Thursday, 16 January 2014

Find a paranormal romance 'Temptation by Fire' today!

Tiffany Allee is visiting, today, and has something pretty hot to share with us, as well as answering some questions to get to know her even better. Read details about her latest paranormal romance and the excerpt she's sharing. There's also a fantastic GIVEAWAY if you live in the US.

CPA-turned-romance-author Tiffany Allee used to battle spreadsheets in Corporate America, and now concentrates on her characters’ battles to find love. Raised in small-town Colorado, Tiffany currently lives in Phoenix, AZ, by way of Chicago and Denver. She is happily married to a secret romantic who tolerates her crazy mutterings.

She writes about ass-kicking heroines and the strong heroes who love them. Her work includes the suspense-driven From the Files of the Otherworlder Enforcement Agency series which revolves around a group of paranormal cops solving crimes and finding love, and Don’t Bite the Bridesmaid, a lighthearted paranormal romance (Entangled Publishing).

Tiffany has an MBA in accounting and nearly a decade of experience in corporate finance. All super useful stuff for a writer who spends far too much time trying to figure out fun ways to keep her characters apart, and interesting ways to kill people (for her books—of course!).

Let's find out a little bit more about Tiffany...
Take yourself back 20 years and tell us if you had any aspirations to become an author at that time.
Yes! I was actually doing my best to write books, but I was young and didn’t get too far. Since I was really into epic fantasy, I mainly planned worlds and their histories and lost interest by the time it came to actually writing the stories. I drew up some pretty great maps for a girl who couldn’t draw! I did get about fifty pages into one book at around that age, but it was essentially fifty pages of backstory about a large cast of heroes (I believe there was at least one elf in the bunch!).
What were you mainly doing as a daily occupation at that time?
I was thirteen, so homework and mowing lawns for extra book money. I eventually moved past the lawns to become a CPA and work in corporate finance.
And today? How do you mainly spend an average day?
Today I write full-time, which requires more time spent doing things other than writing than one might imagine.
Now jump forward 20 years from today. What do you think you’d like to be doing then?
I’ll be writing. I’m very determined. ;)
Good thinking! What’s your preferred genre for reading material?
I love romance (obviously) and will read just about any subgenre. I also love thrillers/mysteries, fantasy, and nearly anything speculative. I enjoy both young adult and adult fiction, although most of my reading time is spent with adult books. I will try just about anything. Voice is very important to me, so if I try a sample and it pulls me right in, I’m usually set for the ride regardless of genre.
I'm reading lots of different genres these days and find the variety quite enlightening. What genre/ sub-genre do you feel comfortable writing in?
I feel most comfortable in romance, particularly in paranormal, fantasy, and contemporary. But I’m a big believer in trying new things that I’m interested in, so I’ll likely be writing in other genres as well.
Yes, again - I agree. I'm writing across different genres and love the challenges each present. What do you think will be the main reading materials within the next decade? Books, some form of portable tablets?
I don’t believe that print books will ever disappear, but I would expect ebooks to slowly continue to take up more market share. It seems like tablets are the preferred method, although I love the e-ink technology in ereaders, so I’ll probably stick with that and print.
In recent years there’s been a movement towards popular cult-type stories- sometimes driven by what’s been popular on TV and the cinema, like Vampire, shifter, time-shift sub-genres. What do you see as being the ideal focus to capture the imagination in 5 years time?
Gosh, I wish I knew—I’d probably start writing in it now if it interested me. The focus in romance lately has seemed to heavily lean toward contemporary (which I love, don’t get me wrong), but I’d love to see more interest in subgenres we don’t see as often like fantasy and science fiction.
Can you give us an idea of what your writing schedules might be like during 2014?
I will be working on books two and three in my Sons of Kane series—book two is out in April. I also have a couple of other books in the planning stages that I will work on this year.

