I’m going to let you in on a poorly kept secret: I, Jeanette Grey, am a Grinch. Christmas stuff starts showing up in stores and I groan. The specter of buying gifts and traveling gives me heartburn. I actively reprogram the radio stations in my car the second they switch over to holiday music; I’ll take static over one more play of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You”.

So what right do I have to be writing a holiday romance?

None. And yet I did it anyway.

Much like me, the heroine of my new novella, Let It Snow, is a bit of a bah-humbug, and that’s only made worse by the fact that her name is Holly. Having grown up in an unhappy household, Holly doesn’t have many good holiday memories to make the season bright for her. She escaped her childhood home, and now channels her energy into school, her job at the local independent bookstore, general fangirling and geekery, and, oh right, ogling the hot assistant manager at the store, Sam.

Sam’s not looking forward to Christmas this year, either, but for very different reasons. He loves his family, but they had a falling out when he decided not to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Since neither of them have holiday plans, Holly and Sam end up working the late shift two days before Christmas. All seems well, right up until a freak blizzard catches them unaware, stranding them at the store together. With nothing to do but talk, they end up getting much, much better acquainted, trading heated kisses as well as painful secrets.

And the funny thing is that it changes Holly’s perspective on the holiday entirely. While I remain a Grinch to this day, I’ve found that the holidays are all about the memories you associate with them and the people you share them with. As I’ve gotten older and my circle of family and friends has expanded, my heart may not have grown three sizes, but it’s maybe shifted from a small to at least a medium. This Christmas will be the first I spend as a new mom, and already, I can see my perspective on it shifting with the new addition.

So too for Holly. As her circle grows to include not just Sam but his family as well, the meaning of the season changes. She’s able to let go of a little of the loneliness that’s always shrouded it in the past—and by the end of it, she’s more than happy to Let It Snow, indeed.

Let It Snow

Baby, it’s cold outside . . .

‘Tis the night before Christmas Eve and Holly wishes she hadn’t volunteered to work the night shift. The weather is frightful and getting worse by the minute, and the same old annoying carols are blasting from the bookstore’s speakers. But Holly’s holiday spirit returns when the store’s sexy new assistant manager arrives to keep her company. He has muscled arms, baby blue eyes, and a sweet pair of lips she wouldn’t mind meeting under the mistletoe.

Sam is glad the snow is keeping away customers-it gives him a chance to get close to his favorite employee. Holly has always been a mystery to Sam, like a beautiful present he’d love to unwrap. When they’re trapped by a full-blown blizzard, Holly breaks into the Christmas cookie display. Sam busts out a bottle of vodka from the boss’s office. Soon the two are trading heated kisses—as well as secrets neither has ever felt safe enough to tell before. What started out as one naughty night together turns into something so much more.

Excerpt:

Before he could ask if she was sure, she moved her hand to the nape of his neck, twisting her fingers in the scruff there and tugging him down, leaving him no room to doubt. God, she’d only wanted this for months, and she’d been holding back all night. No way she was letting another minute go by before she sucked his tongue and got the whole length of his body pressed against her.

She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, and just like that, everything went hot and electric, and yes, hell yes, this was how she’d imagined he would kiss, all hard and messy and confident as he took charge. He tasted like cheap vodka and cookies and sex, and the slick caress of his tongue made everything flash to liquid in her bones. She made a noise in the rear of her throat that should have been embarrassing except that his own groan echoed hers. The hand on her chest slid to her hip, his other arm wrapping around her waist. She rose onto her toes, but it wasn’t close enough. With a little whine, she hauled herself up, and he was right there with her, getting a hand on her ass to steady her as she hopped and wrapped her legs around his waist and Hello, there.

Fuck, the hard ridge of him through those jeans was hitting her exactly where she needed it to, sending a bloom of pleasure reeling out through her spine and all the way to her toes. The way he was holding her, like she barely weighed anything at all, just made her hotter, and when she ground her hips into his, he practically choked on his tongue, fingers stuttering against her waist and thigh. Her breasts were pressed up tight against the solid muscle of his chest, her nipples stiff points of sensation, and she wanted his hands on them. His mouth and his teeth, and—

Somehow they were staggering backward. Her ass hit the edge of the couch, and he dropped to his knees in front of her, palms sliding over her legs, and her glasses were smudged and askew, and she didn’t care. This was too fast—too much and probably a terrible idea, but everything about it seemed right. He felt so good and he kissed like he’d been made for it, for making a woman go to pieces around him and under him and on top of him, and she wanted to know. To get inside of him and get him inside of her.

