Thursday, December 30, 2010

The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies - Chapter 17

“Ride like the wind, Monk! Ride like you’ve never ridden before! Like you never will again!” That didn’t sound right. Rock didn’t want Monk to hurt himself. “Until the next time,” he added hastily. As if he understood his master’s somewhat confusing words, Monk practically flew toward the winery. Faster than the wind from a herd of flatulent cattle…faster than Chastity leaving a man who’d lost his fortune in the stock market…the valiant steed ate up the ground in a blur of galloping hooves.

And still Rock felt the precious moments ticking away.
What if Buffi happened to spot the enticing green bottles, which his vampire spidey sense told him must contain the poison? They’d quarreled, and he knew how emotional she got after a fight. Especially during certain times of her lycanthrope cycle. She wouldn’t be thinking clearly. She’d be upset, looking for something, anything to take the pain away. What if, even now, his lupine goddess was tipping the bottle into her mouth as the tears streamed down her lovely, downy cheeks?
No, Buffi, no! Vampires and werewolves couldn’t communicate telepathically, of course, but maybe the force of his love would be enough to carry his warning to her. Stay away from the green bottles! No green bottles! But what if his message didn’t go through clearly? What if she only heard “green bottle,” which would make her think of the green bottles, and therefore search them out?
He switched gears. I love you, Buffi! You’re the only woman I’ll ever love! I’m sorry I handled things so…” Even telepathically, he couldn’t come up with the right word. “Bad.”
Enough with the telepathy. If only he had a cell phone. Things would be solved so easily with one simple call. But that would ruin the whole story, therefore he’d unfortunately dropped his cell phone in the cattle’s watering trough earlier that week. No, he’d have to rely on destiny and the speed of Monk’s flying hooves to save his one and only love from a painful, horrible death by poison.
Why, oh why had they fought? Why hadn’t he embraced his furry sons with open arms, instead of quibbling over little details like twenty-six months of being ignorant of their existence? For all those long, lonely months, he’d been a fatherless son. Okay, well that part wasn’t Buffi’s fault. But he’d been a sonless father too! Why hadn’t Buffi trusted him with the truth?
But why should she trust him? While she’d been raising his sons, a struggling yet winsome single mother, he’d been partying in Cabo with those showgirls. And in Dallas with those cheerleaders. And in Duluth with those dental trainees.
That whole time, he should have been changing diapers and warming bottles. He frowned. Did werewolf babies even wear diapers? And wouldn’t they destroy the bottles with their vicious little teeth? There was so much he didn’t know about Ivan and Vlad. Face it, his own sons were strangers to him. Not to mention a different species.
He had to save her. Had to save her. Had to save her. The rhythm of Monk’s hooves echoed his inner chant. Had to save her, clippety-clop, had to save her, cloppety-clip.
Once he’d saved Buffi’s life, she’d trust him. They’d be together, a happy vampire/werewolf/half vampire-half werewolf family, forevermore.
Buffi loped across the room in wolf form, then back again, a woman on a rampage. Vlad and Ivan nipped at her heels. Her poor confused boys tried to keep up with her, but her shifts came too fast, her emotions a tumultuous tsunami of turmoil. How had she let this happen? Why had she let that heartless (literally) monster (again, literally) come back into her life and destroy it all over again for the second time? Hadn’t she learned her lesson?
She never could resist his sweet caresses, not as a naïve, hopeful girl, and not as an older-but-apparently-no-wiser woman. She should have gnawed through his jugular the second he took her into his arms. But how could she do that to her babies’ daddy, the man whose love-pole had vaulted her into motherhood? The man whose seed had sprouted within her, bearing such beautiful, furry fruit?
Her boys. The thought of her precious boys shone like a beacon in her storm of anguish. She didn’t have time for a breakdown. Not when she had two boys to raise and a winery to run.
Speaking of which…time to try the new vintage her enologist kept raving about. She shoved all thoughts of Rock Fangsworthy to the bottom back drawer of her mind, where she kept stray socks and her boring, backup underwear.
“Vlad, Ivan.” She looked at them sternly until they’d switched to their adorable toddler selves. Then she realized she was naked from all that switching. Quickly, she dressed, trying not to think about Rock’s hands on her body, the way he’d ripped her clothes off in the cellar. Back where you belong. Bottom back drawer. When all three of them were appropriately human and clothed, she pressed the intercom to the wine cellar.
“Vince, I’m ready for the tasting now.” Thank God, her voice sounded calm, cool, and collected. Grace under pressure, as her grandmother van Pelt had taught her. She squared her shoulders and stiffened her spine. No blood-phobic, philandering, seductive heartbreaker of a vampire was going to get her down.
Vince Yardley appeared in the doorway with a tray on which wobbled a green bottle and a glass. Buffi’s nostrils prickled at the scent rising from them. Or was it from him? Did something smell funny? Even in human form, her sense of smell was exceptionally keen, of course, but nothing compared to her powers as a wolf. If Yardley weren’t here, she could switch back to her wolf form and pin down the odd smell. But he knew nothing about her secret, one benefit of his near-constant state of inebriation.
“Have you sampled it yet?” she asked Yardley.
He bristled. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing!” Alcoholic enologists could be so prickly sometimes. “Pour me a glass, please.”
Yardley set the tray on an antique sideboard and filled the glass with wine. As the red liquid hit the air, the fine hairs inside Buffi’s nose stood on end. She widened her nostrils, determined not to sneeze in front of Yardley. She had to present a good impression to the staff, after all. And she shouldn’t be such a baby about tasting the funny-smelling wine. What was she afraid of, anyway? Wine was wine.
Except this wine had a strange, sluggish look to it, she noticed as Yardley brought her the glass. It sloshed against the sides, leaving slick, rust-colored smudges in its wake. Almost like…blood.
Nothing wrong with that. She liked her meat raw and bloody after all…why not her wine? She picked up the glass and brought it to her lips. This close, the smell made her a bit dizzy and queasy, almost like when…no, she couldn’t be…not again…not this fast…it wasn’t many days since they’d…
As if her panicked counting had conjured him up, Rock Fangsworthy burst into the room, suddenly and without warning. “Buffi! No!” His vein throbbed, the muscles in his jaw bulged. Never had he looked so manly, so heroic. “Don’t drink that!”
She stared at him, riveted by the primal command in his voice and the raw fear in his slate-blue eyes. This was a man. Her man. She knew it in the pit of her stomach, in the tingling soles of her feet, in the tips of her breasts. Oblivious to everything except her vampire cowboy, she didn’t notice when the edge of the glass touched her bottom lip.
Then…things happened so fast they seemed to be in slow motion. Rock flew through the air with supernatural speed and snatched the glass away from her. In the same instant, she tasted the fumes of the wine and knew what was in that glass.
“Nooo,” she screamed.
But it was too late. Rock raised the glass to his own chiseled lips and gulped the evil red liquid that Buffi knew, with every werewolf cell of her body, contained blood. Blood! For Rock, blood might as well be Kryptonite, and yet Buffi could only watch, rooted to the ground in slow-motion nightmare horror, as he downed every last drop.
The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor. He put his hand to his throat. His slate-blue eyes went hazy, then rolled up toward the ceiling. Like a mighty cottonwood, he toppled over.
“Rock! My love! No!!” Buffi threw herself on top of his cold body. Was it colder than normal? Who knew? All she knew was the only man she’d ever loved…ever would love…lay on her floor, as dead as an undead vampire could be, surrounded by shards of glass like the shattered, wine-stained pieces of her broken, bleeding heart.

