Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Welcome guest author--Christi Williams




CW Perilous Promise3.jpg
Perilous Promises is the second sensual contemporary romance in the Hawk Point Romances series by Christi Williams. Perilous Promises was published August 1, 2013 by Whiskey Creek Press/Torrid Books. The series began with Take a Chance on Love, published April 15, 2013 by WCP.

Perilous Promises blurb:
Her ex-husband wants to save her. Her brother wants to save her. Her co-workers want to save her. She can survive anything except the men who love her.          
Perris Dalton doesn’t need a man. She left southwest Wyoming broken, so transformed by fighting cancer even her big hunk of a lawman couldn’t make love to her. Now she’s back.
Her new job is to mitigate conflicts with raptors at a power plant’s coal mine. There’s no reason for her path to cross her ex-husband’s. But when an environmental demonstration inexplicably centers in on her, Sheriff Noah Dalton steps in, confident he can win back the woman who once walked out on him.
As the demonstration spirals into personal attacks, Noah, Perris’s father the sheep rancher, and her brother the college student hatch a secret plot to protect her.
In an epic contest of wills with a lone woman survivor used to solving her own problems, and three Western heroes just as determined to save her, all hell starts to break loose.

Perilous Promises excerpt:
Perris Dalton climbed the flight of steps to the third floor of the county courthouse, the sound of the heels on her stylish new leather boots echoing in the empty stairwell. She didn’t know why she’d felt compelled to go out and buy all new clothing for today’s appearance before the judge, but she had: cropped, close-fitting cowhide jacket, black wool pants, and perky plum boots.
Head to toe, she knew she looked good. She’d had her short black hair styled the day before. The untameable curls, which grew in place of the long, straight locks that had fallen out in clumps, had now been straightened and framed her face in delicate wisps. She had taken extra care with her makeup, but she thought the effect was worth it. The hot little number reflected in the mirror certainly didn’t resemble the pallid, sickly creature Noah had pitied so much.
That woman, that poor, overwhelmed woman bowed by sickness and surgery and chemo, had vanished. In her place stood the new Perris Dalton. The Perris who’d taken control of her destiny, wrenched it forcefully away from the doctors and Noah, and decided once and for all to flee the man who threatened to smother her with sorrow.
If no one else understood her sudden decision to divorce him, not her family, friends, or even her lawyer, she knew Noah did. As her foot descended to the final riser and she saw him standing there in the hallway with his lawyer, she knew that he had at last accepted that she was leaving him. From the defeated slump of his broad shoulders to the muted glint of dim lighting off his blond hair as he lowered his head to peer glumly at some legal document his attorney held out for his inspection, Perris read acceptance of her decision in every line of Noah’s tall, powerful body.
As she studied the man she was still married to for the next little while, the man she loved with every fiber of her being and yet couldn’t bear to live with any longer, she began to shake. The quaking got so bad, she shot a hand out to grasp the railing to keep herself from toppling backwards down the stairs.
She had thought determination alone would see her through. She hadn’t realized it would be so hard to finally go through with it.

Perilous Promises buy links:
Kindle

Take a Chance on Love buy links:

Kindle

Nook


Christi Williams bio and links:
My fiction is contemporary, so the settings and the characters are completely modern and struggle with today’s issues. But the men and women in my writing leave a big footprint, because their personalities and their solutions to problems hark back to the iconic days which really don’t exist anymore. My characters truly live by the Code of the West.

Christi Williams writes contemporary sensual romance set in Wyoming. My strong heroines love cowboys and lawmen! I love hearing from readers, so please contact me.

Twitter: @writerchristi https://twitter.com/WriterChristi
blog: Some Like It Hotter http://writerchristi.blogspot.com/
The Romance Reviews http://www.theromancereviews.com/writerchristi


Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Haunted Open House Giveaway Blog Hop



http://hauntedopenhouse.blogspot.com/2013/09/haunted-open-house-giveaway-blog-hop.html
Nancy Gideon's Haunted Open House Hop Graphic - Large.png
Two commenters will win an ebook copy of Wicked Pleasures (Book 1 of the Wicked Wolves Series) Winners will be chosen randomly. Good luck!!!!!


I love Halloween. It's a favorite time of year for me. With all of the color changes, the brisk mornings, the scents that remind me of home...what's not to love?