Fast and furious:
Ice cream or chocolate cake? Cake! No, ice cream. No, cake. …Can I have both?
Home made lemonade or rum cocktails? Wow, you force some tough choices. Probably lemonade, but there are days I’d take the rum. ;)
Cycling tour of France or a beach holiday in the Caribbean? France! Probably the cycling would be minimal, but I love the idea of cycling across the French countryside.
A date with a politician, or a date with Gerard Butler? Uh Gerard Butler. How is this even a question? ;)
Children or pets? Pets. I love kids, but I don’t have any yet, so I’ll have to go with my cats.

Great answers, Tiffany, thank you! 
 Tiffany’s Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

Visions of death haunt her . . .

Ava Keller sees the future. When she suffers a horrifying vision of a man’s violent death, she knows from experience nothing she does will stop it from becoming a reality. But when she meets a strong, broken man, he makes her want to believe in second chances.
Vengeance consumes him . . .
Tortured by his past, Karson has worked tirelessly to wreak vengeance on the demons who murdered his family. But when Ava inadvertently disrupts his intricate plan for revenge, his focus shifts to an all-consuming need to keep her alive and in his arms.
Love could save their souls . . .
Thrown together by fate, Ava and Karson explore their new feelings and discover hope for the future. But they must battle the demons threatening humanity to find a destiny worthy of their love.

*****GIVEAWAY *****
a Rafflecopter giveaway If you are US based there's a $20 Gift Card and a signed print copy of Tiffany's novel: 'don't bite the Bridesmaid.'

Click the Rafflecopter to get your name in the draw!

Thank you for visiting Tiffany. Best wishes with your tour for 'Temptation By Fire'.

Read on and you'll find a fantastic excerpt for your coffee break read!
Monstrous. That was the only word for it. Deep reds and yellows flashed at me, hurting my eyes. The sparkles were almost enough to put me right over the edge. What the heck were those things?
Rhinestones? Who wore rhinestones anymore?
Only Miriam.
“What do you think, Ava?” Miriam asked.
I bit my lip, searching my mind for a way to tell her that it was the fugliest thing I’d ever seen without off ending her. I cast a quick glance about us. Thanks to the after-dinner hour, the hospital cafeteria where we sat at a chipped Formica-topped table was almost empty. No one else seemed to notice us, or the horrible dress that my best friend was waving around. But combined with the smell of disinfectant that clung to the stark white walls and pastel plastic furniture, the dress was enough to make me dizzy.
Nope. There was no way to be polite.
“I think it’s horrible,” I admitted. Miriam’s fashion sense tended toward the wild side, but that dress crossed a line. Besides the garish sequins, the neckline looked like it would hit her navel.
“Really?” Miriam held the dress at arm’s length and studied it with a critical eye. “I thought it might be nice for the graduation party. I don’t graduate from medical school every day. Might be a good chance to wear something saucy.”
I suppressed a shudder at the idea of wearing something so flashy in public. But that was Miriam. Brave and fun and willing to journey into the scariest places fashion offered. Despite our differences, we’d been best friends ever since the day in middle school when Miriam decided we would be.
Miriam got what Miriam wanted.
She was also my favorite person in the world. So it worked out pretty darn well for me.
“Besides, once I start my residency, I won’t be out of scrubs for years,” she said. “There’s only so much you can do to make scrubs look good.”
The ache that had settled into my chest ever since the reality of Miriam leaving had hit me flared into pain. I was twenty-five for crying out loud, far too old to be using my best friend as a security blanket, even if she was leaving me alone in Chicago to pursue her dream of being a medical doctor in New York City. Mentally quashing the loneliness, I forced a grin.
My grin didn’t fool her and she frowned at me, then shoved the dress back into a Nordstrom bag. “You’re tougher than you think.”
“I know,” I said automatically. My fear of getting physically near people—heck, even being in the same room as large groups—was the source of many, many, many of our arguments. Especially lately. The last thing I wanted was to get into it again. Miriam was a gem, but she spent way too much time worrying about me.
Some things weren’t fixable.
I pushed down the self-pity the thought caused. The emotion was silly, self-indulgent, and unfounded. Sure, I wasn’t exactly sociable because of the constraints placed on me by my curse, but I still had a decent life. One that was a heck of a lot better than most people’s.
As long as I was careful not to touch anyone.
“So, I need to get as much Ava-time in as I can before I go. What are you doing tonight? You should come with me to find something to wear to the party, since you have to compete against this amazing dress.”
Compete against that? So not my style. The dress was a walking banner proclaiming Miriam to be vivacious and outgoing.
And more than a bit of a daredevil. If my clothes had a sign attached, it would identify me as “cautious,” or just scream “don’t touch.” There was no competition. And shopping? A sudden need to be out of this place, alone and in my own space, hit, and I tugged on my sleeves.
Miriam’s gaze shifted, just enough that I could tell she noticed. Awesome friend that she was, she pretended she hadn’t. “Actually, I’m a little beat,” she said. “Maybe I could bring a movie over? Something filled with angst and love and Colin Firth.”
“Are you ever getting out of the Colin Firth phase?”
She pushed up from the table, face serious. “Colin Firth isn’t a phase, Ava. He’s a way of life.”
“He’s a tad refined for my taste, but”— I stood and pushed my chair in—“I wouldn’t want to deprive you of something so important.”
Miriam turned to walk out of the cafeteria when she suddenly froze, her eyes widened, and her gaze locked on something over my shoulder. She let out a quiet whistle. “Wow, cute. Forget Colin Firth.”
As casually as I could, I snuck a glance behind me.
The man was anything but cute.
He could have been anywhere from his late twenties to midthirties. His good looks weren’t marred by the thick and ropey scar that ran down the side of his face and neck. I could see him playing Double Oh Seven, not Darcy. But the way he carried himself—arrogant but guarded—seemed out of place in the quiet hospital. His gaze weighed and categorized everything it took in and made my stomach clench and my heart speed up.
Fight or flight?
I looked at Miriam. “Quit grinning at him,” I whispered. “He looks like a thug.”


