Author – Page 8 – aliciajoseph

Does Reuniting With the Love of Your Life Mean You’re Getting Back?

Please welcome my friend and author, Cindy Rizzo, to my blog. She is promoting her new lesbian romance, Getting Back. Please take a moment to read an excerpt from this amazing writer.

Thanks for stopping by!

Excerpt from Getting Back by Cindy Rizzo

CHAPTER 1

March 2008

Elizabeth Morrison tightened the grip on her Blackberry as she held it to her ear, feeling her fingers cramp around the curved edges.

“And I assume I’m the last one to find this out, aren’t I, Margaret?”

“Ah, the Queen Elizabeth voice, how I’ve missed it.”

“You deserve it. You engineered this whole thing behind my back.”

Elizabeth eased into her leather desk chair, trying to hold on to her anger, but feeling instead as if she was going to fall apart.

“Sweetie,” cooed Margaret, “it’s been thirty years. Could it be that you’re still pining away for Ruth Abramson?”

Elizabeth breathed out audibly. “Certainly not! And that isn’t the point. I just feel… I don’t know, like I’ve been ambushed.”

It was a diversion, chastising her best friend—or the woman she had thought was her best friend—for taking it upon herself to invite Ruth to be the class luncheon speaker at their thirtieth reunion. But in reality, all her emotions were focused on just one thing—the prospect of seeing Ruth for the first time since college.

“Elizabeth, you run one of the most successful publishing companies in the world. You have editors trembling in your wake, agents fawning over you hoping for the slightest nod of your head. Surely you can deal with this. Maybe it’s time to face things head on?”

“Why didn’t you come to me when this was just an idea, before she agreed to speak?”

“Because I’m chairing the reunion committee and I didn’t feel I had to clear all of our plans with you.”

“Oh come on, Margaret, I’m not just anybody. I’m a trustee of Fowler. Besides, you know very well that Ruth and I have been studiously avoiding one another all this time. I don’t even see why she would agree in the first place. She hasn’t set foot back on campus since graduation.”

Margaret’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “Truth is, we begged her. She’s a US district court judge, the second most accomplished member of our class, after you of course, Your Majesty.”

Elizabeth knew the trajectory of Ruth’s career quite well. She’d been following it for years. She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. A groan escaped. Suddenly weary and unsettled, she was unable to conjure up the anger from just a few minutes ago.

“You know, she didn’t want to do it,” said Margaret. “We waited weeks for her to confirm.”

Elizabeth rolled forward in her chair and rested her head in one hand.

“Why now, I wonder?”

“Maybe she thinks thirty years is long enough.”

With the phone still pressed to her ear, Elizabeth sat slumped at her desk. Margaret’s news had completely unsettled her. What could Ruth possibly want after all this time?

Elizabeth knew from mutual acquaintances that Ruth had only been dating women since her divorce from Bennett Miller in 1985. She wondered if Ruth had ever come out to her parents while they were still alive, especially her father, who’d always been her main concern. Main obsession, really. The Great Leon Abramov, national hero and savior of Russian Jewry. Elizabeth had cut his obituary out of the Times back in 1998 and placed it in the secret scrapbook along with photos from the funeral, attended, of course, by President Clinton and every important Jewish leader in the country. The paper had included a picture of Ruth flanked by her two children, a son and a daughter. She looked tired and drawn but not, Elizabeth had noticed, grief stricken. As she’d carefully smoothed the newspaper photo onto the sticky page of the scrapbook, Elizabeth had speculated whether Ruth could even be a bit relieved that the man who’d controlled so much of her life was finally gone. Or maybe the relief and the hope it left in its wake had been Elizabeth’s?

A loud staccato buzzing propelled her back to the present.

“Ms. Morrison?”

She pressed the hands-free button on her office phone.

“Yes?”

“Reese Stanley is here for your three o’clock.”

Elizabeth hesitated for a second. Reese. She’d realize something was wrong in a heartbeat if Elizabeth let her walk in now.

“I need a minute or two,” she said, leaning over to the speaker on her desk.

She stood and straightened her posture, shoulders back, head high. Checking her face in a compact mirror, she freshened her lipstick and made sure nothing looked smudged or worn. Satisfied at last, she called up her business voice—the one she knew they all referred to as “Queen Elizabeth”—pressed the button on the phone, and said, “Have Reese come in.”

***

It was ridiculous to expect someone to remain the same as they were three decades ago. Elizabeth herself had changed. She was no longer innocent and open, the way she’d been in college. Being the boss suited her. She liked taking charge and always exhibiting confidence, while keeping her worries and doubts confined to nights alone at home. Very few people were permitted to see that side of her. From time to time, she’d open up a bit with Margaret, who as a business owner herself, understood the pressures of making hard choices.

But she thought it prudent to hide her persistent interest in Ruth Abramson from everyone. Her ongoing efforts to keep tabs on Ruth’s life, greatly facilitated these last ten years by the advent of the Internet, had taken the form of a bad habit that was impossible to stop. Like sneaking a cigarette on the back porch or buying the National Enquirer at a newsstand and hiding it in your desk drawer.