I also enjoy Haunted Houses and Trails. I'm always looking for one with a spectacular spook rating. Honestly, I'm not easily frightened. In fact, I tend to laugh at spook. It's not a nervous laugh, but a humorous one. 


A few weeks ago, my husband and I, along with friends, went a few hours away to visit a haunted trail that we'd heard could scare the panties off of the bravest. I was skeptical, of course, considering I haven't been spooked by a goblin since I stopped wearing pigtails. But I was up for the challenge. When we arrived I was happy to find a short line. We'd arrived early to beat the crowds. I'm a bit impatient. As we waited, dressed-up characters zombie-walked the perimeter and some Johnny Depp look alike drove a souped up hearse around. Not bad, but definitely not scary.


Then it was our turn to aboard the topless school bus. At this point, I was more concerned with the approaching rain cloud than the looming killer holding a switchblade. Once the bus began it's path into the dark woods, I was curious who hid in the rows of corn to my right. I mean, isn't that the ultimate scare tactic? Jump out from the corn stalk like a deranged kid from Children of the Corn? I was a bit disappointed...no creatures lurked in the corn.


I'm a critic. But I've got to give credit where credit is due. The decorations were real enough looking and having zombie-like characters jumping on the bus with chainsaws, swords and blades can be a little daunting and the semi that chased us for a good half mile spiked the adrenaline a touch. I guess it was the wetness that ruined it for me. Before we were halfway done on the forty-five minute ride, the sky had opened and let out the biggest roar...a rain storm. It's hard to have fun when one's panties are soaked--with rain, that is.


Ride came to an end. Dripping and cold, we exited. As we were walking out we decided (well, I didn't. The men who had body mass to keep them warm decided) to check out the haunted house. At least it was inside, out of the rain.


Inside, they had a nice little set up. I'm thinking the entire time how much fun my kids would have here. My hubby is in the lead, and following close behind was the bestie, who WAS scared and had us cracking up laughing at his fear. Yes, I'm a great friend, I know...


And then it happens. I'm led into a narrow, dark tunnel. My worst fear. Seriously. Not I'm-spooked-this-is-great fear. I'm talking get-me-the-hell-out-before-I-hurt-someone fear. As the tunnel becomes narrower, and I'm certain we will be stuck here, in this hole, forever, I stop turn and tell my friend "Move it! I'm coming out!" Running him down while gritting my teeth to keep from peeing my pants (never any fun involved when one soaks their panties with pee), panting like I'd run a marathon, I come face-to-face with a group of teens who had the nerve to tell me, "We can't go back. The guy out there told us we have to finish. Sorry." My response, "Get the hell out of my way or I will go through you, over you, around you...got it?" The path was cleared. It must have been the demon-like tone in my voice. I'm remembering how useful it is so that I can conjure it at home when my kids misbehave.


Salvation. I've found the open room where I can breathe, only to be met by some awkward spidey-man-wanna-be who said, "You're not supposed to, but you can use a light." Great! How thoughtful of Spidey, considering we didn't have a light!


My hubby, who knows me better than anyone. He has seen me through the birth of our children, through anger and many other obstacles, then turns to me, "You can do this. Just hold on to me." And as I look at his calming face, his sincere gaze, his reassuring smile I pat him lovingly on the cheek. And then, I say, "Screw you!" And I'm gone like a ghost.


Happy Halloween!!!!




Buy Link:

http://www.amazon.com/Wicked-Pleasures-Wolves-ebook/dp/B00F1JX2X2/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1382446350&sr=1-10&keywords=rhonda+lee+carver
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.



Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Guest Author--Mia Downing

JustAsk_w7625_750.jpgI am very pleased to welcome the talented Mia Downing. Thank you, Mia, for dropping by.

And readers, make sure you enter to win!!!!

