I’m not talking Mel Gibson in Braveheart looking all adorable with his face painted blue. I’m talking about bikers – real bikers. The kind who ride motorcycles, wear leather vests, and burn up the weekend roads.

Oh, I know them, you say. I saw them on Sons of Anarchy.

Nu uh, my friend. The Sons of Anarchy are OUTLAW bikers. Those guys are the real deal, the one percenters, the fraction of motorcyclists who don’t follow civilian law. They are larger than life, badder than bad and make for great romance heroes. My biker romance standalone series, the Sinner’s Tribe MC, is about outlaw bikers who live large, ride free, and fall hard for the women they love.

So what about the weekend warriors?

Ah, now we’re talking. Welcome to my world. Weekend Warriors are Saturday and Sunday riders only. You can identify them by their squeaky clean leather chaps, shiny black leather jackets and mirrored aviator sunglasses. Without any understanding of wind resistance, they sit up straight and tall and wave to fellow bikers, because hey, it’s a nice day for a sunny ride down the highway with your significant perched on the passenger pillion seat behind you. Wave and smile. Wave and smile.

Until my hubs bought his first motorcycle, a Honda VFR with a comfy passenger pillion seat, I knew nothing about biker subculture. I saw motorcycles on the roads, watched a few shows about bikers, and feigned interest when the hubs showed me pictures of motorcycles online. I never thought I would be a Weekend Warrior’s woman until the day he showed up at our house with his “surprise” impulse purchase.

Surprise indeed. Especially given that my impulse purchases usually involve chocolate, shoes or multiple one-clicks on my Kindle on Tuesdays. Do you see the imbalance? Just think how many books I could buy for the price of…say…a MOTORCYCLE!

Of course no weekend warrior worth his salt can ride his bike wearing running shoes and a golf jacket. So it was off to the motorcycle store for the requisite purchase of shiny black leather and a helmet to protect the hubs’ head for when the credit card bill arrived.

So there I was, hanging out with a grizzled lot of bikers in the motorcycle shop as the hubs pranced and preened in front of the mirror. And then the owner, a giant bear of a man wearing a patched leather vest and sporting a long, grey ZZ-Top style beard (read: REAL biker), jerked his thumb at me as the hubs rifled through the helmet display. “You’ll need leathers, too.”

Cue: gasps from the hubs. And not because of the cost. But when I slipped on those semi-tight leather trousers and the fitted leather vest…well, let’s just say money suddenly became no object.

So now, every sunny summer weekend, we pull on our leathers, hit the road, sit up tall, and wave to our fellow bikers. Because hey, it’s a nice day for a weekend warrior ride and could there be any better way to research biker romance?

My latest release is Beyond the Cut, the second standalone book in the Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club series. It’s got all the hard riding, fierce loving, outlaw bikers you could want, plus a feisty heroine, a villainous villain and two little kids who can melt an outlaw hero’s heart.

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Sarah Castille, worked and traveled abroad before trading her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home near the Canadian Rockies. She writes erotic contemporary romance and romantic suspense featuring blazingly hot alpha heroes and the women who tame them.

Contact Information:

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BEYOND THE CUT (SINNER’S TRIBE MC #2) 

SHE’S HOLDING ON TIGHT.

As a teen, Dawn ran from a life on the streets straight into the arms of Jimmy “Mad Dog” Sanchez, a biker who promised to be her knight in shining armor. But his love was just another cage. Years later, Dawn’s former life still has its hooks in her and she’ll do whatever it takes to break free. When Cade “Ryder” O’Connor, a member of a rival club, makes her an offer, Dawn finds herself in a different, hotter kind of trouble with one irresistible Sinner…

WILL HE GIVE HER THE RIDE OF HER LIFE?

Cade is an outlaw biker with allegiance to one thing and one thing only: The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club. But when it comes to the stunningly sexy, fiercely independent Dawn Delgado, Cade finds himself…hungrier for more. Trouble is on Dawn’s heels and he wants to be the answer to her prayers, whether she wants him to be or not. What can’t be denied is the red-hot attraction between them. However, as they fall deeper, the danger rises and Cade may have to sacrifice it all…

BUY LINKS FOR BEYOND THE CUT

Amazon: https://bit.ly/BeyondtheCut
iBooks: https://apple.co/1Hr0STu
Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/1c3qpH0
Google Play: https://bit.ly/1dipsfz
BAM: https://bit.ly/1L7xu54
Book Depository: https://bit.ly/1IP1HHg
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-ca/ebook/beyond-the-cut

Thanks, Delilah, for hosting me today.

