Sapphire Blue Publishing

Glendale Chocolate Affaire - Romance Authors and Chocolate - by Vijaya Schartz

2012-02-09T10:52:00.000-08:00

Each year, on the first weekend of February, for the past twenty years or so, the City of Glendale sponsors the world renowned Chocolate Affaire, a festival of chocolate and romance, with music, art, food vendors, carriage rides through the Historic District, and many other attractions. And, of course, lots and lots of chocolate. Even chocolate pizza.

The local romance authors are invited each year to display and autograph their books, since romance and chocolate go hand in hand. I've been signing my novels at this event since my first book came out in 2000.

The Cerreta Chocolate and Candy Factory in Glendale is one of the sponsors, and they are always friendly to us authors. Each year I go home with a basket of candy, fudge, and chocolate. Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Cerreta.

This year, we even had the famous Romance Cover Model Jimmy Thomas, who showed off his gorgeous physique and graciously let visitors take pictures of him and with him for free. He will also participate in the ARIZONA DREAMIN' Romance Readers Convention in Phoenix the first weekend of June. Don't miss this if you love to read romance.

With my paperbacks now mostly out of print, I still get to participate and sign rare copies of my books. I thoroughly enjoy talking to loyal readers, who, year after year, come to chat and ask me about my next releases.

For those who still do not read electronic books, I was happy to announce the release this spring of WHITE TIGER, the first book in the CHRONICLES OF KASSOUK series, for the first time in paperback from Desert Breeze Publishing. I'm very excited about this upcoming release. It's been a while since one of my titles came out in print.

But nowadays, we chat a lot with the readers about eBooks. It's amazing how this year most readers I asked did own a kindle, a nook, or an ipad. And those who didn't have one still read eBooks on their phone or on their computer. And the rest mostly said they hadn't made the switch to eBooks yet, but were thinking about it.

This is great news for us authors who already committed to the future of books. EBooks are here to stay, and the proof is in the pudding.

Wishing you all good health, happiness and success.

Vijaya Schartz
Blasters, Guns, Swords, Cats, Romance with a Kick

http://www.vijayaschartz.com/

Vijaya's action romances are available at all these distributors. Click on name to get to her page there.

AMAZON - B&N - ALL ROMANCE EBOOKS - SMASHWORDS

COYOTE GORGEOUS is being re-released - by Vijaya Schartz

2012-01-09T04:07:00.000-08:00

This favorite shapeshifter novella by Vijaya Schartz, is being re-released in January 2012. Look for it after the 20th of the month. It will be a 99 cents download, available from:
KINDLE - NOOK - SMASHWORDS and other distributors.

Arizona Game Ranger Madison Huntley, investigating a wild animal attack on a ranch in Cave Creek, discovers disturbing details. As a biologist and wildlife expert, she believes in facts and science, not the scary legends frightening the ranch hand.
When Kaletaka, a Hopi sculptor, awakens bloody with no recollection of the night before, he remembers the legends of his tribe.

Can Madison solve the mystery killings and insure the safety of the town? Let alone her own safety? For each step closer to the truth and to Kaletaka, unleashes an unspeakable evil, and no one is safe…

COYOTE REVIEWS:

"Phenomenal world building, characters the readers care about, and an intriguing mystery... COYOTE GORGEOUS has all the elements one expects from a Vijaya Schartz story! Easily recommended!" - 4.5 shamrocks - Debbie CK2sKwipsandKritique

"So many times my theory of who done it was thwarted and yet I was thrilled to stay on the edge of my seat until the very last word just to find out." Five stars - Book Junkie Reviews
"...excellent characters... well written. Fascinated about the subject matter and the legends..." Five hearts - Romance Book Scene

In the meantime, you can find A DESPERADO FOR CHRISTMAS as a 99 cents download at the distrutors below. And it doesn't have to be Christmas to read this romantic suspense novella set on the Arizona border.

Border patrol Agent Kaitlin Harrington hates Christmas for personal reasons. This year, as she guards the Mexican border, she encounters more than she can handle in the person of a gorgeous Desperado, a despicable human smuggler of all people! Miguel is fascinated by the green eyes of the feisty auburn-haired beauty bent on impeding his important work. But he is a man of many secrets. On this dangerous adventure through the Arizona desert, anything can and will happen.

REVIEWS:

"A Desperado for Christmas is a love story and an adventure rolled in to one. There is very little "down time" in this fast-paced story, and this reader was glued to it until the very end." Fallen Angel Reviews

"...The reader can really empathize with her character on many levels. Ms. Schartz also does a fantastic job of setting you right in the scene with her characters. She builds the suspense and follows through with vigor, sweeping her readers up in the action." Coffee Time Romance

"Vijaya Schartz always manages to produce stories that are a spectacular blend of romance and action and this one is no exception." Debbie - CK2S Kwips & Kritiques - rating: 4 clovers

"...a romantic adventure from beginning to end. Brimming with twists, secret identities and danger on every page, this is a page turner that will entertain any reader. I will be interested in checking out additional titles by this author." Katherine - Joyfully Reviewed

"Exciting and action packed, this story will keep you reading page after page. The characters of Miguel and Kaitlin are superb. Bravo to Ms. Schartz on a story well written and one I will be reading again." rating: 4 cups - Liadan - Coffee Time Romance

Vijaya Schartz
Blasters, Guns, Swords, Romance with a Kick
http://www.vijayaschartz.com/

Monkey Business by Brit Blaise

2011-12-27T13:39:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

"I think I may have found the problem," Paul announced, his voice sounding strained, almost strangled.
     "That was fast." She turned with the glass of ice water chilling her hand only to have the tightest butt she had ever remembered greet her vision. With his head in the dishwasher she could ogle away. Paul's firm butt sure beat the hell out of Donald's.
     Her grip on the cold glass tightened as she stared. It doesn't hurt to look, does it? Besides, aren't I entitled, under the circumstances? If the sight of a tight, shapely ass helps lessen my pain, why not?
     "Do dishwasher repairmen have a confidentiality clause? Because trust me-it's going to be hard not sharing this story with the boys over a beer." Paul pulled his head back out and looked up her with a big grin plastered on his fabulous face. "And here I thought my brother had a boring job."
     Setting his glass of water on the nearby counter, Tina moved closer, curious about what he could have found. Confidentiality clause?
     Paul grinned, winking conspiratorially before he stood up, his hand held playfully behind his back before she could see what he held. "I've never heard of this before. You use your dishwasher to wash your sex toys?"
     Tina gasped in sudden horror. Had one of the "toys" fallen through the rack? "I...I'm not sure what..."
         Paul reached a large, rubber dildo toward her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I think this is the first time I ever held one of these."

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Hell House: Fairy Fury by Christle Gray

2011-12-24T16:46:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

Chapter One “I am not imagining it, Danielle! She stinks like old, rotten meat!” I wrinkled my nose to further illustrate my point.Danielle Stewart, the director of Hellsner Halfway House for Troubled Paranormal Teens—aka Hell House—rolled her eyes as she continued sorting the warm laundry from the dryer. “Sora, no one but you seems to notice this, which leaves me to assume that it’s you and not Zoe with the problem.”I plucked a shirt from the pile of clothes and crammed it roughly into the basket on the dryer, exasperated by the dismissal of what I considered a completely legitimate concern. “It’s not just me. I’m pretty sure Derrick can smell it too, with his oh-so-sensitive doggie nose. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me that he even likes it, as much as he sticks to her like glue, making puppy-dog eyes all the time.”Danielle paused a moment, her hand frozen mid-air as she reached for more clothes, and I snickered at my own joke. “Puppy-dog eyes? Really, Sora?”I shrugged. So the shifter had a thing for the zombie. Hey, I thought it was funny. Danielle shook her head and continued emptying the dryer.“What? You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed how he follows her around, mooning over her night and day. It’s kind of sickening, actually.”Danielle cast me a sharp glance, her brown eyes flashing a mild warning. “I have noticed them spending a lot of time together, yes, but none of this ‘mooning’ business you seem fixated with. Besides, given Zoe’s situation, it’s good for her to share a connection with someone.”Images of Zoe and Derrick acting all cozy ran through my mind, making me snort in disgust. I even added an eye roll for good measure. Just because Zoe had the misfortune of ending up on the wrong end of a resurrection spell cast by drunk teenagers, everyone walked on eggshells around her. Well, some people were icked out and avoided her altogether, but that was beside the point. I had been banished from my home, and no one treated me with kid gloves. And there wasn’t any fear of me suddenly craving a diet of brains at all!I opened my mouth to deliver a proper retort, but Danielle held up that hand that she used to command silence, shutting me down. “And I know each one of you here at Hellsner House has plenty of problems. It’s just that Zoe’s situation is…delicate. And she’s been with us the shortest amount of time. So, cut her some slack.”I nibbled at my lip, the tip of my tongue toying with the silver ring there I always wore. Truth was, I kind of liked Zoe. I just didn’t make friends easily. Issues with fitting in and all that. And being unceremoniously kicked out of the Hidden Realm of the Fae probably had something to do with it. “Whatever. I just know that if I have to witness them being all gooey and sweet with each other much more, I’m gonna yark.”Danielle sighed heavily as she continued dealing with the laundry in what I imagined was an attempt at ignoring my comment. But I had other ideas.“In fact, it’s almost as bad as watching you swoon whenever Micah is around.”Danielle jerked upright and fixed me with a wide-eyed look at the mention of the man who helped us residents with our school lessons, and apparently made her heart flutter. Well at least that comment caught her attention. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” My jaw dropped in disbelief for a moment before I spoke. “Come on! Even Carlton notices how you giggle and smile at Micah and steal glances when he’s not looking. Not to mention how you call him to come over and help with things around here that one of the boys could easily do.”Danielle tugged absently on her blond ponytail as a blush crept slowly up her cheeks. “I do not giggle when he’s around.” “You do so! And truth be told, I’ve noticed Micah stealing a few glances of his own. In fact—”“I am not having this conversation.” Danielle’s firm voice cut me off as she plopped a basket full of clean clothes on the table in front of me. “Take these clothes up to your room. Zoe’s are in there, too.”“But don’t you want to hear about how Micah’s into you as well?” Danielle turned her back on me, ignoring my question completely. “Danielle? Danielle? Where are you going?”With a wave of her hand dismissing me, Danielle strode purposefully in the direction of her office. “Not having this conversation, Sora.”I stuck out my tongue as she disappeared into her office. I was just trying to let her know that I thought Micah liked her, too. Love seemed to be in bloom here at Hell House. Not that I cared. Well, not much.With a sigh, I grabbed the basket and trudged up the stairs to the room that, until Christmas, I’d had to myself. Now, I shared it with Zoe, the zombie, who I found propped up on her bed reading when I entered. “Hey.”Zoe glanced up from her book briefly. “Hey.”The bed dipped as I deposited the basket of clothes at her feet. “Danielle sent up some laundry.” Rummaging through the basket, I grabbed what was mine. “I think the rest is yours.”“Okay.” Man, getting this chick to talk is like pulling teeth! If Zoe wasn’t clinging to Derrick, then she was usually reading and keeping to herself. A stark contrast to my own mouthy ways. With a loud sigh that I hoped conveyed my irritation with zombie-girl, I took my clean clothes over to the small dresser on my side of the room. Various items protruded from each drawer, keeping them from closing properly. I yanked one already overflowing drawer open and stuffed some of the clean clothes inside, shoving it closed again with my hip. Well, as closed as it would go, anyway. I can’t help it if I have a weakness for fashion, so don’t judge me.With a shirt still left in my hands, I turned toward the closet that Zoe and I shared. I paused for a moment, truly noticing for the first time how stark Zoe’s side of the room was. She’d come to us with a very small suitcase filled with a few meager belongings, so her side of the room was uncluttered and neat. My side, however, was overstuffed with clothes, makeup, and all sorts of other items that I’d decided I couldn’t live without. Danielle often called it a “disaster area.” Whatever.I made my way to the closet and opened the door. My “half” of the closet ended up being like more than three quarters, but since Zoe didn’t have much to hang up, it all worked out. I slipped the shirt onto an empty hanger and roughly pushed some items aside to make room. As I surveyed the haphazard collection of filled hangers, the thought that I perhaps needed to get rid of a few things drifted through my mind, but then I came sharply to my senses.The closet floor was scattered with an overabundance of shoes. Hey, clothes weren’t my only weakness, and the right pair of shoes could make or break an outfit. I stooped to gather up my favorite pair of boots—black lace up knee boots that I’d saved for months to buy. My most expensive pair, I actually made it a point to put them away carefully. The twisted pile I found them in was definitely wrong. And as I examined the pair carefully, small teeth marks on the toe of the right foot instantly made my blood boil with heated anger. Those marks could only have been put there by one person. Derrick.With a shriek, I stomped through the bedroom door, right across the hallway to Derrick and Patrick’s room. I pounded fiercely on the hard wood of their door, my fist radiating pain with the force of the blows. “Derrick! Get out here, you mongrel!”The door opened and Derrick casually leaned against the frame, crossing his arms, that annoying smirk of his making its usual appearance. I swear, sometimes just looking at him made me want to punch him in the face. Like right now.“Yes, your highness?”“You mind telling me about this?” My words came out through gritted teeth as I dangled what I considered to be foolproof evidence of his closet trespass in front of his face.Chin in hand, he considered my chewed-on boot for a moment before answering. “Maybe you shouldn’t buy such expensive shoes. You know how much I love dining on fine leather.”Before I even had time to think about what I was doing, my hand reared back and I let loose with the boot…which sailed completely over Derrick’s head and right through the transparent form of our very startled ghostly resident, Patrick. The violated ghost boy made a point to glower at me briefly before shimmering out of sight. I made a mental note to apologize later, after I’d thoroughly killed Derrick, that is. Damn those shifter reflexes!“Looks like you need to work on your aim,” Derrick choked out through a fit of laughter, which only fired up my anger even more, making my head pound with fury.My hand reared back again, that urge to flat out punch him taking over, but before fist could meet jaw, the air around him rippled like a puddle, and then I was staring down into the large amber eyes of a golden retriever.What the…? I blinked a few times, some of my anger dissipating with the shock of his sudden shift. “That’s not fair,” I whined. How was I supposed to stay mad at an adorable dog?To further fuel my distress, the dog cocked his head to the side in that cute way that dogs do. His tongue lolled out and—I know this sounds stupid—but I swear the animal smiled at me. “You. Are. A. Jerk.” I screamed at him, emphasizing each word with my finger.As I stared, Derrick the dog padded past me and jumped up on the bed beside Zoe, settling next to her. Without looking up, she reached out and scratched him behind the ears, an expression of pure bliss on his doggie face.I gawked at them and shook my head. “You guys are just…weird.”I turned on my heel and stalked down the hallway, irritation prickling down my spine. The nerve of that shady shifter! He knew I wouldn’t kick around a defenseless dog, even if it was still Derrick on the inside. With guys like Derrick around to drive me insane, no wonder everyone said I was always in a bad mood!With a groan of frustration, I bounded down the stairs, purely enmeshed in the thoughts in my head. But when I reached the bottom, I froze. Across the room, I caught a glimpse of the best thing to fill out a pair of skinny jeans in this realm or any other, for that matter, which made my heart come to a complete stop inside my chest.Liam Crawford. Just thinking his name made me giddy. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not an exceptionally giddy person, so that’s saying a lot. I took a deep breath and willed my heart to start beating again as I straightened my new Paramore t-shirt and hurriedly yanked out the pigtails I’d put my currently jet black hair in, fluffing the strands into some form of messy organization that might pass for sexy in his eyes. It was a long shot, but at least I could say I tried.Just in time, too, because it was at that exact moment that Liam turned around and saw me, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, making my knees turn to rubber instantly. Regardless of that fact, I sauntered over to where he stood just outside of Danielle’s office.“Hey, Sora.”His rich voice was like a velvet fingertip dancing up my spine, giving me the shivers. And it was anything but cold in the house.“Hey, Liam.” I did my best to seem interested, yet unaffected and cool. No reason for me to visibly go all flirty on him. Just wasn’t my style. But when I looked up into his dark brown eyes, all I could think about was throwing myself at him. Repeatedly.“What are you doing here?”A lock of his spiky raven hair fell strategically over one eye, and I fought the urge to brush it aside. “My dad sent me to pick up a check from Miss Stewart.”Liam’s dad owned Crawford’s Construction, which performed a lot of work around the place for Danielle. Like repainting the dining room after I sort of blew up the Christmas tree a few months ago. It’s a long story.“Oh.” I stared down at my sneakers with the little skulls on them, silently praying that I’d think of something witty to say. But the little skulls just stared stoically back at me. Some help you guys are.“But I also wanted to talk to you about something.”My head snapped up so fast I might have given myself whiplash, but instead found those dark eyes regarding me intently. Whatever would you want to talk to me about, dark prince of my heart?“You see…there’s this thing at my school coming up…and I was wondering…if maybe…you’d like to go with me…or something.”The movement of his mouth held my rapt attention with thoughts of kissing, but then I realized that there was a question hidden in that statement. “Huh?”Liam took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “There’s a dance at my school next weekend, and I want to know if you’d go with me.” The words came out in a rush this time, like he’d been afraid to pause, lest he forget what he wanted to say.I stared at him for a good long moment, the words he’d spoken not completely making sense. Did the guy I’ve been obsessively crushing on just ask me out?Excitement and a healthy dose of apprehension churned around in my belly, making it do little flip-flops. You know how they say that you should be careful what you wish for? Yeah, well, that never made any sense to me. Until now. Because the prospect of going out on a date with Liam was just as nerve-wracking as him not knowing I existed at all. Why were matters of the heart so complicated for me?I couldn’t think of what to say as he gazed at me with those amazing eyes. Should I play hard to get? Should I agree with much enthusiasm? Should I stop gawking and give the boy some kind of answer?I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but as I opened my mouth, Danielle strode out of her office. Impeccable timing.“Here you go, Liam. And thank your dad again for me.” She handed Liam a check. “Since it sometimes takes awhile to get some expenses approved, it’s nice that he works with me on a payment schedule.”“No problem, Miss Stewart.” Liam quickly pocketed the check in his leather jacket, casting me a sideways glance.Danielle’s gaze bounced between Liam and me a few times. “Am I interrupting something?”Liam backed toward the door, his head shaking and causing more hair to fall into his eyes. “No. I was just waiting for an answer to a question I asked Sora, but I think she’s answered me after all.” With a thin-lipped smile, he disappeared through the front door, shutting it firmly behind him. I stood there a moment, stunned. Because of my hesitation, Liam thought I didn’t like him. Great.Danielle arched an eyebrow at me. “What was that all about?”I glanced at her, shaken to the core by my own stupidity. “I’m pretty sure Liam just asked me out on a date.”“I see.” Danielle nodded thoughtfully. “And what did you say?”“Nothing. I just stared at him like an idiot.”“Oh.” Danielle seemed to ponder that answer a moment. “But I thought you liked him?”I opened my mouth and closed it a few times. I do like him! He made my insides all warm and fuzzy, and my brain turn to mush, and my heart both stop and go into third gear at the same time. What’s not to like about that? But instead of embracing all that, I just let him stand there and think I wasn’t interested. I suck at this stuff.“Sora?”Danielle’s gentle voice brought me out of my inner dialog. I took a deep breath. “I need some air.”Purposefully, I strode through the house and out the back door to the small garden outside. Since winter had hung on for all its worth, spring was making her appearance slowly this year. A slight chill still infused the air, but as I walked further out to where the rose bushes would bloom, I noticed small green buds sporadically poking their heads up through the dirt.I kicked at a rock with my shoe and sent it flying, mentally berating myself. Here I was, lusting after a guy who actually asked me out, and I went into shut down mode. Typical Sora, screwing everything up, as usual. But I knew the real reason I shied like a deer from Liam. My less than stellar history in the love department, for one. In fact, that played a role in why I had been banished from the Hidden Realm, not that anyone here knew that. So why wouldn’t I be ambivalent when it came to letting someone get close to me? It was probably better that Liam just stay a crush. Safer for everyone that way.I sighed and flexed my fingers. It had been awhile since I exercised my magic. Before the Christmas fiasco, I had been working on keeping in control. My emotions and my magic were connected. If I was out of balance, things went awry very quickly. And sometimes, people got hurt.My vision went blurry as tears welled up behind my eyes. Damn it, I don’t want to cry! Even with no one around, I hated giving in to that despair. Much easier to keep everything and everyone at arm’s length. I’d had a moment during Christmas Eve where I let myself feel like I belonged and had a home. But even that was fleeting. Having everything you’ve known taken away from you makes one cagey about putting down roots.I sniffed and wiped my nose and eyes, the back of my hand coming away with black streaks. Fabulous. Now I probably looked like a crazy person who couldn’t put on makeup. After using the hem of my shirt to wipe the smeared eyeliner from around my eyes, I rubbed the back of my hand along my jeans and flexed my fingers again. Closing my eyes, I concentrated, centering myself so that I could channel my magic properly. A few deep breaths quelled the chaos within. Well, enough to do what I needed, anyway.Opening my eyes, I glanced along the ground, my gaze stopping on a rose bush a little to my right. My hand shot out toward the plant, my fingers splayed and stiff. A tingling sensation coursed down my arm to the tips of my fingers as I focused my energy onto the flower. White light burst from my fingertips in a delicate stream, spiraling around the rosebush in a sparkling dance. The glimmer seemed to coax the leaves out of their wintry hiding places, bringing the plant to life in a burst of color. Dark red blooms burst out of the buds, the color intensely striking against the gray of the darkening sky.Witnessing the beauty that I had the power to create when I tried made me feel a bit better. If I could do something so pretty and wonderful, how could I be so bad? We were all allowed to make mistakes, weren’t we?My lips even curled into a smile as the roses continued blooming, the magic sparkling through the air like tiny diamonds. But then a low rumble under my feet broke my concentration and the white magic dissipated, leaving behind nothing but an out of place blooming rosebush.My gaze whipped around the yard, the rumbling growing louder. A small pinpoint of light formed to my left, about the size of a softball. As I stared, it slowly grew bigger.“What the…” The light burst forth, a large whoosh of warm air knocking me backward onto my butt. My arm shot up, shielding me as I attempted to keep from being blinded by what I could only describe as a small sun forming in the backyard.And then, almost as soon as it appeared, it was gone.I blinked rapidly, my eyes trying to work properly again. Scrambling to my feet, the world slowly came back, and a figure stood right where the light had been. But as everything came into focus, I was certain that I was hallucinating after all.A woman stepped cautiously toward me, her blue eyes clouded with concern and set in a face I thought I’d never see again as long as I lived.My heart jumped up into my throat.“Mother?”

