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Wednesday, February 24, 2010


In The Early Light of Dawn

Recently, someone asked me for a biography, and as usual, I sent them my short, 3 paragraph generic blurb. Basically, it says where I live, a little about me personally, and a short statement about what I do. As it turned out, it was too long, and that person edited it for me. When I read it, I was a bit surprised; the words were all mine, but condensing it to the bare bones gave me an odd perspective of myself.

What stood out most was the idea that I’m a full-time writer. Oddly enough, it’s true. While I don’t make my primary living from writing, I do have the freedom to devote most of my day to being an author, if that’s what I choose to do. I’m a caregiver to my disabled niece, and I get paid a stipend for being with her full time. During the hours that she’s awake and keeping herself busy, I generally read, take care of my email, and sometimes edit. These are all things that I can do while watching over her. When she’s sleeping or at school, I compose.

I don’t have a rigid schedule like many writers that I know. When the mood strikes, I work. Considering that I have insomnia a good deal of the time, a lot gets done after midnight. I remember a few years back when I was working an office job; those sleepless nights were simply torture. Lying awake, I’d stress over trying to go to sleep. During the day, I’d fight the need to nap in the afternoons. It felt as though I was in a constant battle to control my mind and my body. Giving up my day job was a huge sacrifice, not only monetarily, but socially. I fell out of touch with friends, and in many ways I felt like a failure. But the bottom line is that it was simply impossible to balance my career with the needs of my niece, and also with my mother’s failing health. But like all things in life, there were benefits to the choice that I made.

Last week, I woke just before the sun came up, after perhaps three hours of sleep. Instead of feeling distressed, I allowed my mind to follow the train of thought that brought me awake. It related to a book that I’ve slowly been writing. It’s not been coming easy, and the insight that I drew from that sleepless hour gave me some understanding of a character that I thought I knew well. Once I had a good idea of what I wanted to do, I took notes and then rolled over and went back to sleep. I didn’t fight it as I usually do. Instead, allowing the process to occur naturally seemed to help me back into a restful sleep.

Creativity is such an odd beast. I try to stay disciplined; after all, the muse might just go on walkabout right before a deadline. Having discipline gets us through those times when inspiration isn’t there. Yet I’m sure that many of us draw ideas from odd places and at odd times. The human brain simply never stops, even when we sleep. Sometimes I wonder if that’s one of the causes of writer’s block and creative dry spells. Our minds simply become overwhelmed, and we put up a wall to hold it all back.

Next time you find yourself awake in the middle of the night, give yourself time to listen. Try to hear what your environment is telling you…is the wind blowing? Is everything hushed with the silence of a snow fall? Do you smell the dampness of rain or the perfume of the soap you showered with? Stimuli works its way into our subconscious, invading our thoughts and dreams. Scented lotions or candles near your bed (Not lit!) will affect your mood as you sleep. The sound of water or white noise can be calming to some, distraction to others.

Take a pen and paper to bed with you. If an idea or an image comes to you in a dream, it will be fleeting. Write it down and capture it. Perhaps later it will make no sense, but on the other hand, it might be the answer to a problem that’s been vexing you. If you find yourself unable to sleep, give yourself over to it. See what your brain is trying to say. It might be nothing, or you might find yourself chasing down something wonderful.

Belinda is a full time author living in northern California. She is published through Loose Id, Changeling Press, and New Concepts Publishing. Please visit her website:

Monday, February 22, 2010

Wonderful History of Words: Introduction

Words are more than mere "names for things, places or actions" or letters strung together and put on paper. There is a hidden magic in words: how they are used and where they came from. Behind the words are fascinating, undiscovered histories. The "Wonderful History of Words" is a place where we will dig for the buried treasures and uncover those histories.

Language is not static... it is living, changing, and evolving. There are words in our language that did not exist forty years ago. I challenge you to look in a dictionary dated in the sixties and find terms such as "software," "modem," indeed, any words dealing with computers. The word "computer" itself, has changed in meaning from "an apparatus for carrying out mathematical operations by mechanical or electrical means or both" (1962, The American College Dictionary) to "an electrical machine that performs high-speed mathematical or logical calculations or that assembles, stores, correlates or otherwise processes and prints information derived from coded data in accordance with a predetermined program (1980, The American Heritage Dictionary) to "a programmable usually electronic device that can store, retrieve, and process data" (Merriam-Webster, online, 2010). Even the 1980 edition does not have an entry for "home computer."