Elizabeth sat in her living room armchair sipping the sherry she’d received as a gift from the head of the company’s Spanish subsidiary, hoping it might eventually get her to sleep. But she couldn’t even muster a yawn. Instead, she kept picturing Ruth standing at a lectern in the alumni dining room, addressing the members of their class. Ruth and Elizabeth would be back at Fowler yet not together. She couldn’t make sense of that thought, even though she knew it was the truth. Maybe it would be best to confront who they’d been back then in order to accept the reality of who each of them had become.

She rose from her chair and went to her desk. At the bottom of her file drawer, under a stack of papers was the scrapbook; her own version of the hidden National Enquirer. She sat at her desk with the unopened book before her. Would this little trip down memory lane help her sort things out or just make them worse? What she dreaded most were those first few pages. She normally skipped them when she had something to add, opening the book to the items from the last few years. She’d insert whatever new photo or article she’d found, forcing herself to focus on the present and ignore the past. But with the prospect of finally seeing Ruth, maybe it was worth reviewing the entire history from the beginning and, by facing it boldly, reduce the power it seemed to have over her.

She glared at the closed book as if it was a bothersome underling. You’re not really a scrapbook, you know. You’re merely a photo album covered in faux light brown leather and decorated with a faux gold border. The words of Glinda the Good Witch from the Wizard of Oz came back to her.

“You have no power here. Be gone, before somebody drops a house on you!”

She smiled to herself and opened the book to the first off-white page covered in a clear plastic sheet that could be pulled away from its sticky cardboard backing. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the blank page, deliberately left that way as a safety buffer so she could avoid being suddenly confronted with the past. The next pages contained all the old college photos. She’d debated about whether to destroy them, but found that she was unable to do so. They reflected back the happiest time in her life. If they were gone, she’d have nothing.

Unable to trust herself not to one day rip them up in a fit of anger after a particularly bad Siberian prison dream, she’d made a full set of duplicates and gave them to Margaret, pretending they were the originals. It was far better for her friends to think she had exiled images of Ruth from her midst instead of knowing the truth: she was incapable of letting them go.

The sherry slid down her throat with a slight burn. Tonight was the time for confronting. She grabbed onto the edge of the blank page and slowly turned it.

And there was Ruth, standing by that oak tree behind the student union, her hand on the trunk, a big smile on her face. Her dark, curly hair was tied back in this picture, even though Elizabeth always encouraged her to wear it out draped over her shoulders, reaching down to her breasts. Her pale skin contrasted with the hair and her dark brown eyes—eyes that had immediately captured Elizabeth and later held her attention as they lay in bed for hours gazing at one another and touching, always touching.

Then there were pictures of the two of them, among friends and on their own. She shifted her attention from Ruth to herself, dressed in baggy, faded jeans and a tight-fitting sweater with pink, green, and white horizontal stripes. Ugh, she thought, howcould I have ever worn such a thing? Luckily her taste in fashion had improved over time. But even with the wretched clothing, she was able to notice with longing her formerly smooth skin and the silky texture of her light brown hair, now dulled by years of coloring and highlighting. Would Ruth even find her attractive now?

She crossed her arms, laid them over the open book, and lowered her head onto them. Ruth had had over twenty years to contact her: twenty years of being on her own and dating women. But she had not come back. Instead, it seemed she had dismissed their intense connection, their love, as a mere college dalliance. Clearly, Ruth had moved on. Why couldn’t Elizabeth?

Cindy Rizzo is the author of three novels and three published short stories of lesbian fiction, including her latest book, Getting Back, released in October by Ylva Publishing. Her first novel, Exception to the Rule, won the 2014 award for Best Debut Author from Golden Crown Literary Society and was a finalist for the Rainbow Book Awards. In September 2014, her second novel, Love Is Enough, was released. A short story, The Miracle of the Lights, appeared in the award winning anthology,Unwrap These Presents (Ylva Publishing) and was also released on its own. A second story, V-Day 1978, was included in Ylva’s Valentine’s Day release, Love Times Two. Cindy was also the co-editor of a fiction anthology, All the Ways Home, published in 1995 (New Victoria) in which her story Herring Cove was included.
Cindy lives in New York City with her wife, Jennifer, and their three cats. They have two grown sons, a wonderful daughter-in-law, and a baby granddaughter. You can contact Cindy by email at cindyt.rizzo@gmail.com, via Facebook http://www.facebook.com/ctrizzo, through her blog, http://www.cindyrizzo.wordpress.com, or on Twitter @cindyrizzo.

A Light Pasta Sauce and a New Sexy M/M Release. Need Anything More?

by Viki Lyn

I was raised in a family of chefs. My grandfather left his hometown in Italy as a young lad, and crossed the Atlantic Ocean during the early 20th century. From New York City, he boarded a train to California. He had work lined up in San Francisco as a sous chef in a prestigious hotel where he learned his trade.

My father inherited my grandfather’s love of food and was an excellent cook. My father never measured anything, so when he wrote down a recipe it was a pinch of this and handful of that.

This recipe is all about a pinch of this and a handful of that. You can add whatever you have in the fridge…be creative…and have fun.

Light Pasta Sauce

Start with simmering garlic in olive oil. Stir occasionally. Adjust heat as needed so you don’t burn the garlic.

Snoop around your vegetable bin and decide which veggies to use. The only essential vegetable is the tomato!

I’m partial to my old standbys:

Mushrooms
Fresh Tomatoes
Zucchinis
Red Bell Peppers

Chop the veggies, but not too small.

