UPDATE: The winners are…Colleen C and Debra Guyette!
*~*~*

Being someone who has issues with anxiety… correction… I have anxiety issues… everything is a minefield. I don’t like to pick up the phone unless I know exactly who is on the other end of the line. I’m an extroverted introvert, meaning I hide by being outgoing in public situations. I can be the life of the party as long as you don’t look beyond the jokes and see the person inside who is hoping I’m not making a complete idiot of myself.

So what does this have to do with writing and romance?

For me, EVERTYHING!

Finding love is putting yourself ‘out there.’

And OUT THERE is a scary, scary place. Holding out your hand (metaphorically) means that someone can take hold of it or slap it away… and sometimes ignore it completely.

What happens when the most anxiety-ridden person opens themselves up to speak their minds to another person?

What happens when the most self-assured person opens themselves up to ask someone out?

Both situations can end up happy or devastated. It doesn’t matter who you are. Life can be a joy or painful. Ecstatic or tormented.

Life… and love, by extension, are a gamble.

And those insecurities are a big part of “Justice for Miranda”

JUSTICE FOR MIRANDA

Texas Game Wardens don’t just protect the natural resources of the Lone Star State, they protect the people as well. Trace Carson considers every warden as more than just fellow officers, they’re family.

Especially, Miranda Jimenez. She’d gone through the academy when he was on staff, and he was her first in-field training officer. There was no denying that she was a beautiful woman, he’d worked side by side with her and knew that her dedication to upholding the laws of Texas was second only to caring for wild animals and natural resources.

When she decided to leave her job as a game warden to open a wild animal rehabilitation it made perfect sense, but he couldn’t explain the sudden ache he felt at the thought of her leaving.  It wasn’t going to be out of sight, out of mind, because he went to her ‘retirement’ party and he kissed her, changing everything.

When her connection with Trace puts Miranda’s life in danger, the law enforcement community in San Antonio pulls together to get her back where she belongs… in Trace’s arms. Will they find her in time to save her and get Justice for Miranda?

Trace is a man driven by duty. Responsible to a fault. He’s the guy that folks are always leaning on. The leader. The one who has trained more than his share of new Game Wardens out of the Academy.

But under all of that buttoned up, efficient, straight-laced law enforcement zeal is a man who’s fallen in love with someone he thinks is out of bounds.

And it takes a few beers and the thought that she’d be out of his life to make him cross that line and kiss her senseless… all before his normal constraints pull him back into his shell. Make him back off. Make him shut off that longing and put it away.

But we all know that’s not going to be enough to keep it in that shell now that he’s let it out.

Trace needs to decide if the dangers of opening himself up and putting his heart on the line are worth the possible failure of that chance. What if she shuts him down right away? What if she allows him in and then decides that a man who had once been her teacher, her trainer, isn’t the man who can hold her heart… keep her interest?

And the absolutely crazy thing about it… what if it works? Having what you want… the woman you want… can be even more scary than not having her.

That’s one of the things I love most about writing and reading romance. When it comes right down to it… the heroes and heroines are brave! They show real courage!
Physical pain is horrible, but emotional pain can drop you to your knees with a look or a careless word.

So, tell me… which characters have you read about that have shown the most courage in reaching out for love… taking that chance to reach for something more… something better?

Pre-sale link: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07RZQM21M/

Contest

Two commenters will receive their choice of a single-title ebook from my Amazon list – winners selected July 1, 2019!

Excerpt 

While her cousin was trying not to spray soda all over her aunt’s countertop, Miranda slipped out of her parents’ kitchen to the porch and leaned back against the wall with a sigh. Lifting the cold beer she had in her hand, she dragged it across her forehead and then pressed it to her cheek.

“I bet that feels good.”

The soft Texas burr came out of the darkness, startling her. She had a good hold on the bottle and didn’t worry about dropping it, but she did worry about the warm flush of color in her cheeks. She knew exactly who it was walking out of the dark.

“Hey, Trace. I didn’t think you were comin’ to the party.”

His laugh was warm and slow and poured over her like honey.

“How could I miss it?” He stepped into the light beside the back door and stepped up against the side of the house, looking down at her. “Especially when you didn’t give me a chance to talk you out of leaving.”