Other differences are apparent as well in a comparison with older dictionaries. For example, a perusal of the word "pot" in the 1962 dictionary reveals many definitions: an earthen container, liquor or drink, a wicker vessel used to trap fish, a chimney pot, a large sum of money, a liquid measure, to preserve food in a pot, to shoot game birds or animals at rest, to capture. By 1980, included with the above definitions was "slang for marijuana."

The question, "Where on earth did THAT phrase or THAT word come from?" is enough to send me scurrying for the nearest dictionary. Discovering the origins of different words and phrases open up new worlds; worlds in which words had meanings that are lost in the annals of time.

For example, take the word "leasing." Today we know it as the present participle of the verb "to lease," which comes from the Middle English les, which came from the Norman French lesser, which means "to lease," which in turn came from the Old French laissier, to let go or leave. However, there is another, more obscure meaning to the world "leasing." It too came from the Middle English, only from le(e)sing which came from the Old English word leas, which means "to lie." Therefore, "leasing" is also an archaic noun which means a lie, or the act of lying; a falsehood. Quite a different meaning. Information such as this is invaluable to the writer wanting to flavor his writing with language suitable for the time period in which he writes.

Enjoy our occasional essays on the wonder of words as we look at many different aspects of language: the history of language as a whole, the origins of specific words and phrases, archaic terms for various time periods, and discussions of general interest about usage.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010


Shifters, shifters everywhere

I love shifter books. The raw, primal feeling these guys and gals have amid the pages really has me glued to the book, flipping the pages so fast it looks like I am a NASCAR race. My favorite shifter book has to be by Deborah Cooke. Her Dragonfire novels are one spellbinding story from start to finish. When I sit down with one of her books, I am blown away by the way she created this world and populated with shape-shifting dragons. Now who doesn't like a good dragon story? I love them. In my Devon Falls book, Fiery Magic, I got the idea to make one of the characters a dragon and the heroine called him “pretty”. Now tell me, are dragons “Pretty”? To me they are wild, primal and pure fun as in the case of Smokey from Yasmine Galenorn's Otherworld series. Each author makes the shifter, be it dragon, wolves, tigers or, heck, even ferrets, their own and they each incorporate something that will have the reader clamoring for more.

In Fiery Magic we met the Dracon twins; one is a dragon shifter, the other a wolf shifter; one family-many generations- who are shifters of some kind. I made my shifters a bit different, where each person in this large family, is something different. They didn't get bit by the animal; case in point a werewolf, but were born as a shifter of some kind. It is the magic in their blood that defines what they become. Eventually we will meet a cousin of Rod and Damien Dracon- a woman who, in this large family of shifters, has no shifter powers what so ever. What do you do if you have no powers but what god/goddess gave you? That is the question I will ask her and her hero………eventually. :-)

My next Devon Falls book introduces a new character in Michael Barnes, who is a rare white tiger shifter who for some reason is all alone with no pride. He roams from place to place and is friends with Damien Dracon, who tries to get him to Devon Falls to no avail in years before. He was an interesting character to write about. Here you have a lonely, quiet man who has no place to call “Home”. He longs for mate, hearth and kits of his own but knows that with no pride; he is limited in his choices……or so he thinks. We meet the woman who will knock him flat on his back and show him that home is where the heart is in Moonlight & Magic.

Shifters are a world where readers and authors can explore with pure enjoyment. I love reading them and hope to eventually expand on shifters as an author to include Kitsunes and others that fire the imagination. In the meantime, I am going to sit with my dragons and explore their world because Ms. Cooke and Ms.Galenorn are calling me from the bookcases. So what are your favorite shifters to enjoy?

Raine Delight is a pseudonym of a self professed book lover and after one too many TSTL characters, decided to see if she could write something a little better. Well many drafts later, Devon Falls series came to fruitation. It was originally was to be one book but somehow ended up to 4 with a 5th and 6th one being planned for sometime in 2010. I write a paranormal contemporary series for Aspen Mountain and I am also branching out to other genres as I continue to listen to the voices in my head. Check out my book pages to see what is going on with me. My muse is a male nut who likes to leave me to go sip mai tais on the beach and leave me foundering for words; though eventually he takes pity on me and gets my words flowing and characters start settling down.

