Whose House is it Anyway?

So, my mother-in-law moved in with us recently, and no that's not a bid for sympathy. I've always gotten along with her, which is part of what made us the logical choice when it became apparent she could no longer live on her own. I'm happy to be able to help her out, but that doesn't mean the situation doesn't have its challenges.

While she seems pretty lucid a lot of the time, we're not sure how much of that is real, and how much is an act because there's definitely come confusion going on there as well, a good part of which is centered around the question of where she lives.

See, she can't really remember the trip out here, can't remember any of the multiple conversations we had with her to discuss all the reasons why this move was a good idea.And, something that becomes increasingly clear the more she talks about it, she really can't remember where she was living before she came here.

Most of the time she seems satisfied with the idea that this is our house, although she clings to the idea that she's just visiting us and will occasionally ask about calling a cab to take her home. The last place she lived is some three thousand miles away, so I think it's safe to say a taxi is out of the question.

Sometimes, she insists that this is her house and that we're the ones visiting her. It seems it's a surprise visit, too, on our part, and  I know she's never been all that comfortable with company. So, while up until now, she's been happy to see us, I keep waiting for her to ask us to leave.

Every once in awhile, however, she becomes convinced that we're all in the wrong house. That we're trespassing (for unknown reasons, I might add). And that the police will be by any minute to either kick us out or lock us up. Last time she mentioned that I asked her to explain why she thought we'd be trespassing and she told me, "When people have no place else to go they look for empty houses to break into."

I don't know about the rest of y'all, but as a writer I have only one response to something like that, "Plot bunny!"

Crybaby

I’m a crier—always have been, probably always will be. I cry at good news, I cry at bad news. I cry when I’m touched and when I’m angry. I cry at sad movies and at happy ones. I’ve even been known to cry at commercials (and if that isn’t an embarrassing admission, I don’t know what is).

Back in the early days, when I was a teen and a twenty-something, I could usually manage not to get blubbery in all situations. But I find it’s getting harder to do these days. When I see pictures of my (very adult) kids as babies, I get the sniffles. When I talk about my dad who died when I was eleven, my eyes get moist. And don’t even ask about my mom—you’re likely to get drenched. Sometimes it seems all I need to do is think about crying, and whoomp, there it is.

I guess it goes without saying that I cry at books, some more than others. Mary Balogh gets me. So does Loretta Chase and Susan Elizabeth Phillips. I’ve been known to cry at some Nora Roberts but not others (her straight romances, but not her suspense). I’ve even been known to cry at my own stuff, which is really sort of silly, but what can I say? Nothing about this is particularly logical.

Honestly, I understand how people on the other end of this must feel. It’s embarrassing (to say the least) when your conversational partner suddenly gets emotional for no particular reason, and most people have no idea how to react—whether to give me a hug or pretend my lower lip isn’t trembling.

My family has pretty much grown used to me over the years. When I start sounding teary, they usually just keep going, secure in the knowledge that I’ll pull myself together sooner or later and it’s not really their problem anyway. I kind of wish other people would follow their lead. Given the fact that society frowns on people who get emotional, it’s bad enough being a tearful person. It’s even worse to have it called to everybody’s attention.

The thing that strikes me, though, is the way a lot of people react to tears. Many people seem to find them sort of, well, scary. People edge away. They want you to stop. They’re afraid that they might be called upon to do something, and they have no idea what that something should be. I sometimes wish I could say, “Look, don’t worry, I just do this. I’m really okay. I won’t explode, so help me.” But in fact, saying that might scare them even more.

I guess Ella Wheeler Wilcox had it right: “Laugh and the world laughs with you;/Weep and you weep alone.” Sniff. So what about you? Do tears bother you? Are you particularly weepy yourself? And what, if anything, have you found to do about it?

Guest Blogger Desiree Holt - But where is the romance?

Note: Leave a comment and you might win a free ebook from my backlist.   

Okay, I’m on my soapbox. Call me crazy, but where has the romance gone in television? The good feeling? The “Oh, I love this show” feeling? I don’t know about everyone else but when I watch a television series and a couple has really great chemistry I want them together and I want them happy. I want to feel the love!!! In an ensemble series with a large cast and the story line basically about the lives of the people involved, I want one couple that’s the anchor. One couple that is sold despite everything. That you can always depend on no matter what.

I’m a romance writer right? So I want the romance! However small it might be.

