Welcome Elaina Lee

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My guest today is my fabulous cover artist Elaina Lee. Elaina did the cover of A New Dream for me. Elaina, welcome. I'm not as savvy on a computer as you are so I'm afraid my cover is a bit bigger than yours which I snagged from Facebook. Sorry about that. For the benefit of those who may not know you, can you tell us a little bit about yourself?

Sure! I am Elaina Lee, romance author and cover artist.  I'm mother to a toddler and a teenager. Talk about a big job, LOL! We didn't plan for the age gap to be quite so large, but life happens and we wouldn't have it any other way.

I love the cover you did for A New Dream. Could you walk us through the process you use when you create covers?

Yay, I'm so glad you love your cover! And oh gosh, it's a long process! First I start with your cover art sheet (I wrote a blog about how important it is to fill out your cover art sheet, you can find it here), then I do an often lengthy search for images. This is one of the hardest parts. Then I start creating your cover by removing portions of the images I need and placing them into one main image that will eventually become your cover. When I'm finished, I show it to Stephanie (or the author if it's freelance) and we start on what's the most time consuming portion of cover art creating: the final touches. Then I send it to the author, holding my breath. Waiting for what the author thinks is anxiety inducing for me, LOL! I'm so impatient and I want to know right away if they love or hate what I created to represent their book.

What set of skills are necessary for the creation of a book cover? An artistic eye and I think a level of perfectionism. You have to have that bug that drives you crazy when something doesn't look right or isn't set up perfectly. And patience, lots and lots of patience.

Let’s change focus for a moment. You write as well as do fab covers, so tell us a little bit about your writing.

Right now I have a romantic suspense, published by Noble Romance and a contemporary romance soon to be released by Decadent Publishing. My romantic suspense, Written in Blood, much to my shock and amazement, received Honorable Mention for LoveRomancesCafe Best Romantic Suspense of 2010. I'm still handing out hugs to everyone who voted for me. *grin*

I would too! Would you share your links with us so we can find you on the web?

Absolutely! My websites are www.elainalee.com and www.forthemusedesign.com and my blog is www.elaina-lee.blogspot.com

We’d love to read an excerpt. Don’t forget to give us a buy link.

If only she knew the temptation she caused, the start of a war between craving and reluctance bursting to life within him. "Aside from our being strangers, I don't want to lose my job, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to lose yours. You've worked as hard as I have, if not harder, to get where you are in your career. Why waste your status on what would be nothing more than one night?"

"Are you concerned about me or you?"

Tossing the jacket to the small backseat, he asked, "Do you really care what my answer will be?"

She looked out the window, her face disappearing in heavy shadows. "Honestly? No, I don't, but give me one all the same."

Alek glanced over his shoulder at the oncoming traffic before opening his door. He stepped out, closed the door quickly, before venturing around the front of the car. Opening her door, he held his hand down to help her out and said, "I'm concerned about the mutual damage we will cause each other. Is that a good enough answer for you?"

The wind blew wisps of dark hair across her skin. The soft angles of her face illuminated under the streetlamp's yellow lighting. With an annoyed flick of her hand, she cast the strands away. "That's fair."

"I'm glad you agree," he said, closing the door. Stepping to the side, he motioned for her to walk forward, though he made no movement to do so himself. "Have a good night, Ms. Crisdean."

She walked up the brick stairs, pulling keys out of her purse. Then, just before she opened the community front door, she turned and glanced down at him. Alek raised a brow and took the few steps to the bottom of the stairs, meeting her gaze.

"You know," she began, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised by this little air of mysterious danger you constantly seem to have around you. But I am. So much surrounded your name, I figured you wouldn't live up the hype. No one ever does."

"You have so far."

An alluring smile crossed her lips. "Why, thank you; hopefully I won't disappoint you in the future."

This little game they played was becoming precarious, yet Alek could not stop, too intrigued by what her next words or actions would be. "Somehow, I find that highly unlikely."

"Mmm." She drew out, sending a shiver racing up Alek's spine. "Too bad you probably won't ever find out."

Alek let his gaze wander from her exposed ankles to the breeze-teased fabric blowing around her thighs. Higher still, his eyes shifted, along the smooth, flat planes of her abdomen to the soft mounds of her full breasts—perfect breasts, just bigger than what he could hold in his hand. Finally, he settled on her beautiful face. An expression of both exasperation and humor danced in her eyes and toyed at her still kiss-swollen lips.

"You keep this up, Lyndi, and I'll find out sooner than you may like."

BUY LINK - http://www.amazon.com/Written-in-Blood-ebook/dp/B004GXAYZ8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1299334424&sr=1-1

Thank you so much, Elaine!!!

Thank you for coming. This is a nice excerpt. Makes me want to find out what happens next. Readers, A New Dream will be out on March 15 at http://www.astraeapress.com .

Yvonne Eve Walus

Today I'm spotlighting Yvonne Walus who's a new author for me. Here's a blurb to tell you about her book.

EVERY MARRIAGE NEEDS A TOUCH OF MYSTERY. OR DOES IT?

In the new free South Africa of 1994, men are still boss, women carry handguns for self-protection and some mistakes can change your life forever.

When a body is found during their weekend away with friends, Christine Chamberlain must use her brilliant mathematical mind to prove her husband’s innocence...

... whether he’s innocent or not.

When it comes to your loved ones, is it possible to know too much?


