Thursday, November 27, 2014

Blogging Along with author HOPE RAMSAY and LAST CHANCE FAMILY

About LAST CHANCE FAMILY
Mike Taggart has always been willing to take a gamble. But these stakes are just way too high - there's no way he's prepared to become a legal guardian to his five-year-old niece. His only option is to head from Las Vegas to Last Chance to sort things out as quickly as
possible. Problem is, he arrives to find an inconsolable little girl, her sick cat, and a gorgeous veterinarian he can't get out of his mind. Charlene Polk has two talents: healing sick critters and falling in love with the wrong men. Mike has trouble written all over him, but she can't leave him in the lurch. And the more time she spends with the sexy high roller, the more she sees that this ready-made family is the best stroke of luck they've ever had . . .

About Hope Ramsay
Hope Ramsay grew up on the North Shore of Long Island, but every summer Momma would pack her off under the care of Aunt Annie to go visiting with relatives in the midlands of South Carolina. Her extended family includes its share of colorful aunts and uncles, as well as cousins by the dozens, who provide the fodder for the characters you'll find in Last Chance, South Carolina. She's a two-time finalist in the Golden Heart and is married to a good ol' Georgia boy who resembles every single one of her heroes. She lives in Fairfax, Virginia, where you can often find her on the back deck, picking on her thirty-five-year-old Martin guitar. 

Hope’s social media
@HopeRamsay
www.HopeRamsay.com  

Buy Links
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1FapmNm 
Books-A-Million: http://bit.ly/1qKhFwx 
IndieBound: http://bit.ly/1tb4hwH 



Rafflecopter giveaway code: a Rafflecopter giveaway



Excerpt… Charlene stood in the kitchen doorway, her hair wet, her stomach empty, and her heart suddenly racing.  Mike leaned against the counter, his head hung low.  He seemed to be struggling to draw breath.
She crossed the room and put her hand on the middle of his back.  His T-shirt was soft, the body beneath it hard and warm. 
He straightened and let out a big breath.  "Sorry." 
"What's wrong?"
"Killer heartburn," he said, then immediately changed the subject.  He moved toward the coffee maker, shaking off her touch.  "You want some coffee?" 
He turned and gave her a quick glance.  That's all it took. 
Her heart wrenched, and she responded the way she always did when confronted with unspoken pain.  She encountered it often, usually in the eyes of animals.  But it was there, beyond that mild-mannered expression he tried to wear.  He was hurting.  She reached up to stroke his cheek.  Her fingers encountered his warm skin and rough stubble.  That touch flipped her switch.  Electricity flowed inside her.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as her fingers moved over his face to his ear and up into his bright red hair. 
"Don't," he whispered, but he made no attempt to move away.  He reminded her of an abused animal that growls when all he wants is a little kindness.  She cupped the nape of his neck and pulled him down as she rose up on tip-toes.
She gave him a soft, gentle kiss.  Nothing deep or sexy, just a little kiss, intended to comfort.  But it didn't stay that way.  Mike grabbed her by the cheeks and pulled her up into it like a man starving for love.  His tongue stroked hers.  His right hand dropped to her hip, and he yanked her forward and into his chest.
Her knees almost buckled.  But she didn't fall, because Mike had her.  His hand found the small of her back as he sagged against the counter.  They leaned together, thigh to thigh, chest to chest.  The kiss turned utterly carnal.  His hand wandered up over her spine to her breast.  He palmed it.  Her nipples came alive.  He groaned.
And her whole body throbbed.
She broke the kiss and looked up into his face.  His eyes had dilated with desire.  His breath sounded ragged.  His skin flushed red. 
"I want you," he said in a hoarse voice.  "I want to strip you naked and do it right here in the kitchen."
His words ignited a bad-girl fire that pretty much torched her reservations about him.  "Okay."
His gaze widened.  "I'm not a reliable bet," he said.
She laughed.  "You think I don't know that?"
"Oh."
She could almost feel him having second thoughts.  And she had no intention of allowing that.  She'd have the rest of her life to regret this choice.  Or not. 
Which would she regret more?  Letting her reservations about him put the kibosh on this?  Or spending the rest of her life wondering if maybe she should have bet on Mike Taggart? 
Heartbreak was her middle name.  "I'm a gambler," she whispered.  "And sometimes the long shots pay off."
"Not usually," he said.

