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.

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...