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Seismic Evil by Heather Long

2011-12-23T16:43:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

"Chance?" Jack chewed concern into my name."She's okay." Jaime's voice darkened with velvet clouds of satisfaction. "We're inside the boundary. That release is an orgasm for her senses at the moment."You're sure she's okay?" Jack's fingers teased a thrilled path of pebbles along my arm. My teeth sank into my lower lip, pressure, sharp and sweet and demanding blossomed. "Oh yeah." Jaime chuckled. The sense of him retreated, the buffering of his soul shielding mine dropped away. The Land cried out in welcome, bursts of spring blooms poking up through the canopy of dead leaves blanketing the earth. She was as happy to have me back as I was to be here."You're not feeling that pleasure, are you?" Jack wanted to know."No, just the relief that she is safe and back where she belongs.""But you two are connected." Statement."Yes, but not the way that's eating you old man." Jaime drawled, his vowels elongated, softening the consonants and giving way to the accent of the region that gave us life.Jack shifted my weight, stretching his legs before settling me back against his chest. His heart thumped a soothing cadence in my ear. Drowsy warmth seeped into my bones, a piquant moment of contentment."So," Jack asked, a rim of calm verging his words. "What is it like?"Challenge pulsed between the men. I stirred, but Jack stroked my hair, soothing. "Shh," he murmured. "Sleep if you can. We're not going to fight."Sleep sounded delicious, but I wanted to be here, in the now, with Jack. His arms blanketed me in security. His pulse pillowed my soul. With all the things that went wrong this week, this was the first to go very, very right."Our connection is a lot like Chance's gifts. Birthright. I can sense her – no – I have a sense of her. I know when she is nearby. When she is in distress. When she needs me. She is a guardian to the land. I am a guardian to her.""Soul mates?" Frost tinged the words."No, Jack." I whispered, my voice tripped like rivulets of water rushing over the dry rocks in my throat. "Jaime can go where I cannot. He can follow and he can fight and if need be, he can shield me.""But you're joined?" Confusion fought with the need for understanding etched into the shadowed grooves of Jack's mouth."What we are is joined, not who we are. I am a Guardian. She is a Hedge Witch. The land may have many Guardians, but only one truly bound witch at a time." Trust Jaime to go right to the heart of it. Jack's tension relaxed. His fingers traced the lines of my face, carefully removing the grit that clung to my cheeks, my eyebrows and coated the sides of my nose."Have you always --- been her Guardian?""I've always known I would be. But no – the call came after my grandfather passed. Many of the men in my bloodlines have stood Guardian. As her family has been bound to the land, so my people are bound to her.""I don't get it." Jack sighed. "I mean. I'm trying, but I don't get it."Jaime chuckled. It was an odd sound in the curious tension populating the air of the car. "You understand God and Country?""Yeah?" "For a Guardian – our Hedge Witch is God and Country. We are bound to serve and to protect and to ensure her survival.""—and they serve the Land – as I do. I nurse and take care of Her so that she flourishes.""And Guardians take care of you.""Yes." Jaime and I both answered."How – "Jack hesitated. "How do you become a Guardian?""How does one win the lottery?" Jaime shrugged. "My DNA picked the right numbers."Silence whispered over us. The engine revved into the quiet. I looked up, meeting Jack's gaze. A thoughtful smile hovered over his lips, softening the confusion. He brushed a thumb over my right eyelid. Even in the moonless dark of the car, his caring warmed me.

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Fugue Macabre: Ghost Dance by C.J. Parker

2011-12-22T16:41:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

        They stopped at a crypt about fifty feet away. The blond dropped to her knees and began to lay out an array of tools. The sight of a chicken in a cage drew his brows up in surprise. “What are these girls up to, Lizzie?”
The blond muttered a chant as she formed a groove around the grave with a long-bladed knife. She stopped where she began and pulled a vial from her bag and walked the circumference once again, this time filling in the groove with the vial’s white contents. When the woman assembled four symbols facing north, east, south and west, he drew in a sharp breath. The symbols she drew weren’t like the ones found on the children, but too similar for Derek’s comfort.
        The blond faced the other girl. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
        “I have to know, Tabatha.”
        Derek whispered Tabatha’s name, letting it roll over his tongue. The word tasted sweet and alluring. He ducked behind the crypt when she turned toward him. After a few moments passed, he leaned around the crypt far enough to see the girls again.
        Tabatha paused, her eyes roaming over the cemetery before she removed the chicken from the crate. “Do not step out of this circle until I tell you it’s safe, Rhonda. Do you hear me?” She released the latch on the chicken’s cage.
        Rhonda nodded, but said nothing.
        The chicken squawked and flapped its wings in a futile fight for freedom. With a swift slice of a dagger, its head dropped away. Derek watched Tabatha’s face. No emotion. No show of sympathy for the chicken. Cold.
        Rhonda moved to the edge of the protective circle to escape the spray of blood splattering the crypt and Tabatha’s clothing. Once again Tabatha traveled the circle letting the blood of the chicken form a second line inside the first. She strode to the crypt and placed her bloody hand on the entrance. “Live. I command you to live, Dorothy McShayne.”
        The earth rumbled under his feet and a blast of thunder sounded from a cloudless sky. He fought to keep his balance, reaching out to balance himself on the nearby tomb, but yanked his hand away when he swore he’d heard something moving about inside it.
        Tabatha retreated a few steps. The mortar binding the door to the crypt rained to the ground as though being chipped away from within. The grinding sound of stone against stone filled the silence and the door slid open. A hand reached out, touching the edge, then a second hand. A fall of long red hair appeared, then her head lifted slowly to reveal the woman’s face. She slid forward, her body levitating from the crypt’s gaping mouth until she stood before them.
        “Holy Mother of God. What in—” Cold surrounded Derek with whispers of unknown origin. The sensation of death-chilled breath brushed his cheek. The air became thick and heavy with the scent of decay. He scrambled backward, tripped on an uneven section of concrete and landed hard on his backside. “Get away,” he muttered batting at the sensation of another’s nearness.
        Tabatha swung around, arms spread outward from her sides. “Unclean sprits, I did not summon you. Go. Return to where you came. The living are not yours to taunt.” Her gaze grew hard and angry. “Leave here!”
        The day’s heat returned and the air cleared. Silence once again ruled Derek’s world. He sagged against the tomb behind him and breathed deeply.
        Silence hung like a thick curtain of indecision before Tabatha finally said, “Dorothy, my name is Tabatha Gray.”
        Dorothy tilted her head to one side then the other. “I know who you are. All of the dead know you.”
        Tabatha visibly shuddered. “Who killed you?”
        The corpse held a steady lifeless gaze on her. “John Phelps.”
        “Why?”
        “The Guardians discovered I was taping their conversations, copying their death list and keeping a record of those they murdered.”
        “Where are these things now?”
        “Under Rhonda’s bedroom floor, seventh board from the closet.”
        Tabatha nodded once then drew a deep breath. “How did the Guardians get my name?”
        “Someone told them who you were, what your powers are and when you were returning home.”
        “Do you know who that person was?”
        “No.”
        Who the hell are the Guardians? What things? Who was murdered? Derek shifted to a more comfortable position as Tabatha turned to the other girl and asked, “Rhonda, is there anything else you need to know?”
        “Why did you give me up, Mother? Didn’t you want me?”
        Dorothy didn’t answer, instead, her stare remained trained intently on Tabatha.
        “Why did you give Rhody up for adoption, Dorothy?”
        “Rhody?”
        “I’m Rhonda. I’ve not been called Rhody since grade school.”
        Tabatha massaged her temples with her fingertips. “Why did you give Rhonda up for adoption?”
        “I wanted her to be safe and have a good life. A life better than I could give her.”
        Tabatha nodded. “Enough. Return to your resting place, Dorothy McShayne. Rise again only when God calls your name.”
        Derek fought for air. His throat grew tighter with each tortured breath. He couldn’t be seeing this. It wasn’t possible. Dorothy lifted into the air and settled into her crypt. The concrete stone levitated upward, blocked the opening, and its seal reformed.
        Tabatha drew a deep breath. “It is finished.”
        As if with permission from her words, the silence that had encompassed the cemetery moments before was broken with sounds of crickets and distant voices. It was then Derek realized the sun had set, shrouding them in darkness.                 Tabatha collected her tools and replaced the dead chicken in its cage.

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Bite Me by Tracey Fischer

2011-12-21T16:38:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Crunching on a bag of potato chips for inspirational purposes, my fingers played over my computer's keyboard. What to write about Twitter, what to write? I supposed I could write how Twitter was perfect for celebrities because they can only think for themselves a total of 140 characters at a time. Which sounded mean and condescending but that's my job to pick apart what's hot at the moment. I started typing my article, thinking about my boss Frank that morning telling me I was lucky to have such a cake walk of a job in this economy.
Cake walk? Okay while it was not brain surgery or anything, I certainly worked hard on my articles. The thought process alone sometimes gave me such a headache I had to eat a box of chocolate to feel better.
About three years ago, I had been dumped by my boyfriend of eight years, my parents had moved to Florida with the words "don't call us we'll call you and behave."
At the time of the mass departures of my life I wrote an advice column, which had turned more and more cynical as the days passed. My editor had told me about an opportunity to move to Paris to write for an American newspaper.
Living in the suburbs of Washington, DC, my only question was, Paris France or Paris, Texas? When he replied that it was the Paris in Europe, I packed up my one lone suitcase, Camelot, my cat, and all the romance novels I could carry. Off I was to live in the elegant, fashionable city of Paris to write somewhat cynical articles. It was not always easy to write what I did in such a beautiful city, but I enjoyed eating so sarcasm and wit were my forte.
Getting into the article, I glanced up now and then to see my furry, sable-colored cat Camelot curled up into a little ball next to the window.
Ah domestic bliss in my small one room apartment in the heart of Paris. Not having a lot of money, I did the best I could to decorate it. Worn second hand sofas and chairs littered the living room area. Flowered rugs covered the wooden floors and a screen separated the bedroom from the rest of the room. All in all a comfy place to write and live, except after Annabelle's four bedroom apartment at Rue de Bretonvilliers , Ile St Louis, 4th district in Paris, it looked like a dump.
Jumping as someone pounded on my door, I hit the "a" key and watched as the screen filled with the letter. Maybe I could do something about the grade of "A" and how it's not that important to get good grades if you have money.
I deleted the "a"s from my article and ignored the continued knocking, amazingly enough, as it got louder. It was probably the old lady from next-door wanting to come in to chat about Desperate Housewives. Checking the small kitchenette to make sure I had tea cookies, I walked toward the door petting Camelot on the head when he raised his head as I passed.
"Don't worry it's probably Mrs. Dupont, she has treats for you."
Peeking at the peephole, I saw a man and not Mrs. Dupont through the hole. Men did not come to my door very often or voluntarily. I guess he was probably selling something although I'm not sure if they do that in Paris.
"Who the hell is it?"
"Open the door." The man's voice rang through the wood.
I glanced down at my faded Mickey Mouse t shirt that barely covered the tops of my thighs, there was no way I was going to open the door half naked. No one except Gisele should open the door in an old tee shirt and I was far from a Victoria's Secret super model. "No."
"Kyra Burke?"
I narrowed my eyes, not recognizing the voice. "Who is it?"
"Please it is urgent." He had a French accent, which meant nothing to me. "It is a matter of life or death."
Hmm. Life or death sounded important but if he was a salesmen maybe he was peddling coffins or something.
"Whose life?"
He knocked on the door harder and added a kick. I couldn't afford to replace the door if he were to bust it open, so I hurriedly flung open the door ready to use the few words in French I knew that in English rhymed with puck.
Profanity was far from my mind when I opened the door and the most drop-dead gorgeous man I had ever seen walked in. The only way I could think of describing him was that he looked like something straight from a romance novel.
He had shoulders that stretched his white shirt to the point of ripping, blondish hair that was long enough to tie back into a low ponytail. A ponytail, by the way, that looked so much better than mine at that moment. He had deep brown eyes that looked me up and down with what looked like dismay.
It was the old Mickey Mouse shirt, I knew it. Never mind the cellulite that I'm sure no French woman ever had.
"You are Kyra Burke, the author?"
"Yes. Are you here because I offended you somehow?" I had heard of critics but this was ridiculous. Who went to someone's door just because they like Crocs and I wrote they who wear them look stupid?
"Get dressed." He swept through the apartment to look out my tiny window, and Camelot raised his hackles and hissed at him.
"Why?"
"We have to leave immediately. You are in grave danger."
Grave danger? Who goes to someone's door and tells them they are in grave danger? Crap, that meant he was gorgeous and crazy.
While that combination had once held appeal for me, I was not about to go off with some stranger, practically in the middle of the night, even though it was just this side of 8:30.
Realizing I had not jumped at his command, he stomped over toward me. "Did you not hear me? I am speaking English, you know. Get dressed."
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. "I don't just get dressed because some man tells me to. Who are you?"
His face scrunched up at me in anger, oh not so cute with that face.
"Get dressed you say? I think no. Who are you? Where are we going? Stop looking at my fat."
He sighed loudly and grabbed me by the shoulders and gently shook me. "We do not have time for twenty questions. Get dressed. We have to leave. All will be answered in time."
Looking me straight in the eye, he bent his perfect mouth, with full succulent lips, and kissed me. His mouth explored mine using his tongue like I had never experienced before. It was as if he was searching my soul with his kiss. Leaving me speechless, which is hard to do, and somewhat dizzy from his kiss, I leaned against him for support.
Holding me for a minute, sniffed my hair, his warm breath caused goose bumps to break out on my arms when he whispered, "I've missed you so." Before I could ask what that little telling phrase should have meant, he pushed me toward the bedroom area, following me as I flung off my shirt to get dressed.
What's that my inner voice yelled at me? Stupid, dangerous to leave with this man who only after one kiss you're going to get dressed and leave with him?
My libido's voice was louder than my brain's. You bet your sweet Aunt Fanny I am.
Throwing on a pair of jeans and another shirt without holes in it, I followed him out the door turning back once to see Camelot scurry under the bed. If I was in danger I would not leave without my cat.
"Here kitty." I got down on my hands and knees and tried to reach for Camelot.
"He will be fine. We do not have time for this."
He grabbed me by the upper arm and pushed me out the door. I turned to him ready to yell. Furious voices came from the stairs.
My new companion stopped, swinging me to a stop with him. I was going to have to tell him that I was not a yo-yo. "Merde."
Uh oh, shit, well that can't be good.
"Come we have to go out the window." My stomach felt as if it just hatched a forest of butterflies. I was not exactly scared of heights but I didn't want to jump down three stories either.
"Out the window? Do you know how high that is?"
Once again he pulled me across my tiny apartment and flung the window open. He looked down then looked at me. "How much do you weigh?"
That was not a question we women enjoyed answering. I mean we don't ask how big their manhood is, do we? "I weigh enough."
He rolled his eyes at me and I rolled them right back. We were at an impasse. I was not about to answer the question. Besides, I honestly had no idea because one, I avoided the scale. And two I was not sure if the hunk of brie and bottle of wine from two nights ago at settled on me yet.
"Get on my back."
"Pardon moi?" My mouth hung open at the instruction and I used one of the twenty words in French I actually knew.
"Come on Kyra, stop playing, get on my back."
I hesitated a second longer as I looked down at the ground. The cars resembled ants. Okay, I wasn't that high but high enough. What if this man were really crazy? Suicide was not on my list of things to do that evening.
But the angry voices approached my apartment, my door burst open, and a man and woman stormed into my home. They were unreal looking, with pale skin, bright eyes, and fangs protruding from their mouths.
Vampires? Werewolves?
"Léon, drop that human. You know we need her." The woman, a red head wearing a corset that pushed her breasts up to heights breasts should never be at, literally hissed at my savior. Not a pretty sight as fangs were dripping with salvia with her eyes flashing.
I decided to take my chance with my want-to-be rescuer than eaten by the angry looking unnatural beings. I climbed up his back, holding on for dear life. Camelot must have heard the commotion from his hiding place and leapt onto my shoulder before we departed my home.
I closed my eyes as the ground greeted us very fast, but with barely a bump, we landed, and he wasn't even breathing heavily. Wow, carrying my potato-chip-filled fanny with no excursion, he must work out. Wasting no time dwelling on the fact that we had just survived a six-story jump, my savior grabbed my hand and pushed me into a small black car.
Once in the car, Camelot climbed into the back seat, hissing at our attackers as they approached the vehicle fast. Apparently, they had also survived the jump.
Slamming on the gas pedal and causing my cat to be flung back against the back seat, Léon roared off, leaving them standing and choking on gas fumes.
"My name is Léon." He didn't take his gaze off the road.
"I guessed that." I buckled myself into my seat.
"Those two back there are Isabella and what can only be her homme du jour. Of which she has had too many to count."
I raised an eyebrow at the jealous tone to the last sentence.
"Was she your lover?"
"Many moons ago for a brief amount of time. But never mind. They are vampires."
"No. The fangs, wild eyes, and jumping out the window, you could have fooled me." Vampires walked around in the streets of Paris sucking unsuspecting bystanders' blood. I would have laughed at anyone who told me that demons roamed around breaking into people's apartments. The whole situation was unthinkable, and yet, I had seen them with my own eyes.
"Is everything that comes out of your mouth sarcastic?"
"Well, you know, I try, Léon, I try. Now, if they are vampires, what are you?"
"To tell you what I am would take more time than we have right now. But for the moment, to make it easier, I too am a vampire."
My stomach was in knots. "I see."
I have to admit I was a little scared. Vampires, creatures who suck another's blood, were walking around the streets of Paris, breaking into apartments. I shuddered at the thought of those two grabbing me and biting my neck. Was I having a dream? This was far from my usual Colin Farrell or Brad Pitt erotic feast but let's just see. I pinched my arm.
Aw. Not a dream.
Then I pinched Léon's arm, not because I didn't think he was real but to feel his rock hard bicep.
"What are you doing?"
"Just checking."
Pulling into the parking lot of an abandoned church, he turned to me. "Leave the cat here and come with me."
Some people thought I spoiled my little Camelot. I ask is it spoiling to give him tuna twice a week and a party on his birthday? I reached for him, I didn't want him being bitten on the neck any more than I wanted it to happen to me.
Léon pulled my hand away from Camelot's soft fur. "He will be safe."
"You can enter a church? What about holy water and crosses and stuff?"
"Are you planning on splashing me with holy water or flinging a cross at me?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then we should be fine. Besides, I am one of God's chosen." He got out of the car, and started to walk toward the church.
After those perplexing words, I got out of the car making sure I locked the doors and ran after him to catch up, he moved so quickly. "What does that mean, God's chosen? Aren't we all His chosen?"
He opened the door and lit a candle. "Not like you and me, Kyra."
The candle dimly lit the church. Around me, depictions of angels, Jesus, Mary, and the devil were cast in shadows making the church seem eerie and altogether unsafe. Goose bumps sprouted on my arms as I thought back to all those Sundays spent in church learning about demons and unholy beings. I jumped on his last words.
"Of course, I'm not like you-I am hardly one of God's special chosen ones. If I were, my Visa bill would be lower. Are we safe here?"
"Yes."
Just like that, yes. After I had thought I was safe in my apartment eating potato chips and writing, now I'm in some dark church with a stranger I didn't know.
"Well don't mind me for asking, but how do I know? What is going on anyway?"
"Kyra, you are going to have to trust me. I am here to protect you."
"I do not even believe in all this vampire nonsense. Why don't you bite me and prove to me you're what you say you are." Was I stupid or something? What if he did bite me? Did that mean I would be a vampire? I would suck blood? I didn't think I could chew on some poor person's neck.
Léon rubbed his forehead as if talking to me gave him a headache. His gaze was unreadable as he looked me up and down. "Come here, Kyra."
Slowly, I shook my head, no, I was not going to go near him. While he was hot and my palms were sweating as his gaze held mine, I knew better than to go near him.
It had been a really long time since someone gave me the look of lust. I might just do anything he wanted.
My raging libido had my heart beating, and my lower regions reacted in a way I had thought was long dormant as he stripped off his shirt, revealing a more perfect chest than I'd first thought. He was better than Fabio.
Free from his shirt, he walked toward me, and I backed away from him. I had to put a stop to this, or I would strip down naked on a pew and let him have his way with me.
"Don't make me chase you."
"It might be fun. I need a little cardio."
In a blink, he was in front of me, invading my space with the bigness of him. Him being so close I could hardly breathe. With shaking hands, I tentatively touched his smooth chest. For some reason my hand went straight to his heart region, and even though I knew there would be no heart beat, I was still amazed to find out that there was none.
What was he exactly? Dropping my hand from his body, I looked up into his eyes, which was a mistake. His gaze held me prisoner as he gently used his body to push me against the door of the church. Parting his lips over mine, he used his tongue to open mine and make me accept him. Thrusting his tongue in and out of my mouth, he simulated lovemaking, causing me to melt against his hard body.
"Léon, we're in church." I murmured between kisses as his mouth took up the gentle assault from earlier in my apartment.
He stopped and placed both hands against the wall by my head, holding me prisoner between them.
"God does not mind us doing what he intended for man and woman to do."
As he began to pull my shirt over my head, I protested once again.
"Um, hi. I don't even know you. You haven't told me what is going on. Am I in danger?"
I wanted to smack myself in the head. I'm in danger in more than one way. Léon smiled and teased my nipples through the cotton of my bra.
"You are safe as long as you are with me, lovely Kyra." He removed my undergarment and threw it on the ground.
"Hey, that cost $45.00 from Victoria's Secret."
"Has anyone ever told you, you talk too much?"
Kissing me again stopped me from responding and all thoughts left my head, as he began to make his way down my body with his magical mouth.
Who would have thought a little kissing, huh, oh wow, tongue in the navel not a bad place to be. A tingling feeling started between my legs and traveled through me as he kissed and gently bit my stomach, his hands found more interesting places to be. My body opened to him in a way that had never happened before. I arched my body into his as his hand traveled down between my legs finding the hard little kernel there.
My lower region aligned with his hardening manhood. Wow, so this is what all the fuss is about.
He hiked up a leg around his waist.
"Kyra." He moaned as he took my hard nipple in his mouth. Rolling the hard little peak with his tongue caused me to let out a gasp. He thrust his lower half toward mine and nestled his hardening manhood against my thighs. As he kissed my neck, a sudden primal fear surfaced.
"Léon?"
"Hmmm?" He lavished his attention on the tender part between my shoulder and neck.
"Do you think we could have a little chat before we get involved?"
"We have been involved for centuries, Kyra."
My body arched into his as he unbuttoned my jeans.
"I'm thirty-two." I had woken up looking a little haggard that morning.
Before he could respond to me, we were startled to hear something or someone land on the roof of the church.
"Merde." He looked out the stained glass. Fury filled his eyes.
"All right, that's enough with the foul language and not explaining what is going on."
"Get dressed, we have to go."
"I thought you said we were safe here."
"We are safe from the vampires but not the fallen ones. We have to go."
Throwing on my shirt and grabbing my bra, I left the church to head for the car behind him. Swooping down in front of us was yet another couple, but instead of fangs, they had black wings sprouting from their backs.
"Angels?" I looked at Léon, who had now stepped in front of me using his body to protect me.
"Léon, we need her in our battle against Adrian." The male approached us.
"Without her, we could lose the battle against evil. Adrian and Isabella could win." The female crossed her arms over her stomach.
"She is my life, my love. I cannot let anything happen to her." Léon frowned. "I have only just found her again after my century long search."
"That's right, Léon, because of you, this battle has been pushed off for centuries. You find your missing love and get rid of her before the battle."
"You get rid of me? How do you get rid of me?"
"It's better than being turned into one of them or you. She does not deserve that fate. She would be better off dead."
Dead?
"You know that's not true. With you, she is doomed." The male's gaze flicked to me.
"That's the rumor, I don't know if what you say is even the truth. Black winged, fallen angels."
"So you think she is better off dead?" The female tried to intimidate Leon with her wings, fluttering them closer to him.
So...he's going to kill me?
"Hello? Don't I get a say in what becomes of me?"
"No." All three of them shouted at me.
I stood there in the dark while the three of them discussed me as if I weren't there. It was time to leave. I slowly backed away from the trio, to the car.
Making sure Camelot was safe, which he was, curled up on the back seat sleeping through the commotion, I started the car, gunned the engine, and backed away from the church.
Léon shouted at me to stop, but there was no way in hell I was going to stop for someone who had apparently killed me every couple of centuries. I sped away hoping that the angels or whatever stayed on the ground fighting with Léon long enough for me to get lost in the Paris traffic.
Taking the chance that she would be home, I made my way toward Paris 7éme where Annabelle lived with her new husband.

