Friday, September 16, 2016

A Six Pack

Oooh, the connotations those three words in the title bring to mind.
It's Friday, so, some will be stopping by their favorite convenience store, picking up one or more six packs of their favorite beer.

It's still hot enough that tomorrow we can spend time at the pool, checking out Mr. Hottie and his six pack. And even if it's cool in your area, I'm sure you're looking forward to an hour at the gym just to watch those six packs harden and bunch in bench presses and curls.

It's football season and that means tailgating. Whether you're rooting for your favorite college team or pro, there's bound to be numerous six packs of alcohol and soda to quench the fire of hot wings and chili.

But, that's not the six pack I'm referring to.
Tamara and Jax.
They're heating up Landmark, Texas rivaling their counterparts, Jacy and Trace in the romance department.


Jax would take one look at her and think late lunch. A business meeting to finalize the plans for his photo shoot with Jacy.
Certainly not ‘date’. Then why did she continually have to remind herself that?
Maybe because of the way her body lit up like a thousand fireflies on a sultry summer evening when he was near. And the sheer top? That was a given, it advantageously showed off the navy lace bra beneath it.
She may not want to date him, but she sure as heck wanted to leave him with a lasting impression. Well, she didn’t have to worry. Her honey-colored skin and bra showed through the material. So much so, that the lace flowers, centering each cup, was the only thing that hid her nipples. The ones tightening to hard points at the thought of Jackson’s gaze zeroing in on her breasts.
Tamara dropped her head to her chest. Way to go. You’re attracted to the one man in this town you really do not need to have a fling with.
She laughed, a low seductive sound that boys had—Tamara shuddered at the past surfacing involuntarily. Her alto voice had won her fame long before she understood the consequences. In the beginning, it was teen heaven; all too quickly becoming adolescent hell.
Tam quickly squelched the unwanted images. Yeah, thinking of the cowboy was a safe place for her mind to wander. Like a minefield of booby traps just waiting for one misstep.
Right, no reason at all to be nervous.
Why was she attracted to Jax? Even before she agreed to the double-date, she was aware of the man on an elemental level. Since that night, learning he was smart and funny as well as drop-dead gorgeous, she was in a constant state of arousal.
The pulse in her neck throbbed; a low hum, like she put out a low voltage of electric current, vibrated within her body. Her nipples puckered and her belly clenched as she surreptitiously watched him in public. Stalker much.
It was best to steer clear of the man. After today, of course.

She ignored the soaring disappointment that this was the last few hours alone with the scrumptious cowboy. Get your mind on business.

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Time Doesn't Stand Still

It's been a little over a month since my husband passed away. And now that most of the responsibilities have been taken care of (massive amount of work just getting insurance settled and the funeral paid for), more on that later, I have time to grieve.

Let me say my tears and words of, "I can't let him go," the day he died were nothing compared to the short weeks later.

 What do I do with half a body? Strange thought, but he was my soulmate. We were truly one. There was an energy about him that I felt from the time I woke up to the time we both went to sleep at night. His energy was electrifying, uplifting, special. Often times, we'd be lying in bed, thirty minutes after we turned out the lights and I'd say, "what's on your mind?"
His surprised reply, after all these years was, "what do you mean?"
"I can hear you thinking."
"Just the..." the blank would inevitably be filled with something to do with farming. He'd turn over on his side toward me and tell me what his new plans were. Then, he'd fold me in his arms, kiss me, get out of the bed, and go to the living room to sleep in his recliner. Sometimes, he'd fall asleep right away. Most often the answer to my question, "what time did you fall asleep?" the next day would be, "Oh, about two."

How am I supposed to work? Steve was the essence of my writing. My love stories are the manifestation of his love for me. His very touch. The gleam in his eyes. I looked for that gleam when we put together the video for the funeral. I couldn't find it. I realized why. It was his special look for me. I miss that so much. Every dialogue I write was based on his words to me. He told me he loved me every morning, at lunch, when he came home from work, and throughout the evening. It wasn't something he picked up recently (because our grown children were out of the house) but from the first time he said it until the last, he told me, but most importantly of all, he showed me how much he loved me.

The sex scenes I write had all been tried out by us. And we had a heck of a lot of fun making love to one another. Often enough, our son or the grandkids would tell him to, "get a room." He'd laugh, but that wouldn't stop him from doing whatever he was doing at the time.

I find I'm questioning myself often. What if I make the wrong decision? Hence the reason I'm sitting in a small apartment that belongs to my son trying to figure out how to live without the love of my life. The grieving process is excruciating and different for everyone. There are men and women who know how I feel. There are some who, like me, left their parents' home as a teen, (18), and moved right into marriage. This is the first time in my life I'm alone. I have to depend upon myself for all the answers. I'm screwed. Let's just hope not too badly.