"Maybe not.  But I'm the eternal optimist.”

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

BLOGGING ALONG with Jessica Scott and ALL FOR YOU

ALL FOR YOU by Jessica Scott
November 25, 2014
Forever Mass Market

Can a battle-scarred warrior . . .Stay sober. Get deployed. Lead his platoon. Those are the only things that matter to Sergeant First Class Reza Iaconelli. What he wants is for everyone to stay out of his way; what he gets is Captain Emily Lindberg telling him how to deal with his men. Fort Hood's newest shrink is smart as a whip and sexy as hell. She's also full of questions-about the army, its soldiers, and the agony etched on Reza's body and soul.

. . . open his heart to love?Emily has devoted her life to giving soldiers the care they need-and deserve. Little does she know that means facing down the fierce wall of muscle that is Sergeant Iaconelli like it's just another day at the office. When Reza agrees to help her understand what makes a soldier tick, she's thrilled. Too bad it doesn't help her unravel the sexy warrior in front of her who stokes her desire and touches a part of her she thought long dead. He's the man who thinks combat is the only escape from the demons that haunt him. The man who needs her most of all . . .

Buy Links:

About the author:
USA Today bestselling author Jessica Scott is a career army officer; mother of two daughters, three cats and three dogs; wife to a career NCO and wrangler of all things stuffed and fluffy. She is a terrible cook and even worse housekeeper, but she's a pretty good shot with her assigned weapon.  She's currently pursuing a PhD in Sociology in her spare time and most recently, she's been featured as one of Esquire Magazine's Americans of the Year for 2012.

She's written for the New York Times At War Blog, PBS Point of View: Regarding War Blog, and Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America. She deployed to Iraq in 2009 as part of Operation Iraqi Freedom/New Dawn and has served as a company commander at Fort Hood, Texas.

Social Media Links:

