UPDATE: The winner is…ButtonsMom2003!
*~*~*

For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, let me know who this weekend’s book boyfriend will be! 

Here’s a suggestion… 🙂

After writing Wolf’s HEA in Through Her Eyes, Wolf and Piper wouldn’t get out of my head, so I gave them a second story, Between a SEAL and a Hard Place! Both stories are fun and depict two equally capable (badass!) and stubborn people.

You can find the books here:
Through Her Eyes — https://amzn.to/38XWjF0
Between a SEAL and a Hard Place — https://amzn.to/3hmRtWq

Here’s an excerpt from Hard Place… 

So many things were the same. Merciless heat beating down from above. Staring through the scope of a Macmillan Tac-50 from a dusty perch. Spotter at his elbow. Familiar chatter from the mission commander in his ear. And yet, everything was different.

For Wolf Kinkaid, the differences made the experience surreal. Yes, the air was hot, but he wasn’t wearing a heavy helmet, which would have cooked his brain. His position was on a high-rise rooftop rather than amid rocks in a lonely mountain pass. The spotter at his elbow was dressed in SWAT black rather than a uniform of woodland camouflage, as was he. And the commander providing updates of what was happening inside the building entrance he surveilled wasn’t talking about insurgents. He gave details about an Assistant District Attorney, a “suit” who was about to exit the law building they watched.

Yup, he was a long, long way from Afghanistan.

“Suit’s taking the elevator,” Deke Warrick, the mission commander, said quietly over the comm in his ear.

Wolf checked the pictures he’d taped to the wall he knelt behind. One was of ADA Ben Souther who had a hit on him from a Mexican cartel, primarily for the fact he was preparing to prosecute a high-ranking cartel member for murder and racketeering. The second photo was of the assassin that the team—which consisted of FBI, ATF, and Charter agents—was trying to take down. They wanted to arrest the bastard and maybe milk him for names of other members residing in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. Wolf’s particular talent was needed to implement Plan B if the assassin got too close to Souther.

Outfitted with a Kevlar vest, Souther was accompanied by two bodyguards, both provided by Wolf’s new employer, Charter Group. They’d trained for this mission for a week in another city with a similar topography, all while keeping Souther in a safe house. Souther’s office had hired the company to provide added protection and, hopefully, nab another cartel member, because the cartel lieutenant they’d captured had, so far, remained uncooperative. After weeks of lying low, Souther had grown restless and suggested they end the impasse by allowing him to act as bait.

He was a gutsy bastard, an ex-Marine who’d used the GI Bill to complete his education and become an attorney. So, Charter had agreed, figuring he knew the score and could handle himself should shit go sideways. A situation which chatter from paid CIs said was about to happen.

“Get ready,” said Deke. “He’s about to come through the doors.”

His sights already set, Wolf looked through his scope, noted Souther’s set jaw, his short buzz-cut. Determination and fearlessness radiated from the man. He wasn’t a SEAL, but the man was a warrior, no matter he now wore a suit and tie. His battlefield was a different kind of minefield, a courtroom.

The doors swung open, and one of his guards preceded him, glancing left and right before turning to usher Souther through them. His second guard kept close to his back, glancing behind then taking in the sidewalk and the armored car placed behind a barricade that stood in front of the doors.

“We have movement from the West,” said Deke.

Wolf pivoted his weapon on its tripod. A slender figure with an impressive rack, wearing a ball cap, moved forward at a fast clip. But she wasn’t the target. He recognized that long, fit frame. Her brown and copper hair was drawn back in a ponytail that bobbed behind her. He noted a cord extending from her ear to her collar.

Damn, his fears were confirmed, the little twit was on the job, and likely looking for the same target they hoped to capture.

“Wolf, is that—”

“Southwest corner of the building,” came another urgent voice.

Again, Wolf sighted down his barrel. No time to wonder why she was here or how she’d discovered their plan. A man wearing blue jeans, a cowboy hat drawn low over his forehead, and wearing a casual jacket also made his way down the sidewalk from the opposite direction.

“God dammit,” he whispered as he took a bead on the man, ready to pull back the trigger at the first sight of a weapon—should the team closing in on him not get there in time. He glanced to the left, hoping the damned woman wasn’t about to get in the way of his bullet. Then she glanced up to the rooftop where he perched, mostly hidden, and he cussed again. She knew he was there, but she was still coming fast.

She reached behind her and drew a handgun then kept it hidden against her thigh.

“Dammit, he’s got a gun!” Deke said. “Wolf! Take him out!”

Wolf adjusted, aimed for the middle of the cowboy’s thigh, drew a breath, held it for a split second, and then pulled the trigger. Blood spurted from the wound.