Yet television seems to have this wild notion that if you don’t constantly break people up you’re not creating “conflict.” Maybe that’s because they don’t know how to write “conflict.” Or maybe it’s because they think the only way to keep the viewers coming back is to give them a weekly dose of angst.

Now I’m not saying every show ahs to have a romance. Some, like the police procedurals, aren’t even built around romance. But if they introduce couples and their private lives are only peripheral to the show, then why can’t they be happy? In love?

Oh, yeah, I know, I know, couples fight in real life and they deal with problems. That’s okay if it’s not too intrusive. But if you want to watch “real life” then tune into lone of he gazillion reality shows. Or take a look at life around you. Lord knows there’s enough angst and “conflict” to go around.

When I watch television I wan t escapist entertainment. I want to feel good. I want a break from the trash I deal with every day.

And what’s the argument when shows get complaints about splitting up key couples or not putting them together when the chemistry between them is son strong is about ignites the screen? The Moonlighting Curse. When David and Maddie got together the show tanked. Jumped the shark. Well, hell. Moonlighting was a long, long time ago and I’d like to think writers have learned a lot since then about how to do it right. How to make it work.

I must have every book written by the Dell Shannon, the queen of police procedurals. The story of the crime and the police department was primary but she skillfully wove in the personal stories of the detectives. And guess what? They didn’t break up, or if they did it was instantly resolved. They didn’t do things to hurt each other. Although I’m sure she didn’t think of it this way, her books had “strong romantic elements”.

Just like many of today’s shows, like Grey’s Anatomy. I watch shows like Flashpoint, where poor Ed has to decide between his job and his family. Why? It’s not even close to being primary to the show. Or Hawaii 5-0, where Danny and Rachel are finally getting back together and she’s pregnant with his child and he ditches her at the airport. Why? It’s not germane to the story line.

So if this bothers you like it bothers me, let me know. Let the producers know. Maybe they’ll take pity on me.

Meanwhile, here’s a taste of my new gritty erotic romance, Out of Control, where you will find romance.

Blurb:

Twenty five years ago Carrie Nolan was the only victim to survive the killing spree of a pedophile. Her life has been frozen in time, and not even a move to a distant city or a name change has healed the wounds that left her emotionally and sexually scarred. Determined finally to reclaim her life, Carrie returns to High Ridge as multi-published crime novelist, Dana Moretti, in hope of asking the questions that would lay her nightmares to rest. Sheriff Cole Landry, came to High Ridge to escape the horrors of Iraq and Afghanistan, but soon after the sexy author arrives and starts poking her nose into matters best forgotten, his town once again becomes the hunting ground of a ruthless killer. She's sure it's the same man, and he's not all that convinced she's wrong. Keeping Dana safe means keeping her close—very close—under his protection, under him. Between her sexual need for Cole and the danger lurking behind every stranger's face, her world is spinning out of control.

*****

“Can I help you?”

The deep voice that spoke to her sent shock waves through her. She whirled, her knees shaking. Oh, hell. It was him. The man in the truck. Wearing a uniform, for god’s sake.

“I have to say,” he went on, “you look a lot better when you aren’t soaked through by the rain.”

Dana’s legs were shaking, keeping time with the butterflies doing the rumba in her stomach. The first thing she thought was cowboy. He had the easy, relaxed yet alert stance she’d seen on men around horses and cattle. And his feet were shod in square-toed Western boots. She was sure his hat would be a Stetson.

But the way his eyes assessed her, the analytical gaze…military. Some kind of covert ops.

A dangerous combination in a man.

Dangerous to women. And to people who were misled by his friendly smile.

He was somewhere in his mid-thirties. At least six-four, broad shouldered, and lean hipped, the khaki of the sheriff’s uniform looking as if it were custom tailored for him. His face was all angles and planes, with deep-set, whiskey-colored eyes framed by dark brows and lashes. Even in her state of high anxiety, she couldn’t miss the sexuality that radiated from him.

The ultimate alpha male.

And trouble.

I’ll bet he has to beat the women off with a nightstick. Well, for sure he won’t have to worry about me. Oh, wait. After last night, he probably thinks I’m a nutcase anyway.

She wet her lips. “I gave my card to your…to the woman at the window. I’m Dana Moretti.”

“I know who you are.” His smile, like John Garrett’s, was professional and didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve been expecting you. Come on.”

He swung the door wide, the muscles in his tanned arms flexing with the movement.