PRAISE FOR “MURDER @ WORK”:
• "A great read. Very witty. Very fresh."
• "An insight into South Africa without being bogged down with facts."
• "Excellent dialogue."
• “... a very hard book to put down, and is a great weekend read. The chapters are short and you quickly make progress. The characters are engaging, and well constructed, the plot is more complex than it first seems, and it will have you guessing until the last page. “

And now, let's read an excerpt:

Anonymous letters are always a cliché. In South Africa, they can also be deadly.
This one would contain no explosives or wires. Just a plain envelope and a photocopy of words cut out from newspapers.
How many copies?
Five. One for every guy at the Election Day after-party.
Or perhaps only four?
Yes, that would be truly brilliant. Only four. ...




"Every marriage needs a glaze of mystery," her husband had said last night. "Even ours could do with a secret or three."

Christine Chamberlain thought theirs could do without.

Whoever said jealousy was green, must have been colour-blind. Black. That was the colour. The pink and yellow sunrise was black, the sound of birds pecking at the apricot tree outside was black, and black was the smell of warm dusty soil. African black was the new, well, black.

Although, in the New South Africa, perhaps it was not politically correct to think that way. Perhaps she should stick to green. Green jealous thoughts, green sunrise, green birdsong, green smell of parched soil…yeah, right.

Christine's gaze shifted to Tom. They had fallen asleep together, as usual, entwined like lovers. This morning they woke up apart. As usual.

Tom lay on his side, his tanned back towards her, his sexy blond spikes limp from the heat. Yet Christine did not roll closer to curve her body around his. She clenched her jaw, remembering.

Last night's movie came back to haunt her. The music. The words.
Though I have all faith so that I could move mountains, if I have not love, I am nothing...

* * *

Though I speak with the tongues of angels, if I have not love, I have nothing, she mused on the way to the bathroom. She ran her bath on the cool side of tepid. It was going to be another scorching South African summer day.
Reclining in the water, Christine made a mental list of the weekend tasks.
One, vacuum the threadbare carpet of their start-up home. Most white South Africans employed a daily domestic cleaner, of course. Most white South Africans had a swimming pool too, and didn't have to rely on tepid baths in order to start the day cool and refreshed.

So, one, vacuuming.

Two, grocery shopping.

Three, finish reading that mathematics article….

Is that how much fun other married couples had every Saturday?

Four–

Tom's broad-shouldered form, clad in a summer bathrobe for decency's sake in case the neighbours developed x-ray vision, appeared in the bathroom door. His 'hi' was automatic, his kiss programmed into his subconscious routine.
"Yesterday's post, Dr Chamberlain."

He placed the envelopes on the edge of the tub and busied himself with the comb.

Yep, this was exactly how much fun married couples usually had on Saturday mornings. A naked wife and a semi-naked husband, in the bathroom together, gelling their hair and reading the previous day's post.

Tom looked at her reflection in the mirror. "Why the glum face this morning?"

Why, indeed. They had been out the previous night. After the movie they had stopped for a drink. Several drinks, in fact. The film had made an impact that needed drowning.

As soon as they'd sat down at the table, a Mexican waitress arrived. She had legs that defied all biological explanation, a wedge of lemon in her teeth and a bottle of tequila in each of the twin holsters. Before Christine could analyse how that made her feel, the waitress drew the tequila bottle in one smooth almost invisible gesture. Christine saw Tom's hand glide towards his hip in a matching movement.

"So what's with the instinct to draw? You don't even carry a gun," Christine had asked after they had gulped their shots.

That's when Tom had said the thing about every marriage needing a mystery. Then he ordered another tequila, this time with salt. The salt had arrived on the waitress's wrist.

At least it was not in her navel, thought Christine now, as she seethed in her cool bath.

No. That was all wrong. The secret of a successful marriage was to act as though you already had one. As simple as that.

"See? No more glum face," she replied.

She stood up in the bathtub and pressed her cheek to Tom's bare back, leaving a cool wet imprint. Tom turned to her, the comb forgotten.

Many satisfying minutes later she slid back into the tub and looked through the post. She liked her weekend ritual of sorting and reading the letters in the bath.

There was a thick envelope from the bank: pages and pages of their expenses recorded in depressing rows. A large, offensively decorated envelope promised a win of ten thousand Rand if acted upon promptly. A manila envelope with a plastic window….

"This one's addressed to you," Christine said. "You handle it."

"But it's meant for you. It's from your gynaecologist. The day I have a pap smear, I'll pay for it, but meanwhile, perhaps you could ask him to send his bills directly to you."

Christine shrugged. "The day a woman can buy a house in this country without her husband's permission, the day a woman can walk into a South African bar–"

"I know. And the day your married-woman income is taxed at the same low rate as mine, that's when you'll pay your doctors' bills yourself."

The repartee was academic, since they pooled their meagre resources. South Africa was still South Africa, despite the first free and fair election seven months earlier. The man was still the head of the household, with power over all matters financial, even if the wife was the main breadwinner.

"Too bloody right," murmured Christine.

The next piece of mail was addressed to Mrs. C. Wodehouse, instead of Dr. C. Chamberlain. Christine threw it into the bathroom dustbin unopened. It wasn't the omission of her academic title that annoyed her, it was Tom's surname stitched onto her initial. What next? Mrs. Tom Wodehouse? She had kept her maiden name in defiance of the chauvinist ways permeating the country's social conventions. Come to think of it, that defiance was one of the driving forces behind her getting a doctorate in the first place, and in a 'male' subject like maths, too.

