Monday, December 15, 2014

She's a bad girlfriend. Can she change her wicked ways? Black Hills Desperado by D.L. Jackson @dlaree69 @DecadentPub #BlackHillsWolves

Black Hills Desperado
Black Hills Wolves
D. L. Jackson
She’s a bad girlfriend.

Nothing Xio Davis does is right. When she abandons her pack, riding out of town on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle, she finds she’s bitten off more than she can chew. First, it’s small-time crimes, then bank robbery. As Xio sinks into the criminal underworld, the FBI catches up with her. Now, she’s got one way out: snitch.

When Xio turns state's evidence against a Mexican drug lord, Agent Marcus Cazador steps up to take her home, giving up his career, his place in the El Paso pack, and all he knows to protect her.

Xio claims she’s not the same wolf who left ten years before, but can she convince Marcus she’s changed her wicked ways? Or will the Black Hills be the end of the road on her long journey to redemption?


....“A bank that’s never been robbed. There’s a first time for everything.”
....State-of-the-art security. Armed rent-a-cops stationed on either side of the double doors. A busy street making a speedy getaway difficult. A lot of excellent reasons for Xio Davis get back in her Beemer and get out of Dodge.
....None good enough to deter her from a challenge.
....The two men who’d ridden with her climbed out. The bigger of the pair, Juan, rolled his shoulders before reaching into the cab for a ski mask and weapon, then passing it off to Miguel. “Catch.” He grabbed another and tossed it over the roof to her.
....She caught it, slammed a full magazine home, and tucked it under her duster. With a wink, she retrieved her Day of the Dead mask from a recent celebration. “Okay, boys. Let’s break their lucky streak.”
....Diego gave her the freedom to do whatever she wanted these days, as long as she kept his bed warm, and whenever she left his hacienda, she remembered to take her escorts with her. Maybe it was his way of keeping his eye on her—or on his money. Whatever the reason, she didn’t like it, so Xio kept the boys too busy to stick their noses in her personal business. Too busy to get close to the truth.
....He didn’t smack her around or pass her among his friends and associates. And his men had long ago learned to respect her personal space. After one of his new hires had groped her, the man had lost a couple fingers and ended up in a body cast. Diego didn’t have to say a word or do anything to intervene. She’d policed her own problems.
....Her boyfriend had grown busy with cartel business and that suited her fine. Never present, all the better. They didn’t love each other, but had an understanding. He provided for her, protected her when she needed it. She scratched his itch and spent his money.
....But life had grown dull. Triggered by a botched bank robbery in El Paso, a restlessness had begun to swell inside her. Why, after all these years, she didn’t know, but it was there, a constant reminder she’d shackled her true nature in her quest to be free.
....Her wolf constantly paced in her consciousness. Xio found herself unable to settle, shift, or run in the wilds as her inner beast demanded. Not because she physically couldn’t but because outside forces conspired against her. That was what happened when you lived with humans.
....Wolf—dog—it didn’t matter. All made great sausage for hungry families in the villages surrounding the Sanchez ranch, and it was a risk she hadn’t taken in the ten years’ time since she’d almost ended up in a taco on some family’s dinner table.
....She didn’t want to be in Mexico, and she didn’t want to be with Diego anymore, but she really didn’t have a choice or anywhere else to go. Hence, the reason she’d crossed the border for this small amusement. Perhaps she could get some of the pent-up energy out. Open a valve and vent.
....Speaking of which….
....Xio pulled the mask over her eyes and strode through the front doors of the bank. Her two team members flanked her.
....No one seemed to notice them yet. Not very observant for a bank that claimed to have a robbery-free record. Deciding to wake them all up, she yanked an AKS-762 assault rifle—with a custom stock and barrel that catered to her size—from under her canvas duster and fired several rounds into the ceiling. Chunks of plaster rained down on the patrons in the lobby. Multiple people screamed and several of the customers hit the floor before she needed to provide them with instruction. Conversely, not everyone appeared to be a rocket scientist. Not a problem. She had great communication skills and hearing protection in her ears.
....Xio fired a second time, bringing down more of the ceiling. She pointed at the floor. “On your bellies, ladies and gentlemen.” As though doing the “wave” at a sporting event, they dropped.
....She strolled to the front of bank, kicked over one of the posts holding a velvet rope, and stepped over it. She’d never been patient enough to wait in line and wasn’t about to run their little maze now. Xio removed her earplugs and tuned in with her wolf hearing, listening for anyone who might want to be a hero. Not a peep—some crying, but that was par for the course.
....Not a daredevil in the bunch.
....She eyed the staff on the floor. The one thing all bankers feared was a robber who jumped the teller line, and she was about to become their worst nightmare. They’d taken classes, trained for robberies, all bank staff did—and what did their security specialists warn them about? Her—joining them behind the counter, up close and personal, with a loaded weapon.
....“Palms on the floor and your ankles crossed. I haven’t got all day.”