Although I have my 9^th title coming out with Dreamspinner Press next month, it still blows me away that I’m a published author.  Each new book is just as exciting as the first one.

One of the first things that struck me was the sense of community.  It hasn’t been just Dreamspinner who have welcomed me into their family, but I’ve also had a lot of support and friendship extended by other authors, and by readers.  Last year I made a New Years’ Resolution to make more of an effort to post on Facebook, and build more connections. I’d done a bit of it in the past, but updating my computer, and having Facebook now load properly has really helped with my resolution.  I try to make my posts a mix of writing stuff, plus other things I’m interesting in. My other job is in a library and I’m a bit of an SF/fantasy/comics geek so it’s easy to find fun things to share. My two cats enjoy the limelight as well, especially with stories about their exploits—I have one who brings me home bones she’s stolen from neighbourhood dogs, and another who likes to steal muffins.

The other thing I’ve done is to open my blog for other authors, and become a blog tour host. I enjoy doing it, I figure it helps out other authors with promo, and it’s a way to give back to the writing community. I’ve also made some new friends along the way.  This year I’ve begun doing a bit of reviewing—I love to read, and always review what I read on Goodreads, although I’ve a bit of catching up to do.  I’m taking the reviewing a bit slower than the blog hosting, as I don’t want to lose writing time. I also have a few books to get through that aren’t M/M, as I like to keep my finger on the pulse for readers’ advisory for the other job.

It’s taken me a while to find a balance between being out there, making connections, family life, and writing my own books, but I feel it’s finally all coming together.

I’d love to hear about some of your experiences of community with other readers and/or writers. To celebrate my new upcoming release with Dreamspinner Press—Family and Reflection—I’m sharing an excerpt from my first release Cat’s Quill and offering an ebook from my backlist to someone who comments on this post.

Cat’s Quill

Hidden Places: Book 1

Tomas Kemp has two successful novels to his name and the true belief that a successful sequel is only a matter of a little inspiration. When Tomas meets a mysterious stranger under the branches of an old oak tree, he feels compelled to tell him about a book he holds dear and the sequel he wants to read. But Cathal doesn’t share that deep belief that the sequel Tomas seeks ends happily. Cathal has seen enough of a world where stories are real to know that happy ever after is sometimes the dream that won’t come true.

But stories have never let Tomas down, and as he follows Cathal across the reality shift between their worlds, he learns that Cathal is right: Happy ever after is never just given—but sometimes, it can be fought for and won.

Buy Link: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=2369&cPath=55_426

Excerpt:

Cathal wiped his palms on his trousers and then turned the page of the journal back and forth, his eyes scanning the words again. “Maybe I could help?” he suggested. “Can you tell me what the story is about so I can get more of an idea of what this kiss should, er… involve?”

“Involve?” Tomas’s voice sounded strained to his own ears. He coughed, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Umm, it’s about a writer who meets someone he thinks might be a muse.”

“I see.” Cathal nodded slowly. “Why does he think that?” He edged closer to Tomas, the book still balanced carefully on his lap.

“He’s drawn to this person he’s not long met.” The explanation sounded somewhat weak now that Tomas had to actually explain it to someone else. “It’s like they have a connection….”

“Like Alan and Roger in your other book?” Cathal frowned. “That doesn’t explain why—” He checked the name. “—Deimos might be a muse though, but then I haven’t read enough.”

Tomas opened his mouth to explain more, how Deimos seemed to appear and disappear out of thin air, how he seemed otherworldly, how Mark kept thinking about him all the time. Cathal placed one hand on Tomas’s knee, his breath warm against Tomas’s face. “Cat? What are you doing?”

“I’m getting into character.” Cathal reached over and brushed Tomas’s hair from his face. “You’re a writer, so you need to be Mark. That leaves me the role of the muse.” His voice was barely a whisper. “This scene is too good for it to be abandoned like the other one.” His eyes dropped to the page and back again. He licked his lips, his fingers tightening on Tomas’s knee. Tomas’s breath hitched.

“Yes, it is.” He swallowed again, reaching out his own hand to caress Cathal’s cheek, echoing Mark’s actions in his book. “I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered, his words following the script, his heart speeding up.

Cathal closed his eyes as he followed Tomas’s cue, slipping into a role that could have been written for him. “I think I’m in love with you,” he murmured.