Once the garlic is lightly roasted, add in the mushrooms and bell peppers first. After a couple of minutes, mix in the chopped zucchinis. After another couple of minutes, stir in the tomatoes.

This is when I like to include salt, pepper and Italian herbs. And, if you have fresh chopped basil, toss it in. It adds a nice taste to the sauce.

Cook the pasta and before you add the sauce: Toss the cooked pasta in a light coat of olive oil and lemon juice, and add the sauce.

Top with Parmesan or Romano cheese. Serve with a crisp salad and plenty of fresh Italian bread for dipping into the sauce.

Enjoy!

And for dessert, here’s a peek into my latest M/M from Loose Id.

Rocker Leo needs a break. From the band, roadies, everything related to his present life. Wandering the streets of Vienna, he chances upon a poster that just might change his life. Andre Revele, renowned violinist, and Leo’s ex-lover, is performing in the city. It’s been years since Leo slipped out of Andre’s life in the middle of the night, but he’s never forgotten their passionate love of music and each other.

Andre’s shocked when Leo shows up backstage after his performance. Hell yes, he’s angry, but he can’t walk away. Against his better judgment, he invites Leo to his hotel for a drink. Not sure what he wants from Leo, he knows what his body wants right now. A night of passionate sex leads to another, until he’s lost his heart to Leo again.

When Andre finds his trust in Leo tested, Leo must prove his loyalty by using their one common passion – music – to bind their hearts.

EXCERPT
Leo finished his cappuccino. He needed a break. From the band, roadies, everything related to his present life. He tried to ignore the constriction in his chest. He hadn’t written anything in months, and that scared the shit out of him. His bandmates were like his brothers, but as much as he loved them, it wasn’t the same as having a lover who completely got him. He had no one to turn to when in a funk.

He hoped to God he still had more words inside him. For all of his flamboyance on stage, his real love was composing.

Leo paid the check and left. Too wound up to go back to his hotel, he roamed the streets, taking in the Vienna night. Stars sparkled above St. Stephen’s gothic spire. The wide boulevards twisted into narrow lanes perfect for getting lost in.

Happy to wander aimlessly, Leo slipped his hands into his fleece-lined jacket. Living in LA, he’d forgotten how cold winter could be in other parts of the world. He turned the corner and sputtered to a halt. Staring at the poster pasted to the side of a building, he didn’t need to read the name of the virtuoso to know who it was. He could never forget that face in rapture—when playing or getting off. Music and sex had invoked the same feelings in Andre Revele. Passion was passion, and that man had always had both in spades.

Numbness swept across Leo as he stared at the picture of Andre caressing the bow in those slender-fingered hands—such artistic hands on a large man. It had been love at first sight—or at least lust—when Leo had walked into the practice room.

He could still remember a youthful Andre, not quite grown into his robust physique, as he played the last stanza of Bach’s Concerto in E. The violin’s notes had faded, but the music had remained in the air long after the performance was over. Bright green eyes peered through dark lashes, and sensual, pouty lips morphed into a shy smile. Like an idiot, Leo had been at a loss for words at Andre’s performance and enamored by that handsome face. Until Andre laughed, breaking the spell.

From that day forward, they were inseparable. They both had insatiable appetites for music. They stayed up all hours talking about philosophy and musical composition, and arguing what was better, thin-crust or thick-crust pizza. They played music together, fucked, and enjoyed the simple moments that composed their insular world.

He scanned the poster for the dates of the concerts. Tomorrow night was the last performance. Leo shuffled his feet, unable to move away. He bit his lip and traced the image of Andre. Did he dare go? It had to be fate. He’d been thinking of Andre, talking about the past with Sid, and now this.

His heartbeat quickened. What if he went backstage and Andre didn’t recognize him? Or brushed him aside? Leo had purposely avoided searching the Internet for news of Andre, too afraid that his ex had a lover, or worse, had married. Their lifestyles were miles apart, and Leo could never think of Andre as a friend.

He drank in Andre’s image. Tall and broodingly dark, Andre had the body of a jock and the sensitive heart of an artist. Leo preferred men unlike himself. He’d been a skinny kid, and had a difficult time gaining weight. If he’d been born years earlier, he would have been the perfect face for a glam rock band. At least he’d outgrown the term pretty boy or twink.

Leo chewed his lower lip as he studied Andre’s picture. Tempting as it was to see his ex again, visiting the past was a bad idea. This wasn’t the time, not when Leo was restless and bored. His heart couldn’t take a rejection from Andre. There were other men, lots of men, and he’d had his share of quite a few of them. With his schedule it had become impossible to form any long-term commitment. Or at least that was what he told himself.

A big, fat lie.

He’d never met anyone who made him feel the way he’d felt for the violinist.

Leo kissed his fingers and pressed them to Andre’s lips. “Good-bye, Princess.” Andre hated that pet name, but Leo loved using the endearment. Andre had been born into wealth and privilege, and his family had expected great things from him. “You proved them right, didn’t you?”

Before Leo changed his mind, he hurried away, dismissing the memories of a love lost to his ambition.