CONCLUDED!!! Chapter Eighteen

If you enjoyed this chapter of The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies, please be sure and join us again next Thursday for the exciting final installment. You can read more about the serial HERE. And be sure to enter our contest! Rules and information can be found HERE.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Oh Come On, Just One More Pair

You know the cliché about women and shoes, right? Like leather-bound crack. No woman ever passes up a chance to own another pair of three-inch stilettos. Well, actually, I do. I tend to latch onto two or three pairs of shoes that I love and then ignore the others until my beloved pairs fall apart at which point I buy something very similar to the ones that just died. So I’m not a shoe addict. No, for me it’s earrings.

I don’t know quite when it started—maybe when my granny let me play with her metal box of clip-ons. Maybe when I got my ears pierced and could suddenly start wearing more and more elaborate pieces (I have basically no earlobes at all). At some point in my life, I started picking up earrings wherever I went.

When I go to a mall, I automatically drift toward the jewelers, even though I don’t usually buy from big jewelry stores. When I visit a new town, I check out the shop windows for dangling pretties, sort of like a magpie. Even in antique stores I find myself gravitating to the glass cases, checking out the vintage stuff (although most of them are clip-ons that would never work on my nonexistent earlobes). I’m particularly fond of artisan style earrings. At arts and crafts shows I pass up the paintings and the wood work for the jewelry stalls, where I can spend a happy couple of hours studying the latest combinations of metal and stone.

I never really stopped to wonder what it is about earrings that gets to me, but if pressed I’d guess it’s their ability to make you look like whatever you want to be at a particular moment. Put on those dangly beauties with a pair of jeans and voila, instant glamour. Pair the diamond studs with a dark suit and you become Professional Woman with no strain. Even a fundamentally staid person like me can kick up her heels a bit with gypsy hoops. If you want to slip on a new identity, just for a couple of hours, earrings can do that for you. And everybody who looks at your face will see your earrings; you can’t say the same for your shoes.

I just returned from Santa Fe recently, which is sort of the holy shrine of earrings. The Native American jewelers set up in front of the Governor’s Palace, spreading their wares in front of them, and then watch the customers strolling by, all of us trying to act casual as we look at the gorgeous stuff just sitting there a few inches away. I try to resist the chunks of turquoise and serpentine, spiny oyster shell and celadon, but I never make it all the way down the promenade without buying something. If you walk slow and show interest, most of the jewelers will tell you where the stones came from, how they put them together, what makes their earrings different from the hundreds of other pairs around you. It’s earring heaven.

This time I came away with two pairs, which is the limit I’ve set for myself. I’ve already got a couple of sizeable jewel cases full of earrings. I can’t really wear all the ones I already have (although I have to admit it’s fun to stumble over a gorgeous pair I’d forgotten about when I do inventory). I’m really hoping one or the other of my sons will have a daughter at some point so I can start passing some of them on (the tiny opal turtles I got at the Pueblo Cultural Center a few years ago would be a good start).

But anyway, let me tell you about the two pair I got in Santa Fe this time—hammered copper disks with great texture and large silver rectangles with traditional raincloud symbols from the Laguna Pueblo. Heaven, I tell you, absolute heaven. And I’ll wear them, I absolutely will. At least until I pick up something else.

So what about you? Are you into earrings or shoes or… well, what? What’s your wardrobe obsession?

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Guest Blogger Lex Valentine - Dirtygirl

For those of you who don’t know me…I’m a dirty girl. In my early 20’s, I hung around underground punk clubs in San Francisco and strange places like the 812 Cinema on Cannery Row where you watched Rocky Horror while sitting on pillows and throwing real toast. I wore smudged black eye liner, had spiked blue hair, wore torn fishnet stockings and had safety pins in my ears.

A few years later that all transitioned to long hair teased high, skin tight acid washed jeans tucked into knee high boots, tiny little Iron Maiden t-shirt, a white leather jacket and four holes in my left ear, the top hole being my first cartilage piercing.

Back then, I was flying high with a parade of hot younger men, running around with a girl named Sally who played guitar, and I had the yen to be something more than just another girl with tight jeans and a set of slightly better than average pipes. Sally called me “The Word Girl” and so I was, writing lyrics and poetry non-stop.

By the end of my twenties I’d had a baby and given up on the rock star dream. but by then I’d already begun to translate those dreams into stories that I put on paper, in notebooks. I got a little dirtier if you can believe it, still with the parade of hot guys, just not as big a parade as in my heyday, and I was pouring myself into stories.

And then as my thirties began to run out, I met my own rock star. Long curly hair down to lean hips. A tight ass. Faded 501 button fly jeans that molded his thighs not like a second skin – they weren’t that tight – but like a lover, skimming, brushing against the skin, flowing around every inch of his lower body just the way I wished I could.

Did he play guitar? Yep. Did he sing? Yep. Did he have a tattoo? Yep. I remember staring at his very professional looking Grundorf case thinking, “This guy shoulda been somebody.”

Well, he was. He was my Rott. Still is twelve years later, despite the fact that he was a little aghast at my ear. In my forties, the four holes became six with a double helix cartilage piercing the top of my ear. Rott thought the ear was tad extreme for my age. LOL I guess I still want to be a rock star.

But hey! The next best thing to being a rock star? Writing about them. Making them up and living vicariously through them. Giving them a hot courtship much like the ones I’d experienced in my years as a dirty girl. In the eighties, no one took the time to just date and go to the movies and get to know one another. You saw someone hot at a concert and the next thing you knew you were in the backseat of a car going at it like bunnies and then you’d drag each other around to backyard kegger parties that blasted the Scorpions and Judas Priest.

Sex happened quickly in those days without the long drawn-out courtship stuff. If you made it past the first sexual encounter with good vibes and some decent sexual compatibility, you moved on to try the boyfriend-girlfriend thing, discovering each other and learning each other as you went. Kinda like the whole traditional dating thing in reverse.

In my novella Rock My World, my hero and heroine know OF each other, and what they know is a turn on. Thrust together on tour, opening night adrenaline highs turn into a highly fueled sexual encounter. For Gia and Sin, one amazing night turns into more and the relationship begins to grow right there on the tour bus and becomes something neither of them expected.

For a taste of rock star Gia Santora and her younger opening act Sin Carstens, click HERE to read an excerpt! Thanks for having me at the Nine Naughty Novelists today!

LEX VALENTINE is a bestselling, award winning author who writes across genres from contemporary to paranormal, urban fantasy and sci-fi. A native of California’s Central Coast, Lex now lives in Southern California with her college student daughter Nikki, her long-haired, tattooed husband Ken, and a bunch of cats she calls “babies.” She loves loud rock music, builds her own computers, and works full-time for a cemetery/mortuary company as the network administrator.

Stalk Lex!

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Thursday, December 23, 2010

The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies-- Chapter Sixteen

They dressed in silence except for the sounds Ivan and Vlad made wrestling on the floor.