....She stopped at one of the windows and without the use of her hands, jumped up on the marble countertop. At five feet two, the feat should have been impossible for a human female of her stature, but she wasn’t completely human—and impossible wasn’t in her vocabulary. In fact, that was why she’d come here, chosen this robbery-proof bank. It was a matter of honor, and a little about her ego. The branch had never been successfully robbed, and she’d decided to change that.
....It was Wednesday, the day after their big shipment came in, and the third of the month, when a large majority of seniors got their Social Security checks. Prime for the picking. The setup couldn’t be any sweeter.
....She cocked her head and listened for sirens in the distance. Five minutes out, if her hearing served correct. “Here’s how we are going to do this. When I tap you on the shoulder, you get up and fill the backpack with cash. No bait bills. I can tell what they are, so don’t fuck with me.” She hopped off the counter and behind the teller line, nudging the first person there with the flash suppressor on the end of her weapon. “Move.”
....With tears in her eyes, the teller staggered to her feet, blubbering something about children at home. Over the last ten years, Xio had heard every story imaginable, and the young woman’s tale did little to change what she planned to do. No, she’d never killed anyone, nor did she intend to start today, but they didn’t know that.
....“Save the speech and stuff the bag.” She shoved the backpack into the blonde’s hands. “Now.”
....The young woman pulled the drawer open and grabbed handfuls of cash, leaving the bait bill in the till as instructed. Xio didn’t need to see the special ultraviolet ink on it to know what it was. Her wolf could smell that it had been handled a multitude of times by the same person. Once the teller finished, Xio shoved her back to the floor and nudged the next. “Your turn.”
....All followed instruction, until she reached the last person, a man. Something about him raised her hackles. She should have listened to the warning, but there were still two minutes left and she’d yet to empty the commercial drawer, where they kept the big money. Greed won over instinct, and Xio toed him with her combat boot. “Up, big boy.”
....And wasn’t that understatement of the year? As he stood, she realized he had to be at least six feet four, dwarfing her tiny frame. He didn’t look like your typical banker, at least not any she’d dealt with in the past, and he sure as hell didn’t smell like a banker.
....Wolf. Shit.
....He looked her in the eyes, holding her gaze for a few seconds, making her trigger-finger itch. She wore a mask from a recent Day of the Dead celebration and had salted her words with a Spanish accent, so unless he could pick out her eyes in a lineup, he wouldn’t be able to identify her.
....Regardless, she found his action brazen, considering she’d already fired several rounds, though not enough he’d think her magazine empty. None of the others so much as looked at her. This one had the balls to take a mental snapshot that would help a sketch artist. The last thing she needed. There was also one other thing missing. Fear.
....The feeling prodding her before roared to life. Cop. Ah, that’s the reason his scent had seemed so familiar. Double shit. Not only was he a cop, but they’d crossed paths before. This was the man, or should she say wolf, who had been on her trail for months, since her gang had slipped up in El Paso. Lord knew she’d tried to ditch him. Once a wolf got a scent of his prey, he didn’t back down. Things had just gone from bad to worse. She wasn’t sure what pack he was from. More than likely the El Paso Cazador in Southern Texas. Wolves didn’t tend to stray too far from their territories, not higher-ranking pack members, anyway. Something told her he was up there in the group, a Beta, if not an Alpha. The stench of authority clung to him.
....Wolf or not, one thing was for certain. He wasn’t here to administer pack law. Suddenly nervous—something that never happened to her—Xio stepped back to put space between them.
....She’d walked them into a trap, and if what she saw in the man’s eyes was correct, a carefully orchestrated one. Her only advantage was that she still had a loaded assault rifle. “We need to leave. Now,” she called out to her crew, who were supposed to be watching the customers in the lobby.
....No sound. No confirmation they’d heard her. Not good. She couldn’t smell them, but that didn’t mean anything. They could be near an air-conditioning vent or fresh-air exchange. Wouldn’t be the first time it’d happened. She chanced a glance back to see what they were doing, and saw no sign of them. Shit! They’d either bailed, left her to take the fall, or they’d already been apprehended while she’d been preoccupied with cleaning out the teller stations.
....As she turned to address the cop, her weapon was wrenched away and the butt caught her in the jaw. Xio dropped like a bag of rocks. Her wolf wasn’t helping her out of this one. That was what she got for letting her ego get involved.
....“Good morning, Miss Davis. Let me introduce myself. I’m Special Agent Marcus Cazador of the FBI. Didn’t anyone ever tell you banks are most often robbed within the first few minutes of opening? We figured you’d be here, after the invitation we’d extended. Safest bank in Texas. I can see you liked the billboard at the port of entry. You and I have a lot to talk about, but business first.”
....He’d used her real name, one she hadn’t heard in ten years. It sounded strange coming from his mouth, but also right, as though he’d been born to say it. Not good. This man was dangerous in so many ways. “Bite me.”