BUY LINK

Multi-published and award winner, Viki Lyn is a successful writer of gay paranormal and contemporary romance. After reading and collecting whatever she could get her hands on, she wrote her first male/male romance. And that was ‘it’ for her. She never looked back. Viki travels the world in search of inspiration. She considers herself blessed to have traveled to many of the mystical sites she had dreamed about as a child. Her travel experiences have been influential in creating her paranormal worlds. When she needs to relax, she calls a friend to meet at their favorite coffee house. When the chattering in her head goes off the charts, she plays one of her favorite RPGs on her PS4 and immerses herself in the world of dragons and magic.

Learn more about Viki Lyn on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

Get Your Hot AND Free French Tart Now!

FREE for a Limited Time Only

Bon Appétit…Satisfy all your cravings at cooking school.

Determined to prove herself and shed her party girl image, Donatienne Dubois pins her hope on the exclusive cooking school in Nice, France. One by one her expectations are shattered by a foul-mouthed parrot, a bogus Michelin chef, and a headmistress with a heart of tungsten steel. Donni’s lifesaver is a bad boy too hot not to handle.

Mark Anderson is incognito and hating every moment. To pose as a student while keeping tabs on a rich wild child is his version of hell, until he partners with the dish of Crème Brulée good enough to eat.

Class takes on a whole new meaning as Doni and Mark heat up the kitchen when they discover honey has better uses than sweetening tea.

EXCERPT
Mark pasted a cheery smile on his face. Hell, he was getting the hang of this cooking stuff. He tipped the mountain of cheese piled on his platter and leaned closer to the stove, eyeing the pan that looked too small to hold it all.

“Stop!” Doni held up her tiny hand. “You cannot toss all that in here.”

He stumbled backward. What the hell? He’d done exactly what she told him. She couldn’t blame him because the damn block of cheese grated up to Matterhorn size.

“Are you sure you’re in the right cooking school?” She threw in a handful of the white shreds and shuffled the pan until one side of the omelet flipped over the other.

“Are you sure it’s cooked?” He pointed at the pan. “Looks kind of pale to me.”

“Are you sure you know anything about food?” She glared at him while wiping her slender fingers on a striped blue towel. “Sebastien, this is the easiest dish we’ll prepare. What’s going to happen when we advance to boeuf à la mode and present it?”

Now she had him on this present thing, let alone whatever the hell kind of food she meant. If it even was food.

“No problem. I’m your man and ready to step up to the plate.” Dammit. How stupid was that, to make a baseball reference? Quick, change the subject. “What’s next?”

She handed him a coffee cup.

Good, a caffeine jolt would go good about now.

“Snip the chives.”

“Ah, sure.” He gingerly took the mug, wondering what the hell she expected of him.

“These, Sebastien”—she waved a handful of limp skinny green sticks at him—“are chives. From the onion family.” She shook her head, then slid the omelet onto an oval platter. When he didn’t move, she slapped a pair of scissors into his palm. “Do I have to do it for you?”

“You don’t have to be insulting.”

“I apologize.” She tossed her head to move a thick strand of hair from her cheek. He looped the blonde lock around his finger—pure silk—then curled it behind her ear. Her breath quickened and his heart swelled. He leaned into her, needing to taste her pink lips. The sweet aroma of flowers filled his lungs.

“Chives.”

Before he could say anything, Chef edged between them.

“Interesting.” Chef took the platter from Doni. “Perhaps a bit plain, do you not think?”

She gasped when he grabbed a handful of some chopped green thing and plopped the wad on her omelet, obliterating the light-colored food.

Pierre flapped overhead, squawking like he had steak knives shoved up his ass. He hovered over the platter, then plop!

“We are always whipping up something new in the kitchen.” Chef sniffed and raised his fist to the bird. “This, however, can never be on a menu.”

He dropped the plate back into Doni’s hands and strolled on to the next pair of fledgling chefs.

Doni blinked rapidly as she pressed her lips tight. Mark slung an arm around her shoulder, feeling guilty as hell that he’d done nothing to stop…

FREE LINKS
Amazon – ARe – Barnes & Noble – Kobo – Smashwords

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m an Award-Winning author who believes humor and sex are healthy aspects of our everyday lives. I carry that philosophy into my books. I write sexually explicit romances that take you right into the bedroom. Being a true romantic, all my stories have a happy ever after.

My books are set in Europe where the men are all male and the North American women they encounter are both feminine and strong. They also bring more than lust to their men’s lives.

I was born and raised on the Southside of Chicago. Studly, my mate for life, and I now live in a small home in Indiana and enjoy the change from city life. I’m an avid cook and post new recipes on this blog every Wednesday. The recipes are user friendly, and I strive for easy.

Currently I have six erotic romance books and one box set either released or coming soon from Toque & Dagger Publishing. Excerpts from these books can be found on my website, blog, and all popular vendors.

Subscribe to my short newsletter. Connect with with me on Facebook, Twitter, and Google+.

Cover Reveal for “Loving Again”

My second lesbian romance novella, Loving Again, will release next month. Thank you to Affinity eBook Press for acquiring my book.

Here is the cover, and a glimpse of the story. I will post an excerpt soon. Thanks for stopping by!

Dana Perkins lost her longtime partner in a tragic accident. Although she still struggles with the loss, her profound loneliness is evidence that it is time to move on. She knows her deceased lover, Casey, wouldn’t want her living this way. Dana begins her slow process of letting go, removing reminders of Casey from her house, and dating again. The women she meets leave Dana uninspired and missing her deceased partner even more. Just as she is about to resign herself to the belief that she will never love again, Dana meets Emily Daniels, a married woman who is deeply conflicted over her attraction to women.