How am I supposed to comfort my son, stepdaughters, and stepgrandchildren when only part of me is alive? I wonder if there is anything I have to give them? I can't see my worth because Steve isn't here to tell me I'm a good woman. He was my champion. Steve was the light in all of our lives. I'm a quiet soul. I let my writing do my talking. Not Steve. He'd wake me just before going to work with a lingering kiss and groping hands. He'd walk in the door at lunch asking me how my morning was. He spent five minutes, five days a week, just telling me goodbye at the end of his lunch hour. And when he came home each evening, my welfare, my day, me, was all he wanted to talk about.

The struggle to live without that is overwhelming.

Then, I wonder what am I going to do about a career? I doubt many have noticed my absence. I'm sure people aren't rushing to find out what happened to that budding author Aine Blaze. Can I add more clients as a freelance editor? Possibly find the creativity to develop new book covers?
Actually, none of that matters. What's on my mind?


Steve hired on as a salesman at a hardware store three-and-a-half-years ago. The first week, he pulled his jeans, belt, and work shirts out of the drawers and laid them on the ottoman in the living room. I told him I was fine with him waking me up at seven a.m. to get dressed. He wouldn't hear of it. "I want my baby to get her rest," he'd say. I haven't had the heart to move those clothes yet.

Steve was a fan of westerns. I can't bear to have a DVD of John Wayne or Jimmy Stewart in the house now. His favorite dessert was coconut pie. I enjoy it as well. My sister-in-law, Steve's youngest sister, made him a pie on his last day of work. We picked it up on our way home. Over his first piece that afternoon, he talked of bright plans for our future.  He only had eaten two pieces of that pie before he died. The smell and taste of coconut now makes me sick.

My days are lonely. My nights even worse. I'm sitting here wanting nothing more than to go home. But can't bear the thought of stepping foot in that house because he's not there.

I am homeless.

Home isn't a place it's a person. The one person that we meet, fall in love with and make our life with. When that person is ripped away from us, whether the illness is sudden, short, and unexpected or lingering and the inevitable outcome. Steve's death ripped me in two.

I've lost my best friend, my lover, half of me. I'll get through this because I have people who depend on me. I'm here for them. I will try, put forth the effort to get through this pain just for them. It's not easy, and frankly, I don't have the heart right now.

But I will. Because when I close my eyes I can see Steve and he's still encouraging me. The grief is just beginning. I'm taking it one day at a time. I'm sure in the distant future I'll be able to remember him with only love and none of the pain. But for now, both are my companions.

I just wish...

And that's what grief is. Or mine anyway. Thanks for letting me vent.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Saying Goodbye

How do I say goodbye to the best friend I've ever had. After 26 years of laughter, anger, fun times, I have to tell my husband goodbye.

Last week, he had an unexpected massive stroke and never recovered.

Ironically, he had worked his last day on July 2nd, taking the week of the 4th as a vacation week. This week, I was going to introduce a new blog, "Down on the Farm," commemorating his antics for the world to see.

He was an avid farmer. As of the last six or seven years, he raised sheep. I listened to his plans. Sometimes late into the night, and often, when he was either buying or selling, he'd say, "going to the living room to sleep. My mind's on the sheep." He'd kiss me and leave the bedroom.

There were many times he'd come in after feeding or fencing, just a fussing. Those dang animals. I checked them just last week, but now I have two ewes wormy. Or not just a few weeks ago, he said, "Looks like a ram isn't doing too well. I gave him a shot." The next day, "Well, the ram died."

He took each up and down personally. He loved them like children. It was the same way when we had cattle and hogs. Not so much the goats but the rest were like family.

This city girl took it all in stride. Because it was part of him, it became a part of me.

Another aspect of "Down on the Farm," would have entailed, my husband's penchant for teasing. As my son sat in his father's chair, putting together a slide show; me going through every photograph we have, I was disheartened at not seeing his contagious smile. As, we recalled the past, talked of the house we lived in when the children were small, (our blended family consists of his two daughters and our son). We reminisced over Christmases, other holidays, vacations at the beach, and sorting to find the right farm pictures, I still couldn't get a single picture with his bright smile.

After the slide show was put together, I found one. I took a picture of him opening a Christmas present. I remember the exact moment. I said, "Hon, look at me." There it was. The smile I had been looking for in all the other pictures that had been missing.

It wasn't in the others because the smile I was looking for was always reserved for me.

Who knows how often I'll come back and send my loving guy a message. Today, I've written all I can.

Here's a paragraph I wrote in my letter to him.

You were constantly teasing me. I made you go to counseling once, and the therapist was accurate. You are a passionate man. Making love was fulfilling, fun; I could add adventurous and fireworks. But learning who you were in our life together, the constant teasing, laughing, me standing beside you silently as you talked to everyone in the room; oh the times you said, ‘I’m ready to go,’ and I waited thirty or forty minutes for you to say goodbye to everyone in the room.