Rock stepped around them carefully, smiling as one went for his right boot and one went for his left. They got a good hold with their surprisingly strong teeth and he let them chew for a bit. Sure, he’d paid a lot for the custom-made, Lucchese, hand-crafted lizard skin boots with the diamond tipped spurs, but the pups had been through a harrowing experience. Besides, Lucchese were way tougher than Chastity’s Louboutins—which he’d also paid a lot for, incidentally.

“Rock, I think we need to talk.”

He turned to find Buffi—unfortunately—fully dressed. Yeah, the boys were here, but he could probably find a ball or a pound of hamburger to keep them busy for four or five more minutes…

“I have a better idea,” he crooned, reaching for her.

She sidestepped him, which was unusual, then said, “Really. We have to talk.” That was also very unusual. “Let’s go up to the house.”

“Can’t baby,” he said, fastening his appropriately large belt buckle. “I gotta stay down here while the sun’s up. Maybe I’ll just take a little nap on the dog bed…”

“No!” Buffi said firmly. “We have to talk.” She glanced at the puppies who had just shifted back to human form. “Now.”

“The sun…”

“Oh, blast the sun!” she exclaimed. “Cover yourself up with the blanket and run. It’s not that far.”

“Will that work?” Rock asked, eyeing the blanket dubiously. It looked thin to him.

She stared at him. “How the hell should I know? Why wouldn’t it?”

“Well, I’ve never tried it. What if it doesn’t…”

He was cut off as one of the boys let out an ear-piercing wail. Not to be outdone by his brother, the other joined in. The stereo caterwauling was enough to set his fangs on edge. “Oh, for the love of Monk, make them stop.”

“They’re hungry,” she said, gathering her babies into her arms. They were getting too big, and wiggly, for her to really hold them both.

She needed someone who could help her.

Rock reached out and took one of the boys—Ivan, he was pretty sure—from her. “Okay, then let’s go.”

“What about the sun?”

He thought she sounded a little sarcastic but he pointed to the blanket. “Help me throw that over my head.” He was gonna have to risk it.

She looked concerned for a moment. “Are you really going to be okay?”

The boys had quieted, thinking that being held meant the grown ups were about to come through with some chow, but when they realized the big people were just talking they let out two identical yowls that could have just as easily come from their wolf forms.

“We have to get them to the house,” Rock said. Their cries were nearly deafening, but it clearly meant that they were truly in need. He couldn’t let them just go hungry.

As the thought occurred to him, he stared down at the boy in his arms. Ivan. He was sure of it. And the distressed eyes and huge tears pulled at his heart.


“Shh, Ivan, it’s okay,” Buffi murmured to the child she held.

“This is Ivan,” Rock said, looking up at her. “You have Vlad.”

Buffi held the boy back away from her a bit to study him. “Are you sure?”


“How do you know?”

That was the question. He shrugged. “I just do.”

“I can’t even tell them apart.”

He shrugged again. “I’m completely sure. I just don’t know how.”

“I think I might.”

She said it quietly but there was something in her voice that made his unbeating, cold, dead heart squeeze.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something I need to tell you…”

“Let’s feed the boys first,” Rock cut in, as the crying duo took it up a notch.

They made their way to the house, each holding a boy. Ivan seemed to think running with Rock underneath the blanket was fun and squealed in delight. Rock found himself grinning at the sound.

Once they were in their booster seats at the table Buffi said, “You might want to go in the other room while I get their food.”

“It’s fine.” The twins had stopped crying and were waiting impatiently for their mother to serve their breakfast.

“It’s… meat,” Buffi said.

Rock swallowed hard. “That’s okay.”

“Raw meat.”

He closed his eyes and breathed deep. You’re rock hard, you’re rock steady. Strains of We Will Rock You by Queen went through his head and he felt better. Maybe that was what he needed—a theme song. Okay, this was good. “Just do it.” The boys needed to eat and what kind of man went running whenever some beef showed up? Some raw, stinky, bloody… No. He shook his head. He could do this.

He forced his eyes open and watched the boys light up rather than watching Buffi slap steaks onto plates for them. He then focused on her and the body that could make even his cold hard body feel warm and soft. Well, not soft down there where it counted, but he definitely felt some soft feelings for her.

To cover the sound of the boys snarling and growling—even in human form—over the meat their mother had cut up for them, Rock asked, “Now what did you want to talk about darlin’?”

Buffi wiped her hands—her bloody hands (Rock had to swallow hard again) on the dishtowel and sighed. “There’s something you need to know. Let’s go in the other room.”

He glanced at the boys. They seemed happy. Bloody, but happy. He smiled—in spite of the blood—and followed Buffi into the next room.

“What’s up?” Actually, now that he mentioned it, he was. Again. Not at all soft down there. Because of her. She smelled great. Which was weird, because she’d just been handling raw meat.

“I have something to tell you. I’ve been wondering how to do this for days and… well, there isn’t really a good way to say it.” She looked as pale as Rock, and he grew concerned.

“Baby, whatever it is, you can tell me.” He put his hands on her shoulders.

She looked up at him with luminous eyes the color of a Texas sky in July. “Do you remember when we were last together?”

Sure. It had been three—or five—years ago. “Yeah, sure, of course.”

“Do you remember the date?”

Ah, shit. This was the kind of thing women always did to trip men up. “It was the date my heart stopped beating, baby.”

“Your heart doesn’t beat anyway.”

“Figuratively. I was being poetic.” If you had to point it out, it didn’t count. He sighed.

“Well, I remember the date. Exactly. The boys are twenty-six months old. Which means we last saw each other thirty-five months ago.”

She paused. Rock stayed quiet. He had no idea what she was talking about—except that thirty-five months was way less than five years, so he at least had that figured out—and was afraid if he said anything he’d get himself into trouble.

“Rock, do you know what that means?”

He didn’t. “Darlin’, it doesn’t matter that it’s been so long. My feelings are as strong today as…”

“No,” she interrupted, pushing him back. “Think about it, Rock. The boys were born twenty-six months ago. You and I were last together nine months before that. Nine. Months. Get it?”

Rock pondered that. Nine months. That was about how long a cow was pregnant…

The room spun and the floor seemed to tip. Rock felt as if someone had just cut an artery in front of him—dizzy, sick and like screaming “what the fuck did you do that for?!”. Oh, God.

“Rock!” Buffi exclaimed. “You stay with me!” She shook him. “No passing out. Pay attention.”

“You were pregnant and you slept with me anyway?” he demanded, the stars clearing from before his eyes.

She stared up at him, then her eyes narrowed and a low growling came from the back of her throat. “What. Did. You. Say?”

“I can do the math, Buffi!” Rock exclaimed. What did she think—that he was an idiot?

“Yeah, you’re adding two plus two and getting three hundred and sixteen!” she shouted. “The boys are yours!”

The damned room spun and stars exploded before his eyes again. He had a son? No, that wasn’t right. He had two. And they were here. And they were werewolves.

He needed to lie down.

“Rock, so help me, if you pass out right now, you will never set foot in this house again!”

We will, we will Rock you! He repeated it a few times. If there was ever a time he needed his theme song it was now. Rock steady. Rock hard. Rock solid.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“You were out of my life by the time I found out. I just…,” Her voice caught on a sob. “I just couldn’t come back and risk you breaking my heart again.”

“You should have told me the first minute you saw me again!” he exclaimed.