Preorder Black Hills Desperado from Amazon here.
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Author Bio:
D. L. Jackson is an award-winning author of urban fantasy, science fiction, military romance and erotic romance. She loves to incorporate crazy plot twists, comedy and the unexpected into her worlds. As a U.S. Army veteran, she naturally adores men in uniform and feels the world could always use more. She does her part by incorporating as many sexy soldiers in her novels as she can. When she isn't writing or running the roads, you can often find her online chatting with her peers and readers. Grab a cup of iced coffee, pull up your virtual chair and say hi. She loves emails and blog visits from her readers.
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Thursday, October 9, 2014

Surgery, Bears, and Fiddles?

LJ: Hey, Deb! How’s it going?

DEBBIE: Grrreat!

LJ: Good. Wait…what’s that on your hand?

DEBBIE: A splint.

LJ: Are you okay?

DEBBIE: Never better… Mostly.

LJ: Were you doing jello-shots while singing karaoke on a balance beam again?

DEBBIE: One-handed keg stands while playing a fiddle with my feet.

LJ:  What??

DEBBIE: Why don’t you believe me?

LJ: Oh, I do! After all these years, I don’t doubt it. <shakes head> We talked about this, what might happen…. Oh, never mind. You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do. <sigh> Okay…so what do you mean by “mostly”?

DEBBOE” Okay…so I had Carpal Tunnel Release surgery on my right hand.

LJ: Does it hurt?

DEBBIE: Uh, yeah!

LJ: What about writing?

DEBBIE: I’m poking at the keys with my left hand.

LJ: Go you! And doing a lovely job. So, I saw on FB you had game cams. What all have you caught on video?
Bear Cam.... Gotcha!

DEBBIE: Bears, Deer, coyotes, turkeys, raccoons, ummmm, got a pic of an owl once, a fischer cat. Lots of squirrels. A few strange looking people here and there. Say, we should use one of these camera’s in Do No Harm, our next Pararescueman story. Ya know, how the bad guy kidnaps the Doc and the guys go after him? Maybe they can us a trail cam for surveillance. Of course if they knew where he was they’d just go barging in, so, maybe not.

LJ: LOL! I see they didn’t do a carpal tunnel on your brain….

DEBBIE: Funny! Also where we hunt, there’s
I can see dead people....
been this dude digging up an old settlement from back in the 1700s that was on the top of the mountain.

LJ: Sounds like an excellent setting for a story. Wait, haven’t we discussed that one?

DEBBIE: Yup. Some old dude ran from a treason conviction and the fate of death by hanging and brought his followers to the top of this Vermont mountain. Well, short story is, he left after a couple years, but most of his followers stayed for somewhere between 10-12 years until some epidemic wiped most of them out and then the remaining survivors left.

All didn't end well (yes, pun intended)
LJ: Bury the body, guys! Throwing it down the well has a way of coming back to bite you in the butt. <shakes head> So, someone found the original site?

DEBBIE: Yeah! Well this dude has been up there digging up the old foundations of houses and armories and mills and all kinds of stuff. Which is cool and all but….

LJ: But….??

DEBBIE: But what happens when he comes across the graves of all the children and adults that died up there? What happens when all those souls are disturbed and released? What if they aren’t happy about being disturbed? What happens if there is an evil soul among them?

LJ: Yeah…thinking we might have to revisit this story idea. And hey – you’re right there.

DEBBIE: Of course I’m right, sheesh. But anyway, let me just tell you, walking around up there in the dark is not fun. I’m more worried about the spirits of these people than the mama bear with her three cubs. And believe me she’s worrisome. Who knows what kind of evil this digger dude may have stirred up? Now what?