Monday, 13 January 2014

Monday Moments go paranormal with TOUCH OF THE WOLF!

Monday Moments welcomes Vella Munn today and her Paranormal Romantic Suspense - Touch of the Wolf. There's a fantastic GIVEAWAY offer (US only) of signed copies of Vella's other books so don't forget to get onto the Rafflecopter list. 

Let's learn a little about Vella first and then see what today's featured novel is about...

Vella Munn cut her writing teeth penning confessions. At the time she had two preschoolers and not enough time or confidence to write anything longer. She hit the confession wall after writing, “I Was An Unwed Father”, and moved onto category romances. Some 30 romances for the major romance publishers later, she dove into historicals and wrote nine Native American historicals for Tor/Forge. Under a pen name she has written mumble-mumble erotic romances for a variety of publishers and self-published. The electronic publishing explosion excites her and she sees endless possibilities. It’s a crazy exciting time for writers and readers. A longtime member of Novelists Inc., an organization for multi-published fiction writers, she is grateful for the knowledge, experience, and support of fellow members.
Her favorite genre has always been romantic suspense and she’d delighted to be part of Entangled’s Ignite line where hopefully her out-of-the-box imagination won’t have people thinking she needs a padded room.
 Vella’s Website | Facebook | Goodreads

Abandoned as a child, Winter Barstow is a woman without a family history and with few clues to lead her in the right direction. When a stolen artifact from the Olympic National Forest arrives at her door, Winter travels to the remote outpost in Washington in search of who sent it to her and why.  Instead of answers, she finds the handsome, yet moody Forest Ranger Jay Raven hiding from his heritage.
Jay’s attraction to Winter is instantaneous, and powerful.  To admit it, however, means Jay must recognize a culture he’s left behind—something he’s not willing to do.  But when Winter discovers the body of her college mentor, her life is in danger and only the call of the wolf can lead Jay to her side and back to his Native American ways.
And a love strong enough to offer both.
As Winter continues her search for the thieves, she becomes a target for killers. Now Winter and Jay must embrace their heritage and the spirit of the wolf to save Winter’s life, as well as the love that has brought them home.
Vella's sharing a short excerpt with us, so settle in for your coffee break read!
“Peace and renewal. That is what Cha’lak’at’sit has always meant to the Chalat. The river was a gift from K’wati, who intended it to provide for our people. Whatever we decide now must be done with traditional Hoh belief in mind.”
Jay Raven rubbed his aching right shoulder, doing his best to pay attention to his uncle. At thirty, Jay was in the best shape of his life, but that didn’t mean he was Superman. “I knew he’d say that,” he whispered to his brother, who stood next to him on the banks of the Cha’lak’at’sit—or as the non-Natives called it, the Hoh River—near where it fed into the Pacifi c Ocean in Western Washington. “Our uncle and the rest of the elders will always see everything in the context of the past.”
Floyd jerked his head at the cedar canoe they’d pulled onto the gravel shore after bringing their uncle to where the Narrow Roaring Creek stretch began. “They’re going to be at this for hours. At least we’ll be moving with the river’s flow when we head back.”