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Excerpt...It was fate. It had to be. A slow warmth unfurled inside him as the doctor he could not get out of his head looked up at him, her cheeks flushing pink.
         She was all buttoned up at work. Tonight, she looked different. Looser. Unbound.
         Compelling. That’s what she was. Her fire at work. Her refusal to let him bully her. He’d admired her backbone before.
         Tonight, he admired her in an entirely new light. Her hair framed her face in careless curls. He hadn’t expected to see her outside of work. He damn sure hadn’t expected to see her here. An old familiar need rose inside him. A need for touch, human and warm. A need to lose himself for an interlude in sweat and sex and stunning pleasure. He’d given up drinking but women had apparently fallen into that category as well.
         It had been months since he’d felt a woman’s hands on his body.
         This woman was not someone he needed to be talking to at the bar tonight but he found himself walking toward her anyway.
         After the week of confrontation they’d had, he’d be lucky if she didn’t slap him the minute he approached her.
         He could do this. He could talk to a woman without drinking. Right?
         Emily met his gaze as he approached. He almost smiled.
         “Not your usual scene?” he asked, leaning against the bar.
         She shifted, putting a little space between them. That slight reclamation of power. He made a noise of approval in his throat. “I’m surprised you’re talking to me.”
         “I’m surprised you’re here. Shouldn’t you be home reading medical journals or something?” Her cheeks flushed deep pink and he wondered how far down her body that color went.
         She tipped her chin then and looked at him. “Have you been drinking?”
         He looked down at the bottle in his hand. “I don’t drink anymore,” he said quietly. No reason to delve into his abusive history with alcohol. “You?”
“Glass of wine,” she said.
         Reza shrugged and leaned on the bar, taking another pull off his water and being careful not to lean too close. She looked like she’d bolt if he pushed her. “That would explain why you’re talking to me. We haven’t exactly been friendly.”
         Her hair reflected the fading sunlight that filled the room from the wide-open patio doors. He wanted to fist it between his fingers, watch her neck arch for his mouth.
         She motioned toward his bottle with her glass. “‘Anymore’?”
         He simply took another pull off his water. He was going to be damn good and hydrated after tonight. He wondered what she’d do if he leaned a little closer. “Long story.”
         “One you’re not keen on sharing?” she asked. She leaned her cheek on one palm. The sun glinted across her cheek.
         “Let’s just say alcohol and I aren’t on speaking terms. Bad things happen when I drink.” It was nothing to be ashamed of but there it was. Shame wound up his spine and squeezed the air from his lungs. He was just like his dad after all.
         “You say that like giving up alcohol is a bad thing,” Emily said quietly.
         Reza snorted softly. He should have guessed she wouldn’t let it alone. She had stubbornness that could last for days. “It’s not something I’m proud of.”
         Her hand on his forearm startled him. Soft and strong, her fingers pressed into his skin. “But stopping is something to be proud of.”
         Reza stared down at her hand, pale against the dark shadows of his own skin. A long silence hung between them.
         He lifted his gaze to hers.
         “It takes a lot of strength to break with the past,” she said softly.
         “What are you doing?” Her eyes glittered in the setting sun and he thought he caught the sight of the tiniest edge of her lip curling.
         Her fingers slipped from his skin. “Offering my professional support?”
         His lips quirked. “Was that a joke?”
         “Maybe,” she said. “I’m working on developing a biting sense of humor. Defense mechanism against raging asshole commanders.”
         Reza barked out a laugh. “You look different out of uniform,” he said lightly, pressing his advantage at this unexpected truce.
         “So do you.”
         He angled his body toward hers. “You like my makeup?” he asked.
         Her lips parting as she tried to figure out if he was kidding or not. Finally, she cracked the barest hint of a smile.
         Something powerful woke inside him and he moved before he thought about it. He reached for her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. The simple gesture was crushing in its intimacy. Her lips froze in a partial gasp, as though her breath had caught in her throat.
         “Sergeant Iaconelli,” she said quietly, her voice husky. But she didn’t move away. Didn’t flinch from his touch.
         “Reza.” He swallowed the sharp bite of arousal in his blood, more powerful without the haze of alcohol that usually clouded his reactions. “My name is Reza.”
         “Reza.”
         His breath was locked in his lungs, the sound of his name on her lips triggering something dark and powerful and overwhelming.
         He wanted this woman. The woman who’d stood in opposition to him this week. The woman who lifted her chin and stood steadfast between him and his soldiers.
         There was strength in this woman. Strength and courage.
         “I’m Emily.” Her words a rushed breath.
         He lowered his hand, unwilling to push any further than he’d already gone. This was new territory for him. Unfamiliar and strange and filled with potential and fear.
         “It was nice talking to you tonight, Emily,” he said when he could speak.
         He waited for her acknowledgment that she’d heard him. Some slight movement of her head or tip of her chin.
         Instead her throat moved as she swallowed and she blinked quickly, shattering the spell between them.
         He left her then because to push further would challenge the limits of his restraint. He wasn’t ready to fall into bed with someone. No matter how compelling Emily might be.
         He waited and he watched for the rest of the evening. Watched her slip out with her friend, leaving an empty space at the bar.
         Leaving him alone with the fear that included the empty loneliness as well as the cold silence of sobriety.
         His thoughts raced as he made sure his troopers all got home that night, and Teague crashed on his couch.
         He fell into bed later, need and desire twisted up, filling the cold dead space left inside him by the lack of alcohol. A dead space he usually filled with work while deployed. Tonight, though, unfamiliar pleasure hunted his thoughts, whispering that he could still love a woman, that he didn’t have to be drunk to climb into bed with someone.
         But Emily wasn’t a random someone.
         And she was so far out of his league, it wasn’t even funny. Even if there was some sexual attraction there, she wasn’t likely to go slumming with a burned-out infantryman like him.
         He lay there in the darkness, waiting, clinging to the single, simple pleasure of her touch, hoping that maybe tonight he could sleep, avoiding the nightmares that reminded him of the monster he’d become.
         A beast who had lost his compassion somewhere on the road to Baghdad.


Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Guest Blogger Eileen Dreyer

You Can Never Go Wrong With a Gun

            Yeah, if you're looking at my cover right about now, you're thinking, "not exactly the title I'd expect from somebody about her move from suspense into historical romance." It actually makes perfect sense. You see, even in my romances there is suspense. Okay, there aren't any serial killers (well, at least not in this series), but there is danger, there is conflict, there are nefarious spies and valiant heroes and heroines.

            The reason is simple. I grew up in a household of men. I had five brothers. My mom had four, which meant that we're well versed in sports and westerns. I know every movie John Wayne died in. But I had no idea who Shirley Temple was until she was the delegate to the United Nations. I cut my teeth on Nancy Drew and Mary Stewart. I'd rather watch Memento than Terms of Endearment, and can quote Die Hard almost verbatim. And I do write suspense novels littered with serial killers and other reprehensible villains. I write them because I like them.

            Thank heavens romance is such a malleable genre. I love romance. I like the happy endings and the man\woman conflict and emotional impact. I have infinite respect for people like Lavryle Spencer who can populate her books with no more than a man, a woman, a farmhouse and a litter of pigs, and keep me compelled to the last page and want more.  But when I try and write pure romance like that, I get panicky.

            "All they're doing is talking!" I protest. (Well, it's not all they're doing). "The story will stall." But if I put a bullet through the kitchen window, I can keep this book moving for three solid chapters.

            So even when I've been given the chance to write a romance, where I can spend my time on clever repartee, I find myself throwing in a housefire. When I could focus on delicious food and luscious clothing, what I'm really focused on is the night sky and code-breaking. That's because my heroes are all members of an elite group of aristocratic spies, Drake's Rakes. My heroines, Fiona and Mairead Ferguson, Scottish twins who find themselves caught up in the intrigue, are quite bright amateur astronomers and mathematicians—which gives them a knack for code-breaking. Which, conveniently helps my heroes,  Alex Knight and Chuffy Wilde in their pursuit of a band of traitorous aristocrats. As you can imagine, adventure ensues along with the romance, keeping all four on their toes, and yes, escaping very bad people with guns and a knack for fire-starting.

            See? Clever badinage is fun, but how many more chances are there for drama, conflict and humor  when I throw in a gun and a bad guy(well, okay, a lot of bad guys. And one very bad woman). It's a lesson I learned well in suspense, and I can't seem to give it up. 
            What about you? Do you like a bit of danger in your romance? Do you consider spies sexier than dandies?

            To find out about my other Rakes, stop by my website www.eileendreyer.com. There's also a bit about astronomy and code-breaking, if you're really interested.

TWICE TEMPTED

Fiona Ferguson's troubles began with a kiss . . .

It feels like a lifetime ago that Alex Knight saved Fiona from certain doom . . . and stole a soul-shattering kiss for good measure. Wanting nothing more than to keep her safe, he left her in the care of her grandfather, the Marquess of Dourne.

But Fiona was hardly safe. As soon as he could, the marquess cast her and her sister out on the streets with only her wits to keep them alive.

Alex has never forgotten that long-ago kiss. Now the dashing spy is desperate to make up for failing his duty once before. This time he will protect Fiona once and for all, from a deadly foe bent on taking revenge on the Ferguson line-and anyone who stands in the way . . .


Bio…A retired trauma nurse, Eileen lives in her native St. Louis with her husband, children, and large and noisy Irish family, of which she is the reluctant matriarch. She has animals but refuses to subject them to the limelight.

Dreyer won her first publishing award in 1987, being named the best new Contemporary Romance Author by RT Bookclub. Since that time she has also garnered not only six other writing awards from RT, but five RITA Awards from Romance Writers of America, which secures her only the fourth place in the Romance Writers of America prestigious Hall of Fame. Since extending her reach to suspense, she has also garnered a coveted Anthony Award nomination.