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Parallel Humorverses by G.E. Kruckeberg

2011-12-20T16:36:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

The Perfect Woman

There once was a perfect woman,And she married a perfect man.And one Christmas Eve the two o’themWere driving in a snow storm, when They saw a man in a red suitWalking on the side of the road,Wearing a fur hat and black bootsAnd carrying a heavy load. The perfect couple stopped becauseIt was Christmas Eve, and they foundThe man in red was Santa Claus.He said his sleigh had broken down. Being the perfect couple, theyOffered to take him on his rounds,Delivering toys for Christmas dayTo all the girls and boys in town. But then they had an accident.Just one survived to tell the tale¾It was the perfect woman, since

The other two were fictional.

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The Fire Still Burns by Crystal-Rain Love

2011-12-19T16:33:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

        “Let's get one thing straight right now. I don't have personal feelings for that cold-hearted bitch!”
        Oh, yeah. That’s Adam.
        Brynn took a deep breath to help prepare her to come face to face with the man whose heart she’d shattered thirteen years earlier, and she walked into the office without knocking.
        “The cold-hearted bitch has a name. I’d prefer you call me Brynn or Ms. Harlow.”
        Standing in the doorway behind Adam's back, her heart thumped loudly in her chest as she waited for him to turn. She braced herself for the inevitable blow to her senses while Chief Parker sat behind his desk, his formerly thick, dark hair now gray and thinned, and a tall blond woman, who she didn't recognize, stood at the side of the desk sizing her up from head to toe with bright eyes and a slight grin.
        Adam slowly turned around and the air left her lungs. His dirty-blond hair was now darker, with only the slightest streaks of blond left. His shoulders and frame were wider than the last time Brynn saw him. The black T-shirt he wore with the red BBGF&R logo was pulled taut over an impressive chest. And those eyes, still a shade of blue that couldn't be duplicated by even the most skillful artist, had hardened into two orbs of fury and, if she assumed correctly, pain.
        The trace of hurt she saw in them sucked the breath out of her. Anger, disgust, even hatred, were what she had expected to see but that sliver of pain took her off guard, reminding her she had truly hurt this man. The sorrow, which came with that reminder, stabbed her in the heart.
        “Adam.”
        He didn't return the greeting. Instead, he glared at her long and hard, his nostrils flared, before finally turning back to the chief. “No way in hell am I doing this.”
        “Fine. You're off the case. Ms. Harlow can investigate the arsons and you can go back to just putting out the fires.”
        “But, I'm the arson investigator!”
        The blond put her hand on Adam’s arm, shook her head and sent him a look, which seemed to relax the tension in his shoulders.
        “Not if I demote you, you're not.” Chief Parker pulled off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt before placing them back on his face.
        “You're no closer to finding the arsonist today than you were a month ago. There was another fire yesterday. I don't want this firebug to keep hitting us until Black Bear Gorge is nothing but charred remains of a once thriving town. Brynn practically grew up in this station. Since leaving for California, she had completed courses in firefighting and had become a skilled private detective.” Chief Parker leaned forward and looked pointedly at Adam.
        “Finding people is what she does, so I suggest you swallow whatever bullshit you're chewing on--pardon my French, ladies--and get on board here. Either you work the case with her or you don't work it at all.”


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Unscripted by J.S. Marlo

2011-12-17T16:26:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

The crowd had dwindled to a handful of people, among them stood a woman with short auburn hair. A laptop bag slung over her right shoulder, she walked resolutely toward him, pulling a bright fuchsia suitcase. Afraid she might seek an autograph, he stared long and hard at her, hoping to send her away, but despite his silent warning, she drew nearer.
She stopped in front of him. A bloody stain blotched her upper arm where her sweater had ripped. "Blythe Huxley?"
Treating the injury she'd sustained should be the woman's priority, not engaging a stranger in conversation. "If you need medical help, ma'am, I suggest inquiring at the information booth near the pivoting doors." With a tilt of his head, he indicated the doors.
Shamrock green eyes scrutinized him. "My mistake. I was under the false impression you might be here on behalf of Mr. Martin."
As she walked away, understanding dawned on him. "Wait. Are you Riley Kendrick?"
A smile graced her lips as she looked over her shoulder at him. "I take it I wasn't who you expected?"

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Tiffany by R. Ann Siracusa

2011-12-16T16:24:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

The hour was late, and my weariness nearly overwhelmed me. A few small stars flickered between swathes of cloud strewn across the black sky. As I drove, the highland mists rose, encircling my car like long fingers of grey smoke. Dampness crept into the vehicle and chilled me. A heavy lump settled in my stomach. Shuddering with trepidation, I sensed that, unlike most nights, tonight the earth did not sleep.After nearly an hour of creeping along, vision impaired by the low blanket of fog, the road entered a dark forest and a low moan startled me.“Ahh.”The hairs at the back of my neck bristled. I couldn't tell where the sound came from. Outside, my headlights illuminated a misty tangle of tree trunks along the side of the road. The lower branches swayed and fluttered and seemed to snatch at my car as though trying to deny me passage.I sucked in a startled breath. Closer inspection revealed the trees at the edge of the shoulder, not close enough to the pavement to touch my car. I chided myself for letting my imagination play tricks on me.Must be the wind. Still, I put on the brakes, pulled off the road and killed the engine. The sound had seemed to come from within the car, so I glanced over my shoulder into the back seat. Nothing but empty shadows.Disgusted by my reactions, I started the engine and pulled away from the side of the narrow road, then pressed down on the accelerator, anxious to get away from that creepy place. The motor hummed and ran smoothly without a glitch. Soon I emerged from the woods onto a treeless plain blanketed by mist, going on and on forever.“Ahh.”The same sound, like a short sigh. My skin prickled. Was the mystique of the Highlands getting to me? Where did it come from? From the heart of the earth? From the little stars that hid above the haze as though they were ashamed? Or perhaps from somewhere closer.“Ahh.”Without thinking, I pulled over and stopped again. I turned off the engine, and this time the lights also, believing I could concentrate better in the dark.The sound had disappeared. Still, I continued to listen. Could it have been only the drag of the tires on the pavement?A cold prickle raced along my arms and down my legs, puckering my skin like bubble wrap. It had seemed all around me as though the air itself breathed, as though an invisible presence accompanied me. Then nothing.

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Second Chances by Christle Gray

2011-12-15T16:22:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

        Kristin smiled and shook Bernard’s hand, then turned to David. As she took his outstretched hand, a small electric current traveled through her body at his touch, making her insides tingle.
        Startled at the sensation, she glanced into his face and found herself immersed in the darkest, most piercing eyes she had ever seen--ebony pools she was sure she could get lost in. Not wanting to drown, she released his grip, probably a little too quickly.
        “Pleased to meet you both.” David smiled widely, but his gaze never broke the direct contact with Kristin’s. Small shivers traveled along her spine as his light brogue washed over her.
        A small dimple deeply indented his right cheek when he smiled, a smile that brightened the room around her as well as his handsome face.
        Kristin took a deep breath to try to regain some amount of internal control. She didn’t want Ingrid to catch on to whatever was happening between her and David. All she needed was for her friend to latch onto her attraction to him, as it would strengthen the age-old argument of Kristin entering the dating scene again.
        When she glanced over at Ingrid, the devious glimmer in her friend’s blue eyes made her realize it was too late.                 “Bernie dear, I do have something pressing I need to discuss with you. Let’s go find some drinks, shall we?” Ingrid didn’t miss a beat as she grabbed Bernard’s arm and led him away.
        Ingrid turned and winked at Kristin. “I’ll be back in a moment, love.”
        Kristin now had no choice but to deal with her attraction as she turned to David, and his gaze encompassed her once more. The intensity was mesmerizing, like he could see through her to those places she chose to keep safely hidden from the world. That kind of vulnerability came unexpectedly, and small spikes of fear danced around her already-racing heart. But then he blasted her with that smile again, and melted away a little of her apprehension.
        “He actually hates being called Bernie.” David motioned his head in the direction Ingrid and Bernard had wandered off. “He would only let a woman he fancied get away with that.”
        “Ingrid can be quite good at getting away with things others might not be able to.” Kristin’s voice sounded small and shaky to her own ears. “She has this overbearing honesty that is somehow charming on her, but unattractive on most other people.” Her fingers played with the strap of her purse from nervousness.
        “A quality highly desired in an agent, I’m sure.” He stood there with that dimpled grin, tempting her.
        Kristin couldn’t help but smile. “So, if Bernard works in the same field as Ingrid, and you are his client as well as his friend, then you must be, what, an actor? An entertainer?”
        “Aye, an actor. A little telly and film, but my first love is the theatre. I do love to ‘tread those boards’ as often as possible. I’m currently working in a play at the Royal National Theatre, in fact.”
        As David spoke, his eyes never left her face. What was he thinking? Could he be toying with the same turmoil that she was? His gaze flicked briefly to her mouth, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he thought about kissing her.
That last thought startled her. Did she want him to think about kissing her? As she let her gaze fall to his mouth, taking in his full, smooth lips, she came to the conclusion that the answer was yes.
        A pang of guilt hit Kristin as the image of her late husband James’s gray eyes flashed in her thoughts. He had been the only man who’d made her think such things. She quickly wiped her mind of the reflection, and hoped the deep sadness she carried wasn’t as difficult to hide as it still felt. Though she doubted anything could be hidden from David’s intense gaze.
        The painful images bouncing around in her head made it difficult to process a coherent thought, but Kristin tried to carry on some semblance of a polite conversation. “It must be exciting, traveling and meeting all kinds of people…” Her voice trailed off awkwardly, and her mind blanked while David continued to stare at her lips.
        His powerful presence had her so flustered she couldn’t form complete sentences. Oh, for God's sake, why was she having such a strong reaction to him? Kristin’s shaking hand fluttered to her neck and nervously toyed with her necklace. Keeping her hands busy helped her to concentrate.
        No one interrupted them and Ingrid wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Some friend. David’s dark, unfathomable eyes blazed with an inner light as they followed her hand. Kristin sensed his slight change of mood, but was unsure what had happened to cause it.
        David turned his head toward the crowd, appearing thoughtful for a moment. “There can be quite a lot of excitement, but the hours tend to be grueling, which makes a personal life rather difficult at times.”
        Kristin tipped her head to the side as she continued twisting the tiny pendant on her necklace around in her fingers. Was he trying to tell her he was unattached at the moment, or something else?
        “How about you? Where is your husband this evening?” David’s eyes darted about the room, like he expected an introduction.
        For a moment, confusion clouded Kristin’s mind, then she glanced at the wedding ring that still adorned her left hand, suddenly aware of what had caused David’s slight shift in mood.
        Swallowing slowly, she peered into those piercing eyes once more. “I am a…widow. My husband passed away two years ago.” She brought her hands together in front of her and anxiously twisted the small gold band around her finger. “I just haven’t had the heart to take this off yet.”
        Admitting her status as a widow typically ended many conversations. Even after two years, the words still sounded foreign to her, hollow and unable to convey the grief she carried in such a simple statement.
        David’s eyes clouded with sentiments she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Understanding? Pity? Guilt?
        Gently he reached out to squeeze her wringing hands. “I’m so sorry,” David whispered, as his dark eyes drew her in even deeper.
        Kristin managed to force a weak smile and squeezed his hands back. Her hands were small inside his warm grasp. For the first time in a long while, the lock around her heart tried to click open, and she almost let herself be comforted.
        A blond woman in a beautiful gold beaded evening gown appeared at David’s side, and Kristin dropped his hands immediately.
        David’s body jerked in surprise as the woman wrapped her arm around the crook of his elbow and leaned over to kiss his cheek.
        “There you are, my darling. I have been looking all over for you. Where have you been keeping yourself, my love?” The tall, gorgeous woman trained her blue-gray eyes up and down Kristin briefly and then looked away, an obvious dismissal as she returned her attention to David.
        “I’ve finally found that reporter I mentioned earlier, but I told him to wait until I found you.” The smile she had pasted on her face never reached her eyes.
        Taken aback, Kristin was dumbfounded by what she could have done to earn the woman’s rebuff. Obviously, not all English adhered to the rules of politeness in public.
        The woman’s proper English accent was a tell tale sign of her privileged background. Her blond hair was pulled tightly back from her angular face in an elaborate twist that accentuated the diamonds that adorned her ears and throat. The sparkle of her jewelry was nothing compared to the beading on her champagne-gold dress. She was breathtaking, and obviously very familiar with David.
        David grasped the woman’s hand and unwound it from his arm. His features looked strained as he kissed her cheek lightly. “I have been right here, Sophie, steering quite clear of any photographers.”
        Sophie pursed her lips into a pout. “But you know how hard I’ve been working lately, and you promised I could have a good time tonight. You promised, David.”
        She reached up and clasped his chin in her long fingers, and turned his head so he looked directly at her. “Don’t make me regret talking you into coming with me tonight.” Her lowered voice took on an almost sinister quality as she dropped her hand to her side.
        Kristin stared wide-eyed at Sophie, half expecting her to stomp her foot and throw a tantrum if she didn’t get her way.
        Turning her head toward Kristin, Sophie’s pointy chin angled, as if truly noticing her there for the first time. Her demeanor changed back to that of the sweet, smiling English lady.
        “Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” Sophie’s steel blue eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Kristin, but the smile never left her face.
        Sighing, David motioned with the wave of his hand toward Kristin. “Kristin Shepherd, Sophie Miller.”
        “His fiancé,” Sophie emphasized the title as she turned to glare at David briefly.

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Restless Heart by Mary Hjerleid

2011-12-14T16:19:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

He wished he could see the house clearly, but the welcoming light from the porch and the storm kept it in the shadows. Snow that now felt like sleet blew into his nose causing it to burn while the wind stung his eyes, blinding him. The high wind had whipped the drifted snow into mini-fortresses, blocking his pathway. He spied a small open area and worked his way through it to the porch steps.
To keep from falling, Derek started up the stairs, he skidded, lost his footing on the step and grabbed the railing. He stifled the curse that rose to his lips. Now if I can just get to the door. Carefully he inched his way to the porch, which protected the front door from the weather.
The dim light coming from inside the house seemed like a beacon pointing to refuge and comfort. Derek removed his glove and knocked on the beveled glass door. He tried to remain calm, but it wasn't working. It had been a long time since he had been this frustrated.
When no one answered his knock, he spied a doorbell and pressed it. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, shivering in his still-wet clothes. He needed to get inside and dry off. Maybe he should have changed clothes at George's garage, but he had been in a hurry to get to shelter, a warm bed, and some hot food. Finally, a shadowed figure approached. Slowly the front door opened, revealing a woman with long auburn hair spilling down her shoulders, her face pale in the soft light of a hurricane lamp. Because of George's age-he looked like he might be in his seventies-Derek had been expecting a short, gray-haired lady to come shuffling to the door. Boy was he wrong.
Although her floor-length green robe hid her shape, she was tall, delicate, and stunning. Her friendly smile caused something inside him to tremble.
A soft, husky voice spoke. "You must be Derek."
Her eyes roved over his damp clothes and dress boots, useless in this storm.
"George Harmon called to say I'd be coming."
"Yes, he did." She opened the door wider. "Please, come in. I'm Selena." She reached to shake his hand.
Heat met with cold. The warmth of personal contact had his hand lingering a moment too long. Speechless, he let go as if a small current of electricity passed between them. Startled by reactions flashing through him, he carefully colored his voice. "Thanks for taking me in so late."
In the hallway, the scent of flowers filled the air. Her eyes were green like a country meadow. His mouth dried.
"Come in by the fire." She walked across the living room, switching on additional lights.
"Let me leave my boots here." Derek reached down to pull off his boots with stiff fingers that would not cooperate. Finally, kicking his feet free, he dragged his shivering body over toward the flames. "Ahhh, heat," he moaned.
"Let me hang up your jacket."
Selena tried to help him get his jacket off since his hands were so stiff. All he could hear was the rasp of his zipper unlocking, then came the pop of snaps being pulled apart. The noise suggested an intimacy it was far too soon to consider.
"From the way you're dressed, it's safe to say you're not from around here?" A grin tweaked the corners of her mouth.
"No, I drove my Vette from San Francisco. I've been to Colorado before this, so I thought it was safe to drive in the spring."
"In this part of the country it's best to check the weather forecast. You never know in Colorado. There's a saying, ‘wait a minute and it will change.' It's an unforgiving climate at times."
Selena left the room and minutes later she returned with a towel and handed it to him.
"Thanks." He reached for the towel and dried his hair. At the same time, he noticed she was at least five feet ten inches. Tall for a woman.
"I'll add another piece of wood to the fire." Selena cleared her throat as she turned away. She picked up a log only to have it slide from her grip. "Ouch." She stared at the drop of blood that marked the entry of a wood fragment from the log.
"I must have gotten a splinter." Before she could extract the sliver, Derek was at her side.
He reached for her hand. "Let me see that." He lifted her palm to see the offending bit of wood and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Damn," he muttered, under his breath, not able to pull it out.
As his blunted nail scraped across her skin, he felt her goose bumps.
"That hurt?" He winced at the thought he might have caused her pain. He pinched her skin again then held it up to the light. He glanced up to meet her gaze.
"Got it. Sorry. You okay?"
"Yes," she whispered. She pulled her hand away after he extracted the tiny piece of wood. "Thank you."
He let go of her fingers, and the air immediately felt colder.
"I almost forgot. I've got soup on the stove. Come into the kitchen. You must be hungry." He followed her and leaned against the doorframe, feeling like he'd stepped back into another time.
"Something funny?"
Startled at her perception, he looked up.
"You're smiling," she added.
"My grandmother had a kitchen like this. The sight and smell of cinnamon and spice brings back memories. I always begged to lick the bowl after she made chocolate chip cookies. She was a wiry stick of a woman, didn't live too far from our ranch in northern California."
Cans of paint and drop cloths were piled in a corner. Scaffolding reached to the twelve foot ceilings. Ornate moldings, stained a honey color, complemented the sage green walls. He approved the combination. "This is going to be some place when you're finished." He was unable to keep a trace of envy from his voice. When had he started caring about or even noticing the inside of a house? His condo served one purpose-a place for him to crash between jobs. That was all he'd ever needed or wanted. His sterile kitchen in San Francisco bore no resemblance to this kitchen. This one didn't have a microwave. His microwave was built above the stove he never used. Selena did have a dishwasher, yet her kitchen had something his didn't-a feeling of home. Derek's shoulders relaxed, and he felt his entire body ease.
Memories could be good and then again, they could cause a lot of pain, like his parents divorcing and him and his mother moving from the ranch.
Selena turned on the radio and began swaying gracefully to the music, making it difficult for him to concentrate on anything but her movement.
She looked good from all angles. She came to a complete standstill by leaning against the counter. A rich aroma emanated from the pot of soup.
"Anything I can do to help?"
"Everything's under control. Would you like to wash up? The bathroom is off your guest bedroom just around the corner." She waved her hand toward a corridor.
When Derek came back into the kitchen, he sat at the table set with placemats, napkins, and silverware.
Selena brushed up against his arm. An unexpected warmth surged through him as she placed the soup bowl in front of him. She added a plate of homemade bread with a bread knife to the table and sat across from him. "Dig in."
He sighed with pleasure as he ate the soup and chewed the bread. "This is great. Really great." He studied her. Did her skin always look so soft and flushed? Or was it sleepiness?
"You're staring."
Caught, he smiled. "Was I?"

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Past, Present and Forever by K.M. Daughters

2011-12-13T16:16:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

    As he turned away to go take another look at those pictures, the front door burst inward toward Jack. Jumping back before it clocked him, he lost his balance as the female that followed quickly through the door did clock him in a soft collision of breasts against his chest.
    “Ohmygosh, I’m so sorry.” Standing in front of him, a pretty blush spread on her lightly tanned cheeks.
    “No problem…miss?” He backed up to give her space, shoving the front door closed.
    “Lizzie Moran.” She held out a hand. “And you are?”
    “Jack Clark.” He shook her hand, just skimming her knuckles with his fingers, a pleasant connection. So this is the famous Lizzie, now he was sorry for not meshing.
Beguiling smile, tender eyes, legs even better close up. On the skinny side, but appealing curves where it counts. Plus she obviously cares about Charlie and that means a great deal.
    “Oh. Jack finally.” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Mari told me so much about you. Nice to meet you.”
    She bent her head and surveyed the floor.
    “Looking for your dog?” He turned toward the back of the house joining in the search.
    “Ah, yes. Marty. Marty!” she blasted.
    Good lungs.
    His ears vibrated. The dog tore from behind him toward Lizzie with jubilant owner worship yips. Lizzie scooped up the little dog and let her lick the side of her cheek unhindered. Made Jack want to be a Boston terrier.
    “Cute dog.” He couldn’t help but look at those legs.
    “Thanks. Where’s Charlie?” She looked around nudging the dog away from her face.
    “Taking a shower.” Finally getting Charlie up and about brought a smile to his face.
    “No kidding?” Her deep green eyes widened twice their size. “What did you do, club him and prop him up under the water?”
    Jack laughed. “No. But it crossed my mind.”
    She turned toward the open door. “I have to run. Tell Charlie I came back for Marty?”
    “Sure,” he agreed following her toward the door.
    “Nice to finally meet you, Jack. And, thank you for whatever you did to make the difference with Charlie. I’ve been knocking my head against the wall trying to get through to him.” She smiled and turned slowly toward the street.
    “Same here.” He stood and watched her walk the dog down the block. Mari, bless her heart, might have been on to something.