“If you’d identified yourself last night,” she told him, trying to keep the acid out of her voice, “I might have been more willing to accept a ride. I don’t make it a habit of jumping into trucks with strange men.”

His body brushed hers as he let the door swing shut, and lightning shot through her. What the hell? She knew what unexpected lust was. She often wrote about it, but it wasn’t a feeling familiar to her personally. Certainly not in a situation like this. Maybe this was a bad idea, after all.

“So, what kind of men do you jump in trucks with?”



Find this and other releases at Amazon and Barnes&Noble and come visit me at www.desireeholt.com and www.desireeholttellsall.com ; on Twitter @desireeholt, on Facebook: /Desire Holt.

And now an App for both Apple and Android devices.

Top Ten Reasons to Date a Hockey Player

My book One Man Advantage came out last week. The hero of the story, Logan Heller, is a professional hockey player. Logan is the brother of Jase (Breakaway) and Tag (Faceoff). As the third of four boys in the Heller family, following in the steps of his two older brothers has never been easy. Logan’s always been a joker, a fun guy who never takes things too seriously, always with a smile on his face and a smart remark. Of course, Logan is hiding a lot between that carefree façade, including a deep-seated fear that he’ll never be as good as his two older brothers, both on and off the ice.

BLURB:

After her ex trashes her reputation in front of the media and it quickly goes viral, Nicole vows she’ll never get involved with another hockey player. Too bad her job with the Minneapolis Caribou puts her in contact with sexy hockey players on a daily basis, including the newly traded center, Logan Heller. Logan’s pretty sure Nicole is the perfect woman for him and he’s determined to have her—in and out of bed. Nicole is equally determined to never date another hockey player. But Logan has a one-man advantage…he knows what she really wants. 

Logan spends much of the story trying to convince Nicole they should be together, and at one point he tells her some of the reasons why it’s good to date a hockey player. He only gets through a few of them and although he doesn’t completely convince her with these reasons, he does soften her up a little with his sense of humor. Here's a short excerpt - this is at a Thanksgiving dinner party Nicole's friends Taylor and Fedor host:

“Fedor wants to know if you picked up any chicken wings,” Logan said.

“Chicken wings! Is he nuts? This is Thanksgiving.”

“He says he needs Buffalo chicken wings to watch football.”

“Phhht. I’ll go talk to him.” She hustled out of the room, leaving Nicole and Logan alone.

“Excuse me,” she said. He blocked the door. “I need to go change.”

He looked down at her, his mouth a flat line. “How was your date Saturday night?”

She smiled, her eyes narrowed up in fake cheer. “Lovely. How about you? I heard you went out with some of the guys.”

“Yep.”

“I heard there were girls all over you.” Oh hell, did she say that out loud?

“Yep. That’s why I went.”

Her smile faded. Bastard.

They stood there facing each other. Nicole had to break the eye contact, she just couldn’t hold his gaze without wanting to fall to her knees in front of him. “Please. Let me by.”

After a brief hesitation, he stepped aside. She hurried out of the dining room and down the hall to the guest room. Closing the door behind her, she pressed her hands to hot cheeks. The attraction she felt to Logan hadn’t diminished and only reinforced how extremely painful her date with Paul had been. They just had nothing in common, and much as she wanted to expand her horizons and have some kind of interests outside of hockey...he just wasn’t going to do it.

She changed out of her jeans and sweater into the dress she’d brought, a sleeveless black dress that was simple, but she liked the shape of the neckline and how it fit her body. She brushed her hair and touched up mascara and lip gloss, then went out to greet the other guests who started arriving.

Taylor started music, but the guys made her turn it off until the football game was over. People filled the kitchen and great room, talking and laughing, offering to help with food. Nicole stirred gravy while Logan mashed potatoes and she had to fight to keep her eyes off his big flexing muscles as he held the pot and plunged the masher in and out. Ergh.

“So what are the other top ten reasons to date a hockey player?” Taylor asked Logan.

He shot her a sexy smile. “Let’s see how many I can remember. Um...they always wear protection.”

Nicole choked. And coughed.

“You okay, hon?” Taylor asked.

“Yes,” she wheezed. She could not look at Logan. Even so, she sensed his grin.

“They have great hands,” he continued.

Oh yeah. Oh god, yeah.

“They have great stamina.”

She bit her lip. Their sex on the floor hadn’t required a lot of stamina; they’d both been so hot for each other, it hadn’t lasted all that long. But she had no doubt he had lots and lots of stamina. Actually, so did she...

