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Friday, December 31, 2010

Jingle Bell Blog Fest: Cherie De Sues

Click here and tell us an herb pagan homes will be decorated with for a chance to win a  $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

A Pagan Celebration of Yule
Cherie De Sues

Yule is close to the Winter Solstice, midwinter, is the longest night and it occurs either December 21st or 22nd depending on the shift of the calendar. This is a time of a gradual lengthening of nights and the shortening of daylight. Soon after, Pagans will celebrate Yule, which in the old European Norse language is Jul meaning wheel. 

Many Western cultures call this time, Christmas, yet the origins of Christmas has very Pagan roots. Emperor Aurelian established December 25 as the birthday of the "Invincible Sun" in the third century as part of the Roman Winter Solstice celebrations. Shortly thereafter, in 273, the Christian church selected this day to represent the birthday of Jesus.

Pagan use this time as a spiritual focus to ancient holiday customs and incorporating new traditions that still draw on the ancient ways. Yule was always about ritual, feasts and activities for the young and old. Many Pagans use the Winter Solstice Eve and Day to be their focus for gift exchanges and feasts. Many will celebrate over the course of several days and nights as was done thousands of years ago. 

Pagan homes will be adorned with sacred herbs like bayberry, blessed thistle, evergreen, frankincense holly, laurel, mistletoe, oak, pine, sage, yellow cedar. Incense like pine, cedar, bayberry, and cinnamon will be burned next to a Yule log, or a small Yule log with 3 candles. Add evergreen boughs or wreaths, holly, mistletoe for handing in doorways, gold pillar candles, baskets of clove-studded fruit, a simmering pot of wassail, poinsettias, and even Christmas cactus for color and variety. The colors used during Yule are red, green, gold, white, silver, yellow, and orange.  

Foods like cookies, caraway cakes soaked in cider, fruits, nuts, pork dishes, turkey, eggnog, ginger tea, spiced cider, wassail, or lamb mixed with ale, sugar, nutmeg, and roasted apples will be a feast you'll not soon forget. Some of the activities will include caroling, wassailing the trees, burning the Yule log, decorating the Yule tree, exchanging presents, kissing under the mistletoe, and honoring Kriss Kringle the Germanic Pagan God of Yule. 

Many pagans who are also witches may do spellwork with matters that include peace, harmony, love, and increased happiness. For Pagans this is a time for introspection, giving to the needy and planning for the future. Many will donate food and clothing to the poor, volunteer their time to needy agencies and give back to the community. They'll add bird feeders to their yards and make pledges for the coming new year to environmental organizations. 

Holly, mistletoe, and ivy are not just to decorate the outside of your home, they are welcome inside too. Doing this extends an invitation to aature sprites and faeries to come and join in your celebration. A sprig of Holly is kept near the door all year long as a constant invitation for good fortune.

For more information on Pagan living, go to Irish Gypsy's Parlor for articles on holidays, deities, and spells.  Irish Gypsy's Parlor Author Main Website

      Chérie De Sues writes medical thrillers, pagan paranormal and contemporary suspense romances from sensual to sizzling heat levels. Chérie is a full-time author of novels, novellas and short stories, and she can be found at Amazon and other fine bookstores. When Chérie takes a break from writing novels, you can find her at book signings, online, or traveling to research her next novel. Half gypsy and half Irish witch, she enjoys creating spells, participating in ritual circles and divining in dreams. She shares her home in San Diego, California, with her Irish terrier, Reilly.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Jingle Bell Blog Fest: Deanna Wadsworth

Click here and tell us how long Deanna has been married for a chance to win a  $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

A Kiss at Midnight

A kiss at midnight is a favorite way for most to ring in the New Year. The Ancient Roman festival of Saturnalia is where it began, not that it’s a surprise. Those naughty Romans! I always give my hubby a smooch, if we remember to look at the clock, LOL. Some of my New Year’s Eve parties have a Romanesque feel (((nudge-nudge, wink-wink))) and until hubby put the TV in the basement, we have been known to look up at the clock and, whoops! Its 12:17 and we missed the countdown! Darn champagne doesn’t mix well with tequila shooters!

But back on topic, have you ever just randomly kissed the first person you see?

I must admit I have not.

My friends probably wouldn’t appreciate me kissing their husbands. And my single male friends? Eeew! I could lips lock with a girlfriend but that’s so Britney Spears. And I HATE Britney.

Old folklore says you should kiss the first person you see and depending on how important they are to you, the kiss sets the tone for the year. In other words, see someone you hate at the clock chimes midnight you have to kiss them and you will have bad luck.

My suggestion?

Surround yourself with people you love around 11:57 just in case it’s true!

I think I will stick to my personal kissing ritual of locking lips with my hubby. I’ve been happily married 14 years, so why screw with a good thing?

But if you are looking to change your luck or add a twist to your New Year’s Eve party, try kissing the first person you see.

Being Roman is sooo in this year! LOL

Maybe the New Year will be full of adventure and good fortune because you took a risk. It could be a chance to smooch your super, hot neighbor, too,. I’m feeling a naughty story idea coming on….

So balm up those lips, brush and floss, avoid garlic onions and get smooching at midnight this year!

Just avoid being around creepy folk so you don’t have to kiss them and mess up your year. You wouldn’t want to take the risk that those old superstitions might be based in truth!

Each month Decadent features a book where all publisher profits go to the American Cancer Society Relay for Life.

"Secret Santa" is the Read for a Cure book in December. During this month I am also adding to that by donating 50 cents per book sold. My personal goal is to raise $500. I would love for you to help me raise money for this great cause! Thanks and Happy Holidays! ~Deanna

Deanna leads a pretty vanilla life in Ohio but her fascination with all things taboo and bizarre find their way into her writings. She spends her days writing and her nights as a caped superhero fighting crime with her sidekick Beer Man…no not really. She’s actually pretty boring. You can usually find her with her hubby and three dogs watching TV or hanging in their killer basement bar.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Jingle Bell Blog Fest: Maureen O. Betita

Click here and tell us one thing that drives Maureen crazy during December for a chance to win a  $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

 Holidays. I hate them. Well, not all of them. But this one, the big December blow out is very low on my list. It just goes against the grain, all this running about like madmen, hauling ass into the malls, standing in lines, jostling for that gift, or this gift…pulling out the credit card. Sigh.