“I didn’t think you’d have much of an issue with it.”

A wind trailed through, lifting the ends of her hair and she felt the subtle touch as some of the strands stuck to her neck. The humidity wasn’t doing her any favors and she knew that after the heavy press of bodies in the house and the rising summer heat, her dress was probably stuck to her in any number of unflattering ways.

“It’s not too late,” his voice was lower, deeper, “I have a bit of an in with the guys in the administration office. They could be convinced to lose your voluntary termination papers.”

If she hadn’t been leaning back against the house, she probably would have fallen back against the wall. The way his voice seemed to curl across her skin made it hard to breathe. Trace Carson ticked off all of the boxes on her dream list for masculine perfection.

Tall, lean muscle, strong hands, handsome like the devil, and that voice. There was something about a man with that deep purring Texas drawl that made her insides shiver and shake and other parts of her… well, she bit into her bottom lip as if she was still thinking through his offer, but she knew she wouldn’t change her mind.

“Why didn’t you come talk to me?”

She laughed and felt a drop of condensation splash against her collarbone. “To be honest,” she tried to keep from sighing but it was hard when she could smell his cologne and see the silver-grey of his eyes, “I knew if I did talk to you I might have let myself be talked out of leaving.”

Miranda saw the happy surprise in his eyes.

“But it wouldn’t have been for the right reasons.”

“So, what are the wrong reasons, Miranda?” He shifted closer, crossing one leg over the other so she could hear the butter-soft rasp of one boot against the other. And set a hand on the wall, less than a foot from her shoulder. “I’m curious.”

She wanted to brush it all off and escape back into the house, but her knees were suddenly weak and the way his scent mingled with the sultry heat of the night air had her breath catching a little each time.

“Miranda?” His arm folded and his forearm pressed against the wall, bringing him closer to her. “What did you think I’d do?”

Close enough that his height blocked out the light from the single bulb shining from the wall.

Her tongue wet her bottom lip before she swallowed and sucked in a breath on a gasp. “I… I-” she laughed, a throaty little sound that made her feel flirty and needy at the same time.

She’d seen other women use their wiles to draw men in, but she wasn’t like them. She was the kind of girl that loved jeans and baggy shirts. And wiles? Ha! She could spell the word and knew the definition, but she had no idea if she could use them, or even if she had any. All of her life she’d spent most of her time in jeans and t-shirts. Even the dress she was wearing had been her mama’s idea.

“Well,” he sighed and she wasn’t sure, but it didn’t sound like he was very disappointed at all, “there’s one good reason that I can think of for letting you leave the service.”

She turned and leaned her shoulder against the wall, clutching the bottle against her chest. That close, she had to look up to see into his eyes and even then, the light was mostly behind him, so she couldn’t see much of his expression.  “Yeah? What’s that?” Read the rest of this entry »

I fell in love with masks after seeing Labyrinth for the first time. If you haven’t seen the movie there’s a ballroom scene with David Bowie, where all the guests are wearing masks. As a young girl, I found this scene fascinating (and a bit romantic). However, it was the idea behind the mask that intrigued me. Masks carry a sense of magic with them, as if there is mystery built into their very essence.

Used for protection, disguise, entertainment and rituals, masks have been intertwined in our history for centuries. Although I love the brilliant colors of the New Orleans masquerade masks, the ones I found most interesting were the ones used for medical purposes. These so-called “beak masks” were stuffed with dried flowers, herbs, and spices in order to cleanse the disease from the bad air. If you pay attention, these masks also appear in Labyrinth.

In An Imperfect Engagement, Samantha and her family attend the masque in the hopes of cornering the killer, Franklin Morris, and his unknown accomplice. Each character has their own personal reason for donning a mask that evening, including Samantha, whose desire to hide the injuries she suffered at the hands of Franklin is surpassed only by Franklin’s desire to attack her a second time. Franklin’s use of the headpiece to hide his identity allows him to sneak into the gathering and corner Samantha in the center of the maze.

A clap echoed in the night—once… twice… thrice. From the reverse side of the fountain, hidden behind a large statue, a masked man appeared, shuffling slowly toward Sam. He bared his teeth, gnashing them slightly and flashed a pistol which glinted threateningly in the moonlight.

