Adele Dubois Goes Wild

–CONTEST ALERT!–

I’ve always had a wild streak. Before I became a wife and mother, my adventurous spirit sometimes turned reckless. In the names of fun and excitement, I didn’t always think through my choices. When I look back at some of the risks I’ve taken, I thank my lucky stars the cosmos threw a blanket of protection over me. I reached adulthood mostly in one piece, though my heart might say otherwise.

These days, I’m as domesticated as a house cat. My most reckless choice on a Friday night might be to drink a wine cooler with pizza instead of iced tea. Still, that wild child inside me longs to come out and play. Most of the time, I ignore that voice, but every once in a while I give in to my adventurous nature. Those impulses have taken three predominant forms. First, I refuse to tame my naturally curly hair. Second, I drive a convertible with the top down unless it’s raining, freezing, or snowing. Third, I forged a career as a romance author and will write stories until I have none left to tell.

When the opportunities came along to submit to the Cleis Press and Delilah Devlin anthologies GIRLS WHO BITE and SHE-SHIFTERS, my wild child soul shouted, “Count me in!” Here were chances to experiment with something entirely new, where I could be as adventurous as I wanted to be. I have to say, writing vampire and shape-shifter duel heroines is the most fun I’ve had in a while.

If you think erotic F/F stories aren’t for straight women, I hope you’ll reconsider. A whole new world opened to me as both a writer and a reader with GIRLS WHO BITE and SHE-SHIFTERS.

Here’s a taste of my steamy short story “She’s Furry Yiffy.” Available separately, only .99 at Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords. You might like my story so much you’ll want to buy the whole SHE-SHIFTERS anthology. And GIRLS WHO BITE too!

Question: Are you, or have you ever been, a wild child? Or are you the more sedate type? Tell us a little about yourself in the comments section. One person will win a PDF copy of my steamy short story “The Crystal Altar” from GIRLS WHO BITE.

SHE’S FURRY YIFFY

A hot-bodied shape-shifter finds more than a hook-up at an X-rated Fur Con.

Excerpt:

“Mundanes aren’t supposed to be in here,” a masculine voice said behind Anika. His tone sounded more flirtatious than threatening. Furries had a reputation for friendliness, so he was probably harmless. She’d learned that, and the lingo, the first time she worked a Fur Con, months before her life-changing event.

Anika turned toward the man dressed in moose costume from the neck, down, and forced a polite smile. He wore long thick antlers over his neatly cut brown hair, possibly to signal a YIFF looking for a good time. Fur Con XXX was for mature conventioneers looking for fun and hook-ups; unlike the family-friendly Furry events held elsewhere.

Anika touched her tongue to her bottom lip. She could almost taste the animal he pretended to be, but not in the way he might wish.

“She obviously works here, idiot,” the wolf-clad male next to him replied. “Can we get drinks?” He gave her a friendly tailwave with the long gray plume he pulled from behind his back. “That is, unless you’re feeling yiffy. Blue-eyed blondes with great legs and big, uh.are my weakness.”

Anika knew he wasn’t referring to the YIFF acronym. Yiff in its many grammatical forms had its root in one word. Sex.

She eyed the faux wolf and noted the SPH, strategically placed hole, in his costume. Not a chance. She hadn’t had sex with a guy since high school, and had been mostly celibate since Lori moved to Seattle eight months ago for a job promotion. The move was a transparent excuse to break up with her following Anika’s attack in the woods.

What hurt most was that Lori didn’t deny the abandonment. “I can’t handle it,” was all she would say. She’d refused to make eye contact before she walked out the door. Anika had been inconsolable for weeks afterward.

Since then, she’d been alone, but her need for companionship had become a painful ache that tormented her night after lonely night. Her rare one-night stands had been disasters of epic proportions. The women had run from her house and refused to return her calls. There simply weren’t many choices for a lesbian with her particular new… penchants.

Available for .99 on Amazon! Available for .99 on Smashwords! Available for .99 on B&N!

Buy SHE’S FURRY YIFFY on Amazon!
Buy SHE-SHIFTERS on Amazon!