Piper sprinted the last few feet and took the assailant down at the knees. His cowboy hat fell away, long black hair spilled, a dark hard-edged profile was revealed. They had their man.

Or rather, Piper did, pressing into the wound Wolf had made while shoving her Glock hard between the bastard’s legs.

I’ll be back with a book boyfriend for your weekend pleasure later today, but for now, don’t miss out on the prizes listed below!!

Open Contests

1. Tell me a story… (Puzzle-Contest) — Win an Amazon gift card!
2. Desiree Holt: Numbers Game (Contest & Excerpt!) — Win an Amazon gift card!
3. Flashback: Lawless (Contest — 3 Winners!) — Win a FREE book!
4. Good Dad Examples… (Contest) — Win an Amazon gift card!
5. Michal Scott: Don’t Yell At A Sleepwalker (Contest) — Win an Amazon gift card!

UPDATE: The winner is…Pat!
*~*~*

“You don’t yell at a sleepwalker. He may fall and break his neck” is probably one of my favorite lines from Billy Wilder’s classic film, Sunset Boulevard. The main character Joe Gillis makes this observation of Norma Desmond, a faded silent screen star who has built a false reality about her circumstances. She believes she’s still famous and desired when the truth is she has been forgotten. I like this line because it poses me with a challenge: what do you do when you come up against a worldview that ignores reality? Joe lets Norma keep sleepwalking/living her lie. He doesn’t yell to wake her up until the end of the movie, but by then it’s too late.

I’m reviewing a historical fiction that depicts life in Atlanta, Georgia in the 1880s. The author brings in characters and storylines you don’t normally see in mainstream historical fiction: Jews as major characters, the mixed-race heritage reality of Southern society (look how long it took historians to own up to Thomas Jefferson fathering children by Sally Hemmings), and a historic African-American event. I applauded the story until I got to the last scene. The ending, while deservedly triumphal, rang hollow to me. Why? Because historically for every step forward in the African American struggle for equality there are always two steps back. Ending as it does the story gives the sleepwalker/feel-good impression that right always triumphs. To the author’s credit, she shares the actual facts of the strike at the back of the book. My review will encourage readers to read that timeline first. Another fictional account dealing with the same historical event shared how the larger society made sure that win was never a gain, but still ended hopefully by embracing the truth expressed by the late John Lewis: “Our struggle is not the struggle of a day or a week, a month or a year. It is the struggle of a lifetime.”

Are there times when you have to risk the sleepwalker breaking their neck? Yes. When sleepwalking reinforces stereotypes. In 1943’s Casablanca Ilsa Lund asks, “Who is the boy playing the piano?” She’s asking about Sam, a Black adult. How does someone supposedly from Eastern Europe know to call a Black man a boy? I’ve yet to find one review or commentary of Casablanca that notes this sleepwalker slight, i.e., it’s right and normal to call Black men boys. The Big Band hit, “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” written in 1941, displays the same attitude. Black men working as railroad porters were called boy. Many of these men were highly educated. None of them were boys.

As a historical romance writer, I’m grateful for folk who have yelled me awake when I’ve written something, albeit historically accurate, that reinforces disparaging or belittling sleepwalker attitudes. As a member of the human race, I’m thankful for groups like the NAACP and the ACLU that have been yelling people awake for years.

For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, answer this question: at the risk of a broken neck, if you’re sleepwalking would you want someone to yell and wake you up?

“Who Can Find A Virtuous Woman” featured in Falling Hard: A Passionate Ink erotic romance anthology

Losing her virginity is free-born Eve Richardson’s only hope of escape from marriage to an insufferable fundamentalist preacher. In need of a knight in shining armor, she finds a potential candidate in straightlaced Madison Dugger, the first of his family born outside of slavery. Madison does find Eve desirable and has wanted her for as long as he’s known her. But classism and internalized racism are barriers to love he finds unscalable so he balks at Eve’s request. Can she overcome his objections in time to enlist his aid in her deflowering, saving her from a life as a virtuous woman?

Excerpt from “Who Can Find A Virtuous Woman”

Reflecting on Mr. Richardson’s prejudices had put Madison in mind of a prejudice of his own. He never thought light-skinned girls were informed or intelligent enough to be attractive. Eve forced a reevaluation of his low opinion. She impressed him as she rattled off names, dates, and facts at the Bible study. She neither bragged about what she knew nor backed away if challenged. Her tone was self-possessed and forward-looking, as if her own name would make some fact and date famous. Or infamous.

He had liked that. Her directness challenged his society-approval-seeking ways. In her, he recognized an adventurous spirit akin to the one he kept hidden. He imagined himself as a couple with her. With her as his mate, he would be a bolder advocate for people of color. But given what had happened to Eve’s brother, Mr. Richardson might not want a firebrand for his daughter.