Soon, the two women form a friendship that leads to deeper emotions. They discover that one moment in their past had brought them together in a way neither woman could have ever imagined.

Is that one moment in time enough to let both women follow their hearts, or will they let their past continue to rule their future?

Looking For a Place to Vacation? Author Sara Daniel Has a Suggestion.

Top Ten Reasons to Vacation at Wiccan Haus

by Sara Daniel

1. It’s a healing spa for every ailment. Take a bullet to the knee? We’ll fix you up. Lose your memory? We’ll help you recover it. Got issues with your family? We’ll help you deal with your emotional difficulties. People think you’re going crazy? We don’t, and we’ll help you unravel the truth.

2. No electronics. Time to unplug! Your cellphone won’t work. You won’t get barraged with social media updates from people venting about their awful lives or bragging about their nauseatingly perfect lives. Even better, your boss can’t contact you about that office “emergency” no one else wants to tackle.

3. You get a whole week to relax. One ferry boat a week takes guests to and from the island. You won’t be leaving early or pretending a weekend getaway is all the vacation you need. You’ll have a whole week to truly relax.

4. No crowds! No lines! That ferry boat only takes 12 guests per week, with another 12 arriving through a magical portal from the paranormal world. That’s it, just 24 guests getting some very personalized attention.

5. The Wiccan Haus is magical. Yeah, the brochure might say the island is off the coast of Maine, but you’re not going to find it on your own. I’m guessing it’s part of a paranormal world, but they’re not confirming or denying my suspicions.

6. The owners get involved in helping you make most of your stay. Talk about personalized attention. At least one of the four siblings who run the resort will help you make the most of your stay—maybe all four of them. Now that’s service!

7. They have yoga, meditation and other classes that you always meant to try but never quite got around to. Admit it: You know that practicing deep breathing would be good for your blood pressure and probably your scattered brain too, but you never have time to actually do it, just like you never had time to try the King Pigeon or Camel yoga poses that the too-perky barista at the coffee shop swears by. Now you can.

8. They have exotic plants that scientifically shouldn’t exist. The orchard has apple tree with blossoms, unripe fruit, and ripe, ready-to-eat fruit all on the same tree. All at once. All the time. And you can help yourself to an apple straight from the tree. Simply paradise.

9. You could meet someone with paranormal abilities. Those guests who came through the magical portal might be shifters, vampires, psychics, truth-finders, lamias, or something else you’ve never heard of. They’re coming to the Wiccan Haus to heal and relax just like you, and you’ll see them when you all gather together in the dining room for dinner.

10. Another guest might end up being the love of your life. Maybe the person is a paranormal, or maybe he/she a human, but every story from the Wiccan Haus ends with true love and a happily-ever-after. It truly is magical!

Psychic Lies

What if you could read minds during sex? What if the government wanted to exploit you for your ability?

Fiona Vetter has spent her life hiding her sexual mind-reading power, pretending to have normal, safe powers like the rest of her family. When her charade results in the death of an innocent woman, her life of lies unravels. With nowhere else to turn, she retreats to the Wiccan Haus.

To expose her as an enemy of his government, Armando Verdad follows Fiona to the Wiccan Haus. Her beauty dazzles him, her personality seduces him, and her web of lies intrigues him. But with his career and the safety of his countrymen on the line, only the truth matters.

The harder Fiona tries to keep Armando away, the more she falls for him. When enemies come searching for her, she is forced to trust him to protect her life and her psychic lies, but nothing can protect her heart.

EXCERPT
Fiona dropped her fork. How could her soul have picked him for her mate? The Fates played cruel jokes, and, once again, they did so at her expense. “The vetter was trying her best.”

“Her best to do what?” He gripped her arm a bit tighter.

“To be a vetter.” By the Goddess, she’d tried so hard. Her failure had cost an innocent woman her life.

He rubbed his hand along her arm, his face breaking into a smile again. “You know, I believe you’re right.”

A fat lot of good that did for Lizbet. She dropped her gaze to his hand. “Why are you always touching me?” She didn’t know him well enough to warrant the constant contact, but pleasure sizzled under her skin at his touch. She didn’t deserve to enjoy anything.

He smiled wider. “I can’t stop myself. You feel the connection, don’t you?”

She couldn’t have a connection to a man who scorned people who didn’t use their powers for the greater good, not when she’d built the foundation of her life on denying her true powers. “I’m actually not a tactile person.”

After speaking such a big lie, she couldn’t continue to look him in the eye, not with all her powers concentrated in the most intimate tactile experience possible.

His grin split wider. “I’d love the chance to prove you wrong.”

And when he did, she’d know his thoughts. She’d know how much he despised the woman who claimed to be a vetter and allowed the commander’s beloved daughter to lifebond with a man who would murder her. Fiona had come to the Wiccan Haus to get away from the public’s hatred and scorn, not see it behind Armando’s beautiful smile and feel it no matter how warm and gentle his hands.

She shoved away from the table and ran for the exit.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I meant it as a compliment,” he called after her.

The dining room quieted around her. Everyone stared. Once again, she drew the bad kind of attention. But she couldn’t stop.

Despite her desire to be a simple vetter, without real vetting powers that life could only be a lie. The truth, however, was far worse than a life of lies.

