I know you wanted the old Spice Girls song in your head first thing this morning! In fact, the video’s at the bottom of this page in case you really, really want a quick SG-fix. 🙂

Four of my most recent stepbrother shorties have shot straight to #1 on the short read list on Amazon. But I’m not certain what the attraction is. Do readers love the short, inexpensive (just $0.99) format, the taboo stepbrother angle, or the menage theme? Or all three?

Readers have been asking me for more of Sara and Hunter’s story in With His SEAL Team, in particular. And I do plan a sequel, or maybe more, of stories featuring those two and their extended, sexy SEAL family. Sara still has to find a job she likes and that doesn’t make Hunter crazy. And what about Harley and his rehabilitation?

So, I have these questions. And because I like more than anything in the world to please my readers, I’m asking you what you really, really want. Take this poll. You can choose up to four different answers. If you don’t see an answer you like, write your preference in the comments.

 Loading ...

Contest

Win a free shorty from my short story webpage by simply leaving a comment. You can either tell me the kind of story you want most or tell me which of my stepbrother stories you’ve liked the most. I’ll choose three winners!

Now, enjoy a little Wannabe!

This month started with book six releasing in my Fantasies A-Z Series! This one is Zeke’s Meeting!

The series title is based off of the characters names, Aslan and Zeke. They are a kinky couple that is doing a bit more than dipping their toes into this lifestyle called kink. And they’re exploring it one fantasy at a time. Back and forth from Aslan to Zeke to Aslan….you get the picture.

So there was a stranger fantasy, a dirty pitstop fantasy, wanting to be wanted, girl-on-girl, medical fetish and now the mile-high club. So delicious! Love getting to share these fantasies!

And right now I’m traveling around Iceland and Scotland! So what better way to celebrate than having a giveaway! To one lucky commenter I’m going to give a spanking (pun intended) new e-copy of Zeke’s Meeting!! How do you enter? Super easy! Just tell me your favorite fantasy to read about!!

Happy Commenting!!

Amazon – https://goo.gl/PQLbZc
Kobo – https://goo.gl/FGN9SI
Smashwords – https://goo.gl/OSufWp
Are Café – https://goo.gl/Yt2NKc
Ibooks – https://goo.gl/If8F2j
Website – https://www.jenniferkacey.com/books/zekesmeeting.html

The mile-high club has never seen this kind of meeting.

To secure their Moroccan contract, Zeke and Aslan finally decide they have to invest in a private jet with a full-time pilot. It was a sound business decision that they’d contemplated for years. But who is to say they can’t mix a little bit of pleasure with their business? Or a lot of pleasure…

Zeke’s ready to collect on his next fantasy. His request is wrapped together into becoming a member of the mile-high club. But he’s not looking for just a quickie in a cramped bathroom. More along the lines of an entire buffet spread out naked across their conference room table.

When Aslan learns they aren’t the only kinky couple on the plane, her idea of a business meeting takes on a whole new meaning.

This is the sixth short story in a serial release all featuring Aslan and Zeke. A married couple looking for more and finding it in the arms of each other. There will be nine stories total, with one being released every month or so. Short kinky stories meant to tantalize and excite you. May you fall in love with love and everything that word means to your fantasies…

Decadently Yours,
Jennifer Kacey

Jennifer Kacey is a writer, mother, and business owner living with her miniman in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.

Website – Newsletter – The Decadent Divas– Amazon Page

Facebook – Facebook Author Page – Twitter – Goodreads – Pinterest

A quick reminder! This offer ends today!

Last Day Free!

A woman desperate to escape her marriage bed wages a “war of the bath” against her handsome, brutish husband…

This story is FREE today!

Get your copy now!

Thank you!

And thanks to those of you who bought my two latest releases! It’s much appreciated. And I am hearing loud and clear that y’all want sequels for With His SEAL Team! A couple of you are hoping Harley comes into the picture, too! Naughty girls! If you haven’t picked up a copy of either SEAL story yet, just click on the covers…

The Question

When is it too many? In a menage, I mean. I’ve written menage scenes with as many as 6 people in a very large bed, although most often it’s three or four. And I don’t seem to have a problem keeping all those moving parts connected to the right player. So choreography isn’t the issue. 🙂 So, you tell me.

