I want to say a big thank you to the Naughty Nine for allowing me to celebrate with them! Today marks the release of the first book in the new Compass series Jayne Rylon and I are writing. Winter's Thaw hits the virtual bookshelves today and I'm so excited, I can hardly stand myself! When Jayne and I finished Western Ties, we tried to let go of Compton Pass, but it was impossible. I couldn't help feeling there were more stories to tell. So I begged and pleaded and twisted Jayne's arm (actually she said HELL YEAH immediately) to write more! The result is the Compass Girls. It's Compton Pass--the Next Generation (cue the Star Trek music--lol). We tried to think figure out what would be the one thing that would terrify our hunky brave Compass Brothers and the first thing that came to mind was...DAUGHTERS. In Winter's Thaw, Seth's daughter, Sienna struggles with an overprotective father, a broken heart and some pretty hardcore lustful feelings for the new ranch hand, Daniel Lennon. Let the games commence!
Sometimes life doesn’t go according to plan. Sometimes it’s better.
Compass Girls, Book 1
Sienna Compton has it all figured out. Her life’s goals are set and it is all systems go. At least, it was. Until her long-time boyfriend Josh threw a ringer into the master plan, requesting a “break” from their relationship. Now she’s left alone during the long, cold Wyoming winter, questioning what her heart has always believed to be true love.
Daniel Lennon is facing an uncertain future. When a tragic accident leaves him unable to pursue his career as a professional bull rider, he finds himself at Compass Ranch, working to help Sienna’s father, Seth, build his horse breeding business. One look at Sienna has Daniel envisioning things he never imagined wanting—a permanent home, love, marriage—and he’s willing to use all the red-hot tricks in his sexual arsenal to melt the ice surrounding Sienna’s broken heart.
When lust turns to genuine emotion, can Daniel convince Sienna to take a chance on something different and unexpected? Can he persuade her to consider a new path, one that will lead her directly to his arms…forever?
Product Warnings
Roping and riding, past and future, cold winter and fiery desire, lust and love all come together in this new Compass series. Saddle up and hang on. The Comptons are back!
Excerpt:
Daniel lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He refused to look at his clock again. At last check—no more than five minutes earlier—it had been midnight. He’d ticked off every hour since he’d crawled into bed at nine and he was still no closer to finding sleep.
Eventually, sheer exhaustion was going to have to win out. God knew he couldn’t keep going at this rate. It had been a week since he’d kissed Sienna in the stable. He would have tried to steal more than a few heated kisses from her, but Sienna pulled away when they’d heard someone enter the stable.
Daniel shuddered to think how close Seth had come to catching them. Even though they were standing a proper distance away from each other when Seth approached, he still sensed his boss was suspicious. For one thing, Sienna’s face had been flushed, her gaze roaming everywhere to avoid her father’s questioning stare. She may as well have stamped the word guilty on her forehead.
Since then, Seth had kept a very close eye on where he was and who he was with. Not that Seth had needed to be on his guard. Sienna was doing a good enough job staying away from him without her father’s interference. He hadn’t caught more than a glimpse of her when she came home from work each day. She’d stopped eating dinner with the family and even eschewed riding her beloved mare, Maria.
According to Doug, Sienna was depressed over Josh. Daniel knew that reaction was natural, but it didn’t stop him from wishing she’d open her eyes and see him as a suitable replacement.
“Screw that,” he muttered. He didn’t intend to replace Josh. He wanted to erase him from Sienna’s thoughts forever. He wasn’t sure when his intentions had changed, but somewhere along the way, he’d stopped hoping to just get into Sienna’s pants. Lately, he’d been thinking it might be nice to find a way into her life, but that didn’t seem possible.
For one thing, she’d just gotten out of a relationship. There was no way she was ready to hop right back into one. And secondly, he’d heard her conversation with Josh. They hadn’t broken up—not officially. They’d just taken a timeout. Daniel didn’t think Sienna would let the idiot come back, but, well, dammit, he wasn’t sure.
He released an annoyed breath and forced his eyes shut. He’d never fall asleep at this rate. He tried to clear his mind of Sienna Compton completely.
A knock sounded on his door.
“What the hell?”
He listened again, wondering if he’d imagined it or if it was the cold winter wind knocking a branch against the trailer.