Amazon
All Romance eBooks
Google Play
iTunes
Kobo

Sara Daniel writes what she loves to read—irresistible romance, from sweet to erotic and everything in between. She battles a serious NASCAR addiction, was once a landlord of two uninvited squirrels, and loses her car keys several times a day.

Learn more about Sara on her website and blog. Subscribe to Sara’s newsletter.

Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.

Is it Too Late for the NFL to Change Its Image?

NFL Needs Some Good News

by Anne Montgomery

The NFL has a perception problem. Domestic abuse, child abuse, cheating. Understandably, our most popular and lucrative team spectator sport is trying to rid itself of a host of bad press, much of which has threatened to alienate close to half the league’s fans.

It may come as a shock to some football buffs, but about 45% of the NFL’s fan base is female. Women spend roughly 1.5 billion dollars annually on team memorabilia, half the league’s total sales. The NFL’s market value is listed at 45 billion dollars, equal almost to Starbucks. Now imagine if the company that provides your morning latte disregarded half its clientele.

Those at the helm of the NFL understand they have a PR problem and have scrambled in an effort to eradicate the idea that they regard women as second-class citizens. Last September, the league hired four women, who, according to Commissioner Roger Goodell, will work “on the development and implementation of the league’s policies, resources and outreach on issues of domestic violence and sexual assault.” Admittedly, a good start, assuming the group actually has any real power.

Then the NFL hired a female official. Sarah Thomas will take the field this season, the first woman to don stripes and toss a yellow flag for the league. Also a positive step, though it’s easy to question the timing of this hire. Clearly, the NFL could have put a woman in the officiating ranks earlier, but why quibble.

Now, the Arizona Cardinals have announced that they have “hired” a woman to coach the team’s linebackers. Media outlets blared the information with almost giddy abandon. One had to go fairly deep into most news articles to discover that Dr. Jen Welter, who holds a master’s degree in sports psychology and a Ph.D. in psychology, is, in fact, an intern with the team, which by definition means “a student or trainee who works, sometimes without pay, at a trade or occupation in order to gain work experience.” (Imagine, holding a Ph.D. and being asked to intern.) Welter has played and coached in women’s leagues, still, at this time, she is not projected to be working with the Cardinals come kickoff on opening day of the regular season.

While the Cardinals appear to have independently come up with the idea of bringing Welter on board, one can’t help but wonder if NFL executives – read the Commissioner’s office – didn’t send down some double top-secret directive to all teams: Find a place for women now!

In the interest of full disclosure, I have been an NFL fan for most of my life. Despite the league’s foibles, there’s probably little they can do to drive me away from my TV come Sunday. Still the NFL would be wise to consider the concerns of all of its fans, lest it drop that golden egg and no longer find itself listed as the highest-grossing sport league in the world.

Now, if we could just get them to do something about those cheerleaders.

Anne Montgomery was interviewed by Fox News. Click here to read or watch what Anne had to say.

Not only is Anne Montgomery a sports aficionado, she is also a passionate author. Here is a little from her latest mystery.

A Light in the Desert traces the story of a pregnant teenager who bears an odd facial deformity, a Vietnam veteran and former Special Forces sniper who, as he descends into the throes of mental illness, latches onto the girl, and a group of Pentecostal zealots – the Children of Light – who have been waiting over thirty years in the Arizona desert for Armageddon.

The Amtrak Sunset Limited, a passenger train en route to Los Angeles, is derailed in their midst’s, a deadly act of sabotage. Their lives are thrown into turmoil when local and state police, FBI investigators, and a horde of reporters make camp by the twisted wreckage of the Sunset Limited. As the search for the saboteurs continues, the authorities find more questions than answers. The girl mysteriously vanishes, the assassin struggles to maintain his sanity, and a child is about to be born in the wilderness.

To read more from A Light in the Desert please click a vendor’s name:
Sarah Book Publishing – Amazon – Barnes & Noble

Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.

When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.

Learn more about Anne Montgomery on Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.

Gardening Tips and a New Release by Emma Lane

by Emma Lane

Gardens grow of their own volition. You labor with the lay out and lovingly place the plants. By the third year, your garden has selected what it will and will not accept. But it’s gorgeous, healthy and you wouldn’t change a single thing. (Okay, maybe you’ll move that fragrant dianthus in front of that balloon flower which is taller.) Some of it is your fault because you couldn’t resist that church sale and your neighbor shared several perennials. Status normal. Allow your garden nostalgia. You show it off by saying, “I got that one for next to nothing on sale, Susan Smith gave me that one when she moved to Florida, I miss her so! My mother-in-law finally broke down and shared that rose. Would you believe how she can make cuttings and root them?” This iris came from … and that one came from…

SEASONAL: Do plan spring shrubs/bulbs which are so welcome. Fall red/yellow leaves.

INVASIVE: When someone mentions the plant is invasive, believe it! I love the golden blooms of Rudbeckia Goldstrum, but it will take over if given the chance. Plant it way over there where you can mow it if need be; same with any sort of mint.

PARTNERSHIPS: Delphenium back up to fences almost poetically, a partnership. Peonies are almost small bushes. I love to make a back ground hedge row from them. Yellow coreopsis and red yarrow are made in heaven for hot colors.