 Buy Links:

Amazon:  https://amzn.to/2cD3Z3D
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/let-it-snow-jeanette-grey/1123748224
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/let-it-snow-23
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/br/book/let-it-snow/id1109978204?l=en&mt=11
Google Play: https://books.google.com/books?id=ELEsDAAAQBAJ
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30364203-nine-kinds-of-naughty

Author Links:
Website: https://www.jeanettegrey.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jeanettelgrey
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jeanettelgrey

Can’t believe it’s November already! Today is my father’s 80th birthday! Please wish him a happy birthday. I love him soo much! I came down to visit him this past weekend and stayed until today. I also got to spend time brainstorming with my sister, Delilah! I love the time I get to spend with her. We always have such great ideas when we put our heads together!

I just wrapped up my June 2016 Harlequin Intrigue HOT ZONE, and I’m getting ready for the release of SEAL’S DELIVERANCE Nov 15th.  But that’s not all I’ve been doing.

I sent my youngest daughter off to boot camp! That’s right. She joined the Army National Guard and went to Basic Training Oct 24th.  You know how you are when your baby starts kindergarten and then graduates high school? Well, it’s not much different when your baby goes off to Basic Training. I’m happy, I’m sad. Most of all I’m very proud of her and hope she kicks some butt and aces everything!

Today I’m driving with Susan Stoker to Huntington, West Virginia for a booksigning on Nov 5th—The Rebels & Readers Author Event. If you’re in the area, please come see us and a lot of great authors.  Info here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/rebelsnreaders/

And we’re making a stop on Nov 3rd in Lexington, KY and having a reader get-together. If you’re in or near Lexington, come see us! Info here: https://www.facebook.com/events/1668125496835952/?action_history=null

On November 15th, SEAL’S DELIVERANCE is coming out. It’s the last book in the TAKE NO PRISONERS series, and it will tie in with the BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS series. Pre-order now!

Navy SEAL, who once was a cowboy, and a sexy CDC biologist, join forces to find biological warfare vials shipped to an unknown location in Montana

Amazon | Amazon UK | Kobo | Nook | GooglePlay

Remember in Jurassic Park how scientist recreated dinosaurs for the DNA recovered from mosquitos.

Well, now that scientists have found Neanderthal DNA in humans what if they discover, that this is the missing link to psychic abilities?

True or not, this is the premise in which I used to build my new series The Ancient Warrior Prophecy.

A secret society of people have Neanderthal DNA. They know the power, which is being passed down through the generations. Their leaders and shamen have been passing down the knowledge of the tasks they need to perform for humanity. This prophecy requires strong men and women to step up and save us from the destruction of the world.

The Warrior in Me – yes, it appears to be nothing more than a simple murder mystery with strong romantic elements. But it also reveals the secret people who carry the burden of saving the world. How they work to protect the secret of Neanderthal in the human genome.

The Warrior in Me – Erotic Murder Mystery/ Romantic suspense

Special Security Agent Sebastian Berlin is eager to track down his partner’s killer. Instead, he’s assigned the job of baby-sitting a scientist. His boss thinks she’s the key to an Ancient Warrior Prophecy. Science never interested Sebastian, but the know-it-all female standing at the end of his Alaskan dock could persuade him to do a little experimenting. That is, if he can keep his Neanderthal Warrior genes from taking control.

DNA specialist Lily Sinclair is in need of a vacation, or so her over-protective ex-husband tells her. Arriving in chilly Alaska instead of sunny Cancun, she’s tired and cranky and so not in the mood for her bodyguard’s he-man tactics. Still, there’s something about the sexy eye-candy that makes her want to lick him all over even as she’s demanding to go home.

Then Lily’s ex is poisoned, and Sebastian is certain the two murders are connected and she could be next. She knows he’s hiding something, but with the worldwide release of Neanderthal DNA project only days away, she has no choice but to trust him to protect her. But can she trust him with her heart?