Another knock. Someone was definitely outside.
He rose and slipped on a pair of sweatpants. Opening the door slowly, he was surprised to find Sienna, wrapped in a coat and shivering.
“Sienna? Get in here. It’s freezing out there.”
She quickly climbed the three stairs, passing him as he closed the door.
“Is something wrong?” He couldn’t imagine there was anything—short of bad news—that would bring her to his trailer at this time of night.
She shook her head. “N-no. Everything’s fine.”
“Okay. That’s good.”
She didn’t bother to explain more. Instead, she shrugged off her coat. Underneath she was dressed in a little slip of a nightgown. He hadn’t realized until that moment that her legs were bare. She’d walked all the way over here in a bit of silk and slippers. Obviously she was paying for the decision, given her uncontrollable shivering.
“Jesus, Sienna. What the hell are you wearing? Or not wearing? You’ll be lucky if you don’t get frostbite.”
She rubbed her hands together, blowing on them for heat. “This was a lot s-sexier when my cousins and I p-planned it from the warmth of my bedroom.”
“Sexy?” Her words hit him like a sledgehammer to the forehead. “Did you come over here to sleep with me?”
Her cheeks were red from the cold, but even so, her blush enhanced the color. “If you h-have to ask, then it’s s-safe to say I’m not doing s-so well.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was here because she wanted to have sex with him? He’d never been offered such a delectable frozen treat. Unfortunately, she mistook his response.
She reached for her coat, intent on putting it back on. “This was a mistake.”
“Oh, hell no. No mistake.” He pulled the coat away from her and tossed it onto his couch. Then he tugged her into his embrace, trying to infuse her trembling form with some of his own body heat. He rubbed her back lightly.
“You’re warm,” she murmured against his chest.
“And your hands are like ice cubes.”
“Sorry.” She tried to step away, but he stopped her, gripping her wrists. He placed her palms on his chest, holding them there.
“Don’t pull away. Let me warm you up.”
They stared at each other for a few hushed moments, as Daniel allowed his gaze to travel over her silky nightie.
“Say something,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “No. You first. Ask me, Sienna. Ask me to touch you, to take you. I promised I wouldn’t do that until—”
“Touch me,” she interrupted.
Daniel didn’t wait for her to say more.
Winter's Thaw is available at Samhain, Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
Medium Well and the Fear Factor
I’m a newbie in the paranormal romance game. Paranormal romances work with a different set of emotions from, say, contemporary romance (where I’ve hung out up until now). Vampires can be scary but also very sexy (just ask PG Forte). Werewolves can evoke that primal dread of being attacked by an animal (Kinsey Holley is your authority on that). Zombies don’t do much for me in the romance department, but they’re really good at evoking horror. The same is true for the wide range of other paranormals, from Eve Silver’s Egyptian demi-gods to Laurell K. Hamilton’s fairy kingdom.
And then there are ghosts. For me, ghosts have a pretty straight-forward effect. They’re all about fear. If you think about classic ghost stories, the old-dark-house-in-a-thunderstorm type, it’s all about what happens on the periphery. The feeling of being watched, of sharing space with something or someone you can’t really see. Until, of course, you turn the corner and…gotcha!
I’ve always been fascinated by ghost stories, and I toyed with the idea of doing one of my own for a long time before I finally got around to it with Medium Well, coming from Berkley InterMix February 19. My setting is the King William District of San Antonio, one of the most historic parts of the city. If a ghost is going to hang out anywhere in the San Antonio area, I’d say King William is the most likely spot.
My hero is a real estate whiz, Danny Ramos, who has a real knack for selling historic houses. But Danny doesn’t realize he’s actually the descendant of a long line of mediums—his sales ability stems from his empathy for the remnants of the people who lived in the houses over the years. This cozy relationship with the past comes to a screeching halt when Danny is assigned to sell a carriage house in King William that turns out to be haunted in a very different way.
Once I had the fear factor set up, I had to figure out how to work in the romance part of things. My heroine, Biddy Gunter, is Danny’s assistant. Like Danny she can feel the creepy ambiance at the carriage house, and she becomes his accomplice in finding out what happened there. Sharing a secret is sexy, as it turns out—at least in this case. Doing a ghost romance was a lot of fun, sort of alternating between both senses of gotcha. But it’s also tricky because both of those senses have to be there—you can’t lose the scary for the romance and you can’t lose the romance for the scary. Still, I enjoyed myself a lot while I was writing, and I hope you’ll enjoy Medium Well too.