The Writers’ Police Academy: Hot Cops + Cold Steel

Really? Yes! The last weekend in September, I attended Lee Lofland’s Writers’ Police Academy near Greensboro, NC. I went the past two years as well — but this year’s conference was the best ever! I had such a good time, met some big name people, and learned so much. I was even able to interview a SWAT Team sniper in a search for info about my current WIP. Awesome!

The Firearms Training Simulator (FATS) was a literal blast, as usual. I didn’t do so great when I faced the first scenario; guess it took me a minute to get back in the groove. In the second one, however, I didn’t shoot the hostage I thought I’d brought down. Turns out the hostage taker knifed the guy after I nailed the bad guy in the crotch. Then once the hostage hit the floor, I shot the hostage taker in the chest and that was that. Two direct hits. Woot! So. Much. Fun!

Some of my favorite classes were Underwater Evidence Recovery, courtesy of the Guilford County Sheriff’s Office dive team; Suicides, Hangings, and Autoerotic Deaths, with one of my favorite instructors, Bill Lanning; Personal Protection for Women, taught by the unshakable Dee Jackson; Drug Interdiction; How a Case Works, by Marcia Clark, the woman who prosecuted OJ many moons ago; and Forensic Identification, taught by the estimable Dr. Elizabeth Murray. To top it off, Lee Child of Jack Reacher fame was the keynote speaker at Saturday night’s banquet. Wow. I could go on and on… because really, I had the time of my life.

In addition to the classes and the firearms simulator, this year I was also able to  ride along with a member of the Greensboro Police Department. I rode with Officer Ashley Hawkins and got to see a good sized section of the city. She and some of the other officers I met during the evening were all so young, I felt as if I’d been dropped into an episode of Rookie Blue. Too funny. And unfortunately for me, the few hours I tagged along with her proved to be relatively uneventful.

Officer Hawkins couldn’t even find anyone with an out of date car tag. We did investigate a supposed gunshot, however, and near the end of my ride, she got a call to check out a burglar alarm at a really creepy empty warehouse. When cops get an alarm call like that, they have to search the entire building, just in case; the place was huge, so she asked another officer for help, and he showed up with a trained K-9 — a beautiful German Shepherd used to doing building searches. The alarm kept shrieking, though, and they couldn’t hear the dog bark, so they still had to go through the entire place. That took a while. Another cop drove around to the back of the building and checked the ancient loading dock. They didn’t find anyone inside, and I guess that was good… although I would have loved a little more excitement. As it was, I was late getting back to the pickup point. Oops.

I tip my hat to Lee Lofland, the extremely competent staff of the Highpoint Public Library, Sisters in Crime (a wonderful organization that subsidized the conference fee for their members), the folks at Guilford Technical Community College, the men and women of the Guilford County Sheriff’s Office and the Greensboro Police Department, and the staff at the Embassy Suites Hotel. What a fabulous few days it was for all of us! I know I’ve missed a lot of people, so please forgive me.

I recommend this conference to anyone writing crime fiction. Can’t wait for next year if Lee, SinC, and the library folks decided to tackle this again.

Meanwhile, I’m in promotion hell. I have a new book out this month… and more coming soon. So much to do, so little time.

HAUNTED MEMORIES, my October book from Desert Breeze Publishing, is a re-release, and I’m so happy to have it back out there. When it was out before, it got excellent reviews. In this story, Olivia Bartlett is stunned to find her old friend, Deputy Tucker Hawkins, living in the house she has inherited, but she’s even more shocked to glimpse her cruel stepfather lurking in the shadows. Has Walter come back to haunt her, or is he really alive–and trying to kill her? To survive, she must turn to Tucker, who not only stakes his claim to the old house, but also to her heart.

The book is available at Desert Breeze, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and many other online outlets.

Also, my book SKELETON BAYOU is at Amazon and Barnes & Noble for only $.99. Hope you’ll check it out!

Love Letters

First off, thank you for having me, Delilah! 🙂

It’s a pleasure to be guest blogging here, although I have to confess I was nervous trying to think of a topic to write about. Although I love reading and writing erotica, I don’t consider myself a very romantic person, but luckily my partner inadvertently provided me with the perfect topic to write about…

This morning I woke up and found a love letter waiting for me on my computer. Literally. A small, folded square of notepad paper was taped to the corner of my monitor with my name neatly written on the front in elegant cursive.