Baby, I'll always love you.

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

My Best Friend

It's strange to talk about this. I'm a very private person unless I'm letting my exhibitionist side show.

And I've poked fun at my husband often here. But that's what comes from living with someone for over 20 years.

Tonight, I'm losing my best friend and lover; the love of my life. He had a massive stroke Tuesday morning.

I have author friends and FB friends and twitter friends that will share in my sorrow. Others just know me from my posts, but I can honestly say your prayers will be greatly appreciated.

So, when you're online and see something that reminds you of the one you love, say a quick thanks to God for him/her/them.

Baby, my life with you was cut too short. I will miss you. I love you with all my heart.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Anniversary/Holiday Sale

This week, I'm celebrating mine and my husband's anniversary and next week is a holiday so I'm passing on the savings.

BB&B is on sale for the next 7 days.
(Give Amazon and Nook 24 hours for the price to take effect).

Happy Summer Reading.
Oh, BTW. Working on A Six Pack of Stetsons.
Here's today's Six Pack

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Jacy & Trace Cowboy Cover Models Short Story

Jacy and Trace's story will be out over the weekend. I am working hard to make it free, but, of course, the powers that be aren't cooperating. It's @ $.99 for now.

It's Free on Smashwords. See the Widget top right.

Áine Blaze

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Tuesday Teaser

“You!” Jacy gripped his boulder-sized arm and tugged him a short distance away, forgetting they weren’t alone. “We need to talk, now.” Her whisper echoed through the hall.
“Sure, baby.” His slow perusal had electric tingles skating up and down her body, making her wish she’d opted for pants and a long-sleeved shirt, possibly a sweater, zipped up to her neck even though it was a sunny warm spring day, instead of the knee-length denim skirt and a boxy tank top.
“And here I thought you were someone I’d like to get to know better.” Jacy’s quiet tone dripped derision, or what she hoped sounded something like it. But being near him, his heat searing her and the masculine smell of leather, sweat, and some spicy cologne, had her head spinning. She suspected she would jump into his arms any moment now.
Trace’s brow shot up. “What do you mean thought?” He pulled Jacy toward the back of the house. She dug in her heels.
“No need to.”
Jacy heard a feminine chuckle behind them. “Trace, honey, you’ve done it again.”
“Carp on a cracker.” Jacy barely refrained from stamping her sandaled foot on the hardwood floor. How could she have forgotten his wife?
“Trace. Jacy’s here to see your…”
“Me.” He turned his back to Jacy. “We met a few…month ago and…”
“Is that true, Jacy?”
“Yes…” Jacy was wrong. She could feel worse. Nana would be mortified to know Jacy had thrown herself at a married man.
“I can handle this…”
“Wait a minute.” Summer pushed past Trace, took Jacy’s arm and tucked it into hers. “Heaven knows I love him.” She jerked her head toward the man beside her. “He’s a wild one. But if you’re not sure…”
A high-pitched squeal came from the kitchen grew louder and closer, as a pint-sized version of Trace rushed into the room. “Mama, tell Houston to stop pullin’ my pigtails.”
Jacy gritted her teeth in anger. How dare he? She had to come clean. Yet, as she opened her mouth—to confess or console the woman, she didn’t know which—Jacy had never been so relieved in her life when the woman’s attention was drawn toward the child.

“Carrie, baby,” the woman scolded as she disappeared around the stone wall, leaving her alone with the handsome rogue, “how many times do I have to tell you, stop your whinin’ and give your brother what for. Houston…”

Sunday, June 19, 2016

Hubby I Still Love You...

I hope all fathers, in all forms, stepfathers, grandfathers, uncles and big brothers who take on the role of father for required reasons, and, of course, dad that your day is filled with love and happiness.

We're spending the day with my dad. He'll be surrounded by two of his daughters, three grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. We have a nice meal planned and, of course, I'll be giving him a gift certificate for books. Thanks to him and mom, I learned the love or reading and writing.

Don't think I've left out my wonderful husband. I took him to one of his favorite restaurants last night. He enjoys ribs, and this place is one of his favorites.

It was just the two of us. The room wasn't overly crowded but filled up as we ate. We talked and enjoyed each other's company.

Our server was a young man, late teens early twenty's. He was of medium build and had light blond hair. When he left the bill my husband said, "It's her treat tonight."

The young man commented, "I never assume anymore." Picked up the folder from the edge and handed it to me. He talked with my husband while I pulled out my credit card. My husband proceeded to explain that I was treating him to an early father's day meal. The young man nodded his head and listened politely. Before he left, he said, "That's nice."

A few minutes later, he came back, gathered the bill, and said he'd be right back. At the same time, my husband stood up and went to the restroom. I sat there alone patiently waiting for both men to return.