The beige envelope with an intricate pattern felt thick and smooth under her fingers. The card inside matched the envelope, the words laser-printed, keeping up with the latest technology of the 1990s.

Dear Christine,

The fanfares announce that finally I'm free,
would you believe it, I got my degree,
Maths has relinquished another PhD,
so grab your significant other and hastily join me,
for a fun weekend at Bay Street five three.

P.S. Dress up or dress down, play a part, not the clown.

The invitation made the world seem a little less black. Basil was notorious for churning out absurd rhymes. 'A fat cat sat on a mat and with a pat of a bat had a chat with a rat,' began one of his typical epics.

Wordlessly, she handed the invitation to Tom.

Tom took his time spitting out the toothpaste. "Are we going?"

"What do you mean, 'are we going'?"

Tom sat on the edge of the bath.

"I just don't think it's such a good idea. Not after what happened at the Election Day party. It just wouldn't work anymore, Christine, all of us together."

The last thing Christine wanted to talk about was the Election Day party and the way their loyal group of friends had crumbled that night.

To avoid the memories, she put on a naughty grin. "You mean, the fact that we went through four rubbers that night?"

"We did? I don't recall playing bridge."

They laughed together, the way a couple should laugh. For a moment, a too brief a moment, all was well.

"You do know I still see Daniel occasionally? Despite the break-up of our group?" It came out more challenging than she had anticipated.

Tom scowled. "Yes, occasionally being the operative word here. But the whole weekend? That's what I call an overdose."

"Jealous, are we?" She smiled through her anger. Daniel had been a teenage romance, a friend more than a boyfriend.

"It's not that." Tom's tone was dismissive. "It's the whole idea of all of us together. Imagine the atmosphere."

"The atmosphere will hardly be antagonistic. Alice is not with Daniel anymore. Basil…Basil will cope. Why else would he be inviting us all?"

He shrugged an unconvinced shrug. "Sure."

Christine swallowed hard. Alice. Alice with her black wavy hair, twisting like leeches along her back, all the way to her–she hated to admit it–shapely buttocks. Alice with her smile that made men pull in their stomachs and pull out their guns to compare sizes. Alice the artist. Alice the free spirit. Alice the woman of mystery. How could a mousy mathematician compete?

Christine slid deeper into the bath, allowing the water to soak her hair even though she hadn't intended to wash it. Her thoughts melted into the cheap foam. Although a luxury, or even midrange, bath oil was not out of their financial league, her prudence usually opted for the eight Rand saving.

"Would you be a darling and bring your wife some chocolates?" she murmured.

Why is he allowed to mind about Daniel but I'm not allowed to mind about Alice?

"Chocolates in the bath? No way. That's decadence. Sampling life's riches does not spell happiness, darling. But I'll wash your back, if you like."

"I like." Christine soaped the sponge and pressed it into his hand. It was good, but not good enough.

The Romans didn't know chocolate, and so their decadence must have been seriously lacking.

"Tom, there's something for you in that pile of mail. And it's not from my gynie."

"From whom is it, then?"

"It doesn't say." The rough sponge felt delicious between her shoulder blades. "Perhaps it's from your secret lover."

"I don't have a secret lover. Open it."

Inside was a single photocopied page. The text was made up of fragments of newspaper headlines glued onto a sheet then photocopied. Christine stared at the words:

YOU AND ALICE.
THAT IS WHY
I WILL KILL YOU.

Frozen acid pooled in the pit of Christine's stomach. The world became blacker, much blacker than before.

LINKS
• website: http://yewalus.kiwiwebhost.net.nz/
• blog: http://yewalus.blogspot.com/
• facebook: http://www.facebook.com/yvonne.walus
• book trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJpbOiFkPkU
• buy link: http://www.amazon.com/Murder-Play-ebook/dp/B003CT30GC/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&m=A3QI763M62X7GQ&s=books&qid=1274234575&sr=1-2
• publisher: http://www.echelonpress.com/

Purrfect Voyage

I have a treat for you today, readers. Author Ruth Hartman agreed to stop by and share an excerpt with you. Ruth is a published author and licensed dental hygienist. She lives in rural Indiana with her husband of twenty-eight years and their two extremely spoiled cats.

She holds an associate degree from Indiana University School of Dentistry. She also completed a course on Writing for Children and Teenagers from The Institute of Children's Literature.

Ruth's published works include a memoir, romance novels, and short stories. In keeping with "write what you know" she finds her books and stories often gravitate toward the themes of dentistry and cats. You can learn more about her at www.ruthjhartman.blogspot.com

Here's a link for Purrfect Voyage. https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/44137 (digital) and https://www.createspace.com/3572039 (print)

And now for that excerpt!


Chapter One

Oh no. Not again. “Come back here you little rascal!”

Kitty Carter trotted down the warped wooden dock of the marina chasing Arthur. She was always chasing Arthur. And Arthur was always running.

Away. From her.

“Slow down, will ya? I’ve only got two legs.”

Why does he always do this to me?

Arthur, her black cat, scurried on, stalking a minuscule brown mouse.