Here's the blurb:
Love At Second Sight
Real estate agent Danny Ramos has always had a knack for selling homes, but when his boss saddles him with a neglected carriage house, Danny discovers that his abilities are more than simple intuition...
On his first visit to the house, Danny is confronted with visions of a violent murder. His assistant, Biddy Gunter, doesn’t seem affected, and Danny starts to think he’s going crazy—until he gets a visit from his mother, who suggests that Danny’s uncanny talent to sell old houses may stem from his family inheritance: psychic empathy.
When Biddy reveals to Danny her own strange dream about the carriage house ghosts, they team up to investigate and discover both the house’s dark history and their own unexpected attraction. But as the hauntings turn from unsettling to downright dangerous, Danny and Biddy need to figure out how to rid the house of its ghostly inhabitants, before their budding romance meets an untimely end…
Amazon | Barnes and Noble
And here's a taste of one sense of gotcha (for the other sense, you can read a scarier excerpt here):
He gave himself a quick mental kick. At this point he was supposed to be wise, sophisticated, urbane, all that stuff. Unfortunately, his urbanity seemed to be taking the night off. He felt like a sixteen-year-old coming home from the junior prom, hoping he’d get to first base at least.
First base?
Danny closed his eyes. He was a lunatic. That much had been clearly established by the events at the carriage house. But he wasn’t a stupid lunatic. He was not—repeat, not—going to put any moves on Biddy Gunter.
“Danny?” Her voice sounded anxious. “Are you okay?”
“Super.” He managed to come up with a smile that seemed halfway authentic, although he’d never used the word super before, outside of the McDonald’s drive-through line.
“Well . . .” She didn’t sound entirely convinced, but she produced a slightly shaky smile of her own.
And then he did something absolutely boneheaded—he leaned close enough to smell her faint scent of performance sweat and gardenias, the mixture of sweetness and musk, the essence of woman that clung to her skin. Immediately, he was a goner. Almost before he knew what had happened, he leaned further and pressed his lips to hers.
Her mouth was warm and soft and faintly startled. Or maybe it was her eyes that were startled. He tried his best to pull back, not to lose it completely. But pulling back suddenly didn’t seem to be an option.
His logical half screamed at him. Get the hell back. Make it quick. Say something clever and move on. Do not—do not—get involved with Biddy Gunter. Your assistant. The manager’s sister. The one who’s watched you becoming a first-class nutcase day by ghastly day.
And then Biddy’s arms looped shyly around his neck, almost as if this was her first kiss, yet when her mouth moved against his, he knew it was far from her first. He pressed his hands along her sides and gently pulled her closer, feeling the warmth and softness of her breasts pressed against him. His logical half shrugged its metaphorical shoulders and took a hike, while other parts of his body began to clamor for attention.
For a few moments, he let himself feel the heat, the clenching in his chest, the rush of need in his groin, and then he pulled back, slowly, to rest his forehead against hers. “Holy crap, Biddy,” he whispered. “What was that? What just happened here?”
A millisecond later he wished mightily that he’d confined himself to a simple Wow.
She stared up, her forehead furrowed.
“That was . . .” He fumbled through the meager stock of adjectives his numb brain could supply. “. . . very terrific. Very, very terrific.”
Okay, the results were official. He was both a lunatic and a moron.
Her brow had furrowed even more. Of course it had. He was obviously certifiable and an idiot to boot.
“Terrific,” she said, slowly. “Very, very terrific.”
Her lips trembled, and, for one agonizing moment, he thought she might cry. Then he realized she was more likely to giggle.
He closed his eyes again. Once upon a time, he’d been able to handle a simple kiss without making his partner crack up. Of course, it hadn’t been exactly simple, had it?
And then there are ghosts. For me, ghosts have a pretty straight-forward effect. They’re all about fear. If you think about classic ghost stories, the old-dark-house-in-a-thunderstorm type, it’s all about what happens on the periphery. The feeling of being watched, of sharing space with something or someone you can’t really see. Until, of course, you turn the corner and…gotcha!