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Illusions by Sheryl Hames Torres

2011-12-12T16:14:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Lily shoved her paper bag-laden cart over an installed-for-her-aggravation speed bump, flung her sticky ponytail over her shoulder and glanced toward her car. All at once, weariness, heat, and lack of funds faded into the background. Those couldn't be her kids standing outside the station wagon talking to that strange man. No, she'd left her kids inside with the radio and air blasting, trusting her fifteen-year-old son to keep them all in line. They rarely gave him guff because they knew strangers could be more dangerous for them than most kids.
With a long tattoo running down one forearm, short stubbly beard, and dark hair hanging past his shoulder blades, this guy looked more dangerous than the thugs Peter usually sent around to spy on them.
He knelt to the pavement and grasped her little girl's foot. Icy fear seized Lily's heart as it struggled for the next beat. Then, the afternoon heat mixed with anger as the mother lion in her clawed its way to the surface. She hadn't realized she'd stopped moving until that precise moment. Propelled by the thought of one of Peter's goons touching her daughter, Lily was jump-started into motion.
Forcing bravado she didn't really feel, Lily swallowed her fear and ignored the twinge in the back of her mind pointing out the obvious, this man could squash her with one thumb, take her kids, and be gone inside a minute. He was about to have a brief lesson on the laws protecting small children against stalkers, kidnappers, and child molesters. He'd learn it or be a teaching aid as she demonstrated for her daughter strategically placed kicks. He could deliver the message to Peter.
With a deep breath and all the courage she could muster, she quelled the shaking in her legs, gave a mighty yell and started running, pushing the cart across the parking lot. His incredulous expression quickly changed to shock as she gave one last lunge and pinned him in a squatting position against her twenty-year-old Dodge wagon. Her kids traded looks vacillating between horror and admiration.
"When the police get here, I assume you'll have a good excuse for luring my kids out of the car?"
With the lean grace of a tiger and strength to match, he slowly unfolded his long form and faced her, easily pushing the cart-and her-off of him. Sweeping his hair out of his face, he raised an eyebrow and leveled his sunglass-covered gaze at her.
The air left her lungs in a rush as the rest of her words caught in her throat. Recognition hit her square in the stomach. "Oh hell." Their music teacher! Lily felt weak with relief and embarrassment. Had she seen him in school she'd have known him immediately, but she didn't expect to meet him in a grocery store parking lot. "Mr. Anderson, isn't it? I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else. I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No, Mrs. Cabot, I'm fine." Lowering his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, he offered her a quizzical stare, then smiled. "It's good to see you again." He glanced from her to the children and back again with a chuckle and a shake of his head. "It's always such a shock when I see you with these guys. It's so hard to believe you're the mother of six half-grown kids. I swear you don't look any older than Adam, here."
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes and was about to offer her opinions on empty compliments when the children decided to answer with all manner of giggles and guffaws.
"Oh no, she's a lot older than me. She's thirty-three today!" Adam grinned at her.
Truth was, she felt a lot older. She hated birthdays and had since she was seventeen. No one should ever marry on their birthday, not for any reason. If things fell apart, the day was doomed forever. It didn't matter that her marriage was a failure before it began. She and Peter may have gotten married sixteen years ago on that fateful day at the judge's house, but they'd never had a real marriage. Not in any sense of the word. She was a mother and Peter's prisoner, but not a wife. Never a real wife....
         "Thanks, brat," Lily quipped. "The multitudes have spoken. Thirty-three, I am."
         "You sure don't look it."
         Lily's gaze shot to the man's face. His words were soft and his expression genuine. He shoved his glasses to the top of his head and large chocolate-brown eyes captured and held hers. The description from the weekly puppy-adoption show suddenly came to mind. Soulful... And there was something else. Something elusive. Something familiar. The look in his eyes intensified, as though he were searching for an answer to a question she never heard him ask. Suddenly and inexplicably, she felt like crying.
         "Happy birthday, Lily."
She ignored the strange little quiver in the pit of her stomach and glanced away when he spoke her name. Five minutes ago she'd thought he was a child-molesting stalker.

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Dangerous Crossing by B.H. Reed

2011-12-11T16:13:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

Trapper Aston jerked awake to life threatening thumps in his chest. The nightmare had been especially cruel. A screeching black-winged vulture had attacked him in a sweeping dive, leaving a gaping wound in his aging and vulnerable scalp. Reaching up, he rubbed his head through thinning white hair. There was no wound. Instead, he found himself merely slumped in front of his half-eaten dinner. A cold, graying slice of roast beef lay centered on the plate, green beans scattered around it. His fork was missing, and damn, his shirt was wet from drool.
He laughed, producing something like a deep rattle from his throat. There were no screeching birds, only sparrows and wrens twittering in the oak tree outside the window. That, and the drone of the air conditioner below, straining to cool the house on a hot Texas day and not getting the job done. He made a swipe across his forehead with his hand and rubbed the moisture on his shirtsleeve. Why hadn't Stacey turned down the air conditioner as he'd asked? And, where was his great nephew?
"Kern, where the hell are you?" He attempted to yell, but it came out barely above a rasp.
He snapped his head to one side, then the other. After a long nap, especially one that included yet another nightmare, it took several minutes to get his mind organized again. How long had he been asleep? As the harrowing dream began to fade into the reality of his present situation-that he was confined to a wheelchair after slipping and breaking his hip on the back steps-the shrieks he'd heard in his dream reverberated in his head, whittling his alertness to a high pitch. Had the blood curdling sounds come from within the house?
"Stacey!"
Again, he tried to yell, but it felt like he had a fist in his throat. He silently cursed the thick oak doors he had insisted on putting in the house. Working up momentum, he managed to inch his wheelchair closer to the bedroom door. The activity set his unreliable heart racing again. He had to watch his blood pressure. He called Stacey's name again, but, of course, Stacey was gone. The phlegm in his lungs kicked up and he coughed. Gripping the wheels of his chair, he grunted his way to the phone. He lifted the receiver and brought it to his ear.
Dead.
Breaking into a sweat, he clawed at the large metal wheels, forcing his muscles to work, dragging the confining chair forward. When he reached toward the intercom button over his nightstand, his heart lurched and adrenaline needled inside his veins. The screams had come from the intercom that connected to the kitchen.
My God. How long had the intercom been on? Who might've overheard my conversation with Stacey?
Panic rose in him like raw bile as his thoughts reeled backward. He tugged open the nightstand drawer and wedged his hand inside. Getting a grip on the nitroglycerin spray, he aimed the nozzle beneath his tongue and sprayed.
A hard thump sounded below, like the back door closing, spurring him to roll his chair to the window with teeth-gnashing effort. After peering out, he lurched back, out of view. A hulking shadow made its way across the back porch. Trapper squinted hard at the person who was now hesitating before attempting the steps leading down. Oh, Lordy. It was a man carrying someone. Through the now lightly falling rain, Trapper leaned forward to see a woman, lifeless as a rag doll without her stuffing, whose long dark hair cascaded over the man's arm.
Stacey!
The man looked to the right, toward the street, allowing Trapper a full view of his face. He shrank back, the cold blood of fear roaring in his ears. He struggled to roll the chair to the intercom. "Help! Somebody help!" he tried to yell near the speaker, but his voice rose barely above a whisper. There was no one to hear him anyway.
As a last resort, he wheeled his helpless body to the activity table where he put together puzzles as a hobby. He got a firm grip on the lid of the plastic bottle containing a puzzle that his great niece, Stacey Covington, had given him that afternoon. He removed the lid with one twist and shook the pieces out.
"Oh, Lord, give me time."

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Coyote Gorgeous by Vijaya Schartz

2011-12-10T16:10:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

Nothing moved in the backyard. She called toward the house, "Anyone home?"

         No one answered. Madison circled the white tent to peek inside from the open flap. She came face to face with a life size...Chupacabra? A cloud moved across the sky, hiding the sun and bathing the tent in shadow. Her heart raced and she reached for her sidearm. She stopped mid movement. When did she get so jumpy?
         The object of her fright was a tall metal sculpture, an armored muscular man with the head of a coyote. Or was it Anubis, the Egyptian god with the jackal head? The bright silver finish and turquoise decorating the black metal could indicate either. Madison had never made the connection between the jackal and the coyote. In this representation, they looked identical.
         More sculptures crowded the concrete slab inside the tent, all stylized, teaming with life, strikingly beautiful and awe-inspiring, with bright enamel colors. There were Native American warriors with war paint and elaborate headdresses of multicolored feathers, a meditating Buddha, a mother and child, a golden eagle. The art lover in Madison couldn't help but admire the mastery and the sensitivity of the artist. The sculptures looked alive. All exquisite.
         In the far back, Madison discerned a giant oriental goddess with many arms. The black sculpture seemed to dance and brandished deadly blades. She wore a necklace of human skulls. Red blood seeped from the lips of her monstrous head. Madison shivered at the bloodthirsty expression on her face.
         Something growled behind Madison. She whirled about, holding the 9mm .357 SIG pistol in a two-handed grip. Aiming, she stared into the yellow eyes of a large bobcat, sitting atop a flat boulder in the shade of a pine tree. The animal had an orange top coat and white spotted belly. Forty pounds of quick muscle. Was this the killer? Was it rabid? The bobcat growled again but didn't crouch to pounce.
         "Felix seems to like you."
         The low baritone at her back made Madison's skin prickle all over, but she maintained eye contact with the bobcat. Never take your eyes off a wild animal in a standoff. "Felix?"
         "You better put that thing away. He's like me. He doesn't like guns." The calm male voice seemed to caress her. "It's okay, little brother."
         The wild cat grunted a response, lay down on the flat rock and yawned. He licked a front paw and rested his head on it to resume an interrupted nap.
         Madison lowered her firearm and relaxed her finger on the trigger, but her heart beat like a jungle drum. Reluctantly, she turned to face the man who had spoken in such a smooth voice.
         Tall, with a welding mask flipped up over his head, he stood legs apart, boots firmly planted in the ground. The top part of his leather apron had fallen, and his black open shirt exposed a thick silver chain resting on the copper chiseled muscles glistening in sunlight. Madison allowed her gaze to linger on such male perfection.
         "Sorry if Felix startled you." The Native American man removed the welding mask with gloved hands, revealing a face streaked with soot like black war paint. He wore his long black hair in a ponytail and stared at Madison with the most startling green eyes she had ever seen, fearless, with intense fire, like a wild animal.
         Shaken, Madison buried her lusty thoughts under a gruff attitude and returned her sidearm to the holster. "A bobcat is not a pet. There are laws protecting wildlife."
         "Felix chooses my company." He didn't seem sorry at all and grinned, showing white teeth, as if he'd enjoyed her fright. Something was odd about him.
         The man's bold stare made Madison uncomfortable. "This is a dangerous animal to keep around, mainly for your neighbors' pets. Don't they complain?"
         "Felix and I have an understanding. I feed him, and he doesn't kill." He grinned at her with insolence. "My name is Kaletaka, and I own this house."

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Come Back to Me by J.S. Nichols

2011-12-09T16:08:00.000-08:00

BALLENA AZUL, THE CARIBBEAN

He found it. Just as he expected. A simple personal ad on a website perused daily by hundreds of people in their pathetic searches for true love.
Looking for a new life? Wealthy businessman in search of a single white female. Coming to Ballena Azul in March. Looking for someone to accompany me back to the States. Prefer blond. $$$. Must love to entertain.
He reviewed the ad again and grinned, hardly believing his luck. He counted the dollar signs, each one a known code for a thousand dollars. They almost never offered a bonus in his line of work.
One-two-three grand on top of the normal finder's fee. Life is very good.
He tapped out a quick reply to the internet posting, closed his laptop then hid it in the safe disguised as a panel in the bar's base.
The bar, like the rest of the once dilapidated cottage, had been renovated after he'd acquired it from the old fool who'd made the mistake of thinking him a friend.
Eager to toast to his most recent business request, he rose from the barstool. Circling the length of the bar, he couldn't resist trailing his fingers over the map, easily visible through the resin coating affixing it the bar top. That map of the island and this villa had been worth far more than any pirate's treasure. Without them, he'd have searched for who knows how many more months before finding a suitable place to start his business.
His villa no longer resembled the shack it had once been, at least on the inside. He'd been smart enough to leave the exterior as run-down as the day he'd first seen it five years ago. But inside, each room had been customized to meet his unique needs.
In his bedroom and bathroom, no expense had been spared. What had once been a great room now resembled the downstairs of a BDSM club he'd belonged to back in DC. A raised wooden stage ran the length of one black wall. Leather wrist and ankle restraints hung from thick chains bolted to the cinder-block wall.
It had been worth the time and the importing of labor to ensure his comfort. And it had taken a great deal of time to slowly import materials to his island so as not to attract attention from the Ballena Azul mainland authorities. Had they suspected his presence, his business would have ended before it began.
While he claimed ownership of this island, it technically belonged to the chain of tiny islands called Ballena Azul. Although, no one ever came onto his land without his permission and left alive. The wild, untamed forest surrounding his villa looked unappealing up close and few could find their way across the island to his home.
Thirsty, he pulled the Jack Daniels from the top shelf of his mirrored bar. Flipping the unopened bottle automatically, he then set it on the center of the map. Snatching a rocks glass from beneath the counter, he paused beside the wooden door to the right of his bar, listening for sounds of movement from inside.
Nothing yet.
The previous owner had told him that room had been constructed for his young wife to work out and keep her nubile body in shape. After seizing the old fool's property, the room became more of a holding area but the name training room stuck in his mind.
The lights overhead dimmed momentarily as the generator cycled, he glanced up as the humming and lights dipped then resurged. When running, the generator powered the electricity and pumped the air conditioning through the tiny building, drowning out the sounds of wildlife beyond his walls. Until the lights flickered, he almost forgot he was in the middle of a rainforest on an uncharted tropical island.
Glass in hand, he walked three steps to the small freezer stocked with his second most valuable resource. Ice. After grabbing out a handful, he dropped the frozen cubes into the glass on the bar then glanced to the dorm-sized refrigerator next to the freezer.
The fridge contained his most valuable resource, the nectar of the pharmaceutical gods, GHB laced-water. He'd need it soon, he retrieved a blue-capped bottle of water and set it on the counter.
The cot creaked. The desire to drink whiskey fled his system. More important and far more entertaining thoughts of greeting his waking pet sent his pulse thrumming.
His sleeping lamb stirred. Barely audible, a soft coo followed by a delicate, distinctly feminine whimper, came through the door.
Anticipation of playing with her one last time drove his heart rate to a frenzied speed. He only had a few minutes to enjoy her company before he needed to leave.
The time had come. He had kept her far longer than any of the others. Too long. While he'd kept most only long enough to train them, a few weeks each, he'd savored her for months. She'd been more than a project, more like a pet. But she'd served her purpose and now it was time for her new life to begin. Plus, he'd been warned. If he kept her any longer, she'd lose her value.
Plucking the water bottle from the bar, he then crossed to the door. He flipped down the switch on the wall, bathing the room in darkness. Once his eyes adjusted and he could see again, he unbolted the door and slid it open.
The sound of her breaths sharpened to audible gasps. Her palpable fear quickened his pulse. Time to play. He always enjoyed training his products, but he enjoyed her more than the others. Amazing, since he'd never sampled her completely. She was far too valuable for that.
"Help me," she whispered, her voice a mix of hope and terror. "Is anyone there?"
Ah, he loved the sound of fear.
She rolled over on the musty cot and groaned. The chain around her ankle scraped across the dirt floor. The stench of sweat and copper permeated the cramped space.
"Please, can anyone hear me?" her voice cracked.
A smile tugged his lips at her pathetic words. The sound of her terror-laced voice sang sweeter than any cantata he'd ever heard. The music of her fear rippled across his skin, singeing and strengthening him like a god being infused with powers.
"Help me. Someone p-please," she sobbed. "Can anyone hear me? My name's Tara."
"Not anymore," he said, unable to keep from laughing when her screams pierced the darkness.
His watch beeped but she didn't seem to notice and kept screaming. He shut off the obnoxious alarm, grinding his teeth in aggravation. He wanted to rip the damned timepiece off his wrist and force it down her throat for making him wait. The bottle crackled in his fist as he squeezed the plastic container.
Shucking off his frustration, he loosened his grip, and faced facts. No time to play now. He needed to dose her again. His pet needed to be well rested for tomorrow's long journey to her new home and new life.
Crossing the earthen floor until he towered over her, he commanded, "Come. Drink."
She curled into a ball and attempted to bury her mouth beneath her hands. She should know better than to disobey him. Excitement rocketed through him as he twisted open the bottle. Although she might disobey, she knew who owned her life. And she feared him, at least her long sleep hadn't deprived him of the pleasure of soaking himself in her terrified cries.
His fingers tangled in her dark brown hair. He yanked her head back and dumped the drugged water down her throat. With his hand clamped over her mouth, he pinned her to the cot until she stopped thrashing. Her breathing slowed and her body went limp. His grip loosened as she succumbed to the sedative.
Now that she slept, he needed to return to the ship and mingle with the passengers before he aroused suspicion. Easy.
He was the best. He never slipped, never left a trail. Never, ever made mistakes. The proof lay in his sleeping lamb.
He tugged on her chains, whistling a tuneless song. This coup had been the greatest of his achievements. So far. Already he had another order. If he could provide a blond next time, he'd net an extra three grand. No problem.
Maybe afterward, he'd take a cruise.
An ironic choice of vacations, considering where he'd acquired her.

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Buried Truths by Viola Russell

2011-12-08T15:44:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

    Heather reached for the phone directory on her nightstand and leafed through the book until she found his office number. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she stared at the phone for a long time before she took the receiver in her hand and dialed. The phone rang for what seemed an eternity. Then, a woman with a broad New Orleans accent answered. “Dr. Chou’s office.”
    “I need to speak to Dr. Chou.” Heather fought to keep her voice steady. Dr. Chou. No longer the teenaged kids in the photo album who had given in to passion. She was Dr. Kerry. He was Dr. Chou. Both prominent. Both with a lot to lose. Her heart raced with anticipation and dread. What in God’s name would she say?
    “Are you a patient, ma’am? I could have his nurse take a message.”
     Heather bit her tongue before she uttered a curse the woman would never forget. She rolled her eyes and suppressed a groan. “He’ll want to speak to me. Tell him Heather Flanagan Kerry needs to speak to him.”
    The wait was brief, and then she heard him take a deep breath. “It’s been a long time.”
     Heather recognized his deep voice. Every memory of him was still as fresh as a newly acquired wound. Her throat went dry. She tugged at her ear so hard that her earring fell into her lap. She wiped the moist palm of one hand over her jeans while the other hand tightened over the phone.
      “Are you all right? Why are you calling me here?” Wesley’s voice was soft, caressing. Was she imagining the longing she heard there? Did she still want him after all of this time? Yes, her heart cried, yes. You want him.
     She took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”
    “Has something happened? Do you want to meet somewhere public or in my office?”
    “Ashamed of me?” Heather’s eyes narrowed. She was suddenly annoyed. Was he afraid of a disruption in his complacent existence? That his ritzy wife would find out about her and their youthful indiscretion? Heather had read about his marriage in the paper. Was it envy that forced the bile into her mouth? She swallowed hard.
    “No, of me.” His voice broke. “I’m ashamed of myself, Heather. Besides, do you want to be seen with me?”
    The words pierced her heart. Apparently, he still felt responsible for her suffering, and a dark place inside Heather was selfishly glad he hadn’t forgotten her. “You were no more to blame than I was. You’ve no reason to feel more ashamed than I do. I can meet you in your office if you want. Maybe we should.”
    She heard him gasp. “Are you all right, Heather?”
    “I’ve been drinking, but yes, I’m all right. What makes you think I’m not?” What was in his voice? Concern? Fear?
    “Jesus, Heather, I’m an oncologist. You were scaring me. What’s this about? Are you all right?”
    Heather was silent for a long time. He still valued her life. He didn’t want to think of her hurt or sick. No, don’t let yourself hope.
    “Heather, are you still there? What’s this about?”
“Meet me at Café Beignet on Royal. Don’t worry. I’m not sick, but the past is coming back, Wesley. Can you get away?”
    “I’m due a lunch. I’ll be there by one.”

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Best Man by Ceri Hebert

2011-12-07T15:42:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

"Welcome to the honeymoon suite!" she introduced grandly, her arms open wide to present the elegantly appointed room. Everything a bride could want, a sitting area with a fireplace, soft lighting, a kitchenette for early morning coffee without the necessity of leaving the room, and a huge four-poster bed. Beyond the French doors was a wide terrace, perfect for gazing at the stars.
"At least everything is here. Brian took care of that this morning. Nice of him, huh? Of course, it's only my bag here. Real nice of him." Her chuckle was icy. She lifted the suitcase, put it on the trunk at the end of the bed, and flipped the latches.
"Look at this," she pulled out a long flimsy lacy thing that could've been a nightgown but it didn't look like it would cover much. "For my wedding night." She bunched it up and tossed it towards the little trashcan next to the dresser. "He wouldn't appreciate it anyway," she muttered.
"You have any aspirin?" Will inquired, trying to ignore the image of her wearing that delicate negligee. Heat had already crept through his body and he felt more than a little guilty at the sensation. It wasn't right, lusting after his friend's... his friend's what? Well, whatever title she was now known as it didn't matter. He'd lusted after her for a good long time. More than lusted. Loved her from afar. If only he had met her before Brian had.
"I wonder if they have this little bar thing stocked." Lori fumbled with the latch on the wooden mini bar.
"How about coffee instead. Or water and a couple aspirin."
She couldn't release the catch so she turned to him with a grimace. "Coffee I guess. I'll have water when I go to bed."
Will fixed the coffee while Lori stalked around the room, restless and silent. He tried not to look at her, but concentrated on the slow drip of the coffee as it drizzled into the pot, but he was all too aware of her, of her every move.
As soon as the coffee had finished brewing, he finally turned to her.
"Okay, coffee is ready. I guess maybe I should head out and leave you alone."
Lori whipped around, her eyes wide. "No, please don't leave me alone. I don't think I could stand being here by myself. Just stay for a little while anyway."
Will was shocked at the way she looked so panicked.
"Are you sure? It's late and I'm sure you're tired."
Lori shook her head. "I don't think I could sleep. Not for a long time. Being alone is the last thing I want."

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A Desperado for Christmas by Vijaya Schartz

2011-12-06T15:36:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

    “As much as I’m enjoying this, Agent Kaitlin Harrington, it’s not a very good idea.” Miguel had spoken perfect English, without a trace of a Hispanic accent.
    “You speak English?” Kaitlin hated herself for not suspecting it. “You, son-of-a-bitch!”
    “Sorry about meeting like this.” He pushed himself up, stood, and brushed the dust off the denim jacket. “I’m not the man you think I am.” He offered her a hand to get up.
    “You are not Miguel?” Kaitlin refused his help and stood on her own.
    What the hell was he talking about? Confused, Kaitlin didn’t understand.
    “My name is Miguel Carrera, undercover FBI agent, born and raised in Los Angeles.” He searched her eyes for a sign of understanding. “I’ve infiltrated a coyote ring in a sting operation, and there is much more at stake here than just illegal immigration.”
    “You said FBI? Sting operation?” How stupid of her for not figuring it out. Kaitlin should have known there was something odd about this coyote. “Why didn’t you let me know before?”
    Miguel snorted. “You didn’t exactly give me a chance. And I could hardly tell you in front of the others.”
    “If you are FBI, why didn’t you just arrest those guys?” It was a dumb question. She berated herself for losing her wits around Miguel.
    He chuckled. “First, the illegals would probably lynch me if I arrested their guides, and second, the FBI wants these criminals alive if at all possible.”
    “Why? So they can cut a deal and get away with a slap on the wrist?” Kaitlin knew better, but couldn’t help her sharp tongue.
    “We are out to catch the largest smuggling operation along the border. I’m talking drugs, terrorists, illegal weapons. The FBI needs all the information they can get.” The intensity in his gaze told of his passion for his job.
    It made sense, but Kaitlin didn’t like the idea of waiting. She wanted these bastards arrested now. She slapped gravel and dust from her pants. “What were you looking for in my Hummer?”
    “I didn’t rush back here to make pleasant conversation.” He winked. “Although I did enjoy it…immensely.”