Their lips brushed together, tentatively, awkwardly. Tomas pulled away, unsure, his breathing growing ragged, Cathal’s skin warm under his fingers, soft but for the slight stubble across his lower cheek, blond facial hair almost invisible. Tomas leaned in again, his lips parting this time in invitation as he pressed their mouths together. Cathal moaned softly, opening his own lips, leaning into it, his fingers threading through Tomas’s hair.

Wet skin, soft and inviting, tasting of coffee and something else Tomas could only describe as uniquely Cathal. It felt right, better than anything Tomas could have imagined. He whimpered, pulling Cathal to him, convincing himself for that moment they weren’t play acting, that this was real, that the man in his arms was someone who loved him.

The need to breathe drove them apart. Cathal’s eyes opened with a start, searching Tomas’s. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be.” Tomas traced Cathal’s lips with his fingers, committing the scene to memory, allowing himself a photograph he realized he wanted frozen in his mind forever. “I’m not.”

Bio:

Anne Barwell lives in Wellington, New Zealand.  She shares her home with two cats who are convinced that the house is run to suit them; this is an ongoing “discussion,” and to date it appears as though the cats may be winning.

In 2008 she completed her conjoint BA in English Literature and Music/Bachelor of Teaching. She has worked as a music teacher, a primary school teacher, and now works in a library. She is a member of the Upper Hutt Science Fiction Club and plays violin for Hutt Valley Orchestra.

She is an avid reader across a wide range of genres and a watcher of far too many TV series and movies, although it can be argued that there is no such thing as “too many.” These, of course, are best enjoyed with a decent cup of tea and further the continuing argument that the concept of “spare time” is really just a myth.

*~*~*~*

Anne’s books have twice received honorable mentions and twice reached the finals in the Rainbow Awards.

Links:

Blog:  https://anne-barwell.livejournal.com/
Website: https://annebarwell.wordpress.com/
Coffee Unicorns:  https://coffeeunicorns.wordpress.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/anne.barwell.1
Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/115084832208481414034/posts
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4862410.Anne_Barwell
Dreamspinner Press Author Page: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/AuthorArcade/anne-barwell

Okay, I’m a purist. If a story isn’t factually accurate, it doesn’t fly with me – except maybe against the nearest wall. I can take a little fudging, especially when the actual facts aren’t known, but egregious transgressions against time and custom and known facts make me livid. That means I do a lot of research.

All too many times research means a lot of dry swotting in libraries (preferred) or on the internet (oftimes unreliable), but occasionally the gods smile and I get to go and do. Like in March of this year.

My dear friend Dr. Dirk Huyge, who was such a help when I was writing THE EGYPTIAN FILE, is Director of the Belgian Archaeological Mission to El Kab. We joked about setting a murder mystery in the dig house, which is reputed to be haunted by its builder, Somers Clarke. Not surprising, since his grave is in the courtyard. Then he asked me and The Husband to come visit, so we could actually see the dig house to make the book realistic.

Civilians are NEVER invited to stay at dig houses. To allow us to come, Dirk had to get permissions from the Ministry of Antiquities in Cairo and the Aswan Governate, which he did, so on a few weeks’ notice we were off to Egypt. (It will take a long time for our budget to recover, but we simply could not decline!)

Staying at the dig house was wonderful. The crew there were incredible. Scholars all, most with an alphabet soup of degrees after their names, they all but fell over themselves to answer my questions and suggest ideas. (Thank you, Stan Hendrickx, for coming up with the perfect murder weapon!) All this was heady stuff for a simple scribbler of novels whose only degree is a DHW with an HSD. (In case you didn’t know, that means Dallas HouseWife with a High School Diploma.)

We were given permission to go about on the dig site itself (a huge place as big as many, many soccer fields) and Dirk took a day to drive us to places back in the desert that tourists never get to see. One that sticks in my mind is a plain little stone building in the middle of nowhere, but which in ancient times sat on a way of sacred pilgrimage. Outside it looked like nothing, but inside was a nearly perfect jewel box of a temple to Amenhotep III, the paint still bright after three and a half thousand years. Another place we stopped that day was an enormous rock – also in the middle of nowhere – covered with rock art thousands of years old. Sadly, pieces of it had been chipped away, presumably for sale to unscrupulous buyers. There just isn’t enough money to protect these all Egypt’s national treasures, and there is a low class of humans who will steal their heritage and history to sell for a small amount of money.