FRIENDSHIP: The deer, rabbits, groundhog, the neighbor’s pets, etc have destroyed some of your hard work? This is your opportunity to share and discover new friends. What better way to become acquainted? You’ll learn to laugh and maybe learn new gardening secrets while you commiserate.

Now that your garden is all you want it to be, take a good book and relax in all that beauty. May I suggest my new release?

Can an arrogant duke overcome his prejudice against a beautiful but managing female in time to find true love and happiness?

Miss Amabel Hawkins acknowledges her unusual upbringing, but she thinks James Langley, the Duke of Westerton, might be a tad unbalanced when he protests her efforts to right his badly managed properties. The duke, who has been away on the king’s business, demonstrates no respect for the beautiful but managing Miss Hawkins. Amabel has taken refuge at Westerton, fleeing from a forced marriage to a man who claims to be her relative in order to gain control of her young brother’s estate.

The Duke arrives home to find his estate under the firm control of a beautiful but managing female. His suspicions are fueled by his recent task of spy-hunting and he wonders if Amabel Hawkins is just who she seems. While a dastardly spy lurks, a wicked man poses as her cousin threatening to take over the guardianship of her young brother. Amabel might be falling in love, but she knows for certain the duke would never approve of a meddlesome woman, and she decides to flee his estate. Will the duke finally realize the true value of the woman he loves or will his prejudice ruin his chances forever?

EXCERPT
Fatigue and the effects of the brandy on top of the ale now gave his gait a distinct wobble. He chuckled, amused at his condition.

As he reached for the portrait of great Uncle Barney, he lurched into the back of the red leather sofa in front of the cosy fire. “Deuce take it,” he exclaimed when a rounded arm rolled into view. He spotted the gentle curve of a hip and walked around to the front, where he spied a tumbled haze of dark curls hiding a face. It is indeed a female—a sleeping female.

Who was she? The gown was too rich for his household staff. Curious, he knelt beside the sofa.
“Only one way to find out,” he whispered and moved one dark curl. He sat back, satisfied when a handsome face swam into view. She sighed and rolled over, revealing a generous figure and a pair of rosy lips. She might be Sleeping Beauty—but not one of my relatives. He leaned over and kissed those tempting lips.

As he lingered there, she sighed and came partially awake. He could not resist. He deepened the kiss and sounds of satisfaction like yum and umm came from those delicious lips. Her hand stroked his face, then reached around his head to pull him closer. Delighted with this turn of events, the Duke of Westerton complied enthusiastically and extended an arm around a slender waist. How much of the ale and brandy had he imbibed? Dizziness overcame his senses as he slid down on the floor and knew no more.

Amazon buy link

Emma Lane is a gifted author who writes under several pen-names. She lives with her patient husband on several acres outside a typical American village in Western New York. Her day job is working with flowers at her son’s plant nursery. Look for information about writing and plants on her new website. Leave a comment or a gardening question and put a smile on Emma’s face.

Stay connected to Emma on Facebook and Twitter.

Shifting Hearts by Dominique Eastwick

Multi published author Dominique Eastwick has a new paranormal romance you will want to read over again. Shifting Hearts is Book 1 in the captivating Wiccan Haus series. Be sure to get your copy and snuggle in with a sexy shape-shifter.

The last of his kind…

Rekkus is the last of the great Black Tiger weres, and he’s happy to stay that way. Working as head of security for the Wiccan Haus, a magical spa for inner healing, he has enough danger to keep him busy. Unfortunately, the Fates are not content with him being comfortable.

Alone and discouraged…

Dana has walked away from everything—her fiancé, family, job, and apartment. A stay at the Wiccan Haus may be the only way she can move on. But what she finds isn’t what she expects, nor is it what she thought she’d been seeking.

If they can open themselves up they might discover that being together can be better than being alone and learn that passion can burn in those who least expect it.

Meet the unusual residents of the Wiccan Haus.

The staff can get a little hairy, and not all of the guests eat what’s served in the dining hall. But the Rowan siblings do what they can to make the resort a place of healing and peace, using all of their years of practice. At the Haus, where humans and paranormals reside side by side, everyone in need of the services are welcome. If some happens to fall in love then all the better.

Welcome to the Wiccan Haus.

EXCERPT
“It’s not safe for you here with me. I left you alone last night, but, if you stay, I’m not sure I can honor a request to stop a second time.”

“I felt it, too,” she blurted, unable to keep it to herself any longer.

Rekkus moved so fast, she never saw him actually take a step. Strong, wet arms wrapped around her, and her breasts pressed against his chest. His eyes searched hers. He must have seen what he searched for because his lips were on hers with feverous desire before she formed another thought, demanding she open for him. And no part of her considered denying him anything. Butterflies churned in her stomach until she shook. In all the years with Frank, and it had been a great many, she’d never felt this, like fire threatened to engulf her.

Dana wound her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his damp hair and deepening the kiss. His moan allowed her to gather the nerve and strength to urge him forward. He forced her past her comfort zone into accepting the sexy seductress screaming to be let out. She knew what he most desired because she wanted it too. Wanted him, all of him, every naked inch, right there, next to the lake, not even a ten-minute walk from the Haus. Anyone might stumble across them, and she didn’t care. It almost added to the allure of having him. What she needed it to be.