And the cards. Addressing the cards, getting them in the mail on time ( something I never manage) and then they start arriving and sure enough, Aunt Somebody from WhoKnowsWhere sent a card and lordy, we didn’t send her one!


The music. Makes me homicidal. Nothing like sitting in my favorite Starbucks, trying to write an action themed chase and having the insidious earworm of “Santa Baby” burrowing into the skull. And it’s been playing since just before Thanksgiving! ARGH!

And there are those motion active little toys. You know the ones I mean, the stuffed Santa’s that ‘ho-ho’ when you walk by. The mechanic chipmunks that start singing…again with the singing…as I try to slide past them on my way to pick up my prescription refills.

But they are everywhere in the drug store! At every aisle end…eye level, knee level… 

I often wonder why the clerks in those stores don’t go totally mad during the holiday season and run amuck with an ax. I’m just visiting and the urge to do so is sometimes totally overpowering. Nearly.  (I’d likely be hiding batteries. Every notice how the little kids will deliberately set every single one of these clockwork toys into motion? Kids. Sigh.)

Sigh, again

 I’m more the quiet type. I believe, deep in my bones, that we’ve destroyed the entire natural rhythm of the season. Here it is, the dark of winter, the time when the light fades and the chill seems like it will go on forever, the sun will shine less and less and it will be eternally night… Then the solstice dawns and the sun rises just a bit earlier. There is hope.

Our ancestors, at this time of the year, they hunkered all snug in their caves. Caves full of the bounty they had stocked from earlier in the year and they lit fires, sat around them and told stories. Quiet and calm and knowing that the sun had risen earlier, and so the winter would end, even as it roared outside the cave.
They had common sense. What in the world drove us to make this the time of the year we would constantly be outside of our cave, shouting over the loud speakers, trying to be heard over the carols?

I’m going to find somewhere calm to sit, somewhere to watch the sun rise and know that deep beneath me, the seeds of spring wait.

I’m Maureen O. Betita and every year, the urge to board a cruise ship over the holiday season and spend it with a rum drink in my hand, gazing out at the Caribbean sounds more and more appealing. I love the Caribbean and have written a book set in a Caribbean world. The Kraken’s Mirror will be out soon from Decadent Publishing.

Yes, it features a kraken, but it also brings love, adventure and ipods to a swashbuckling city of Tortuga. With luck, I’ll earn enough to make my holiday Caribbean cruise a reality one of these days… 

Learn more at

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Jingle Bell Blog Fest: Rie McGaha

Click here and tell us how many kids went to find the perfect tree for a chance to win a  $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

The Christmas Bush

As the mom of 12 we have some pretty awesome holidays but there is one in particular that I think of every year. It's the year we had a Christmas bush.

Because we had more kids than money we always tried to do something special for our kids at holiday time. The day after Thanksgiving my husband packed up the kids and took them to cut the tree while I stayed home baking cookies and making hot chocolate to enjoy while decorating the tree.

We lived in a low altitude valley in northern California where it rarely snowed but we were surrounded by mountains that often got several feet. The kids especially enjoyed going for looking for the perfect tree so they could play in the snow. This particular holiday we only had five kids left at home and the two youngest were sick. So my husband took the three oldest, along with my oldest daughter's friend, and off they went to find the perfect tree. I remained home with the sick ones and they helped make cookies.

When at last we heard the sounds of a vehicle followed by shouts of laughter, we went out the back door to the porch. There on top of my mini van was a tree that hung over the length of the van on both ends. The tree wouldn't begin to fit in the living room. And bent over with laughter was my husband and children. I asked what they were thinking and this is what they told me.

They went up the mountain road and had to put chains on because the snow was a lot deeper than first thought. While my husband kept his eyes on the trail that served as a road, the kids kept their eyes out for the perfect tree. When they at last found one, my husband stopped the van and they all bailed out. My husband grabbed the axe and because the snow was so deep, he had our daughter and her friend hold the tree while he chopped it down. Everything went well and the girls let the tree fall over. My husband went to trim some of the branches off the end and when he stepped over a pile of snow just inches from where he stood to chop the tree, he stepped onto nothing and slid about thirty feet. He had chopped off the top of a thirty-foot tall fir tree growing down the embankment.

Back home the tree was trimmed to fit in the living room but when we got it set up we wound up moving the furniture to one side of the room to accommodate the limbs, which took up over half the room. By the time we got it decorated, we were all laughing about the incident. When the older kids came to visit, the grandkids thought the tree was there to play in and played hide and seek in the branches.

The year of the Christmas Bush is one of my favorite holiday memories and every time we play remember when at least one of the kids will say, "Hey, Mom. Do you remember the Christmas Bush?" And we laugh all over again.

Author Bio: Rie McGaha is a multi-published author, the mother of twelve and Nana of thirty-three. She lives in SE Oklahoma in a multi-generational home with her husband, Nathan, daughter, Lisa, son-in-law Mike and granddaughter, Meagan. She has nine dogs and three cats that are all rescues. Rie would like to remind everyone to please spay and neuter you animals to prevent unwanted litters that only result in overpopulation and mistreatment of animals.

You can find out more about Rie's books at

Monday, December 27, 2010

Jingle Bell Blog Fest: G.R. Richards

Click here and tell us why G.R. loves winter so much for a chance to win a  $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

Confessions of a Winter Lover

My name is G.R. Richards and I hate the summertime. 

Sorry to shock you. I know how offended people become when I make this one particularly controversial remark. It's a near-sinful admission. When I make it, I'm often greeted with questions like, "What?" and "How could you?" and "Why?" and "Didn't you write a book for a series called Hot Summer Daze?"

To answer all four questions, I could simply say, "It's the heat. I hate the sticky, smoggy, humid disgustingness of summer." I could say that, but, of course, it's not that simple.

In part, I hate the summertime because it's not the wintertime. Yeah, that sounds a little...okay...stupid. I admit it. And I am partial to spring and fall, but winter...oh, winter! How do I love thee?

It's the snow. To me, winter means snow. I can handle the winds that cut through five layers of fleece and chill you to the bone if it means a snowfall might be on the way. There is nothing on the planet more beautiful to me than snow: kids building snowmen on the front lawn, dragging toboggans to the nearest hill, helping their parents shovel the driveway.

