sewing (or crochet, needlepoint, or any of the hobbies lots of us used to enjoy before cellphones/computer games started providing a quick, convenient way to pass time) – Some talented people are even making facemasks out of old bras. If you have some fabric and elastic around the house, there are lots of other facemask patterns online as well.
Learn a new language – Back to those cellphone and iPad apps – Some pretty decent programs for learning to communicate with people from another country exist and are available through the Apple Store. We can’t travel right now, but there’s no reason not to prepare for when the fine medical experts of the world find a vaccine and cure or create a treatment for us.
DIY with YouTube – tons of tutorials are available for everything from home maintenance to manicures. My daughter used to love this one from the well-named, Cute Girl’s Hairstyles.
Finally, the best way to pass the time is to read! Please check out my new release, Saving Suki, and grab your copy today while it’s still on sale.
An abusive childhood and an accident in his teens left stallion-shifter, Malcolm Patterson, with a distrust for his father and a lot of holes in his memory. When his dad passes away, Malcolm returns to Horse Mountain to fulfill his obligation to settle his old man’s affairs but finds the shifter community’s near hero-worship of the late doctor disquieting. He’s further shaken to meet a curvy beauty at the funeral who makes his heart gallop and his primal instincts take over.
Suki Marks has been in love with handsome and noble Malcolm Patterson ever since he saved her from bullies who called her an abomination when she was ten. He was the first person to be straight with her about the reasons some people shunned her family and he was quick to debunk those prejudices as the ignorant folktales and stupid superstitions they were. Even after Malcolm graduated high school and left town, she couldn’t forget him, but becoming Doctor Patterson’s live-in nurse in his last year of life was a coincidence. She never expected to be named in the wealthy physician’s will.
Malcolm assumed he’d be disinherited, but even from the after-life, his father continues to turn the knife, using his will to set up an elaborate scheme to taint Malcolm’s feelings for the woman who might be his fated mate. To make matters worse, a dangerous shifter-purist movement is brewing among a small segment of the Horse Mountain Clan, and they’re determined to prevent Suki from passing on her genes to a new generation. Will Malcolm be able to work through his past in time to secure his and Suki’s future?
Warning: Saving Suki is a smoking hot romance with graphic, put-you-in-the-moment love scenes. If you’re offended by sexual language, you might want to consider another book. The book can stand alone without reading the others in the series, but reading Horse Mountain Shifters 1-3, will add to the enjoyment of the experience.
Excerpt from Saving Suki
Malcolm looked through the glass of the refrigerated pie case at the old McGillacutty Dinner as he perused the offerings. He wasn’t about to show up to Mama Carol’s completely empty-handed. A bright yellow flyer attached to the outside of the dessert case with scotch tape caught his eye. He studied the image of the missing girl printed above the lettering spelling out her name, age, and where she’d last been seen along with a phone number and offer of a reward. She was nineteen, blond and had a nice smile, but since he didn’t recognize her and couldn’t be of help, he turned his attention back toward the pies.
After deciding on the chocolate chess, he paid and headed out. He held the box with his desert under his left arm as he wrapped the fingers of his free hand around the glass door’s handle. As soon as he pulled back enough to let in the slightest breeze, the sweet all-consuming aroma from earlier hit him like a ton of bricks. Almost immediately, his heart thumped so hard his chest ached. His mind blanked, his cock twitched and his senses nosedived down into some dark, primal place he hadn’t realized existed. He might have involuntarily shifted right then and there if he hadn’t nearly knocked right into the curvy, brunette beauty who’d spoken with him at the funeral.
Her dark eyes widened and her eyebrows lifted as she gasped and reached out, saving his dessert by a narrow margin. Her hand briefly brushed against his fingers as she steadied the box. Perspiration misted his forehead and the back of his neck as he regained control of his mental faculties.
“Sorry. Are you okay?” He managed to force the words up from his suddenly dry throat.
Shakily, she looked up at him through long, dark eyelashes and nodded. “Uh-huh.”
For what seemed like an eternity, the two of them stood staring at one another until an old lady with a tight, gray perm came up behind Malcolm and demanded, “Move it, sonny.”
He stepped out of the way, holding the door for the elder woman as she shuffled out holding hands with a short, old guy wearing a flapjack hat. Malcolm couldn’t help but smile. He’d always imagined there were couples who’d found each other and stayed in love for all their lives even though none of his relationships seemed to last longer than a month or two. In the last few years, he’d only dated humans which didn’t allow for complete openness or a deeper intimacy.
Malcolm watched as the man walked his lady over to a white Toyota Avalon and opened the passenger-side door for her. As he glanced at the brunette, she tore her gaze away from the same couple and his line of vision synced with hers. For some reason, as if they’d somehow understood they’d been sharing the same thought, a warm blush covered her cheeks. Malcolm looked away as his face burned.
Other Books in the Horse Mountain Shifters Series: Horse Mountain Heat USUKCAAU Real Cowboys Love Cats USUKCAAU Bridling Lucy USUKCAAU
About Sierra
Sierra Brave is a multi-published author of smoking hot romance. Her love of erotic fiction started in her last year of high school when she read the sensual classic, Fanny Hill. She felt so naughty yet liberated with her copy tucked away in her book bag and hopes her work will have the same delicious effect on her readers.
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Do you like whiskey? Whether you do or don’t, it’s a drink with a fascinating history. The name comes from the old Irish uisce beatha, which means “water of life.” It was invented by Irish and Scottish monks in the Middle Ages, who used it for medicinal purposes. Now that’s a good excuse for a dram if ever I heard one! St Patrick’s Day was on 17 March, so now seemed a good time to tell you about my favorite drink and how I came to discover it.