What is your favorite number?

One lucky commenter will get a small Amazon gift card! Don’t be shy!

UPDATE: The winner is…Colleen C!

* * * * *

Have you ordered your copy? Do you love Navy SEALs? Cowboys? Reunion stories? Well, if you do, Baby, It’s You should please you. I’ve included an excerpt below, just in case you’re waffling. 🙂

The story will release in the early morning hours on Friday. And yes, it’s every bit as sexy its cover. So, take the plunge. Have I ever steered you wrong?

Contest

Baby, It’s You is the 5th story in my Uncharted SEALs series. For a chance to win one of the four prequel stories in the series, answer me this…

What do you love about Navy SEAL stories? 

Baby, It’s You

Carter Vance, Jr. stands at the fork in the road. Wounded in action, the Navy SEAL has a decision to make: whether to find work with a spec ops unit, or return to his family ranch in Texas and repair his fractured relationship with his dying father and the woman he wronged. Complicating the decision is his reignited attraction to Melanie Schaeffer and his confusion over his feelings for his dead brother’s little girl, whom Melanie has raised since his brother’s and her sister’s deaths by a terrorist’s bomb.

Get your copy now!

Read an excerpt

Carter walked into the house and had to remove his glasses due to the dimness inside. Nothing appeared to have changed, save for a new carpet atop the oak floors in the family room. He supposed his father had replaced the raggedy Navajo rug his mother had chosen due to Melanie’s influence. His father had always had a soft spot for women and girls.

Footsteps flew from the kitchen, so fast he tensed until he realized the person wasn’t some insurgent, but instead a slender little girl in blue jeans and boots. Emmy.

Carter didn’t want to feel it, but his chest filled with a sudden indrawn breath as he stared for the first time at the little girl with the red-gold curls. Daniel’s child. His now, by law. Despite his best effort to thwart his brother’s will by simply ignoring the lawyer’s letters.

Commander Callahan had stepped in and forced him to acknowledge his duty. And although he’d decided not to take her himself, Carter had changed his will, signed over his life insurance, and had payments removed from his checks to provide for her support although she hardly needed it.

Lastly, he’d assigned guardianship to Melanie Schaeffer, knowing he was giving the little girl her best chance.

Emmy stopped only a foot away and chewed on her bottom lip as she frowned up at him. “You the seffish bastard who won’ come see Gampa?”

“Emmy!” Melanie’s voice came from behind him as she hurried past to kneel beside the girl. “That’s not a word we use.”

“But Tildy said I was seffish for eatin’ all the snickerdoodles.”

“The B word, Emmy.” Melanie blew out a breath. “We don’t use that word.”

“But Unca Lee says it all the time.”

“Uncle Lee needs to be more careful with his words,” Melanie muttered. She lifted her gaze to Carter. “Sorry about that. This one hears everything and repeats it. Be warned.”

Carter couldn’t help freeing the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like she’s a Vance, through and through.”

Melanie slowly rose to face him.

Without the shield of his sunglasses, he hoped his gaze didn’t give him away. She was still lovely, despite the white scar that trailed down one cheek. Her face was still rounded and youthful. Her curves every bit as lush as they’d been the first day they’d met. He felt a stirring in his groin and grimaced. “I should unpack,” he said, lifting his duffel bag.

“Sure,” she said, tucking a lock of thick red-gold hair behind her ear. Still flustered, she barely met his gaze.

Seeing her fingers freeze beside her ear, he knew she remembered how he’d tucked her hair there, right before he’d kissed her. Or was she pausing because she’d forgotten the hair hid the worst of the scar. His chest tightened.

“You should see your father,” she said softly.