Excerpt:  First Kiss

Seconds before his mouth covered hers, she whispered, “Sebastian, I don’t—” The rest of the sentence died under the quick spear of his tongue, seeking entrance into the hot moist haven of her mouth.

The fight he expected didn’t fully materialize. She gasped in shock, and her body stiffened. Then she lifted her hands to his shoulders, leaving the few inches between them vacant.

Tightening his grip, he drew the soft cushion of her breasts invitingly against his chest. All too quickly, he moved past the point of a simple kiss and fed on her unique flavor. He’d gone too long without the seductive touch of a woman. Today, she’d tempted him with the fire of her anger and the gentle concern for him at the loss of his friend. Holding himself in check, he’d resisted until she’d revealed her passion for her research. Now, he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm for her any longer. He ate at her lips, nipping and sucking until they opened wider.

Lily moaned, and he captured the sound, swallowing it as he flicked his tongue against the roof of her mouth. She welcomed him by drawing him deeper. He thrust in and out, over and over mimicking the ancient rhythm of sex.

Determined to sample every inch of the hot, moist cavity, he drank in the rich, sweet nectar. As stimulating as wine, he became drunk on her and tangled his tongue around hers. Time lost meaning. He forgot everything except her hands in his hair, her body plastered against his, the relentless need to consume her.

Somewhere in his subconscious, something reminded him that women didn’t progress from “Hello, it nice to meet you” to “Do you want to go to bed with me” this quickly. On the other hand, maybe, the light tingling of his scalp as she curled her fingers in his hair helped jog his memory. He had to take things a little slower if he wanted to win the girl.

Now available for PreOrder at:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01M9C5QLQ
https://wildcatalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-erotic/4749-the-warrior-in-me.html

About the Author

Anita Philmar likes to create stories that push the limit. A writer by day and a dreamer by night she wants her readers to see the world in a new way. Influenced by old movies, she likes to develop places where anything can happen and where special moments come to life in a great read. Naughty or Nice? Read her books and decide.

Website:  https://www.anitaphilmar.com/
Email: anitaphilmar@yahoo.com
Blog: https://www.anitaphilmar.blogspot.com/
FB: www.facebook.com/anita.philmar
GR: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1329767.Anita_Philmar
Twitter: https://twitter.com/anitaphilmar
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Anita-Philmar/e/B002BMBE8C

I updated a blog I posted last year so I could share it with you, because I just love this story so much! I flew to Ohio for my husband’s office Holiday Party. As I started writing the blog post, we began our initial descent into Cincinnati. The leg from Phoenix to Houston International Airport went smoothly. However, once we landed in Houston, things fell apart rapidly.

Four people needed wheelchair assistance once off the plane, including me. Only one showed up. The rest of us waited nearly 20 minutes. That’s not so bad, you say. Except all 3 of us had connecting flights, all leaving in less than an hour.

No big deal, right? The wheelchairs came, and we disembarked. Plenty of time to get to a new gate. Except that the trains running from terminal to terminal had stopped working. The crowds impatiently waiting for them to be fixed were staggering. The gentleman assigned to me tried to spread the word – both to passengers and other employees – that the trains might not start up again, but was largely ignored; primarily, I think, because no one had another solution. He told me that the breakdown occurred every year when the weather changed, and could take upwards of a day to be fixed.

This gentle giant was simple, with an IQ probably around 80. He was earnest, with a genuine desire to help. None of what happened was his fault, yet some frustrated passengers took out their ire on him. I could see him shrink in on himself each time.

“You’re doing everything you can,” I said, patting his hand. He took heart, and realized there was another route: downstairs, around past the hotel, into the terminal, and back around through security to reach the one remaining working train. Doing something seemed better than nothing, so I agreed to try it.

We made the trek and got in line for security. I was selected at random for additional checks. By that point, I literally had 4 minutes before they would close the doors and push back from the gate. I gave up, I admit it. I turned my mind instead toward finding an alternate flight. But Danny refused to give up. We made the trek all the way down to the gate. As we arrived, a woman was locking the doors behind her. Okay, I thought. We made a valiant effort. So be it.

“We’re not boarding yet,” she said. “It’ll be just a few minutes.”