“Miss Hastings,” he purred, “I am delighted to see you again and so quickly after our last meeting. I feared it would be some time before we would be able to rekindle our acquaintance.”

“Franklin,” gasped Sam, stumbling backward. Edward underestimated Franklin’s desperation.

He approached slowly, favoring his right side, holding the weapon in his left hand. Sam wondered about the marksmanship of his less-dominant appendage. She kept her eyes focused on the barrel of the gun, suspecting the pistol was the same one employed in the demise of Mr. Walton.

Inclining his head in a tiny bow, Franklin removed the black mask, an audible groan accompanying the movement of his right arm. His greedy eyes swept over Sam’s delicate throat and the necklace which decorated it. “I see you have found my inheritance.”

AN IMPERFECT ENGAGEMENT is available on all platforms and on sale this week for $1.99.

Get your copy here!

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling Author Alyssa Drake has been creating stories since she could hold a crayon, preferring to construct her own bedtime tales instead of reading the titles in her bookshelves. A multi-genre author, Alyssa currently writes Historical romance, Paranormal romance, Contemporary romance, and Cozy mystery. She thoroughly enjoys strong heroines and often laughs aloud when imagining conversations between her characters. When she’s not writing, she’s in the kitchen making dessert, because that’s the only course she ever cared to learn how to cook.

Website: https://alyssadrakenovels.com
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A haunted house with a story to tell…

Do you believe in ghosts?

Since I live in a 200-year-old house, I’d have to say I do. In fact, I think these “sprits of the past” are the ones who helped me bring my new novel Lacewood to life.

They didn’t haunt me by moving things or slamming doors, yet somehow I know they’re here. They have to be. People lived in this place. Had babies here. And died here.

Wondering about the lives they lived was the initial spark that got me started on this novel—along with one other strange occurrence. I began noticing sycamore trees while driving to work. Suddenly, they were everywhere…stretching their ivory white limbs up to the sky in the distant fields. Most people would ignore this sudden fascination, but being an author, I knew it was the prodding of my writing angel (that’s what I call her)—and I don’t ignore the writing angel.

After doing some research, I discovered that sycamores have quite a history—all the way from the Bible to the American Civil War. I also stumbled across a reference that referred to sycamore trees as lacewood.

Lacewood sounded beautiful…like the title of a novel. This was wonderful news, because I usually struggle with a book’s title long after it is completed. The bad news was…that’s all I had.

Staring at a blank computer screen brought to mind the image of a house beyond a gate that was deserted for some reason. I decided the house must have secrets—but I had no idea what they were. From the beginning, I envisioned a portrait on the wall with a second portrait missing. Unfortunately my writing angel didn’t tell me who the portraits were of or why one was missing…

Back to the house I live in. I searched for years for “just the right house,” and finally bought the one I still live in (even though it only had an outhouse at the time). After doing some research, I discovered it was owned by a Revolutionary War captain, whose family was among the original founders of the town of Gettysburg and surrounding county.

Many years later, while visiting a local cemetery, I noticed the last name of the former owner listed as a middle name of one of my ancestors. I soon found out that my grandmother’s kin married this man’s kin, so that this wonderful house that took me so long to find, belonged to someone in my own past.

Random chance? Or grand design?

If you read Lacewood, you’ll get a glimpse of how the spirits of the past seem be the ones directing us all along…

To learn more about Lacewood, watch the 1-minute video trailer here. The Launch Week price of $3.99 ends on June 23.

Lacewood

A love story that spans centuries…

Two people trying to escape their pasts find a connection through an old house—and fulfill a destiny through the secrets it shares. Part love story, part ghost story, Lacewood is a timeless novel about trusting in fate, letting of the past, and believing in things that can’t be seen.

MOVING TO A SMALL TOWN in Virginia is a big change for New York socialite Katie McCain. But when she stumbles across an abandoned 200-year-old mansion, she’s enthralled by the enduring beauty of the neglected estate—and captivated by the haunting portrait of a woman in mourning.

Purchasing the property on a whim, Katie attempts to fit in with the colorful characters in the town of New Hope, while trying to unravel the mystery of the “widow of Lacewood.” As she pieces together the previous owner’s heartrending story, Katie uncovers secrets the house has held for centuries, and discovers the key to coming to terms with her own sense of loss.