LJ: You can go up and interview ghosts and take pictures and stuff. During the day, of course. Tho, rumor has it time isn’t the same for spirits, so they might get you in daylight just as easily as in the dark. I mean poof there they are…grabbing you with their icy, boney fingers…dragging you toward that well. <nods> Yeah, even ghosts don’t learn from their mistakes. Doomed to repeat them over and over and over.

DEBBIE: Ya know? You are absolutely of NO help trying to calm my fears! And I DO NOT interview ghosts.

LJ: I know, right? I mean, what would you ask them? “Dude, so not cool how it all went down for you. Guessing there was no white light for you to go into. Bummer. How’s the afterlife treatin’ ya?” Pft. And they’d be all old-English and stuff. “I know not of what you speak. Get back, ye devil. Be gone!”

DEBBIE: <huge eye roll> Somehow I don’t believe you are taking my fears seriously.

LJ: What?? Of course I am!

DEBBIE: Uh-huh. Anyway, I think we should write a story about what might happen if these souls got released. We’ve talked about it before, but I have a different idea now, lol.

LJ: Did you get my get well card?

DEBBIE: Yes. Have I failed to tell you that and thank you?? Please forgive my bad manners. It was very kind of you. Actually <sigh> it was the only one I received. L

LJ: Well, everyone is about the Internet and FB and IM and all that.

DEBBIE: Soooooooo, I’m off to bow hunting safety course so I can use my super cool crossbow this season. We shall chat about that plot.

LJ: Ooo, I see the crossbow working with the gravesite digging story. Hmmm….

DEBBIE: Oh, btw, I got Kyle in our Decadent 1Night Stand story to the hotel and stripped. Your turn to introduce him to the doc. Mwahahaha!

LJ: On it! WooHoo!
Pararescuemen 1Night Stand Series
BUY: Amazon
Second Chance
....Lieutenant Colin Beckett, US Air Force special ops, lost his wife in childbirth while off on a mission. Two years later, he’s still trying to come to grips with the guilt that tortures him. And to complicate matters, he finds himself undeniably attracted to his wife's sister, Emily. Struggling with his desire, he tells himself he doesn’t deserve a second chance with such an amazing woman.
....Emily wants Colin in her life and her bed. Enlisting the help of Colin's teammates and Madame Eve's 1Night Stand dating service, she plans to prove to Colin he can have everything he lost once again.
....Will their one night lead to the happy ending she longs for or the loneliness he thinks he deserves?
BookSecond Chance - A 1Night Stand Story, Book 1 
Genre: Contemporary, erotic romance, military romance
Heat level: 4
Word count – 12k
Cover art by LFD Designs
....Six months ago, Siobhan Cantrell’s world was changed forever by a sniper’s bullet. The incident transformed her from a secure confident woman to a recluse, afraid to leave her own home. When her friends urge her to re-enter the world of the living, they suggest Madame Eve’s 1Night Stand dating service. Nervous, she signs up and learns the company is renown for in-depth background checks and safe encounters. So, how dangerous could it be?
....Sergeant Bobby Martin has witnessed Madame Eve’s magic firsthand. His teammate found true love through her service. Still a skeptic but giving in to peer pressure, the Air Force Pararescueman signs himself up. When he meets Siobhan, his doubts fly out the window—unfortunately bullets start flying in them. Determined to protect her from a sniper that won’t give up, Bobby vows to keep her safe. As their chemistry ramps up, so does the sniper’s attempts.
....Can Bobby keep Siobhan alive, or will the killer catch them in his sights?
BookIn My Sights - A 1Night Stand Story, Book 2 
Genre: Contemporary, military romance, erotic romance, suspense/thriller
Heat level: 4
Word count – 16k
Cover art by Fantasia Frog Designs
BUY: Amazon | Barnes & Noble
Explosive Conditions
  ....Staff Sergeant Zeke “Diz” Matthews never forgot the woman he rescued from a burning boat. She invades his dreams at night and thoughts of her distract his days. Fed up with his cranky change in demeanor, his teammates urge him to take advantage of Madame Eve's 1Night Stand dating service.
  ....Kaci Phillips needs to start a new life. But she struggles to move on from the horrific event that claimed her whole family. When she reconnects with the sexy Air Force pararescueman who saved her six months earlier, the weight she's been carrying at last lifts.
  ....What begins as a hot, frenzied night of passion in each other’s arms ends with gunfire, blood, and the threat of death. With the odds stacked against them, can Zeke and Kaci defuse such explosive conditions?