Now, I’ve received countless affectionate emails and sweet texts from lovers in the past, and every single one made me feel loved, but there’s something different about receiving a handwritten love letter.

My heart caught in my throat as I plucked the note off my monitor and carefully unfolded it. It was short and straightforward:

I love you. Remember that. Even if your meeting is a disaster, I love you and everything will be fine. Just do your best. Try not to get too nervous.

I’ll be working late tonight, but you can call my cell if you need to talk. I’ll call home before I leave the office and pick up dinner on my way back.

Love you,
Dahlia

PS – Bring an umbrella. It’s raining today.

It was by no means a flowery or beautiful declaration of love and devotion. My partner’s penmanship was neat and her message was brief. The letter had been written on the notepad we keep on the desk to jot down quick reminders or memos. The top edge of the paper was ragged where she had torn it from the pad.

I was moved by her letter, though.

I found myself blinking back tears as I reread her message. My index fingertip traced over the writing; her pen had left indentations in the thin paper. Looking at it more closely, there were hidden, heartwarming hints of Dahl’s personality in her note. Some of the words on the left side of the page were slightly smudged from the heel of her palm because she writes left-handed. She had originally written the word ‘crazy’ at the end of her first paragraph, but crossed it out and replaced it with the word ‘nervous’. The postscript was written on a slant and the words were scrawled in a loose manner that didn’t match the rest of the letter. I could easily picture her leaving the apartment, discovering it was raining outside and rushing back upstairs for her umbrella. She hates being late, but despite that, my partner had taken the time to stop at the desk and add this extra reminder for me, before rushing out of the apartment again.

After rereading her note, I folded it carefully along its original creases and slipped it into my bag for safekeeping.

If I had received this message in an email or text, I would have been grateful and touched, but I doubt I would have been moved to save the message. I would have simply read it, sent a thankful reply, and then erased it. Because I received her words in a physical letter, however, I held on to them. I tucked her words into my purse and carried them with me all day. Even though the letter wasn’t in my hands as I made my presentation, I still felt I was holding her message close throughout my meeting and it gave me strength.

In fact, when I got home from work, rather than throw out the letter, I tucked it into the small box in my closet where I keep my sentimental items and keepsakes.

There’s a certain magic in handwritten letters, beyond the meaning of the inscribed words themselves. There’s the unexpected surprise and excitement of receiving a mysterious, sealed envelope with your name written on the front. There’s the tactile experience of unfolding the letter, smelling the ink and paper, and feeling the weight and texture of the note in your hands.

There’s also the intimacy of knowing the sender touched this letter, held it and bent over it as they addressed it with their thoughts and feelings for you. They deliberately chose this paper, this envelope, this stamp, and these exact words for you.  There is no spell checking or auto-correction in handwritten notes. The writer can’t easily edit their words once they are marked, in ink, on the page. There is no opportunity to rephrase a thought or restructure a paragraph, and there’s no option to right-click and browse through a drop down list of synonyms for a better word.

I believe there is an unspoken, almost subconscious, message of love written between the lines of handwritten letter.

The words are more sincere, their intention is stronger, and there’s a certain permanence to their message. Each word in a handwritten note is deliberate and thoughtful, and together they carry more meaning because of the method in which they are shared.

Despite how rare it’s become in this digital age to send or receive handwritten letters, I sincerely hope that each one of you knows the feeling I’m talking about: the sweet thrill of finding an unexpected, mysterious letter waiting in your mailbox, addressed just to you. J

About the Author:

M. Marie lives in the heart of downtown Toronto and she is both an erotica writer and enthusiast.

She’s also a huge supporter of the arts – opera, the theatre, fine arts and textile arts, in particular – as well as a big fan of video games, animation, comics, and writing of course!

As a freelance writer, who has very recently begun writing erotica, she is finding the experience challenging, but exciting. It has made her discover new sides to herself, led her to strengthen her personal relationships, and is constantly pushing her to critically examine boundaries she didn’t even realize she had.