The past and present converge when hometown hero Will Durham returns and begins his own healing process by helping the “city girl” restore the place that holds so many memories. As the mystic web of destiny is woven, a love story that might have been lost forever is exposed, and a destiny that has been waiting in the shadows for centuries is fulfilled.

A powerful and poignant tale that vividly conveys the heartache of war, the tragedy of loss, and the fulfillment of destiny…even when souls are separated by centuries. Lacewood takes readers on a journey that connects the past with the present—and the present with eternity.

Excerpt:

Turning in a circle, Katie studied the room again. Faded wallpaper curled and peeled above the dusty wainscoting, but the walls themselves appeared sturdy. On the far side of the entryway, and dominating the wall, stood a mammoth fireplace with an ornately carved hearth. Her attention was immediately drawn to a painting of a woman in nineteenth century dress that hung prominently over the mantel.

“Who is she?”

The sheriff turned to the dusty, sun-bleached portrait in the heavy carved guilt frame. “One of the previous owners, they say.” He shrugged. “The family history kind of got lost with the house. Everyone around here calls her the Widow of Lacewood.”

Katie stood spellbound. The woman was clothed completely in black, but the magnificence of the gown gave the impression of sophistication and class. Her chin was slightly elevated as if to project strength, yet there was more than a hint of sorrow and pain in her eyes.

“She looks so sad.” Katie spoke without removing her gaze. “And so young. How could she be a widow?”

The sheriff had already started to walk away, but he turned back and glanced at the painting. “Not sure, but they say she never remarried.”

Katie’s heart suddenly struggled to beat. The anguish in the woman’s eyes kept her riveted. She could see the pain. Feel a heart ripped apart. Something was missing that could never be replaced. Katie had felt such loss before. In a way that’s why she was here.

BUY LINKS:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07PW8BQJ4
Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/lacewood/id1443163718?ls=1&mt=11
Universal Linkhttps://books2read.com/u/mYoj2P
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/lacewood-2

Jessica James Bio

Jessica James believes in honor, duty, and true love—and that’s what she writes about in her award-winning novels that span the ages from the Revolutionary War to modern day.

She is a three-time winner of the John Esten Cooke Award for Fiction, and has won more than a dozen other literary awards. Her novels have been used in schools and are available in hundreds of libraries including Harvard and the U.S. Naval Academy.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

AUTHOR WEBSITE: https://www.jessicajamesbooks.com

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/jessica-james

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/southernromance/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/586216.Jessica_James

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/R

UPDATE: The winner is…pc!
*~*~*

Did you know I have a complete series of BDSM books centered around Memphis cops? The Delta Blue series was a complete blast to write and ended with Book 5, Once is Never Enough. Read the sexy excerpt below then leave a comment for a chance to win one of the stories in the series!

Mondo is a legendary Dom and Master at the La Forge club. He’s helped his Memphis PD friends navigate the BDSM world and find the women of their dreams. Now, the vice cop and Dom is the last single man standing. But Mondo’s waiting for the right woman, one strong enough to match his dark passions, and he’s sure a timid grade school teacher definitely won’t make the short list.

Sunny Boudreau is content with her somewhat vanilla life, But when a trio of lovers moves in next door, she’s drawn to them and their group of friends, especially a certain tall, dark, and dangerous Dom.

Mondo tries to warn Sonny off, but her first taste of the club only whets her appetite and ignites her desire to prove she’s exactly the woman Mondo needs.

Excerpt

Viewing the submissives beginning to line up like wallflowers at a high school dance, Mondo Acevedo curled his lips in distaste. Not that the women and men weren’t attractive. A few actually were. Any other night, he might have been tempted to take a couple of them to his private room where he’d work them over, giving them the attention they craved while providing himself the escape he needed.

Not that he was interested in assuaging more than his frustration. Sex wasn’t the goal. Not when one particular woman haunted his thoughts—and such an inappropriate choice for his heart to settle upon, but what could he do?

Wasn’t he always lusting after someone he couldn’t have? Thoughts of a waif with slanted green eyes and straight, silky black hair that brushed the tops of her buttocks blew through his mind, unsettling him again, and he made another restless circle around the large salon.