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Merry's Go Round by Raynene Burgess

2011-12-05T15:32:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

Chapter One

“You can glare at me all you want, but you’re going to your new home today.” Merry Anderson lovingly stroked the carousel horse’s nose, imagining soft velvet brown skin beneath her hand. Sighing in satisfaction, she again marveled at the carving mastery inherent in the stallion.Frozen poetry in motion. Flared nostrils straining to draw breath and wide furious eyes. Braced on three legs with the left front hoof pawing the air, the mighty steed strained against its bit, coffee colored bridle gleaming in the sunlight. The Philadelphia Toboggan Company carousel horse, carved from basswood, was dressed in a light brown cavalry saddle with gold hand drawn designs on the corners. The bright red saddle blanket with pointed corners was edged in a darker burgundy. An eagle with brilliantly white head and tail clutched the side of the saddle horn. A carved bayonet rested in the black scabbard at the back of the saddle within easy reach of the imagination of a youngster. The stallion’s ebony mane cascaded over its powerful neck and the lighter reddish brown coat shone in the early morning sunlight. Golden nuggets glistened on the bridle and martingale. A shiny brass pole held the stallion upright on its beveled oak base.God had indeed blessed her with the talent she needed to do what she loved. “Hmmm, I did enjoy restoring you, fella.” She meandered around the room, adjusting the creamy white plantation shutters on the wide front windows to let the morning sun inside.This particular animal belonged to Luke Fenton, a local attorney and partner to the new owner of two thousand acres outside Sebring, Florida earmarked to become an amusement park. The focal point would be no fewer than three fully restored antique carousels with the possibility of a carousel museum.Remembering the short note she’d received the day before from the attorney, she retrieved the ivory sheet of letterhead from her desk and re-read the information.Merry,As we discussed last week, my business partner, Duncan Hawthorne has purchased the two thousand acres outside of Sebring to develop an amusement park for this area. I’ve referred him to you as expert restorer of carousels.I expect you’ll be attending the Board of Commissioners’ meeting Wednesday afternoon. I’d like to introduce you to Duncan, so meet us out front before the meeting starts.Luke.She pocketed the note, muttering to herself, “Wonder what kind of man Duncan is? Guess I’ll find out," she checked her watch, "in twenty minutes." ~~~ Duncan Hawthorne pulled open one of the heavy double doors to the meeting room. He followed an older gentleman inside, and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. The Commissioners’ room in the Highlands County Government Center created a circular shape at the end of the building. The corresponding circle inside provided the raised dais, with microphones in front of each of the five stations, and nameplates for each commissioner. The large room held bolted-down dark blue movie theater type chairs for approximately one hundred and fifty people.As Duncan advanced, Luke Fenton rose to shake hands with someone in the row behind. Catching his business partner’s eye, Duncan extended a hand in greeting. “Luke, good to see you again. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but it seems you’ve been doing fine on your own.”A smile spread across Luke's tanned face as he answered. “Yeah, it’s been going okay. Although today we’ll hear probably more objections from some of the old-timers, I think we can get the zoning approved.”“Have you spoken one-on-one to any of the commissioners?" Duncan sidestepped to let someone by.Luke nodded in acknowledgement to the passerby. “I’ve talked with three of the more influential ones. Not all the commissioners want an amusement park in the county, for various reasons, from fear of ‘nefarious’ people coming in to more competition for other businesses.” Glancing at his watch, he continued, "Not much time before we start, but I can fill you in if you like.”Duncan nodded. “Let’s step out for a minute.”They found a corner away from the main hallway. Luke opened his portfolio and pulled out his notes. “The three you need to address are Andrew Johnson, Bob Brothers and Gayle Simmons. Johnson’s a prominent attorney in town in favor of bringing in different companies. You may not get many questions or comments from him, as he’s usually quiet. He’s considered the silent majority on the board. Bob Brothers is an attorney who’s big on businesses, mostly because he then goes after them as clients, and then there’s Gayle Simmons. She’s an accountant with one of the biggest CPA firms in the county and has a lot of pull on this board. She’s married with three kids, so you know this is of interest to her. She’s been looking into ways to attract younger families to the area.”Impressed with his partner's knowledge of the Board, Duncan stored the information away for later use. “What about the other two?”Luke sighed, closing his portfolio. "The remaining two commissioners seem to be contrary simply to be contrary. Steve Fleming’s an attorney in town, on the board a couple of years. He likes to argue and be negative if whatever’s discussed doesn’t concern his area of county representation. He’s married with a family, and I can’t see why he’d object to this park. He’s probably in his mid-thirties, so isn’t as set in his ways as some in town. Dale Biggs inherited her father’s orange groves and owns a couple of small businesses on the circle. She generally walks around with a chip on her shoulder, daring people to knock it off. She’s territorial about this county and wants to keep new businesses out. Mainly because it might be more competition for her. You may be able to woo them, but I’m glad I’m not the one going down front today.”Clapping Luke on the back, Duncan smiled. “Ah, well, it’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.” He turned to walk toward the meeting room. Hearing quick steps on the tiled floor, he turned slightly and got his first surprise of the day. The young woman approaching exuded confidence. Her regal bearing showed her slender frame to perfection. Bangs brushed her forehead, highlighting blue eyes that reminded him of the ocean on a brilliantly sunny day. Eyes that registered mild indignation at his assessment as she slowed. A man could get lost in those eyes. Duncan cocked an eyebrow in recognition of her attitude.“Good morning.” Duncan reached for the door handle to let her into the meeting, but she peered past him to Luke.Luke switched his portfolio to his left hand and held out the other. “Merry, glad you could make it.”She returned the handshake with a grin. “Wouldn’t have missed it. This is gonna be an interesting board meeting.”Luke motioned toward Duncan. "Duncan, Merry Anderson, carousel restorationist. Merry, this is my business partner, Duncan Hawthorne."Duncan offered his hand and watched Merry's expression. Her small hand slid into his and unexpected heat flashed up his arm. “Miss Anderson.” Her slightly pink cheeks and sweet smile drew him in. He reluctantly released her hand. Awareness sparked between them. It glowed in her lovely eyes and hummed in the hollow of his chest. Okay Lord, did You have something in mind? Is that why You brought me and my business here? Smiling in anticipation of what was to come and savoring the lingering warmth of her small hand in his, Duncan continued, “Luke’s told me about your talents with carousel animals.”Merry's eyes cleared, leaving Duncan feeling like he'd let sand sift through his fingers. Her chin lifted at his comment. “Ah, yes, well, it’s what I love to do. I understand you’re going to have antique carousels in your park. Do you have someone to restore them?”Duncan braced his legs and rubbed his chin with a hand. “As a matter of fact.” He glanced at Luke, who nodded. “I spoke with Luke about that a couple of days ago. He suggested you and your shop.”“But you’re reserved about it?” Merry's eyebrow shot up and her tone cooled. A flush darkened the petite beauty's cheeks. “You’re more than welcome to come by the studio to see my work, Mr. Hawthorne. I can give you references if you like.”Duncan’s mouth quirked as her shoulders stiffened. He rocked back on his heels and answered, “Oh, I don’t need references.” He looked again at his business partner. “I’ve already decided to offer you the contract. Why don’t we meet for lunch tomorrow and discuss it? I’d like to hear more about your work.”“It’s my favorite subject.” Merry grinned and the defensive fire faded from her eyes. “I’ll be happy to meet with you. How about Out to Lunch on North Ridgewood at noon?”“You got it. I’ll look forward to it.” ~~~ When the topic of the park finally came up, Duncan rose and approached the front podium, which stood perpendicular to the audience and the end of the commissioners’ platform.He briefly reviewed the zoning and reminded the commissioners that they had pictures of the two thousand acre lot. “You can see that this area has great potential for commercial and residential growth.”Commissioner Steve Fleming consulted his notes. “Mr. Hawthorne, you seem determined to bring an amusement park to this county. I gather, from this report, your finances will come from you as a source and not from a bank or loan. Correct?”Duncan braced his arms on each side of the podium. “That's correct. As to the why, families with young children need a place they can play on weekends or for a few hours during the week after a busy day. Stress can do serious health damage, and I want to offer an alternative that entire families can take advantage of.”Fleming’s voice rang cold as he arrowed his gaze on Duncan. “And you think families can afford a visit to an amusement park, when some of them struggle just to make ends meet?”Duncan hesitated before he carefully worded his reply. “Mr. Fleming, I fully understand the difficulties of trying to pay the bills. I’ve been there. What I’m proposing with this park is a way to relieve stress and give some hours of enjoyment and hope to struggling families. One way to do that is by lowering the entrance fee to ten dollars per family, not per person, and five dollars per family with at least one child under twelve.”A murmur went through the attendees at Duncan’s mention of the park fees.Fleming shook his head. “I don’t think this is a good idea. This county isn’t economically situated for this kind of expense to our families. And,” he leaned back in his chair, frowning at Duncan, “it’s a waste of good land.”Duncan barely managed to keep his face expressionless at the last comment. Inclining his head to Fleming, he answered, “I’m well aware there are concerns and objections. I’ll do my best to answer them.”Commissioner Fleming addressed the audience. “Floor is now open for comments.”An older man in blue overalls stood and glared at Duncan. “Yeah, I have a question. What about bringing in all that riff raff that goes with carnivals? I’ve been to the county fair here for years, and I ain’t yet seen a carnie that’s respectable. What about the influence on kids? You think parents are gonna bring their kids to your park and expect them to not to be influenced by what they see? People sleepin’ all day and workin’ at night at silly jobs that only require a body to flip a switch. I don’t think that’s in the best interest of the county and I’d like to see it voted down.”Duncan understood the concern, but he also knew who would be staffing his park. “Your name, sir?”“Oh, sorry. Ben Peterson. I’ve lived here most of my life.”Duncan nodded respectfully to the old man. “I understand your concerns, Mr. Peterson. I wouldn’t want my children, when I have them, to be influenced by that atmosphere, either. I can assure you that staff members at this park aren't merely carnies. You see, manning a ride isn’t solely about flipping a switch. Each ride controller has to know exactly how that ride is assembled, taken down, where every screw and nut and bolt goes. Every ride will be safer because they’re dismantled every two weeks for regular maintenance. Hawthorne Industries has its own training and certification program in West Palm Beach for carnival and circus workers. I require mandatory drug testing every thirty days, and my people qualify as mechanics before they’re placed at a park. Anyone hired who then violates the requirements or falsifies an application is immediately dismissed from my employ. I assure you, Mr. Peterson, this park will be operated and maintained by closely trained and monitored staff. And I’m sure there will be local residents, even people you know, who will work there. Is there anyone you know who would be a questionable influence on youngsters in the area?”Ben tucked his thumbs into his overall straps, rocking back on his heels. “Well, no, I don’t personally know of anyone who’d be a bad influence since I don’t run with that crowd. Never allowed my kids to, either. As long as your people are good and can be a help to the kids here, fine.” He sat, fingering his overalls.Duncan addressed the audience. “Any other concerns?”An elderly woman stood up next. “Yes, young man.” She drew smiles from the Commissioners at that. “My name is Annie Bryant. I want to say that I think your amusement park is a wonderful idea. I think it should be approved, and we should move forward. Oh, and I heard something earlier about including antique carousels. Could you comment on that?”“Certainly. I have begun negotiations with Merry Anderson, who many of you know has an antique carousel restoration business here in town on the circle. Merry came highly recommended, and I’ve offered her the chance to restore, to begin with, three complete antique carousels. Not only that, but she'll be employing locally, which will help the community and residents here.”Annie clasped her hands in front of her. “I think that’s—”“Sit down, old woman. I have something to say.” An angry voice rang out from the back of the room. A slender young woman in ragged jeans and faded blue tee shirt strode down the center aisle and stopped halfway. She pointed a finger at Duncan. “We don’t want you or your park here, Hawthorne.”Duncan stilled, taking a moment to assess the situation. “Your name?”“Marcy Wyatt.”The crowd murmured in recognition. She obviously had a reputation, but good or bad remained unclear. “Miss Wyatt, do you have a reason for your objection?”The young woman stomped forward a few steps. “That land belongs to a family who’s been part of this county for years.” Marcy snorted and swung around, arms wide. “Are you people are gonna sit here and let this happen? You’re all idiots. An amusement park in the middle of nowhere?” She studied the crowd a moment before she tossed Duncan another glare and backed toward the doors. “Be careful, Hawthorne.” She turned and ran up the incline, slammed open the heavy mahogany doors, and disappeared.Duncan waited a moment to allow people to settle. “Ms. Bryant, to answer your question again, there will be restored antique carousels in the park. An amusement park will bring revenue to the area, provide entertainment to families in need of a lift during these economic times, and provide jobs in a county that obviously needs them.” He turned toward the dais. “If you give Hawthorne Industries a chance, I won’t let you or the community down. Thank you for your time.”Duncan walked back to his seat and slid in next to Luke. Everything depended on the Commissioners’ votes.Commissioner Bob Brothers adjusted his mic and cleared his throat. “All right. Do I hear a motion to approve the amusement park project hereafter called Hawthorne Park?”

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Clandestine Cargo by Janet McGuire Hendershot