All of a sudden, it hit me. I gasped and I covered my mouth with my hand to keep the other diners from seeing the knowing smile on my face.

Our polite server thought my husband was my father.

When we left the restaurant, I told my husband what I suspected. He stopped and said, "I bet he did." And then walked on to the car as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Thank goodness my husband isn't bothered by the fact he's so much older than I am. We had a great rest of the evening and didn't think a thing about it afterward.

Honey, I love you. Happy Father's Day.

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

It's Coming

BB & B is in final edits. I'll take a second to thank my editors now. And for my friends John, Jennifer, and Pat for your continued support.

But, while you're waiting, here's an excerpt from chapter 1.

“Annoying diva,” Jacy muttered, her voice barely low enough for him not to hear, all the while, shaking her head. She watched, her gaze transfixed on the male model a few feet in front of her. He turned and gave an exaggerated wiggle of his narrow hips, a blatant come-on, and then sashayed around the over-sized bed that was the backdrop for the shoot as if to say, ‘follow me’.
Jacy’s body shuttered involuntarily.
What had she gotten into? This shoot was supposed to be short, easy. “A few hours, tops,” Jacy mouthed her friend’s, Tamara, words sarcastically.
Now, ten hours later, hot, tired, hungry, she was a little more than angry at the model’s repeated attempts to get her in the bed he stood next to.
The churning revulsion in Jacy’s gut sent her swiftly back to packing up her equipment. With practiced ease, she removed the zoom lens from her camera and nestled it into its foam slot. She gently laid the camera into the leather bag on the floor, careful not to jostle the other already inside.
A movement caught her eye and she jerked her head up just in time to witness the model shimmying around the room once more. The tighty-whitey boxer briefs dipped or hitched. Shocked, her eyes widened. Was he dancing she really couldn’t tell?
Dread settled into the pit of her stomach as his hands clutched a bedpost, and he proceeded to wiggle his ass, twirl and buck his hips to an off-kilter rhythm playing only in his distorted mind.
Jacy rolled her eyes, not bothering, this time, to conceal the loathing growing inside. She quickly picked up the pace. It was way past time to get out of here.
She heard one boot, an expensive black leather pair used as a prop for the shoot, hit the floor. The other followed. She ignored him. Double-checking that she had packed everything, lenses, cameras, memory cards, check. Satisfied all was done, Jacy looked up.
“No freaking way.” Her jaw dropped. He was naked. Thank the good Lord. His attention was on his manager and not her. Until he turned his head, flashing her a smile. Brilliant white teeth shone against his golden skin. Had to be capped. Not a muscle in his face moved. Good grief. Botoxed. At the thought, Jacy peered closely. His tanned skin— Sprayed on. Thick pecs. Implants.
Another revolting shudder coursed through her body. He wasn’t more than four inches taller than Jacy’s five-six-and-a-half frame and didn’t outweigh her by twenty-five pounds. He’d weigh more if you lost a little weight, her inner thin girl chimed in.
Not the freaking time. Still, Jacy peeked down at her body. The hot-pink tank top and black capris fit comfortably, not too tight or loose. Just enough to hide your size fourteen body. Jacy squelched the sarcastic little bitch arguing, Stuck with psycho model and his deranged manager.
Besides, she was comfortable with the five extra pounds. More like fifteen, the bitch chimed in. “Got it.” Jacy gritted her teeth, putting a stop to the tired argument she had with herself, agreeing there were ten extra pounds glued to her shapely butt and thighs just to get the heck out of here.
 Jacy refocused on the job at hand. “Why in the world would Anastasia want a guy like him as her latest cover model?” she murmured as she fished for her cases. Nothing about him screamed cowboy.
Shooting him her best smile, courtesy of her nana’s upbringing, Jacy set the bags by the door.   She knew exactly what her problem with the man was, and his manager—or agent or boyfriend or whatever label they used. She’d never been treated so badly by clients in her life. The “drama king” complained when she didn’t take a face shot, whined for a break every ten to fifteen minutes, argued that this shoot was beneath him, boasted and bragged last year he’d been on billboards and in magazines featuring Calvin Klein underwear. Then his manager had the gall to tell her how to take pictures: she wasn’t holding the camera right, she was too far away, “get a close-up of his junk”—his words, not hers—and she was using the wrong zoom lens. All the while, both men hit on her as if she was a street corner prostitute.
Jacy was well-acquainted with dicks like him. She had lived in San Francisco for a few years, and even had dated a few self-absorbed males like these two, but the pair was by far the worst men to cross her path. Ever. Jacy grumbled beneath her breath, “I can understand why Klein let you go.” What should have been a few hours of work dragged into ten.
Now, she was tired and hungry and put out with their silly shenanigans. Snapping the lid shut on the last case, she set it beside the other two. Ho, ho. His little show had lost its potency after the model’s manager/boyfriend rushed up, wrapped a short robe around his shoulders and kissed him, gushing how good he looked, what a great job he was doing, blah, blah, blah, for the thousandth time.
Jacy didn’t care whether they were gay or bi after the way they both had insinuated the three of them test the king-sized bed after the shoot. But these two? “Obnoxious turds,” she murmured. Her gaze darted toward the manager fawning over the model, and Jacy mumbled a nasty swear word at both men.
Their eyes were lined in kohl, slightly understandable for the model considering he was under bright lights all day, but he’d put it on a little too thick, and Jacy had a feeling he wore makeup every day. Not a hair was out of place, their waxed bodies as hairless as a baby’s bottom. She had wanted to tell the manager shirts unbuttoned to the waist had gone out style in the ’80s. Heck they never really were in style.
As far as Jacy was concerned, today had been a waste of time and Anastasia’s hard-earned money. It wasn’t that the model wasn’t gorgeous. Or that the setting was wrong. Or that, even pushing forty or a little past it, his body was a solid mass of muscle. He was and they were not cowboy material. That was the problem. The guy knew it. It came through each shot of his cheesy smile that Jacy took.