Tonight, the muted lighting and plush red sofas weren’t inviting—not when he imagined draping a pale torso over a sofa back and stroking a firm bottom with his favorite deer-hide flogger. Something that stroked like a caress when laid across an ass with steady strokes but flicked fire with a snap of his wrist. He’d have her cunt dripping honey into the deep upholstery while she rubbed her small breasts on the velvet.

Mondo’s cheeks billowed around a quick exhale. Why was he torturing himself? He wasn’t one to moon over a woman. He’d never spared a second thought for regret over the path he’d chosen for himself. By his nature, he was dominant. By his training, he was a Dom. No pretty little schoolteacher, no matter how lush her mouth or pink her pretty pussy was, would change his nature.

Read the rest of this entry »

UPDATE: The winner is…Tamara!
*~*~*

Love panther-shifters? Love a sexy Cajun drawl? Enjoy the excerpt and enter to win it!

Comment for a chance to win a free download of Bad Moon Rising!

Bad Moon Rising

On a whim, romance author DiDi Devereaux decides to travel to remote Louisiana bayou country to take possession of a house she inherited from a reclusive relative. But before she reaches her destination, she drives her car into a ditch to avoid a large animal that leaps into her path. Rescue comes in the form of a sexy sheriff, whose gruff demeanor seems to hide a feral attraction. As DiDi settles into her new home she finds herself torn between her attraction to the sheriff and the raw, handsome bad boy whose offer to help her renovate her home is a little too convenient and tempting.

Nothing in Bayou Noir is what it seems. When strange things begin to happen, her natural curiosity leads her into danger…

Get your copy here!

Read an excerpt…

DiDi hit SAVE and shut down her computer. Her newest story was beginning to pull together—or at least, the characters were coming alive. The external plot of her novel hadn’t yet gelled, because she hadn’t discovered what secrets the sheriff and the bad boy hid.

But the characters were now fully fleshed—the two men appealing to her heroine in ways DiDi understood all too well. The question she still struggled with was which man her heroine would ultimately choose. The thought made her smile.

DiDi closed the computer lid. Of course, Sheriff Breaux and Bobby Sonnier were the models for her two heroes. All the while she’d described her heroine’s first meeting with the men, she’d described her own feelings, and how her curiosity and body had both been aroused. Which man did she, DiDi, prefer? Funny, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought a man so disturbingly attractive. But in this remote location, within a single hour, she’d met two.

She stretched her arms above her head and glanced at her watch—two o’clock AM. Since she was a night owl by habit, she didn’t worry. However, the room was warm. The AC chugged along, but didn’t seem to cool very well. Upon returning to the room, she’d changed to cutoffs and a tank top, but the fabric stuck to her skin. Maybe drinking something ice-cold would cool her enough to rest comfortably. She slipped the pass key into her back pocket, tucked a couple of dollar bills into the front one, and let herself out of her room.

Outside, she breathed in the thick, humid air. The night was quiet except for the distant, blended hum of insects and frogs. Maybe it was the cloying heat, but she felt restless and aroused. Her thoughts swirled with the erotic fantasies she’d been spinning into a story.

A woman caught between two men.

On the outside, one wore a white hat, the other dressed like he’d just dragged himself out of bed. But inside, both souls were painted with the same darkness.

The soda machine stood next to the office, so she walked barefoot along the sidewalk, slid her money into the slot, and hit the button for a Coke. The machine shuddered, but nothing dropped into the well at the bottom.

“Damn.” She hit the button again. Nothing. Cursing, she bent and stuck her arm up into the opening, found the bottom of her can lodged at an odd angle, and rattled it until it dropped into her hand.

When she straightened, she held the can away and opened the tab, letting it spray outward.

The can was icy cold, and she drank down several gulps before turning back to her room.

DiDi drew up short. A car had parked in front of her room. A sleek Caprice with the township’s emblem and blue lights on the top. Sheriff Breaux stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching her.

Had he seen her wrestle with the coke, her butt in the air? Would she ever catch a break with the guy?

DiDi made herself straighten her shoulders and sauntered toward the large man. Did he always wear that expression—so dark and intense, so watchful? She caught the way his narrowed glance scanned her bare legs and feet, and she shivered.