2011-12-04T15:18:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Buck Evans stood on one foot and then the other to keep his balance while the forty-two foot Horizon II rocked in the afternoon sun. The cruiser tugged on the rope keeping her imprisoned to the long pier jutting out into Lake Okeechobee.
He enjoyed a sense of accomplishment for having painted her thirty-foot deck and her twelve-foot-square pilothouse a cobalt blue. He'd cleaned the five ton storage area below and carted thirty foldable chairs down into the hold.
"Did you get gas?" Buck hollered at Jason O'Quinn over the lake breeze. "What are older neighbors good for if not gassing up our boat?"
Jason smiled. "This older neighbor filled her tanks earlier in the day. And our drinking water barrels are full as well." Jason flipped the rope to the pier and freed the Horizon from her imprisonment. "And what did our young, just out of high school football star do today to justify his existence?"
"Let me think. I must have done something." Buck climbed onto the swivel chair in the pilothouse, scratched his head and nodded at Jason. "I stowed a cooler full of lunch meat, bread and some soda under the control panel."
"Leave it to you to remember the food." Jason wound the rope into a neat pile on the deck.
"It's a demanding job, but somebody's got to remember the food." Buck cranked the engine and the cruiser lurched forward creating a wake as it left the dock. "Game on." Buck braced his booted feet in front of the chair and squinted as he checked his Timex watch.
"I hope your boat training from the scouts comes back to you once we're underway." Jason leaned into the pilothouse doorway. "We'll invade hostile waters on this mission, you know." Jason walked back out on the deck and grabbed the railing.
"Nobody knows it better than me. Nothing can stop us now. We're going to become a part of history." Buck guided the cruiser across the lake.
"No, we're going to write history."
Buck nodded agreement and gazed out of the pilothouse door.
Jason saluted him.
His neighbor's courage bolstered his confidence and he saluted in return.
Buck manned the helm and moved the cruiser toward the Caloosahatchee River.
Jason stayed on the deck and wound heavy fishing line onto its spool. "This line will do as a cover and make us look like real fishermen."
"I got a cache of fresh fish from West Palm this morning. It's all iced down in the hold." Buck wiped the control panel free of mist and dirt and moved the wheel to the right to steady their route.
"I checked the false bottom under the hold, and it will hold about thirty people. I hope our repair on the air conditioner holds up and sucks in enough fresh air to keep everybody alive." Jason moved a deck chair into the pilothouse. "Of course, we won't know what we've forgotten until we miss it."
"We're providing what we can aboard this miniature luxury liner." Buck steered the Horizon II toward the Caloosahatchee River locks. "Fresh air and freedom and nothing more." He rubbed his hand across his face to free himself of river spray and approached the first lock.
Jason flipped the radio to the private band connecting him to the lockmaster. "Horizon II out of Okeechobee approaching."
The voice of the lockmaster broadcast through the pilothouse. "All systems are ‘go'. Watch for the green light on your right."
Jason adjusted the radio volume. "Roger. Ten-four." He left the radio on but nothing more filtered to him.
The green light on the right side of the river ushered them forward through the sparkling, sun-lit water, and Jason smiled at Buck.
Buck grinned and flipped Jason a thumbs up. "Once we pass through the first lock, we're committed to the entire trip, scary as it might be."
Jason dragged the deckchair closer to the window inside the pilothouse. "At least the weatherman is happy with us today. We've got gorgeous weather for this trip." Jason propped his feet up on the cooler and inhaled the breezy air.
Buck guided the Horizon II carefully and it slid through the glistening chop of the Caloosahatchee River, journeying through the first lock. He thanked providence the spillways allowed them to pass so easily and not have to wait their turn behind other travelers to allow them passage.
The remaining locks came and went, and the Horizon II slammed into the currents cresting in the jubilant Gulf of Mexico. Jason walked out of the pilothouse and leaned on the railing along the deck.
Buck remained in his high swivel chair. His heart beat wildly with excitement enthralled to be on their way. He beat down the gloomy reality of knowing this mission could claim both their lives. The craft lunged and reared like a green-broke stallion into the new horizon. Buck controlled the reeling cruiser with a stern hand.
"She's trying to be a dependable hostess today." Jason grabbed the railing for support as the wind whipped his hair in all directions.
"Who?" Buck held the helm steady.
"The Gulf. She's not churning up sudden storms, or waves ten feet high." The wind rippled through Jason's hair.
"We're not at our destination yet. Don't count unhatched chickens." Buck checked his compass and his watch. He continued to beat down his looming apprehensions.
"You think the situation could change?" Jason secured his grip on the railing and ducked as a spray of water cascaded over the deck.
"Bodies of water like this are referred to as the feminine persuasion because you never know what will happen next." Buck chuckled with half-hearted emotion.
"You've got a point. The further we get from the shore, the more vulnerable we are." Jason ran his hand through his hair in a useless attempt to control it.
Buck scanned the readings blinking up at him from the control panel. Encouragement swelled within him to see the trip progressing as planned, so far. Who knew he and Jason could actually accomplish this venture?
Jason inhaled deeply. "Everything okay?" The wind carried Jason's voice in all directions.
Buck nodded and watched seagulls diving for a meal. "We've passed the point of no return." He cut the engine back and the pace became less hectic.
"You're stating either good news or bad news." Jason loosened his grip on the railing. He stowed a box of first aid supplies back from under a bench where it had bounced loose during the voyage. "It's good the Gulf is so empty tonight." Jason stepped into the pilothouse and stared out the window.
"The fewer eyes witnessing this trip, the fewer stories will filter back through the taverns and docks along the shore." Buck shifted the helm into the automatic pilot position and hopped down from his swivel chair.
Jason shook his head and knitted his brows. "You're so right. A casual comment, a misplaced gesture, a wrong fishing pattern, an innocent word dropped into the wrong ears could bring retaliation down on our heads."
Buck's blood surged in apprehension. "Then listeners would know we're not fishing, but smuggling Cuban refugees into America."
Jason chugged a swallow of water from the jug under the control panel. "Under the radar."
Buck took the jug from Jason and chugged a swallow. He satisfied a thirst he hadn't known existed until the water slid down his throat. "Of course, under the radar. I'd be more worried about all this if we didn't have God in our hip pocket."
Jason chuckled. "I don't know if He's in our hip pocket or not but since Father Gerard drafted us into this craziness, I guess God'd be hovering overhead somewhere."
Buck pushed the bottle of water back under the control panel. "Of course. God knows we'd never be able to pull this off on our own."
Jason's brown eyes held a quiet somberness "Ya think?"
"To see what will happen next, if for no other reason." Buck wished he hadn't resurrected the plaguing doubt about their future.
Jason glanced at his watch. He flashed it at Buck. "Your watch agree with mine?"
Buck checked Jason's watch, then his own and nodded. "Thankfully. We make contact at three am. If things go right."
Jason unfolded a map of the Gulf he pulled from below the control panel. He pointed to a section of the Gulf highlighted in yellow. "Father Gerard said there would be a good sized pontoon drifting off the Yucatan Peninsula. Just drift south, and then west, and we should be right on target." He took a deep breath and gazed at Buck. "I just thought of something. What happens if we're there and the pontoon isn't?" Jason refolded the map and laid it on the control panel.
Buck hopped back up onto the swivel chair. "We haul this bouncing bucket of bolts out of here, good buddy, muy pronto."
Jason wrinkled his brow and scratched his head. "Because the goons probably beat us to the pontoon?"
Buck checked the map and the readings again. "Because the goons probably blew the pontoon into the third heaven, and we'll be right on its tail. I'm not ready to meet Jesus."
Jason moved a deck chair closer to the control panel and plopped into it. "Me, neither."
The gentle lapping of the waves in the Gulf brought an essence of weariness on Buck. He blinked and pinched his fingers to fight sleep. "It feels like we've been cruising for hours."
"The moon's lit up the Gulf like a beacon. It feels like there's too much light to be a good thing." Jason wiped the moisture from the window and strained his neck to look out on the water.
"Next time we do this, assuming there is a next time, we'll plan for a darker night." Buck leaned against the wheel and squinted over the sloshing water. "What time do you have now?"
"Two-thirty." Jason joined Buck in searching the cresting Gulf waters.
"Let's cut the engines back some more." Buck shifted gears and slowed their movement. "We want to approach from the northeast."
"We're in a good position here." Jason unfolded the map once more and nodded as he checked the readings with the control panel. "The goons are looking for raiders coming into Cuba from Key West. Father Gerard said this part of the Gulf would be totally out of their jurisdiction."
"I hope the Cubans are up on this information. At least, if everything goes sour we won't cause an international brouhaha." Buck chuckled. "We can always take our little secret to the bottom of the Gulf, and no one will ever know what happened."
"You're a ‘glass half-full' kind of guy, aren't you? But things won't go sour. It's too well planned." Jason chuckled with him.
"God is our co-pilot?" Buck folded his arms and tilted his head.
"You keep saying He is. I hope you're right." Jason smiled.
The Horizon II bounced on the gentle chop. Then one hundred yards ahead visible in the moonlight were the bodies of many silent people clutched together on the crowded pontoon.
"Is the pontoon up ahead? Look there, in the moonlight." Buck nodded toward the bouncing vessel.
Jason poked his head out the pilothouse door for a better look. "Either the pontoon or an upside down sea-going flying saucer. Try Father Gerard's signal. Then we'll know for sure."
Buck stood outside the pilothouse and removed a dog whistle from his jacket pocket. "Father Gerard got this dog whistle for us to use from our local vet." He inhaled and blew it three times.
Jason looked down at the decibel reader installed on the control panel and the needle on the meter recorded strong, vibrant sound waves. He continued to monitor the meter for the expected response from the pontoon. Then three distinct sweeps of the needle skidded across the dial. He sucked in a large amount of air and nodded to Buck.
Buck moved the cruiser forward and a few twists of the helm closed the distance between the two crafts. Soon the clear outlines of about thirty people, clothed in dark apparel, could be distinguished in the bright moonlight.
"Somebody needs to kill God's bright light." Buck whispered toward Jason and gestured with his index finger toward the moon. "You never know when law enforcement might overtake us, either theirs or ours."
"How close to Cuban waters do you think we are?"
"Far enough away in theory, but too close in reality." Jason whispered the answer.
At the sound of Jason's words, Buck's heart began to pound again.
Buck jockeyed the Horizon II into immediate proximity to the pontoon. Jason tossed a plank from one floor to the other. Buck heard the clunk of the meeting of the two vessels, saw the silent faces with large dark eyes and trembling bodies begin to walk across the plank and climb aboard. Buck steadied the transport craft. Jason directed the refugees into the hold which opened in the floor behind the pilothouse.
"Isn't this unreal?" Buck leaned over toward Jason and whispered in his direction.
"What's unreal about it?" Jason whispered back.
"These people place all their trust in us. We're strangers who don't even speak their language. Could you do the same thing, if the situation were reversed?" Buck wanted to reach out to the passengers to comfort them, let them know everything would be all right, but didn't know how.
"I don't know." Jason grabbed a teenage girl by the elbow to prevent her from slipping down the stairs and falling into the hold.
Another young girl with a baby in her arms halted in her trek across the plank. Her tear-streaked eyes scanned the cruiser and she stopped in her tracks. "No." She hugged the baby closer to her breast and the baby wailed. The girl shook her head. "No!"
"You have to come aboard." Jason took her elbow and tried to guide her off the plank onto the Horizon II.
The girl balked. The toddler kicked and wiggled out of her arms. In her attempt to gain control of the child, it arched its back, bolted into the night and splashed into the dark water between the crafts. The girl screamed and spread her arms toward the struggling youngster. Only Jason's restricting arms prevented her from diving into the dark Gulf.
Jason pushed the hysterical girl onto the Horizon II, leaped over the railing, and scooped the screaming, choking child into his arms. Buck came to the side where he braced his feet against the railing. Jason handed the toddler up to him.
The mother bounced up and down and continued to scream. Buck handed her the soaking youngster and she hugged it fiercely to her bosom. Jason hoisted himself up on the plank, and this time when Jason's guiding hands indicated, the mother bowed her head and followed the line of her companions into the hold.
Jason slid the cover to the hold in place. He waved a high sign to the pilot of the pontoon who waved in return. The square craft moved out of the area. Jason sighed and Buck whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. He longed for the moment his heart would quit pounding.
Buck turned the helm to the north and then to the east. He watched for strange lights and thanked God for the empty Gulf, as he pulled a handkerchief from his jeans pocket. He wiped nervous perspiration from his forehead with his hanky. "We need to pray. We've come this far. We need to ask God to guide us home."
Jason bowed his head, closed his eyes and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving.

~~~

The Horizon II spilled into Lake Okeechobee, and Buck navigated toward an island northwest of Clewiston on the south side of the lake. At sundown the craft cruised north into its shelter to find Father Gerard pacing the planks of the boathouse. Jason tossed the ropes around the posts of the pier and followed Buck off the cruiser.
Father Gerard threw his arms around both men in one strong embrace. His white hair framed his round face and he panted in irregular breaths.
"You were successful?" He twisted his rosary between his fingers.
"But of course, oh ye of little faith." Jason nodded and smiled.
"Thank God." Father Gerard cast his gaze upward.
"We already did." Buck smiled as he tested the securing ropes.
The Cuban refugees climbed to the pier, one bedraggled individual at a time. Three nuns waiting on the pier handed each traveler a cup of orange juice and a sandwich.
Buck wished he could recover from his weariness. Every bone in his body ached, and he experienced for the first time in his life a deep appreciation of coming home to safety.

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Ravenwood: Night's Salvation

2011-12-03T15:15:00.000-08:00

Ravenswood

had the distinct feeling someone had been watching him. It must be near to dinner time. He started to rise from the bed. With no coverlet over him there was a bit of a chill. Perhaps that's what woke me. As he moved to the side of the bed, he heard a small, almost inaudible gasp. It was then he realized his feeling of being watched was not his imagination. He turned in the direction of the gasp and smiled as he discovered the beautiful Satine in his bedchamber. He was naked, having not put a dressing gown on after his bath, his door was shut and Satine was there. He smiled when it dawned on him that she had been able to watch him while he slept, totally unaware of her perusal of his male body. Night was inordinately pleased by this show of boldness. Hmm; perhaps I had been wrong about the simpering fool bit, about her being afraid of my manly parts. Mayhap, she is not the cold fish I have come to expect. He smiled as he looked at her, never once thinking to cover himself from her gaze.
"How long have you been watching me?" he slyly asked her, wondering absently if she might be a pretty shade of pink in her embarrassment. After all, she had been caught in his chamber looking at him, and he had on not one stitch of clothing.
Satine looked away, but could not seem to control her own movements and turned to look at him again, her boldness reaching new heights. "Only a moment or two. Your mother sent me to wake you. Dinner will be served in a quarter hour."
She started to leave; she would have to pass him to get to the closed door. He was still looking at her and was still naked, and now a smile spread slowly across his face. Making a move toward the door, she stopped when he stood up.
His lust for her was visible, yet he did not frighten her as he thought he might. He wasn't ashamed of his nakedness in front of her. Satine's eyes were inexplicably drawn downward, where they rested on his swollen manhood.
There was a hint of her incredible eyes widening as she saw the evidence of his wanting her, but nothing close to the fear he was truly expecting. Surprised yet again, Night smiled, for she had unknowingly pleased him. He knew he was being a rogue, but he just couldn't help himself.
"Do you like what you have seen?" he asked her, smiling as she reached for the robe on the end of the bed. She tried to hand it to him without looking him in the eye.
When he didn't take the robe from her, Satine took a few tentative steps toward him. Once again she reached the robe out to him; her relief evident when he reached up to take it from her.
She squeaked in shock as he took hold of her arm instead of the robe. Pulling her close to him, she gazed into his eyes.
"I asked you a question. I expect an answer," Night said. Her face was close to his.
"Wh-what was the question, sir?" Satine stammered, obviously nervous, though her eyes never left his.
Lowering his head, he kissed her lightly, longing to taste her perfect lips. Longing to possess her in any way he could. His lips touched hers softly at the start, his tongue silently telling her to part her lips. He almost expired on the spot when her lips parted for him innocently, deepening the kiss, mating his tongue with hers in a dance far more intoxicating than even he had expected. He forgot to be gentle with her; his only thought, to possess her.
She responded to his kiss without reserve, winding her arms around his neck as she dropped his robe and arched into his body.
It numbed his mind to find that she fit him perfectly, as if she had been made just for him and no one else. They were both dazed and panting when he finally broke the kiss.
Breathless, he turned her to the door. "You should go now, before I do things I can not yet do. I will be down to dinner shortly," he told her. He opened the door and gently pushed her into the hall. Closing the door softly, he leaned against it to catch his breath. She never answered my question. He dressed, absently wondering what his wedding night would be like.

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Untamed Temptation by Su Halfwerk

2011-12-02T15:14:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

"Who the hell are you?" bellowed a deep, masculine voice.
As Magnolia accepted Thiago's offered hand to get her off the boat, she glanced hurriedly to the shore, where two men stood side by side.
She thanked the guide with a smile and a nod but felt knots forming in her stomach already. She'd been sitting in the boat too long. The heat and dizziness forced her to concentrate on not toppling as she plodded through the ground sodden with river water.
A deep heat spread through Magnolia. It crawled under her skin like red ants. The humidity hadn't been good to her. It plastered her blond bangs to her forehead.
Her backpack pulled her slight shoulders back with its weight, and her hands cradled the bag containing the remaining equipment. Marcus had shipped most of the equipment ahead of her.
She surveyed the men standing in front of her with curiosity. The taller man appeared to be in his late thirties, graced with hard muscles that rippled down his arms. His penetrating, cobalt blue eyes squinted and studied her unapologetically, a stir of rebelliousness crept up on her. Magnolia shrugged, mentally reminding herself that she was here for her brother and should avoid antagonizing anyone on the expedition.
But those eyes drew her in and forced her to lose herself in their blueness, despite the anger that boiled within them.
She locked her gaze on him and lifted her chin. "I'm Magnolia Colby. And you are?"
"The man who will send you packing. I asked for Colby the photographer, a man, and you are evidently a woman." He uttered the last word with a low, wavering, guttural growl Magnolia couldn't ignore.
"Alex, let's see what she has to say before you attack her." The other man straightened his glasses, his cool voice seemed an attempt to contain Alex's anger.
Despite the fading daylight, Magnolia glimpsed the evident gleam of interest in Alex's companion's eyes. She must tread carefully around these men-inevitably, male attraction to her increased the closer she got to her shifting time.
Nevertheless, she couldn't blame Alex for his outburst. "Marcus couldn't make it, so..."
"So, he sent you instead, to stay in a camp full of men for two weeks." Alex was obviously the man in charge, but she couldn't understand the source of his annoyance.
She did agree with him that perhaps coming to a camp brimming with men was a bad idea. She had no plan for when her shape-shifting hit its high note and knew she must come up with something solid to block any future mishaps.
"You're forgetting Mary." The man next to Alex shuffled his feet on the ground. "She's also a woman."
"It's not the same, despite being the creative cook she is. She's much older." Alex's gaze held Magnolia's though he spoke to his companion.
She wondered what had ruffled Alex's feathers so much that he'd disliked her on the spot. "I'll have you know, the quality of my work matches my..." Oh, God, what am I doing? "...matches my husband's." There, she'd made her bed and might as well get ready to lie in it. But was this lie good enough to turn men's interest away from her?
Alex raised one eyebrow at her words. "Marcus Colby is your husband?"
She lifted her chin. "Yes."
After a long pause, Alex curled his lips in distaste. "Great. He sent us his wife."
She couldn't contain her anger at him. "If you don't want a professional photographer, then say so, while the boat is still here." Voice rising, Magnolia clenched her teeth around the words. The difference between her British accent and their mellow American ones alienated her even further. She turned around to point at the vessel, but to her dismay, it had sailed away already. Chest constricting, she swallowed dryly and bit her tongue. How could she not notice the boat's departure? Alex had faced the boat during their interaction. He could have at least signaled Thiago to wait.
"If you expected Thiago to wait for you to dismiss him, then think again." Apparently exasperated, Alex ran his hand through his hair and sighed as though he was dealing with an imbecile. "Anyhow, we're stuck together now, and we might as well make a good use of it. We'll guide you to the camp, and you can settle and relax for tonight."

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Time Stalker by Sabrina Conrad

2011-12-01T15:11:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

Boom.
Vicki jumped. Was the sound thunder? Could that be Steve?
A bright orange twelve o'clock flashed from the clock on the bedside table.
Rising to her feet, she inched her way into the living room, ear cocked toward the entry.
Something slammed against the front door.
She fished the business card from her pocket, ran into the bedroom to make the call, and reached for the telephone. As she prepared to dial Detective Carlson's number, her front door collapsed with an astounding crash that reverberated throughout the condominium.
Dropping the phone into the cradle, she rushed into the closet and buried herself amongst the clothing. The closet was the safest place she could think of to hide. Someone lurked through the house.
"Victoria," Steve sang mockingly. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."
How could she get away for this maniac? With her entire body shaking, her fingers gripped the locket hanging above her breast.
"Help me," she whispered. "God, help me."
The rain poured, and the loud and furious thunder clapped. Saying a silent prayer, asking God to protect her and help her, the locket burned her flesh. When she released the locket, the silver fell on her blouse and emitted heat through the material, warming her chest. How could that be? The locket was so hot, holding the heated metal was hard.
Impossible.
Vicki stared at the locket as light escaped around its hinges. Damn. This is not happening.
First, the light was slight, but the light became brighter and brighter, lighting the dark corner of the closet.
With trembling fingers, she opened the locket and shielded her eyes against the brilliant light.
Twisting around, the rear of the closet became a moving painting, and a warm breeze blew through her hair. Grass and small houses sat in the distance, and horses' hooves pounded dirt.
Clip, clop, clip, clop.
Trees waved in the wind, and a grassy fragrance filled the air.
Vicki stared in astonishment.
Was this a dream?

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The Third Wish by K.F. Zuzulo

2011-11-30T15:09:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

    A spicy, pleasant odor wafted into Bridget’s nostrils, rousing her. Still groggy, she urged her eyes open, then squeaked in alarm. The strange man knelt next to her, close enough that she could see his amber irises flecked with gold. His mouth was set in a line, his brow slightly furrowed.
     Bridget looked around, uncertain, at first, about where she was. Then she remembered. She had slid down against the sandy wall, sitting with her legs stretched out in front of her. Clutching the knife handle, she jerked it up so the sharp blade tip was a few inches from the man’s neck. “Get back.”
     He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Then he smiled.
     “You’re afraid.” His voice had a deep bass timbre that seemed to rise directly from his chest.
     Bridget’s stomach flipped. The cadence of his voice was slow and confident, as though he sensed no threat from her. “You’re damn right. Now get back.”
     “I’m not going to hurt you. I cannot. But I must help you.” He lifted a hand, and before Bridget could protest, laid it over the wound on her thigh. Bridget gasped. His fingers, cool and smooth, kneaded over the congealed blood, rhythmically tracking back and forth against the sensitive skin of her thigh, reaching under the hem of her cargo shorts and beyond the top of the laceration.
     Bridget’s head buzzed. Her mind told her to fight back, flee, resist, do something, but she couldn’t. Paralyzed, as though in a dream, Bridget’s body resisted her urge to move. A heated tingling surged from the stranger’s fingers. He rubbed her leg in a spiral motion, moving upward into the tissue paper skin at the crease of her leg. The tip of his long middle finger skimmed against the cotton crotch of her panties. She drew a sharp intake of breath.
     The stranger looked at her, his gaze steady on her face. His eyes creased slightly at the corners. He continued to massage Bridget’s thigh. The burning from the gash was replaced by a vibrating quiver that spread up from her leg, through the muscles of her vagina and into her belly.
     “Unh.” Bridget heard the sound from her own mouth as though from far away. Her head fell back against the wall as the stranger reached up further through the loose cuff of her shorts. The heel of his hand rubbed against the wound, but his fingers slipped under the elastic of her panties and teased at her lips.
     Bridget’s leg twitched. She realized she could move now, the hypnotic trance lifting. But pleasure overcame common sense. A deep relaxation took hold of Bridget, numbing her reactions. She closed her eyes, still not convinced the episode was occurring anywhere but inside her mind.
     I’ll just rest for a minute.
     The stranger’s ministrations were gentle and reassuring as though he knew what he was doing. Bridget’s leg no longer throbbed with pain. Tingling shot along her nerve endings with each pulse of his touch.
     The stranger moved his fingers deeper and encountered Bridget’s glossy slickness. Bridget’s head snapped forward at the realization that her body was ready to succumb to this strange man. She stared into his strange golden eyes. He said nothing, but kept his hand on her.
     A flush of alarm and desire washed over her. I can’t do this. Bridget pushed on his shoulders with all the energy she could muster. He was immovable. She threw herself sideways, away from him, and clambered to her feet. He remained crouched where he was, between Bridget and the only exit.
     An electric prickling flowed along Bridget’s injured leg, and she held out her hand in signal for the stranger to stay back. She bent her head over her leg, running her hand up and down the spot where the laceration had been. The skin was completely smooth, the trail of blood down her leg hardening to a crust. It couldn’t be!      The only remnant of his touch was satiny warmth deep inside her belly and radiating down both legs.
     Bridget cursed under her breath. I let my guard down. She wasn’t dealing with some unexpected, albeit passionate, encounter. This guy was some sort of supernatural presence. Bridget’s guard went into overdrive.   She whipped her head up and stared directly at the golden-eyed stranger. He hadn’t moved. “What the hell?   What kind of man are you?”
     He rose to his full height in one fluid movement.
     Bridget straightened and fisted her hands in front of her. She took two more steps back so she was about two yards away from him. “Stay where you are.”
     “To answer your question, I am not a man.” His voice held no inflection of emotion, and there was a slight clip to his words. “I am jinni.”

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The Mating Moon by Buffy Christopher

2011-11-29T15:07:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

        “You can’t run from me, Ivy.” He plowed into the back of her knees collapsing her to the ground.
        A short, shocked burst of a scream tumbled from her lips. The brunt of her weight landed on her knees, scraping them against the wet mucky blacktop.
        The attacker scrambled up her body, and his arms locked around her waist again as she tried to push back up. He threw his weight against her back and pressed down until she fell flat onto the ground. She struggled to breathe under the burden of his heavy body even as she tried to find purchase with her hands on the slick ground to wiggle out from under him. Her nostrils flared as they filled again with the scent of wet dog fur and dirty ground. She growled inside her throat as her senses overflowed with information.
        White-hot pain ripped through her, muscles stretched and Ivy’s fingers elongated. Bones popped and distorted taking on the new shape of her tiger’s paws. Muscles throbbed and cinched down, torquing her bones into unnatural shapes while agony ripped a heated path through her body with claws that tore and ripped apart her delicate flesh. Thousands of tiny needles stung her pores as fur sprouted from her skin in a tingling rush. Her attacker’s arms tightened around her shifting form.