“That’s why I’m here,” he said, knowing his tone had roughened. From sympathy for the pain she’d suffered. Not because her tone chided him to move along. His relationship with his father, or rather, the lack of, wasn’t her business. Dropping his gaze, he bent toward Emmy and reached out, lifting her small chin with a finger. “Good to meet you, Emmy.”

Her green eyes flashed, and a coy smile plumped her small doll’s mouth. “Nice to meet you, Unca Carter.”

As he walked away, he acknowledged the shard of pain that stabbed at his gut. He’d been an ass ignoring her existence. But that could change. If he took the job in Dallas, rather than return to his unit, they’d all have to put up with his regular visits.

He climbed the stairs, slower than he would have liked. The repaired ligaments surrounding his knee were still tender and would be for months. His knee worked well enough, but he hadn’t gone to therapy in a week, and stiffness was setting in. Once he reached the upstairs landing, he strode toward the door at the end—the master suite his father had shared with his mother.

The door opened. An older woman, her face lined, her hair iron-gray, and wearing scrubs exited, and her eyebrows rose. “Took your time,” she chided.

“Hey there, Miz Davis.” She’d been the school nurse when he’d attended middle school and had bandaged many of his scraped knuckles. “He awake?”

“I saw you come up the drive. He’s waiting.”

Carter set his duffel beside the door and entered. Stepping inside was like stepping into a museum. Every artifact carefully reflecting the era of Susan Vance. Her vanity still stood in front of the window with her mirrored tray filled with perfume bottles and a silver-backed hairbrush. Framed photographs, all featuring her smiling face, lined the dresser. While there were pictures of her with his father or his brother Daniel, not surprisingly, there wasn’t one featuring him. As he approached the bed, he hardened his jaw.

His father’s long frame dominated the king-sized four-poster. His eyes were closed, tubing stretched one ear to the other, stubs disappearing into his nose. God, he must hate that. Being seen like this. An invalid. Carter cleared his throat.

His father’s eyes slowly blinked open. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

The man spoke in a voice that wasn’t his. Too raspy, too frail. Carter didn’t want to feel pain, but he couldn’t help it. He lowered into the chair beside the bed. “Hi, Dad.”

His father’s gaze roamed his body, dipping down to his legs. “Heard you tussled with a roadside bomb.”

Carter let one side of his mouth slide upward in a wry grin. “Left a crater. Only tore up my knee. I think I won.”

His father’s grunt was familiar, if weak. “Can you still sit a horse?”

Carter narrowed his eyes. “Why? Will I be useless if I can’t?”

A frown deepened the wrinkles stretched across his forehead. “You liked riding. Would hate it if you lost that, too.”

The look he gave Carter said he understood what loss of mobility was like. Carter swallowed, not wanting to feel any sympathy for the old man, but his dad had always been a force of nature. He was thinner. Shockingly so. Now, he looked as though a breeze would blow him away. “You make it sound like I plan to stick around,” he said, his voice thicker than before.

Carter, Sr.’s blue gaze was as icy as ever. “Aren’t you?”

Before he answered, Carter glanced toward the window. “I’m considering job offers. Maybe one with an outfit in Dallas. I might still finish my last tour. If the docs will clear me.”

His dad’s gaze went to his knee again. “You end up in Dallas, you gonna be a weekend cowboy?”

Carter shook his head. “Won’t be weekends. But I would spend my downtime here. If I’m welcome.”

His father’s face turned away.

Carter thought he might have gone to sleep, and he shifted in his chair, preparing to rise.

“Man has a lot of time to think…when he’s stuck in a bed.”

Something Carter knew to be all too true. Sensing where the conversation might be heading, Carter tensed, his fingers digging into the faded flower upholstery covering the chair.

“I’m not sayin’ it wasn’t your fault,” his father said. “I’m sayin’…I forgive you.”

Carter squeezed his eyes shut. How long had he waited to hear those words? Spoken in a voice as raspy as fine sandpaper, his father’s statement didn’t give him the rush of relief he’d always dreamed about. Instead, anger flooded his veins. Remembering his dad was sick—he wasn’t about to upset him and have yet another death on his hands—Carter stood.