Music to my ears, but confusing nonetheless. Turns out the flight had been delayed due to some sort of mechanical malfunction! What could have been the last straw in a series of comical misfortunes instead turned out to be a blessing. I turned to Danny.

“We made it,” I said, a big grin on my face.

He saw my smile and spontaneously bent over to hug me. I kissed his cheek and hugged him back. He’d never given up. He’d taken his charter seriously. And suddenly, we two human beings who’d never met and would never cross paths again shared a moment of total connection with one another.

The scent of his lotion stayed on my cheeks all through the flight from Houston to Cincinnati. Whenever I inhaled, I was reminded that grace can come from anywhere, in any form, at any time. I’m not talking about making the flight; that’s irrelevant to this story. This story is about Danny’s can-do attitude and generosity of spirit. I think I smiled the entire trip. Danny, you are one remarkable human being. Thank you.

I’d love to hear about your best (or worst) travel story. Won’t you share?

RITA^® nominated and award-winning author Leslie Jones has been an IT geek, a graphics designer, and an Army intelligence officer. She’s lived in Alaska, Korea, Belgium, Germany, and other exotic locations (including New Jersey). She is a wife, mother, and full-time writer, and currently lives in Scottsdale, Arizona. Her books can be found at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and HarperCollins Publishers.

Framed (Duty & Honor Book 4) will be available on February 28, 2017 from Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and HarperCollins Publishers.

Catch up on the series with Night Hush, Bait, and Deep Cover.

Leslie loves to connect with readers!

https://www.lesliejonesbooks.com
https://www.facebook.com/LeslieJonesBooks
https://twitter.com/lesliejonesbks

I won’t bore you with economical, social and political details. I’ll leave these for another place and another time.

By the way, have you ever thought that the blood of someone famous, whose name inspires, even nowadays, a feeling of admiration or unease or dread may be flowing through your veins? No? I must admit that I haven’t either, ’til I wrote the novel Dracula’s Mistress and, come to think of it, Dracula’s blood may flow through my veins, too, as I am a native of his country.

If you go outside in the street, in the States, and ask at random, ordinary people passing by “Have you heard about Romania? “, you’ll be, most often, met by frowned eyebrows, confused looks or shrugging. Or even answers like: “Well, I don’t know… is it South America… or maybe Africa….”

Ask the same people “Have you heard about Dracula’s country?” A large smile will lighten the face of your interlocutor. “Oh, Dracula. Yes, yes, I heard about it. Somewhere in Europe. Transylvania.  Vampires.”

So, I’m glad to live in a country known to everyone, be it only because it’s linked to a name bearing negative connotations: creatures of the night, fangs, sucking the blood of maidens, crimes and horrors. Dracula is said to have drunk his victims’ blood, terrified his enemies and turned into a bat at will. The border between legend or history and figments of people’s imagination is difficult to perceive in his case.

Strong connections between the British Royal Family and Vlad the Impaler, the 15th century nobleman whose deeds inspired the vampire legend, are exploited now for advertising reasons. Books, movies, restaurants, T-shirts, fan clubs, toys, posters, wine…. So many products with this name Dracula. It’s a powerful brand and a source of inspiration for generations to come.

There are many people in Romania bothered by this analogy, Romania—Dracula’s country. I’m not. I’m proud to be one of his country people. And I chose to think about Dracula as a symbolic personality, a hero, a true leader, who used harsh, yet fair methods to reclaim the country from the corrupt and rich boyars. I wish there lived another man like him in his present-day country!

Anyway, words are never enough to describe the place. Beautiful landscapes with gorgeous mountains and mysterious ancient forests, clear rills coming down grassy slopes to meet the Danube.

Well, not to mention that there are enough elements in the Romanian mythology—ghosts, zombies, vampires—to be a real attraction for visitors. We have our paranormal, haunted places, too. If you want to know more about them, I invite you to visit my blog and the posts under the title: Mysterious Romania.

My best advice to you—come and visit Romania and you’ll see for yourselves how Dracula’s country really looks like. And to prevent getting bored while crossing the ocean, get a copy of  my novels Shadows of the Past or Till Life Do Us Part and read it. Otherwise you don’t know what you are missing! (The novel I mentioned at the beginning of the post, Dracula’s Mistress, will be released by the end of 2016, I hope)

Thank you, Delilah, for hosting me today!