M. Marie blogs at: www.mmarie.ca

Two things to remember!
1) A comment here today for Maggi Andersen earns you a chance to be one of five Voodoo Doll Contest winners TOMORROW!
2) It’s not too late to follow me as I continue on my book blog tour! The prizewinner won’t be announced until the day after the tour ends! Here’s where I’ve been and where I will be today!
September 24:  My Odd Little World
September 25:  The Brunette Librarian
September 25:  Delighted Reader Book Reviews
September 26:  SnifferWalk

Book Title: A Baron in her Bed
Author: Maggi Andersen
Series: The Spies of Mayfair Series
Genre: Historical Romance (Regency Romance)
Publisher: Knox Robinson Publishing
Paperback/Ebook
Expected Publication: September 6^th, 2012

Book Description:

“London, 1816. A handsome baron. A faux betrothal. And Horatia’s plan to join the London literary set takes a dangerous turn. Now that the war with France has ended, Baron Guy Fortescue arrives in England to claim his inheritance, abandoned over thirty years ago when his father fled to France after killing a man in a duel. When Guy is set upon by footpads in London, a stranger, Lord Strathairn, rescues and befriends him. But while travelling to his country estate, Guy is again attacked. He escapes only to knock himself out on a tree branch. Aspiring poet Horatia Cavendish has taken to riding her father’s stallion, “The General”, around the countryside of Digswell dressed as a groom. She has become bored of her country life and longs to escape to London to pursue her desire to become part of the London literary set. When she discovers Guy lying unconscious on the road, the two are forced to take shelter for the night in a hunting lodge. After Guy discovers her ruse, a friendship develops between them. Guy suspects his relative, Eustace Fennimore is behind the attacks on his life. He has been ensconced in Rosecroft Hall during the family’s exile and will become the heir should Guy die. Horatia refuses to believe her godfather, Eustace, is responsible. But when Guy proposes a faux betrothal to give him more time to discover the truth, she agrees. Secure in the knowledge that his daughter will finally wed, Horatia’s father allows her to visit her blue-stocking aunt in London. But Horatia’s time spent in London proves to be anything but a literary feast, for a dangerous foe plots Guy’s demise. She is determined to keep alive her handsome fiance, who has proven more than willing to play the part of her lover even as he resists her attempts to save him.”

Purchase Links:

Pre-Order Amazon: : https://www.amazon.com/Baron-Her-Spies-Mayfair-Series/dp/1908483342/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1340246757&sr=8-2&keywords=a+baron+in+her+bed

About the Author:

Maggi Andersen and her lawyer husband are empty nesters, living in the countryside outside Sydney with their cat and the demanding wildlife. Parrots demand seed, possums fruit, ducks swim in the stream at the bottom of the garden, and the neighbors chickens roam their yard providing wonderful eggs. She began writing adventure stories at age eight. Three children, a Bachelor of Arts degree and a Master of Arts in Creative Writing degree later, her novels are still filled with adventure and suspense, but are also passionate romances. Georgette Heyer among others, brought inspiration to her seductive Regencies .

Find Maggi Andersen at:

Website: https://www.maggiandersenauthor.com/
Blog: https://maggiandersen.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @maggiandersen

Anyone for Tennis?

Don’t know about you but I was glued to the coverage of the US Open, just as I am to all the Grand Slams. I so admire the dedication of the players and the excitement of seeing new blood come up through the ranks. Andy Roddick bowing out was pretty damned emotional, don’t you think?

As an author I find it far easier to write about what I know. Saves on all that pesky research and lends authenticity to the author’s voice. I was involved in a local tennis club for years, so I feel qualified to write about the sport – in a fictional capacity, of course. Tennis clubs are hot beds of gossip and intrigue, a bit like any group of people from different walks of lives thrown together by a common interest tends to be. There are natural leaders, bullies, suckers-up and cynics by the dozen. Sound familiar?

In Topspin, just released by Musa Publishing, we get to know the members of an up-market tennis club on the Isle of Wight in England. It could be anywhere in the world though since the above principles apply.