Hi, I’m Mia Downing and I want to thank Rhonda Lee for having me today. I’m celebrating the release of Just Ask to print! I actually just got the email that I can purchase them, so going to give away a digital copy unless someone is willing to wait a few weeks for them to come in. If you’re not into m/m have no fear, I’ll set you up with a different book.
One of the things I loved most about Just Ask was the setting of a fictitious island in Fiji. I’ve never been to a tropical location and probably never will since I have Lupus and am very sun-sensitive. So it was really fun to live vicariously through my two hunky characters. Jordan Hill is from New York City and has probably never been to a jungle. I researched a lot of different aspects— the islands, ocean reefs, the culture, the food, the people.
There are two features on the island that play an important part in the story—the waterfall, and the extinct volcano. The waterfall is something out of my dreams. I think they’re sexy and romantic, and I’ve always wanted to be able to frolic under one. A few important scenes take place there—Jordan and Ryan’s first meeting, the release of Blake’s ashes, and later a very special sex scene.
The volcano is just plain fun. Besides being a lush, green entity that gives birth to the waterfall, it also offers a moment of comic relief in a time when both men are distraught. Jordan, being from the city, is pretty sure the volcano will erupt despite all odds. And Ryan realizes his joking fear is actually stemming from the recent loss of a shared friend/relative.
Below is the blurb so you can get an idea of the characters, and a short excerpt.
Blurb for Just Ask
When business mogul Jordan Hill inherits half of Bendura Island Resort, a posh vacation destination in the Fiji Islands, the will demands he release his half uncle's ashes somewhere on the island and that he indulge in a real vacation before he sells. As Jordan is reeling with grief and under good circumstances doesn't do vacations, especially if they include horses and looming volcanoes, he finds himself on uneven footing. The footing turns treacherous as Jordan realizes, for the first time in his life, he's attracted to a man--his new business partner.
For resort entrepreneur Ryan McCale, Bendura Island is a dream come true as well as his livelihood. He was warned Jordan would try to sell sight unseen, and after meeting him, there's no doubt the business shark has dollar signs in his eyes. But there's also vulnerability and desire in that chocolate gaze. Suddenly, Ryan's looking forward to showing Jordan the delights of the island and hoping to convince his new partner Bendura could be his dream, too.
This book is an erotic romance. It contains explicit language, hot m/m lovin', light kink, two gorgeous guys, horses, and an impending insurance nightmare of a volcano. Enjoy!

An excerpt from Just Ask, featuring the waterfall!
Out of the lush jungle, off the side of the imposing volcano, flowed a waterfall. Not the kind you could go over in a barrel, either. This one streamed down like some entity had turned on a huge hose and aimed it over the rocks above, down to this crystal pool at the bottom. The kind of waterfall you wanted to sprint around naked under, like a shower, then dive off the rocks into the pool below. Then climb out and have wild sex like crazed teens on the rocks.
Jordan took a deep breath of the imposing oxygen and wondered if one, he owned said waterfall he wanted to have sex under. Two, how much would said waterfall net him in the sale.
Three, how much would it cost him to get Ryan to bring him back here. Alone. To lay Blake to rest, sure, but if that weren’t on the agenda, he’d still make that trip. No, that wasn’t right. He should want to have lunch with Ryan, get to know him like a true business partner, not celebrate hedonism like Blake would.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ryan murmured.
“You think Trigger’s seen a waterfall before?”
“No waterfalls like this in Texas.” Ryan smiled serenely at Jordan. “I left a whole world behind for this waterfall. Crazy, I know. But every time I see it, especially at this time of the day… kind of drives home why I did this.”
“The rides don’t usually come here?”
“No. This is a special trip. Usually we take clients down the beach to play in the waves. There’s a trip Saturday night that goes out to a location where we have a feast, complete with roast pig, fresh fish and seafood, and traditional island entertainment— called a meke. The riders stay the night in beach bungalows and we return the next morning at sunrise. We have five different trips, so clients can go out every day and see a different aspect of the island. But we only do this ride under certain circumstances, and we only take a small group.”
How had his PA known this was the trip Jordan had to take? Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so anxious about not having a cell phone. If Brownie tumbled down the hill, he was already one step closer to heaven.
But Brownie was as sure-footed as a garden gnome, meandering along in that plod of his between the dark volcanic rocks. The plants here were softer, and a few had flowers of some sort. Pretty. Not tasty, because Brownie let them be. Finally, the group came to rest at the bottom, halting next to the crystal clear pool of water.
The waterfall was actually farther away than he realized, because Ryan only had to shout a little to be heard. “The story told by the islanders is that a brave warrior of sorts sat on those rocks up there,” he pointed to an outcrop near the origin of the waterfall, “and watched the ocean for his love to come back from a wedding trip on another island. There was no waterfall or pool at the time.
“But a cyclone blew in and he was sure his sweetheart had perished. So he dove off those rocks to his death, only to be found later in the day by his soul mate who had survived the storm. The waterfall appeared, representing the tears of the couple, the pool a tribute to their undying love.”
The other clients oohed and ahhed at Ryan’s crock-of-shit story, probably the traditional, cliché crap every tourist expected to hear about a waterfall. Jordan snorted and shook his head.
“What,” Ryan asked, laughter sparking in his blue eyes as he dismounted from the quiet Trigger. “Don’t believe in the power of love?”
“No woman is worth diving off a cliff for.” At least none he had met thus far. He knew a lot of women, and for some reason, not a one did it for him. It wasn’t like he had a shitty past, either. His parents were happily married, as were his grandparents. There was absolutely no reason for him to think that way, except for the fact that he hadn’t met the right one, he guessed.
“Who said he dove off for a woman?” Ryan’s smile turned knowing, as if he held all the secrets and Jordan had none.
Jordan’s heart picked up the pace a little, his palms sweaty on the reins, unsure if Ryan was proclaiming his sexuality or challenging Jordan’s.
Buy Links for Just Ask