Her cat’s claws dug into the pine boards of the dock, leaving gouges the size of three-penny nails. As Kitty looked up in time to see the tip of Arthur’s tail disappear over the shiny metal railing of the small yacht, her foot slipped in a spare tire-sized puddle.

Uh-oh.

While her feet flew over her head, her left shoe flew off her foot and splashed into the water. Perfect. The back of her head smacked the dock. Hard. After a moment of staring into the blue Alaska sky, she smiled as hippos in yellow mini-skirts pranced among the clouds.

Wait, that couldn’t be right, could it?

She sat up and shook her head. The dancing hippos vanished. Kitty sighed. It wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed cavorting animals in the sky after hitting her head.

Graceful, she was not. At the rate she was going, next time she’d see an entire kick-line of bowtie-wearing giraffes.

Taking inventory of her person, she surmised most everything was still intact. Still had feeling in her arms and legs? Check. Too much blood loss from the scrape on her forehead? She could probably live with what she had left. And drat! One of her shoes was missing. Now she had a naked foot to deal with. She’d loved those sandals, too.

Kitty let out a heavy sigh and pushed up to her feet. Wind-milling her arms while hopping on one foot wasn’t highly effective. Better to have one dingy, bare foot than to lose her balance off the dock and end up with a bath she hadn’t counted on. Especially since she couldn’t swim.

She ran the rest of the way toward the yacht where her wayward cat had last been spotted. Gripping the rail so she wouldn’t follow her left shoe into the water, she climbed over the rail onto the deck. The shiny white deck and teak wooden cabin sparkled in the mid-morning sunshine. The yacht’s name, “MT Pockets” was painted in the side.

“Anyone here?”

No response.

“I’m just here to rescue my cat.”

Silence.

“Or, I guess I should say, to rescue a mouse from my cat…my cat from a mouse?”

Still nothing.

She shrugged and looked around the small, tidy deck. Not finding Arthur there, she headed for a set of stairs descending below deck. Kitty peered down into the darkness.

“Arthur, are you down there?”

Her cat didn’t answer. Neither did the mouse. She wondered if that meant the mouse was already in Arthur’s tummy.

Okay, here goes. Taking it slow, Kitty inched her way down the stairs. She tried a switch, but nothing happened. Deciding the small lever must have been for a purpose other than turning on a light, she continued on in the semi-darkness. Third step from the bottom, her naked foot hit the edge of the slick metal step. Her feet flew up, her head swan-dived down. Pain lanced across the back of her head as she thwacked it on the last step. Kitty groaned and rolled into a cat-like ball. As her world faded to black, she whispered, “Arthur, are you even down here?”
****
Art Katz carried two large cardboard boxes and a red duffel bag slung over his shoulder on board the yacht. Two weeks sailing and fishing. Unbelievable. He’d waited all year. Hoped to have formed gills by the time he reached his destination. He chuckled, remembering his dream from the previous night. He, of course, had been a fish. Salmon or halibut? He couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered. But no doubt about it; he’d been a fish.

Deciding to unpack later, he set to prepare the yacht, checking gauges and levels. After a short time, he headed out to sea. He’d spent enough time on this particular yacht to know its quirks. No doubt he could make the journey safely. But not everything in his life was so predictable. Like his business. He worked like a dog. Every weekend. Most evenings. But he still wasn’t making the money he wanted. His employees often called him a slave driver. But hey, you didn’t make money just sitting around.

He flipped open his cell phone.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hi,” said John. “Thanks again for delivering my yacht. I still can’t believe your vacation coincided with my move. I owe ya, man.”

“You’d do the same for me. If I had a yacht. Or a place to put a yacht. Or money to buy a yacht.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya.”

“I expect to be treated like a rock star when I get there.”

“You got it. See you when you get here, then.”

“Later.” Art closed his phone and put it in his jeans pocket.

John seemed to have it all. The lucrative medical practice. The beautiful wife and kids. Not that Art had time for the family part. He wasn’t like John. He didn’t have money stashed everywhere. He had to work. All the time. That’s why this trip was so special. He hardly ever left the office.

For the next several hours he sailed, admiring the whipping green waves and diving birds. Eagles and puffins splashed about, more often than not emerging with fishy treasures in their beaks. He envied them. He couldn’t wait to start fishing himself. Although, he’d be using a pole. He wasn’t crazy about biting into raw fish.

A soft sound floated up from below deck. He turned his head.

What?

A meow?

Perfect. All he needed was a stowaway cat for the next two weeks. He’d never been a fan of felines. Far from it. With their tiny, impaling claws and creepy purring sound, he’d been able to avoid most of them.

So far.

Ever since the incident. Putting the yacht on autopilot, he walked to the stairs. His hand reached to the light switch. Nothing. And of course, the light bulbs were in a cabinet downstairs. He sighed and made his way back to his duffel bag. Flashlight in hand, he cautiously made his way down the dimly lit stairway.

Imminent Danger

My guest today is Alexis Craig, author of Imminent Danger. Alexis, tell us a little bit about yourself and your writing.

I could say that I write erotica, but that’s kind of a cop out. My goal was to write the kind of stories that I enjoy reading. My preferred genre is ‘sex and a stack of bodies’ or erotic suspense, so that’s the platform from which I started writing. I’m a longtime romance reader, and I work in a place where I have the downtime occasionally to read at my leisure (police dispatch). I’m a somewhat hyper woman who likes my cinema and reading material fluffy, violent, and sensual, because my real life is so very serious. I prefer to write after the sun goes down because it seems my muses, like me, prefer the cover of night to ply their trade.