“I didn’t know how things were between us! You wanted the winery! You had a fiancée!” she exclaimed back.

“I did not!” he exclaimed once more. “I didn’t propose to her until after I’d seen you again!”

Buffi’s eyes narrowed, that growling sound started again and Rock backed up a step. Then another.

“How is this even possible?” he asked, grasping. “It wasn’t the right time in the lunar cycle for your lycanthrope fertility to be at its peak.”

“Yeah, well, apparently impossible things happen all the time around here. For instance, everyone knows that vampires aren’t supposed to pass out when they see blood! And they’re supposed to frickin’ sparkle in the sun!”

Rock didn’t realize she’d backed him onto the porch until she slammed the front door in his face.

# # #

The last person on earth that he wanted to see was Billy Bob Bobson. So it was good that it was Chastity sitting on the steps leading up to his porch when he reined Monk in.

She was the second to last person he wanted to see.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, dropping to the ground, making sure the blanket stayed over him, blocking the sun.

“Oh, Rock, I had to come warn you!” Chastity exclaimed dramatically. “Billy Bob poisoned the wine! He was trying to kill Buffi!”

Rock’s eyes narrowed. “What wine?”

“The… I…” She stopped and frowned, her lips puckering as she thought hard. Rock knew that was painful for her, so he gave her a moment. “I don’t know. I just know that he was trying to poison her. He broke into the winery.”

Dammit. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I forgive you, baby,” Chastity said, coming to her feet and adjusting her boobs, the left one more than the right.

“You forgive me?” Rock repeated.

“I wish you hadn’t slept with that bitch, but I forgive you,” Chas told him.

“You were making time with the guy trying to kill me,” Rock said. “And you kidnapped Buffi’s… my… the puppies… kids… whatever!”

“But we brought them back!”

“If you’re so concerned about me, why didn’t you come over to Buffi’s to tell me? She could still drink the wine, Chastity!”

Rock swung himself back up on Monk’s back as Chastity came running toward him. Her triple D’s bounced, her four-inch heels clicked on the sidewalk and her hairspray-laden hair barely moved.

“I couldn’t come back! I’m too scared of those demon dogs!” Chas cried, still very dramatically, reaching for Rock. “Please baby, let’s work this out.”

“Demon dogs?” Rock roared. “I’ll have you know those are my sons you’re talking about!”

Chastity stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her eyes as wide as her face lift—the plastic surgeon had done a pretty good job on that— would allow. “What?!”

“That’s right.” Rock spun Monk back toward Buffi’s house. “Those are my demon dogs and I never want to see you again.”

He nudged Monk and raced off—he liked the way the blanket billowed out behind him like a cape.

Chastity shouted after him, “I’m keeping the earrings! And the ring! And the…”

But Rock was too far away to hear the rest.

And he didn’t give a rattlesnake’s rattle if she took everything he had when she left. As long as she left.

CONTINUED!!! Chapter Seventeen

If you enjoyed this chapter of The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies, please be sure and join us again next Thursday for the next exciting installment. You can read more about the serial HERE. And be sure to enter our contest! Rules and information can be found HERE.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Chest Hair - Yea or Nay?

The other day, someone I follow on Twitter posted a shirtless pic of Alex O'Loughlin, from Hawaii Five-0. Almost immediately, someone posted in response, "ew. Chest hair." (My immediate thought was, you've got a gorgeous pic of a gorgeous man like AOL and all you can see is the chest hair? Are you mad?)

But it was true - chest hair was preventing that commenter from enjoying the photo. Others chimed in with their thoughts, pro and con, and thus started a minor Twitter war, between those who like their beefcake pictures with chest hair, and those who prefer them without.

It's been a topic of discussion surrounding romance novel covers as well. Some like the heroes on the books to be smooth and chest-hair-less, while others vote for a more au naturel look. (And yes, I know some men are naturally less hairy than others.) The discussions can get rather...heated, too.

I've noticed that on the German soaps I've watched, most of the men have smooth chests. Same with most model pics I've used for my Inspiration Friday posts. Then there's Alex O'Loughlin and Scott Caan (who sadly hasn't been shirtless on Hawaii Five-0 yet), both with chest hair. And both rowr-worthy, IMO. So I'm flexible - I can appreciate a pic of a hot guy with or without chest hair. But I know that many other women fall strictly into one camp or another.

So my question to you is - chest hair or no? Or does it matter? When you look at a romance novel cover, does chest hair (or the lack thereof) draw you in, or turn you off?

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

My Best and Worst Christmas Ever

My son just had a birthday, which every year makes us think about his first Christmas and how blessed and fortunate we are that he is here to celebrate every Christmas with us.

When I was pregnant with him, my water broke at 21 weeks (about half way into the pregnancy). I was put in the hospital on bed rest to prevent me from going into labour. At that time, there was no way he would have survived had he been born, so they wanted to hold it off as long as possible, but everyone knew he was likely not going to make it to full term. I spent 7 weeks in the hospital. My daughter was two years old at the time, and the first night she had to leave me there, we both cried buckets of tears. We were very close and it was gut-wrenching to be apart from her that much. My husband became a single parent for 7 weeks, with all the work that goes with that but also daily visits to the hospital on top of the worry about the baby growing inside me.

At almost 29 weeks I went into labour. They tried to stop it, but only bought us one more day and on December 10 my son was born. He weighed 3 lbs 3 oz, a good size for 28 weeks, though he lost a few ounces of fluid and went below 3 lbs. I don’t remember much about the time immediately after the delivery, it’s pretty much a fog in my head. We were told he was having trouble breathing on his own, which wasn’t a surprise. The hospital staff had done a great job of preparing us for what was to come. I was wheeled in to see him before they whisked him off to the NICU, but again I barely remember it. When my husband wheeled me into the NICU later that day to see him, the nurses were all astonished that I was there, having just had a baby, and it might have been a bit soon seeing as I just about fainted and had to be taken to the sitting room to put my head between my knees.

That's me and my son

People say there’s nothing harder than going home from the hospital without your baby, but again, I was prepared for that, and after 7 weeks in the hospital I was happy to get the hell out of there and back to my own bed. The next two months (he came home February 15) were daily visits to the hospital (sometimes two or three times) and an emotional roller coaster. He had every medical problem a preemie can have – they gave him what I consider miracle drugs, surfactants, to help his lungs develop and help him breathe on his own. He had extreme jaundice and had to go under sun lamps. He had so much blood drawn from his tiny body he needed multiple transfusions. He had numerous infections because his immune system was so weak (even though we had to scrub up every time we went in the NICU). He had a broken wrist from the delivery. He had a valve in his heart that didn’t close as it normally would at birth, because it was too early. We luckily avoided surgery with more miracle drugs. He was fed by IV for weeks, eventually moving to tube feedings of the breast milk I’d been pumping.

I was determined to breast feed him because it had been such a good experience with my daughter and I knew that if any baby needed the benefits of breast milk, it was him. So I got to be best friends with the electric breast pump the hospital sent home with me. You think it’s hard getting up in the middle of the night to nurse a baby? How about getting up to sit in the dark with a breast pump. I shed a lot of tears in those lonely middle of the night “feeding sessions”.