The early evening air had contained the warmth of the season. The nature of ice cream being what it was—well, accidents were bound to happen. Eve had seemed particularly accident-prone last night. A bit of caramel pumpkin ice cream had dribbled at the corner of her mouth. To capture it, her pretty pink tongue had lavished long, slow licks across her ripe curvy lips. Those long, slow licks had telegraphed a message to the pulsing bulge between his legs.

She’d unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse and fanned herself languidly. “My but it’s hot for Indian summer.” As her chest swelled upward, unrestrained thanks to the open buttons, Madison had swallowed hard at the glimpse of tempting golden-brown skin.

More ice cream had dripped onto an exposed spot of breast. She’d scraped up the spill with her middle finger then sucked on her fingertip like a baby nursing at its mother’s tit—all for his benefit. Of that, he was sure.

Madison had sighed. When he’d looked up, she was staring directly at him. He’d hoped his enjoyment of her cleavage hadn’t been detected. The smirk twisting her lips had dashed his hopes. He’d shuddered and glanced away. Being caught like Peeping Tom by this alluring, knowing vixen had stiffened his cock.

Buylink: https://books2read.com/u/mdDP7O

UPDATE: The winner is…Jolene E. Durante!
*~*~*

Okay, so my SIL gives me tons of good examples of how a dad should act. This photo makes me laugh but is another example of him teaching his kids.

The 17-year-old boy can’t get it through his brain that he should always lock his car no matter how much of a hurry he is in. So, his parents have decided to go on a campaign to help him remember.

He parked his car in the parking lot outside his fast-food workplace. Dad found the car, noticed that not a single door was locked, so he crept inside and began taking pictures—of the change in his console in open view, of his bookbag on the back seat, and this one of him sitting behind the wheel. Now, the SIL is a handsome man, but he doesn’t mind looking goofy. This photo only went out to family members, but the next time they find his car unlocked, it’s going on Snapchat!

That’s my example. What’s yours? Comment below for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!

UPDATE: The winners are…Laura, Mona Lisa Swarm, and Eileen Airey!
*~*~*

For a chance to win your choice of one of these Cowboys
on the Edge stories, answer me this!

Do you love cowboys who are also firefighters and lawmen?

(Click on a cover if you’d like to learn more!)

Don’t know what you’re missing in this cowboy series? Read an excerpt…

Lawless

When a Texas deputy’s motorcycle club trashes a bar with him leading the brawl, the sheriff decides his punishment will be serving as the bouncer/enforcer for the pretty owner while she runs a booth serving bikers during a weekend-long motorcycle club convention.

Get your copy here!

Excerpt from Lawless…

Just look at what had happened last night at her bar. One minute she’d been giving the bikers her little speech about how to behave in her place, and the next, one of the town’s deputies was going toe-to-toe with a rival club’s knucklehead who’d gotten too handsy with one of her waitresses.

Not that Ruby was sweating the damages. The vets’ biker club had shown up as soon as she’d opened her doors earlier that day to help with the cleanup. And they’d all pitched in to cover the damages for the broken window and furniture.

As for the man who’d started the free-for-all, Sheriff Penske had assigned the deputy, as punishment, to hang around her booth all weekend to make sure more fights didn’t break out.

What the hell was she going to do with him constantly underfoot? He’d be a six-feet something, tattooed and heavily muscled, dark-haired, dark-eyed distraction.

And why she’d noticed all those qualities was a mystery. She liked her single life. Liked the occasional date with a man who knew her boundaries. Liked to bed one once in a while.

However, when she’d seen the deputy wade in with his fists curled and his eyebrows lowered, a shiver of pure lust had radiated down her spine and straight into her core. Just remembering had her clenching her thighs.

Dammit. Wasn’t she more evolved than to be attracted to a knuckle-dragging meathead? Okay, so maybe she was reaching for a description that would place him in the “Oh, hell no” category of men she met, but she needed to strengthen her backbone before he showed up.

No. She shouldn’t have it, no matter how kind Josh’s offer had been. She didn’t need a man hovering. She could take care of herself—Thank you very much, Sheriff Penske.

But she hadn’t said a word when he’d assigned the deputy his penance.

Ruby glanced at the oversized dial of her watch. It was nearly two. He’d be here any minute. Glancing around, she tried to think of some way to divert him. Too bad there weren’t any visitors who looked ready to let their fists fly. No, everyone was pretty mellow, gathering around unlit campfires near their pitched tents and campers, looking as laidback as any seniors in an RV club, gathering to chat and play some checkers with old friends.

“Miz Tackett?” came a low-pitched voice behind her.