Personal notes: I live with my own boytoy and two kids. I love Johnny Depp movies and enjoy hiking, reading and watching movies with my family.

Monday, February 15, 2010


Words that Seduce

I was browsing around Ravenous Romance when I encountered a book option I found quite interesting. Instead of just an option for an ebook download, there is also one for an audio version. I have seen audio books before of course, but not really for erotic romance.

That confirmed something for me. We don’t just like to read it, we like to hear it. Words, both written and spoken, can be very exciting. Couples have been doing their own form of ‘pillow talk’ through the ages, even if it’s as simple as a ‘yes’ or a moan to communicate satisfaction to a partner.

There’s enough 900 numbers cluttering up classifieds to establish and satisfy the appetite for men. But what about for women?

That was part of my premise for Flesh for Fantasy. Cynthia is a phone fantasy operator, but the fantasies she spins have little effect on her.

Because, they’re not hers.

It’s only when a seductive stranger starts to delve into her own desires that a new world opens up for her.

I think the secret to erotic whispers to a lover, then, is they have to be erotic. To that person. Perhaps this is even truer for women, who can be turned on differently, and more subtly, thAn men. We’re not usually as hardwired to instant arousal as they are. But we have it too—a secret erogenous zone for words. We all have words “that get to us.” Fantasy scenarios that make our hearts beat a bit quicker. Taboo words that may not be taboo when spoken by a lover. And some words that may have the opposite effect by jarring us right out of the mood.

A good idea if you want to experiment with a love, is to be very honest about what is a turn on. Are there certain ideas or words that you really want to hear? What is an absolute no-no for you? Off limits?

Do you agree? Is erotic talk a turn on?

Chloe Waits is the alter ego of a Toronto-based author who is a true believer of romance with no inhibitions. A writer of erotic romance, chick lit, and the occasional poem, it's really all about relationships.

Memories of thumbing through romance books to get to the 'good stuff' are noted as an early influence. She also draws real life inspiration for her romantic heroes from her very own at home.

Chloe loves to hear from her readers. You can visit her or contact her at her webpage,

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


Sex in Words

I love reading and writing erotica and erotic romance. There’s something about a well written erotic story that transcends all other types of non-physical erotic stimulation.

Stimulation through photos, video or even a live “show”- like a strip club, that’s all immediate and there’s no need to use your imagination. The artist, director, or dancer has taken care of all that for you. It’s mindless sexual gratification. And where’s the fun in that?

Me I like something a little more cerebral.

Sex in words requires you to imagine the scene, imagine or become the characters, it’s all in your head painted and put together with just the right words.

Arousal through the written word can be a slow build, a sensual experience that can touch all of your erogenous zones- most of all your mind; the largest erogenous zone that you have, though sadly often the most unstimulated one.

Well crafted sex scenes and vivid imagery can create a fantasy scene like no picture or movie ever can. It is so much more intimate, more personal, more touching- the right words can grip your heart, arouse your mind and heat the genitals.

I love my job- creating fantasies with the written word, fulfilling all my dreams, fantasies and desires with each new story I craft.

Story strumpet, tome loving tart, eccentric night owl...these are all words that can describe freelance writer and erotic romance author Roxanne Rhoads.

When not fulfilling one the many roles being a wife and mother of three require, Roxanne's world revolves around words...reading them, writing them, editing them, and talking about them. In addition to writing her own stories she loves to read and review what others write. She operates a book review site, Fang-tastic Books, dedicated to her favorite type of book- anything paranormal. Her favorite genres are paranormal romance and urban fantasy but she'll read just about anything featuring vampires, ghosts, witches and whatnot.

Roxanne writes everything from articles to web content as a freelance writer and poet. Her erotic and romance stories and poems have appeared in Playgirl Magazine, several print anthologies, in ebooks and on numerous Web sites including:,,,,,,, and

She has several ebooks available through Eternal Press: Tasty Christmas Treats, Eternal Desire, the soon to be published Insatiable and two of her short paranormal erotic stories appear in the anthology Sexy Paranormal Bedtime Stories. All of these can be purchased in print at

Her story "The First Brick" appears in Lasting Lust: An Anthology of Kinky Couples in Love available at

A double shot of her paranormal erotica- Torrid Teasers Volume 59 is available through Whiskey Creek Press Torrid.