She’d take his frown over a smile from another man any day—the gesture did things to her. Challenged her. Made her tingle in all the right places. “Evenin’, Sheriff,” she drawled, walking closer.

“Miz Devereaux,” he said, nodding.

“DiDi,” she replied, curving her lips. “I thought we were getting friendly.”

His expression didn’t soften. “It’s late. Doesn’t a city girl like you know it’s not safe to be alone outside after dark?”

“Tell me,” she said softly, teasingly as she leaned against her room’s door. “This is a small town. What should I fear? And is the danger sporting four legs or two?”

His features stilled. He stepped closer and looked down his nose.

A move like he was trying to intimidate. She didn’t know why, but his stance aroused her.

“Bayou Noir is a quiet town,” he said, his voice dead even, “but you’re a beautiful woman. More temptation than man or beast might be able to resist.”

DiDi blinked, all bluster gone. Heat soaked the crotch of her panties. He thinks I’m hard to resist? “Looks like I don’t have a thing to fear with you here, Sheriff.”

His lips crimped in irritation, and he shook his head. “Told you before, Mason,” he bit out. “Seein’ as how we’re friendly now.”

Two could play this game of chicken. She stepped close enough she could smell him. “What if I like sheriff? I like a man being in charge.”

His nostrils flared. His eyelids fell. “Careful, chère…”

“Am I really that hard to resist?” DiDi lifted her chin.

He didn’t answer, but his gaze fell to her mouth.

DiDi knew she’d roll her eyes if a character in her book licked her lips at a time like this, but she couldn’t resist the tease. She stroked her bottom lip, wetting it and watching Mason’s eyes narrow further, homing in on the simple little motion.

“You like playin’ with fire?” he muttered, his voice guttural.

“I’m not playin’.”

His eyes were shadowed, a touch sinister and frightening.

She couldn’t have said why, but she wanted to rattle him. Answer his challenge with one of her own. DiDi leaned into Mason, pressing the hand not holding the soda against his chest and rising on her toes. When her mouth approached, she saw his lips part.

But he held still, watching her with that dark, steady gaze.

She placed her lips against his and rubbed, and then did it again when he still didn’t move. Pulling back, she gave him a slight glare. His expression hadn’t changed, but that didn’t defeat her. No way could she be this hot if he wasn’t returning some of the heat.

Plus, he hadn’t warned her away with a word or a gesture, hadn’t moved back either. Not exactly a no.

Angling a hand backwards, she set the soda on the windowsill and reached up to clutch his shoulders, pushed her chest against his, snuggling closer, and kissed him again.

His hands curled gently around her waist.

Her heart sped up, her body melted. She pressed her lips harder.

However, Mason pushed her away…but his fingers didn’t let her go.

Rather than reach for him again, DiDi curved her fingers into her palms. She’d never thrown herself at a man like that, without an ounce of encouragement. Feeling like a fool, she pushed at his hands. “Don’t worry,” she said, unable to hold his steady stare now that she’d humiliated herself. “I promise I won’t attack you again.”

“DiDi.”

“What?” she snapped, lifting her face, hoping to salvage her pride.

“Dammit.” His lips slammed on top of hers. His hands let go of her waist and glided around her back, pulling her against him. And then he was walking her backward, pushing her against her door while he devoured her mouth.

DiDi thought she’d been ready for his kiss. Ready for whatever he’d bring, but under the onslaught, her head swam, her knees weakened. She locked her fingers behind his neck.

Scents intensified—the smell of thick, green forest, the exhaust of his car, his aftershave, the unique smell of his masculine musk.

Sounds—an indistinct hum before—returned, becoming louder. Crickets chirped, frogs croaked. The wind sifted through the trees, rustling leaves and creaking branches. And his heartbeat grew loud enough, insistent enough, her own matched its beat.

And God, the lush, wet thrill of that kiss! His mouth was hard, his tongue sinfully fluid, sliding along hers then tangling and twisting until she had to suck on it to keep him still and savor the sensual connection.

DiDi felt as though she drowned in a perfect moment, falling deeply into lust, her body shivering and bending toward him.

Mason broke the kiss. His gaze raked her face; his jaw tightened. “Better get inside an’ lock that door, chère.”

