1. Don't walk, but run to a haunted house or trail. Why? Because it's fun. Also, it makes you feel like a kid again. Challenge friends to go with you and see who screams first.
2. Have a horror flick marathon. Where to start? How about the classic Halloween. Sure, it's low-budget but yet can still scare the undies off most. And why not go all out and watch the sequel...all ten million of them.
3. Buy a new pair of boots. What says stylish more than a tall pair of boots? 
Or, maybe you like motorcycle boots that are in
this season.
3. Volunteer. Consider volunteering at a haunted house that donates some of their proceeds to a non-profit agency.
4. Throw a dessert party with a Halloween theme.
5. Carve a pumpkin, or two or three.
6. Engage in friskiness. Sleep naked. Go without panties. Dress up as a sexy maid, prison guard, police officer...you name it.
7. Listen to music you'd normally pass up.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jofNR_WkoCE
8. Take a spectacular selfie...
--take a close-up and point the lens directly at your face
-- stand in front of a window for the best lighting
-- take a full-length photo to show off your style
-- to appear slimmer...cock a hip
9. October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Go without a bra for an entire day and let your breasts air out.
10. Read a spooky story, and here's one for you...
Buy: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/355238
Excerpt:
BRONTE
SNUGGLED DEEPER into the nest of pleasing warmth. She’d never felt such
comfort. Stretching her muscles, she
sighed languidly as a rush of indulgence whirled through her. The nightmare of
being held hostage by an arrogant ass couldn’t even fade the glorious feeling. No other time had she slept all night.
Rolling over,
her face pressed against something iron hard. Inhaling deeply, she froze. Her
heart skipped a beat. The smell was familiar—woodsy mixed with mint. And who
the hell was breathing in her ear?
Sliding one
eye open, she jerked. Shit! She
darted across the bed, pulling the red satin sheet with her. The kidnapping
wasn’t a dream. The arrogant ass was here, in bed, with her! Worse, she was in his
bed and he was sleeping soundly. Damn! He was naked!
She raked her
gaze downward, soaking up every inch of his nudity.
Hell, she
didn’t want to look at him, but for the life of her, she couldn’t help herself.
Admiring his physique broke some
unwritten rule about captive not ogling her captor, but if he wasn’t aware,
maybe it wasn’t so wrong. He was the description of perfect male, making her
self-conscious of her own less-than-perfect body. From his broad shoulders, over
massive chest, narrow waist, and—she jerked her glance away. Oh hell! He was hard and a size that
matched every other large part of him. It was so wrong that such a jerk had a body of
Adonis.
“Forget the
body,” she whispered. She wondered how he’d gotten naked. She lifted the sheet.
And how the hell did I get naked?
She was going
to be sick. Stomach twirling, she squeezed the bridge of her nose between her
forefinger and thumb. She couldn’t remember anything after he’d pulled out
needle and thread and—
Biting back a
moan, she held up her bandaged hand. With haste she’d never known, she tore off
the white gauzy material. Shit! Shit!
Her heart beat faster. She stared at her wounded hand neatly stitched and
covered in clear salve. Looking over at the sleeping man, her mind fabricated
ways she could teach him a lesson on boundaries, and so proudly flaunting his
goods. Her eyes naturally fell to his long cock. She should follow through with
a few of her own evil ideas. Wonder how
he’d like a few stitches in his tool?
No use. She was a wimp. At the mere sight
of blood she’d probably pass out, and ending up unconscious was the last thing
she wanted.
A horrible notion
flashed through her mind. Was it possible they had sex? If she was out while he
stitched her wound, anything could have happened. She reached down and touched
her inner thighs. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, no swelling or
sensitivity, and with a cock his size, she’d have physical evidence.
Some tension
left her muscles. Although he didn’t violate her, would he next time?
How had he
knocked her out? Had he hypnotized her?
There was no
time to stick around and debate her questions. She knew this could be her one
and only chance to get the hell away.
Bronte gave
the sleeping figure one more glance. He still slept. His breathing was heavy
and his chest rose and fell evenly. As quietly as possible, she slid to the
edge of the bed, eased her legs over the side and placed her feet onto the cool
floor. She stood and wrapped the sheet
around her body as she scanned the room for her clothes. They were gone. She
guessed Roark had hid them from her, thinking she wouldn’t escape without
clothes. Dressed or not, she’d get out of this place. Nudity was nothing
compared to spending more time in Roark’s loony bin.
With a quick glimpse
over her shoulder to make sure he was still asleep, Bronte started across the
room toward the door. She took each tiptoed step with great care, but every
breath and every time her foot pressed against the wood, it sounded like an
explosion in her ears. I can do this. I
can do this. I can do this. Her heart fluttered at the possibility of
freedom. Reaching the exit, she placed her palm on the knob, twisted and her
hope dropped. Nothing happened. It was locked. The bastard! Maybe she could stand the sight of blood, just this
once, if it meant getting revenge. She turned on heel and ran into a wall of
flesh and muscle. Bringing her gaze up into an expression of pure wickedness,
she gulped loudly.
“You didn’t
think I’d allow you to walk out of here, did you?” His voice was husky from
sleep. He yawned and wiped his eyes.
His laid-back
attitude made her want to rip his eyes out. And having him stand there naked
and proud, made her fury multiply. How dare he be so smug! “You can’t keep me
here forever.”
“How long you stay is completely up to you,
sweetheart. You’re in control more than you think.”
She slanted
her eyes, wishing she could shoot daggers into his head. “I’ll never have your
child. You said you have plenty of willing women so why not find someone who is
eager to have your baby?”
The corner of
his lips curved downward. “I also told you that I didn’t pick you.”