BookExplosive Conditions - A 1Night Stand Story, Book 3 
Genre: Contemporary, adventure, erotic romance, military romance, suspense/thriller
Heat level: 4
Word count – 17k
Cover art by Fiona Jayde

Coming Soon...
Do No Harm
Book 4 of the 1Night Stand Pararescuemen Series

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Lost Melody #romance

Fellow author, Dolores Maroney is the author of Lost Melody. This is a wonderful contemporary romance, and if you like music, then this is the story for you! She's won the Virginia Romance Writers - HOLT Medallion Award of Merit for this captivating tale. And is in the running for RWA Greater Detroit Romance Writers. Finalist - Booksellers Best Award. Good luck, Dolores!

Lost Melody
By Dolores Maroney

....Out of sight, out of mind. That’s what Melody Ravenswood was counting on when she invented a new life for herself as Mel Harper in the small farming community of Willowbrook, Texas. She could be herself, whoever that was. Having long since lost her identity to being the only child and sole beneficiary of a legendary rock and roller, she was finally going to live the normal life she craved – a job, a house, friends and no paparazzi.
....Hank Travis is the last thing Mel needs in her new life. The local boy turned rock and roll star’s sexy, won’t take no for an answer pursuit makes her long for a life she has only dreamed of. Before Mel can have the future she wants with Hank, she must confront her past and find the Melody she lost along the way.
Genre: Contemporary erotic romance
Pages: 266
Available: ebook & print
2014 HOLT Medallion Award of Merit - Virginia Romance Writers
Finalist - 2014 Booksellers Best Award - Greater Detroit Romance Writers 
2013 Reader's Choice Award Finalist - RomCon
Winner - 2012 Melody of Love Contest - Music City Romance Writers
BUY Links:
Amazon Kindle |
Kobo |