A frequent speaker at conferences, she maintains membership in Romance Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and, just in case things go wrong, Emergency Nurses Association and International Association of Forensic Nurses.

Eileen is an addicted traveler, having sung in some of the best Irish pubs in the world, and admits she sees research as a handy way to salve her insatiable curiosity. She counts film producers, police detectives and Olympic athletes as some of her sources and friends. She's also trained in forensic nursing and death investigation, although she doesn't see herself actively working in the field, unless this writing thing doesn't pan out.

@eileendreyer

BLOGGING ALONG WITH author Eileen Dreyer and TWICE TEMPTED

About TWICE TEMPTED: Fiona Ferguson's troubles began with a kiss . . . 
It feels like a lifetime ago that Alex Knight saved Fiona from certain doom . . . and stole a soul-shattering kiss for good measure. Wanting nothing more than to keep her safe, he left her in the care of her grandfather, the Marquess of Dourne. But Fiona was hardly safe. As soon as he could, the marquess cast her and her sister out on the streets with only her wits to keep them alive. Alex has never forgotten that long-ago kiss. Now the dashing spy is desperate to make up for failing his duty once before. This time he will protect Fiona once and for all, from a deadly foe bent on taking revenge on the Ferguson line-and anyone who stands in the way . . .

About Eileen Dreyer: New York Times best-selling author Eileen Dreyer has won five RITA Awards from the Romance Writers of America, which secures her  fourth place in the Romance Writers of America prestigious Hall of Fame. Eileen is an addicted traveler, having sung in some of the best Irish pubs in the world.  Eileen also writes as Kathleen Korbel and has over three million books in print worldwide. Born and raised in Missouri, she lives in St. Louis County with her husband Rick and her two children.

Eileen’s social media:
@EileenDreyer

Buy links:
Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/1FasQzq 
Books-A-Million: http://bit.ly/1ukNFH7 
IndieBound: http://bit.ly/1xon12i 