After our all-too-short stay at the dig house was over, during which I actually started writing on A KILLING AT EL KAB, The Husband and I went to Luxor where we rented a luxury holiday flat on the West Bank from my beloved friend Jane Akshar (flatsinluxor.co.uk). Three bedrooms, two baths, lounge, dining room, kitchen (in which I made tea and nothing else) and a glorious balcony overlooking the Gurnah Hills, where Deir el Bahri and the Valley of the Kings are. We are not wealthy people, and I must tell you that all this cost just about the same per day as a standard hotel room in a mid-star hotel on the East Bank.

One of the benefits of traveling on your own is you can do exactly what you want. We spent days at the temples of Karnak and Luxor, most of a day in the Luxor Museum and several days just prowling the town. We did a sunset cruise on the Nile. We were fortunate enough to be invited to Jane’s birthday party, where her husband arranged Sufi dancers to entertain – not the famed Whirling Dervishes, but an esoteric and seldom-performed ancient war dance. We were the only non-residents of Luxor there and no one had ever seen this kind of performance. Since we’ve both toured the Valley of the Kings several times each, we didn’t go there, but spent most of a day at Hatshepsut’s temple Deir el Bahri, or Djeser Djeseru as it was known in ancient times. We had tea at the famed Winter Palace Hotel. Every Egyptian we met was wonderful, from the street vendors to the dig house staff to the museum staff.

Every bit of it counts as research, and it has all paid out. A KILLING AT EL KAB is going very well, so well I hope to be finished with it in a couple of months and have it out by the end of the year. I also believe in paying back; a quarter of the proceeds of this book will go to the restoration fund for the dig house. An architectural marvel, it is registered with the Ministry of Antiquities as a national monument and has been submitted to the World Monuments Fund for inclusion of the Watch List of Endangered Sites. I am proud to have been allowed to visit it.

(all photographs ©Janis Susan May Patterson 2015)

You’ve heard the term “gone country.” You’ve probably even heard the Alan Jackson song. This is what happens when city people fall in love with country living—backroads, crickets chirpin’, sweet tea on the porch swing living.

Recently I took a road trip, 2 days away from my family. No baseball, softball, dance, field trips, groomer’s visits. Just me, my piece of crap SUV and a prayer that I made it south without using my AAA card. I loved the drive through southern Pennsylvania (I live north) and found the lush greenery very inspiring. Then I hit the city.

At first, it was fun to see all the commerce and navigate the busy highways. I shopped in an actual mall that doesn’t only boast a shoe store, pharmacy and a Big K. I drank honest to goodness iced coffee that I didn’t make at home because there isn’t a Starbucks or a Dunkins within 2 hours.

Then I drove around for hours, just filling my little country soul with experience. This includes driving experience. I can avoid a deer running full-tilt across a dirt road, but jumping five lanes is scary as hell. But I did it!

All of these moments are everyday for a lot of people, but not me. And it wasn’t long before the charm wore off. Pretty soon I was hoping to see that deer. Or miles of open road. No car horns or long lines at checkouts.

I missed my world. I’d gone city and wanted my country back! (insert ugly cry) So I texted my hubby and said I wanted to come home. His response? LOL then come home. He’d taken the kids fishing and rock climbing. He was grilling chicken and they were planning a bonfire with s’mores.

So how could I resist? I packed up and set out for home after just one night. From my trip I learned that I’m a country girl at heart. Visiting the city had given me a new take on the dull things I take for granted. Now that I’m refreshed and inspired by my home settings again, I’m in the mood to write more cowboys and hardworking men.

Here’s one example. Meet Ty, hot cowboy on the Boot Knockers Ranch. If you don’t know this series, you’re in for a ride. This ain’t your daddy’s ranch…

It’ll take more than ropes and whips for this cowboy to keep his bratty woman in line.

The Boot Knockers Ranch, Book 4

At twenty-three, Bree Roberts is ready to sow some wild oats. The perfect place to start? The neighboring spread—The Boot Knockers Ranch, where twenty smokin’ hot cowboys deliver sexual therapy to women. The problem? The entry fee is more than she’s made in a lifetime.

Only wanting to explore, she figures her tanned, toned legs will be her ticket to ride. Except Ty keeps kicking her off their land. Then she begins to suspect the reason why. He likes her.