        Her clothing ripped and dropped away onto the alley floor.
         Ivy stretched her claws testing the strength in her changed body. A trembling growl emanated from deep inside her throat, the animal she had become protesting the sheer terror that had invaded her brain.

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The Genie's Curse by K.F. Zuzulo

2011-11-28T15:06:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

Ashura-Goreem heaved the final stone-three times the height of a man-over his head. Rough limestone scratched the pads of his fingers. Dry grit, scented by the desert sun with the salt trace of its long-forgotten ocean bed, filled his nostrils. Another aroma mingled in the air. Jasmine-made unique by the heated chemistry of one particular human-drifted across his consciousness.
Ash grunted and bent to one knee to ease the massive square into the corner space. Straightening, he set a sandaled foot on the top of the now-completed wall, some ninety-six feet from the ground. Off to the west, the ziggurat of Etemenanki rose 295 feet into the air. He breathed in, enjoying the tightening of his sweat-drenched skin in a sudden breeze. The air cooled him, a reward for a job well done.
His gaze coursed critically over the expanse of the stone tower in the distance. Under Ash's supervision, humans had hoisted the stone building blocks up the steep, terraced steps of the ziggurat through a system of ramps and pulleys. Combining blocks from varied and distant regions in a purposeful mosaic of color lent the ziggurat an exotic, multi-hued exuberance. Satisfaction coursed through him like the buzz from a good wine.
The Temple of Esagil, the roof upon which he now perched, had served the Babylonians for centuries. But Ash's efforts had repaired its desert-pocked surfaces, renovated pillared corridors, and raised the height of the temple from just grand to magnificent. He had dismissed the workers an hour ago. The satisfaction of placing the final cornerstone was his alone. Standing at the edge of the temple roof, his toes overhung the edge of the blond stone.
Ash's ears pricked alert. A shadow puffed along the stone surface at the corner of Ash's vision. A nearly imperceptible swipe of bare feet over sandy granite brought him around in an instant.
Flashing forward the three yards to where she had crept up behind him, Ash caught her around the waist with a single swipe of his arm.
"Ashura-Goreem!" Miraphet's voice spiked in surprise but retained a harmonious clarity, like the tinkling of a bell. "How dare you touch a princess consecrated in the temple of Esagil!" Her brown eyes were wide. The fluttering of her long black lashes gave her a wild, trapped look.
Tall for a Chaldean and reaching nearly to Ash's shoulder, Miraphet tilted up her chin in defiance. She had the bearing of a princess, and the fine, arched eyebrows, high cheekbones, and full lips of a seductress.
"Me? How dare you. Don't you know the price for sneaking up on a jinni?"
Tightening his grip, he slipped his arm down, just above her hips to better control her squirming. Contact with her soft flesh felt like flame against his skin, hot and rhythmic, as she pulled and arched. The tensile strength coiled within her lithe body coursed out and through Ash as though he were being massaged. The only danger from this female was that she threatened to swamp his senses.
She pushed one slender hand against the swirling gray tattoo just below his collarbone. Phosphorescence within the patterned pricks in his skin would begin to glow now, ignited by the heightened response of his body. The tattoos were activated by strong emotion, usually anger, aggression, focus, delight or despair. In this case, pure desire illuminated his skin.
"I am a princess of the Chaldean Empire." She jabbed her index finger into his rib. "And you are but a worker in my father's service."
Ash grabbed her finger and squeezed. "I am Chief Engineer of the city that is the foundation of Heaven and Earth, appointed-not by your father-but by King Solomon himself. I answer to no one but Solomon."
Miraphet cocked her head. "A worker, like I said."
Ash brought her finger to his mouth and put the tip of it between his lips. His tongue flicked over her fingertip, licking languidly. The firm cylinder of her finger in his mouth tugged an invisible cord that reached straight down to his abdomen and beyond-lighting an explosive wick.
Lifting his head, he stared into her large, almond-shaped eyes. For an instant, the effect of her beauty seemed to cover him like a blanket. He forgot everything but the curves of her face, the luminosity of her skin.
Miraphet's eyes narrowed. "Get your hands off me." Calculation, as well as amusement, glimmered in her dark eyes.
Ash released her finger. He clutched her waist more firmly and dragged her back from the edge of the platform, away from the line of sight of the workers on the ground below. "I am skilled with more than just my hands."
Miraphet inhaled sharply. Her head tipped back, and Ash quickly covered her mouth with his own.
At the soft pressure of her lips, a surge of molten desire overwhelmed Ash's sense of victory at completing the temple.
He prodded the slick surface of Miraphet's tongue with his own. She tasted like the sweet snap of pomegranate seeds. His erection stiffening against her belly, Ash caught the fall of black curls down her back and buried his fingers in the glossy strands.
Miraphet wriggled in his grasp.
Ash's muscles flinched and his control struggled with his roaring need. He nudged his tongue almost furiously into the wet womb of Miraphet's mouth. Inflamed by the pressure of her body against his, Ash moved his hand down her back and grabbed the pliable rise of her backside.
She moaned, twisting her face away from his. "Not like this."
Ash lifted his face at the plaintive sound of her voice.
She watched him sidelong. The tops of her breasts, rounded above a shirred band of silvery threaded muslin, rose and fell in short, agitated breaths.
Ash loosened his hold on her, and she pushed back from him. Her hands remained on his waist. The pressure of her fingers was as cool and light as yogurt. There was no escape for her, so he relaxed further.
Miraphet lowered to a kneeling position in front of Ash. She leaned back slightly to look him in the face. A glint of mischief shone through her thick lashes.
"Like this."

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Siren's Song by Virginia Nelson

2011-11-27T15:03:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

The sun had only begun to set. Vance had probably not awakened yet. How long after he rose would someone tell him that I had landed in the middle of Odd Stuff with a half naked man on top of me in a compromising position? Would he believe whoever shared that damning information?
Chance teased at my mind again, and I wondered if the connection went two ways. I searched for him down that treacherous line. He stood in water. Hot and steamy, it sluiced down his body in rivulets. He must have been showering, a terribly ordinary thing for him to be doing. His hands slid down his smooth, firm chest, trailing bubbles. I watched and I saw-
When he felt me spying, he reached out and snagged me before I could escape. I went blind. I stopped dead in my tracks. I could see nothing in the room that physically surrounded me. All I could see was the wall of the shower and Chance's lean strong hand.
"You want to play?" He spoke out loud, his voice breathless and a little shocked because like me, he did not know until he had done it that he could reach through the line. His voice echoed in my head and his head and out loud, and I stood, blind and still, in a bar because if I moved, I would have fallen or hit someone or worse.
I could hear the sounds of the bar. But my eyes could only take in the shower and the hand that rested on the wet, tiled wall. I could see only what he saw. I gritted my teeth. I had no idea how to make him let me go again.
"Do you like this?" His hand and his eyes dropped to his soapy chest, and he slid the hand lower.
I sucked in a breath. I couldn't help it. "No." I said it aloud because I wasn't sure how to talk to him otherwise. I had to look pretty dumb, standing blind in a bar, talking to myself. "I didn't know what I was doing."
He glided the hand lower and for the first time I saw him, or rather the rock hard, intimate pieces of him. Captive and captivated, my eyes followed the path his did, all choice on my part gone because I saw through his eyes. Not, mind you, that it was a terribly offensive view.
My breath quickened. I had no choice there either. And when he closed that hand around himself, I trembled where I stood, blind and suddenly dumb as well. Oh, so eager to see, yet so afraid to cross that barrier.
"Please." I whispered when I found my voice. Then I pleaded in my head, hoping he could hear me. Don't make me beg.
"For this?"

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Shadows by Jen Black

2011-11-26T15:00:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

She bit into the toast and wandered out onto the bolly with cushions under one arm and then stopped as if she had walked into glass. A man in a long black robe gripped a young woman, anger bright in her face, squirmed away from him.
Melissa's indrawn gasp drew Rory's attention. He crossed the floor in three silent strides, and stared over her head to the end of the bolly.
Melissa waved her toast back and forth without knowing she was doing it. Rory gripped her arm, pulled her back against him.
"Is that him?" Rory's whisper grazed Melissa's ear.
The man dragged the girl close to his chest, and she cried out and thumped him repeatedly with her small fists. The sound did not carry. The man said something to her, and she shook her head and tried to break free.
Rory pushed Melissa aside and strode forward, his bare soles soundless against the tiles. "Hey. Let go of her. What are you doing here?"
The man's head swiveled. He glared straight at Rory, then looked beyond him. His dark eyes settled on Melissa and a swift grin lightened his face. The air around him shimmered, the darkness of his habit became gray and both he and the girl vanished before Rory covered the four or five yards between them.
Melissa cried out in surprise, dropped the cushions and clapped her hand over her mouth. Rory's speed carried him past the place where the couple had been. He flung out a hand and pivoted round the pillar that supported the end of the bolly, then stood in the sun, his dark head gleaming as he stared around.
"Where the hell...?" Eyes wide, mouth open, he turned to face her. "Melissa, did you see that?"

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Remembering Ashby by Heather Long

2011-11-25T14:58:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

    As she lowered her arms and sank down to gaze at the watch fire, Melanie became aware of him. He sat quietly a few feet away. The firelight cast a play of shadows over his face. He smiled when he noticed her looking at him. She was surprised to see him there, but pleased.
    “Goin’ t’sing a bit more?” he asked softly.
    She shook her head slowly. The hood still hid her face, and, truthfully, she should return to the encampment. The others would be returning soon, but no one would disturb her for this communion time was her own. They had two nights to prepare themselves, and this was only the first step. She sat slowly, pulling her legs beneath the cloak letting it shroud her. The fire was behind her allowing the shadows to play in her favor.
    "Wha’ was th’song?”
    “There were many,” she murmured.
    “Wha’ were ye singin’ just now—th’oak one?”
    “It’s a song for the sun king—he is born with the coming of Yule and the passing of the Winter Solstice, but he sacrifices himself with the coming of the summer to allow himself to be reborn.” She smiled a bit. “It’s the willingness of his sacrifice that allows the land to bear fruit—for the Lady to birth him again so the cycle might continue.”
    “Does nae seem like much o’a fate for a king.”
    “I suppose. But if he does not make the sacrifice—then he cannot be reborn, and the cycle will be broken.” She should withdraw. She’d already indulged this conversation too far. But he remained still, watching her with a quiet expression. “You should not be up here.”
    “Nay?”
    “No.”
    “Well—ye are here.”
    “Aye. But…well…”
    “Ye do nae want t’talk t’me?”
    “It’s not that.” Melanie reassured him quickly, despite the fluttering sensation in her belly because now she was treading on even more dangerous ground. The maidens were representatives of the Goddess, not themselves. She was not representing the Goddess in this conversation, and she was of a mind to think he wasn’t seeking one when he came up here.
    “So ye do want t’talk to me…" He grinned.
    “But, I’m not supposed to,” she whispered.
    “Why nae?”
    She shook her head. “It’s improper. I should go.”
    “Doona—” He moved lightly toward her, and she rose to take a step back, holding out her hand to warn him away. “Why do ye ’ave t’go?”
    “You really don’t understand—do you?”
    “I am nae going t’harm ye, lass. I give ye my word.”
    “Oh, I’m not afraid of that.” She smiled. “It’s just—” She looked away from him toward the camps below. They would start wondering soon and protocol or not, likely someone would come up.
    “They do nae want ye talking to us?” he asked quietly from a position much closer to her than she’d imagined he would be. He’d come right up to her on quiet feet. Her skin tingled at the nearness.
    “It’s improper,” she said softly. She should really move away, but her feet remained firmly planted like lead weights, and she turned her head to look at him.

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Odd Stuff by Virginia Nelson

2011-11-24T14:50:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

         Pushing the door closed, I hit something.
         Or someone, as it turned out.
         The man stood, looking like he had died last week. His eyes sunk into his face and were surrounded by shadows so deep they looked like bruises. And they glowed. Shit you not, they glowed. An eerie blue shone out from the waxy, white skin. His face seemed dried out somehow, pulling the skin tight, and his lips seemed shrunken because of this, showing teeth that had horribly distended canines. His hair hung nearly to his waist in a knotted black mass that had dust and God knows what tangled in it. His clothes had either mud or dried blood on them and both seemed equally possible.
         And he stunk. Like death. Like dog shit. Like dead dog shit.
         All of this took less than a second to imprint on my mind as I shrieked and fell gracelessly to my ass. I scrambled in a crab walk as far as I could, against the far wall.
         And now, two seconds into my encounter with whatever was rummaging in the refrigerator-It hissed at me. It seemed wrong, somehow, to think of this creature as a him. It wasn't a him. It was a nightmare.
         I shrieked again in terror. Not that screaming had done much good the first time, but just because that seemed to be the only thing I could think to do right then.
         It came at me. I dove for the butcher block full of knives, but the Thing was faster. I found myself pinned to the counter, then before I could think, It had whirled me around and had me pinned to the wall, facing It.
         Dear God, I was going to die.
         I concentrated on breathing as the monster's cold, slim fingers moved at my waist, fumbling at my jeans. I pinched my eyes closed, and I breathed in the stink of the monster. The fingers slid a bit down my thigh, and I wondered if I was going to get raped before It ate me. Monsters never raped first then ate the victim in the movies. My mind tried to work its way around this, and I didn't even notice that the hand had found my key ring and attempted to remove it.
         I shrieked for the third time, and the Thing spoke.
         "Open your bloody eyes."
         Huh. The monster spoke. I tried to open my eyes. Nope, couldn't do it. When I was a little girl, I had been sure that as long as my eyes were closed and every part of my body was under the blanket, no air even getting in, the monsters couldn't get me. Some part of this had come back now. So long as I did not open my eyes, this wasn't happening.
         "Open your eyes, dammit."
         The voice was like rusty air. Hardly any sound at all. Just a raspy air sound that barely formed words. I shivered at the lack of humanity in the sound and the fear that choked me.
         "I can't." I finally managed to say and was happy that I had a voice at all. My voice, when I spoke, was hardly louder than the creature's.
         "Why the hell not? I can't get it off. Take it off."
         Take it off. Oh God, I was going to get raped before It ate me.
         "Girl! Do you hear me? Take it off before, ohhh."
         The last part came out a sigh.
         "Type O positive."
         Huh?
         Lips nuzzled at my neck. The reek worsened and the nasty cloud of hair tickled my face. I choked on the rank musty smell of him.
         I whimpered weakly.
The door leading downstairs opened, and I finally managed to pry apart my eyelids. Sven barged into the room. "O-mi-God, Vance!"
         The creature murmured into my neck. I wondered why Sven was calling for Mia's friend when we had a situation, here.
         I flapped my arm at Sven. "Sven! Help! Run away! Get Vickie and run away! Help!"
         I wasn't sure what I wanted. Sven caught the monster by the shoulder, and pulled him back like he weighed nothing. Then again, to Sven, maybe the monster didn't.
         "Dude! Everyone thought you died!" Sven hugged the monster thing.
Okay, I fell asleep because the store was so slow, and I am having a dream. A very weird dream.
         "Can't you smell her?" The thing asked, trying to get to me. I jumped on the counter top and backed up to the cupboard doors, one foot sliding into the sink.
         "What?" Sven reached up and grabbed the key ring off the belt loop of my jeans. He pulled the Thing to the fridge and unlocked the drawer that held all of the blood.
         "Dude, why didn't you just rip the friggin' drawer out?"
         The Thing dug its teeth into the bag, gulping frantically.
         When the bag was emptied, the Thing threw it in the garbage and gracefully wiped his face on his arm. "I did not want to ruin Mia's pretty kitchen. Gimme another bag."
         I stared at the creature. Was it just me or was It looking more human? Yes, the face was fuller, and a rosy color tinged the monster's skin. Even Its hair glistened more. The monster's lips had filled out into sensual curves. Long, curling lashes framed heavily-lidded eyes and enhanced a graceful brow. The Thing in the kitchen had transformed in less than five minutes from dead looking monster to Greek god.
         Somehow the transformation made the Thing more terrifying and less real all at once, which somehow worked out as a mood changer for me. I found myself making a transformation of my own-from terrified blubbering idiot to pissed off-in less time than it took the Thing to finish the second bag.
         I jumped off the counter. With a butcher knife in one hand and a steak knife in the other, I lunged at the Thing.

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Moonlit Dream by Crystal-Rain Love

2011-11-23T14:48:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

    The remaining wolf turned and stared him down with eyes that faded from red to a smoky topaz. The animal tilted its head and whined. Though it looked as big as the wolves that’d attacked the people he'd been traveling with and had the same red eyes, he sensed no evil.
    Instinctively, he knew the animal wouldn't hurt him.
    Run. Hide yourself.
    He started, twisting his head around to discern where the voice he'd heard so clearly had come from. Was there another person in the woods running from the wild beasts? A woman? Had one survived?
    Run, you foolish human. Go!
    The wolf butted against him with its head, staggered, then fell.
    “No way.” He stared at the wolf and, an odd sense of déjà vu washed over him. He'd seen this animal before. He'd dreamed of running through the woods, these woods, with a beautiful black wolf just like her.
    He'd woken to find the gorgeous creature staring at him from across his prison cell. No way.     No possible way. “I am not out here in the woods hearing animals like freaking Doctor Doolittle.”
    You can hear me?
    Jason’s eyes widened in disbelief. He tried to back away but the large rock formation blocked his escape route; even the jagged heap of stone looked vaguely familiar. This couldn't be happening.     He was just having trouble adapting to the outside world. He'd been in prison too long. That had to be it.
    “No freaking way,” he whispered as he studied the animal.
    She could only be described as beautiful. Strong, sleek, with fur like black silk shining in the moonlight. He narrowed his eyes as the moon showed something wet glinting off her side.
    Tentative and slow, so he wouldn’t startle her, Jason reached out with two fingers and touched the spot. He pulled back bloody fingertips. “What happened to you, girl?”
    I‘ve been shot, and quit talking to me like I'm some mangy mutt.
    He jerked his head up to meet her gaze. The wolf stared at him with eyes so human he could be having a conversation with some woman in a bar, not squatting in the forest, talking to a wolf and hearing her respond in his mind.
    Jason glanced around, sensing for imminent danger. Those deadly wolves were out there and he sat crouched between a rock wall and an injured animal. The scent of their blood alone would draw all manner of beasts, but he couldn't leave her. She'd saved his life, and he had an affinity for animals.
    “Come on, girl, let's get you to a vet and then maybe I can have my head shrunk.” He bent forward to scoop up the black beauty when a threatening growl stopped him.
    The bullet was silver. I don't have much longer. Run while you can. They'll kill you! Her eyes burned red, then slowly shifted back to amber.
    “Silver? What the hell are you, a Werewolf?” He laughed at the ridiculous notion, but quickly sobered when the wolf didn’t even blink.
    Realization caused his stomach to bottom out. The wolves that’d attacked his fellow travelers were much larger than normal, and their eyes had glowed red, too.
    “I have seriously lost my mind. Or maybe it's all a dream,” he added, liking that explanation a lot better. “Yeah, this is all a dream and I'm supposed to save you. You'll turn out to be a real hot woman and we'll get freaky in the woods while danger surrounds us. I can handle that.”
    She growled again, the sound weaker than before. Leave, you fool. They'll kill you!
    “Yeah, sure. I'm going to be killed by Werewolves.” He laughed, his muscles relaxing. “Go ahead and shift for me then. You've gotta be fine as hell since this is my dream.”
    Run, you idiot! I can't shift with silver in my body and I'm too weak to protect you!
    “Well, that's all you had to say.” He studied her wound, squinting to see it clearly in the dark. “I'll just get this out of you.”
    Her eyes blazed red again then quickly flickered out. If you so much as attempt to stick that knife in me--
    “Relax, darlin'.” He chuckled. “I happen to have a few cool tricks of my own.”

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Hell House: Vampires Don't Dance by Christle Gray

2011-11-22T14:44:00.000-08:00

Teenage fairy, Sora Starwind, is finally making her way in the mortal world. The guy of her dreams, Liam Crawford, has asked her to his school’s Spring dance, and she finally feels, well, normal. Trouble is,
Liam has
a secret of his own that brings with it a whole new set of complications. Not only does Sora have to worry about Liam’s friends liking her, she also has to guard his secret, and deal with the school harlot that wants Liam for her own. Add a pair of obsessed paranormals that intend to unleash more chaos than just ruining her evening and Sora finds her newfound control stretched to the brink. Can she find more answers than questions this time, so that this first dance won’t also be her last?

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Holiday Hell House by Christle Gray

2011-11-21T14:42:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

     "You're doing it all wrong! Danielle, tell him he's screwing it up!"
     I shot a long-suffering look in Sora's direction. Her scowl spoke volumes, made even more dramatic by the midnight black lipstick that always outlined her pouting lips.
     "I'm hanging ornaments on a tree. How can I be screwing that up, your highness?" Derrick, the cause of Sora's irritation now and most days, pulled another red globe from the box he was holding and dangled it in front of his face.
     I took a deep, calming breath. "Guys, can't you please call a cease fire long enough for us to decorate the Christmas tree? Is that too much to ask?" My gaze bounced back and forth between the two teens, a silent prayer for peace at the ready.
     Sora toyed with the small silver lip ring she wore, her scowl deepening. "Then tell dog-boy to stop hanging all the red ornaments on the same side. It's making the color scheme unbalanced."
     Derrick laughed and placed the ornament in his hand next to the one he'd just put on the tree. "Like you're one to talk about color schemes. All black. All the time. Even your own people got tired of it."
     Sora tugged absently at the hem of her black leather miniskirt, then her hand fluttered to twist one of the spikes of her jet black hairdo.
     "Derrick..." I managed to infuse my voice with just a hint of warning.
     "What? It's true. All the other fairies kicked her out of fairy land because they were tired of her depressing butt. And her bossiness." He set the box of ornaments on the dining room table to his right.
     Sora had been banished by her people ultimately because she refused to fit in. But that didn't mean he needed to point it out to everyone. Repeatedly.
     Silence filled the room for a long moment that I feared would ruin the little holiday spirit I had managed to dredge up with a bit of tree decorating. I glanced over at Sora and found her black lipstick scowl replaced by a smirk.
     "You're one to talk, disowned by your own pack." Her gaze flicked to me. "We'll have to keep a good eye on the Christmas tree, Danielle. The mongrel might decide to pee on it, given the manners he seems to lack." Her dark eyes glinted with scorn.
     Derrick ran a hand through his dark blond hair, leaving it ruffled and messy. His amber eyes sparkled mischievously as he crossed his arms over his T-shirt clad chest. "Nah, I took care of that already in your closet."
     Sora's expression froze for a moment, then her eyes widened. "You didn't!"
     Derrick shrugged. "Guess you'll just have to see for yourself."
     Snorting in disgust, Sora stalked away, her heavy black boots pounding the floor. She practically flew up the stairs, muttering who knows what curses under her breath.
     I peeked over at Derrick, smugness oozing from him. "You really shouldn't goad her like that. It only makes things worse."
     A small shriek sounded from the upper floor. Rolling my eyes, I frowned at Derrick's grinning face.
     "She should just be glad I shifted into a dog first." He sauntered into the living room, leaving me to finish the tree.
     Sighing, I picked up the box of forgotten red ornaments from the table. These kids were going to be the death of me. Six months as director of Hellsner Halfway House For Troubled Paranormal Teens and I was afraid I wouldn't make it through another six days.
     When the supernatural community finally came out into the open last year, they brought with them the same types of problems we humans had. Their children had the same issues, and placing kids into normal human foster homes or facilities proved to be dangerous to both sides at times, making places like Hellsner House a necessity.
     I hummed as I straightened a line of garland and fluffed a few branches on the tree. So many years had passed without a real Christmas tree to decorate or a real home to decorate one in. I inhaled the deep musk of the pine, and stooped to retrieve a small cardboard box, the corners bent, the side slightly caved in. I pried open the flaps and carefully lifted a bundle of yellowed, crinkled, tissue paper-slowly peeling the layers away.
     My breath caught in my chest as I stared at the angel in my hands. The paint on her porcelain face was chipped, her golden dress wrinkled and tattered. But none of that mattered. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
      The feathers of her wings lay brittle and uneven along her back, but I traced their outline lovingly with my fingertip. My parents and sister had been killed in a car accident when I was a child. After bouncing around my entire adolescence from foster home to foster home, my angel was the last tangible thing I had left from my family.

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Heir to the Underworld by E.D. Walker

2011-11-20T14:41:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

The agony of geometry class had ended at last, and Frederica Fitzgerald shot out the back gate of her high school, beating the swarm of her fellow students to freedom. Her mom had told her that morning to make sure she was home early to work on her geometry homework. Freddy trudged uphill to her house without seeing anyone, bummed that she had to ditch her friends in favor of the Dreaded Math.
The sounds of the high school quickly faded away as she walked deeper into the residential streets. Quiet prevailed in her neighborhood, with only the swaying rustle of pine trees and the scuff of her sneakers on the road for background noise. The road didn't have a sidewalk, but it wasn't used much by cars. Keeping well to the side anyway, her thigh occasionally brushed the rusted metal of the road divider as she walked. She glanced over the divider now and then, gazing down the incline to the hillside dotted with pine trees and frosted with their needles. The smell of the needles prickled deep in her nose, chalky and dry.
The promise of a storm loomed in the sky and, with a sigh, Freddy pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her hair.
Yesterday was gorgeous. Sunny. Warm. Now the sky looked like a sludgy dish drain.
She dug her MP3 player out, tucked her earbuds in, and cranked the volume on an old Regina Spektor album, resigning herself to a long, and potentially wet, walk home.
She'd only taken a few steps, though, before halting. Her nerves prickled, a bizarre tension gripping her. The air itself seemed wrong, too thick, sparking with a strange power that weighed her lungs down as she breathed in. She whipped her head around, worried someone was following her, but the road was empty.
A black horse suddenly appeared beside her, almost on top of her, in the road. As she frantically retreated from the huge, bucking animal, she backed into the guardrail so hard she toppled over the side. When she collided with the ground, the air painfully whooshed out of her lungs. Pine needles crunched beneath her body as she slid down the slight incline.
Laying there for a long moment-gasping and shaken as she stared at the canopy of pines-Freddy tried to understand where the horse had come from. Even with her earbuds in, she should have heard the horse coming, should have seen it on the road ahead of her.
Had a freaking horse just materialized out of thin air?
The horse whinnied and she bolted upright, irrationally scared the animal would jump the guardrail, but then she noticed the animal's rider, muscles straining in his bare arms as he brought the horse to heel with a sharp tug of the reins. The brutish horse glowered at her, but his agitation eased at last.
Freddy gulped in a breath, and her heart stopped trying to batter its way out of her chest.
The rider dismounted, leather soles flapping on the pavement as he landed. A floppy straw hat screened his face from view, and he kept his back to Freddy as he soothed his stallion.