“Got someplace to be?” his father asked, turning his head slowly to lock his gaze with Carter’s.

“Anywhere but here,” Carter whispered, then turned on his heel a little too sharply and bit down hard to keep from groaning. With his dignity drawn tightly around him, he limped away. Stomping down the hallway, he nearly missed the sight of the slim body charging up the last steps.

Emmy glanced upward and gave him a smile. “Gampa wants a story.”

“You read?” he asked, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. What was she? Four?

“Nah. But he likes my stories. ’Specially ones about me and the dragon.”

“You know a dragon?”

Her eyebrows lowered into a fiercely funny frown. “Don’t you know anything? Dragons aren’t real.” She jammed both hands on her hips.

He would have chuckled, but he sensed she’d be affronted, and he didn’t want her angry at him. A pang hit him square in the chest. He’d missed so much of her growing-up years. Done it purposely, but he hadn’t considered how he’d feel about the child. He’d also thought she was likely better off never knowing him. It wasn’t like he’d ever planned to leave the SEALs. Not until he was on the verge of being mustered out against his will.

But here he stood. Facing down a child who, despite her cherubic features, looked every inch a Vance with her stubborn stance and scowl. Daniel’s child. Not for the first time, he felt regret his brother would never have the chance to know her like this.

But he was here. Now. And perhaps, ready to take on the challenge.

Footsteps hurried up the stairs. He glanced beyond Emmy to Melanie as she climbed toward him. Another regret in a lovely package. He’d wronged her as well. “He’s awake. We spoke.”

“I take it that didn’t go well?” Her gaze was wary.

He shrugged. “Depends on your definition of well.”

A frown dug a line between her brows. “Whatever it is between the two of you, you need to get over yourself. You might not love him, but plenty of people inside this house do.”

A small hand tugged at the leg of his jeans. “You don’t love Gampa?”

Melanie arched a brow in warning.

He quickly smoothed his expression, knowing he had to be a little scary-looking to a child when he was angry. “Course I do, Emmy. But your Gampa and I haven’t seen each other in a while.”

She rocked back and forth on her boot heels. “I ain’t seen Petey Whitehead in a month. I might wanna punch him when I do.”

“Emmy…” Shaking her head, Melanie blew out a breath. “She spends too much time with Lee and the hands.”

Carter grunted. “She’s gonna inherit this place. It’s not a bad thing she’s got a bit of a bite.”

Melanie darted him a glance. “Dinner’s at six. Don’t be late. Tilda won’t like it.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Do not let her set my plate. She might spit in my food.”

Melanie shook her head and anger flashed in her green eyes. “Does every word have to be negative or sarcastic?”

“If ya can’t say somepin’ nice…” came a soft mutter from below.

Carter guessed he did deserve a lecture from a kid. “I’m sorry, Mel. I’ll do better.”

She stepped closer and tilted her head to meet his gaze. “This isn’t easy for anyone. We were doing fine. Emmy was happy. Things are about to change…again.”

Seeing the shimmer of tears in her eyes pitched his stomach to his toes. He didn’t know what to say, because every word that formed in his head would have been another unkind deflection. So, Carter did the only thing he could think of to escape her glossy, leaf-green eyes. He reached out one arm and pulled her against his chest.

For a moment, she stiffened, but then she gave him her weight, sagging against him. Her hands smoothed around his sides, and fingertips dug gently into his back as she returned the embrace.

And just as it had happened all those years ago, something settled into place inside Carter’s heart. He felt warmth. Yearning. He felt home.

UPDATE: The winner is…Mia McKimmy!

* * * * *

A storyteller, a writer and an author walk into a bar…

…and the punch line is—they’re three different people.

Say whhhhat??? Isn’t a storyteller a writer, and isn’t a writer an author? To my way of thinking, no.