I’ve always been fascinated by ghost stories, and I toyed with the idea of doing one of my own for a long time before I finally got around to it with Medium Well, coming from Berkley InterMix February 19. My setting is the King William District of San Antonio, one of the most historic parts of the city. If a ghost is going to hang out anywhere in the San Antonio area, I’d say King William is the most likely spot.
My hero is a real estate whiz, Danny Ramos, who has a real knack for selling historic houses. But Danny doesn’t realize he’s actually the descendant of a long line of mediums—his sales ability stems from his empathy for the remnants of the people who lived in the houses over the years. This cozy relationship with the past comes to a screeching halt when Danny is assigned to sell a carriage house in King William that turns out to be haunted in a very different way.
Once I had the fear factor set up, I had to figure out how to work in the romance part of things. My heroine, Biddy Gunter, is Danny’s assistant. Like Danny she can feel the creepy ambiance at the carriage house, and she becomes his accomplice in finding out what happened there. Sharing a secret is sexy, as it turns out—at least in this case. Doing a ghost romance was a lot of fun, sort of alternating between both senses of gotcha. But it’s also tricky because both of those senses have to be there—you can’t lose the scary for the romance and you can’t lose the romance for the scary. Still, I enjoyed myself a lot while I was writing, and I hope you’ll enjoy Medium Well too.
Here's the blurb:
Love At Second Sight
Real estate agent Danny Ramos has always had a knack for selling homes, but when his boss saddles him with a neglected carriage house, Danny discovers that his abilities are more than simple intuition...
On his first visit to the house, Danny is confronted with visions of a violent murder. His assistant, Biddy Gunter, doesn’t seem affected, and Danny starts to think he’s going crazy—until he gets a visit from his mother, who suggests that Danny’s uncanny talent to sell old houses may stem from his family inheritance: psychic empathy.
When Biddy reveals to Danny her own strange dream about the carriage house ghosts, they team up to investigate and discover both the house’s dark history and their own unexpected attraction. But as the hauntings turn from unsettling to downright dangerous, Danny and Biddy need to figure out how to rid the house of its ghostly inhabitants, before their budding romance meets an untimely end…
Amazon | Barnes and Noble
And here's a taste of one sense of gotcha (for the other sense, you can read a scarier excerpt here):
He gave himself a quick mental kick. At this point he was supposed to be wise, sophisticated, urbane, all that stuff. Unfortunately, his urbanity seemed to be taking the night off. He felt like a sixteen-year-old coming home from the junior prom, hoping he’d get to first base at least.
First base?
Danny closed his eyes. He was a lunatic. That much had been clearly established by the events at the carriage house. But he wasn’t a stupid lunatic. He was not—repeat, not—going to put any moves on Biddy Gunter.
“Danny?” Her voice sounded anxious. “Are you okay?”
“Super.” He managed to come up with a smile that seemed halfway authentic, although he’d never used the word super before, outside of the McDonald’s drive-through line.
“Well . . .” She didn’t sound entirely convinced, but she produced a slightly shaky smile of her own.
And then he did something absolutely boneheaded—he leaned close enough to smell her faint scent of performance sweat and gardenias, the mixture of sweetness and musk, the essence of woman that clung to her skin. Immediately, he was a goner. Almost before he knew what had happened, he leaned further and pressed his lips to hers.
Her mouth was warm and soft and faintly startled. Or maybe it was her eyes that were startled. He tried his best to pull back, not to lose it completely. But pulling back suddenly didn’t seem to be an option.
His logical half screamed at him. Get the hell back. Make it quick. Say something clever and move on. Do not—do not—get involved with Biddy Gunter. Your assistant. The manager’s sister. The one who’s watched you becoming a first-class nutcase day by ghastly day.
And then Biddy’s arms looped shyly around his neck, almost as if this was her first kiss, yet when her mouth moved against his, he knew it was far from her first. He pressed his hands along her sides and gently pulled her closer, feeling the warmth and softness of her breasts pressed against him. His logical half shrugged its metaphorical shoulders and took a hike, while other parts of his body began to clamor for attention.