She watched the rider's back with growing annoyance. Okay, so calming the horse was important so it wouldn't kill someone-like me. But was the guy so hard-pressed by his now-calm horse he couldn't ask if she was okay?
The rider wore some kind of historical costume, a molded leather breastplate over a short-sleeved blue tunic. A woolen cloak in a darker blue draped over his left shoulder and fastened to the right one by an ornate plant-shaped pin. He didn't have any pants on under his tunic. Seriously weird. Sturdy leather sandals laced to mid-calf completed his ensemble. Freddy wasn't an expert, but she thought he was going for a sort of Greco-Roman look.
Why he's wearing his costume out and about, trampling people on a monster black horse, I do not know.
After a minute more had passed, with the rider still crooning to his horse and ignoring her, Freddy snapped out, "Oh, don't bother about me. It's cool. I don't mind that your horse nearly killed me." Nerves still shocky after the close call, her voice broke. Embarrassed, she swallowed the lingering fear, not wanting the rider to see her so scared.
The rider turned to her, mouth open, eyes wide as they flitted all over her face. He half-stepped toward her, his voice harsh and low. "Who are you?"
As far as heartfelt and concerned apologies went, this one was somehow lacking.
If he'd apologized or, hey, asked if she was all right, Freddy would have been fine. But his total lack of concern nearly undid her control, causing pointless, immature tears to pool in her eyes. Her legs wobbled and her hands trembled when she tried to stand so she plopped back down onto the ground cover of pine needles, the dead brush poking at her legs. Deciding that anger was more soothing than bawling, Freddy glared at the shadowed face under the bizarre hat. "What are you wearing?"
He blinked. "Beg pardon?"
"Your clothes." She gestured up and down to indicate his whole outrageous outfit. "You're going for a Roman solider, right? Is there a reenactment around here or something?"
Wariness sprang into the boy's eyes, and another flash of annoyance zipped through Freddy. If he was that embarrassed by his hobby, why was he riding around in public wearing his costume?
He spoke slowly, scanning the ground with his eyes. "Yes. There is a gathering of reenactors up the hill." At first, she'd figured he was faking the weird accent to go with his costume. But the more he talked, the clearer it became that, no, he really did talk this weird all the time. English is probably his second language. He had the faintest trace of an accent, nothing she recognized, but the formality of his words and the precise, clipped way he talked showed he wasn't from SoCal. That made sense, not too many Roman reenactors in America, after all. "I was running late, you see."
Figures. She clenched her teeth in irritation and narrowed her eyes. "Is that why you were riding your horse like a freaking idiot?"
The rider laughed suddenly, a sincere, bone-deep rumble. "Yes, I am an idiot. Beg pardon. But you should learn to look where you are going."
Freddy popped her mouth open in violent indignation. "You ran me over, pal."
"Are you injured?" He moved forward and pushed his hat off his head.
Freddy got her first good look at him.
To call him attractive would be a modest assessment.
Basically...the guy was hot. Tall. Dark. So handsome it made her teeth hurt. She stared at him, suddenly aware that pollen and dirt covered her, that pokey pine needles clung to her clothes, that she was grubby and sweaty and totally not hot just then. Hiding her embarrassment, she straightened her spine and met his stare.
His eyes glinted, an odd amber color that caught the light and made her stomach flutter, her mind blanking out with white noise as she reveled in his hotness.
His smile broadened as she stared at him. Leaning over the guardrail, he offered her his hand.
Rolling her eyes, Freddy forced herself to stand unassisted, still pissed about the "look where you're going" remark. With shaky hands, she collected her MP3 player from the ground, praying it wasn't broken.
She clambered over the guardrail without help, too. "Enjoy playing dress-up!" she tossed off as she stalked past the rider and his stupid horse with her chin high, intent on continuing her interrupted walk home. She had geometry homework to do, and this guy-hot as he was-seemed a little too arrogant for her tastes.
Even if he was a stone-cold fox.
The rider followed her, towing his horse behind him. "Where are you going? Perhaps I can escort you there to make amends."
"I am going away from you." Freddy redoubled her pace, feeling the first faint stirring of alarm that maybe the boy was dangerous somehow. Why was he following her?
He fell easily in step beside her and leaned over to peer at her face. "Do I know you?"
Freddy tossed her head, turning so her hood shadowed her face, hoping to signal she was not in the mood to be flirted with. "No, you don't."
"Perhaps I know your father."
Freddy paused and looked over at the guy, especially at his meticulous historical costume. Her dad used to perform on the local Renaissance Faire circuit, and this guy seemed like a good candidate to be a RenFaire fanboy. "Do you go to the SoCal RenFaire?"
He smiled, absently reaching behind to stroke his horse's long nose as the animal shifted from foot to foot, looking antsy. "I do. Your father works there, yes?"
She half-shrugged her shoulder. "He used to perform in the jousts. Then he made swords. He's retired now."
"I think I remember his booth. And you. You helped him run it."
Freddy stopped and faced him. She gave a slow nod. "Yeah, but I was a lot younger then."
He gave a self-deprecating snort and a small eye roll. "So was I, and far too shy to talk to the pretty girl with dimples at the sword booth."
Heat splashed over her cheekbones, and she fought not to smile and flash said-dimples at him now. This adorable boy had thought she was cute as a gawky eleven year old?
So, what did he think of her now?

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Fugue Macabre: Bone Dance by C.J. Parker

2011-11-19T14:34:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

     She shook her head to clear away the useless thoughts. They were here to find out who was killing her people. She was here to take her rightful place as Queen Moran.
     He grasped the edge of the boat and tugged hard, nearly tossing Rhonda and Tabatha into the water.
     Bobbie, grateful for the distraction, clenched her fist and hit him in the chest. "Behave, Captain Kangaroo, or I'll pluck your tail feathers and make earrings out of them."
     He bowed, his chocolate-brown gaze never leaving hers. "As you wish, Madam Luckman." His voice flowed over her like warm silk.
     "And stop calling me Captain Kangaroo." He lowered his voice to a rumbling growl.
     "Then, cut the crap. I'm in no mood for it." Bobbie closed her eyes and counted backward from ten to one. The last thing she'd planned to do was snap at Kangee. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but not this and not now. Besides, getting angry with Kangee would only lead to an argument and Lord knows that would take more time than she could spare. "I suppose you've told everyone we have company. Did you by any chance tell them they're-"
     "I told them nothing." His dark eyes were as angry as his tone. "The lookouts reported when you came into sight. They aren't exactly planning a party in honor of your return." He paused then leaned down to stare directly into her eyes. "And neither am I."
     Shocked at Kangee's anger, Bobbie waved him away for now, but when she had a chance to get him alone... "I'm going home. I'm tired. My friends and I have been through hell." And your anger is breaking my heart, Kangee.
     She tossed their backpacks out of the boat onto a mound next to a stand of weeds. Bobbie's disappointment built as she tried to compartmentalize her emotions. She kicked a piece of driftwood across the shore to the tree line trying to send some of her frustration flying with it.
     "While the rest of you sat on your butts and complained that I wasn't protecting you, we've been dealing with the troublemakers. They sent a damned hit man after us-we killed him. Rhonda dug up enough evidence to bring down their little club and put them away for a very long time. Tabatha's fiancé is working on that. What have you been doing, fly boy?"
     Kangee's eyebrow lifted to an impossibly high arch. "The Tree Lady requested I escort you home, but I believe you can find your way." He did an about-face, took four long strides and shifted before flinging himself into the air to vanish above the tree canopy.

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Does this Count as Amish Romance?

2011-11-18T06:57:00.000-08:00

Lena Barak is the heroine genie of my most recent release, Dissolve. Not a Pennsylvnia Dutch sounding name, eh? No. It's a Middle Eastern name. As a matter of fact, Lena in Arabic means tender, which--if you read the story--is a subtle countermand to Lena's personality. She has a rather prickly personality. Anyway, I digress. Lena and her family live in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania...the heart of Amish country. Okay, so she's not a bonnet-wearing, buggy-riding, shy and retiring lass. She's a vengeful, angry, willful, devoted dervish bent on reclaiming her family (not that Amish women can't be angry, willful, and devoted).

What I think makes this story Amish is its setting and its characters. And, come to think of it, Lena's sister Delilah does have a romance with Danny Lapp, a handsome young Amish man. Best part of this story is that it's bundled as part of the first release of the Stories of the Arcana Royale, which includes books from Heather Long and Lisa Pietsch. The anthology is called Spells, Slots and Sirens. Download it and then tell me whether it qualifies as an Amish romance, albeit a steamy Amish romance.

And to help you with your decision, here's an excerpt:

She fixed Danny with a narrow stare as she walked into the adjoining kitchen, the heat of her remaining anger looking for something to singe. Danny Lapp just stared back at her, his angular, pleasant face more somber than usual.

The two rooms of the small shotgun farmhouse were separated by a hip wall topped with a glossy slab of black granite. Frosted pendant lights hovered over the granite like fireflies. Otherwise, the view between living room and kitchen was unobscured.

Her father had broken out all the walls on this floor. To let the heat flow like a harmattan wind across the desert, he had joked. But Lena thought, not for the first time, that the house had been redesigned by her father with secrets in mind. There were few hidden cubbies and corners where secrets could be shared.

Danny appeared lanky and awkward standing inside the screen door, his tall frame haloed by the early morning light. He gripped a flat-brimmed straw hat in his long fingers. His thatch of auburn hair glinted orange as though dusted with copper shavings. Coupled with the suspicion that flickered in his hazel eyes, he looked like a giant judgmental elf.

He cleared his throat and waved his hand toward the leather satchel that sat at the bottom of the staircase. “You’re leaving.”

Lena scoffed. “Always stating the obvious, Dan.”

She twisted the faucet on and leaned against the broad porcelain apron of the sink, briskly rubbing her fingers under the chill running water. A short hiss of steam rose vaporously from her palms where the water splashed them and Lena shifted her body so Danny wouldn’t see.

“It’s been a week. I’m not waiting anymore. Not like I did for the past six months, waiting for my parents to come back.”

“I’m going with you.”

Lena sighed, suddenly exhausted by her ire. She shut off the water and gazed through the open casement window over the sink into the muddied green fields that surrounded the tall, white clapboard farmhouse.

A loamy smell rose steamy and thick from the thawing earth. Spring was pushing through, rising like some drunken worm from the dirt. Lena hated this time of year when the air, wet and eager, licked at her skin with puerile glee.

Fire eats earth, consumes air and evaporates water, Lena. Remember that. Take strength from it. Because without balance, we’d all be lost. Baba would impart such words of wisdom—just useless aphorisms, really—as his hands reached into the iron belly of the stove to coax the flames. She could see him now, glancing over his shoulder at her with his dark, serene eyes like swatches of night sky, a knowing smile lighting the creases in the fearsome crags of his face.

Something had happened to her father to make him look like that, as though he’d been scored by a thousand tiny fingernails. His face and neck were streaked with rivulets of scar tissue. And once, when he had discarded his coarse linen shirt to help Amos Chupp pull a wagon wheel from a flood-pregnant stream, his back had shown the ancient crosshatch welts of some horrible ordeal.

Keep the fire burning.

Turning to face Danny, Lena crossed her arms and gripped her elbows. The water had made her suddenly so cold, more than usual, and the skin on her arms prickled into gooseflesh. She pursed her lips and assessed him, conscious that he’d always been a little intimidated by her. A fact confirmed by her younger sister Delilah one night after Danny had walked Delilah home across a snowy field.

Delilah had burst into the room laughing, forgetting their tragedy for just a moment, her high cheekbones flushed red from cold and delight. “Don’t look out the window after him, Lee. You’ll scare him off!”

Delilah. Infinitely more pleasing—as the folks around here would say—than her more morose older sister. Pretty face, russet eyes, auburn hair,sunny disposition, slender and spry was Delilah. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark mood, curves and sway not meant for a farm was Lena.

Danny stepped further into the house. His heavy, brown lace-up boots thumped against the planks, littering black clods of earth onto the soap-oil-scrubbed floor. There was patient defiance in the tight set of his mouth.

Arms still crossed, Lena strolled over to stand in front of him, openly assessing him, willing him to wither beneath her stare. Equal to him in height, she scanned him from his stiff, flannel-lined pant legs to his smooth, hairless face where freckles drizzled a mischievous pattern across his cheeks. “You shaving yet, Dan?”

A crooked, tentative grin worked at one corner of his lips. “Yup. But I still abide my elders.”

“Really?”

Danny didn’t take his gaze from Lena’s face. “I am going with you, and I’m not coming back without Delilah.”

A hot well of emotion rose unexpectedly in Lena’s chest and seared behind her eyes. She clenched her jaw against it. All the nights of doubt and worry. She’d thought that nobody in this bucolic backwards community had believed for a moment that Delilah had done anything but left. She was one of the English, they’d said. A gorgeous girl newly aware of her womanhood, who’d grown tired of living in a plain community in a broad empty field. Eli Hostetler was gone, too. Everybody assumed they had gone together.

Lena grunted at the thought of broad, burly and vain Eli Hostetler with his head of dangling ringlets, ready wink and sharp dismissal of anyone who didn’t swoon in his presence. Lena was his number-one nemesis. But to the Amish community in Intercourse, Pennsylvania, it made sense that the most beautiful “English” in their midst would lead astray their most handsome member.

~Best Wishes,

Kellyann Zuzulo

www.kfzuzulo.com

WISH MISTRESS coming in February from Sapphire Blue Publishing.

Changeling by Stephanie Bedwell-Grime

2011-11-17T14:31:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

    The sound of the ringing phone jarred Jasie from a deep sleep. She jerked awake. Her heart pounded in apprehension. Only emergency calls came in the middle of the night. She squinted at the clock as she groped for the handset on the bedside table. Three a.m.

        “Hello?” Her voice sounded hollow in the quiet bedroom.

        “Jasie?”

        She sat up, the blankets falling to her waist. “Michael? Is something wrong?”

        For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the line. Her breathing quickened to match her heartbeat as a dozen worries crowded into her mind. Had something happened? “Michael?”

        “No, nothing’s wrong.” Michael sounded okay, except for the flat, emotionless tone of his voice.

        Jasie placed a hand against her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow down. “Then why are you calling me at three in the morning?”

        Another silence, as if he was considering her question. “I wondered if there was any broccoli in the fridge.”

        “Broccoli? You hate broccoli.” Michael was a proud carnivore. The odd quality of his voice combined with the strange topic of conversation made her heart pound again. He’d said everything was okay, but it sure didn’t sound like it. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

        “No, nothing’s wrong. I’ll be home in a couple of days. See you then.”

        He hung up.

        Jasie stared at the phone in her hand, confused. Michael had never called her in the middle of the night to inquire about vegetables before. It just seemed wrong. Still, he’d insisted things were fine. She tried to come up with a reason for his odd call. Maybe he’d been dreaming. He was prone to sleepwalking when he was stressed. Had he been sleep dialing? What other explanation could there be? He didn’t sound upset, just a little, well…strange.

        She shoved the phone back on the charger and stared at the handset for a moment, debating whether to call him back. If he had been sleep dialing, she didn’t want to wake him up. She settled back against the pillows and tried to relax. Willing her eyelids shut, she tried to go back to sleep.

Tossing and turning didn’t bring sleep any closer. She stared up at the ceiling. She’d call Michael in the morning. They’d laugh about his strange phone call. He’d be home the day after tomorrow, and they’d chuckle some more about it while he told her all about his business trip.

        Morning dawned gray and overcast. Jasie tried Michael again, but he didn’t answer his phone. She called him repeatedly during the day and spent another restless night, worrying about what might have happened to him. The feeling of wrongness increased with each hour that passed. When he didn’t answer his cell the next day, either, the sense of dread grew inside her.

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A Time for Melody by R. Ann Siracusa

2011-11-16T14:29:00.000-08:00

After several miles of silence, she scooted closer to him. "I never realized it would be so desolate."
Ah ha. I knew she wasn't from around here.
Her thigh brushed his, and the question on his lips died in a renewed surge of attraction. Or maybe pure unadulterated lust.
Without warning, the temperature in the cab soared. The lavender scent of her cologne tickled his nostrils. His damp hands could barely hold onto the steering wheel. His senses reeled. Unable to concentrate, he almost drove past the road to his property. At the last second, he spun the steering wheel and made a sharp left turn, throwing Melody against his side.
"Sorry. I wasn't paying attention. This is the road to my place." He swiped the beads of perspiration off his brow with his forearm as they bumped across the desert on the rugged dirt trail, the dust billowing out behind the truck like an impenetrable white wall.
"Is it all yours?" Her sweeping gesture took in the miles of desolation, ending with her hand coming to rest on his thigh.
Her touch discharged a jolt that left him trembling. No girl had ever come on to him that way, and he'd never felt a stronger attraction. He took one hand off the wheel and caressed the inside of her wrist, pushing the fabric of her blouse up a little and revealing a strange black watch with unusual markings.
Brandon's glance lingered on it with interest. He knew watches almost as well as he knew the desert-they'd been his father's second passion, after mining-and he'd never seen one like this. The strange hands and numerals were unusual for telling time.
"What kind of time piece is that?"
She jerked her arm away just as the truck hit one hell of a big dip in the dirt road. The pickup flew through the air and came down with a bone-wrenching crash, sending the bales of hay all over the bed. The pickup groaned, and the old museum piece came close to breaking in half right then and there.
"Sonovabitch!" He slammed on the brakes, stopping the vehicle in the middle of the trail, and clambered out to assess the damage.
After readjusting the load, he climbed into the truck. Melody moved closer to the passenger door and stared out the window.
"How long have you lived here, Brandon?"
When she rolled his name in her mouth as if tasting it and enjoying the flavor, Brandon's pulse accelerated a beat or two. He swiped his fingers through his short hair and steadied his voice.
"All my life. Born here." He shot a quick glance in her direction and caught a glimpse of her horrified expression. "Well, not out here in the desert. Actually, I was born in the hospital in Victorville. We lived in town until my mom died when I was eleven. After that, Pa insisted we move out to his claim in the desert. Been living on this dry patch of dirt ever since, except for the five years in college. How about you? Where were you born?"
She made a show of fanning her face with her hand. "Is it always this hot here?"
Irritated, he shot her a suspicious glance. He couldn't abide dishonesty, and her ignoring his question seemed deceitful. As quickly as it came, the annoyance dissipated, and he repressed a sigh over his unreasonable reaction. While he sensed her intent to divert his attention, her questions rang true. She apparently didn't know. What an enigma.
"Hotter for most of the summer and cold in the winter," he answered, trying not to sound antagonized by her games.
"Hmm. And what are those plants?"
"Barrel cactus. The tall ones are saguaros. Are you writing a book, or something?"
Melody flinched and pulled closer to the door. He focused his attention on the dirt road. He had no idea where she'd come from, but he didn't believe her story about ‘just down the road a piece.'
Otherwise, she'd have known about the desert. About the saguaro and the burrowing owl, about the subtle shading of the desert soils and the splendor of its solitude.
Finally, they came to some rotten fence posts draped with barbed wire.
"Here we are. This is my place." Pride sounded in his voice, although God knew there was little enough to be proud of. A few hundred feet beyond the fence stood a three-room cabin built of railroad ties. "Nothing fancy, but it's weather tight. My old man built it years ago. He put the screens on before he died last year."
He pulled the vehicle between the one lonely tree with scraggly foliage and a sagging barn, its weathered roof collapsing inward. The walls seemed to be held upright by a jumble of junk-half-rotten hulks of old vehicles and mining equipment rusting away in the brutal desert climate, bedsprings, plastic jugs. Whatever his old man believed might come in handy some day.
Melody didn't wait for him to help her, but scrambled out and into the bed of the truck before he could blink. "Let's get this stuff unloaded. What'd you say you use this for?"
"Animal feed. You don't need to help me." He tried to shoo her away. Judging from her pale complexion and smooth unblemished hands, her lifestyle hadn't accustomed her to this kind of physical labor.
"I know, but I want to. I'm much stronger than I look." She tied her hair back, and when she rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, he noticed she'd removed the watch.
Brandon compressed his lips and frowned. Since Pa died, he did things his own way. He didn't want help, or interference, particularly from a woman he didn't even know.
Already, the thermometer on the side of the barn registered ninety-five degrees. Too warm to argue and he wanted to complete the task before the smothering heat of the day descended on them like a heavy electric blanket.
And she seemed so determined to do her part. He found that irresistible. He found Melody irresistible.
"All right, but let me do the lifting. I don't want you hurting yourself."
They exchanged few words as they labored side by side, and to his surprise, he enjoyed her company. She helped him shove the hay over to the gate and balanced the cumbersome bales when he lowered them, one by one, to the ground. By the time the sun reached its zenith, they both dripped with sweat, and the hay sat in neat rows by the barn.
Blowing out a long puff of air, he stripped off his soaked shirt, sank down to the ground and leaned against the trunk of the tree.
"Thanks for the help." He patted the dirt. "Sit down and take a rest. I'm sorry it's not very soft, and there isn't much shade. It's the best I can offer right now. It's too hot to go inside." He indicated the cabin with the wave of a hand.
"That's okay." Smiling, she sat beside him with her shoulder touching his, triggering another jolt of desire as potent as an electric shock, and wiped the moisture from her forehead with the back of her hand. "This is fine. It's very hot here."
No way could she come from around there. Again, he wondered why she'd come to Red Gulch, and why, at that moment, she sat cross-legged on the ground beside him. His speculations left him with no words that seemed adequate and a deep sense of unrest despite their mutual attraction.
After they'd cooled down some, Melody blew out a long breath. "Let's go for a swim."
He straightened his spine and leaned forward to meet her gaze. "And just where do you think we could swim around here?"
She flashed a little smile, as though she already knew about his private swimming hole, the one below the entrance to his mining claim, where a mountain spring kept a deep pool filled year round. There, cottonwoods surrounded the pond, providing shade and seclusion.
Again, questions crowded into his mind, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Even after cooling down, Melody looked hot and uncomfortable in her no-longer-crisp shirt with damp stains under the arms. Crossing his arms, he sniffed surreptitiously to check if he could smell himself.
"A swim? Sure. I know just the place." He scrambled to his feet and pulled her up with him.
With renewed enthusiasm, they hopped into the truck and set out toward the hills. As the old Ford bounced along, she stared out the window, apparently fascinated by the creosote bushes and barrel cactus sprinkled across the flat expanse of yellow dirt like freckles on the landscape.
"See there?" He took one hand off the steering wheel and pointed at the smudge of green at the base of the foothills. "Those are the cottonwoods around my swimming hole."
Her gray eyes widened, and she shifted in the seat. "I see it, now. Yes, that's it." Excited.
Damn. This woman attracted him like an industrial-strength magnet but, at the same time, her odd behavior freaked him out. When he pulled into the grove, Melody opened the door and clambered out before he'd brought the pickup to a complete stop.
Definitely a woman full of surprises.
He compressed his lips and frowned. He'd already let both sexual attraction and curiosity get the better of his good sense, he admitted. He might as well go along for the ride and enjoy it.

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Wild Cowboy Domination by Brit Blaise

2011-11-15T14:27:00.000-08:00

Excerpt:

    Ray picked up the leather manacle dangling from a heavy chain. “And you’re interested in becoming my love-slave for the night.”
    Rachel could tell by the sarcasm in his voice, he didn’t believe her. Did she have the courage to agree? She reached an arm toward the manacle. Hell, yes!
    He sucked in air as if she’d punched him. “Before you go too far, take a closer look around. These walls are steel reinforced, too. What if I chained you and didn’t let you go?”
    He flipped a switch on the ceiling. The small rectangular light receptacle didn’t offer much illumination, but enough. Not only were the walls made of steel, there were a second set of manacles on the floor for her ankles. He’d told the truth.     Once he put them on her, she’d never get out of them on her own. She dropped her arm.
    The tack room was small, probably no more then four or five feet separated the walls. The smell of hay, leather and horses comforted her. Horses she understood. Men weren’t nearly as easy…especially this one. Did she dare allow him to truss her in his bizarre contraption?
    She examined his handsome face. Nearly black hair fell across his forehead and curled onto his collar. Ray’s pale hazel eyes narrowed and riveted her to the spot. A muscle in his strong, square jaw twitched and a slight upward curve of his full, firm lips hinted she’d amused him.
    While Rachel didn’t care to own up to it…this encounter both made her nervous and gave her a sense something life-changing was about to happen. Was it?
    When Ray chuckled, he gave her backbone a mental nudge. Her heartbeat throbbing in her ears, Rachel raised her hand toward him a second time.
    Even in the dim light she could see surprise written in his wary gaze. He threaded his fingers through the loose hair on his forehead, sweeping it back, almost a nervous gesture. “I may’ve had too much to drink. I think I’m hallucinating. I didn’t figure you for the kind of woman who’d submit so easily.”
    “Trust me, I’m not.” The way he’d said the word submit in a deep baritone rumble caused internal havoc low in her abdomen, inching down to settle into a needy itch demanding to be scratched. Preferably with this cowboy’s cock!
    “All the better,” he said, and his heated gaze raked over her, appraising her. The flame she read in his eyes showed his approval. “All the better,” he repeated. What memory did his words and the inflection in his voice trigger?
    Something intense flared in his stare, a fierce look unfamiliar to her. Ray hooded his eyes before reaching above his head to the ceiling to flip the light back off again. A swift tug of anticipation made her jump inside. Only the glow from the door leading into the tiny bathroom next to the tack room, kept them from complete darkness. The living-quarters at the front of Ray’s horse-trailer would be far more comfortable than the tack room, but she’d already seen this… If Ray was into bondage and domination, Rachel needed to know how far he’d take the game. Could that have been what happened to her sister?
    No. Ray Wilde didn’t scare her. Why? Rachel couldn’t explain her bold and unsubstantiated assessment of him if she tried, he didn’t frighten her. She didn’t doubt he had secrets, but a tendency toward violence? Could she be wrong? “What if I scream? Could someone hear me?”
    He paused to narrow his eyes and gave her another mysterious look she didn’t understand. If only she could see him better.
    “If they were close enough to the trailer, they might hear you, Ray said. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you? Trust me, I don’t get hot hearing a woman scream in fear or pain…not even close.”
    There was more behind that statement than the actual words he said? The regret in voice was thick enough to cut with a knife. It was as if he’d really heard women’s screams, and it didn’t sit well with him. His words gave her pause when her pussy demanded action.
    “I thought doms got off making their submissives apprehensive of them?”
    “So you’re saying you want me to scare you? Lady, be careful what you wish for. This time, you just might get it, in spades.”
    His words caused a sinister tingle to run up her spine, and, for the first time, her head was about to overrule the bad girl in her, ready to come out and play. As if he sensed the hesitation his words produced, he took her hand in his and caressed it. The rough sensation of thick calluses on his palms as they moved over her sent a wave of goosebumps simmering along her sensitive skin. He had strong hands, the kind she liked on a man…the kind she liked touching her naked body. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, his lips so soft, tender.
    “No, I don’t want to be scared,” she answered. “I want a man in control, who knows how to deliver.”

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