Till Life Do Us Part

 Author: Carmen Stefanescu
Publisher: Solstice Publishing
Genre:  Paranormal Romance
Mystery, Suspense, Reincarnation,

Release date: 9th June 2016

Barbara Heyer can hear voices of dead people. They whisper of their deaths, seek comfort for those left behind, and occasionally even warn her about future events. But when Barbara’s brother, Colin, is accused of murder, it will take more than her gift to prove his innocence.

Becoming smitten with the handsome investigator, Detective Patrick Fischer, is a serious complication given his assignment to her brother’s case. Barbara senses there is something far deeper—and perhaps much older—than the surface attraction between them. Could that be why she’s visited by a mysterious woman named Emma in her dreams? Could past life regression tie all the seemingly unconnected events together?

Barbara and Patrick must overcome heartache to find the truth to save Colin, and perhaps themselves.

Trailer for Till Life Do Us Part: https://youtu.be/UbuntlWISc0

Buy Links:

Short URL for Amazon:    https://goo.gl/H0dqkb
B&N https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/till-life-do-us-part-carmen-stefanescu/1123896837?ean=9781625263858

Short excerpt

“Detective, please, don’t  think I’m raving, but I have to ask. Do you know someone called Mabel?”

The man riveted Barbara with his dark blue eyes for a moment.

Barbara cringed inside. He’ll rebuke me.

The man passed a hand over his face and nodding, he answered, “Yes, I know a Mabel. My… my wife.”

“How long ago did she pass away?”

In a voice that was more than a little surprised he asked, “How on earth did you know she’s dead?”

“She’s here,” Barbara replied in a small voice.

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. The steel in his voice was hard to miss. “What? What are you talking about?” He spun round and looked at the apparently empty space behind him.

Tell him I no longer suffer, Barbara heard Mabel’s voice.

Detective Fisher was still staring blankly around him.

“She wants me to tell you she no longer suffers. She hopes you’ve found in your heart the power to forgive her for committing suicide… for jumping off the bridge.”

The detective looked straight into Barbara’s eyes. The grief she saw in them was almost palpable.

About the Author

Carmen Stefanescu resides in Romania, the native country of the infamous vampire Count Dracula, but where, for about 50 years of communist dictatorship, just speaking about God, faith, reincarnation or paranormal phenomena could have led someone to great trouble – the psychiatric hospital if not to prison.

High school teacher of English and German in her native country, and mother of two daughters, Carmen Stefanescu survived the grim years of oppression, by escaping in a parallel world that of the books.

Several of her poems were successfully published in a collection of Contemporary English Poems, Muse Whispers vol.1 and Muse Whispers vol.2 by Midnight Edition Publication, in 2001 and 2002.

Her first novel, Shadows of the Past, was released in 2012 by Wild Child Publishing, USA.

Carmen joined the volunteer staff at Marketing For Romance Writers Author blog and is the coordinator of #Thursday13 posts.

Other books by Carmen Stefanescu:

Shadows of the Past – paranormal/light romance/light historical/light mystery

You can stalk the author here:
https://shadowspastmystery.blogspot.ro/
https://twitter.com/Carmen_Books
https://www.pinterest.com/carmens007/
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Carmen-Stefanescu-Books/499245716760283
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6624397.Carmen_Stefanescu
https://plus.google.com/117216040843648957646/posts
https://www.amazon.com/Carmen-Stefanescu/e/B00APVDGAA/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30115839-till-life-do-us-part
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16249401-shadows-of-the-past

When people learn I’m a romance writer, my answer to “what do you write?” always evokes a a wide – and I do mean wide – grin of surprise. I write inspirational romance, gothic romance and Christian erotica and Christian erotic romance. Inspirational and Christian erotica and Christian erotic romance?

Are you grinning?

Jokingly, but half-seriously, someone once asked, “What is Christian erotic romance? Safe braille sex? i.e. sex with your eyes closed and your panties on?” For some, Christian erotica or Christian erotic romance is the ultimate oxymoron. I might have been one of them if I hadn’t discovered translations of the writings of medieval mystics over thirty years ago. Hadewijch of Brabant and Beatrijs of Nazareth proved there is an equal sign between Christian and erotic. Their prayers and journal entries not only aroused and excited me, but inspired and drew me closer to the divine. They also confirmed what I’d always suspected: worshiping God is an ecstatic erotic experience. My suspicion had been born in my reading of the erotic poetry of the Old Testament found in Song of Solomon. Those ecstatic tropes were not a projection of my lustful imaginings in need of sublimation. Hallelujah! Medieval mystics and the Bible celebrate the erotic? So will I!