Jack Regent is a reformed gangster who’s retired to the Island to spend his time playing tennis, drinking too much and brooding. A bit of a hunk, he’s a magnet for all the single women, and some of the married ones too, but Jack isn’t interested in long-term relationships. Still married to Tania, the love his life, he’s smarting over her adultery and doesn’t want to go down that road again.

Then there’s Claire, the most attractive woman at the club, married to an older, successful Cardiologist. Outwardly the devoted spouse, she has voracious sexual appetites which she satisfies through a series of supposedly discreet affairs. Part of her knows it will all end in tears but she can’t seem to help herself, until it’s too late to stop the rot.

Angie is tight-lipped about the father of her fourteen-year-old twins, until he turns up unexpectedly, with devastating consequences for more than just Angie. And we mustn’t forget Ed, who bullies his wife and is determined to take control of the club for his own financial gain.

When the new coach turns out to be the man Tania cheated with, Jack is forced to confront the issue he’s worked his way through countless bottles of scotch trying to forget. Reunited with Tania under the most violent of circumstances, for the first time he has reason to doubt his position as the injured party. He’s spent years trying to hate Tania for what she put him through. That’s never going to happen, but is it too late to put the past behind them and start again…

Topspin by W. Soliman now available from Musa Publishing or Amazon.com

Find out more about me and my books at my website: www.wendysoliman.com or on Facebook at Wendy Soliman – Author. Follow me on twitter @wendyswriter.

Thanks so much for having me here.

Wendy

BOYS OF BEACHVILLE AND CONTEST!

I’m very excited to be here today to tell you how my Boys of Beachville series came about.  Good at Being Bad and A Lick of Flame are both now available at Samhain Publishing with Bad Girl Therapy coming in December!

Last Christmas I was walking through our local market and spotted the cutest (youngest!) firefighters selling calendars to raise money for the burn unit here in our hospital.  I stood back (after I got my autographed copy of course) and watched the way they interacted with passing women, and as they engaged the crowd I started to wonder more about these guys.

Who were these local heroes when they weren’t working?  What were they like when not in their uniforms?  And most importantly, what kind of woman would these guys fall for?

With those questions in mind, I sat down and plotted out three stories, for three different local heroes who were all involved in a charity calendar event.

In my first story, Good at Being Bad, my hero is a cop and my heroine is a public relations specialist in charge of the marketing campaign.

Public relations specialist Allison Cooper is more than ready to handle a career make-or-break assignment: to develop and market a charity calendar featuring hot men. Her only problem is Mr. July, a sexy cop who happens to be her ex-lover.

Trying to keep his image squeaky clean—a must for her promotion—raises all sorts of challenges, especially when this bad boy is throwing a little kink into her plan.

Image is the last thing on Carter James’s mind. He agreed to be Mr. July on one condition—that during his promo month, Allison never leaves his side. He wants her back, and to make that happen he needs her undivided attention to teach him good from bad. Unless bad is what the lady wants….

In A Lick of Flame I had to have my firefighter, of course, and the woman he falls for is an ex cop who is now a private body guard.

No man lights Madison Kelly’s fire quite like Sean Adams, the firefighter she’s been hired to guard during the Boys of Beachville calendar shoot. Though he stars in her hottest, steamiest fantasies, he’s the last person she’s going to tell. An accident left its mark on her, body and soul. But when she catches Sean looking at her like she’s water for a man dying of thirst, she wonders if it’s possible he might see the girl beneath the scars.

Ever since he pulled Madison from the fire that injured her, Sean’s been hot for her. Too bad she clearly has no interest in him-or so he thinks, until he sees a spark in her eyes that says she burns for him as much as he does for her. No more tiptoeing around the matter-a blatant seduction is in order.

Soon they’re igniting the sheets, but come morning Madison’s old fears and insecurities threaten to snuff the flames to ashes. Except Sean’s fuse has been lit, and he has no intention of letting her put it out. Ever.

In Bad Girl Therapy my hero is an injured sports star and the girls he falls for is his rehabilitation therapist.

Pro soccer star Cole Landon has women at his fingertips, but there’s always been one who was untouchable. Haley Jones, the high-school crush from the right side of the tracks—and way out of his league.

Sidelined with an injury, he’s cooling his heels in Beachville when he discovers his physical therapist is none other than the perennial good girl herself.

