Still have my head down, writing my short, stubby little fingers to the bone. I’m almost finished with the first big book. It’s killin’ me, I tell ya! (That was my overdramatic “It’s alive!” voice)

The She-Shifters blog is up and running. My fellow author-contributors to this fun collection are eager to talk about their stories. Drop by to see what Victoria Oldham has to say today. We’ll have contest information up soon, but don’t wait until then to get acquainted with our site and book! She Shifters

Since you dropped by, I have one of my very important, let’s-change-the-world type questions. Not really, but let’s have fun…

If you had to wear a button with a maximum of six words on it describing your outlook on life, what would your button say?

I’ll start. I WISH my button could say, “Don’t worry, be happy.” Thank you, Bobby McFerrin, that song is in my head for the rest of the day!

[Sorry—photos removed!]

Casea Major – Everyone Loves a Good K.I.S.A.

Thank you for having me today, Delilah. It’s a pleasure to be here.

What is a K.I.S.A?

A KISA is the most sought-after hero in all of romance. He is the original and what all heroes strive to be. He is the Knight In Shining Armor (K.I.S.A) and in honor of your love for the modern-day KISA – The Fireman, I thought I would share a few hunks of burning love with you.

I’m not sure which these guys do better – put out the fire or start one up.

Fireman really are the modern day KISA, and there’s nothing we romance readers like better than a good KISA, especially one that’s as accessible as 9-1-1.

That was part of the inspiration for my 1-Night Stand Story, One Knight in Brooklyn.

My hero, Robert, a fireman and business owner from Brooklyn, hasn’t dated since the death of his wife 3 years before.  But at the prodding, cajoling, and general pain-in-the-assin’ of his in-laws (That’s right in-laws.) he books a one-night stand at the Castillo Resort in Niagara Falls.

He doesn’t know how the fuck it happened, but he ends up in a castle near a forest where he meets a smokin’ hot Lady Marianne.  According to Robert, “If she was a fire, she’d be a goddamn 5-alarm ringer! And she’s what the guys at the station call a 10/10 – which means on a scale from 1 to 10, she’s the top no matta which way she’s facin’,  if ya know what I mean.”

One Knight in Brooklyn

After signing up for a one-night stand through an exclusive matching agency, hopeless romantic Marianne Caldwell is swept away to a medieval land where she hopes to spend the night with a worthy man of honor.

Unsure of how she got from the Castillo Hotel in Las Vegas to a castle in the English countryside, Mare finds Robert, whose stunning physique and winning smile immediately convince her he’s the Robin Hood she’s been seeking.  But despite his efforts in saving her from a corrupt sheriff, his Jersey Shore accent and coarse ways unravel her romantic visions.

With her fairytale fantasies coming unhinged, Mare must decide if Robert is just a crass car salesman from Brooklyn or the chivalrous knight she’s looking for.

One Knight in Brooklyn is on sale now at Decadent Publishing, Amazon and all major retailers.

You can find me and my other stories at my blog:  https://caseamajor.wordpress.com/ or any of the following places.

FACEBOOK / GOODREADS / THE ROMANCE REVIEWS /
MANIC READERS/ AMAZON PROFILE

I’m playing hookie from here today! Check out two different websites for two separate chances to win free books!

** Wild & Wicked Cowboys

** After Midnight Fantasies

Drop by, post a comment, and you might just be a winner…

First Kisses

One of my favourite parts to write in any story is that all-important first kiss. This is the moment—at least for me—where the relationship changes from an idea and an emotion to that first step towards physical intimacy. Depending on the story, we may go a lot further than a kiss, or we may not.  But that kiss is chemistry in action, when all the senses are on high alert.

Each kiss is different because each character is different. Therefore the emotions are different and as we know it’s not just the actual kiss that counts but how it feels to the character emotionally.