Her sexy Christmas story "Candy Cane Thrills" appears in Seriously Sexy Stocking Filler available through Xcite Books

The paranormal short "Cemetery Seduction" will appear in the Midnight Showcase digest titled Dark Tales to be released in May 2010

"A Halloween to Remember" will be published by eXcessica Publishing, release date September 6, 2010

When not reading or writing Roxanne loves to hang out with her family, craft, garden and search for unique vintage finds.

You can visit her at and

Monday, February 8, 2010


For today’s readers, I’m hosting a scavenger hunt contest!!!

Rules: Periodically throughout the day I will post a question (four in all). Answers found on my website: Keep all of the answers until the last question has been posted. Then, email me your answers at The first reader to contact me with all four questions answered correctly will win.

Prize: A print copy of my novel Adored.

Winner will be announced: February 10th at this site and at my website:

Thanks for stopping by!

Why We Love to Tame Alpha Males. . .

You know the kind of guy I’m talking about - impossibly masculine and confident with a wolfish grin, that glint of unashamed hunger in his eyes. As readers, and as writers, our hearts beat a bit faster when that kind of hero comes alive on the page. We feel the heroine’s pulse leap. We understand her caution. This guy’s going to change her life – he’s her freaking destiny whether she realizes it or not, whether she wants it or not. . .at least at the moment.

Through the chapters, we watch and live their carnal dance – eyes meeting, hands touching, mouths merging. Every time she resists, he seduces her back into his embrace while we read on and sigh.

And yet, we’re not satisfied until the heroine tames her sexy beast, bringing out the love beneath the lust, the commitment she demands and knows exists. There’s something so fundamentally primal and satisfying about watching a perceived imbalance of power between a male and a female with the woman turning the tables on the guy and bringing him to his knees to worship her, to want her for his own.

It’s the starting premise for many of my erotic romances, including my latest – Deep, Dark, Delicious. When Eden and Rafe first meet at Miami’s Master Chef Competition where he’s a judge and she’s a contestant, there’s an undeniable sexual intensity between them. Dominant and unashamed, Rafe knows what he wants – Eden in his bed. She, on the other hand, has been hurt emotionally in the past and is rightfully cautious. Their interplay is shown in this scene, which opens the book shortly after the contest has ended.

Rafe moved past the contestants, his dark eyes scanning the guests, searching.

Eden’s mouth went dry as he turned toward her.

One of the competition’s producers stopped him. With her arm slipped through his, the fortyish woman led him to the advertisers, among them Luis Famosa. Luis owned this penthouse and De Cocina Foods, which provided the competition’s hundred-thousand-dollar prize.

Rafe greeted the elderly man as one would in Europe or in this country’s immigrant enclaves, with a warm hug and a kiss on both of Luis’ age-furrowed cheeks. The two men were among the most successful Cubans in Miami. Luis’s food warehouses dominated the market. Rafe—a thirty-three-year-old celebrity chef, restaurateur and one of the competition’s judges—owned a number of award-winning restaurants, had a line of popular cookware and books and served as the TV spokesperson for numerous products.

The kind of man who could have anything or anyone he wanted.

A tormenting heaviness settled between Eden’s legs, the same now as when he’d judged her dishes in the contest, his rich mouth and beard-shadowed cheeks mesmerizing her. Why she wanted him wasn’t a mystery. Like all rational women, she found his raw sexuality irresistible, the stuff of indecent fantasies. Not that she would act on it. Her mother’s missteps taught her the danger of hungering for a man. Besides, she should hate him for eliminating her last entrée which cost her the prize.

The three other judges had raved about her island flatbread, cinnamon sweet potatoes and Chicharrones de Pollo—the Dominican version of fried chicken. And then Rafe spoke, his voice resonant and lyrical with a hint of his native Spanish. “You have greatness in you. This effort, though good, wasn’t worthy of your talent.”

Her stomach had sunk even as her nipples puckered so tight they hurt.