You see, I’m a born storyteller. I love weaving tales about pretty much anything. Ask me about our fabulous house, and I won’t give you the boilerplate rendition of how hubby and I got the best house ever. No. I’ll tell you the story of how we had the longest short sale in history (17 months!), how we looked at countless other houses, but couldn’t imagine any other than the one we got, how our realtor was an angel of mercy, how I got the news we’d be closing on our new house the day after my back surgery…. In other words, a story.

As a storyteller, I sometimes find the actual act of writing beyond frustrating. I know the story, but putting it on paper can be quite challenging for me. There’s no writing a scene three-quarters of the way through the manuscript then jumping to the beginning then the Black Moment. I have to start at the beginning, move to the middle, then the end. And heaven help me if I’m 40k words in only to realize I made a plot boo-boo in chapter three. I can’t simply make a note and move on. Oh, no… It’s back to where I made the fatal mistake, fix it, THEN move on.

A writer, on the other hand (and IMHO), undoubtedly has the discipline to put their butt in a chair and write every day. I believe the folks who pen those books about how to write 10,000 words a day are writers. I can’t image getting 10,000 words written in a day. I’m lucky to get that kind of word count in a month—hell, in two months.

Writers can also quite probably write about almost anything—they can follow the *trends* in the industry. Regency England midget vampires—got it! Teen-aged werewolf bikers—got that, too! My storyteller isn’t nearly so…flexible. A story gets stuck in my head, and I’m sorry, but that’s…the…story…period. Nothing else happens until THAT story is done. (It’s like have a bulldog for a muse…*sigh*)

And what of the *author* you ask? For me, an author is someone who most likely makes BIG BUCKS with his/her writing. So while it’s safe to assume they’re a writer, they may not be a storyteller. Allow me to explain with a well-known example I shall not name. And please, no hate mail if you know who I’m talking about. I sincerely congratulate the author on all her awesome success… However, I take strong issue with her *storytelling* abilities. Case in point—and again in my most humble opinion—there’s no story between the hero and heroine. A lot of sex, yes, but no story. What’s her GMC (goal, motivation and conflict)? What does she want? Why does she want it? What’s keeping her from getting what she wants? After reading the first book in the trilogy, I couldn’t answer those three questions—questions that should be answered after the first chapter. If the main character’s GMC isn’t defined, there’s no structure for the plot. And without a plot, there can’t be a story.

Now, can a storyteller be a writer and also an author, even by my definition? You betchum! I’m sure there are countless storytelling writers who make serious bank with their stories. Unfortunately, I am not one. As an innate storyteller, I must force myself (everyday!) to be a writer. And while I make some money with my books, it’s not what I consider author money or even moderate author money. But despite the many and varied obstacles in my way, I plan keep doing what I love—and that’s telling stories. <grin>

I want to give a huge THANK YOU to the FABulous Delilah Devlin for hosting me today!

Contest

Leave a comment for the chance to win one of the following titles:

Battle-Born Love
Battle-Tested Love
Erotic Escapades of a Married Couple
Naughty Neighborhood
On the Corner of Heartache and Hopeful – MIC
On the Corner of Heartache and Hopeful – KIRA
On the Corner of Heartache and Hopeful – GRACE
Shattered Trust
Wildflower

Excerpt

Please enjoy the following excerpt from my newest release, On a Knife’s Edge – rated R.

Lynch broke the kiss and grasped the pull tab of the sweatshirt zipper. With purposefully slowness, he lowered it. He bore his gaze into hers, giving Shasta the chance to stop him. She just stared at him with eyes so huge, so round, he thought he’d die within their brown depths.

Once the jacket hung open, he flicked it off her shoulders then skimmed the t-shirt up her torso. She lifted her arms and he pulled the shirt over her head.

He snagged her wrists. “Keep ‘em up, kay?”

Her delicate throat muscles labored as she nodded.

He ghosted his palms over her sports bra then wormed his fingers under the bottom. Still holding her gaze, he tugged it up. She licked her lips and her arms quivered slightly, but didn’t lower. Within seconds, her breasts were bared. He devoured them with his gaze.