Let me share with you a wintery memory, if I may:

Enjoy the season!
G.R. Richards 
You would never know it by the love of public television documentaries and great food in high end restaurants, but G.R. Richards pens some of the world's hottest guy-on-guy erotica.  Richards is no stranger to a bed damp with sweat, or the sweetness of bodies pressed together.  There's a reason guys growl for G.R. Richards Erotica.  

Ten or so years ago, on a snowy Saturday morning, my then-boyfriend's car broke down--a winter reality. I know it's not all fun and games. Anyway, we got the car to a garage and decided to wander over to a nearby greasy spoon for breakfast. The snow was nearly to our knees, but we trudged on through.

When the restaurant was near, we climbed up a little hill...and I watched him fall flat on his face in the snow. He'd tripped on one of those cement block dealies they have around the outskirts of parking lots, and he was covered head to toe in virgin white.

I laughed my ass off. It was the funniest thing I'd every seen.
 And as I pointed and laughed and kept on walking...trip...fall...splat! I stumbled over the same damn cement block and went right down beside him. He propped himself up on his elbow as I looked up from the snow, stunned.

And he pointed at me and laughed his ass off.

Then he helped me up and I helped him up, and we laughed even as our waitress gave us dirty looks for dripping all over our booth.

Okay, so loving the wintertime doesn't necessarily mean I should have to hate the summertime. After all, summer is the time of year I start writing Christmas stories for all you wonderful readers to enjoy in the winter!  Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys, Junk, Ivy League...these were all written in the hazy days of summer, and all available now for your reading pleasure.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Jingle Bell Blog Fest: James Hatch

Click here and tell us why Miss Havana's guide is called "The Brazilian" for a chance to win a  $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

The Invitation

 My latest paranormal comedy novel, The Substitute, was recently accepted by Solstice Publishing. In that novel, the main character, Miss Havana, becomes the devil’s consort and wreaks havoc on earth, in purgatory, and in hell, but I couldn’t help but wonder what she would be like in the sequel, Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! if faced with an invitation to a Christmas party. The following scene is not in the sequel, but certainly could be.

            What the hell…an invitation? The invite is packaged in a golden envelope, and inside there’s something that looks like a carefully folded doily. Do people really send shit like this anymore?
            I tear open the envelope, but the heavy paper cuts my finger with a vengeance. I shake my hand with a snap and nearly scream a profanity, but catch myself. I haven’t forgotten the warning from my guide: “Yo’ got to clean up yo’ act, Miss Havana, we don’ talk like that here! If yo’ don’ follow the rules, yo’ be highly disappointed with the outcome.” I can’t imagine what he means—like, would they really send me back to hell where my daughter is in charge? Frankly, I think THEY wouldn’t like that outcome.

            I scan the invite as a trickle of blood begins to run raggedly down the doily. “RSVP, regrets only?” What in my home is that about? Sure I have regrets, doesn’t everyone? I regret the two pounds I gained after high school—never lost those bastards. Regret getting pregnant on prom night, too. How much shit would I have to list before I get a pass to the food and liquor? Crap! Parties, who needs them! I toss the invite on the floor next to WWII style bed, plop down, and swing my feet onto the scratchy woolen blanket, still fuming that I must dredge up all that historical nonsense just to get a drink.

            Before I can drift off, however, The Brazilian appears—my cheery guide who always seems high on caffeine. “Why, Miss Havana, yo’ needs to deal with yo’ invite. The party just won’t be the same without yo’. I mean, this year, yo’ be the guest of honor!”

            I pick lint off the blanket, avoiding a response, but must admit it’s been a long damn time since I’ve been the center of attention. “They WILL have liquor, won’t they?”

            The Brazilian seems taken back, but by now I’m absolutely certain he’s just acting—there’s nothing I can do that should surprise him after all his effort to training me. “Oh, Miss Havana, there be much better than liquor. Yo’ just need to come. Yo’ll see. Yo’ don’t need to list all those regrets, either. Everyone there already knows yo’ soul be burdened with them.”

            Oh, shit. Just what I need, another full exposure encounter group. Don’t they ever do anything here just for the fun of it? I sign deeply. “Okay, okay, I’ll go, but only if you’ll finally tell me why they call you The Brazilian.”

            He cocks his head and shakes his finger slowly. “Oh, that’s been eatin’ at yo’ for some time, ain’t it. Okay, since it’s nearly Christmas, I’ll tell yo’, like a early Christmas gift, but the secret gots to stay just between the two of us.”

            He pauses, waiting for my agreement I guess. I sit up on the edge of the bed, look him directly in the eyes, and respond flatly, “Fine.”

            “Okay, then. Yo’ knows me to be a fastidious fellow, a true meterosexual, but that name was given to me because I continue to wax my privates, just like I did below.”

            I slap my forehead. TMI! I image disgusts me. “Oh, crap, sorry I asked.”

            He grins. “Sometimes it’s best to NOT know all the detains, Miss Havana. Like this here party. Yo’ just needs to come, open yo’self up to it, and not fret about the details. Yo’ needs to trust me. I is yo’ guide. I do yo’ no harm.”

And that’s the way she’d probably react, Miss Havana being a singularly evil vixen with exotic tastes for the bizarre. The character is humorous in her total self-absorption, and outrageous in action, but she is also cunning in her approach to everything, even coyly asking St. Peter at one point, “Is there a Mrs. Peter?” The Substitute should be available in e-book and print from Solstice Publishing this coming year.

Author Bio:  Although his Bachelors, Masters, and Ph.D. are in Chemistry and Meteorology, James worked as a scientist and system/software engineer before retiring a third time, then turned to writing. Extensive travel, from Thule, Greenland to Australia’s Great Barrier reef – and to dozens of countries in between – provide the real-life experiences he incorporates into everything he writes.

James enjoys boating, kayaking, skiing, traveling, hiking, tending nine grandchildren (no more than two at a time), and ballroom dancing, but his first love is writing, and all other activities are molded around it. He has completed six novels and one short story, and intends to continue writing in the Sci-Fi and Paranormal Comedy genres. He will soon have five titles with

Other Titles: Sci-Fi Trilogy consisting of “The Judge,” “Infinity Quest,” and “The Empress of Tridon.” Contemporary Fiction: “The Final Experiment” and “Aftermath Horizon.” These titles are available from in e-book format. “Aftermath Horizon” will be released in print in 2011.