“Fighting the current about did me in. Thanks for the help.”
“No sweat, bro. I knew you couldn’t get Uncle here on your own. I wish he’d sit down.”
So did Jay, but Uncle Talio was doing what he believed he’d been born to do.
“Seeing so many of the Chalat here today fills me with gratitude.” Uncle Talio turned in a semicircle, connecting with the over one hundred Hoh Native Americans who’d come for the meeting. “This shows that the decision we’ve been asked to make means a great deal to you.” He shifted position, leaning more of his weight on his cane. “Before I read the request from Dr. Anthony Gilsdorf, I’ll try to make sure everyone understands the ramifications should we decide to have anything to do with the anthropologist.”
It had rained last night, and judging by the sodden clouds, Jay figured another downpour wasn’t far off. He’d grown up in and around Olympic National Forest. He didn’t quite have webbed feet, but as he’d told the woman he’d naively thought he’d spend his life with, one reason he’d left the Northwest rain forest was so he wouldn’t grow gills.
Leaving hadn’t lasted long, but he’d changed during those years while the forest remained the same. A thousand years after his death, this wet realm would endure. Ancient moss-studded Sitka spruce and western hemlock would still rise above mats of vine maples and fern. Maybe he should stop distancing himself from his heritage and let it absorb him as it had his uncle and other members of the small tribe.
Only he couldn’t.
“Until whites ventured inland from the ocean,” Uncle Talio continued, “the river and the land around it was home to us and the other tribes. But even then our ancient way of life had been threatened by the newcomers’ diseases. Now what remains of the Chalat live near the mouth of the river we love, even as it slowly steals what little land we still have.”
“Did he have to bring this up?” Floyd muttered. “That anthropologist’s request has nothing to do with erosion.”
Jay smelled booze on Floyd’s breath, but Floyd wasn’t drunk. As many times as he’d tried to get Floyd sober, he knew the signs.
When Uncle Talio was acting in his role as a tribal Old People, he tended to sound as if he barely understood English, but just because he’d grown up speaking Quinault didn’t mean he was cut off from the twenty-fi rst century. He simply preferred to live in the past.
Jay’s shoulders weren’t the only part of his body that ached. His back threatened to knot, and his knees were tender from supporting his weight the whole time Uncle Talio, Floyd, and he had been in the canoe. As an Olympic National Park ranger, he was accustomed to spending his days on his feet, not struggling with the seldom-used but well-maintained canoe.
That’s what he was, he reminded himself as Uncle Talio held up a deerskin decorated with the tribe’s symbol of a stylized eagle and a salmon—a forest ranger. He was proud of who he was; he just didn’t want his heritage to define his every moment.

 Today's Giveaway

**US Entrants Only**

 Signed Copies of
White Out, Land of the Burned Out Fires, His Slave, In a Cowboy’s Bed & Yes Master

To win a signed copy (US entrants) click HERE and enter the draw.

Vella- Best wishes with your tour.


Wednesday, 8 January 2014

Caedmon's Curse!

Hello and happy Thursday to you!

I'm delighted to feature my friend, A.J. Nuest, who has a brand new release out today.