The tube feeding was a slow process, though, because his intestines weren’t developed enough to digest even breast milk. Finally the last thing that was keeping him from coming home was being able to feed and the poor little guy was so weak and tiny he didn’t have much energy and he didn’t have a clue what to do when put to the breast. All modesty is lost when you have six nurses and lactation consultants standing around your naked chest trying to get the babe to latch on. Oy!

He was hooked up to wires and tubes and monitors. We got to be good at reaching out to poke him inside his isolette when the monitor started beeping because he’d stopped breathing, or his heart had stopped (after a few minor freak outs at first). The scariest problem of all was the bleeding in the brain. There are various categories of IVH and his wasn’t the worst, but not the least either. As there’s nothing they can do about it, we knew we would have to wait and see how this affected him.

On Christmas Day, when he was about two weeks old, we made our trip to the hospital with his gifts. My daughter sat in a rocking chair, in her little yellow hospital gown, and opened them for him. And that was the day I got to hold him for the first time. The nurse dressed him in a tiny sleeper and I held him, with a teeny oxygen mask held to his little face. It was bittersweet – they told us that day he was going to be okay – he was “a keeper” they said. There are many babies who don’t make it out of the NICU; we saw them. But it was still a long road after that. I'm happy to tell you that he is now an adult:  18 years old, smart, funny, a little lazy in that teenage boy way, but a great kid.

Happy holidays everyone! What are some of your great Christmas memories and most special gifts?

Monday, December 20, 2010

The Husband List

Next Friday, New Year’s Eve, I’ll be ending the year 2010 with a bang. Yes, that kind of bang. After all, I’ll be getting married.

I waited a long time to find the right man. Actually, I didn’t “wait.” I dated, I searched…you might say I went to the School of Hard Knocks of Relationships. I made a lot of mistakes, learned plenty of lessons. Now, I like to think it all had a purpose—so that when I met my (about to be) husband, I would know just how special he is.

Back in my “looking” days, I was told to make a list of the things I wanted in a mate. You know, things like “sense of humor” and “financially stable.” Or maybe, “nice ass.” Every time I tried that, I felt silly and gave up. Can you really order up a husband like a Subway sandwich? Now I wish I had made a list, so I could compare it to the amazing person I wound up with.

So I hope you don’t mind if I write a different list--a few of the many things I love about my very unique husband-to-be.

  1. He always knows when something’s bothering me, and he makes me talk about it. I’m one of those people who keeps things inside. He doesn’t let me do that. He gets me talking, which isn’t always easy, and he truly listens to what comes out, even if he’s the one I’m upset with.
  2. He has an extremely open mind. I’ve rarely, if ever, heard him express any negative judgment about another person. He finds all people interesting and loves talking to them. Have you heard the phrase ‘a stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet’? That’s him. He lives that.
  3. Before I met him, I’d heard of the “practice of happiness,” the idea that happiness comes from your own mind and attitude, not from external circumstances. But it was just an abstract concept until I saw how he lives. He always takes the bright, positive road. Not that he hasn’t suffered. He’s had plenty of bad things happen to him. But he never lets that change his basic approach to life, which is to have fun and be happy.
  4. He loves adventure. But he also loves hanging out with family. It’s all good to him—all part of the unfolding mystery of the universe (his phrase.)
  5. He’s unbelievably ingenious. He’s a carpenter, but so much more than that. He’s a creative visionary whose medium happens to be everyday stuff. He can transform an old schoolbus into a functioning commercial kitchen. He can go to the dump and find ten things that can be fixed up or used in some new way. He’s passionate about recycling materials so that nothing goes to waste. He can see potential in something that looks like junk to others.
  6. He follows his own light, his own inner voice, and doesn’t care if others think he’s odd. “Normal” means nothing to him. Being with someone like that is very inspiring and freeing.
  7. He thinks it’s beyond cool that I write erotic romance.
  8. He’s an incredible father who’s able to see things from a child’s point of view. He doesn’t get into power struggles with his kids. They know he’s the boss, although a gentle, playful one who occasionally has to remind them of his authority.
  9. He’s the opposite of a commitment-phobe. He loves the idea of being committed to one person. Lucky for me, I’m that person.
  10. He has a nice ass.

As you may be able to tell, I not only love this man, I have a tremendous respect for him and how he chooses to live his life. I feel as if I’m not only getting a husband, but my own personal wizard. He’s brought so much magic and wonder and joy into my life. But could I ever have imagined this list back in my single days? I doubt it. Even a romance writer doesn’t have that great an imagination.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Revisions... oh, fudge!

I tweeted a couple of days ago that the only things on my mind are Christmas and my love-hate relationship with revisions. Still true today but they've now combined into one topic.

See, I also have a love-hate relationship with Christmas candy. Specifically fudge. I love the taste, the texture, the *taste*. I hate what it does to my waistline.

A romance manuscript is a lot like fudge. There are some basic ingredients you always need: butter, sugar, a dark moment, a HEA/HFN. But there are other things that are similar recipe to recipe or book to book, but not identical. Chocolate chips or unsweetened chocolate, corn syrup or marshmallow cream, a bad guy trying to kidnap the heroine or a dark family secret that will rip them apart.

And like a batch of fudge, a manuscript can be going along great and then *bam*, something happens and it just doesn't work.

With fudge, a redo pretty much means starting from scratch. Thankfully, with a manuscript there are REVISIONS (though there are times just starting over is tempting!).

I like revisions because I like making a book the best it can be. I like pushing and layering and okay, further torturing (my characters, not myself-- but see the above comment about starting from scratch! :)). But it takes an amazing amount of energy for me to revise. Because I pour it all out the first time. Or at least I try. Sometimes it feels like there's just nothing left. Like I tried to make fudge and it called for a whole bag of marshmallows but all I had was 3/4 of a bag and I already dumped those in. I'm completely out.

But, it won't be as good.

That 1/4 of a bag makes a difference.

So, it's worth digging deep into the "cupboard", coming up with more, putting the rest-- every last bit-- in.

And you know, sometimes just when you're sure it's perfect, it occurs to you to add something-- like toffee bits. And suddenly--wow! Even better than before. Toffee crunch fudge becomes everyone's new favorite!

Yeah, it can happen.

(Let's hope I can find some magic toffee bits for this book in the next 2 weeks! *g*)

And for your fudge-ilicious pleasure: FUDGE RECIPES (Come on... how can anyone not like site called Fudge Recipe. com?! Awesome!

And there's Kahlua Cream Fudge--- are you *kidding* me??!!! Yee haw!!)


Thursday, December 16, 2010

The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies - Chapter Fifteen

Buffi flung her arms wide open, mindless of the fact that she was naked as the day she was whelped. "My babies!" she cried, reaching for the wriggling, writhing sack that clearly held the little furballs she'd been missing so terribly during their abduction.

Well, when she wasn't busy having sex, that is.

Glancing down, she gasped. She was... and Rock was...

Thankfully, the dog bed they'd so recently used for carnal pleasure also boasted a nice big wool blanket, so she snatched it up and tucked it under her armpits.

Finally covered, she glanced over at Rock, gratified to see that he'd whipped his cowboy hat off the floor and was holding it in just the right spot to keep his assets covered.

Good thing it was a ten gallon hat. It wasn't just Rock's bank account that was well endowed.

“Did you get rid of the little demons yet, Billy Bob?”