Her heart fluttered, and she cursed silently. Ruby Tackett did not get giddy around any man. She turned slowly, and her heart stuttered at her first sight of him. His jaw was dark with a thickening shadow of whiskers. He wore a black T-shirt with “Ride Free – Respect Our Vets” across the front, his club’s leather jacket, and well-worn brown cowboy boots. A black cowboy hat was tilted low over one eye. His badge and a holster were attached to his leather belt. Oh boy, was she in trouble.

Straightening her spine, she gave Deputy Nolan a stern look. “You made a mess of my place last night.”

“I surely did, ma’am, and I’m sorry about that. I’m grateful you didn’t press charges.”

She drew a deep breath and forced her expression to remain as mean as she could manage. “The sheriff says you’re going to hang around my booth this weekend.”

He gave her a solid nod, his gaze never slipping downward.

Something she appreciated, since most men couldn’t control the urge to check out her boobs. They were out there, after all. Nothing she was ashamed of. God gave her big boobs, and she’d learned to use them to her advantage, not the other way around. So, maybe he wasn’t a boob man…? “There’s no room inside my booth for someone who’s not handing out drinks.”

He reached behind him and pulled out a small red book.

Her mouth twitched as she noted he had a vintage copy of Mr. Boston Official Bartenders Guide. “Jesus, where did you find that?”

He wrinkled his nose. “At Mary’s Used Books.”

“I’m shocked,” she said, giving him a little smile. “I didn’t think she carried anything her pastor would disapprove of. It’s damn hard to find a decent romance book in her store that doesn’t have some Amish woman on the cover.”

His mouth stretched. “She swore me to secrecy when she pulled it out from under the counter. Said she knew someday the right customer would come looking for it.”

Holy hell, I’m in trouble. His smile dug dimples into both of his cheeks, and the man had all his teeth.

“So where do you want me?” he asked, his eyelids narrowing just a bit.

Did he really just ask that? Was he flirting with her? Ruby drew a deep breath, which strained the buttons of her shirt.

His gaze slid slowly downward.

And there it was. Her superpower hadn’t failed her after all. She took a step past him and beckoned him with a curled finger held beside her shoulder. “Follow me.”

UPDATE: The winner is…..Debra Guyette!
*~*~*

Leave a comment for a chance to win a $5 Amazon GC!

It’s football season! Yay!

Kick it off with a book that’s received almost all 5-star reviews.

What they said about the book:

“Numbers Game is a touchdown from start to finish.” N.N. Light

“Can we get some more collaboration books from Desiree and Liz? They actually touchdown together with this fantastic college football book.” Terra Oenning

“This book was amazing! Definitely check it out! I can’t wait to read more by these authors!” Kelz Marie

 “A great read. Did I mention it is SMOKIN HOT?” RCA

“This book will have you on the edge of your seat, waiting and WANTING it all!! If I could give it more than 5 stars, I absolutely would!!” Rosalie Belle

BUY IT HERE!
https://desireeholt.com/books/numbers-game/

Making a pass could just mean scoring a second chance…

Former NFL player and coach Duncan “Hatch” Hatcher fumbled his career and marriage. Now divorced and ready to tackle his future, he has an opportunity to redeem himself as coach of his college alma mater’s football team. But how can he can turn the team’s losing streak around and keep the secret of his downfall buried when the school agrees to a documentary that will allow a lovely journalist to dig her way into his past…and into his heart?

Olivia Grant’s ex-husband almost wrecked her journalism career while he definitely did a number on her self-esteem. The documentary on Duncan Hatcher is the perfect way to rebuild both. As a freshman in college, she’d had a crush on the senior football hero, but he hadn’t known she existed. She never expects the sparks that fly between them as they work on the project nor the struggles they must face if they both want to win.

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/NumbersGame

Excerpt from Numbers Game

Every move after that, to her, seemed to have some kind of sexual connotation.

The air between them vibrated with the electricity sparking back and forth. By the time he paid the check and they left the restaurant, every pulse in her body pounded, her breasts ached, and her teeny tiny thong was soaked. She wanted to hurry home and take a cold shower before she did something really stupid.

In the truck, he turned on the radio and found a station playing oldies rock music that he tuned low. They rode in a silence that was more electric than uncomfortable, especially when he reached over and took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. When they reached her townhouse, he again lifted her from the cab and walked her to the door, holding her hand. When she had the door open, he turned her to face him and studied her face for a long time. She waited, wondering if she had the willpower not to cross that line from professional to personal and how much damage she’d do if she did.

“You have to be the sexiest sports reporter I’ve ever met. I would really like to kiss you. Would that be okay with you?”

She should have turned away, but she couldn’t find the willpower. The kiss was soft and gentle, a mere brush of lips, a touch of flesh. Then it was over, but she wanted more. A lot more. She could feel this spinning out of control, and she was powerless to stop it.

“If you invite me in, I’m not going to turn you down.”