I wasn’t sure how it was all going to go in my current release, actually. Clara Ferguson is a former victim of abuse so physical contact is a real challenge for her. I knew that Ty had to be gentle so she wasn’t physically overwhelmed. At the same time, I wanted it to be fan-flipping-tastic. For both of them. I wanted it to be romantic and the stepping stone into the next step of their relationship.

Here’s a sneak peek at that kiss:

They were nearly to the door now and it seemed every nerve ending Clara possessed was on high alert. She was interested in Ty. She thought about him far too often and she was way too aware of him. But that wasn’t the same thing as being interested in a relationship. They were two very different things. Attraction was momentary. Relationships represented a commitment too scary to even really comprehend.

But it didn’t stop the tingling sensations she felt as his arm brushed hers, sliding the barn door a few feet to the side, letting in a chilly puff of air.

“The moon’s bright tonight,” Ty murmured. His body blocked the door part way; there was no way she could slip through the gap without brushing against him. She swiped her tongue over her lips that seemed suddenly dry.

“It was full two nights ago,” she replied, closing her eyes briefly as she realized how breathy she sounded.

“But cloudy.” Ty still didn’t move. He pointed upwards. “Look. It’s so clear the stars go on forever. The unending sky is my favourite thing about the prairies.”

She moved forward a bit but her view was blocked by the breadth of Ty’s chest. He slid back against the heavy wood frame of the doorway, making room for her to peer through.

The sky was enormous and stunning, full of twinkling stars and the steady, watchful gaze of planets. A cloud of breath frosted the view for a moment as she tilted her head up to watch a satellite cross the sky in a steady, perfect arc.

“What do you suppose it’s watching?” she whispered, pointing at the moving dot.

When Ty didn’t answer, she turned her head. He wasn’t watching the stars at all. Instead he was looking at her. He wasn’t smiling. But there was something about him that made her forget the fall air and made her warm all over.

“Look at the stars,” she chided softly. “They’re beautiful.”

“No more beautiful than you.”

Her breath caught in her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

“Why did you really come out here tonight?”

She couldn’t answer. Instead she bit down on her lip as she stayed suspended in the delicious sensation of being the sole focus of Ty’s attention.

He lifted his hand and rested it on the side of her neck while his thumb brushed the curve of her jaw. Breathing was torturous now as Ty’s face seemed to come closer. His eyes were open – those gloriously velvet eyes with gold flecks dancing around his pupils. The cotton of his shirt touched the knit of her sweater as their bodies drifted closer.

But Clara was totally lost when he raised his other hand and cradled her face in his palms, like he was holding something precious and fragile. There was no fear here. No hesitation. There was no darkness, only light.

“Clara,” he murmured, and he shifted his head the tiniest bit, closing the remaining gap and touching his lips to hers.

Her lips drifted closed as the sensation rippled through her. His lips were soft and gently persuasive. Instinctively hers parted beneath his, willingly yet carefully tasting what he was offering. What she discovered was sweetness. She hadn’t expected sweetness from a man like Ty.

His hands moved from her face to cup her neck, his fingers tangling with her hair, moving through her curls but demanding nothing. All her preconceptions drifted away on the night air. He was the Cadence Creek bad boy. She’d expected him to take. But he wasn’t. He was giving, instead, and she rested a trembling hand on his chest for balance as she tilted her head and leaned into the kiss.

He was a solid wall of muscle and man; steady and strong. As she slid her hand up to his shoulder the kiss deepened, losing a touch of its sweetness and replacing it with a wildness that was a promise of what lay ahead. It was an urgency that was somehow unrushed – an acknowledgement of the flare of passion without the need to let it burn out.

It was the most incredible kiss she’d ever experienced.

Ty broke away first, resting his forehead against hers for a few seconds. His breath fanned her cheek in small gasps and she felt the accelerated rise and fall of his chest and shoulders beneath her fingers.

The last thing she expected to see when she pulled back and looked into his face was concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t mean to push. To rush you. I…”

Emotion rushed through her veins – relief and gratitude and affection and awe. She stood on her tiptoes and put her arms around his neck, drawing him into a hug.