I think you've already partially answered this question, but what did you hope to accomplish with your books?

I like a strong female character and a male who is secure enough in his own right that he’s not threatened by that (think Joe from ‘Say No To Joe’ by Lori Foster or Owen from ‘Midnight in Ruby Bayou’ by Elizabeth Lowell). Those are the spaces I want my characters to inhabit. I want to write female characters that working women can identify with and men wouldn’t mind dating. I write with a man’s perspective in mind, actually, and test out some of my scenes on men to see if they ring true to their mindsets, because I would eventually like to cross the gender barrier in terms of overall readership.

Good luck. Who can understand men? What is the greatest test you ever faced as a writer?

Editing was hard, because you really have to separate yourself from your work to look at it objectively. Your editor is not your enemy, and they get paid good money to make sure that you put out a good product that reflects well on all involved, so you have to arrive at a sense that ‘they’re helping you and you are not married to every word, do as you’re told.’ That’s not to say that if there are certain points that you want to convey that you should take them out if the editor says so, but picking your battles is crucial, and the editorial process needn’t be a protracted battle from word to word.

Wise advice. What’s the best advice you ever got about the publishing industry?

Be polite: the publishing industry professionals move around quite a bit, and they also talk amongst themselves. You don’t want to be labeled as ‘difficult to work with’ or a ‘primadonna’ because that will, in turn, make your life as a new author harder than it needs to be. (I got that from the RWA)

If you could meet two authors, which ones would you pick and why?

Gabriel Garcia-Marquez-because his works are so fanciful and fully of color and life. I think he would be wonderful to discuss how he arrives at his ideas and learn what it is that makes him so expressive and vivid in his prose.

Henry Miller/Elmore Leonard (tie)-because their prose and dialogue are so vivid and I think that either would be a damn good time to hang out with. Drink some, shoot some pool, and shoot the breeze about anything and everything that comes up. The ultimate in learning/relaxation experience.

Relaxing. That sounds good. I'm up to my neck in edits for two different books, and it's driving me freaking crazy! Could you share your links with us?

alexisdcraig.net, Alexis D Craig, Author on Facebook, and @Dispatchvampire on twitter.

7.We’d love to read an excerpt. Be sure to give us a buy link.

Jacen got out his wallet as Vince got up from his seat. He took a moment to listen to his radio to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. “What’s up?”
Vince nodded towards the gaggle of dispatchers at the back of the room. “I’m gonna go over and talk to Grace. It’s her birthday.”

Jacen shrugged and watched his friend wade into collection of gregarious and mostly intoxicated communications workers. He hadn’t paid too much attention to them, he didn’t see the one he was interested in and that was all he needed to know. He turned back around accordingly to wait for their food.

He heard his name behind him and turned around to see Vince walking up with a dark-eyed, curvy brunette that Vince would ticket in a hot minute. “Aww, I didn’t get you anything.” Jacen grinned with open appreciation.

Vince narrowed his eyes and then smiled. “Grace, this is my buddy Jacen. Jacen, this is Grace, she works East Middle.”

Like someone else they both had in common. Though he’d never say so out loud, he was willing to stake good money that Vince, good solid family man, had a thing for Grace. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Why don’t you and Vince come over and join us? We have the room.”

Jacen and Vince exchanged looks, Jacen’s inquiring, and Vince’s stating unequivocally that they were going to sit across the room and Jacen was going to have to deal. “Sure, no problem. Soon as Gayle finishes up.” He turned back around to find two large tenderloin sandwiches and a ton of fries. “I guess that takes care of that.”

Grace started back for the table and he and Vince hung back, him a little hesitant, and Vince just enjoying the view of her retreating form. “Is this a good idea?” he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

Vince nodded emphatically. “Oh yeah. Definitely. Plus there’s something you gotta see over by the pool table.”

Ooookay? They made their way over to the table and Jacen waited until Grace was seated before sitting down himself and tearing into his food. The music was loud as hell by their table and he listened as Grace’s drunken friends sang loudly and off key to The Black Crows. One voice in particular caught his attention. He looked over at the pool table to see Dani switch from leaning over the pool table to doing a karaoke version of ‘Jealous Again’ into the pool cue that had him completely abandoning his food in favor of watching her.


She moved like a jellyfish, writhing to the music and prancing around in a way that had him glad he was sitting down. Her nod to the dress code at her work was a pair of black cargo pants that showed off her belly button and a form fitting white t-shirt that made her breasts a marble work of art. She finished her song and came back over to the table, grinning like a pirate and cheeks rosy from the singing and dancing.

Dani hugged Vince first and then came over to him. He got to his feet slowly, hoping that she wouldn’t notice how hard he’d gotten just watching her move, but she seemed oblivious, sliding against him, and beaming up at him as she threw her arms around his neck. “Hey, Jacen.
”
This was new, this unfettered affection. Jacen returned the hug cautiously, and eyed her with suspicion as she stepped away. “Looked good out there, sweets.”
She took the seat next to him and flounced down. “Thanks. Just being silly.”
She and Grace shared a look, and Grace leaned over and stage whispered to Jacen, “She’s had chocolate.”