For a few moments, he let himself feel the heat, the clenching in his chest, the rush of need in his groin, and then he pulled back, slowly, to rest his forehead against hers. “Holy crap, Biddy,” he whispered. “What was that? What just happened here?”
A millisecond later he wished mightily that he’d confined himself to a simple Wow.
She stared up, her forehead furrowed.
“That was . . .” He fumbled through the meager stock of adjectives his numb brain could supply. “. . . very terrific. Very, very terrific.”
Okay, the results were official. He was both a lunatic and a moron.
Her brow had furrowed even more. Of course it had. He was obviously certifiable and an idiot to boot.
“Terrific,” she said, slowly. “Very, very terrific.”
Her lips trembled, and, for one agonizing moment, he thought she might cry. Then he realized she was more likely to giggle.
He closed his eyes again. Once upon a time, he’d been able to handle a simple kiss without making his partner crack up. Of course, it hadn’t been exactly simple, had it?
Saturday, February 16, 2013
First Lines... and more!
Thanks to authors
Skylar Kade, Cara Bristol and Daisy Harris
Skylar Kade, Cara Bristol and Daisy Harris
for loaning us their first lines yesterday!
Here’s more about these three awesome books! Check them out!
First line #1: Hope
O’Shea thought she’d never set foot in The Sunset Strip ever again.
Blurb: After two grueling years caring for her terminally ill mother, Hope O’Shea is eager to start fresh. Except her first interior-decorating job is for a popular BDSM club—part of her kinky past she misses, but had to leave behind.
Worse, she somehow ends up in the arms of her ex-Dom, Gabriel Cassidy. The one man who could strip her emotions bare, so bare that rather than reveal her painful history, she ran.
Gabriel never understood why Hope left without even a goodbye. Determined to get answers, he entices her to Maison Domine for a weekend on the promise of meeting the owner for another decorating job. Except being with her again reminds him why he loved her in the first place—and why she shouldn’t trust him as her Dom.
As their attraction reignites, Hope is transported back to the sub-space bliss she felt only with Gabe. Then a nightmare from her past shows up at the club, and with no other safe place to turn, she has no choice but to trust Gabe with her shame. Leaving Gabe with a devastating choice—reveal his last secret…or lose his Hope.
Product Warnings: This book contains a feisty interior decorator, a dominating leather worker, heart-wrenching sex and redemption.
Buy it here!
First line
#2: That’s her. The instant the
leggy beauty entered the bar, the urge arose to leap from his chair and hustle
her to safety, away from the prying eyes and itchy palms of the other tops.
Feminist
Stephanie Gordon knows the instant she meets blind date Mark DeLuca it’s going
to be a wasted evening. Sure the deputy chief of police is criminally sexy, but
he’s arrogant, domineering and sexist. Thank goodness after the date ends,
she’ll never have to see him again. A member of the Rod and Cane Society, an
organization of men who discipline their women by spanking, Mark DeLuca is
attracted to Stephanie like a paddle to a well-rounded ass. He sees beneath the
shield of feminist militancy to the soft, sensitive woman she tries to hide.
When she storms away in a snit, the chase is on. Can a man who spanks convince a
diehard feminist her true strength lies in submission?
Buy it here!
Buy it here!
First Line #3: "They say a guy can never be too big."
They say a guy can never be too
hung. Well, Harold Jacobs doesn’t know who they are, but they’re wrong.
Socially awkward for as long as he can remember, Harold feels his enormous
package is just one more thing to be embarrassed about. Especially once hunky
and popular Owen McKenzie notices it in the showers. Owen knows he’s bi, but he
keeps that secret close to his chest. He likes Harold, and wants to help him
shed his dorky image and maybe even find a boyfriend. Still, Owen can’t stop
obsessing about Harold’s equipment. And as much as he doesn’t want to flip-flop
on his sexuality, Owen does want to test-drive what Harold has between his
legs. Their friendship erupts into full-blown lust. But can Owen accept the
loss of his golden-child status and be Harold’s boyfriend? And can Harold
outgrow his insecurity in time to keep the man he loves?
Buy it here!
Friday, February 15, 2013
First Line Friday!
“It was
the best of times, it was the worst of times…”
—Charles
Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities (1859)
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a
single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” —Jane
Austen, Pride and Prejudice (1813)
"Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet
Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much."