EXCERPT…He arched an eyebrow. “Lord Whitmore again? Please, Fiona. Don't do that to me. When I hear Lord Whitmore, I think of my uncle, who had six fingers and thought bathing was a trick of the devil.”
            She giggled. “I can understand your wanting to maintain the distinction.”
            “Every time you call me Lord Whitmore, I will call you Eloise.”
            She glared at him, the curtains clutched to her chest like bedclothes, as if she were a maiden in threat of seduction. “You wouldn't.”
            He shrugged. “It is your name. Lady Eloise Fiona Ferguson Hawes.”
            “No one knows,” she hissed.
            He leaned in very close. “I do.”
            She reared back and almost tipping the ladder again. “That is patently unfair.”
            He shrugged and reached up for the curtains. “All is fair in love and safety.”
            She refused to budge. “I do not believe that is precisely the quote.”
            Grinning, he put his foot on the second rung, just beneath her. “Close enough.”
            And then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Her blue, blue eyes that were suddenly black with arousal. He heard the sharp intake of her breath and saw the erratic pulse beating at the base of her long white throat.
            His own body reacted just as it had every time he'd gotten close to her. He focused in on her, his grip on her tightening. Still she didn't move, caught in the circle of his free arm, her hip pressed against his chest, her mouth just above his. All he had to do was climb another rung, and he could satisfy a four-year-old craving.
            His heart was galloping suddenly, and he could feel a bead of sweat roll down his back. He could see a glow on her forehead, her upper lip. Her eyes widened, as if she could read his thoughts, and he could scent something new. Arousal. Need. Hunger. His own body was shaking with it. He swore his cock had taken on a life of its own, and his brain simply shut down.
            He leaned a bit closer, his foot still on the step beneath her and paused, giving her a chance to escape, to clout him in the head if necessary. She didn't. She watched him the way prey might a raptor, unsure and wary.  He didn't blame her. He wasn't certain how much control he had over himself. It had been so long since he'd had a woman. So much longer since he'd really liked the one he had.
            Slowly, so he didn't startle her into tipping the ladder, he rose up and set his other foot on the rung. She was frozen in place, one hand fisted around the blood-deep velvet, the other clenched against the ladder, as if she was still uncertain whether to use it.
            She didn't. She inhaled, her mouth opening just a bit, as if there wasn't enough air. As if she were struggling to stay afloat.
            Sink, Alex wanted to say as he lifted himself face-to-face with her, mouth-to-mouth. Sink into me.
            “I knew it!” a voice screeched behind him, shattering the moment. “What did I tell you about lettin' them jackanapes in here?”
            Fiona reared back, as if he'd attacked her, again throwing the ladder off balance. Alex instinctively pulled back to stabilize them. He pulled back too far and the ladder tipped.
There was a lot of yelling and a couple of muffled thuds as Alex landed on his back, cushioning Fiona's fall. He wasn’t so lucky.
            “Are you all right?” Fiona asked immediately, leaning over him.
            “Serves him right,” the housekeeper snapped from the doorway.
            He had hit his head so hard he was seeing stars. But he was smelling cinnamon and Fiona, so he really couldn't complain
            “That is enough, Mrs. Quick,” he heard. “Alex? Your eyes are open. Can you hear me?”
            Rather than admit that he was too distracted by the plump pressure of her breast against his chest to answer, he simply closed his eyes and groaned. The act would have been unworthy of him if his head weren't pounding and his arse aching from hard contact with the floor
            “Mrs. Quick,” she was saying, her hand on his cheek. “See if Mr. Clemson is outside. Send him for the doctor.”
            He knew his injuries didn't merit such concern. “No doctor.” He blinked a couple of times until the multiple Fionas resolved into one. “I'll live. My head is a bit bruised is all.”
            In retaliation, she took away both her hand and breast, which almost set Alex to groaning again. She actually smacked him on the arm. “Then don't frighten me like that....again.
            “Don't know why you let him in here at all,” came the grumble from the doorway.
            Untangling them both from the curtains, Fiona sat up. “Thank you, Mrs. Quick. I think we're all right now.”
            “Ya think that, do ya?”
            Fiona gave her the kind of glare that betrayed her aristocratic heritage. The housekeeper, still grumbling, clasped her hands in a parody of good servile behavior and stalked off down the hall.
            Fiona looked back down to where Alex lay, and he could see the cost of the last tumble on her face. He should have been outraged. He was lying in a nest of curtains with a fresh headache and the humiliation of his fall, and she was...laughing.
            She tried so hard not to. She held her hand to her mouth. She shook her head. He could see her shoulders heave. He would have chastised her, except the minute he opened his mouth, he burst out laughing, too.
            “You are not very beneficial to my amour propre,” he wheezed up at her.
            She couldn't stop laughing, full-throated, full-bellied, as if too much suppressed laughter had simply spilled over. “I...I....didn't...”
            “Mean it,” he managed, making it up as far as sitting beside her. “Yes, I know.”
            She frantically shook her head. “Think anything could be so...funny!” She was gasping, bent over her hands at her waist. “The look on your face!”
            He had meant to get up, to reassert his mastery of the situation. He refused to sacrifice this perfect moment with her on the floor. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he wiped at the tears that coursed down her cheeks.
            “It's not that funny,” he groused.
            She started laughing again. “Oh, yes it is. You can have no idea of how long it's been since I had the chance to laugh. Since I last saw your sister, I think.”
            He had to grin. “Well, yes. Pip would set anybody to laughing. She's a ridiculous little thing.”
            For that he got a resounding smack on his chest. “Do not dare speak ill of my best friend.” She hiccuped, her eyes widening a bit. “My only friend, actually. Except for Sarah and Lizzie. And now that Sarah is married to my brother, I have no idea at all how we will meet again.”
            There was the faintest plaintive note in her voice that made Alex want to curl her completely into his arms and shield her from hurt. Dear God, how lonely she must have been.     “I promise,” he said instead. “I fully respect my sister's loyalty. It's her good sense I frequently question.”
            Her breathing was evening out. She nodded. “Pip does have a knack for acting before thinking.”
            “She's like a whirlwind.”
            “She needs to finally capture her Beau,” Fiona said with a definite nod. “That would settle her down.”
            Alex snorted. “Poor Beau. He'd never have another moment's peace.”
            And for a long moment, they just sat there in a pool of sunlight and velvet, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder. It felt so good. So whole.
            It couldn't last. If he didn't move, he'd damn well take her here on the floor. He opened his mouth to tell her, and then made the mistake of meeting her gaze again.
            Her lips were still parted, but she wasn't laughing anymore. He could see the pulse jumping at her throat, and her hands were clenched again, as if she were trying hard to keep them to herself.
            He didn't know why. Lifting his own hand, he cupped her cheek. Again he gave her the chance to pull away. Again she didn't. His own heart started to skip around. He was rock hard. There was no longer a question. He had to kiss her.