Dani giggled maniacally, “Correction, luvvie, I’ve had a lot of chocolate. And frosting.” To illustrate her point, she swiped her finger through a dollop of fluffy white frosting on the cake tray and brought it to her lips and sucked it off, licking her finger clean.

Jacen watched her raptly, his ears starting to ring. His vest was feeling way too tight. “I think someone needs to cut you off,” he rasped, his voice suddenly very rusty.

Grace laughed, “You’re welcome to try, but I don’t think she’s gonna go for it.”
Jacen looked at Dani for verification, but she was already up and moving again to put more money in the jukebox. He hadn’t noticed before but she was missing something. “Where’s your cane?”

A hot salsa beat filled the air and she danced back over to his chair. “At home in a closet. Exactly where it should be,” she replied as she pulled him to his feet.
“Where’re we going?”

She looked around them, her hips and feet already moving to the rhythm. “Right here seems good.”

Vince about fell out of his chair laughing. “You want him. To dance. Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s the sugar talking, obviously,” Jacen laughed nervously, but Dani took no heed, sidling up next to him. He was mesmerized by the way she was moving against him. Hips that moved like that could found a new religion. He was a convert. His hands found their way to her hips and when she turned around and ground her ass up against him, he was a goner.

The smell was what got to him, her perfume, sweat, and the slight undertone of sugar. Dani had her hand on his neck, lightly dragging her nails across the sensitive skin at the nape, and giving him a view down the front of her shirt so scandalizing, that he could tell that her bra was red with black lace edging. He was saved from drooling down the delectable arch of her neck when the song ended and she stepped away to take a drink from a glass on the table.

“I’m hot, y’all. I’m gonna step out for a minute and get some air.” She looked in the direction of Grace and Vince, who had their heads together in some sort of deep and meaningful conversation and headed for the door.

Jacen slumped into the closest chair, and simply stared after her, stunned at her ever-shifting moods and the riot she caused with his libido.

Vince leaned away from Grace with his arm draped casually across the back of her chair as he looked at him appraisingly. “Well, I will give you this: it looked vaguely like you were dancing, but more that she was pole dancing and you were the pole.”

Jacen waved his comment off and blew out a deep breath. He had no idea what to make of Dani at all and trying to figure it out was leaving him too exhausted to cope with the next onslaught. Normally, if a woman was this much work, he was out the door, no explanation needed. Right now, he knew that he couldn’t leave if he wanted to; he had to know where the story ended. “I don’t like her out there in the parking lot by herself.”

Vince frowned. “You know as well as I do that she’s a big girl and can more than take care of herself.”

“Besides, there are at least five police cars out there right now,” Grace added, looking around the room to tally up the total.

Jacen conceded the point and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know that, but still, we all know this neighborhood and what can be and often is lurking out in the parking lot. Even with the police cars out there. I’m gonna go check on her.”

Vince shrugged and Jacen was halfway to the door. “Suit yourself.”

“I think I will.”

The wall of smoke free air that accosted him as soon as he opened the door was a little startling, but what got his pulse racing was the fact that Dani was nowhere to be seen. He was halfway out in the parking lot when he heard a voice behind him.
“I’m over here.”

Jacen turned around, faced the dark façade of the building, and still didn’t see anything. “Where’s ‘here’?”

Dani stepped out from a niche between the FOP and the Vo-Tech school next door underneath the fire escape from the second floor. Even in the pale light of the lamp above the door, she was a barely visible silhouette. “Over here.”

She disappeared again as he walked over and he reached out a hand to make sure he didn’t run into her. His hand met her arm and he pulled her up against him. In the darkened alcove, it was like they were completely isolated from the world and not outside in public. His mouth crushed down on hers as he backed her into the wall. Her free hand slid up his chest, to his neck and then on to play in the velvety soft peach fuzz on the back of his head.

http://www.sinfulmomentspress.com/proddetail.asp?prod=imminentdanger
http://www.amazon.com/Imminent-Danger-ebook/dp/B0041VYJQU/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1298158967&sr=8-2

Thaks for coming today, Alexis. Good luck with your book.

Welcome Cassandre Dayne

My guest today is Cassandre Dayne. Cassandre, welcome to my blog. Can you tell us a little bit about yourself and your work?

I am a publisher author writing under Cassandre Dayne in the erotic romance genre. I have two short stories (14,888 and 20,678 words) out from Rebel Ink Press and have six more novellas/novels under contract for 2011 releases. I also write under Bethany – a vampire series called In the Shadow of Darkness – with four long books complete. I also write under Dakotah Black – a campy murder/mystery series set in community associations called Pinked. I live in Central Virginia with my husband and two gorgeous pups – Goldie Hawn and Macgyver and we own two companies – general contracting and association management. When not writing, I enjoy reading and cooking.

You write in many different genres. Is one easier than the other to manage?

No, I don’t honestly think one is easier to manage although because my vampire series is based around an American Indian vampire hero and brings in elements of the devil and the knights of the roundtable, I have had to do significant research. The erotic seems to flow easily. With the ones involving community associations – oh I have truly real stories that are funny and utterly ridiculous so it gives me plenty of fodder to write about!

What do you think makes a book a page turner? A story line that has not been done before, a conflict that is something we all have experienced and can relate to and characters that give you pause – what’s hiding behind those baby blues?

How many WIP do you have going?