The two years Prince Caedmon suffered in the dungeons of Seviere's keep left him with more than just lash marks lacing his back. He now retains the secret behind the key, and is the only one who understands it's grim connection to his beloved Rowena. Torn between telling her the truth and risking their future, he agrees to join her perilous quest. But their enemies to the north are not the only menace determined to see them fail and, to prove his love, he must conquer the demons of his past.

Join Caedmon and Rowena as they rediscover a love bound by fate, and struggle to unravel the significance behind Caedmon's Curse, Book III in The Golden Key Chronicles.  
The Golden Key Chronicles Release Schedule:
Rowena's Key, November 7, 2013
Candra's Freedom, December 12, 2013
Caedmon's Curse, January 9, 2014
Braedric's Bane, February 13, 2014
Find your copy at: Amazon / AmazonUK

~ * ~
Rowena sprang to her feet. Someone was coming. And based upon the thundering hoof beats and thrashing branches tearing through the forest behind her, whoever it was cared little for masking their approach.
Dammit. All night and late into the next evening she'd ridden as if the devil himself had pursued her. She'd purposely stayed off the roads, traveling the old tracks instead, and even stopped several times to set false trails. Not until Helios approached the western horizon and she'd discovered this small clearing inside a copse of thick evergreens had she happily made camp. Her body ached with exhaustion, but her fatigue was a small price in return for the confidence that she'd finally put enough distance between her and the realm of Austiere. Surrounded on all sides by dense trees, the hidden location ensured the smoke from her fire would remain concealed. No one would be able to get close without providing plenty of warning.
The dull pummel of incoming hooves increased and she gritted her teeth, kicked some dirt over her small well-made fire and rushed for the nearest fir. A flick of her hand and Dart took wing, disappearing into the forest just above where she'd used a small wire wicket to tether Belial. Whoever was coming had better have their affairs in order. They were about to be on a first-name basis with the nine. 
The bark prickled and dug into her palms as she swung hands to feet up the branches, ascending to mid-tree height before she crouched on a sturdy branch on the balls of her feet.
Exhibiting all the grace of an enraged bull, a hooded rider crashed into her camp. The horse's dancing halt disrupted her bedroll, flinging dirt all over her plated dinner. Jerk. The intruder had to be male, what with this presumed sense of entitlement, thinking nothing of ruining her perfectly arranged camp, soiling her property. She eased two silver blades from the sides of her leather pants and fisted the slender handles in her grip. Hello, stranger. Care to dance?
In a fluid movement which contradicted his initial appearance, the rider leapt off his horse and knelt before her sputtering fire. The sides of his cloak billowed past his shoulders. Thick muscle pulled his leather pants taut around his thighs. And those arms...the black vambraces...the leather cords encircling his biceps
She slumped. Well, for the sweet love of Helios. Exactly how far did she have to travel to get away from the man?
Prince Caedmon pinched a bit of ash between his thumb and first two fingers, rubbed them together and lifted them to his nose. Rowena squinted past the branches as he rounded the fire and approached her saddlebags. He squatted to rifle the contents, his back facing her, his hood hiding his profile from view. She scowled. Most likely, his intent was to drag her kicking and screaming back to the castle. But she wasn’t about to sit idly by while he got his grubby mitts all over her supplies.
She sheathed her blades and swung silently to the ground. Motions steady and even, carefully shifting her weight, she reclaimed her knives as she side-stepped twigs and piles of dusty leaves. For all her caution, her concerns were unwarranted. The bog ox was so preoccupied with searching her belongings, she could've easily stomped all over the place without distracting him. 
A soundless bounce on the tips of her boots and she pounced, knees straddling his wide back, crossed blades pressed along the thin skin under his jaw. “I’m officially pissed off,” she hissed in his ear. “And if you plan to see tomorrow, you’ll do exactly as I say.”
The next instant she was flying backward through the air. Her teeth clattered on impact and her blades scattered as she landed on her rump in the dirt. She shook her head to regain her bearings.
How in the hell had he dislodged her so quickly? And which hurt worse? Her bruised ass or her pride? She quickly scrambled to her feet.
Tendons flexed and every muscle in his arms bulged as Prince Caedmon tore the cloak off his shoulders and chucked the garment aside. A silver chime hummed through the air as he unsheathed his sword from the scabbard at his back and fisted the hilt in his hand. Anger smoldered in the depths of his chocolate-brown eyes, but if that fierce glare was meant to make her shriek and scamper into the woods, the man and his stubborn male pride had another think coming. 
She notched up her chin and met him scowl for scowl. Not for one second would she let him intimidate her. No constructs governed the ways of the forest. Out here, survival was the only decree, and if risking injury was the price for her freedom, she was happy to end this test of will come what may.
“It’s time you learned a thing or two, my love.”
Ha! Could he be any more condescending? On a click and whirr, her wrist blades snapped home and she hugged her chest, widening her legs into her warrior’s stance. “Too bad Denmar’s not here to save your ass. It’s high time we settle our differences once and for all.”
~ * ~