– J.K. Rolwing, Harry Potter and the
Sorcerer’s Stone (1997)
Welcome
to
First
Line Friday!
Here's how it works:
We'll post the first lines from three books, some written by us, some by author friends.
Then you will all be asked to vote for your favorite, without knowing who wrote it or what book it comes from-- until Saturday!
On Saturday, the lines along with their book cover, blurb and author will be listed so you can check them out!
ALL voters, no matter who you choose or which line wins, will be entered into a drawing for a $10 Amazon gift certificate.
Easy and fun, for all of us! We hope you'll play along!
And now, here's First Line Friday!
The lines:
#1: Hope O’Shea thought she’d never set foot in The Sunset Strip ever again.
#2:
That’s her. The instant the
leggy beauty entered the bar, the urge arose to leap from his chair and hustle
her to safety, away from the prying eyes and itchy palms of the other tops.
#3: "They say a guy can never be too big."
Okay... make your choice! List
your favorite by number or by quoting the line in the comments! All votes
up until midnight will be counted. And don't forget to check back
tomorrow to see who wrote which line and how to check out the rest of the
books!
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Nine Nights in New Orleans - Laissez les Bons Temps Rouler
Laissez les Bons Temps Rouler
by
Juniper Bell
“Laaaaiiiiissssezzz les boooonnnnnn …” A cat in heat, that’s
what it sounded like to Arrietta. A wild, rutting, howling cat on a hot tin
roof. Except this caterwauling demon was strutting across a stage, not a roof,
and that stage happened to be in the bar next door on Frenchmen’s Street. Which
wouldn’t be a problem except that she was
trying to sing too. Her rendition of “Blue Collar Boogie” kept getting drowned
out by the ridiculous screeching next door, and her overflow crowd of twenty –
make that eighteen – seemed to be overflowing right out the door.
She sang louder. “Some say work is good for the soul …” Her
voice cracked. Josh, on standup
bass, made a face at her. She flared her nostrils at him. He crinkled his
forehead in a way that gave her a funny little twinge and made her stumble over
the next word. “… but I see … say … I sold my soul forty hours a week.” She
shot Josh a glare, only to be deafened by another blast of sound from next
door.
“…roulllleeeerrr! Yow!!! Come on, pretty mama!”
“You’ve got to be
kidding!” With a squeal of feedback, Arrietta yanked the mike out of its stand.
“Can’t someone do something?”
Josh and Mackie D, her drummer, stumbled to a stop, the
music crashing around them like a building in mid-demolition. With a quizzical
look, Josh tilted his derby hat further back on his head. Mackie D just stared
at her, his big black bulk solid as a mountain behind his drum set. They’d been
playing together as Miss Jess for two years in Brooklyn, and were just starting
to get some notice. Arrietta had slaved for this day. She’d gone into debt,
she’d lived in shithole apartments her entire adult life, done all her shopping
at Goodwill. She’d worked as a waitress, a psychic hotline operator, even a
secretarial temp to pay the bills. She’d sacrificed everything – friendships,
romances, financial security -- for her music.
Sure, sometimes she wished she could just let it rip, like
that loudmouth good ol’ boy next door. Forget technique, forget lessons and
scales. But she’d hadn’t spent all those years mastering her craft to let Miss
Jess’s all-important first gig in New Orleans—on Valentine’s Day, no less--get
ruined by a jackass.
She leaned back into the mike and breathed, “We’ll be back
in five.” With one more annoyed look at her do-nothing bandmates, she stalked
off the stage.
Blank, astonished faces watched her progress through
Hurricane City and out the door. No one seemed too concerned about the racket
next door. Maybe they were used to this in New Orleans -- one group completely
drowning out another. Well, Arrietta hadn’t paid her dues in the Brooklyn music
scene for nothing. Maybe other singers didn’t mind straining their vocal chords
to be heard over a screeching banshee, but she wasn’t going to put up with it
for one more second.
The bar next door was called “Chez le Voodoo”. It had an
annoyingly vintage New Orleans look about it, with ornate gold lettering and a
dim interior that seemed to be lit by gas lamps. An impassive man sat on a
stool outside the front door. He looked her up and down, then back up, then
back down.