Buffi looked up, her mouth dropping open in shock. Rock’s supposed fiancée had hobbled up behind the man holding the sack, wearing one fancy high-heeled shoe, while carrying a gnawed, mangled second one in her hand.

“I thought you were staying back at the motel,” Billy Bob huffed, glaring at her. “This is not the way to keep a low profile, darlin’.”

She leveled a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look at him. “What, in your experience with me, ever gave you the idea I’d be interested in keeping a low profile?”

“Chastity!” Rock took a step forward. “What are you doing here, with this man?”

“I…uh…I can explain, baby…uh…” She looked him up and down, her jaw dropping, then glanced over at Buffi. “Me? What about you? You’re here with this…this bitch!”

“Hey!” Buffi leapt to her feet, lip curled back in a snarl. “Careful who you’re calling a bitch!”

“Well, what would you call a naked woman in the wine cellar with your also-naked fiancé?”

“I’m not your fiancé!” Rock started to wave his cowboy hat for emphasis, but thought better of it. “Especially if you’re in cahoots with someone who’s trying to kill me!”

“And kidnap poor innocent…” Buffi glanced at the sack in Billy Bob’s hand. Little snurfles and howls were clearly audible through the canvas. “…puppies,” she finished. “You were trying to ransom them for a million dollars! How could you?”

“We brought them back, didn’t we?” Chastity waved the chewed-up shoe at Buffi. “Besides, those little brats ruined my designer shoe! You owe me!”

“I owe you?” Buffi took a threatening step forward, pausing only to tuck the blanket more tightly under her arms. “Why don’t you two criminals give me my puppies back?”

“Oh, give the puppies act a rest. Like we don’t know your secret.” Billy Bob rolled his eyes, shaking the sack for emphasis.

Buffi gasped, looking to Rock for support. How could they know?

“They shifted while we were, um, babysitting them,” he continued. “And you called them your babies. I’m not an idiot.”

Buffi noticed that he didn’t include Chastity in that description. “Babysitting? Is that what you call it when you steal someone’s babies/puppies/babies/whatever?”

Chastity raised one eyebrow. “Well, since you were apparently busy knocking boots with my man, you needed someone to watch them.”

“Are you implying I’m a bad mother?”


Silence fell over the room, save for the muffled howls of the bagged puppies.

Everyone stared at Rock.

“You’d better hightail it off this property now, or there’ll be hell to pay,” Rock threatened, looking as menacing as it was possible for a naked man holding a cowboy hat over his privates to look. “You don’t want me for an enemy.”

“Oh, yeah?” Billy Bob scoffed. “And what happens if we don’t?”

Rock threw back his shoulders, nostrils flaring. “If you don’t…” he waved his cowboy hat for emphasis. “…you will have to answer to my wrath!”

Chastity tugged at Billy Bob’s sleeve. “Is that some kind of special ringtone or something?” Then she looked Rock up and down again, her gaze stuttering to a stop at his now-uncovered manhood. “You can call me anytime.”

“Hey!” Billy Bob looked at her, a hurt expression on his face. “Stop that!”

Buffi glared at Chastity, then snatched another blanket off the dog bed and stomped over to Rock. “No need to put on a show,” she muttered.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he said, tucking the blanket around his waist. “Now, Chastity, what we had was special –“

Buffi growled low in her throat.

Rock glanced at her before continuing. “Not as special as what Buffi and I have, of course. But out of respect for our history, I’m going to let you live.”

Chastity gasped, her hand clutching her throat.

Then he turned to Billy Bob. “Now you, on the other hand…”

Billy Bob thrust the sack at him, backing away. “Here. Take the damned things. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

Rock grabbed the sack from him. “That’s better. Now get off this land before I get really mad.”

Billy Bob blanched, which was quite a feat considering how pale he was to start with. “Hey, puppies, er, babies, uhm, whatever-the-hell-they-are are back. No harm, no foul, right?”

Rock bared his teeth at him. “Git. Out.”

With only a second’s hesitation, the man followed orders and got, running away in the opposite direction. Rock stared after him, his face looking as though it was carved of granite. Very dark, very solid granite.

“Hey!” Chastity stomped after him. “Where do you think you’re going? Some knight in shining Armor-all you turned out to be…”

Rock handed Buffi the wriggling, snuffling sack. The blanket slipped a little as she grabbed the it, so she tucked the edges in tighter and sank down onto the dog bed, scrabbling at the tie holding the sack closed. “Don’t worry, darlings, mama’s got you now,” she crooned.

A furry head popped out of the opening of the sack. “Vlad!” Buffi cried. Another head joined it. “Ivan!” She looked from one to the other. “Or the other way around! Mommy’s missed you, darlings!”

Rock bit his lip – carefully – as he watched the tender scene unfold before him. Such love and tenderness. It was what family should be. If only he had something like that in his life.

“Thank you, Rock,” Buffi said, her eyes shining as she cuddled her puppies – babies – puppies close. “You gave me my darlings back. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“It was nothing,” he said, a hint of ‘aw, shucks’ in his voice. “Children should never be separated from their parents.”

And as he turned away to locate his clothing, he missed the flash of dismay as it crossed Buffi’s face.

CONTINUED!!!  Chapter Sixteen

If you enjoyed this chapter of The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies, please be sure and join us again next Thursday for the next exciting installment. You can read more about the serial HERE. And be sure to enter our contest! Rules and information can be found HERE.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Pirates and Mermaids and Johnny, Oh My

My blog post is a little late today since mother nature apparently didn't get the memo that it isn't spring yet. We got hit hard with a lot of rain that made the river level rise, leaving us with a growing lake in the backyard, so I was a bit preoccupied with the unexpected possibility of flooding to blog.

But while I take a break from stressing about whether the worst is over, I thought I'd at least make your stop here worthwhile today. So in the spirit of rising rivers and high seas (well, not really) I've decided to share my boyfriend Jack with y'all. :) The last scene is my favorite part.

Any other Pirates of the Caribbean fans out there? Will you miss Orlando Bloom and Kiera Knightley for the 4th movie or is Jack Sparrow all you really need?

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Guest Blogger Stacey Kennedy - Werewolves and Me

Are there werewolf packs in the United States? Of course there are! Well, maybe in the world of The Blue Bloods they exist in our cities.

When the story of An Everlasting Bite came to me, I was so excited about the idea of focusing on how werewolf packs lived in our world. The rules that govern them and the challenges they face to keep their existence a secret.

It wasn’t long before these furry beasts captivated me. From their hierarchy structure, protective yet violent nature, and over-all powerful characteristics, I lived and breathed werewolves. Add in a sexy alpha and a steamy romance, and I’m smitten on these wolves.

So I ask you, are you a fan of werewolves? And if you are, what do you love about them?

My novels are light-hearted fantasy, heart squeezing, thigh-clenching romance, and even give a good chuckle every now and again. My journey as a writer began as a way to keep my brain alive since being a stay at home mom can be a little let’s say―numbing. It was an escape from screaming kids, dirty diapers and plain old mom duty. It started as a hobby, but as the stories progressed it became a passion. Now, I indulge at nap time, especially the juicy bits! Every mom needs a good thrill!

Blurb of An Everlasting Bite:

Love is born between strangers, yet built upon a bond soul deep―one Alpha’s vow to protect his mate from looming danger, all the while, mending her soul and stirring her wolfish desires.