Holding the
sheet over her with one hand, she used the other to rub her aching temple. It
wasn’t possible to have a conversation with someone who was in serious need of
mental help. “Okay, you’ve told me that.
You didn’t pick me.” It was no use.
“Where are my clothes? I am allowed to wear something, right?” He lowered his
eyes over her sheet-covered body and every part of her quivered, in a very bad,
but good, way. She tugged the satin material tighter as if it was a shield from
his view. He brought his gaze back to hers and his twinkling eyes offended her,
yet excited her. She’d need to see a therapist after this.
He laughed. How
could he think this was humorous?
“Of course
clothes are permitted. That is until you decide you want to frolic naked. It’s
such a feeling of freedom, not to mention, without all of that material in the
way it’s much easier to gain access to the lovely parts.”
Her face
flamed with heat. She wanted to tell him just what she thought, but knew he’d
give her some egotistical response. For now, she needed to get dressed.
“Clothes? Where are they? White top, black pants.”
“You can’t wear those.” He turned his
back to her and went to the wardrobe. “I’ve already thrown them out.”
“Thrown them
out? Why?” Bronte wanted to scream. She
watched him take out clothes from the cabinet, thinking he was going to give
her something to wear, but instead he shook out a pair of dark denims and
started to put them on. Her eyeballs itched to watch his tight backside, but
she refused herself the pleasure. Nope,
she wouldn’t do it. But as the jeans moved upward, her gaze went downward.
She swore the man was a devil with power. And to top it off, his sex was
hard…again. Did it ever deflate? She wondered how he’d fit himself inside the
pants?
He turned and
she made sure her stare was on his face. “They were spotted with blood.”
“Huh?” Her
mind was confused.
“Your
clothes. That’s what we were talking about.”
“And whose
fault is it that they were bloody?” She huffed.
“Relax,
Bronte. That color of pale doesn’t work for you,” he said as he passed her to
the door. With his back to her, she wondered if she had time to find something
to crack him over the head. She scanned the room until his voice snapped her into
reality. “Tsk, tsk. Such brutal thoughts for a wisp of a woman. I’m not sure
you could reach high enough. I liked you admiring my body much better.”
She opened
her mouth to blast him with a four-letter word when her mind wrapped around the
fact that he’d just read her thoughts. Every hair on her body stood erect. It
wasn’t the first time he seemed to know what she was thinking.
He looked at
her over his shoulder. “Do you think you can behave outside of the confines of
this room? I’d hate to tie your wrists again. Touching you is much more
tempting when you’re bound and pissed off.” He wriggled his brows.
“You’re
unbelievable,” she snarled.
“Unbelievable
is not the right word, sweetheart. I haven’t lied to you once to earn that label.”
He smirked. “Now, answer the question or I’ll leave you in here until you lose
some of that ladylike charm.”
“I deserve
answers to my questions as well.” Her
strength was weakening. Her hope of getting away was fading. This man had her
right where he wanted her, but she refused to give up. Maybe he’d come to his
senses.
His jaw
loosened and his features softened. “You’re right. In time, you’ll get the
answers you want. For now, let’s go to your room. Your new clothes are in
there.”
“My room?” The words spilled out like a
bitter morsel of veracity. She had a room. He planned to keep her. The madness
grew deeper.
He reached
above the frame of the door and grabbed the key. She bit her bottom lip. So that was his hiding place. He opened
the thick wooden door and stepped back, motioning for her to lead the way into
the hall. “Remember what I said, fiery wench. Bounds and defiance are
irresistible to me. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment you cocked me in
the jaw.”
He only
mocked her, but she wasn’t ready to test him. “Get over yourself and show me
this room,” she said with animosity. “And then I hope I can have some privacy.”
“Ladies
first.”
Walking into
the hall, she looked around her. She half expected a camera crew to jump out
from behind the scenes, yelling, “You’ve been punked.” No such luck. She moved farther down the corridor, fully
aware he was following her, like a predator.
“Here we
are,” he said and she stopped at the closed doorway. It figured he’d have her
next door to his own bedroom. He pushed past her and unlocked the door, then
dropped the key back into his front pocket. He opened the door. “After you,
sweetheart.”
Bronte wasn’t
sure what she’d been expecting of the room. She wouldn’t have imagined it’d be
extravagant, yet it was a bedroom fit for a queen—superbly designed and
tastefully furnished. He’d gone to great lengths in every detail, making her
wonder if he’d done all of this for her. She’d only seen rooms like this in
magazines.
From the
doorway, she admired the white wall with the intricate pearlescent stencil
design, which was contemporary and sophisticated. Silk curtains framed the
queen bed, which was adorned with matching bright mulberry colored bedding.
Delicate crystal beads hung on one side of the bed, catching the rich colors of
the blanket. Beautiful oil paintings of flowers and cherubs hung on the walls,
elaborating on the romantic theme. French doors led to a balcony.
“Well, are
you going to go in?” Roark asked from behind her.
“Yes, I guess
I should.” She was in awe as she strolled further into the suite, wanting to
bask in its beauty but she wouldn’t allow him the pleasure. “So, where are my
clothes?”
“You’ll find
everything you need in here. Clothes are in the drawers. The bathroom is here.”
He pointed to a door to her right.
“Okay. You
can go now.” The quicker he was out of her hair the sooner she could get dressed
and get plotting her getaway.
He seemed to
hesitate and then nodded. “Come downstairs in thirty minutes.”
“Sure, Master.”
“Your
attitude is improving already.”
She gritted
her teeth. He stepped out, closed the door behind him and she heard his
laughter all the way down the hall. “Bastard,” she whispered. She half expected
him to pop back in and scold her.
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