Thursday, December 23, 2010

Jingle Bell Blog Fest: Ericka Scott

Click here and tell us when the Wild Hunt occurs for a chance to win a  $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

History of the Yule Log

The earliest known burning of a Yule-style log was in ancient Egypt in about 5000 BC to honor Horus, the sun god. The Sumerians had a similar ritual. To the Celtic Druids, this was Fionn’s Day, a solar festival, and the log was burnt after dinner. Oak logs symbolized life; pine logs represented death. It signified the end to a dangerous time between Samhain and Yule.

Celtic Britain and Gaelic Europe used a large tree or log to fit into their hearths. They anointed it with salt, holly, wine and evergreens. After it burned, the remnants were kept to light the next year's log. The ashes were highly prized - apparent protection against evil and lightning. Birch, oak, willow and holly woods were most often used. 

In 68 BC, the Romans adopted Mithras, Persia's sun god, into their Saturnalia Festival. For 10 nights they burnt a Yule-style log to usher in Mithras' strength. The Saxons and Visigoths also celebrated the Winter Solstice Festival with fortune telling by the fire. Charred log remnants were kept because of their so-called magic powers. The log itself symbolized good against evil.

The Yule Log is also integrally associated with the Wild Hunt. The hunt has historically been associated with such figures as Woden, Herne, Satan, Odin, Hecate, and Diana, all of whom bear either horns or horned helmets. The nature of the hunt depends largely on location. In Britain, the Wild Hunt consisted mostly of wolfs or hounds chasing evil beings from the land and warning mortals of invaders. Among Germanic peoples, the hunt was far more sinister. It was a force of evil populated by ghosts and witches. Travelers who heard the horns of the hunt would throw themselves to the ground in the hopes of remaining undiscovered, for mortals crossing paths with the hunters were generally killed and their souls forced to accompany the Hunt forever.

The Wild Hunt takes place during the winter when the wind blows the strongest and storms begin to brew. It begins on October 31st and ends on the eve of May (April 30th). The height of the hunt takes place on Yule, December 21st, the shortest day of the year. On that day, Yule fires were lit to keep the hunters at bay.

Christians soon integrated this tradition into their Feast of Lights (which later became Christmas) by burning a log to symbolize the end of the world's darkness and the rebirth of Christ as the light of the world.

With the absence of fireplaces in many modern homes, the tradition is not as widespread as others. However, if you want to keep the Yule log fires burning (sorry for the pun), you might consider baking a Yule log cake.

Here’s my favorite recipe.

Chocolate Decadent Yule Log
  • 2/3 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 5 eggs
  • 3/4 cup white sugar
  • 2 (1 ounce) squares unsweetened chocolate
  • 2 tablespoons water
  • 2 tablespoons coffee-flavored liqueur
  • 2 tablespoons white sugar
  • 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
  • confectioners' sugar for dusting
  • 4 (1 ounce) squares semisweet baking chocolate
  • 1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
  • 3 cups confectioners' sugar
  • 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 1 tablespoon coffee flavored liqueur
  1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Lightly spray a 10x15 inch jellyroll pan and line with parchment paper. Sift flour with baking powder and salt and set aside.
  2. In a large mixing bowl, beat the eggs on high for several minutes until they are very pale and fluffy. Gradually add in the sugar, beating 1 to 2 minutes more or until very thick. Gently, but thoroughly, fold in the flour mixture.
  3. Melt the chocolate in a small saucepan over low heat. In a small bowl, combine the 2 tablespoons of water with the 2 tablespoons coffee liqueur and the remaining 2 tablespoons sugar and the baking soda, then gradually stir into the melted chocolate until smooth. Quickly, but thoroughly, fold chocolate mixture into batter.
  4. Pour batter into prepared 10x15 inch pan. Bake at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) for 18 to 20 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the cake comes out clean. Lightly sift an even layer of confectioners sugar over a cloth napkin or tea towel (do not use Terry-cloth). Flip the cake out of its pan onto the prepared cloth as soon as it comes from the oven. Carefully peel away the parchment paper. Lightly dust top of cake with confectioners sugar, then trim away any crisp edges. Starting with one of the short sides of the cake, immediately roll the cake up in the cloth, jellyroll style, and cool thoroughly on a rack.
  5. For the Filling and Frosting: In a small saucepan over low heat, melt the chocolate. Remove from heat and let cool to lukewarm. In a medium bowl, beat the cream cheese with the confectioners sugar until smooth, then blend in the vanilla extract and coffee liqueur. Blend in the melted chocolate. Unroll the cake and spread about 1/3 of the filling evenly over the surface. Roll the cake back up.
  6. Arrange cake roll on serving tray, then frost generously, swiping with an icing spatula to form the long 'bark line' design. Swipe ends of cake in a circular motion to simulate the tree-rings of a cut log. Decorate log as desired with holly leaves and berries, evergreens, and snow.

Ericka Scott is a multi-published, bestselling author of seductive suspense. She's written stories for as long as she can remember and reads anything under the sun (including the back of cereal boxes in a pinch). She got hooked on romantic suspense in her college days, when reading anything but a textbook was a guilty pleasure. Now, when she’s not chauffeuring children around, wishing she had a maid, or lurking at the library, she’s spinning her own web of fantasy and penning tales of seduction and suspense. She currently lives in Southern California with her husband and three children.

She also loves friends, so come friend her at
She's also on Facebook at and Twitter @ErickaScott
You can find out more about her books at

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Jingle Bell Blog Fest: Missy Jane

Click here and tell us where Missy Jane got her Christmas tree last year for a chance to win a  $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

Tree Cutting Fever

      When my teenager was a toddler I got the grand idea in my head that driving an hour or more to a Christmas tree farm and cutting down our own tree would be a wonderful family tradition. Now that she is sixteen I have cause to realize how this has come back to bite me in the butt. Sure, it’s nicer to have a fresh tree. The house smells like real pine and I don’t have to worry about it drying out as quickly. We get the experience of picking the right one straight from the source. And, honestly, when my girls were smaller it was just a lot of fun. So, let me tell you about our experience last year.

      The week after Thanksgiving I was very proud of myself for finding a Christmas tree farm within twenty minutes of our house. Their prices were a little higher than the others but I reasoned that I’d save that in gas. I loaded up my family of six, with the younger two girls excitedly hopping in their seats and the older two girls grumbling under their breath, and we headed out. Apparently we chose the day everyone else wanted to get their tree as well. Parking was tight and there were people everywhere.