Oh my – I have about 15 novels, 8 novellas and at least 10 stories that have been completed and need editing. I seem to have so many stories that bubble to the surface that I must write them. I keep a notebook at all times and it’s filled with ideas. I will type the ideas into a long synopsis and try to work on a new story/novel as well as editing at least two at the same time. The schedule keeps me energized.

What other authors if any have influenced your writing?

I love so many genres and read everything from Carl Haissen to Dean Koontz and all things sensual and erotic as well to learn my craft. An enchanting story teller gives me the tingles, sending my imagination soaring and then I have to read everything he or she writes.

6.Would you share your links with us?

www.bethanyhalle.com and www.cassandredayne.com. You can also find me at www.manicreaders.com/cassandredayne Dakotah Black’s site in the beginning stages. Anyone can also email me at either behalle@comcast.net or cassandre@cassandredayne.com

7.We’d love to read an excerpt. Don’t forget to give us a buy link.

You can check my links for excerpts. Here are a couple of them. You can also buy them at www.coffeetimeromance www.bookstrand.com and Barnes & Noble.

http://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html?searchBy=author&qString=Cassandre+Dayne
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_15?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=cassandre+dayne&sprefix=cassandre+dayne

Thank you so much for the interview! I really enjoyed it.

So did I. Come back and see us soon.

The Count's Lair

Today's guest is author Stephanie Burkhart. Stephanie, welcome to the blog.

Thank you, Elaine, for having me on your blog today.

Just a little about me: I was born in Manchester, New Hampshire. After graduating from Central High, I joined the US Army. I spent 11 years in the military, 7 in Germany. While in the military, I earned a BS in Political Science from California Baptist University in Riverside, CA in 1995. I left the Army in 1997 and settled in California, but my favorite football team is still the New England Patriots. I work for LAPD as a 911 dispatcher. I've been married for 19 years. I have two boys, Andrew, 8, and Joseph, 4.

ELAINE: I bet you have some stories to tell! Could you tell us a little about your writing?

STEPH: I've been writing for about 10 years now. My first novel was "Destination: Berlin," a sweet military adventure romance. It's with iUniverse and the reviews for it are quiet good. I've dabbled in some horror short stories which I publish under my pen name. In romance, I've also written contemporaries and a time travel. With Desert Breeze Publishing, I've explored the paranormal subgenre. I've also got a sci-fi short story romance in the Borealis Anthology, Book 2. I enjoy working with small press because of the wonderful editorial support and most authors are supportive in sharing marketing and advertising tips.

ELAINE: Can you tell us five things about you that nobody would ever guess?

STEPH: I've been married over 19 years and I was married in Nykobig, Denmark. My marriage certificate is in five different languages. I took 3 years of high school French and I adore the language. It's very beautiful on the ear. I love to play racquetball. I stuck my hand in a beehive when I was five. It was so traumatic, I don't remember it happening.

ELAINE: Ouch on that beehive thing. What do you think makes a book a page turner?

STEPH: Engage me! One author I really enjoy is Melanie Atkins. She puts me right in the scene with the main characters. She uses a good, strong, active voice in her writing.

ELAINE: Which genre of books appeals least to you? Why?

STEPH: That's a toughie because I find enjoyment in most genres. Let's see…what's not on my shelf? Hard core Science Fiction and Fantasy. I did however enjoy the Lord of the Rings movies, and I like the Star Trek books.

ELAINE: On the average, how long does it take you to write a book?

STEPH: I've got it down to about three months, give or take 2 weeks for prep work which includes research, crafting my characters, outlining, etc.

ELAINE: Would you share some of your links?

STEPH: Sure you can find me:

BLOG:
http://sgcardin.blogspot.com

WEBSITE:
http://sgcardin.tripod.com

FACEBOOK:
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1357922219

GOODREADS:
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4031660.Stephanie_Burkhart

ELAINE: We'd love to read an excerpt from your latest release.

STEPH: Sure. This is from "The Count's Lair," a paranormal romance set in Budapest, Hungary during Christmas 1901.

Amelia went inside. The room was cast in obsidian shadows by a single candle burning on her dressing room table. The air was laced with the scent of mulberries. She grew warm. Her heart beat faster. Her defenses cracked.

"Anton?" she whispered.

He stepped out of the darkness behind her, placing his hands on her upper arms, pressing his chest against her back. His lips brushed against her ear, sending a shockwave through her. "You look wonderful tonight, Amelia."

She dared to close her eyes and enjoy his embrace. "Anton."

"Yes, it's me."

Warm feelings of longing stirred within her, only to be quickly doused by the sting of anger at his sudden departure. She stepped out of their embrace and spun to glare at him. "How dare you."

He backed away, confusion pooling in his unusual eyes. "I thought--"

"You thought what?"

"That you'd want to see me."

"It's been two months since I last saw you, and you didn't even try to seek me out. I had no idea if you were dead, alive, or just too busy with your life to think of me."

"I'm sorry." His expression softened. "I had hoped to avoid the cool look in your eyes just now."

Exasperated, she let out a quick breath. "You're infuriating."

"So I've been told."

She crossed her arms and struggled to keep her crumbling battlements up. He had a lot to explain. The candlelight cast dark, almost satyr-like shadows over his chiseled face. If his explanation made sense, she'd will her heart to believe him. "So, Anton, how do you explain your absence? I thought I'd found a friend."