She thought she looked pretty good, with her hair in pink,
marcelled waves, like a fifties pin-up. In honor of Valentine’s Day, she’d
added a fascinator with a sparkly heart. Her onstage style was tongue-in-cheek
retro, with a poodle skirt that had been altered to feature a wildcat rather
than a poodle, and a halter top that showed off the tattoo of an
eyelash-batting kitten on her upper back. But the bouncer didn’t seem
impressed. He held out his hand, palm up.
“I’m not
staying,” she told him. “I’m singing next door and I need to talk to someone
about the sound level.”
When he didn’t lower his hand, she rolled her eyes and
reached into her cleavage. With a quick glance to make sure it wasn’t one of her
twenties, she slapped it into his hand. He grunted and waved her in.
Bedlam, that’s what it was. As she stepped into Chez le
Voodoo, an absolutely wild scene unfurled before her. The walls were black, as
if decades of smoke had infused every crack in the wood. Every few feet, flames
danced and leaped inside glass wall sconces. The place was so packed, Arrietta
couldn’t even make out where the bar was. Couples were romping and whooping;
some were executing tight spins and dips and whirls. Fragrant cigarette smoke
curled through the air as if the place were an opium den. Arrietta tossed her
head, ignoring the seductive pull of all that wild abandon. Talk about old
skool. A lot of bars didn’t even allow smoking anymore.
But clearly, Chez le Voodoo followed its own rules.
Indecent exposure, for example.
She peered into the smoky crowd. The flickering gas lamps
acted as a sort of old-fashioned strobe light, so she could see only in
flashes. But she was pretty sure … yes, practically positive … that some of the
women were dancing topless.
Well, it was New Orleans, after all. But she’d thought that
sort of thing was saved for the tourists down on Bourbon Street. This was
Frenchmen’s Street, where all the serious music lovers went. And she was a
Serious Musician -- on a mission.
She swung her gaze to the stage, where she spotted the cause
of her outrage.
There he was, the devil who’d been ruining her set. He stood
with legs apart, hands gripping a saxophone, lips wrapped around the
mouthpiece. At least he wasn’t singing at the moment, but his sax playing was
just as bad. The man had no technique whatsoever. He just threw notes out there
as if they were cheap Mardi Gras beads. Fast and raw, the notes scampered up
and down the scale. The dancing crowd gyrated right along with the madman,
faster and faster, as if they’d all die if they stopped – or even slowed down.
Then he pulled the sax out of his mouth and yanked the mike
to his lips. And Arrietta came close to fainting. The man was … what were the
right words? He was like some kind of god -- the pagan kind. He had black hair,
thick as blackstrap molasses, with a shiver of black stubble on his jaw. His
eyes glittered like midnight swamp water, like alligators sidling alongside
bayou skiffs, like wild Southern belles throwing tossing up their skirts on a
hot summer night. Every naughty thought, every dangerous, spontaneous impulse
gleamed in those eyes. And every woman in the place knew it.
“Laiiiiiissssezzzz les ….”
And those broad shoulders, hunched over the mike as if he
was making sweet, sweet love to it. His lean hips thrust in time to the beat.
Tendons stood out in his neck. Sweat dripped down his face. The man was sex.
Pure sex on a mike stand.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Sweet Nothings
I'm getting nothing for Valentine's Day.I can state this as an absolute fact, because my husband and I have a standing agreement. No gifts, no cards, no hoopla at all.
I'm not a huge fan of the day, which may be surprising coming from a romance author. But to me, it always feels like a big push to be "romantic" on one day, thereby giving everyone a free pass for the rest of the year. Send those flowers, and you're good until next February!
But me, I'd rather get flowers on a random Tuesday, just because it was raining out and he thought the house would look nice with a fresh bouquet. Or hear "Let's go out to dinner tonight, you've had a long week and shouldn't have to cook."
This weekend, I came down with norovirus (aka, stomach flu) and was flat on my back for 36 hours. So what did my husband do?
The laundry.
The grocery shopping.
Made sure Midkid had a ride to practice.
Kept the kids occupied so I could be miserable in peace.
And, midway through the day, came home with a freestanding jewelry armoire just because he knew I'd wanted one for a while but would never spend the money on it myself.
So no, I'm getting nothing for Valentine's Day. But that's just the way I like it.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Guest Blogger A. Catherine Noon - Get In Mah Belleh!