She felt it in her being: none of the pictures were what Anastasia wanted. She sighed heavily. It wasn’t her call. She took one last look around the one-room, rustic cabin. It was homey, if not masculine. Blue plaid curtains covered the windows. A navy spread covered the king-sized bed, pushed up against the back wall. The combination kitchen and living area to her back had state-of-the-art appliances, and the over-sized couch and chair in leather still managed to make the place feel country.

Friday, June 10, 2016

Wiccan House Release

Exiled from her clan by a suspicious queen, fire fae Ceara finds peace among the humans and a role within an elite rescue team. Following a tragic accident, the deaths of her team and the loss of her powers, Ceara is sent to the mysterious resort of Wiccan Haus to heal. 

Kidnapped, abused and cursed on escape, black jaguar Shimeer Neguar is desperately seeking the cure which will re-unite him with his shifter half. Wiccan Haus is his last hope, but he is horrified to discover his nemesis is also a guest on the island. 

When a huge black jaguar attacks Ceara, she hopes for death and an end to her suffering but the shifter fails to bite. The staff on the island want him banished, but understanding Shim has been the victim of another fae, Ceara intercedes on his behalf and he is permitted to stay, as long as he stays away from her. 

The smoke and spice scent of the fae is driving Shim crazy and he can’t keep away from her. Can he reconcile his feelings and the Fates’ desire for them to mate with the fact that she is the image of the woman he loathes? 

Ceara begins to fear the worst, the magnetic shifter who haunts her thoughts and inflames her passion is the key to a prophesy that threatens her very existence. 

Can two broken souls find healing and love at Wiccan Haus or is their fated union the key to their destruction?  


Monday, June 6, 2016

Not a Fan of Monday

Monday's get a bad rap, and I'm here to add my two cents worth. Monday is my busiest day of the week, and the only day I don't have time to write and seems to be all I want to do.

I don't know. Possibly if I skipped work, told my boss I can't teach or grade papers; tell my students they'll have to wait until later in the semester to get their papers back, I could write to my heart's content.

But, that's impossible. The job pays the bills, for now.

Anyway, once I finish the job I'm being paid for I'm left with a lot of frustrating hours trying to change beats in my head, to gear up for the following day.

It's not easy. That is when I clean the kitchen, wash some clothes, anything to recreate the creative juices that flowed through my brain all day.

While this problem is par for the course for me, today, I'm taking the time to write down my goal for tomorrow. What I plan to accomplish.

You see, I've written Boxer Briefs & Boots. Cranked out a short story to accompany that novel. Now, I'm back in first round edits with A Six Pack of Stetsons, book 2 of Cowboy Cover Models Series.

So, when I'm bummed out about this time of the afternoon, also brain dead from reading college essays, I have a better tool to restructure my mind.

Monday's don't have to be bland and boring, and definitely unproductive in my writing. I just need a new way to refocus and today I've hit  upon what works for me.

BTW, Here's an excerpt from A Six Pack of Stetsons. And, I will be popping in to add more on BBandB, and Jacy and Trace.

Finally, if you're bogged down, join me for NaNoWriMo camp in July. I'll have A Six Pack of Stetsons finished by the end of camp.

Happy Monday Peeps.