“Hey,” he soothed, but he didn’t push her away. He looped his arms around her back and rubbed the base of her spine. “It’s okay. Right?” His breath was warm on her hair. “Should I have asked first?”

He sounded so unsure. It was a revelation and a smile blossomed on her lips.  She nodded against his neck. “It’s okay,” she said, the words muffled but discernible. He tightened his arms around her and she wanted to weep with the wonder of it. It was more than a kiss between them. He knew. He understood.

Today I’m giving away a kindle copy of THE REBEL RANCHER to one lucky commenter! All you have to do is tell me about a favourite first kiss – real or fictional!

Yesterday’s Winner

The winner of the free download of Stone’s Embrace (by random number generator) is…leann! Congrats, leann! Send me an email to arrange delivery of your prize!

Sunday Report Card

This was a much better week than last week. I’m finally thinking I might make my two major end-of-month deadlines, maybe three. I wrote a total of 62 pages on my paranormal for Montlake and my western for Samhain. And I read through 15 firemen stories. I got a little distracted this past couple of days because I wanted to rush thru the pages to play with my dominoes. The Red-Headed Hellion and I are making pendants from dominoes. You can see pics on Facebook. Anyway, they don’t have a thing to do with what I should be doing, but I needed a break—something creative that doesn’t have a thing to do with writing. This week, I hope to reach THE END of the paranormal, then I’ll have to revise, revise, revise! Did I ever mention how much I HATE revisions?

Girls Girls Girls, coming June 21st!

Here’s a snippet from my story, “Marmalade”:

Dressed in a silk robe I’d found on a hook behind the bathroom door, I sat at the breakfast table with Tess. We waved through the window at the men as they climbed into Bob’s Beemer. The men smiled. Greg gave a waggle of his eyebrows, and then they were gone.

When my gaze returned to her, she smiled like the Cheshire cat. “This is nice,” she said peering at me over the rim of her tea cup. “Just us girls. How ever will we entertain ourselves?”

I bit the corner of my lip, a blush beginning to heat my cheeks because she looked like a movie star, and her robe had parted, revealing a deep, luscious décolletage. I had a weakness for lovely bosoms, something Greg indulged with the porno flicks he brought home, featuring generously endowed women.

Tess set her cup in her saucer and leaned over the table. “Do you mind doing something for me?”

My glance darted up from her chest. Since Greg had been so adamant about his suspicions, I already had an inkling what would happen this day. I nodded, hoping my husband hadn’t been dead wrong. “What do you have in mind, Tess?” I asked, keeping my expression open and innocent.

Her lush mouth pursed. “I thought we might get to know each other. You’re really very lovely. So petite. I couldn’t help noticing. Do you mind opening your robe, my dear. I’ve been dying to see your breasts.”

I cleared my throat. “My breasts. You want to see them?”

“Yes, dear. Now.”

My nipples tingled, beginning to slowly ripen. “Um, is my husband’s job at risk?” I asked, my voice small and breathy. I glanced up from beneath my eyelashes, letting her know this was part of the game, something that pleased me, pretending reluctance because I wanted my sexual partner to be in charge.

Her mouth twitched then flattened. Her chin rose to a haughty angle. “You don’t have to do a thing, my dear. However, you should know that when I’m pleased, so is Bob.”

“Oh,” I sank my teeth into my lower lip and let my gaze slide away. Then holding my breath, I leaned back in my seat and eased aside the lapels of the floral silk robe, one side at a time, holding the belt closed to preclude a view of anything farther south. The lapels framed my breasts. “They’re small,” I said, feeling like I should apologize.

“Your nipples aren’t.” She rose in her seat and reached across to tug on a lengthening stem.

I hadn’t expected her to be quite that bold. I drew in a deep, jagged breath. Arousal bloomed, dampening my pussy and likely leaving a wet spot beneath me. By her hard challenging stare, I didn’t think she’d mind.