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Sunday, November 23, 2014

BLOGGING ALONG with Shannyn Schroeder discussing how WRITERS ARE WEIRD

Writers Are Weird By: Shannyn Schroeder

I think that in order to be a writer, there has to be some weirdness in you. Because I have kids, I try to keep my weirdness under wraps. But every now and then, it creeps out.

One of the ways it appears is in my collection. I collect frogs.

Yes, that’s right. Frogs. Not real ones—I’m not that weird. But cute, completely unreal frogs. I’m not quite sure how the collection started. I was young, probably around 12. I decided that frogs were cute. I was a day camp counselor that summer. One of the craft projects we had was a particle-board puzzle in the shape of a frog. It wasn’t much of a craft since all we had to do was color it, but it’s something that reminds me of an awesome summer. I began to pick up small frogs at garage sales and craft fairs.

Towards my late teens, other people started giving me frogs. My collection grew. I had a friend paint me a water color of a few pages from the picture book Tuesday (which is about flying frogs—I love it). Other people bought me T-shirts and stuffed animals. One of my husband’s friends bought me a bottle of Bad Frog beer. It still sits in my cabinet unopened.

In recent years, I haven’t added to the collection. My mother-in-law will find me small frog related items, but they don’t actually go into my frog cabinet. Every now and then, I think about getting rid of them. They don’t serve a purpose. They just sit and take up space in a cabinet.

And really, frogs are weird. In real life, they’re not cute (except dart frogs). But as I pass by that cabinet, sometimes I’ll look into it and remember a friend who gave me something because it was cute or funny. Some frogs bring back specific memories or certain people who I haven’t seen in years. Getting rid of those frogs would be like erasing part of my life.

So I hold on to them. They’re a reminder to me that we are more than the day-to-day grind of work and kids and jobs. They remind me when I write that my characters have to have their own frogs, even if the readers never see them.

What do you collect? Or what would you collect if you could?

Book Blurb...Spring break was supposed to be a last blast of fun for three friends before the reality of adulthood set in. But for the trio’s science whiz, it’s an education in instant attraction…
Chemistry major Felicity Stone can tell you everything about the way chemicals interact, but when it comes to social interaction, she needs schooling. Abandoned by her friends, Felicity is faced with spending spring break alone—unless she accepts a gorgeous stranger’s invitation to pose as his girlfriend at a family wedding. Not one to turn down a research opportunity, Felicity never expected it to produce such breathtaking results…

Teacher and baseball coach Lucas Tanner is fascinated by Felicity’s potent mix of spirit and scientist, not to mention her delicious curves. When Felicity asks him to return the favor by teaching her how to pick up guys, he can’t refuse—but he’s not at all happy with the idea of her using a formula for flirting on anyone but him. Can he convince her that together they have the perfect chemistry?

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Bio...Shannyn Schroeder is the author of the O’Leary series, contemporary romances centered around a large Irish-American family in Chicago and the new Hot & Nerdy series about 3 nerdy friends and their last spring break. When she’s not wrangling her three kids or writing, she watches a ton of TV and loves to bake cookies.
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Blogging Along with VIVIAN AREND and ROCKY MOUNTAIN ROMANCE

ROCKY MOUNTAIN ROMANCE by Vivian Arend

Second chances are the sweetest—and the hottest.