Don’t forget to leave a comment to win a book! What’s your idea of the perfect, sexy vacation? Don’t forget your email! Thanks again to Rhonda Lee for hosting me.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Is bigger better?

Bigger isn't always better...right? Sometimes size can get in the way. 

Here are some things that you may want enormous...

1. An engagement ring. Yup, who can disagree? I'd say that a lot of women would say that size matters when it comes to a diamond.

2. Penis size. This has been a topic of debate for as long as I can remember...and way before I was a twinkle in anyone's eye. Does size make a difference? I believe it depends on who you ask.  I can think of a few advantages to a larger size, but we shouldn't dismiss the beholder's skill. For instance, a Porsche isn't large, but rides like a dream. 

3. Chocolate bar. Yes! Yes! Yes! I'll take a big one, please and thank you.

4. A big head. Uhh...not sure. I've always heard that a big head holds a lot of brain matter. I'd beg to differ. A big "head" can sometime get you into "big" trouble. 

5. Paycheck. This is a given!

6. A story with large amounts of sensuality...here's one you may like.



Buy: http://www.amazon.com/Sin-with-Cuffs-ebook/dp/B00CXGC8A4/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=8-5&qid=1382050475
Excerpt:
In three quick strides, he crossed the distance between them. Fire lit his dark eyes and resentment marked his expression. “How dare you come back here! Who the hell do you think you are? No one wants you here. Especially not me.”
“Who the hell do you think you are? Being Chief of Police doesn’t make you king. Not everyone in this town holds a grudge or is broken hearted. After all, when you married Tiffany, you made our promises null and void.” She treaded down an unsafe path, she knew, yet there was no stopping the overpowering need to set things straight. If he wanted to pick a fight, she’d give him one to remember.
“Don’t mention my marriage. You don’t know everything either. I realize you’d like to turn the blame on me, but you didn’t see me sneaking away like a thief in the middle of the night.”
“It’s not about who’s to blame. I believe a man who truly loves a woman doesn’t turn around and marry another a few months later. Did you think of the consequences? Did you realize it felt like a slap in my face? The difference is, I don’t walk around with a mountain-sized chip on my shoulder and taking it out on everyone around me.” Before she thought of her actions, she stabbed her finger into the middle of his brawny chest. He took another small step and she dropped her hand to her side. His heat engulfed her.
“You left. No goodbye. No reason.” His voice was dangerously low. The area around one eye flinched.
“You’re a broken record.” She could have screamed, but instead she only managed a whisper. “We can’t keep going over this. I want to stay in Raven but it seems everything is working against me. Ghost, teens, whoever they are. Is it possible just once I can get a break? You can imagine why I disappeared. If only you’d understand—”
“Stop rambling.”
She lifted her chin and looked at him. He pulled her hard against his solid body and drove his mouth down on hers with the intensity of a starved man. At first, his kiss lacked of tenderness and caring, but that changed. He forced her lips open and slid his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. She knew he wanted to prove a point and he used seduction and masculinity as a weapon. With her balled fists, she pounded his burly chest but gave little effort in pushing him away. His taste of mint and man melted her barrier. Every muscle in her body pulsated. Her nipples tingled and she could feel them bead against the material of her top.
Passion had buried itself within her bones long ago and it lured her with stunning temptation. Each painful beat of her heart called his name, begging for release from years of torment. She couldn’t resist the sweet agony or urge. She’d become a demon’s lust as her inner thighs throbbed. To deny it would be to cut her heart out because that’s where her feelings for Liam were hidden. Every beat pumped poison through her veins. He was a drug, the worst possible kind.
Struggling was useless. She’d rather breathe one last breath in his arms than breathe a billion more without him.
She slowly brought her arms around his neck, molding her body against his. His muscles relaxed and he felt like the old Liam, yet different somehow. He’d never been this bold or aggressive, and she couldn’t remember ever wanting him this much. Brawnier and manlier, he’d become the man she’d dreamt of night after night—the hero who swept in and demanded her love. She’d cried into her pillow aching for him for the last ten years. Now, the way he roped her into his tantalizing web, he knew exactly what she wanted. Only he could gratify the longing that pooled inside her core.
Smoothing her hand down his muscular back, she came to the waistband and dipped her fingers inside. Lowering her hand past his boxers, she cupped his firm ass.