Damn him. She guzzled her cocktail. Rafe nodded to whatever the male producer said. The movement freed more of his hair, the chocolate strands skipping over his brow. He lifted his heavy crystal glass, tasting his drink. Bacardi Gold shone on his bottom lip.

Eden forced down a swallow. Despite how her mind cautioned, she longed to lick the rum away and stroke his satiny mouth with her tongue. To rest her face against his neck and feel his accelerating pulse as she pushed his shirt over his broad shoulders and down his sinewy arms. To kneel before him, her nose to the dark tangle of hair above his cock, fragrant with musk. To know the seductive promise of his belly and thighs pressed against hers.

He gave Luis a parting hug, much like a favorite son to a beloved father, then turned and met her eyes.

Blood drained from Eden’s face and returned so quickly her body didn’t know whether to be hot or cold. Lightheaded, she shivered a bit with each.

Eyes fixed on her, Rafe approached, his expression ordering her to stay put, daring her not to move.

Disobedient, she backed into one of the wide towering columns, a fruitless attempt to flee what her body coveted. Above, stars twinkled through the domed glass ceiling. Here, the pool glistened beneath the light of the torches, the flames’ reflection streaking gold over the blackened water.

Rafe reached her. She caught his scent, a sun-baked fragrance more caressing than the summer’s night air—warm, sultry, virile. Her legs went doughy. She locked her knees.

If he noticed, he didn’t let on, though his attention did sharpen, a handsome predator homing in on his prey. Lips turned up in a direct smile, he offered his hand. “Eden.”

His vibrant baritone embraced her name with stunning familiarity, disconcerting her further. She shook it off. After tonight, she’d see him on TV or in print advertisements, nowhere else. She’d make certain of it regardless of her lust. She cleared her throat and slipped her coolish, damp fingers over his. His palm was dry and rough, betraying his humble origins. “Chef.”

“Rafe.” His smile brightened with his gentle admonition, saying he enjoyed being in charge.

An image rose unbidden in her mind. She saw herself in Z, his flagship restaurant, bent at the waist over one of the linen-draped tables as startled patrons and wait staff looked on. Ass high, thighs spread, she posed as he’d commanded, awaiting his touch. He wouldn’t shove her dress up her thighs and over her cheeks to have her. He’d fold the gauzy cotton inch by inch, forcing her to anticipate what would come. Panting in expectation, with the chilled air-conditioning glancing off her naked buttocks, she’d remain still, her position imploring him to mount her, use her, punish her if she didn’t obey.

Moisture gushed from her sheath. Heat scalded her face and throat. “Rafe,” she amended. Her voice vibrated slightly.

He stroked her thumb. A glow slithered up her arms, settling in her chest and dipping to her legs. Her lids slipped down.

“Sir. Ma’am.”

It took Eden a moment to open her eyes and focus. To the side, a young male server offered an hors d'oeuvre tray of firecracker shrimp and roasted Cuban bread. Disinterested, her attention swung back to Rafe.

His eyes remained on her. “Were those appetizers prepared using your recipes?”

“No.” She studied his mouth, breathless at its sculpted beauty. “Alexander’s.” The competition’s winner.

Rafe arched one dark brow. “Thank you, no,” he said to the server, his attention riveted to her. The boy turned away. Rafe added, “Wait.” His thumb resumed stroking her hand. “There’s no need for you or any of the other staff to return. The lady and I don’t want to be disturbed. Understood?”

Eden’s stomach made a funny lurch, a combination of excitement and fear at Rafe wanting them to be alone.

What follows is an Alpha male’s pursuit of a woman who won’t be caught so easily, much to his initial surprise. In her own way, Eden brings Rafe to his knees in a manner he never imagined. To have her, he must convince her of his unwavering love.

And that’s why we love to tame Alpha Males. :-)

Deep, Dark, Delicious is available from Ellora’s Cave:

My website:

My blog:

Deep, Dark, Delicious YouTube video trailer:

Email addy:

Wednesday, February 3, 2010


We’ve all had moments in our life where we’ve felt left out or less than wanted. Nerd, geek, dork are some of the many names we use to classify those who don’t follow the norm. I am a self proclaimed nerd and embrace my inner geekdom, which led me to wonder about my characters because I write paranormal with a twist.