“Nic, you’re whipping the gravy into a froth,” Taylor said. “I think it’s good.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” She set down the whisk. And Taylor had to go and talk about whipping. “It’s hot in here,” she said without thinking, and then she caught Logan’s smirk and her face turned scorching. “I mean, I’ve been standing over this hot stove...I need more wine.”

She grabbed her glass and downed the rest of the contents, started to reach for the bottle, but Logan was there with it. He poured some into her glass.

“Thanks,” she croaked. She met his knowing gaze, his brown eyes gleaming.

    Here are the rest of the reasons why to date a hockey player:

10. They have great stamina
9. They have really long sticks
8. They know when to play rough
7. When they play rough they do it from behind
6. They can score from any position
5. They find the opening and get in it
4. They always wear protection
3. They never miss their target
2. They have great hands
1. Other athletes only play with balls  

Shopping. Oh, Joy.

Last November, I got a new job. And after many years of working from home, my wardrobe was ... lacking.

Unless you counted jeans and sweaters, that is. But this job required something a little more professional.

So I went shopping. Which is not exactly my favorite thing.

(Shopping for other people? Love it. For myself? Not so much.)

Problem solved, right? Well, for a while. I had trousers and long-sleeve button down shirts and cute little jackets and scarves -- all perfect for winter/early spring. But now it's getting warmer. The sun is starting to make an appearance. And bundling up in my winter wardrobe is looking more and more wrong.

So now I have to go shopping. Again. For short sleeved shirts and capris and skirts. And shoes. Open toe and sandals and who knows what else?

I probably should be looking forward to it, but I really do have no sense of what looks good on me, or what works together. I can find a single great piece, but it'll sit in my closet for ages if I don't buy the entire outfit to go with it. If I could hand over a budget to someone else and have them pick out my wardrobe for me, I'd be thrilled.

But until I can do that, I guess I'm on my own. Unless you want to help! What spring-y clothing should be on my must-buy list this year?

New Release: BEAUTIFUL OBSESSION

Hey, I just had a book come out! BEAUTIFUL OBSESSION is an Exotika release from Ellora's Cave. It's an M/F/M/M story with a touch of BDSM in it. This story has a naughty college setting, a threesome aiming to lure in a sexy graduate student, and some shocking secrets from the past. My editor was kind enough to say it has an F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gatsby-esque quality to it. I consider that to be an amazing compliment, but I'll let you be the judge.


Here's the blurb and a short excerpt.
 

Jack Cartwright has put his wild sexual side firmly in the past so he can focus on his graduate studies. All he wants is to finish his thesis. But the appearance of three mysterious students in a neighboring suite throws his careful plans into chaos. Especially when he catches the three of them together…in bed.

Clare, Luc and Rob have a highly unusual relationship. Friends since childhood, the two boys rescued Clare from unimaginable horrors. They’ve been her protectors ever since, and something more. But Clare can’t stop thinking about the sexy, smoldering resident advisor down the hall, and what fierce urges might be hiding behind his controlled exterior.

Now Jack’s dark sexual needs threaten to derail his career as the irresistible threesome lures him into their secret erotic world. But when obsession takes hold, rules don’t stand a chance.

Reader Advisory: Contains m/m/f/m, anal play and other activities not usually associated with an Ivy League institution.

 EXCERPT

 

First glimpse

Adams House Dining Hall—Earlton University

A flash of clear gray shone in a sea of jeans and many shades of black—like the first wink of a star in a familiar night sky. Eyes. Gorgeous, mysterious eyes that sent a shaft of shocking lust straight to Jack’s groin. Squinting, he searched for those remarkable eyes again but the students had shifted position and that compelling moonbeam glance was gone.

Jack shook it off as a silly hallucination and joined the cafeteria line. He tuned out the din of “what’s your major, what’d you do over the summer” chatter. Delving back into the question of Spartan law that had come up during a stubborn chapter of his thesis, he barely noticed what food the server handed him. It wasn’t until he scanned the crowded tables to find a seat that he saw her again. Her face came into sudden, stunning focus, like a camera snap-zooming on the most interesting image in the room.