He grabbed her wrist and tugged her hand away. Cold slipped in between them as he moved backward. Seconds passed as his rejection invaded her sex-induced brain.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

My Take On Porn

I think my first true peek into porn was about the age of thirteen. A friend and I found her mom's dirty mags and sifted through the pages, giggling all the while which certainly added to the entertainment. I don't remember much from the pics, except that I found many of the positions a bit odd.

Is that when I decided that I wanted to write romance? Nope!

My next taste of porn came later, and I was more mature. Naked parts, springs squeaking, husky moans and naughty words. Did this turn me to writing? Hell no!

I have lots of friends who love (used loosely) porn. They swear that it provides that certain zap to their relationship, or for my single friends, they use it because, well, they're going through a coupling dry spell. Go for it! I'm not here to judge, and no one else should either.

So...this is MY point about porn. I don't write it. That should be the end of story, but no, there are still those who have no clue what "porn" is. I'm going to give you my two-cent definition. Porn is the display of sexual activity for sexual arousal! In porn, there is no sensuality or building a connection. No storyline. Two, three, four, or more people get together and screw. Some people like this...and that's great. But that's NOT what I write! Shall I repeat that or is it clear yet?

While promoting my paranormal romance, Wicked Pleasures, I posted the cover art on an FB group and got a reply back..."Rhonda, we do not post porn on this site!" Yikes! However, if this certain person would have read my book, and not judged, she would have seen that it's NOT porn. Well, maybe, considering that a lot of people have a sloppy definition of true porn vs. sensuality.

We live in a society that likes sex. Some may disagree--and now it's time for that one person to go back to the island where they've been stranded for the last fifty years. Look at any magazine cover, any commercial, the music we listen to and the films we watch. Sex sales. Okay...I'm still not to my point.

What female did not read a romance novel and fantasize about a hero coming to sweep her off her feet? Did I read a romance and got hooked? YES! And that's when I knew what I wanted to do when I grew up. It wasn't about the sex. The sensuality and seduction was the draw. The fantasy of love. And that is what I write. Maybe you're not into romance novels. That's fine. It's possible you go for the bloody, horror books. Or...the thriller where there is a mystery to solve. These genres don't make you a psychopath or the next Michael Myers. Just like I hate lima beans. Should you hate lima beans also? How boring life would be if we all liked the same things.

Another biggie for me--The erotic book industry is not destroying the minds of our children. We should take a cold look at what IS destroying the minds of our population. Possibly the lack of compassion people have for others, the fading of kindness, the expectations that our children should grow up at the age of five--and that's a whole different blog.

To end this lightly, I'm giving you a sample of my latest release--Wicked Pleasures. Pick it up now and prepare yourself for Book 2 of the Wicked Wolves series, Wicked Lust. Comment on this blog and you will be entered to win a copy. Good luck!






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.