Bored with men who pay more attention to their smartphones than her, Haley longs for a summer fling that won’t risk her reputation. When Cole shows up in town, her hormones tell her he’s the one man who will scratch her itch without tarnishing her good girl image.

No one’s more surprised than Cole when Haley suggests his private beachside cottage is the best place to begin his…therapy. Apparently money really can buy love. She wants to play? Then play he will.

As hot days turn to scintillating nights, Haley begins to realize there’s more to this playboy than meets the eye. Until Cole gets news that could put them once again on opposite ends of the playing field.

For more information please visit, www.cathryfox.com and for a chance to win an ecopy of Wet in Whispering Cove, please leave a comment!

When I write sexual tension I hope my readers will want to push the heroine aside and take her place. In the first scenes I have a woman who doesn’t want to desire/love her ex-husband. Their history would make having sex with this man unwise. Therefore I wanted to make him difficult to resist. 

Scene 1

I got the cake, thin layers of cake with raspberry mousse fillings between. A loud flapping sound and a rough ride announced the death of a tire as I neared Dee’s school.

Well, Hell. I’d planned to wait in the car. Some days Dee saw me as an okay mom. Others she didn’t want to be seen with me. I popped the trunk and prepared to lug the spare and the jack out. My cell rang in my pocket. What now? I half rose, banging my head on the trunk lid. Stars filled my vision while pain made me feel faint, a tad nauseous.

“Need any help?” A deep voice resonated near me, the masculine drawl familiar as my own.  God, I really hit my head hard. That voice can’t belong to Jay. Most of the men in this part of Georgia had the same charming drawl, so much more pleasing than some I heard every day. Other drawls didn’t send shivers up my spin the way Jay’s did.

I opened my eyes and saw long, muscular, denim-clad legs

near the back fender. Heat spread over my face as my attention followed the legs to thick thighs, then the worn placket over the zipper. What a package, so far. I should straighten and look the man in his eye, but my stiff back had been bent too long.

A deep, masculine chuckle made me blush as I placed my hand on my back and tried to escape the position that made studying his lower body too easy. By the time I managed to straighten, the man’s chuckle stopped.

“Sonovabitch!” His expletive wasn’t loud, but he hadn’t whispered it.

Jay looked shocked. I felt like climbing into the trunk and pulling the lid closed.

Now I’d bet I had no color. “What the hell are you doing here?” Of all the people I’d have expected to see here, he wasn’t one. He wasn’t supposed to be in town on leave yet.

He glared at me as if I were in the wrong place. “Rose asked me to pick her sister up from school and bring her to …”

“Why would she send you here? I took the afternoon to get Dee and the cake and gifts to Mama’s house for the party.”

“Rose …”

I interrupted him, using my superior teacher’s voice. “She’s called herself Electra for the past six months.” Don’t you know anything?

He frowned, as if he knew nothing about that. “My daughter’s name is Rose and that’s what I’ll call her. You let her get by with way too much.”

I didn’t have time to argue with GI Jay, so I reached for the jack again, but one large, tanned hand reached past me and grabbed it first. The man’s other hand grabbed the spare tire as if it were a donut.

“I can do it,” I insisted.

He shook his head at me, loosened the lug nuts in a few twists, then positioned the jack and raised the car in seconds.  “You don’t need to do it with me here to help.”

I glared at him. “I work out. I’m not helpless.” With my hands fisted at my waist I felt like a kid throwing a tantrum, but I couldn’t back down. I’d have let any other man change the tire and thanked him, but it bugged me that my Ex didn’t think to ask me if I needed help. While other men would have offered, he just took over, as he always did.

“Don’t argue,” he said as he made quick work of changing the tires faster than I could have jacked the car up.

He tossed the flat tire into the trunk as though the thing weighed nothing. I knew better, since I’d changed tires before.

He closed the trunk and eased around the car.

I heard books hit the ground and Dee’s squeal. “Daddy!”

My heart ached when my daughter threw her arms around the waist of the man who didn’t believe she was his child. Dee’s heart was in that hug and I was willing to hit him with the tire. Read the rest of this entry »