If Ty spots that little vixen wrapped around one of his cowboys one more time, he’s going to throw her over his knee. Trouble is, she’d like it. Catching her participating in the ranch’s notorious, semi-clad Cornhole tournament is one thing, but when he finds her under their resident Dom’s whip, enough is enough.

Ty won’t throw a naked woman out of his bed, namely one who deserves a spanking, but showing Bree the rewards of sex mixed with a little emotion leads to trails neither of them intended to tread.

Warning: Contains a spitfire cowgirl who excels at breaking the rules, and a cowboy who lays down the law—and a firm hand on her ass cheek.

Excerpt of Ropin’ Hearts

Ty started dragging her away. She dug in her bootheels.

“If you don’t walk away with me normal, I’ll pick you up and throw you over my shoulder, Miss Roberts.”

Ice filled her veins. He knew her. How? Was there a wanted poster on the wall somewhere? This man saw dozens of women a week—surely he wouldn’t remember her face after visiting her ranch.

“Let go of me!”

“I don’t think so, sugar tits. You’re trespassing. Wonder what Daddy would think of you down here getting corrupted.” Read the rest of this entry »

10

That’s the number of loads of laundry I have to do every week. As a stay at home mom and writer, I struggle every day finding the balance between it all. Since the home is my office, I can’t stand when it’s a mess. If the dishes are piling high, the laundry room door won’t shut, or if there is dirt all over the floor, I find it hard to concentrate. Then let’s add three screaming, singing, dancing kids in the mix with their wails for more milk and their toys with wheels, bells and whistles that are so loud I can’t hear myself think. Cliché, but so true.

But, yesterday, as I stood in my kitchen and folded, and folded and folded, I realized if it were any different I might not like the reality so much. If I didn’t have all those clothes to fold it could mean a number of things.

The best possible scenario would be that I’ve become filthy rich from my book sells and I’ve hired someone to do my laundry. Yah! That might not be so bad.

The other scenarios aren’t so great. They could mean that we’ve lost everything we have, so we don’t have any clothes. Worse, it could mean that my little people are no longer around. The thought of something bad happening to my children was too much to bear, so I began folding with a little more gusto.

Now, when I look at all those dirty clothes, I say “Bring It On.” Always try to find the silver lining in life!

Cupid’s Angels

Ellie Childs isn’t looking for love. She’s looking for an AC technician for the Forest Wood Senior Center. But, when the repairman happens to be tall, dark, and handsome, he has the goods to make her change her mind. Unfortunately, he’s taken by a blonde Barbie.

David White moved to Cupid, Arkansas, to be closer to the woman he loves, his grandma, and away from his ex-fiancée. Believing his broken heart would never work again, he’s proven wrong. Ellie’s shimmering auburn curls and compassionate nature sends his heart thumping. His mind soars with thoughts of giving love another shot. But as luck would have it, she’s taken, and the guy she’s seeing is a real jerk.

When David’s grandmother sees how perfect Ellie would be for her grandson, she gathers the troops. She and her three friends form Cupid’s Angels. Their mission, to bring David and Ellie together. Despite their best efforts, the Angels’ plans backfire, pushing David and Ellie farther apart and into the arms of others. Or, so they think.

Will the Angels’ good intentions win out, or will their plots and schemes undermine what could have been the love of a lifetime for David and Ellie?

About the Author

Erin Bevan was born and raised in Southwest Arkansas. She spent her teenage years working for her aunt at the local gas station flipping burgers and making milkshakes dreaming of the day when something better would come her way.

Fast forward ten years later, she found herself stuck inside an apartment in South Korea while her daughter went to preschool and her husband went to work. Alone and unable to speak the local language she turned to books for a friend. After reading a few hundred in such a short time, she decided to try her hand at writing one.

That first one sucked, but by the fifth and sixth book, Erin started to get the hang of this writing thing. Getting the first contract in the mail was a dream come true. Now, with three babies at home, she squeezes in stories one word at a time, one sentence at a time, one day at a time.  She’s a full time mom, a full time wife, with a little writer sprinkled in whenever she can get the chance.

Readers who know my work may be a bit surprised to learn that my latest book, Thrill-Kinky, is science-fiction romance. Or maybe they’ll wonder what took me so long to venture into yet another subgenre. I already have paranormal, contemporary and fantasy romances under my belt (and one short historical romance in Delilah’s Conquests anthology), not to mention dark fantasy and short erotica featuring every possible combination of consenting adults having naughty fun.