Those eyes. Secretive, misty-gray, one slightly more tilted than the other, as if an artist had deliberately included a flaw to distract from her oval-faced, Madonna-like perfection. Her hair was a dark spill down her back, with a careless pin holding it away from her face. She wore a white, sleeveless blouse that revealed arms that were slim to the point of thinness. Her pale skin stood out among the students sunburned from their summer breaks. Her lips were far too full for her mouth, almost embarrassingly generous and erotic. One corner of her mouth curled inward, as if it had a scar. She sat close to the guy beside her and looked nervously around the dining hall with its arched windows and wall sconces. Her friend was big, brawny, walnut-haired, silent. His fork looked as if it might break in his hand.

They must be new to Adams House. Sophomores or transfers from another house. Boyfriend and girlfriend, no doubt.

His cock surged. He fiddled with his tray as he ruthlessly willed away his erection. He’d gotten used to burying his sexual needs under research and grades and thesis chapters. His life was about graduate school now, not sex.

He forced himself to look away, spotted another graduate student waving him over, and brushed past the girl’s table. Damn if he was going to let a sexy student get to him. He knew better than that.

The Inane Scrawlings of Clare Gaston, AKA My Diary—September 15

Today Jack Cartwright walked past our table in the dining hall. I couldn’t take my eyes off his hands. I actually wanted to be the cafeteria tray. Ridiculous, but true! His hands would be on me, then maybe on my hips, maybe on my thighs. I wouldn’t mind if he carried me naked through the dining hall and ate off my body. I’d want him to. That’s how crazy this is making me, has been since I first laid eyes on him.

J has the best hands I’ve ever seen. The palms themselves are broad and strong as a stonemason’s—that tray looked like a postage stamp, I swear. But the fingers look sensitive. I bet he knows just what he’s doing. I want to know what he knows. I want to feel what he knows on my body. Through osmosis. Which rhymes with neurosis. And diagnosis.

My epic saga class is paying off. I’m getting good at thinking up rhymes.

         Diagnosis: obsession.

CLICK TO BUY  

Enjoy, and thanks for celebrating (a bit late) with me! 

Juniper 

Guest Blogger Suleikha Snyder - Writing Under The Influence (of Romance!)

A lot has been said about women’s reading habits since the success of E.J. James’s Fifty Shades of Grey has gripped the mainstream media’s attention. You have your pearl clutchers -- gasp, wimmenz be readin’ the sexorring! -- and then you have supporters of a woman’s right to read whatever the Hell they want fighting back, pointing out that a) there’s nothing wrong with reading erotic fiction and b) reading BDSM doesn’t necessarily mean everyone’s running out to get flogged on alternate Tuesdays. And that’s absolutely true: We are not necessarily what we read. Thriller fans aren’t out killing people, mystery fans don’t solve crimes, I’m not out being a vigilante because I like Batman, etc. (Though I have been known to break out into Bollywood song and dance routines on the subway.) Reading erotic works where women are submissive is not necessarily an indicator of a female reader’s secret desire to give up power in the workplace, or whatever that head-scratcher of a Newsweek piece by Katie Roiphe was trying to claim.

That being said, I have to confess that I have been unduly influenced by what I read, and I’m proud of it. Expecting more out of a partner because I read romance and erotica? You better damn well believe it! As such, here are a few things I’ve come to hold as fundamental truths:

1. You deserve no less than to be loved for exactly who you are.
2. Reciprocity in intimate moments is key. Whatever that goose is doing to the gander, he better return the favor.
3. The lag time between having a secret baby and telling your partner about said secret baby should not exceed six years.
4. If you want to live in a polyamorous relationship with 3-4 guys, it has to be on a ranch. Or a secluded beach resort. Or George Clooney’s villa…wait, did I say that out loud?
5. There is nothing wrong with a Grand Gesture.
6. Paragraph-long speeches about one’s feelings are better than awkward silence.
7. If you’re pregnant and have amnesia, your baby’s father is probably a sheik or a Greek billionaire. (See item #3.)
8. Your love story is made all the more powerful when your friends find their soulmates as well.
9. Happily Ever After does exist.

Reader, writer, American desi and lifelong geek, Suleikha Snyder published her first romantic short in Ravenous Romance’s 2011 TOUCHDOWNS anthology. 2012 boasts a slew of releases, including Suleikha’s first novella from Samhain Publishing, SPICE AND SMOKE, a short in Cleis Press’ upcoming SUITE ENCOUNTERS anthology, and a Wild Rose Press short called HEART MURMURS. Suleikha lives in New York City, finding inspiration in Bollywood films, daytime and primetime soaps, and Hell’s Kitchen wine bars.