      If you’ve never been to a Christmas tree farm, the way it works is you’re given a saw, a rope contraption to drag the tree back, a measuring stick and a price list. We gathered our supplies and jumped on the hayride type wagon that drives a circuit around the farm. Thirty minutes after hopping off of the wagon we hadn’t found a tree that would pass the girls’ scrutiny and fit into my budget. An hour later I finally called a halt to our wandering around and said it was time to go.

      We were all disappointed but I coaxed them into sitting with the Santa, present on his throne, for pictures. Everyone was hungry so we headed to a fast food restaurant for lunch. There in the parking lot sat Walmart in all its shining glory. Hubby said “What the hell”, and we went into the garden center. Not only did everyone agree on three different trees, my checkbook was singing its praises too. We got our tree and a few trimmings and headed home.

      So, this year I think we will finally skip the farm trip all together. It’s nice to have traditions that I can pass down to my girls, but I don’t want them to remember the stress of the holidays as well. A few months ago I introduced the idea of buying a fake tree while we ate dinner. I was vigorously and unanimously outvoted. We’ll just have to see what happens next year.   

-Missy Jane
*Make reading a guilty pleasure…*

Ms. Missy Jane is the alter ego of a Texas mother of four who has been married to the same wonderful man for thirteen years. About five years ago Missy finished reading a book by Mercedes Lackey and thought "Now, what if..." and a monster was created. Missy now spends most of her time lost in worlds of her own making alternately loving and hating such creatures as vampires, shape-shifters and gargoyles (to name a few). When not writing, she spends her time reading, taking photos of her beautiful daughters and training her husband to believe she's always right. Excerpts from Missy's work can be found at

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Jingle Bell Blog Fest: J. Hali Steele

Click here and tell us how long the idea of angels have been with mankind for a chance to win a  $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

Angels need love too…

They are a very big part of the Christmas Holiday season. We see them everywhere—in decorations and ornaments throughout stores, businesses, and homes. I’ve always been fascinated with angels…and wings! The ability to fly whenever and wherever, without purchasing a ticket and paying for an extra bag *grins*, would be awesome.

While researching archangels for my Angels in Love series at Ellora’s Cave, I came across really interesting information. Did you know there are angels that cover the Zodiac, or angels for healing? Angels for all seasons, days and weeks? Then there are those who are more demon than angel, and some have even fallen from grace. An interesting bunch, to say the least. The idea of angels has been with mankind since the beginning of time and many religions encompass or embrace them in some way.

Myth or reality—who has the answer? I’m not sure I want to know. I’ve taken liberties with them in ways unimaginable. In my imagination, they can be real, or not. They can be any way I want them to be. With them, I can have the fantasy of flying free, touching the sky, or flitting by a twinkling star at midnight.

Most of all, I imagine them in love. The wonder of love, the pain and loss—love in a human way—with all the joy and angst that comes with it. And in my case that calls for lots of sexy, sensual encounters in those wings!

Repent in Love is the 2nd in the series, and it will be released soon at Ellora’s Cave. Here’s an unofficial blurb to whet your appetite:

Uriel wants the one woman he can never possess.

Every angel knows the dire consequence for attempting to hold power over life and death as the beautiful Fates do. Uri, the angel of repentance, doesn’t heed the warning. He intends to slake his carnal lust in every way imaginable. Too late, he realizes he needs more than a brief fling to extinguish the flames of desire—he needs to have all of his Fate—body and soul.

Morta, the Fate who cuts the thread of life, burns just as hot for her archangel. It’s been that way for centuries, yet she’s forbidden to align herself with anyone, especially an angel. After spending fevered nights filled with sex in Uri’s bed, there’s no repenting for her sin. Morta can’t let go of the only being in the universe who rocks her world.

Willing to chance even death, Uriel holds the key to the one creature that can bring them together. If he opens that door, life will cease to exist as they know it.

So, if you haven’t read Hope in Love yet, grab a copy (available in eBook or print), and get ready for Uriel, the archangel of repentance. Fly into the heat with a HOT angel—but be careful not to singe your wings…

J. Hali Steele would much rather be roaming where her fictional big cats live—in the high desert of California—so would her four furfriends (no fleas and ticks!) She enjoys spending time with her sisters and friends who willingly listen to her ramblings about the paranormal world of vamps, shifters and anything else that goes bump in the night. A captive audience, she promises to untie them soon!

A multi-published author, J. Hali is a RWA PAN member, she belongs to its Passionate Ink and ESPAN chapters, and she’s a member of Liberty States Fiction Writers. When she’s not writing, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a good book, a cat in her lap, and a cup of coffee.

For more information, you can visit her at She blogs every Friday at and she answers all emails at

Growl and roar – it’s okay to let the beast out. – © J. Hali Steele

Monday, December 20, 2010

Jingle Bell Blog Fest:: Victoria Blisse

Click here and tell us one thoughtful gift Victoria remembers for a chance to win a  $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

Christmas Spirit Warms the Heart

I don’t know about you but I love Christmas, I adore it. I do NOT like all the commercialism that goes with it though, that can take a running leap as far as I am concerned.  For me, as a Christian, the centre of Christmas is the birth of Jesus and nothing should detract from that. I think it’s kinda awesome that on the big JC’s birthday he’s happy to let us celebrate by giving each other gifts. How lovely is that?

And to me, that is Christmas Spirit. It is giving because you love the person or you love the act of giving or both. Not because you want a gift back, not because they sent you a gift and you are obliged to give them something in return. No, Christmas giving should be from the heart. 

I love giving presents, I do. I get all giddy about it. I start planning my gift giving back in the summer in some instances and I love trying to come up with unusual gifts for friends and family that I know they’ll love.  I love to see their faces when they open their gifts, that to me is priceless. 

Of course, I love to get gifts too. My granddad once bought me a red leather stamp book because he’s heard me say that’s the kind of thing I’d like to put my collection in. I was 15 at the time and was moved to tears. My husband bought me a honey dipper because I love honey on my toast and would complain about getting it off my spoon and it’s thoughtful gifts like that that make me smile. 

So what is the best gift you’ve ever given  and which is the best (or one of the best) you’ve received? Let’s get into the Spirit of Christmas right here and now and remember all the good, noble and blessed things about this season. 