Her fingertips tightened painfully on my nipple, and she pulled, drawing me off my chair and around the table until I bent over her, breasts level with her mouth.  She turned her seat to face me, then leaned forward and tongued the other nipple which already protruded.

Everything was happening so fast, all I could do was react. All thoughts of how I must look or sound flew out of my head. I gasped and whimpered as she twisted the one nipple and lavished its twin with succulent tugs and wicked flicks. My nipples drew tighter, dimpling, the tips elongating. Glancing down, I loved the way her mouth sucked on one of them like a straw, drawing so hard I felt the pull all the way to my cunt. I grasped the arms of her chair and arched my back to thrust my breasts closer, mashing the one she suckled against her face.

Her chuckle was muffled and dry. When she pulled back, she raised a brow. “It’s quite warm in here. You don’t really need that robe, do you?” she said, pinching both my nipples hard.

I glanced out the window, at the long manicured lawn and the lakeshore that rimmed the edge. There wasn’t a soul around to see me as I eagerly shimmied out of the robe, letting it puddle on the floor behind me. I clasped my hands in front of my pussy, assuming a modest stance.

Her gaze raked my body, lingering on my pussy before coming back to my face. “You’re pretty. I can see why Greg dotes. Do you lead him around by your pretty cunt?”

I was shocked by her words, but not disgusted. Pleasure melted from inside me, glazing my inner thighs. “I like him taking the lead,” I said softly, then even softer still, I added, “I like it even better when he forces me to do…things.”

She nodded crisply and let go of my tit. Her back stiffened as she faced forward again, pushed her dishes away, then tapped the table top in front of her. “Lie on the table, legs spread in front of me. I like a little marmalade on my muffin.”

Dazed by the hard, commanding note in her voice, I found myself backing up to the table, giving a little hop that jiggled my buttocks. Then I lifted my legs and scooted toward her. Centered, I peered at her set expression through my parted legs and placed my feet on her chair’s armrests. Her features remained neutral, her eyes narrowed. Not until I was staring at the ceiling did I realize how eager I was, how completely and deliciously she dominated me.

Cool gel landed on my mound, and I glanced down to where she spooned apple jelly onto my pussy—two large spoonfuls, which she proceeded to distribute with her long, tapered fingers. Sticky jelly cooled my swelling outer lips.

“I like that it’s bare,” she said, her voice uninflected. Then she bent and stuck out her tongue to lick at the mess she’d made. “I love jam on a hot, toasted muffin.”

Pre-Order at Amazon

Today’s round of snippets are all about fight scenes. Here’s one of my faves.

Post a comment today and enter a drawing to win a free download of this story!

“…STONE’S EMBRACE is a wonderfully descriptive story…The mix of Greek mythology with Christian elements is intriguing and adds to the subtle layering of eroticism and exoticism…this story is fantastic and a super-hot read!” ~5 Angels, Fallen Angels Reviews

“…The sex in the book was off the charts hot!…It was a wonderfully different story with a strong characters and a fun plot that left this reviewer breathless!” ~5 Stars, Just Erotic Romances

Lust trapped them in darkness…only love can free them…

Petra Pedersen has lived as a recluse all her life thanks to a genetic double whammy—a strange deformity and a shameful power inherited from the father she will never know. The power to incite lust in men and women with just a touch.

Exploring the garden of the mansion she’s just inherited, she comes across a fascinating stone gargoyle whose raw, passionate expression draws her to caress its broad chest. Her imagination follows her fluttering fingers. As she closes her eyes and gives herself up to the arousal, something shifts beneath her touch.

Long ago, failure to stop a demon battle trapped Octavius in a prison of stone. Freed by the woman’s incendiary touch, he doesn’t hesitate to unleash his pent-up rage and desire in a blistering fury. Yet once the haze of lust clears, he discovers he isn’t really free after all.

They are both trapped in another realm where he must choose between his last chance for redemption or returning Petra home…

Warning: Sex with inanimate objects, lusty m/m/f ménages with gods…it’s all good when the reward is freedom.