Fast forward to 2003 when I joined Romance Writers of America and started writing romance. The seeds planted by that hallelujah began to take root. Audre Lorde’s Uses of the Erotic: the Erotic as Power nurtured the fledgling plants. As I honed my craft, I wrestled with the following challenges: could I write fiction equally ecstatic, erotic and experiential as the non-fiction of those mystics? Could my romances celebrate love as arousing and spiritual as the poetry of Song of Solomon? Now One Breath Away has found a home at the Scarlet Rose line of the Wild Rose Press, I hope the answer is a resounding yes.

One Breath Away grew from a series of “what ifs” storming my imagination after I read a historical account of a woman surviving a hanging. In real life they simply hung her again, but what if she had been allowed to live? What if any time she became aroused, she experienced autoerotic asphyxiation because she climaxed when she was hung? What if this takes place in the 1870’s among African Americans surviving anti-Reconstruction backlash? What if she is a dark-skinned, plus-sized ex-slave? How could a woman like this after an experience like that overcome fear and find love? I knew the answer was yes, so the Christian erotic romance writer in me set out to give Mary Hamilton the HEA she needed at the heat level she deserved.

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. Never having been courted, cuddled or spooned, Mary now fears any kind of physical intimacy when arousal forces her to relive the asphyxiation of her hanging. 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 a relationship with Mary was 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.

Then just as Eban begins to win Mary’s trust, an enemy from the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…

Excerpt:

His smile turned up the heat in his gaze. Mary frowned, painfully aware the smell of her passion lingered in the air, despite the woolen barrier of her skirt.

He stepped forward so his hand-stitched boots stood toe-to-toe with Mary’s second-hand shoes. “Eban Thurman, at your service, Miss Hamilton. May I get you something to drink?”

At her service? The air congealed. Mary gasped, trying to suck in air too solid to inflate her lungs.

“No—no, thank you. I’m not thirsty.” Her stutter mimicked the tremor between her thighs. She clasped her hands and planted them hard against her lap.

“It’s a really hot night.” He turned his hand palm up in a silent plea. “Perhaps you’d find a waltz more cooling.” He eased his fingers into her clenched hands. “May I beg the honor of this dance?”

“Beg?”

“Yes, Miss Hamilton.” He tilted his head, slanting his smile to the right. “Beg.”

“You don’t strike me as the begging type, Mr. Thurman.”

“To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven.” He tongue-swiped his full lips as if he’d just tasted something he wanted to taste again. “I know when it’s time to beg.”

She pursed her lips into a frown, fought back the urge to grovel and won. Barely.

The fingers around hers, clean and huge and strangely slender, hadn’t moved, hadn’t trembled. Their stillness aroused her. His stillness aroused her. Her lips quivered. She inhaled deeply against the surrender summoned by that tiny tremor.

Resist the devil and he will flee.

Silently she called upon the truth in this scripture for rescue.
The devil waited. She stared at the hand on hers, helpless against the appeal, the allure of temptation.

She swallowed hard, opened her mouth to say no, but her tongue refused to cooperate. She huffed out a breath and shook her head. “I—I can’t. I don’t know how to waltz.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” His lips bowed in a smile, full, broad, and hypnotizing. “I’m an excellent teacher and I bet you’re a fast learner.” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “Shall we?”

He really wanted to dance with her. She blinked, speechless. A warning voice protested.

Resist.

Her heart countered.

Surrender.

She firmed her lips, heaved a sigh then accepted his invitation. Felicity’s sputtered shock and Widow Hawthorne’s happy cackle accompanied them to the middle of the dance floor.

He placed his fingertips respectfully but firmly above the rise of her buttocks and held her in place against him. A tickle invaded the wool of her skirt where the tip of his middle finger rested at the head of her crack. Pleasure tripped up her spine and trickled between her thighs. But, from the recesses of remembered experience, a voice of caution persisted.