AJ is a multi-published, award-winning author who lives in the middle of a cornfield in NW Indiana. Her loving husband, two beautiful children and a bevy of spoiled pets have agreed to stay and, in exchange for three rations per day and laundry service, tolerate her lunacy. While she spends most days happily ensconced in crafting romance across a multitude of genres, an underground coup has been percolating. The dogs just informed her the cat is secretly vying for dictatorship.


Email:  Facebook Page:  Twitter:  @AJNuest

Great excerpt, A.J. Best wishes with your latest book launch!


Review of A Departure by Tom Ward

A Departure by Tom Ward – 4 stars

I wasn’t sure where the book was going at the beginning since it seemed a bit slow, but the ending came abruptly and quite shocked me, though it shouldn’t have!  However, the ending does leave plenty of opportunity for a follow up book which may give more explanation of what may have ‘caused’ the apocalyptic incident and why some humans are exempt from the initial effects. Many questions arose during the reading which were not answered for me. What is not doubted is the effect that such a disaster has on the survivors in the novel and how one would have to cope to continue to be a survivor. Michael is intrinsically a nice lad who has to make some unpalatable decisions along the way. I think Tom Ward shows that you don’t need to be a tough guy to be the all encompassing hero: in many ways, Michael’s na├»ve nature remains intact regardless of his somewhat unexpected new maturity surge.

When surrounded by such mayhem and distress, having a focus - as Michael and Zanna do at the end - seems almost believable. There is a cast of interesting characters in the novel and sufficient clues to easily guess at what might happen to some of them. The writing style draws the reader into their personalities- distorted as they are by the circumstances they find themselves in, and in part by their own natures. It’s not a happy read; optimistic aspects are not generally plentiful in dystopian novels, but it is an interesting read.

Monday, 6 January 2014

Monday Moments - Dancing with Temptation!

I'm welcoming Dilys J. Carnie today who is sharing information on her contemporary romance - Dancing With Temptation. 

As a young child I loved to write. I always carried a notebook and pen around with me and wrote about everything. It was a dream to become a published author. However sometimes in life our dreams get pushed to one side as mine did. So, dare I say at the young age of fifty I think it is time for me to see if those dreams are everything I hoped they would be…and hey it’s never too late to go and grab that dream!
I have been through many major changes in my working life ranging from a Diana nurse, running my own skin care business, helping with the family run bus company and even hairdressing but my heart as always belonged to putting words on paper and making them come to life.
Recently I managed to get in contact with my best friend from Scotland who I hadn’t seen for over forty years. She lives in America and every year without fail I make the trip over to North Carolina and visit with her and her gorgeous family. This is where I have gained a lot of inspiration for many of my stories. I am lucky that my mum and two sisters live close by and I can say that we are all best friends. I lost my dad four years ago and if it wasn’t for the story I wrote after his death where I came second in a competition I probably wouldn’t have started writing with a view to publication.
I am living my lifelong dream of becoming an author something which I never imagined happening. If I had to give any advice to an un-published author it would be ‘Never give up the dream’ because I never did…
 Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Her trust in men is sorely blighted by past experience.
But when Bronwyn and Jessie meet, the chemistry between them is electrifying. The barriers come up and she refuses to acknowledge any kind of relationship between them.
He can’t understand what’s holding her back.
Jesse is confused by her resistance, yet he knows she is attracted to him. When an old boyfriend turns up determined to hurt her he fights to give their love the chance it deserves.