“And if I don’t want to?” she asked breathlessly, looking deep into his dark eyes.

“Gimme your key.”

Relief made her knees shake. He’s coming inside. She dug into her pocket for the key card and handed it over. He swiped the key and pulled down the latch next to her hip. Then he tossed the key toward the bed behind her and grasped her waist.

DiDi began to reach up to enfold him in her arms—

Scowling, Mason pushed her backward and closed the door in her face.

“Fuck,” she whispered. That had never happened before.

I’m often asked where I get my story ideas. Sometimes it’s a character that pops into my head with a story to tell. Other times a scene plays out in my imagination and I need to write the book to see what happens next.

For my newest book, Love Proof, (releasing June 26, 2019, available now for pre-order) I’d heard about a new series my publisher was launching — a small-town romance (any sub-genre) centred on a historic bed & breakfast in Vermont. Ideas for characters and plots ping-ponged immediately — a bookstore owner? A waitress in a café? A missing husband?

I read the series bible (established characters, occupations, and businesses, along with a map of the town, as well the synopses of the already contracted stories) and noticed a gaping hole. Where was the bakery? Zounds! Every town needs a bakery!

Since I’m a home baker who bakes to relax (and maybe procrastinate <grin>) my heroine had to be a baker with her own shop. I didn’t want her getting up at 2am in order to have breads and rolls ready by opening time. That would be problematic for romantic sleepovers. So, Fiona specializes in cupcakes and bar cookies. As we all know, a cupcake is sad without sprinkles and the name of the bakery became Love Sprinkles.

I think it would be unfair, perhaps cruel, to fill a book with descriptions of yummy treats without giving readers the chance to sample the treats, and I included a couple tried and true recipes I’ve been baking for years.

Location and occupation were the easy parts of story development. Discovering the hero and heroine’s internal struggles — what will draw them together and what will keep them apart — required more work.

I determined that they had known each other in high school (they are now in the mid-30’s) and I set the cause of their conflict back in their angst-riddled teen years. So much fun! I was not one of the popular kids and could relate with Fiona’s less-than-fond memories of not fitting in.

I’m sure we all remember that one guy in high school — captain of a sports team, class president, talented musician — on whom all the girls had a crush. That was my hero. Except Raynor has a secret — he’s lousy at relationships, and has declared a moratorium on dating.

Until he walks into Love Sprinkles and sees that the girl from high school is all grown up.

Love Proof

Unemployed photojournalist Raynor Elliot stops at a bakery near the famous Deerbourne Inn. Not only does he get a lead on a job but the bakery’s owner is that awkward kid he knew in high school, only now she has fabulous curves and an irreverent sense of humor. The cozy bakery, with its aroma of sugar, vanilla and spice, has more to offer than tasty cookies.

Fiona MacLeod has been plagued for years by the need to make amends for telling The Big Lie. When the lie’s victim strolls into her bakery with his icy blue stare and killer charm, she feels like she’s standing too close to a hot oven.

Between running her bakery and frosting cupcakes for the Mad River Garden Party, she’s pretty sure she’s falling in love with this infuriating, sexy man. Can Fiona dredge up the courage to confess, face the consequences, and hope for forgiveness?

Excerpt

“I remember those days.” She pushed the calculator to the side, too tired to worry about planning the week’s baking schedule. “Why’d you study journalism?

“Truth is important to me. I was tired of all the lies in government, at every level. I wanted to change that. Ultimately make the world a better place. Easy peasy, right?” His lips quirked and he shook his head.

“That’s why I decided to be a baker. Brighten someone’s day with a special treat.”

He scooted his chair closer and pointed at the column of numbers on the page. “You want me to do the rest?” His arm, bare to the bicep, lightly tanned, dusted with blond hair, a little lighter than on his head, rested less than an inch from her own spindly pale arm. Not spindly compared to other women, hefting bags of flour and moving trays of baked goods did take some muscle power. But spindly compared to his manly toned muscles flexing under skin that she’d bet her last jar of sprinkles was smooth and warm. She clenched her hand.

No touching allowed.

“We have cupcakes to frost.” She bounded from the chair and rushed into the kitchen.