Amazon – Amazon UK – ARe – Kobo

Award-Winning author Dominique Eastwick currently calls North Carolina home with her husband, two children, one crazy lab and one lazy cat. Dominique spent much of her early life moving from state to state as a Navy Brat. Because of that, traveling is one of her favorite pasttimes. When not writing you can find Dominique with her second love…her camera.

Learn more about Dominique Eastwick on her website, blog, and Amazon author page. Be sure to join her Newsletter for up to the minute info on new releases, contests, and more.

Stay connected on Twitter, Tublr, Tsu, and Pinterest.

Vala Kaye Introduces Her YA Novella, Ghost Writer

by Vala Kaye

“Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart” ― Eleanor Roosevelt

Not all the people you meet during your teen years will become your BFFs, but if you’re very fortunate, one or two might always be with you to share the ups and downs that happen to us as we go through life.

I have two “lifetime” friends. One I met in junior high and the other in high school. One is similar to me in temperament, while the other couldn’t be more different. We’ve shared school experiences; engagements, marriages and divorces; the birth of children; and the deaths of grandparents, parents and siblings.

Those are the big things, the huge emotional highs and lows that only time and the love and caring of true friends can help see you through. But we’ve also always been there for one another through the smaller things in life, everything from movie nights and mid-terms to concerts and cooking disasters.

When I was working on my YA paranormal novella, Ghost Writer, I gave my main character, Malden, a friend named Ashley. They go to the same school and I suspect they’re truly BFF’s. When I was writing the scenes where Malden and Ashley, though physically separated by hundreds of miles, are online in their school’s student chat room, I thought about how my friends and I sound when we’re filling each other in on “the latest.” Not only do we talk about what’s happening to us and what we’re feeling, but sometimes we also pick up on what our lifetime friends aren’t saying, what they’re holding inside because they’re afraid of being embarrassed or laughed at.

Because we love them, we have to gently remind them just who they’re talking to. With a lifetime friend, they’re safe. And it’s okay to share anything.

Here is a short intro to my YA Paranormal. I hope you enjoy it.

Tech-savvy teen Malden Montgomery leaves New York City anticipating nothing but boredom when her artist-mother brings her along on a two-week vacation to a family inn in rural Virginia.

What Malden doesn’t expect is the owner’s 17-year-old son, Jackson, who is totally to-die-for cute. But does she dare believe him when he tells her that her room at the inn may be haunted by a young woman named Emily, who died there more than 150 years ago?

Then Emily begins to communicate with Malden and she and Jackson realize they have to find a way to help Emily’s ghost come back home or risk a spirit’s wrath if they choose to leave her lost in the darkness forever.

Read more about Ghost Writer on Amazon.

Vala Kaye grew up in Texas as an avid reader of science fiction, history and romance. Her favorite writers ran the gamut from Robert Heinlein to Margaret Mitchell, and included side journeys with Louisa May Alcott’s “Little Women” and The Hardy Boys mysteries.

After graduating from college with a double major in Communications and History, Vala now lives and writes in warm and sunny southern California. She is addicted to movies, live theater, word games, salsa dancing and adaptations of the stories of Jane Austen.

In her first published YA novella, Ghost Writer, she explores what happens when a human ‘spirit’ meets computer technology. Vala’s newest title is book #1 of The Superhero Next Door series, Artificial Intelligence.

Never…Stop…Writing

I’m currently working on my third book. My first book, Her Name, was released last year. My second book, Loving Again, will be out this November.

I have a tentative title for my new book. The beginning of the story is set and the last scene has already been written. What I don’t have is a middle. I don’t yet know the words that will fill the pages from 27-103. The bones of my story lack any meat.

Knowing how the story ends should make the book that much easier to write because the path couldn’t get anymore clearer. I am writing towards something. The signs are all pointing specifically to one place with precise directions– turn left, then right, then left again. But instead of driving straight to my destination, I’m making unnecessary U-turns.

Writing is hard, but it doesn’t have to be this hard and I know that.

I also know the first draft is only for me. I’m supposed to get the words out first and edit later. I’m not supposed to go back and rewrite scenes.

Move forward. Keep going. Don’t stop writing.

If something is unclear about the plot or character development is weak, make a note and highlight it. I can get back to it later, but whatever I do I’m not supposed to stop writing.

Never…Stop…Writing.

Yet, I’ve been staring at blank pages for months now, lucky to get a couple dozen scenes written that most likely will be long gone once the final draft is completed.

Where I had planned a first draft to be finished by Aug 1 (not gonna happen), I am now clinging to the hope that it will be completed by the time Loving Again is released.

I have numerous works-in-progress, unfinished stories, sitting in a desk drawer beside me. I don’t remember the specific reasons that made me stop writing each of those stories, but I assume self-doubt took over me, as it is trying to do now. I do recall many moments of poring over a story and questioning whether I had anything left in me to write. I still have those thoughts and I’ve only completed two books, and they were novellas.

My writing journey has only begun and already I’m hanging myself over the cliff, pressuring myself with the stressful worries of “Will I make it?”

My passion is writing. It’s always been writing. I know I will never stop, just as I know I will complete my third book and absolutely fall in love with it, and then wonder what all the fuss was about.

What I’m experiencing now is a tiny detour, and as frustrated as I may feel, I know this diversion will make me more appreciative of the moment I finally reach my destination, filled with sweet gratification.

All I have to do is Never…Stop…Writing.

Photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net