Hank leaned back in his desk chair. A stack of invoices awaited his attention but images of Mel Harper eclipsed everything. She had stepped into his line of sight and somehow lodged herself into his consciousness, refusing to go away.
He could still see her rose-petal lips telling him she was new in town. Even though he had been on tour for most of the last six months, the information had not been news. He had lived in Willowbrook his entire life. If Mel Harper had been here for long, he would have remembered her. Just like he would never forget the first moment he saw her.
He had been so absorbed in the song he was listening to and trying to concentrate on his dad’s tax returns, he hadn’t noticed her at first. Something had caught his eye, and he’d glanced up. There she’d stood in the doorway, clutching a greasy bag in a white knuckled grip while she balanced two paper hot-cups in her other hand. Large, sky-blue eyes framed by long lashes had taken his measure, and he’d gladly returned the favor.
At that point, if she had turned out to be a stalker he wouldn’t have cared. Talk about visions coming to life. She was the subject of every wet dream he’d ever had—small, perky, and sexy as hell with those curves of hers. Dressed in her stylish business attire, a lurid fantasy involving a secretary, a desk, and a fair amount of sexual harassment had instantly popped into his head.
He’d managed to shake the fantasy out of his head, but he couldn’t shake her image. The fact she was a reporter didn’t seem to matter much to his body even though a small portion of his brain still urged caution where the species was concerned. What would it hurt to indulge his libido a little bit? It wasn’t like he was going to see her again anytime soon. Willowbrook was small, but he didn’t spend much time in town when he was at home, and few people came to the farm. Avoiding her would be easy enough.
He closed his eyes and let the image take shape in his mind.
She couldn’t have been more than five-foot-two, petite, but not fragile. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her skin reminded him of warm milk, creamy and smooth.
At first, he’d thought she had to be a fan—perhaps a crazy one. Being the drummer for the rock band BlackWing, he’d had his share of pushy fans. It wouldn’t have been the first time one had tracked him down, but he’d never had one walk right in without invitation and bring breakfast, too. Crazy fan or not, she’d been about the sexiest thing he had ever seen. His hormones had snapped to attention faster than he could get his feet under him. When she’d turned and he’d seen her ass and the way the rose-colored fabric molded itself to her curves as she walked…. Well, there’d been no stopping the fantasies at that point.
Then she’d introduced herself, and his desire had hit a brick wall. Worse than a fan. Worse even than a stalker.
The wet dream was a reporter.
The revelation should have killed his interest, and it had for a few minutes. He shouldn’t be thinking about her, not in any way, shape, or form. But here he sat trying to concentrate on work, and there she was, front and center in his thoughts. Sexy. She sure as hell didn’t shop locally. Those were big city clothes—understated, sophisticated, classy. And either she didn’t know who he was or she was a very good actress as well as a reporter.
He acknowledged the improbability, but with reporters, you never knew. Some would go to any length to get a story. He needed to steer clear of her, avoid further contact, keep temptation at arm’s length. He had plenty to do. Enough to keep him busy and far away from town for the next few months. He didn’t have to see her. He didn’t have to talk to her.
He wrestled his runaway libido under control and turned his attention to the blinking light on his message machine. He listened to two messages from his publicist, one from his agent, and one from his father indicating he would bring a friend along for dinner. The last and most important message was from Sir Jonathan Youngblood in London.
He mentally calculated the time difference between Texas and London. The RavensBlood cover album held top priority, so he made the overseas call. He left yet another voice mail for Sir Jonathan. Frustrated with his lack of success, he traded his office for a soundproof rehearsal room.
Hours later, he noticed the yellow light on the control panel next to the door blinking, signaling he had company. He glanced at his watch. Damn. Hopefully, his dad already had the steaks on. His stomach sent up its own audible signal. He’d done it again, lost himself in the music, and forgotten about everything else. Oh well. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last either.
He shut off the equipment, stretched stiff muscles, and urged Betty Boop to her feet. As he stepped from the barn, the smell of mesquite and grilling beef greeted him. He locked the pedestrian door and stretched again.
Endless Texas sky, azure blue in the late afternoon light, was a welcome sight. No matter how hectic his life got he always had this to come back to. The farm, and the acres of planted fields, grounded him. He loved the rambling old farmhouse he’d inherited from his maternal grandparents. The house was solidly rooted in family history, and the farm predictable in its seasonal routines. Solid and predictable were good things as far as he was concerned. But above all else, Willowbrook was where he lived his life. It was home.
He paused, inhaling the warm, humid air. The smell of turned earth and cut grass was as familiar and comforting as his worn jeans. He surveyed the expanse of young cotton plants growing in the fertile black soil, and peace settled over him. The weight of the world could be on his shoulders and a stroll through these fields would make it all go away. His grandfather had taught him the value of a good long walk to organize his thoughts and calm his soul.
After his mother died, he’d worn a new path through the fields, watering the plants with his tears as he went. Some might think farm life was isolating, but he knew better. In the fields, he felt part of something big, bigger than he could fathom.
The land comforted, but he longed for another kind of comfort—the kind that came from sharing his life with another. He would never leave the farm, but he hoped to one day find someone who loved it as much as he did, maybe have some kids he could pass the farm down to, but until that happened, he’d continue on his present path. He had the best of two worlds, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.
His stomach growled again, urging him to follow his nose to the source of the heavenly smell. He headed toward the patio and grill beneath the ancient oak tree, hoping his dad and whomever he’d brought with him had saved him a Lone Star.
Henry waved a greasy spatula at him in greeting. “It’s about time you got out here. We’ve been waiting for you. The steaks are almost done.”
Thanks to the girth of the old oak, supposedly planted by his great-grandfather over one hundred years ago, he couldn’t see the ‘we’ his dad spoke of. He rounded the tree and stopped cold in his tracks. He caught a glimpse of leg and his blood pressure skyrocketed. The guest wasn’t one of his dad’s domino playing buddies. That leg belonged to a female. A young, shapely female. One who painted her toenails candy-apple red.
No. He wouldn’t do this to me. Not my own father. Hank licked his dry lips and closed the distance. What had she told his father in order to finagle an invitation to dinner? It must have been good to get him to go along with it. Dad knows how I feel about reporters.
He stalked past his father. Mel Harper occupied his favorite lawn chair. She stood as he approached. Holding a sweating glass of white wine in one hand, she tucked the fingers of her free hand in the pocket of her shorts. Lord help him if he thought she’d looked good in her fancy business clothes. That was nothing compared to how shorts and a tank top showed off her curves. He’d never get her out of his mind. Not after tonight. A bead of perspiration clung to her hairline and his fingers itched to sweep it away for her. Better yet, if he put his lips there…
“It’s good to see you again, Hank,” she said with an innocent smile that didn’t fool him one bit.
What remained of his good mood vanished faster than biscuits at a church supper. “What are you doing here?”

Author Bio:
.... Dolores has been married to the same wonderful guy for thirty-six years. They have two grown daughters, a son-in-law, two granddogs and a grandcat. She makes her home in the wilds of New Jersey (yes, there are wilds in NJ). A Texan with roots that go all the way back to the Republic of Texas, Dolores says you can take the girl out of Texas, but...well, you know the rest.
....She's been a stay-at-home mom for most of her married life - a job she says is under-rated on the difficulty scale. Now that her girls are grown, she's still available to them anytime, day or night, but she fills her days with writing romance novels and reading.
....Dolores is also an award winning author of erotic romance under the pseudonym, Roz Lee.