Here's an excerpt that Dilys is sharing with us today. Sit back and enjoy... 
She knew he was going to kiss her, making every coherent thought vanish from her mind. She didn’t seem to be able to focus on anything except those sexy lips coming toward hers. When they reached hers it was like a whisper, just the smallest touch feathering on her lips. Pulling away from him his warm breath caressed her skin and his unguarded gaze sent a shiver down her spine.
Bronwyn’s heart did a cataclysmic shift as she stood on tiptoes grasping his soft leather jacket as he returned his lips to hers with a passion not denied by either of them. His hand cupped the back of her neck as his fingers threaded through her short hair.
His lips made small firm strokes setting her skin on fire. She leaned in wanting to feel more. His other hand massaged the small of her back pulling her even closer. His hands moved, she sighed when he reached for her waist lifting her so they were together, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.
The tight pressure of his hands as he gripped her excited her, then he maneuvered her body against his. She could feel his arousal causing her to elicit a little mew of pleasure. The impact was…pleasurable
she’d completely forgotten where she was letting her body move against his. She opened her mouth even more to his tongue, hot and wet as it tantalized hers. It felt amazing, like a duel of pleasure.
She tasted the rawness, the magnetism was powerful enough to completely clear her mind of all the reasons why this was wrong. The tightening of her breasts made her shiver as her nipples tingled. She
absorbed the pure maleness of him with all of her senses gripping the hair at his neck with her fingers as an unexpected hot wave of pleasure hit her like a wave of molten lava.
“Can you feel it?” he breathed into her mouth. “Can you?” His voice throbbed against her lips.
She moaned against his mouth as chaotic sensations cascaded down her body to the tips of her toes. Her body tingled with the expectations she didn’t understand.
Her fingers gripped his shoulders. His lean warm hands created a path of intense heat as they slid beneath the hem of her dress. The surprised roughness of his skin came into contact with her lacy black
stockings, his groan was deep as his fingertips tentatively touched the bare skin at the top of her thighs. His deep growl permeated the air and a warning bell imbued on her senses.
Hell fire, didn’t she ever learn her lesson…what was she doing?
With those thoughts she pushed him away only to realize her feet were not touching the ground, he was leaning against the car holding her up.
“Put me down.” Her voice was a whisper; the truth was she was out of breath leaving her voice cracked. “Now.”
Her heart was racing; the thumping reverberated in her ears. She was shocked by her behavior; the ferocity of the passion between them was frightening. He put her down allowing her to step away. He didn’t say a word as he watched her through narrowed eyes. His chest was heaving but she ignored the movement.
She was having enough problems breathing herself.
God what kind of a kiss was that?
It had been earth shattering; however, she had been more than willing to accept the way it had been given. But it could only lead to one conclusion and she didn’t do one night stands. He was a fantastic kisser which could only mean he’d had plenty of experience. Her passion turned to anger at the way she had betrayed herself her dignity was in tatters.
Would she never learn her lesson?
“Goodnight,” she muttered before opening the gate slamming it shut behind her as she searched in her purse for her key. Putting it in the lock she looked back. He was where she had left him, leaning on the
car, his feet spread wide apart his arms folded across his chest. In the lamplight she could see him smile, giving her a casual wave before he put his hand into his jacket pocket. Agitated she opened the door
and without another look closed it behind her. Dropping her purse on the floor she went to sit in the rocking chair toeing off her shoes, bringing her legs to curl beneath her.
Oh boy, big mistake, humongous!

Thank you for stopping by today, Dilys. Best withes with your tour and for your writing career.


Sunday, 5 January 2014

Rosanne Bittner brings her Western Romance today!

Welcome to Susanne Bittner. I've not met Susanne before so here's a little to get to know her:

With more than 7 million books in print, RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award-winning author Roseanne Bittner is beloved by fans for her powerful, epic historical romances.