Tamara Brooks stood just outside of Masters Steakhouse Bar & Grille, smoothing her damp palms down her hips trying to gather the courage to walk through the door. This was their last meeting. There would be no more late lunches, business breakfasts.
Tamara smiled inwardly. She wanted to leave him with a lasting impression.
Yet, she deliberately chose a blue jean skirt, hitting mid-thigh. It showed off her shapely legs, which made her five-foot-two frame look taller. She added cowgirl boots, completing the outfit with the light blue gauzy, peasant style top with a low cutting neckline. She made a statement of chic yet casual.
No reason at all to be nervous.
Jax would take one look at her and think late lunch. A business meeting to finalize the plans for his photo shoot with Jacy.
Then why did she continually have to remind herself that?
Maybe because it had something to do with the way her body responded to him. Even before she agreed to the double-date, her nipples would pucker and her belly would clench when she saw him in public. Since then her body was in a constant state of arousal. A low hum like she put out a low voltage of electric current, vibrated within her body.
Ignoring the disappointment that this was the last time she’d spend a few hours alone with the hunky Jackson Taylor, Tamara recalled the highlights of their last meetings. She opened up to him, talking about college and an internship with an author and then working for Anastasia.
Tamara dropped her head to her chest. What they should have talked about was Jackson’s concerns of keeping his anonymity and him wanting to deposit his payment in father’s account.
Yes, she should have kept to business. Instead, their meetings had the distinct feel of a—date.
Tamara jerked her hand off the brass door handle, in her tight grip, as if it had shocked her. She turned her back to the building and began to pace. Jackson knew more about her than anyone in Landmark. She easily spilled her guts. Telling him about her siblings, both older her brother living in Oregon and her sister near her parents in Nashville. She left out the part where her brother practically disowned their parents and her older sister had blindly followed them into the family business. 
Why? Because she had let her attraction for Jackson cloud her judgment.
Should have stuck to business. Yeah, well there wasn’t anything left to talk about. Every detail, from pinning him down to a date for the shoot to reassuring him there would be no nudity had been completed in a little over an hour, but she deliberately drew out the time spent with him.
“Crap.” Heat licked up her spine. It was the weather, hot and humid. Yeah, it has nothing to do with the words pin and Jax in the same sentence. She turned pacing away from the door once more to keep anyone exiting the building from seeing her beaded nipples that came from the fantasies of her and Jax.
Silly fantasies where she found him in the barn, shirtless sweat clinging to his muscled torso after a hot day’s work and they wound up in the hayloft. Senseless fantasies of running her hands over the corded muscles of his forearms, scraping her fingernails over his thick chest, pressing her body into his. The sound of her breath whooshing from her lungs punctuated the air. Sensual fantasies where she leaned up on her toes, kissing the hollow between his collarbones, nuzzling the scruff of beard covering his jaw, before kissing his sinfully scrumptious lips—
Tamara clamped down on her daydreams. That ridiculous double date with Jacy and Trace was the only reason she thought of Jackson at all. Sometimes girls’ night out was more like truth or dare without the dare and all truth.
Should have never mentioned Jax’s hazel eyes. At least she hadn’t spilled the fact when he pinned her with them, like green and gold laser beams, her body heated to searing temperatures and her panties became soaked.
One good thing to come of it was, Jacy and Trace were dating. “For the time being,” she muttered, gravel crunched beneath her booted heels as she walked. He’d let Stasia keep his likeness on the book cover. More importantly, Jacy had found a great guy.
Tamara’s thought came back to the issue at hand. Her business meeting with Jax. Anastasia had liked the idea of real cowboys on the cover of her romance novels that, lately, Tamara’s full-time assignment was to find men buff and beautiful enough to grace the cover of her books.
Well, there was no shortage of cowboys in Texas. Good-looking muscular men, lots and lots of men with muscles. Handsome men, but none as striking as Jackson.
What the hell, Tam? You’re here to get Jax’s signature that’s all.
Which she had conveniently forgotten the last three meetings.
Now, if she could get her mind off a certain cowboy, she’d feel better, peachy, maybe even great.
Air pushed between her parted lips in frustration. It seemed an impossibility. And, believe her, she had tried. Yet, every word she wrote—Tamara slowed her steps. Nope, she refused to relive failed lyrics with his name or looks or freaking cowboys in each line—nope not going to do that.
You have no business writing songs about him.
Yes, well that was a moot point that had been hacked to death as she lay in bed at night surrounded by mounds of paper balls. Well, it was time to put her infatuation to sleep.
Tamara squared her narrow shoulders, straightened to her full height, looked up, seeing she stood at the entrance.

“Just two short minutes for him to sign the papers and I’ll be on my way,” she murmured, reaching out, pulling open the door stepping inside. Cool air hit her overheated body, making her already tight nipples pucker even more. 

How I imagine Tamara looks

Saturday, June 4, 2016

Jacy and Trace

Jacy and Trace, a cowboy cover models short story excerpt.