In my story, Christmas Spirit Warms the Heart neither of my characters have much. Jodi is a Toll Booth operator who lives alone and keeps to herself. Mike works in an orphanage and is an orphan himself. Both of them go out of their ways to give gifts to those less fortunate than them at Christmas and as a consequence catch the attention of a very important person: Santa.

Christmas Spirit Warms the Heart brought out the child in me. I love the magic that surrounds Father Christmas and wanted to use him in one of my stories. I hope you’ll give it a read and get captured by the magic of Christmas too.

Best wishes to you all and have a very Merry Christmas!

Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and erotica writer. She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy.

She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories. Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

Friday, December 17, 2010


Edible Christmas Presents

I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas. The idea of spending time with family, of giving to others is great. The commercialism... not so much.

So, in the spirit of making the time with your mate the best it can be, Calla Dragos wants to share how to turn your mate into your own personal body buffet.

1 can Whipped Cream
1 bowl of Cherries
Chocolate Syrup
Ice Cubes
Slivers of chocolate, cheese, grapes
2 bottles of wine (or apple cider if non-alcoholic beverages are called for)
Don’t forget the body oils

Take some throw pillows and make a bed, then cover them with a sheet, silky is preferred.
Light candles around the room and turn the lights down low. If you want music, keep it soft. Make sure the room is warm, but not overly. Make sure all the ingredients are prepared, then dress in something seductive.
Lead your mate to the room and command him to strip. Whips are allowed. So are handcuffs, if you like.

Then, have fun all night long.

For those with kids, like Calla’s author, call your best friend up and convince her she really wants to babysit. Let her know you’ll share the recipe :)

Check out Calla Dragos and Scott O’Neil’s story in Dragos: Burned.

When Calla, a dragon shifter, heads to a sleepy mountain town to investigate their recent arson outbreak, she doesn't expect to come face to face with the dark dragon who killed her mother, or find her destined mate beneath the burning rays of the moon. Firefighter Scott O'Neil can't fight his attraction to her, even after he finds out what she is, and the shocking secret of his own past.

Whipped Cream calls it “...Intense and Incendiary...” and gives it 5 of 5 cherries.

Also, visit them for their first Christmas in the short story Mistletoe, Available now from Changeling Press.

Something's not right. Dragon shifter Calla O'Neil can't stop the emotional rollercoaster taking over her actions. When she finally finds out why, she's going to celebrate by making her husband, Scott, her very own personal body buffet.

Amber loves the paranormal, from dragons to werewolves to vampires. She's currently at work on her next book, probably running around the house acting out a fight scene with her collection of swords and daggers. Or maybe, wishing she had claws to practice the other fight scenes. A voracious lover of the written word, Amber found at an early age that she could read fast. Really fast. She devours novels by the day, novellas by the hour, and is always looking to get her hands on more.  Check out her website at

Wednesday, December 15, 2010


Being that I'm blogging on the Whipped Cream Blog today, I thought it might be nice to indulge a little in some, well, whipped cream and all things sweet.

Do you like whipped cream? Mmmm, I do.

Do you like it from the aresol can or from in the tub from the frozen section? If I have to have one of them, I prefer the one in the can, the one that can be applied in a variety of ways on a variety or drink. Delicious on lattes, on hot chocolate, on pudding.

Do you like real whipped cream? Homemade. Heavy cream. Sugar. Vanilla. Or do you prefer flavored? Chocolate? Strawberry? Mint? Personally, I prefer simple vanilla.

The real whipped cream is more delicate, tastes like nothing you've ever had. But then, that's what homemade is all about, isn't it? It's real, it's special, it's like nothing else. Maybe that's why I prefer it. It's a little more work, a little more time consuming, but so very, very worth it.

Nothing actually requires whipped cream, but who are we kidding? Whipped cream makes everything better. Add a cherry on top and...

And something tragic just occurred to me? I don't have any books with whipped cream in them. A shame, right? That should probably be rectified soon... I do however, have books with frosting, syrup, and a new one with marshmallows. Not the ones from the bag in the grocery store either, but the homemade kind, the ones you find in gourmet stores or candy shops. They're soft, cloud-like, delicious. Most people cut them into squares, but they can be cut into hearts or circles.

The book I mentioned is called Arrested Holiday and came out on December 7th, from Loose Id.

My hero, Michael is a cop and he cooks. One of the things he makes for the heroine, Holli, is hot chocolate. It's his mother's recipe, and it's topped with homemade, handmade marshmallows. They melt across the top and it's so sticky and gooey and decadent and Holli considers, seriously considers, giving up coffee for it.

He could have used whipped cream. No doubt he can make it, given everything else he can make, but something about the holidays makes me think more about marshmallows and hot chocolate and it just seemed to fit them...


Holiday ‘Holli’ James looks forward the week between Christmas and New Year’s. This is her one chance to get away from the hustle and bustle of her successful decorating business. The plan this year is a trip to New York City to see the sights and the lights.

The plan didn’t include a side trip to a small town jail in the middle of Pennsylvania. Nor did the plan include Officer Hunky.


A single police officer, Michael is working the holidays -- again. With no local family and no interest in accepting the pity invitations to Christmas dinner from his married friends, he’s content to work and earn extra cash. Besides, this year looks to be as uneventful as ever. Until he pulls Holli over for speeding, only to discover she’s wanted on charges of fraud.

Sexual tension spikes as Michael begins to investigate and discovers Holli isn't who her record says she is. While they await answers, Michael is granted permission to remove Holli from the jail and place her under house arrest.

Only his idea of house arrest is much more personal than the law ever intended.

Thanks to the wonderful people at here at Whipped Cream for having me.

So, tell me, what do you like your whipped cream on? How do you like your hot chocolate?

Have a very happy holiday season...


Monday, December 13, 2010

GUEST BLOG: Julie Eberhart Painter

Caution, User at Work
“Don’t let your daughters grow up to be vulnerable.”
By Julie Eberhart Painter

Every young woman in love with Rett Butler instead of Ashley Wilkes should read seductions scenes and recognize that they precede disaster. No one wants to be Hester Prynne of Scarlet Letter fame.

Once such scene appears in my newest novel, Tangled Web, set in 1935. Jack O’Brien is an over-privileged user. My heroine, Catherine, is his employee. He’s already in a position of power when he scoffs at Catherine for not knowing the difference between mink and sable.

She’s awed by his well appointed, quiet bedroom with soft carpet and no squeaky hinges, a harsh contrast to her own life that is filled with imperfections.