Like many voracious readers and writers, I’m stationary a large part of the time. I work in an office, for one thing, and I write books, which isn’t exactly something I can do while riding a bike or jogging. (Though I’m tempted to try and use my laptop on the stationary bike, but I think that’s just to prove a point that it can be done.) I have used many ways of being physical over the years, from swimming to hiking, dogsledding, yoga, and martial arts. But my newest obsession?
Belly dance.
Belly dance.
Yup. I started to dance and I’m not a kid. Yikes!
My teacher came to the dance late too, so she understands what it’s like. I’ve tried belly dance before, but haven’t had nearly as much fun – nor learned as much – as I have with my current school. But that’s not why I’m sharing this with you – ‘cuz it ain’t all about me, right? Right. What I am going to share with you is some research material.
My instructor compiled a list of her favorite dancers and I figured I’d share some of the highlights, complete with video clips so you can watch and listen. (Needless to say, if you’re reading this somewhere that loud Middle Eastern music would not be appropriate, you might wait until you get somewhere more conducive or put in earphones.)
First, a little information: there are many kinds of belly dance. The one I’m learning is Egyptian, called Raks Sharki. Contrary to what I assumed, the so-called Golden Age of Belly Dance is the 1940’s and 1950’s (I assumed it would either be now or a long time ago, not essentially pre- and post-WWII). These are a lot of fun to watch. Check it out!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJNHfmETiVk
Samia Gamal
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xM_E3ca7Rs8
Tahia Carioca
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T4aSHw44DzY
Naima Akef
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vkrzFQNHoK0
Katy
What is your favorite physical art form? Tell me in the comments; I’d love to know!
Write on!
--
“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”
- E.E. Cummings
My links: Blog | Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon | LinkedIn | Pandora
Knoontime Knitting: Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Ravelry
Noon and Wilder links: Blog | Website | Facebook
The Writer Zen Garden: The Writers Retreat Blog | Forum | Facebook | Twitter
Team Blogs: Nightlight | Nightlight FB Page | Beyond the Veil | BtV FB Page | LGBT Fantasy Fans and Writers | LGBTFFW FB Page
Publishers: Samhain Publishing | Torquere Press
Check out BURNING BRIGHT, available from Samhain Publishing.
Check out EMERALD FIRE, available from Torquere Books.
Check out "Taking a Chance", part of the Charity Sips 2012 to benefit NOH8, available from Torquere Books. Watch for TIGER TIGER, coming July, 2013, from Samhain Publishing.
My instructor compiled a list of her favorite dancers and I figured I’d share some of the highlights, complete with video clips so you can watch and listen. (Needless to say, if you’re reading this somewhere that loud Middle Eastern music would not be appropriate, you might wait until you get somewhere more conducive or put in earphones.)
First, a little information: there are many kinds of belly dance. The one I’m learning is Egyptian, called Raks Sharki. Contrary to what I assumed, the so-called Golden Age of Belly Dance is the 1940’s and 1950’s (I assumed it would either be now or a long time ago, not essentially pre- and post-WWII). These are a lot of fun to watch. Check it out!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJNHfmETiVk
Samia Gamal
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xM_E3ca7Rs8
Tahia Carioca
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T4aSHw44DzY
Naima Akef
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vkrzFQNHoK0
Katy
What is your favorite physical art form? Tell me in the comments; I’d love to know!
Write on!
--
“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”
- E.E. Cummings
My links: Blog | Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon | LinkedIn | Pandora
Knoontime Knitting: Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Ravelry
Noon and Wilder links: Blog | Website | Facebook
The Writer Zen Garden: The Writers Retreat Blog | Forum | Facebook | Twitter
Team Blogs: Nightlight | Nightlight FB Page | Beyond the Veil | BtV FB Page | LGBT Fantasy Fans and Writers | LGBTFFW FB Page
Publishers: Samhain Publishing | Torquere Press
Check out BURNING BRIGHT, available from Samhain Publishing.
Check out EMERALD FIRE, available from Torquere Books.
Check out "Taking a Chance", part of the Charity Sips 2012 to benefit NOH8, available from Torquere Books. Watch for TIGER TIGER, coming July, 2013, from Samhain Publishing.
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