A vicious werewolf attack in Plymouth, Minnesota leaves a young woman violated, bitten and now, transformed into werewolf. But Rynn Murphy doesn’t have to face this transformation alone—she has her mate by her side. And the charming Briggs―Beta to the Patriarch, Valor―is eager to ease her into this new life and mend her battered soul.

With only weeks to adjust to her new fur, Rynn, follows Briggs while he assists in locating the daughter of the Montana’s Alpha, who was abducted from her home. But this journey is not without danger. And soon, they discover the ones who have taken this young wolf do not want her found and will stop at nothing to keep her hidden. Or so it may seem, as bodies begin to drop around them, the murderous attempts start to appear more as a hit than a smoke screen—leaving only one question, who is the intended target…

Buy link (will change, but we can just use this one to direct to) --

Website - 
Facebook -!/profile.php?id=100000956942180 
Goodreads - 
Twitter - 
RT Book Reviews 
“…Kennedy has created a world that readers will want to visit again and again!” Dawn Crowne 
Bitten by Paranormal Romance 
“Do you love magic, dominant men, adventure, humor, evil villains and a talking cat? Well here is an excellent book for you to try.” Laurie 
Happily Ever After Reviews 
The readers will find themselves snickering and crying with the characters. I highly recommend this book. Read it, go get it right away. ” Hunter

Monday, December 13, 2010

Merry Naughty Christmas from Skylar (excerpt)

Last Friday, my first story with Ellora's Cave was released. Though short, "Christmas Packages" packs a concentrated naughty punch. I wrote this in August, far away from the Christmas season. To get in the mood, I listened to Christmas tunes, lit cinnamon- and pine-scented candles, and made a mock Christmas list. Contrary to popular belief, I think Santa brings delicious presents to naughty girls, especially those like my heroine Elizabeth Fitzgerald.

Blurb: Elizabeth has watched with frustration as her relationship with Jason slowly faded away. Braced for their inevitable end, this “nice girl” is instead surprised—and aroused—by her boyfriend’s naughty Christmas plans. Jason has tiptoed around what really turns him on, afraid Lizzie would run screaming from his kinkier desires. But as their relationship flags, he latches onto a last-ditch effort to inject energy into their sex life—and their love.

For twelve days leading up to Christmas, Jason gives Lizzie a new present, each one enticing her further into his dark desires. Now Lizzie needs to loosen up a little—to give up enough control to submit to her edgiest urges and give herself completely to the man determined to be hers forever.

To celebrate this release and the holiday season, I'm giving away a copy of "Christmas Packages," along with an early present--Sexuations (US only). This game includes an adults-only card game, a book of naughty stories, an erogenous-zone map, paddle, blindfold, and feather to tickle all your fancies. I'll be touring blogs all week, and on Friday, I'll the select a winner!

To enter, leave a comment at any of the blogs on my tour or tweet about the book/contest using the hashtag #christmaspackages

Blog stops:
Tuesday--Andie Marie's Sidewalk
Wednesday--Kate Davies Blogs!
Thursday--Kelly Jamieson's Building Castles

Excerpt from "Christmas Packages" (PG-13)

Lizzie tapped her nails on the desk and stared at the clock. Three fifteen—only ten more minutes before she could leave. All her grading was done, her lessons were set for the next week and she was eager to get home. She wanted to put up decorations, get a tree, bake Christmas cookies.

And see what Jason had left her for day four.

In an effort to avoid looking at the clock, Lizzie walked through her classroom and snagged errant scraps of paper and two thoroughly chewed pencils before tossing them in the trash. Bending over to grab a lingering piece of crumpled math homework, she tried, once again, to figure out what the heck Jason was up to. After almost a year with the man, she still couldn’t read him sometimes—and she had super teacher perception. Three days ago, he’d become even more confusing.

She’d come home that afternoon to a package sitting on their doorstep with a big red one on the top. She’d been confused and opening it hadn’t helped. Inside sat a deep blue silk robe and a note from Jason. Lizzie, this is the first of twelve presents, one for each of the twelve days of Christmas. The blue matches your eyes and I can’t wait to gaze into them again. Wear it and think of me. Love, Jason.

Her breath condensed on the air as she delicately picked her way across the parking lot, keeping away from the patches of ice scattered across the pavement. Thinking of the presents she’d received the next two days kept the cold at bay—jasmine-scented candles, her favorite, and massage oil.

Once inside her car, she puzzled over Jason’s intent. Was he trying to reignite their flagging sex life? Maybe reverse the downward spiral their relationship had taken? Lizzie banged her head against the steering wheel and decided there was nothing she could do about it except go home and wait for her confusing boyfriend.

And his fourth present.

* * * * *

Jason was glad to find the condo empty when he got home. He’d taken an early flight out of Albany so he could surprise Lizzie when she came home from work. Which should be any minute now.

Box four in hand, Jason sat on the brown leather recliner in their living room. He’d spent the last ten minutes pacing, wearing a track from the door, through the living room, into the bedroom and back. But his legs had grown too shaky for even that, so he dropped onto their plush loveseat to wait.

Jason was well aware of the risk he took, exposing Lizzie to his hidden sexual proclivities. But he needed her to know him, accept him, before their relationship could grow. Or sputter and die. He hated the latter alternative. The last year had been the best of his life and at this point he couldn’t imagine a future without Lizzie.

A deep ache settled into his chest and he rubbed the muscle over his heart. Though the thought of losing her hurt, he couldn’t hide from her anymore. Every time they made love, his stomach churned from fear that maybe this time, he wouldn’t be able to contain himself.

At least he wouldn’t need to wait much longer for her reaction. No more than twelve days, and then he’d either be alone again, or she’d be wearing the engagement ring he’d bought last week.

He was desperate to see that ring on her finger. To know that she was his, that despite his kinks, she loved him.

The beep of her car lock sounded and Jason smoothed a hand through his short brown hair and across his freshly shaved face. He set the present on their glass coffee table and headed for the door, opening it just as she had her keys poised at the lock.

“Surprise,” he said. Way to sound lame.

“Jason. You’re home early.” Her eyes darted away and he took a step back, giving her space to enter. She took off her boots, resting them on the rubber mat in their entryway. Her fingers loosened the knot and the laces with care and Jason knew she was stalling for time.

“I got an earlier flight,” he said to break the silence. Jason scratched his chin, hating the distance between them. “I missed you. Needed to come home to you.”

She set down her second boot and looked up at him. “It’s been empty without you here.”

Well it wasn’t a declaration of love, but he’d take it. He grabbed her by the hand and drew her to his recliner and onto his lap. She curled up and tucked her head beneath his chin. His chest tightened with love and nerves.

When she stiffened against him, he knew she’d seen the waiting box. She sat upright and turned to him with questions—maybe eagerness?—scrawled across her face.

“Open it.” He held his breath as she unwrapped the small package, folding the paper into a precise rectangle. Lizzie, his little neat freak. The deliberate movements of her hands and her prim way of opening everything from the newspaper to cereal boxes to presents fascinated him and gave him one more thing to love about her. Hell, sometimes it even turned him on.