In this scene, Catherine doesn’t hear Jack’s derision. Like so many vulnerable women, she hears what she wants to hear. Note, he never says he loves her. He’s kind but distant and very much interested in getting her into bed.

Excerpt:  Catherine offers to help sort Mary, Jack’s recently deceased wife’s clothes.

A hush fell over them as they pushed through the door. The lush Oriental rug deadened the sound as it had the night she first saw Mary lying in the double bed. The lined draperies were pushed back, allowing the waning afternoon light to radiate into the room. The bed, its spread matching the curtains, was made up tight. The closets stood open, the rose sachet fragrance gone. Jack had placed packing boxes around the room in anticipation of her agreeing to this chore. Did he know she’d be willing? Catherine approached the largest closet, remembering the night that Mary had offered her the red dress.

“She told me she had small feet.”

“Yes. No point in saving the shoes for you.” He laughed, pointing to the shoe rack below. “Let’s put them into these two boxes first.”

They worked for almost an hour. Catherine took the dresses off the hangers and folded them in tissue paper prepared for the boxes. Jack sealed and marked each box as it filled. Eventually, she came to a cloth bag that held Mary’s heavy fur coat. She unsnapped the top and peered in. Pulling it free, she ran her hand over the luxurious dark sienna and black fur. “A genuine mink. This is gorgeous. You shouldn’t give this to charity unless you plan to auction it for a monetary donation.”

“It’s sable, Catherine. Would you like to have it? It matches your hair.”

“I couldn’t! It’s not proper. Anyway, it would make my other clothes look out of place.”

“Um.” He stood back, his eyes roaming over her, appraising her figure. “I think it’s perfect for you. Try it on.”

Catherine blushed, but slipped the silk brocade-lined fur over her arms and shoulders. She stood, self-conscious as it tickled her knees. It was a perfect fit and enveloped her like cream in a warm bath.

“Mary said it took someone with more color in her face to wear it. She was right.” He licked his lips. “She usually wore the squirrel cape. You must keep that coat.”

Catherine shook her head and began removing it. Jack raced across the room and grabbed her elbows. “Leave it.” He was panting, perhaps from the sprint.

She smoothed the sleeves, tears beginning in her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, “but I can’t take Mary’s lovely coat.”

He looked down at her. “You deserve it.” He touched her lips with the tips of his fingers, then encircled her waist and pulled her close to him. “You’re a delicious morsel in this coat,” he said hoarsely. “You would be beautiful, in it or out of it.” He slid his moist lips down her neck and kissed his way back up to her lips. Then he took her breasts in his hands, kneading them, making them swell. Her nipples were marbles. She gasped and sagged in his arms. He caught her, lifting her onto the bed. His hands traced the line of her legs; his fingers worked at her garters.

Her back arched.

“This is wrong, Jack. I’m your employee, and you’re out of your mind with grief.”

“I’m out of my mind,” he growled. He lay down close to her and buried his face in the crook of her neck, trembling. “I know it’s wrong.”

She felt his tears soaking through the collar of her blouse.

“I can’t stop,” he said. “I want you.”

She rolled away from him, and slipped off the bed, but he caught her hand, kissing her palm. “Forgive me. It’s just that I’m so dammed lonely.”

She nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, her feet to the floor. She smoothed her blouse and pulled her skirt over her knees. “That’s no excuse,” she said primly.

He sat beside her, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Cath. I’m lost. My marriage wasn’t real, just a sham for convenience. Mary deserved better. God knows she tried to please me, but my heart strayed, distracted by you. I’m crazy for you. I know it’s too soon.”

Catherine’s heart stopped for a beat before falling over itself. Had she heard correctly? “You... you care for me? You love me?”

“Since I first walked though the factory and saw you bent over your machine, your hair tracing the line of your face, I knew that you were special. You were so intent. The others looked up, put you kept that pretty nose of yours bent to the task, dedicated. I fell for you then and there.”

Catherine took her elbows in her hands and shimmied back on the bed, extending her feet, examining her slender ankles and trying to decide if this was what she wanted. “I don’t know what to say, Jack. We can’t be seen together this soon. It’s not proper. The first time the servants are gone and here I am sitting with you on Mary’s bed... I’m not... It’s not... I’ve never—”

“You’re innocent. Pure.” He kissed her cheek and ran his tongue around her earlobe.


“Then I want to show you what real love is between a man and a woman.”

Catherine felt her will dissolving. Wasn’t this what she had dreamed of, what she had wanted, what her body was telling her? She nodded and looked up at his handsome face. “But not here—not in Mary’s bed,” she said.

He stood and took her hand. “Leave your clothes but bring the coat.”

She shucked her clothes and reached for the fur to follow him downstairs. He flung open the door to the yellow guestroom where Catherine had stacked the coats the night of the party. It was much smaller than the master bedroom. A mixture of Bay Rum and apple blossoms made the room cozy and intimate.

“I’ve been sleeping in here. Mary never came into this room. She didn’t like the color; the yellow striped wallpaper washed her out.” He turned toward Catherine, devouring her with his eyes. “You absolutely glow in it. You belong in this room.”

As a guest, she wondered, or...?

He turned on the radio and pulled the bedspread off, dropping it in a heap on a chair. “Someone to Watch Over Me” played into the room.

Catherine swallowed. “I... I don’t know.”

“You belong with me now.” Jack dropped to his knees and embraced her around the waist, circling her hips and stomach, fingering her waist. “You have the tiniest waist I’ve ever seen.” He massaged her thighs and breathed onto her stomach. Her breasts tensed in the chill room.

“It’s cold in here.”

“We diverted the heat to the other parts of the house. When I’ve finished undressing you put the coat on and lie down on the bed.

Jack’s words sounded like a command. She did as asked, not really sure what he would do next. She slipped on the coat, pulling it around her, crossing the generous folds to cover her nakedness. Her face burned.

He lay down next to her, smothering her with kisses and murmuring, almost singing with the music, one of her favorites. Before she could move, he was inside the coat, pressing into her, warming her body with his rough shirt and hard, muscled skin. His pants had disappeared. She could tell that he was a big man, determined, with his own purpose, bent on making love to her. She gave herself up to her feelings and returned his love. The sharp pain was quickly gone, and a warm glow replaced it as her desire climaxed in tender release.