They were flawless. The perfect size with two perfectly pearled nipples.

He outlined one areola with his finger. Her body trembled. He shifted her position so she laid prone on the seat, her feet near the handlebars and her head resting on the passenger cushion.

He kissed her again. His balls ached and his cock pounded at twice his heart rate. His hand molded around one breast. The satiny feel sent another shaft of hunger through his blood.

He kissed her eyes closed before nipping his way to her ticklish earlobe. Goose bumps erupted across her skin and her body arched toward him. His mouth journeyed down her delectable flesh to lick the velvet hollow of her neck, then down farther to a rigid nipple. Her body went completely still—almost like she’d stopped breathing—as his lips closed over the puckered crest.

Lynch stroked his tongue over the peak while his hand skimmed across her flat belly to the snug waistband of her jogging shorts.

Shasta braced her heels on the handlebars and elevated her hips. Lynch pulled while she wiggled. At last, he peeled the offending garment off one leg then the other, along with her running shoes. He replaced her socked feet to the outside edge of the handgrips.

Air back up in his chest as he feasted on her spread before him in all her naked glory. Her skin held a slight rosy hue and her earthy, sexy scent filled his senses. Her nest of pussy hair tightened the knot in his belly. He never dreamed he’d see her like this again.

He again gently gripped her wrists and placed her hands on the passenger seat. “You best hold on, Shaly,” he croaked.

*~*~*

Where you can find Lynda:
Website: https://www.lyndabailey.net
Blog: https://www.lyndabailey.net/category/blog/
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/LyndaBaileyRomanceAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/authorlyndab
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/baileylynda/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6472849.Lynda_Bailey
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Lynda-Bailey/e/B007UQHW9E/

UPDATE: The winner is…Roxie A Jones!

* * * * *

I woke up late today. I’m a little worn out. My dd, SIL, and I have done our civic duty to pay attention to the news and watch those conventions. With the 7-year-old’s bed in the middle of the living room while she’s recovering, we had to tape the conventions and watch them when we could, but we are finally done.

This election cycle is completely crazy. And I think my family is reflective of the nation at large when it comes to who’s voting for whom.

My 96-year-old grandma (who’s a lifelong Democrat) is glad she hasn’t registered to vote.

My parents (who’ve voted Republican ALWAYS) are struggling to remain staunchly supportive of their candidate. My poor dad gets so angry at T-word’s antics and words.

My two kids are split. My son has decided he’s staying home on Election Day, since his candidate, Bernie Sanders, didn’t get the nod from the Dems. My dd and SIL are voting for H-word. My daughter’s convinced the targeted hatred toward her candidate is the result of genetics, not intelligence. People don’t like her because she’s a strong woman.

I know who I’m voting for. My support hasn’t wavered even once. When Obama faced McCain, I wanted to vote McCain, because I didn’t think Obama was prepared. That is, I was for McCain until Palin became his running mate, and then, I couldn’t bear the thought of her being a bullet away from the Oval Office. So, you can guess who I support now. It’s been hard not to wave my flag on social media, but I know that there are people out there who are virulent to the point of being obnoxious over their support of their candidate, and I don’t want to invite any of that. I hope I haven’t done that by talking about what’s on my mind now.

Just know, this old Army vet worries about power being held by someone who doesn’t get what America’s about. Someone who doesn’t understand our history or fear our foes.

So, I don’t care if you say who you’re voting for. I’d like to know if you watched the conventions, if you’re doing your homework. I’ve been watching everything I can. I watched almost all the 11-hour Benghazi grilling. All of the House’s email grilling. As much of both candidates’ speeches as I can catch on the news. And I READ every article and interview I can find. How are you preparing for what might be the most important vote of our generation?

Now, because I’ve made you think of things that might make you uncomfortable, here’s an incentive to post your answer. If you comment, you’ll be entered to win a free download of this coming Friday’s release, Baby, It’s You! The winner will be announced tomorrow. And if you’ve already pre-ordered that story, I’m sure we can come up with something else you’d love to read. 🙂