She cocked her head to the side in what he thought of as her curious little bird pose and popped open the lid of the box to reveal a blue silk eye mask. She turned to him with one eyebrow cocked. “I’m sleeping just fine, Jason.”

Though he tried not to read into her words, he cringed inside. He didn’t want her to sleep poorly without him, per se, but would it be too much to ask for her not to be sleeping fine?

She’d always been able to read him, almost as well as he could read her, and she cupped his cheek. “I’ve missed you, Jason. The bed is empty without you.”

He kissed her before saying. “Yeah, hotel beds leave much to be desired. Mainly, you.” Her pupils dilated and he kissed her again, lingering on her lips. “Besides, the blindfold isn’t for sleeping.” Holding her gaze, he watched the understanding fly across her face, only to be replaced with warm delight.

“Oh, it’s that kind of blindfold. How very inventive.” Her grin gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t run from his desires.

He stroked her back, enjoying the softness of her gray sweater. But it would have to come off. “Why don’t you go change into your robe and point me in the direction of the candles and oil.”

She shuddered under his hand and her breathing hitched. Their eyes locked as she answered. “Okay. And everything’s in our bedroom.”

Our bedroom—he loved hearing that. And it was past time he showed her just how much. “Then change in the bathroom, love, and I’ll have everything set up when you’re done.”

She set the blindfold down on the coffee table and got to her feet. Her thick socks softened her footsteps to the bedroom suite and he couldn’t pull his eyes away from her retreating figure. Curves in all the right places and an ass just made for spanking. The thought had plagued him since their first date all those months ago. Jason knew smacking her tight ass would make the most beautiful sound. His cock tightened beneath his slacks at the thought—and the hope that he’d get to hear it, see her submit, soon enough.

Snagging the blindfold and the lighter lying next to the living room’s fireplace, he followed her into the bedroom.

Let the games begin.

Need more? Buy it here

Friday, December 10, 2010

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Well, not so much at my house, which is a shame because I used to enjoy the anticipation, the weeks spent decorating and baking, shopping and wrapping and...well, you get the idea. 
There was a time when I couldn't wait to get the decorations up on Black Friday, when I'd listen to Christmas music non-stop for four full weeks and watch every Christmas special on TV.
These days, it seems as though the holidays have a way of sneaking up and taking me by surprise no matter how hard I try to keep myself on track. Case in point: I bought new lights to go around the windows several weeks ago, but I've yet to put them up. This weekend though--for sure--I'll get to it!
But even though the only visible sign of the times  around here is the extra four-pack of Gingerbread ale sitting in my pantry, that doesn't mean I'm not getting into the spirit of things.I've actually been counting down the days, aided by the inimitable Mr. Frank Kelly and the gentlemen of Straight No Chaser.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a tree to trim. Enjoy!

Thursday, December 9, 2010

The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies - Chapter 14

Rock!” she howled. “My babies! I have to find my babies!”
“We’ll find your babies, baby. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to them. But I need you now, Buffi. I can’t help how much I need you…”
She should’ve put on clothes before she rushed down here. She couldn’t do this, not now! Not with her precious babies out there in the hands of some madman! But her resistance was rapidly melting beneath Rock’s sensual assault. She couldn’t do anything until they heard from the bastards, anyway…
“That’s it, baby,” he murmured. “Just let it go. Relax and let me do all the work.”
Rock’s breath against her ear sent a shiver down her spine. She wiggled her tail in excitement, and he grasped it in both hands with a groan of longing. His icy lovecicle pressed against her dewy portal, demanding admittance to her passion chamber.
How did a guy with no heart beat, no pulse, get an erection? Who cares? Her blood was flowing, that was for sure, and in only one direction.
Her hips thrust mindlessly against him as he pulled her down to the butter soft comfort of the full length doggie bed Gran had always kept down here. Why hadn’t they ever made love on it before? It was so much more comfortable that the hard ground beneath the arbor.
“Oh Rock,” she moaned huskily, tiny bombs of arousal igniting all over her body.
“Mmph,” he murmured in reply, his lips locked around one engorged and aching nipple. He suckled at her breast as if it were a fount of the blood he needed to survive.
Well, it was, actually, but he wouldn’t bite her in the…would he? No, no of course not. Rock was hemaphobic, terrified and repulsed by blood. He couldn’t drink it straight from the source. Still, his razor sharp teeth tickled and tormented her tortured ta-tas as she wiggled, pinned beneath him like a helpless, horny butterfly.
With a soft pop his mouth released its hold on her nipple, which sprang back to attention, still hungry for his lips. But Buffi didn’t complain, because his skillful mouth was sliding down her restless body, licking and nipping and sucking all the way to…yes! Hallelujah, he was dining at the Y! So many men refused to return the favor, but Rock had always been more than eager to nibble the pink.
His tongue danced an excruciatingly erotic flamenco against her throbbing ladysoftness, and she let out a little scream of pleasure as his fangs slid over her tender pearl.
“Oh Rock! Darling! Yes! Yes! Ye—aaaooooohhhh!” She howled her ecstasy, abandoned and unashamed, as her orgasm crescendoed like a sweet, sexy symphony. Stars appeared behind her eyelids as the universe exploded and swirled around the two of them.
Her vampire cowboy, the father of her precious puppies, was back where he belonged, in her arms and between her legs, and as his mighty tool plowed her tender furrow, icy hot and impossible to resist, she swore she’d never let him go.
He came so hard he lost his sight and hearing for a few long seconds. Transported out of his body, he floated in a blissful void. In over two hundred years, no woman had given him the almost unbearable pleasure Buffi did. It was as if their bodies were created only for each other, two fleshly instruments in perfect harmony. Their superhuman senses could find full expression only when they stroked and kissed and licked and nibbled and rubbed and nuzzled and caressed and tickled and spanked and pinched each other. Their superior muscle strength was too much for mere humans, and their flexibility, which allowed them to achieve positions which would have left the authors of the Kama Sutra speechless and, maybe, even a little squicked out, could only….
What in the danged name of Vlad Dracul was that dadgummed noise?
Not Buffi’s howling – really good orgasms made her howl, so of course she always howled with him – no, this was something else. A mournful keening rent the air, accompanied by growling and howling and yipping and whining and…thumping, and…cursing? Ye, someone was cursing.
Grrr….aaaooh! aaaaooooh! Grr…yip yip yip …. Nnnh! Nnnh! Aoooh!
“Quiet, ya little monsters! I told you to – ouch! You bit me through the danged SACK! Stop that! I told you I was takin’ you back to your mama!”
Buffi broke off in mid howl and sat up suddenly. Rock, who’d been lying on top of her, blissfully inert, rolled over onto the cold stone floor.
Aaooh! Grrr yip yip yip … snuffle snuffle …. Nnnnhh! Nnnnh!…
“I said quiet! I-- ouch! Damn!”
There was a loud thud, followed by a fresh round of curses and howls.
“My babies!” Buffi shouted.
At precisely that moment, Billy Bob Bobson burst through the door, dragging a wiggling sack with one hand and rubbing his thigh with the other. He froze when he saw the two of them.

To be continued...Chapter Fifteen

The previous chapter, Chapter 13, is here. If you enjoyed this chapter of The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies, please be sure and join us again next Thursday for the next exciting installment. You can read more about the serial HERE. And be sure to enter our contest! Rules and information can be found HERE.


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