When he was done, he rolled off and stood. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You really were... innocent.”

She sat up, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I told you that. Didn’t you believe me?”

“Girls always say that.”

All her ambitions crashed around her. Pieces of her life detached from her plans. Nothing but shame remained. She’d slept with Mary’s husband.

“We’ll just pretend this never happened,” Jack said.

“How can I pretend? I... I love you, Jack. I wouldn’t have let you... if I... hadn’t. What if I get... you know... caught? What if I get a baby?”

“It never happens your first time, Cath. Don’t even think about it. But there can’t be another time. This was a mistake. We’ll have to stay away from each other, at least for a while. You’re a temptation I can’t afford. I’ll hire another secretary—”

“No! I can work out of the mill office when you’re not there. You can leave me assignments.” She knew that if she had no reason to see him, she’d have no chance with him later.

“I suppose we could arrange that. I don’t want to ruin your life. Are you all right?”

“I guess.” Catherine blew out a long sigh. “You don’t think I’m bad, do you. I just didn’t expect...”

He took her in his arms gently stroking her in the coat. “Shush, my poor Catherine. You’re not a bad girl. You’re still sweet, and innocent in your way. You gave me comfort when I needed it.”

“Is that all you felt? Comfort?”

“Not like that sounds. But it’s natural for two people in love to express themselves together. Don’t question it.” He pulled the coat up under her chin, smiling. “You must keep the coat.”

“I can’t. It would be like payment. I’d feel like a... a kept woman. A prostitute,” she whispered.

Julie Eberhart Painter is the Champagne Books author of Mortal Coil, in which she practices both medicine and law without licenses, and Tangled Web, a story close to her heart. Coming in October 2011, Kill Fee

See Julie’s Web site at The World, the Flesh and the Devil, American Castles and Tahitian Destiny are available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble Her nonfiction e-book, From the Inside Out, a volunteer looks at staying motivated, is considered a best seller on the Net. Julie’s flash fiction stories can be read online at .

Friday, December 10, 2010


My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys

It's whitetale deer season in Texas. That makes me a white-tail widow - sounds funny, doesn't it? My husband takes time off from work and lives in the woods. I don't have to cook supper and have more time to write;it's a win-win situation for all. He came in last night - late - grinning from ear to ear. He had shot his second deer of the season. I tried to explain to him that there was no more room in the freezer, but that didn't seem to faze his enthusiasm. He lives to hunt.

You would never know that he was a city boy. It's true. In fact- and I whisper this as I sit deep in the heart of the Lone Start State - he's not even from the south!!!! When I first acquired him, he didn't know a mule from a donkey. But, my father and I have made a true Texan out of him.

When we first moved into our house that sits on the far side of my father's ranch - Jason, my deer-hunter, was determined to embrace country life to the fullest. He wasn't happy until we acquired all different kinds of livestock - even chickens. Of course, it fell my lot to gather the eggs and this isn't so bad - unless you get a handful of chicken snake. So, he had his animals and I had my flowers. My roses were my passion. My father mentioned to Jason one day that the chicken fertilizer - or manure or whatever you want to call it - would be really good for my roses. Dad explained to Jason that the chicken poop was strong and would have to be diluted with water.

A few days later, my dad and I went to gather the eggs. Imagine our consternation when we stepped into the chicken pen and found three five gallon buckets of water sitting at various points in the pen. The chickens were milling about them - really, not paying them much mind at all. I couldn't imagine! The chickens had their little troughs for feed and fresh water - so what was the meaning of the large buckets filled with water?

My dad stood there a moment - and then he laughed. And laughed. He then related the conversation that he had with Jason. In my city boy's mind - he had set up the chickens three little commodes. Later, he was a little embarrassed to relate that he had envisioned the chickens perching on top of the five gallon buckets - backwards, mind you - depositing their little offerings in the water. My father gently explained to him that he needed to shovel the manure off the ground and mix it with the water. The chickens could not be potty trained!

Irregardless, time has turned my sweetheart into a Texas cowboy. In the evening, when I see him riding in on his horse, his hat pushed back from his face and that curly blond hair just waiting to be smoothed away from his brow - I melt inside. There's just something about a Texas cowboy - even a transplanted one.

I love to write about Texas men. They open doors for women, and they say 'yes ma'am' to every female, regardless of their age. Texas men go without their shirts - yes, Matthew McConaughey hails from Texas. And, Lord in heaven - Texas men know how to kiss! Of course, we Texas girls are not shabby at it either and with a little training, my deer-hunter has earned his Texas certificate in lip-lock proficiency. To tell you the truth, he could teach a class!

I write erotic romances - about Texas men. Jason reads them, and there are times when he recognizes himself in the character. Every time we make love, he falls over afterward and declares - 'there's you another hot-scene for your book, honey'. He's right, God bless him. I ought to keep a notebook by the bed and take notes. The only request that he has made about my books is that I insert illustrations. He says that they would double their selling ability, if I would put in a few well-drawn pictures. He may be right!

Here is my latest Texas treat. It's COWBOY HEAT, the first in the Hell Yeah! series.

Aron McCoy is determined that he will never fall into another woman's trap.
He has spent his life taking care of the ranch and his brothers. Thinking that
he will provide a stable home life for his siblings, he marries a money-
grubbing woman who has eyes for everyone but him. So he has learned
his lesson. The only thing a woman is good for is sex.. . . until Libby comes

Libby Fontaine is trying to cram a lifetime of living into a few short
months. She is in remission from leukemia and for the first time, she has
a glimmer of hope for a normal life. Her dream of living on a ranch is
brought to reality when a friend of the family offers her an opportunity to
work at Tebow ranch for the summer as housekeeper and cook. This will be
more than a job to Libby, for she will get the chance to be around the man
that she has been in love with for most of her life.

When Aron lays eyes on Libby it is instantaneous lust - he wants her with every
fiber of his being. But Libby confesses her innocence and Aron backs off - he
has nothing to offer a girl who deserves white lace and promises. Then Aron
catches Libby pleasuring herself in the stock tank and hears her cry out his name
- and the heat is on.

My husband and I live in central Texas. We have a home on some of the most beautiful Hill Country land you've ever seen. Jason handles investments and I write erotic romances. Part of the year we spend in my RV traveling from state park to state park, accompanied by the BOSS, our dog. I am happy as long as I have my two men, my kindle full of erotic romances and access to the internet.