Friday, February 21, 2014

It's Official -- Release Day has Arrived!

We are thrilled to announce the release of the third book in our 1Night Stand Pararescueman Series: Explosive Conditions! We packed as much action and romance as we could into it. Let us know what you think. We'd love to hear from you!

OH - and be sure to check out the contest listed at the end of this blog!

Explosive Conditions
A 1Night Stand Story
Pararescuemen Series – Book 3

....Staff Sergeant Zeke “Diz” Matthews never forgot the woman he rescued from a burning boat. She invades his dreams at night and thoughts of her distract his days. Fed up with his cranky change in demeanor, his teammates urge him to take advantage of Madame Eve's 1Night Stand dating service.
....Kaci Phillips needs to start a new life. But she struggles to move on from the horrific event that claimed her whole family. When she reconnects with the sexy Air Force pararescueman who saved her six months earlier, the weight she's been carrying at last lifts.
....What begins as a hot, frenzied night of passion in each other’s arms ends with gunfire, blood, and the threat of death. With the odds stacked against them, can Zeke and Kaci defuse such explosive conditions?

Genre: Contemporary, military romance, erotic romance, suspense/thriller
Heat level: 4
Word count – 17k
Cover art by Fiona Jayde


....Glancing up, he nodded to the captain in the pilothouse, who returned the gesture and gave him a friendly smile. Zeke tied off the tender, stepped onto the swim platform, and made his way up to a shaded teak deck.
....He bit back the urge to whistle. As far as boats went, this one was impressive. He entered the ship’s interior and pushed his sunglasses up on his head. Crisp white linen covered a table to his right. In the center, a silver bucket with ice chilled a bottle of champagne, and two crystal flutes flanked the bubbly.
....Nice.....A quick scan of the rest of the room left him with the impression of lavish comfort. Somehow, the mix of gold colors and warm-toned wood eased his angst. Yeah, he shouldn’t let the location of his one-night stand detract from his blind date. Who gave a crap if the boat reminded him of Kaci? His mission was to get laid, so he could clear his head and move on.
....Beyond the room divider, he noticed the end of a bar. Was there a bottle of Scotch stocked back there? Because he sure could use a shot to take the edge off. As he rounded the partition, he stumbled to a stop. A petite woman with short red hair stood at the bar with her back to him. The plush carpet must have masked his approach because she tapped her fingernails on the granite counter, offering no sign of being aware of him.
....His gaze dipped below her copper strands to her backless dress. Damn. All that creamy skin sent lust jolting through him. Not to mention the way the black fabric hugged her like a wet suit, displaying one mighty fine looking ass. The hemline stopped mid-thigh, and at the very bottom of her long, toned legs, stilettos graced her feet, adding at least four inches to her height. Oh yeah, he could work with that.
....He cleared his throat. “Uh, hi. My name’s Zeke. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The redhead turned to face him, and the blood rushed from his head. Sea green eyes met his. Shock rolled through him with such force, his whole axis tilted.

In our Garland & Gould book, Love & Curses, who cursed the tattoo artist. Noooo, you don't have to buy it (although you could - LOL). The answer can be found here on the blog. Send your answer to Debbie at

All those who send Debbie the correct answer will be in the running to win their choice of a tin of chocolate hearts from Pure Madness Chocolates (pictured right) or a $20 Amazon gift card!

Contest closes Monday, 8 p.m. EST. Winner announced the following day. Good luck!


Monday, February 17, 2014

Crack that Whip Girl!

Debbie: Oh stop your blushing, I’m not spilling any of your secrets…yet…

Laura: What? I don’t have any secrets. You’re the one with the hip boots, chickie!

Debbie: I meant the writing whip, and for your info, I don’t have hip boots. We haven’t taken up waterfowl hunting yet.

Laura: Riiiight.

Debbie: Okay, so I guess its pony up time or whatever that saying is. We fell WAY below our goal last year. Granted our goal may have been a tad bit aggressive.

Laura: Yeah, probably. But at least we got ONE book out.

Debbie: As opposed to the ten we wanted, lol. But we need to do soooo much better. We do have three stories in progress, I just feel that with the slow down from holidays and this rotten cold I’ve had for six weeks that its hard getting that momentum back.

Laura: Hmm…and now I’ve got that cold. You sent it to me, didn’t you?