So why add science fiction romance to this conglomeration, other than the already obvious “I like variety”?

I blame and thank my husband.

I’ve always flown my geek flag proudly. In seventh grade, I turned in a paper written in Tolkien’s Dwarven runes. (My handwriting was too bad to pull off Elvish script.) My first several novels were heroic fantasy, which still live in boxes in my closet, awaiting the time I’m brave enough to reread them and see if there’s anything there to salvage. I worked at Del Rey Books in the eighties and binge-read every fantasy book they published and a lot of the science fiction. But while I went through a stage of reading just about anything that involved wizards, witches, dragons, or people with swords fighting evil, I was fussier about science fiction. A lot of what I picked up seemed to be more focused on technology and (admittedly cool) world building than on characters. The male characters were two-dimensional, the female ones even flatter. With a few exceptions—Ursula LeGuin comes to mind—I preferred my fantasy. Sure, some of the women of fantasy were basically plot devices waiting to be rescued, but Mercedes Lackey! Anne McCaffrey! Guy Gavriel Kay! Even going back to my roots, Tolkien had some impressive women characters and some emotional arcs as epic as the adventures involving swords and sorcery. And of course, there were his delightful, down-to-earth hobbits thrown in among the fierce and mighty.

And then I met Himself, who realized I’d managed to miss out on Star Trek when I was growing up and got me watching both the original and the various spin-offs. From there, we branched out into other science fiction TV shows: Farscape, Babylon 5, and what became my favorite, Firefly. In these series, action was important, but interaction was even more central. You cared about the firefights and the capers and the narrow escapes because you’d come to care about the team of characters, not just because Spaceships are Cool and Aliens are Awesome. I mean, both of these things are true, but Firefly’s spaceship was the space equivalent of someone’s rickety but much loved first car held together with duct tape and bubble gum, and there were no aliens—and the show still captivated me. Himself also got me watching anime, enjoying the completely goofy plotlines and random bits of humor and sexiness in dark scenarios. And then there were the superhero comics and movies…

With all this imagery in my head, it was inevitable I’d try my hand at science fiction sometime—but science fiction my way. With wacky aliens because they’re fun, political complications worthy of Babylon 5 because those interest me more than space battles, and an independent freighter with a motley crew I can imagine drinking with Malcolm Reynolds and the rest of the crew of Serenity at some seedy spaceport bar. There’s also a cat-girl sidekick, thanks to too much anime. Of course there are tough women, handsome men, hot sex and true love, because all that kind of inevitable if I’m writing the book.

And the name of my rickety independent freighter? It’s the Malcolm, a direct bow to Joss Whedon’s wonderful series and its hero, Malcolm Reynolds, a.k.a. Captain Tight-Pants—who would have gotten into different and more fun kinds of trouble if he’d been my character!

Thrill-Kinky

Chronicles of the Malcolm,Book 1

Sexual freefall is like a game of chicken, except the first one to let go wins.

Humans may have expanded to the stars, but they still have the annoying need to work for a living. Which is why Rita, crew member of the space freighter Malcolm, is stuck collecting recyclable slag rather than attending her favorite festival celebrating love and sexuality.

Things go from boring to interesting when she discovers a badly injured man who’s been thrown into a recycling bin to die. The catch, he’s gorgeous, winged, and naked.

Drax Jalricki, reformed (mostly) art thief and reluctant covert operative, is on an undercover mission to protect three planets when someone in his own government brands him a traitor. By virtue of association, Rita and her crew are going down with him.

From their first, hide-in-plain-sight quickie, the erotic spark between Rita and Drax is fueled by danger and adrenaline. But their growing suspicion that there’s more to their connection than lust may not matter if they don’t live through the night.

Warning: Hero and heroine who straddle the line of criminal behavior—and definitely violate public indecency statutes. Exhibitionist, dangerous sex. Dark, sordid pasts. Wild risk-taking. Giggly cat-girl sidekick who’s not just another pretty…tail. And the greatest risk of all: true love.

Excerpt (Adult)

Definitely something in the danger-as-aphrodisiac theory, because in a fetid alley, with the law and outlaws both after them and her no doubt out of both a job and a home when the guys found out she’d dumped the slag and abandoned the floater, Rita was getting more turned on than she ever remembered being. She’d been excitable to start with, from the kiss, and from simply being around Drax’s dangerous good looks, but now she could feel herself getting slick, hot, ready for the cock that she could now feel all too well against her bare skin.