He paused and drew in a deep breath. His eyes grew translucent. "I am sorry. I had a lot to think about. I thought you would understand. I wanted to give you time to mourn your husband properly."

"I see."

"I also wanted to clear my head."


YOU TUBE BOOK TRAILER:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DaiYNNpETok
The Count's Lair is avail as ebook for Kindle, B&N Nook, Sony Ereader, and Kobo. You can also download a copy from the Publisher's Website at:

http://stores.desertbreezepublishing.com/-strse-142/Stephanie-Burkhart-Budapest-Moon/Detail.bok

Good Time: Leave me a comment and I'll be back tomorrow to give away a print copy of my sweet military romance, "Destination: Berlin."

Smiles
Steph

Thanks for coming, Steph. Your book sounds like a page turner to me.

Let's Party!

Welcome to my blog! You've come just in time to help me celebrate Kim Bowman's new release from Astraea Press. Astraea is brand new, but they're signing some good authors!

This is the way we'll do the party. Kim graciously agreed to do an interview for us, and afterwards she'll share an excerpt from her book. Then comes the really funny part. Madame Zanna, the heroine of Kim's book will be available to read the cards for everyone. Just leave a yes or no question for Madame, and she'll be glad to answer. Everyone who leaves a comment or asks a question will be eligible for a prize. What's Kim giving away? Authors, she's offering a free one chapter critique. Yes, I said free. Kim worked as an editor for a long time, so this is a great prize. She's also giving away a pdf copy of her book Wayward Soul, and she's also offering a copy of Sylvia Browne's Contacting Your Spirit Guide.

These are nice prizes Kim. How does it feel to be a first time author?

I keep pinching my husband to see if I’m dreaming…He assures me I’m NOT dreaming (though I think he just wants me to stop pinching him!)

LOL. I'm sure he'll survive. Would you tell us a little bit about yourself?

I live in Indiana with my husband and 2 of our 4 kids (2 are at college). My kids are 23, 21, 19, and 2! Needless to say, the 2 year old was a BIG surprise. I work at home part time as a customer service representative, book editor, and writer (thanks to my wonderful husband who works too much so I can stay home)

Oh, my gosh! I'm surprised you can get any writing done with a two year old at home.
Did you always want to be an author?

In a word – YES! I have books of poems, songs, stories, etc. that I have written since I was in grade school, but I never pursued it until I had my son in 2008.

That's wonderful! How did you find Astraea Press?

I’m in a writing critique group with one of the co-owners, Stephanie Taylor (who is awesome by the way). She posted on our group that she was starting Astraea Press and I submitted my book.

What can the readers expect from your work?

Oh boy! Fun and sarcasm (my hero is VERY sarcastic). Aside from that, my story is original and unique. Yes, I have one of the usual paranormal characters—a werewolf, but I added a totally different paranormal element by having my heroine be a spirit guide. I don’t think that’s been done before. It’s a twist that I think will intrigue and interest readers and, hopefully, make them want more.

Tell us a little bit about your book.

My heroine, Zanna Seoul, is a spirit guide. A spirit guide is an invisible force who watches over a human, called a charge, while the person lives on Earth. Zanna accidentally causes the death of a fellow spirit guide’s charge while trying to save the life of the man she loves. Because of her actions, she is stripped of her position and banished to Earth to die. With Zanna no longer guiding him and his memory of her erased, Owen Nash is left wide open as the target of the vengeful spirit guide who feels he’s been wronged. A guide who also happens to be a werewolf. Once on Earth, Zanna refuses to stand by and watch Owen die, so she intervenes again, setting off a chain of events that could mean death for all of them if she doesn’t go back and undo the mess she’s made.

Would you give us your links so we can find you on the web?

Sure! They can visit me at www.kimbowmanauthor.blogspot.com

We’d love to read an excerpt.

Zanna awoke gasping for air. At first, she thought it was the impact of her spirit body returning to her physical body. The force of the two slamming back together after astral travel was uncomfortable. She expected the heavy pressure on her chest, the elevated heart rate, and the momentary paralysis reentry caused, but she’d never been breathless.

Fear took over when the weight increased, crushing her ribcage. Zanna’s hands flew to her throat where they encountered fingers wrapped around her neck, squeezing the life out of her.

She blinked many times before her burning pupils adjusted to the bright overhead lights. The swirling white beacons made her eyes water, blurring her vision. Tears streamed down her face and her empty lungs screamed.

Panicked, she placed her feet on the floor and bucked. She clawed at the hands around her neck desperate to loosen their grip. The vice-like hold only intensified, continuing to push down until she was sure her neck would break. Biting pain stung her smashed windpipe and deflated lungs.

“Cease,” a male voice ordered. The authoritative sound resonated all around the space.

Her attacker’s lethal hands fell away. Her compressed arteries opened, sending blood coursing through her veins so fast her head spun. She took a deep breath. The air stuck in her crushed throat made her gag and cough. She rolled into a ball, clutching her chest. Several agonizing moments passed before her aching lungs filled with oxygen.

As her physical pain subsided, the dam in her mind broke, flooding her senses with the sound of gunfire, the smell of burning gunpowder, and the sight of blood spraying. Her heart cried out in grief as the horrible memories assaulted her mind. The man she loved was dead.

Wow, Zanna has problems. Readers, Kim will post a new excerpt later this afternoon. Don't forget to leave a comment or ask a question to enter her contest.