Debbie: Hey, I’m all about sharing. Anyway, I know we’ve never cranked ‘em out the way some do. We have our own quirky methods, and I wonder if it’s different for those of us that co-author. Well, I guess it would be, but maybe we can brainstorm some ideas to get our butts in gear and share for others that might find them helpful.

Laura: So what are you talking, like a list or something? Ooo, I like lists!

Debbie: *eye roll* This I know. Sure, a list is fine if that makes you happy. Go…Now…I’m timing you.

Laura: Ummm.

#5 Step away from the pastries.

Debbie: Pastries? That’s the awesome advice we are going with?

Laura: I don’t know about you, Deb, but I find it darn difficult to type anything with a bearclaw in one hand. That single-finger poking one key after another really cuts down on my daily word count.

Debbie: Oh good God, really? Just shove it in and get back to work. No need to nibble.

Laura: Good gosh! You would do that to a bearclaw? Just muck it down like it was a… a… a common donut? You’d probably slam down a cheese Danish, too. One bite. Gone. A bearclaw needs to be savored, enjoyed…as does a cheese Danish. Cramming it in your mouth in a single bite is just…wrong. I can’t believe this information didn’t come to light earlier. Color me shocked!

Debbie: Cheese Danish???  I think I just threw up in my mouth. A donut is a donut is a donut. No need to get all orgasmic over it. Moving on! What about music? Does that work on getting you motivated?

Laura: What? I’m still distracted by the image of you with an entire bearclaw in your mouth. Your cheeks are puffed out and when you talk little bits of bearclaw shoot out. OMG! You’re choking. I have to do the Heimlich and save you!

Debbie: I don’t talk with my mouth full, my mamma taught me some manners. And you’re in Alabama, darling. How you gonna manage the Heimlich.

Laura: See, I already knew how awesome your mamma is, which is why I was so shocked to see those bits of bearclaw flying out. Okay. So you’re up for #4. Annnd go!

Debbie: I told you…Oh never mind. What about writing yourself a weekly goal, like six thousand words a week? Would that help you get back into the swing of writing?

Laura: Is that #4?

Debbie: Holy crap. Have you had your caffeine today? Please try to keep up. We are trying to fix a problem here and help others out at the same time. Sheesh.

Laura: Yep. And people like lists cause they’re orderly and easy to remember.

Debbie: okay I give up. Here we go.

1.     Make yourself weekly realistic goals.

2.     Read. I always want to write after reading a good book.

3.     Make notes throughout your day. If something about your story comes to mind during the day, jot it down. Keeps you energy for your story going.

4.     Brainstorm. When we brainstorm together it always gets me jazzed up to write. Plus we are able to work through roadblocks much easier when we talk it out.

5.     Last but not least, WRITE! Just sit down and do it. If its been a while and you think it sounds like crap, then rewrite. But bottom line is if you don’t start now, you won’t do it tomorrow either.

Laura: Now you’re talking. There’s a list both new writers and established authors can live by.

Debbie: No thanks to you. And, no, strep throat is no excuse for flightiness. Take your meds, get caffeine and sleep (not necessarily in that order) and be ready to get back to business. I’m cracking down. This is your final warning.

Laura: Sure. (cough cough). I’m going to bed.

Debbie: Ummm, what about plugging our Friday release???

Debbie: Laura??? Helloooooo??? Why must I do everything? Well I’m only giving a teaser. You guys will have to tune back in on Friday for the excerpt and good stuff. Like maybe even a giveaway or two. HAHAHA! She’s gone to bed so, yeah, there will be two giveaways Friday. Teach her for going to bed. Sick smick.

Explosive Conditions
Book 3 of the Pararescuemen series
Blurb:....Staff Sergeant Zeke “Diz” Matthews never forgot the woman he rescued from a burning boat. She invades his dreams at night and thoughts of her distract his days. Fed up with his cranky change in demeanor, his teammates urge him to take advantage of Madame Eve's 1Night Stand dating service.
....Kaci Phillips needs to start a new life. But she struggles to move on from the horrific event that claimed her whole family. When she reconnects with the sexy Air Force pararescueman who saved her six months earlier, the weight she's been carrying at last lifts.
....What begins as a hot, frenzied night of passion in each other’s arms ends with gunfire, blood, and the threat of death. With the odds stacked against them, can Zeke and Kaci defuse such explosive conditions?

Debbie: That’s all we got folks. If you have any great ideas to help an author or two get over a writing slump, leave us a comment. Would love some more advice.