It took a spectacularly embarrassing break-up to knock Steve Moonshine Coleman off his lazy butt. In the ten months since that night, he’s changed his ways, and now that Melody’s back in town, it’s time for this sweet-talking cowboy to convince her to get back in the saddle with him.

A return to her veterinary position in Rocky Mountain House was always in the cards for Melody Langley. Getting back together with Steve? Never part of the plan. He had lots of potential but zero ambition, and there’s no way she’ll accept anything less than a man who can keep up with her, in and out of bed.

But the new-and-improved cowboy is impossible to resist, so Melody issues a challenge. Three months to prove he’s reformed. Three months of Steve orchestrating one sexual indulgence after another—wicked distractions from the old boys’ club Melody faces at work and Steve’s growing responsibilities.

He’s got one shot to prove with more than words what’s in his heart and soul.

Bio...Vivian Arend in one word: Adventurous. In a sentence: Willing to try just about anything once. That wide-eyed attitude has taken her around North America, through parts of Europe, and into Central and South America, often with no running water. 


Her optimistic outlook meant when challenged to write a book, she gave it a shot, and discovered creating worlds to play in was nearly as addictive as traveling the real one. Now a New York Times and USA bestselling author of over 40 novels and short stories in both contemporary and paranormal genres, Vivian continues to explore, write and otherwise keep herself well entertained.

She loves to hear from readers: vivarend@gmail.com. You can also drop by http://vivianarend.com for more information on what is coming next.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

GUEST BLOGGING ALONG with Soulceress (Mythean Arcana #2) by Linsey Hall



Soulceress (Mythean Arcana #2) by Linsey Hall

Blurb

A man desperate to save his soul

Three hundred years ago, Warren sold his soul in exchange for the safety of his people. He lives immortal and inhuman, a life in the shadows, hiding his secrets. Until now, when he finally has the chance to reclaim his soul after three centuries of suffering…

A woman forced to live as a renegade

Esha is a soulceress, an immortal who drains the magical powers of others. Shunned by everyone she meets, she’s a rogue mercenary who hunts evil for a living. The only man she cannot harm is Warren, whose secrets intrigue her and whose body sparks her desire…

An evil power that can destroy them

Esha is the only person who can help Warren reclaim his soul. But what begins as a simple quest soon becomes a deadly battle, one in which choices will be made and secrets revealed that could tear them apart. As Esha and Warren uncover their passion, they must defeat the evil forces unleashed against them before time runs out…

Up Next is Rogue Soul (Mythean Arcana #3) by Linsey Hall Blurb

It's her last chance at freedom...
Andrasta, Celtic goddess of victory, has fled the cold, sterile wasteland of Otherworld for the steamy South American jungle. It's only a matter of time before the vengeful gods catch and punish her - unless she can convince the man she betrayed two thousand years ago to help…

And only her enemy can save her
Born in Otherworld to the life of a god, Camulos went rogue centuries ago. He's living on the banks of the Amazon, boxing in bare-knuckled fights. The gods believe he's dead - until Ana finds him. Ana, the woman who gave him nothing but trouble, and the woman he could never forget…

Even the gods have secrets
Thrown together, Ana and Cam must evade the wrath of the gods and a return to the living death of Otherworld. But as they flee through the jungle - and as their passion ignites - they find themselves at the heart of an ancient secret. One that could kill them both and extinguish their souls forever...

About Linsey Hall

Linsey Hall is the author of the Mythean Arcana, a sexy paranormal romance series. Before becoming a romance novelist, Linsey was an underwater archaeologist who studied shipwrecks in all kinds of water, from the tropics to muddy rivers (and she has a distinct preference for one over the other). Her books draw upon her love of history, travel, and the paranormal elements that she can't help but include. Several of her books may or may not feature her cats.


Author Email: LinseyHallAuthor@gmail.com
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/HiLinseyHall/