He wants something, Mary. Beware.

“Why—why do you want to dance with me?”

He smiled with the serpent slyness that probably charmed Eve. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“I might.”

He turned his head slightly. “Really? Your practiced calm says otherwise.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Practiced calm?”

“The face you present to the world until something touches your heart.” He gestured to his right. “Like when that baby there cried. Your expression changed to one of concern, then changed to one of contentment when his mother satisfied his hunger.”

Mary blew a breath through her mouth. This man was studying her. Really studying her. Should she be flattered or worried?

The one-two-three, one-two-three magic of the waltz began. He guided her in its dips and glides, through its rises and falls. The awkwardness attributed to her by past dance partners didn’t raise its ugly head. Her spirit lightened then soared until that still, small voice sounded the alarm.

You were fooled by another man and his fancy manners. Don’t be fooled by this one.

Hints of bay rum mingled with a manly scent against whose lure she struggled then lost. Once again her toilet water failed to hide the salty scent of her arousal.

Eban pinned her with a not-so-casual scrutiny. Could he smell her too? She tried but failed to read him. Dare she hope the ease in his smile meant he found it pleasing?

The other couples held their partners off with discreet and proper holds. Not Eban. Warmth radiated from the hand holding the small of her back hostage. The heat spread across her buttocks then seeped into places more private. He bent his elbow and gentled her forward so only their clasped hands separated them.

“Why, Miss Hamilton, I do believe you’re blushing.” His fingers held hers with a teasing yet possessive grip.

“I am not.” Her words shot out with a force she hadn’t intended. “I mean I don’t blush.”

“No?” A cheeky boyishness winked at her from eyes as dark as chocolate. He leaned down so his breath tickled her earlobe. “Not even if I kissed you behind your ear?”

She shrank back then stared up into the gaze showering her with attention. Her heart beat beneath her breast with a prisoner’s unease. An unease she knew well having once been a prisoner.

“You—you wouldn’t.”

His smile widened into a grin. “Only because I don’t want to embarrass you.”

The amusement in his voice coaxed forth a wet response that Mary clenched her vaginal muscles to stem. She swallowed repeatedly until she found her voice.

“You still haven’t answered me, sir. Of all the women here, why did you pick me?”

“Why not you?”

She blinked. Why not her? The answers swirled through her mind as easily as she and Eban swirled in this waltz.

Why not her?

Because she remained planted among the wallflowers by the time the musicians played the last song at every Safe Haven dance.

Because she learned to hang back at the call of “Ladies’ Choice,” forewarned of rejection by the grimaces caused by her approach.

Because unlike desperate-for-a-man Felicity, Mary refused to dance on her back in some dark field just so she wouldn’t be a woman who ain’t been asked.

Ain’t been asked to court. Ain’t been asked to spoon. Ain’t been asked to the altar. And never would be.

That’s why not her.

His calloused fingertips proved he worked manually for the wealth that purchased his custom-made attire. But, he didn’t speak like a field hand or common laborer. His speech testified to a level of education far above that of her Freedman’s Bureau learning.

“Why not you, Mary?”

“Because someone like you only looks at someone like me out of pity.”

Of course. His aunt put him up to this. Anger warmed Mary’s ears.

“Let me go.” She made to pull away. “I want to sit.”

“Please. Not before the music stops.” He timed his plea to the rhythm of the waltz. “I’ve waited all week for this moment.”

Mary gritted her teeth. Heart hurt joined her injured pride. She needed no one’s charity.

“That was cruel of you, sir. No one counts the days until they can ask me for a dance.” Tears pooled behind her closed eyelids. “Anyone in town could tell you that.”

The grip on her hand tightened, forcing her eyes open. The light in his gaze darkened. “Anyone who’d lie to me like that would be taking their life in their hands.” He leaned in so his mouth nuzzled her ear again. “And if you use that I’m-not-worthy tone of voice again, I’ll be forced to prove you wrong with a kiss.”

Alarm shuddered up Mary’s back. “Is—is that a threat?”

“A certainty.” He winked.

A chilly thrill replaced the alarm. She blew out a breath to steady herself. Threat or certainty, both treated her to a delicious revelation—she wanted that kiss. She eyed his lips, imagined their soft yet demanding press against hers. Once more the voice of caution repeated its warning.

Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

Oh, to be forced to flee from such a devil as he. She sighed. What a wonderful problem to have.

*~*~*

Buy links:

Wild Rose Press, www.wildcatalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-erotic/4580-one-breath-away.html

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/One-Breath-Away-Michal-Scott-ebook/dp/B01L101Q6E/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1477136750&sr=8-1-fkmr0&keywords=one+breath+away+michael+scott

About the Author

A native New Yorker, Michal Scott is the pen name of Anna Taylor Sweringen, an ordained United Church of Christ and Presbyterian Church USA minister. Using the writings of the love mystics of Begijn for inspiration, Michal Scott writes Christian erotica and Christian erotic romance (i.e. erotica and erotic romance with a faith arc), hoping to build a bridge between the sacred and secular, spirituality and sexuality, erotica and Christ, her readers and a well-written spiritually-stimulating and erotically-arousing story. As an African American, she writes stories to give insight into the African American experience in the US. She has been writing romance seriously since joining Romance Writers of America in 2003 and had her first novel published in 2008. She writes inspirational romance as Anna Taylor and gothic romance as Anna M. Taylor. You can connect with Anna on Twitter @mscottauthor1 and learn more about her and her writing at her various websites: www.michalscott.webs.com, www.annamtaylor.webs.com and www.annataylor2678.webs.com.

Warning: This blog post will wax philosophical and deep.

I was watching one of those weight loss shows—you know the ones—and one of the people mentioned food represented love for them.

As someone who has been known to make love to a Bacon Egg and Cheese McGriddle on occasion, I could totally relate, but the thought gave me pause.

If food represents love—or one form of love—to our psyches, what other forms of love are there? And as someone who’s been on a diet since I was twelve, I was pondering this for less than philosophical reasons, unless one considers carb counting a philosophical pursuit.

And one does not.

ANYWAY…

I decided to make a conscious effort to open my eyes and LOOK at the world, searching for these other esoteric forms of love.

My first efforts were pedestrian in the extreme—sunshine, flowers, whiskers on kittens and whatnot, but then one day as I was driving in the car and listening to the radio, I had an epiphany.

The song I was listening to touched me.

Really touched me, deep inside, skewering me with delight.

And I realized…this was love.

This was something that FED MY SOUL.

It made me happier.

Perhaps even happier than a Bacon Egg and Cheese McGriddle (but it’s tough to say, because I was also eating one of those at the time).

This song was love. Pure and simple. The melody, the delicious harmonies, the confluence of voice and instrument as they came together and swelled and told a beautiful story moved me. Lifted me up to some spiritual realm and made my spirit fly.

We will ignore for the moment that the song was about an extremely talented singer who had apparently “just killed a man” and sometimes wished he’d “never been born at all,” and we will focus on the most important thing: How it made me feel.

Ecstatic.

Not the murder or the dismal fact that now he’d “gone and thrown it all away” but the purity of the music and the undeniable love the creators put into the work.

Even now, decades after Freddie Mercury’s death, that song still breathes. Still lives, still inspires teens to bang heads in the car on a Friday night.

Such love, threaded into creation is there for all of use to reach out and grasp—whether we are the creator or the recipient of the work…or both. It’s there to feed our souls in movies, songs, art, architecture, gardens…and books.

Ah, books.

Have you ever read one that stayed with you? One that made you cry? Laugh? Snarl in fury?

That author did her (or his) job. Created that book from love and with love…for you.

I’ve written over 50 books and my hope is that each one is a powerful reflection of that love. Love I have for the story, love I have for the craft and most importantly, love I have for my readers.

There’s something magic in the act of creation. I’ve always known it, felt it. I just wasn’t able to name it, to truly understand it until now.

That magic is love.

And a little bit of bacon doesn’t hurt.

Sabrina York writes sexy snarky romances in all subgenres. Her most recent release, the second book in the stand alone Stripped Down Cowboys series, is Cowboy to Command, the story of a former SEAL with a secret and a stubborn woman with a plan. This heartwarming and hysterical cowboy romp is available now: https://www.amazon.com/Cowboy-Command-Stripped-Down-Sabrina-ebook/dp/B01B2EAJKS/

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