I let out a huff of air. Lets elope, I recall Trace whispered into my neck on a night when we both made it back to my house.
 Not on your life, mister,” I whispered timidly afraid Marni could hear me from fifteen miles between the ranch and my house. But, I burned to say yes and sneak away. Boy, how I wanted to. I poked him in the ribs, my finger did not make a dent in his rock hard abs. I shiver now thinking of his body. All muscles from hard work, calloused hands that add the right amount of friction every time he caresses my body.
Yeah, I need a Trace fix right about now. Wedding plans ruin a healthy love life. I tear my thoughts back to the conversation we had that night to keep from ditching this scene, though it is a necessary evil and look for my man. If I have to suffer your mother and sister-in-law then you do, too,” I said, letting out a snarky laugh. “Besides, they would never forgive me.”
 Id tell them it was my fault.” His hands traveled down my body, touching, caressing. Good grief he’s more talented than the most skillful massage therapist. And his mouth… “Oh, don't make the mistake your mother wouldn't know exactly whose fault it was, but Id still be blamed.” Yep, mind off Trace and onto wedding plans.
 ”Let's face it, we're stuck,” we both said at the same time, wistful desperation in our voices. I leaned in intending to soothe his ruffled ego with a kiss. He gripped my upper arms, pulling me over him, taking charge of my mouth.
One hand slid up my neck, tangling his fingers threading through my hair tugging slightly. I knew what he wanted. I was hungry for him, giving him just what he desired. He nibbled and licked and sucked at my mouth, making love to it with a slow slide of his tongue on the seam of my lips. I let them part and he thrust greedily inside, absorbing my sharp exhale of breath feeding it back to me. It was only a kiss, but it had me writhing and panting for more. His other slowly inched its way down to the crevice of my—
Trace consumed me, my thoughts, my body, my—soul. I shook myself out of my reverie.

It wouldn’t do for my panties to get soaked and my nipples protrude through the thin material in plain sight for everyone to see. Thankfully McKenna took that moment to step back and ask, “What do you think?”

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Coming Soon

Boxer Briefs & Boots blurb

~~The room shifted. His lips, full, firm, sensual, pressed against hers. Her eyes shot open, startled at being caught. Her sigh of relief that his were still closed was short-lived. The room tilted and she found herself on her back. A large hand gripped her hair angling her head as he slashed his mouth across hers. Her lips parted in a gasp and he took the opportunity to plunder. Who knew a slow, methodical assault with lips and tongue was so sexy? Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the model, giving as good as she got. Her last coherent thought was, “Wow, even unconscious the cowboy could kiss~~”

Jacy Rawlins' big break became a big flop almoar overnight. What was to be her leap from plain photographer of weddings, babies, and school children turned disastrous when she photographed the wrong man. And boy howdy, what a man he was. But now the author and cowboy are gunning for her and Jacy has no recourse but to make the walk of shame; get him to sign on the dotted line or her new career as a book cover designer will be over before it's begun. There’s only one problem. Jacy thinks she slept with him the night of the shoot.

Trace Blackwell doesn't need the unwelcome attention of his likeness plastered on the cover of a romance novel even if it is just his torso. He's a respected businessman; his parents, siblings, and the people of Landmark look up to him; and the annoying publicity would just make the lawsuit he's fighting in court that much worse. On top of that, he's distracted by dreams of making love to a feisty redhead. The photographer unexpectedly turning up at his ranch has Trace realizing those images of them making love are real. Now, he'll do anything, like allowing his likeness to stay on the cover, just as long as he can get to know the woman who has haunted his dreams.

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Watch for it

Good morning. As many have seen here on my blog, my past excerpts of both Boxer Briefs and Boots and Jacy and Trace, a cowboy cover model short story.
And, you know I pulled them out of circulation to use Pronoun Publishing.
A few things have changed since I made that decision.
So, here's the lowdown.
I am republishing them. After advice from a friend both books are being revamped. Just minor things, but important enough to address.
I am going to republish on my own. Pronoun looks good, but not sure I'm ready for that route. I am still investigating. They look good, but I want to be 100% certain.
Lastly, I have new covers. No drastic changes but ones I think you'll like.
So, watch for the new cover of Boxer Briefs  & Boots later this week.

Saturday, May 28, 2016


Ah, as an author, we have a lot of things to reveal. Most deal with our books.
But, if you want to see another part of my business side, head on over to Art~n~Ink.

On another note, I have been revamping both
Boxer Briefs & Boots
Jacy and Trace a Cowboy Cover Model short story.

I will republish both in June.
So watch for new cover reveals and Jacy and Trace's full story.
Thanks so much for your support.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Knight Defender

Knight Defender is the new book in the series The Knight Chronicles by author, Rue Allyn. It is a Scottish Medieval Romance, Historical Romance. 
Publication date has not been announced yet for this novel, but fans will be happy to know it is can be read as a standalone book. 