On a long road journey, after my children conked out asleep in the back seat, I allowed my mind to wander. I contemplated werewolf packs and their hierarchy. In my world, they would follow the same rules as their close cousins the wolves; The Alphas who lead, the Betas who include the other wolves of the pack but are subservient to the Alphas, and then the Omegas who are mistreated by the others.

Geeks of the underworld, what would it be like to be an Omega werewolf?


Only a vampire is man enough to teach werewolves how to fight.

Pretty librarian Sugar wants her life to stay quiet. That’s hard enough when friends and neighbors turn into furry werewolves every full moon. But when a hot vampire gets involved, life’s bound to get complicated.

The Omegas have always been the pansies of the paranormal. Now Chicago’s top werewolf pack has issued them a life or death challenge. Their only option: hire a vampire warrior to teach them the moves.

Daedalus has been a powerful vampire for ages. Intrigued by the chance to train the geeks of the underworld, he wasn’t bargaining on losing his heart to a human. Can he make the Omegas a success, fit into Sugar’s quiet life, and avoid being ripped to shreds in the process?


Two nights later Sugar heard struggling outside her apartment door. The book in her hand didn’t grab her attention like the racket in the hall did. Standing, she left the book behind and tiptoed to the door. She cracked it open to peek outside. Eric, Tyler and Robert were carrying a large, black, shiny coffin past her apartment.

Sugar sighed and rubbed her chin. She’d like to hide in here for a month, not wanting to meet the trainer. It was silly to worry about this stranger, but he meant change.

Vampires had announced their existence years ago, becoming legal citizens. This one apparently ran his own business, which would help her friends. It wasn’t like he’d be something from the horror movies that had kept her awake with nightmares when she was a kid. She squared her shoulders. Time she faced her own demons and met this new neighbor.

She padded down the carpeted hall barefoot, to where the boys were trying to wedge the coffin through their doorway.

The thin Weres battled with the box, and she smiled at the sight. “I think you need to turn it sideways and slide it at an angle.” The coffin shone like glass. Temptation got the best of her, and she ran a finger along the surface. It felt cool. “Is he in there?”

“No, he’s not.” A rich, masculine voice drifted over her shoulder.

Sugar spun around, sucked in a hard breath, and stepped back against the coffin. Magazines ran pictures of mainstream vampires. TV even showed a few interviews with them, but nothing prepared her for this particular one.

The deep blue color of his eyes reminded her of the sea. Well-defined cheekbones led to a strong jaw and a slight teasing smile on his full, sensual lips.

A stirring began deep inside her. He wasn’t beautiful, more sexy and hot.

Breathless, Sugar experienced an impulsive urge to ask him to rub the smooth, pale skin of his bald head all over her body. A hunger awoke, one she thought lay dormant. It unfurled inside of her and wanted to be fed.

“You’re not wolf.” He loomed over her. A black tattoo on his well-developed chest peeked out from underneath his partially unbuttoned white dress shirt.

Eric tapped her chin with his finger, silently instructing her to close her mouth. “Sugar is our neighbor.” He gestured to the rakish vampire. “This is Mr. Pal Robi.”

Heat crept up her cheeks. She stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

His hand engulfed hers while he shook it tenderly. “Is that your real name?” He didn’t release his hold.

She dropped her chin. A thrill ran through her. “My parents have a poor sense of humor. I have a twin named Spice.”

Amusement creased the skin around his eyes. “Sugar and spice, and everything nice.”

The poem annoyed her more every time someone quoted it. “Yes, I’ve heard the rest. I’m not a little girl anymore.” She withdrew her hand from his. Maybe the phenomenal packing was only skin deep.

A carnal light sparked in his eyes. “Definitely not a little girl. You may call me Daedalus.” His gaze traced her face and slipped lower, caressing the curves of her breasts, then down along her hips.

Sugar gasped as this alarming man studied her. She could almost hear the Omegas leering at her response to Daedalus. “I’ll get out of your way.”

He didn’t move as she pressed herself against the wall to squeeze by him. The tips of her breasts brushed his well-muscled arm. They pebbled, pushing through her blouse. Naughty images of him running those large palms over her nipples played in her mind.

Her panties got damp as a flash of desire burned through her. She realized he’d wanted her to brush against him. He was such a cad, and it made her want him even more.