I arrived in England from France in 1997, and one of my first jobs was as a finance analyst for a drinks company that owned several brands of Scotch and Irish whiskeys. They sold it, and they loved it. I’ll never forget the time when I was helping one of the directors with his budget figures. When we finished the work, he breathed a sigh and declared, “Ah, time for a break!” I expected him to brew a cup of tea or coffee. Instead, he pulled a book from his bookshelf. Behind it sat a bottle of Scotch. He opened it and drank a good mouthful, then offered it to me. It was 10 am, so I declined politely. There was also the time when we arrived at a company meeting, to be met with six shot glasses of whiskey lined up before every seat. We were to drink the shots, then guess which whiskey was the new one we were launching. I work in the pharmaceutical industry now, nothing this fun happens to me anymore!
Many countries produce whiskey, including Japan and India. It remains the liquor of choice in its old Celtic heartlands of Ireland and Scotland. Wales has also recently started, or rather restarted, to produce whiskey. When I created the world of my award-winning Sea of Love fantasy romance series, it seemed natural that my Welsh shape-shifting mermen would produce and drink whiskey. In the first book of the series, A Merman’s Choice, the merman hero Yann and the heroine Alex are stranded on Yann’s island during a storm. Yann is forced to take Alex to his home, in defiance of the laws of the merfolk. Alex is soaked and frozen. Yann wants to warm her up… what better way than to offer her a glass of his own whiskey? Read on to discover more!
A MERMAN’S CHOICE is the first book in the Sea of Love series, winner in the Paranormal Romance Guild Reviewer’s Choice Award. Buy link: https://books2read.com/u/31xw7a
A Merman’s Choice
For centuries the shape-shifting mermen of the Morvann Islands have lived incognito among humans. But one of them, Yann, has developed some bad habits. Like rescuing humans, even when doing so risks revealing his true nature. When he fishes Alex out of the sea, he doesn’t expect her to reappear eight months later, and turn his life upside down by asking him to be her guide. Alex is determined to fulfill a promise to her dying grandmother, by gathering pictures and stories of the Morvanns. But she soon discovers that, on these remote Welsh islands, legends have a habit of becoming true!
Over the course of a few days, Yann and Alex grow close. But some mermen hate humans. Their hostility, and Yann’s secret, threaten to tear the couple apart just as they are discovering that they are soul mates. Can Yann overcome the obstacles in his path and make the right choice?
MUSIC FOR A MERMAN is Book 2 in the Sea of Love series. The books can be read independently. Buy link: https://books2read.com/u/mdG7Bw
Music for a Merman
Rob Regor knew that humans were trouble. All the shape-shifting mermen of the Morvann Islands knew it. And human women were double trouble… especially when they were lying on the road in front of a digger.
Rob has a mission. Go to the mainland. Work as a policeman. Spy on humans. Report back to his father, the head of the Regor Merman Clan. It should be easy. Until he has to arrest Charlie. Rob can’t fight his attraction to the sexy eco-warrior, and it puts him on one hell of a collision course with his family and his Clan. Will he break the rules – or break her heart, and his?
Love ‘em and leave ‘em, that was Charlie’s motto. It had served her well until now. But Rob is different… Can she open up her heart to Rob – when a secret buried in her past surfaces and changes her completely?
Excerpt from A Merman’s Choice
An ear-shattering roll of thunder shook the air. Alex flinched. “It’s right above our heads.”
Yann stopped himself from stroking her shoulder to reassure her. “That means it’ll soon go away.”
Not soon enough. How could he pass the time until then? He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost midday. Lunch would distract her from the storm and the ocean she’d only just escaped. Perhaps it would distract him from the sight of her, shimmering in the gloomy room like a pearl made of flesh.
He went to the dresser against the wall and picked up a bottle and two glasses. “Would you like a dram of whiskey to warm you up?”
She slid back down the sofa. His ears registered the squeak of leg against leather, and his mind instantly pictured her sprawled on the cushions, her golden hair fanned behind her head, milky thighs open wide. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the maddening image.
Her voice dropped into a seductive purr. “I’m quite warm already, thank you. But I can cope with more heat.”
He poured a glass of the golden liquid and brought it to her.
“Thank you.” She sipped it and made a grimace, which turned into a smile. “Even better than cider.”
Her mouth glowed against her milky skin like a forbidden fruit. He thought of the first summer berries—tart redcurrants, juicy raspberries. Would she taste like them?
They needed food. If he didn’t get lunch down her soon, she’d get drunk. The demon voice in his mind whispered that Alex would be great fun if she lost her inhibitions. He tried to shut the demon out. What could he prepare quickly?
He strode to the trap in the floor by the front door and lifted it. The smell and sound of seawater, sloshing in the dark, rose up.
Alex padded over to investigate. “Oh, wow. You have a whole aquarium down there!”
The corner of her blanket brushed his bare arm, sending another twig to feed the fire that smoldered in his loins.
“That’s how islanders keep their seafood fresh. Why don’t you go and sit at the table, and I’ll open a dozen oysters for you?”
She didn’t need to see the tunnel on the side of the “aquarium”, that led to the lower floor of the house, the level that flooded at high tide and opened onto the sea. The level where a more respectable merman would spend most of his time.
She moved away to the center of the room where the oak table stood. Not far enough. He’d become so attuned to her that every one of her movements seemed to ripple across the space and lap against his body. He grabbed a knife and bucket from the tool shelf, snapped the first oyster open and dropped it in the bucket. Now she was crossing her legs, damn her. Did she know that the woolen fabric was opening, uncovering the ivory skin of her inner thigh? Was she flirting with him, or was it his imagination?
“I love oysters.” Her voice wrapped itself around him like a silk scarf. “Pity we don’t have any champagne to go with them, but this whiskey is just as good.”