Holy moly, the guy oozed sex. In a good way. A very good way. She pulled a clean apron off the shelf and cinched it around her waist. An extra layer of armor between her and temptation in the form of Raynor. The seeker of truth. The man whose mission in life was to expose lies. The reporter who thought liars were not decent human beings.

Pre-order links:
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Love-Proof-Deerbourne-Luanna-Stewart-ebook/dp/B07S2SBP4V
Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Love-Proof-Deerbourne-Luanna-Stewart-ebook/dp/B07S2SBP4V
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/s?k=Love+Proof+Luanna&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss
Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/Love-Proof-Deerbourne-Luanna-Stewart-ebook/dp/B07S2SBP4V
Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/love-proof-luanna-stewart/1131669284?ean=2940161211489

About Luanna Stewart

Luanna Stewart has been creating adventures for her imaginary friends since childhood. At the tender age of twelve she discovered her grandmother’s stash of romance novels, after which all plots had to lead to a happily-ever-after.

Luanna spends her days writing sexy romantic suspense, steamy paranormal romance, and spicy historical romance. When she’s not torturing her heroes and heroines, she’s either in her kitchen baking something delicious, or protecting her garden from the chickens. She lives in Nova Scotia with her incredibly patient husband and two spoiled cats.

Social media links:
Website: https://www.luannastewart.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Luanna_Stewart
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Luanna.Stewart.nau
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/luannastewart/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14104212.Luanna_Stewart
Amazon Author Page: www.amazon.com/author/luanna_stewart

Earlier this week I saw a fantastic photograph documenting that West Point’s class of 2019 graduated 34 African-American women, a record number in the academy’s 217 year-old history. Here it is published by Time magazine: https://time.com/5594906/west-point-graduates-black-female-cadets/. The pride on those young women’s faces put me in mind of Black women who served in the military when black people were considered property. So, on the weekend we officially remember and honor the service of those who “gave the last full measure of devotion,” I thought I’d reflect on African-American women and the military.

Black women served as nurses, laundresses, cooks and spies, the most famous of whom was probably Harriet Tubman. One woman, Cathay Williams, enlisted as a man named William Cathey in 1866 and served for three years with the 38th US Infantry. You can read more about the military service of black women in all US wars here: https://www.womensmemorial.org/history-of-black-women. As I write historicals set during Reconstruction, I thought it appropriate to share a bit about Susie Baker King Taylor, the first African-American army nurse.

Born into slavery in 1848, Susie served as a nurse during the Civil War in the same regiment as her first husband, Edward King. Because she could read and write, she taught blacks and former slaves in addition to her nursing duties. She was never paid for her work. She published a memoir of her experiences, Reminiscences of My Life in Camp in 1902. You can learn more about Susie’s contributions and those of African-Americans in Civil War medicine here: https://www.nlm.nih.gov/bindingwounds.

As an ex-slave and a military veteran, I like to think Susie King Taylor is smiling down from heaven on those 34 African-American female West Point cadets for whom her service paved the way and for whom we will be giving thanks for their service.

One Breath Away

Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.

Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman is his mate foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex.

Hope ignites along with lust until the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…

Excerpt:

Arousal—fondly remembered and sorely missed—sizzled between Mary Hamilton’s well- rounded thighs. Moisture coated her nether lips and threatened to stoke the sizzle into a blaze. The sensation surprised her, as did the owner of the gaze that lit the flame.

Eban Thurman stood against an opposite wall of the town’s community hall. Although the room was wide as two barns and filled with revelers, neither the distance nor the presence of the crowd lessened the power of his gaze. He studied her with a curiosity that didn’t grope with disdain, but caressed with approval.

With respect.

This kind of appreciation was never given to women as dark and as large as she. Gratitude heated her face.

Gratitude and embarrassment. Her lavender toilet water couldn’t hide the fragrance of arousal. She shuddered with shame then glanced around. Had anyone else detected the odor? All the merrymakers seemed too caught up in the rhythmic fast fiddling and foot-stomping of Safe Haven’s seventh annual Juneteenth Revel to notice her discomfort.

In 1872 Texas, who took note of a black woman who ain’t been asked to wed? Yet Eban’s perusal said not only did he take note, but he liked what he saw.

Buy links:
Wild Rose Press – https://bit.ly/2HOu3qc
Amazon – https://amzn.to/2VT5u0F