* * * *

Daedalus watched her heart-shaped ass wiggle back down the hall. She was ravishing. He would never mix business with pleasure, but she didn’t belong to the pack. Just a neighbor and a bonus.

She reminded him of the 1950‟s pin-up poster girls, pretty and full of luscious curves. He still kept those posters in storage. Sugar. His thoughts sprang to the hard caramelized shell on crème brulee. He would like to ignite her sweetness into a passionate inferno.

Daedalus had felt her response to him as she brushed against him. The flush of color in her face pleased him. He wanted her to turn and look at him one more time before she entered her home.

The Omegas began wrestling with his coffin again. “Can we call you Daedalus?” one of them piped up.

Sugar glanced back at him.

“No.” He gave her a shameless wink.

BUY NOW (link-

Annie Nicholas hibernates in the rural, green mountains of Vermont where she dreams of different worlds, heroes, and heroines. When spring arrives the stories pour from her, in hopes to share them with the masses one day.

Mother, daughter, wife are some of the hats she happily wears while trudging after her cubs through the hills and dales. The four seasons an inspiration and muse.
Check out her website for her upcoming releases.



Group blog:

Personal blog:

Twitter: @annienicholas

Monday, February 1, 2010


If you write it…they will undoubtedly ask if it was reality inspired.

Well, not everyone, but I find it does happen a great deal. And I’ve spoken to enough of my peers to know it’s not an isolated instance with me. Romance writers get to field all sorts of interesting questions about our highly adventurous and erotic lifestyles. I mean, really. It’s a wonder I can even walk straight with all the perceived ‘research’ I’ve had to do over the course of my publishing lifetime. I joke about this with my female friends ALL the time. They get it. Or so I thought.

During a recent ‘no penises allowed’ party, my friends and I were discussing the highpoints of my upcoming release from Total E-Bound, a hot little contemporary that revolves around two confectionary experts titled NOT QUITE VANILLA. The hero and heroine rise to the challenge they receive from a local sex therapist to create a chocolate addition for a relationship kit named “Bound and Begging”. Yes, chocolate and bondage...a moment of reverent silence, please.

To continue, I told the ladies exactly what my buff-beyond-belief hero came up with for an idea—and how much fun my heroine had being his guinea pig when it came to product testing. ( Yeah. If my Fairy Lust-mother ever grants me a life-imitates-fiction moment…it’d be that one.)

For the first time EVER in my “tell us about your book” roundtable discussions, a silence blanketed the room. And, in the immortal words of Astro from ‘The Jetsons’, I thought to myself: “Rot-ro, Rorge”.

Had I totally messed up? Had I horrified people who were not only my friends but also my demographic? I did my research…thought I had a pretty unique idea. I mean, really. It could have been worse. I didn’t go with the ‘Belgium Chocolate Anus’ for cripes sakes. So we sat around, quietly looking at each other. Here’s where I’d like to point out that Secret deodorant might be strong enough for a man, but it’s apparently non-effective when it comes to erotic romance authors in these situations.

Finally…FINALLY…one of the ladies spoke up and asked, “Who did you do that with?” I was so happy that the tension had been lifted, I didn’t have time to concoct a fantastical reply. I did what I always do and told her that for the most part, it’s fiction. Oh, we had a great evening after that and I assumed that was the end of the discussion. But let me tell you, everyone of those ladies—some married, some not—emailed me and asked where one might purchase chocolate genitalia…as gift…for a friend…but not one that was at the party, of course. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Say no more.

So, I’m pretty pleased that the ladies were inspired. And it would have been a hoot if I were a bit quicker on my feet with the reply. But I’m sure I’ll have plenty of practice down the road to hone wild responses to the ongoing questions concerning the facts and the fiction of an author’s life. In the meantime, I’ll just live vicariously through my characters, especially Francine and Mitch from this month’s offering, NOT QUITE VANILLA.

You can check out a blurb and excerpt at my website:

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M.A. Ellis splits her nomadic lifestyle between sunny Florida and northwestern Pennsylvania where, at certain times of the year, temperatures rival those of Ice Station Zebra—making it the perfect arena for devising stories where one spark can undoubtedly ignite a welcoming inferno.