Louisiana 1909

Octavius rammed his shoulder against the heavy oak door. The lock and hinges gave and the door crashed backward with a satisfying thud, raising dust that sifted through the air like silver-gilt fireflies in the moonlight. Wary, he stepped across the threshold. Inside, the house was dark, the air thick—too heavy to be natural.

He knew, without reeling in the psychic tether that kept him chained to the Grigori, that Bacclum was here. That the bastard had found the demon. He prayed he wasn’t too late to save Bacclum from his own insatiable lust for power. The consequences of his failure would mean his own end.

He should have known that Bacclum planned mischief that night. The mixed-blood angel had been too eager to see Octavius take a rare walk among humans, encouraging him to attend a masked ball at a wealthy residence inside the French Quarter.

While Octavius had enjoyed the rare opportunity to mingle among sweet-smelling women, secretly laughing as he pretended a lever inside his vest controlled the movement of his wings and thrilling to the many strokes of soft hands along his ribbed folds, Bacclum had snuck away. But not before he’d assured himself that his watcher’s vigilance had been dulled by the herbs stirred into his drink. If Octavius hadn’t noted the uneasy glances of the sloe-eyed woman who’d gulled him, he might have drunk the full measure. As it was, his head still swam and his loins throbbed with unabated lust.

The sound of crashing furniture and the low rumble of a masculine voice drew him up the staircase and down a hallway toward the sliver of golden light, fanning outward from a partially opened doorway. Sliding his back close to the wall, he gently pushed open the door and peered around the corner into a room lined with shelves of books.

Bacclum’s dark head was bent toward his chest, his thighs braced around the demon, his hands wrapped around a straining throat.

I’m not too late, thank the gods. “Let go, Bacclum!” Octavius growled as he stalked toward the Grigori steadily strangling the demon he clasped. Read the rest of this entry »

Seeds of Inspiration

First, let me take a moment to thank Ms. Delilah Devlin for inviting me to guest post on her blog. I cannot express enough my gratitude for her selfless support for those of us striving to amp up our writing successes. You’ve made all the difference, Delilah, and you are much appreciated.

Now, what I thought I’d talk about today are those triggers that spark our story ideas. So many times readers express their amazement on how writers come up with all these great story ideas.

I’m not sure why it baffles them so much. You’d think real life wasn’t strange enough to provide an endless stream of ideas. Really?

Anyway, I thought I’d throw a few of mine out there, and then maybe you could add some of yours. If nothing else, it should be entertaining. If we’re lucky, this conversation will spark something in those of us searching for our next great seedling.

My current WIP began when I watched a Sunday afternoon Lifetime Network Movie about a girl who pretended to be pregnant for a school project. Lately, the notion of broken couples reuniting has been a burning theme in my soul. Thus, Parent Project is born. This one’s still in the early stage, but you can probably imagine where I’m going with it.

Shaken Vows merely began with a brief conversation between our hunky sheriff and my husband at the gas pump while I sat in the truck observing, and conjured up all kinds of possibilities.

On another occasion, for hours I stared at a white page on a pathetically blank screen. Nothing seemed to be working that day. So, I thought about the books I’ve read, and what made the exceptional ones memorable. Searching through my bookcase, I pulled out a novel that I remember had brought me great joy. This was when they used paper with the printed words on the pages. Ancient, I know.

The scene opened with the hero walking in on his fiancé in bed with another. So, sparked Reckless Dreams. Of course, it’s my own story, with a completely different plot, but the seed came from one of my favorite novels.

Then, of course, we had a fire next door. A boatload of hunky firefighters, cops, and other officials came to the scene. Before the embers burned down, Familiar Flames began germinating.

That’s enough about me, and mine. How about letting us know what sparks your ideas. Who knows, it could boost those creative juices in all of us.

Hope you enjoyed my post, and I look forward to hearing what you think.

Thanks again, Delilah, for having me. It’s great being part of your circle of friends!

Please come visit me anytime at my place. I would love to have you:

Joyce
https://joycepalmer.net