Sent alone to Scotland to wed a wild scot and serve the needs of her father and her king, Lady Jessamyn plots to escape the marriage and make the life she wants. In Scotland she finds not the wild boorish monster she imagined but a Knight Defender who would claim her heart, if she will only give up her dreams.

Baron Raeb MacKai is done allowing himself and everyone he loves to live in poverty and despair. His betrothal to a wealthy English heiress will solve a decade of problems. He will do everything necessary to defend his home and his country, but can he defend his heart?

“Unhand me.” She pushed against the massive chest and writhed in the arms cradling her body.
He gathered her closer, mashing her cheek against him.
For an instant, his blazing gray eyes held her spellbound as tightly as his strength gripped her body. Unable to look away, she shivered, but not with cold. The odor of damp wool and man nearly drowned her. All sound faded away save her own harsh breathing.
“Ho, ho!” His chuckle was impossible to miss. “So you are no dying, are you then? Well liars and deceivers must suffer the consequences of their actions.”
She refused to be intimidated. She forced her head away from him. “Is rudeness the customary greeting for your guests, Baron MacKai? I’ve a mind to refuse to wed you. Then King Edward will decline to pay you rent for docking his ships in your excuse for a harbor.
“You think you could resist me?” More chuckles shook his chest.
“It would be a small matter to deny an oaf such as you.”
Flames of some inner fire shone in his unyielding stare. She was unfamiliar with fear, but what else twisted in her belly and skittered just beneath her skin? She wanted to deny his effect on her but in all honesty could not.
“I could make you beg.” He growled low, like some big cat poised to pounce.
“Never.” She could be honest with herself about her body’s betrayal, but she’d plenty of reason not to give the churl any hint of her weakness.
His forward motion halted, his head dipped then stopped a finger’s width from her face. His gaze bored into hers.
Her breath froze at the frenzy of emotions she saw there. ‘Anger, threat, resentment, and something she could not identify. She refused to care. Her fingers itched to slap him, and she raised her hand.
“I wouldna, if I were you.” He anchored her hand beneath a brawny arm and started walking again.
“You’ll regret insulting me.”
His brows rose. “We’ll see about that. For now, I need you safely stowed away.”
“Stowed away!” He made her sound like bothersome chattel, useful for only one purpose. She squirmed and finally released her outer hand from his hold to beat her fist against his chest. “Beast! You will treat me with the courtesy and respect due a lord’s daughter.”
He made no response other than to quicken his pace.
She hit him harder. “You and your entire cowardly clan will rue this day.”
He stopped abruptly and shifted his grip. Her feet fell downward but found no purchase on solid ground. She hung suspended from the large hands thrust under her armpits. The heels of those palms pressed against her breasts, and heat flooded her body at the intimate touch.
“You, you …” He and every MacKai disgusted her beyond words. Raising her head to berate him further, she stilled. Once more, the gleam in those stony eyes compelled her attention. The downward tip at the outer corner of his lids gave him a slumberous appearance belied by glints of indecipherable emotion. Those deceptive lids narrowed. She longed to hide but could not look away.
“Listen to me.”
His quiet words slid over her skin, causing a rise of goosebumps.
“You are naught but a troublesome woman. You have no power or authority here, so if you value your overly pampered English hide, you’ll nae insult clan MacKai. Do you understand?”
She swallowed and nodded.
He tossed her over his shoulder, secured her legs against him with an arm, and continued walking.
“How dare…”
One of those huge palms smacked her rump.
“Oooo! I’ll make you regret you ever touched me.”
A second smack was followed by an order for silence.
Since her backside began to throb, Jessamyn subsided in favor of plotting retribution. She’d start with boiling in oil followed by a sound beating and end with banishment.
She was deciding whether or not to add tar and feathers when she heard the creak of leather hinges. They crossed a doorway, and she went flying through the air to land in a heap, face down on a feather bed.
“Dry clothing will be brought. Dinna imagine I care for your comfort. I simply canna be bothered to find another woman if you catch an ague and die.”
She struggled to right herself, sputtering and pulling her hair from her face. The brute deserved the sharp side of her tongue. She gathered breath as she turned to speak, just to see the coward disappear and the door bang shut behind him.
He was not getting away that easily. She leapt from the bed, ran for the door, and nearly jerked her arms from her shoulders when the wooden barrier refused to budge at her angry pull.
Dumbfounded, she could only stare.
He’d barred the door? Boiling oil and banishment are too good for him. I must see him drawn and quartered.


Author Bio
When not writing, loving her husband, or attending Toastmasters meetings, Rue travels the world and surfs the internet in search of background material and inspiration for her next heart-melting romance. She loves to hear from readers and you may contact her at She loves to hear from her readers.


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Boxer Briefs & Boots

Hello, everyone. The last few years have been difficult. With the death of my husband came many responsibilities. Some I was ready for. Many...