And his wings—marling stars, she’d never felt anything like the soft, sensual caress of all those feathers against her back, her ass. So good. His hands gripped and kneaded, and his wings stroked and soothed, and all the while he was kissing her, exploring her mouth with his tongue, sending sparks down the connections from her lips to the mouth of her sex. Her common sense told her they needed to move, couldn’t take the time to play there when the overpriced thugs in the Fiero might show up at any second.

Her common sense lost the argument with her libido.

Buy links: Samhain / Amazon / B&N / Kobo /All Romance eBooks / iBooks (iTunes)

Teresa Noelle Roberts started writing stories in kindergarten and she hasn’t stopped yet. A prolific author of short erotica, she’s also a published poet and fantasy writer—but hot paranormals and BDSM-spiced contemporaries were her favorites until she realized science-fiction romances offered new possibilities for outrageous adventure, wild sex and love that overcomes serious obstacles, including being from different species! Find her at www.teresanoelleroberts.com, on Facebook, or on Twitter, where she hangs out as @TeresNoeRoberts.

Hi! How are you? I’d like to thank Delilah for giving me the chance to blog over here today.

While most people are still taking part in Camp NaNoWriMo, I’m already thinking about NaNoWriMo. See, Camp NaNoWriMo takes place in April and July, which are awful months for me to get started on a first draft. Both of these months contain two weeks of school holidays, and/or public holidays, maybe even some annual leave. So, they’re not an option for me.

But NaNoWriMo takes place in November, which is a great month for me.

Have you ever taken part? I started taking part in 2006 and have tried to do it every year since then. I think 2011 was the only year that I didn’t because I was too busy editing a book. I love allocating a WIP to the month of November at the same time as a bunch of other writers are doing the same. I mean, I write fast drafts anyway, and get caught up in a first-draft frenzy that can last 4-6 weeks—whatever it takes to get the story out.

So NaNoWriMo isn’t a big stretch for my usual way of writing.

Besides, I think that completing a first draft just before the end of the year is a great accomplishment. And an awesome way to end the year. 🙂

My latest book release was actually a book I wrote during NaNoWriMo 2013. It was just like every other story I write: I had copious amounts of notes (I’m more a note-taker than an outliner), and when November 1^st hit I got stuck into writing the story and didn’t stop until I reached The End. By November 30^th, I had a new novel ready for revision the next year.

I know there are differing opinions about whether NaNoWriMo is good for writers or not, but I personally think it’s great. First drafts are meant to be messy, a way to get the story out of your head and onto the screen or paper because you can’t ignore it any longer. So, IMO, this is the perfect event to do so.

Have you ever done NaNoWriMo? What was your experience like?

Thanks for reading,

Yolanda

AUTHOR BIO:

Wife. Mother. Writer. Bibliophile. Dreamer. Animal lover. Intrigued by the supernatural. Horror freak. Zombie enthusiast. Movie & music fan. Slave to her muse.

Yolanda lives in Sydney, Australia with her awesome husband, lovely daughter, and cheeky cat.

MY LINKS:
Website: https://www.yolandasfetsos.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/yolandasfetsos
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/yolandasfetsos

She escaped the arena of death, but trusting him might be the death of her.

RECAST, Book 4

Taylor may be the Clash Arena’s most dominant—and only—female gladiator, but today she just can’t catch a break. After winning yet another brutal fight, with the arena inexplicably falling down around her ears, she jumps at the chance to escape the prison of her subterranean pit.

Instead, she finds herself knocked unconscious more times than she can count, and pursued over the edge of a sea cliff by an AI enforcer she can’t shake off her heels.

Walsh has been living a double life, masquerading as a tyrant’s enforcer while hiding his true agenda. When the despicable arena falls, there’s only one thing on his mind—saving the savage blonde who doesn’t trust him as far as she can throw him. Which is a considerable distance.

Once he convinces her he’s not out to kill her but help her survive, they form an uneasy alliance. But Taylor senses he’s keeping a secret, not just from her, but about her. And the truth will show them exactly what it is to be human.

Warning: This book contains some girl-on-girl action, a kick-ass gladiator who takes no crap, an AI who puts it all on the line, a band of misfits who aren’t as merry as they seem, cute tadpoles with sharp teeth, and grip-you-by-the-hair kisses. Strap in, interstellar turbulence is a bitch.

DASH is now available from Samhain Publishing.