Award-winning novelist Rosanne Bittner is highly acclaimed for her thrilling love stories and historical authenticity. Her epic romances span the West — from Canada to Mexico, Missouri to California — and are often based on Roseanne’s personal visits to each setting. She lives in Michigan with her husband and two sons.

 Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

Susanne's featuring two books today - Wildest Dreams...

Genre: Historical Western Romance
Length: 561 pages
Published by: Sourcebooks Casablanca
Release Date: February 7, 2012
Lettie MacBride knew that joining a wagon train heading West was her chance to begin anew, far from the devastating memories of the night that had changed her forever. She didn’t believe she could escape the pain of innocence lost or feel desire for any man…until she meets Luke Fontaine.
Haunted by his own secrets, Luke could never blame Lettie for what had happened in the past. One glance at the pretty red-haired lass was enough to fill the handsome, hard-driving pioneer with a savage hunger.
Against relentless snows, murderous desperadoes, and raiding Sioux, Luke and Lettie will face a heartrending choice: abandon a lawless land before it destroys them, or fight for their…Wildest Dreams.
* * * * *
“Power, passion, tragedy, and triumph are Rosanne Bittner’s hallmarks. Again and again, she brings readers to tears.” — RT Book Reviews
“Excellent, a wonderful, absorbing read, with characters to capture the heart and the imagination…belongs on that special keep self; it’s a romance not to be missed.” — Heather Graham on Outlaw Hearts

Wildest Dreams Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Sourcebooks

...and Thunder on the Plains
Genre: Historical Western Romance
Length: 528 pages
Published by: Sourcebooks Casablanca
Release Date: July 3, 2012

In a Land of Opportunity
Sunny Landers wanted a big life—as big and free as the untamed land that stretched before her. Land she would help her father conquer to achieve his dream of a trancontinental railroad. She wouldn’t liet a cold, creaky wagon, murderous bandits or stampeding buffalo stand in her way. She wanted it all—including Colt Travis.
All the Odds Were Against Them
Like the land of his birth, half–Cherokee Colt Travis was wild, hard, and dangerous. He was a drifter, a wilderness scout with no land and no prospects hired by the Landers family to guide their wagon train. He knew Sunny was out of his league and her father would never approve, but beneath the endless starlit sky, anything seemed possible…
* * * * *
“A hero to set feminine hearts aflutter…western romance readers will thoroughly enjoy this.”— Library Journal
Thunder on the Plains Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Sourcebooks

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Susanne's sharing two lovely excerpts from her novels today so get your coffee, or whatever you fancy, ready and settle in comfortably!

Wildest Dreams – Excerpt

Chapter 1 

April 1863 

Luke tightened the  rawhide straps  around the  belly  of one of the mules that carried his supplies. “Suck in that gut, you stubborn ass,” he muttered. “I’m not going to hold up this wagon train because you spill my supplies all over the place.” 

The  animal  brayed  loudly,  and  people  turned  to  stare. “Shut up, damn it,” he ordered the mule, yanking harder. It embarrassed him to have everyone witness his struggle with the obstinate animal.

He figured there were plenty of others amid this crowd headed west who were even less prepared for what lay ahead of them than he was. Including the children, there were about a hundred  people camped here outside of Independence.  He had counted eighteen wagons. He himself had decided against bothering  with  a wagon and oxen.  His horse and four pack mules were enough. Some of his fellow travelers were herding cattle and extra horses as well, some had chickens with them, a few had pigs. Most of them  were headed for California or Oregon, many fleeing the hideous War between the States and the ugly raiding that had been taking place between Kansas and Missouri. He had his own reasons for heading west, but they had nothing to do with the war.

He finished buckling the strap. He hated mules, much preferred horses. But he had taken the advice of experienced scouts back in St. Louis that mules were much better suited to carrying heavy loads for long distances, and it was a long way to Montana. As far as he was concerned, California and Oregon were already too heavily settled. He was going to a place where a man could still claim big pieces of land, where there was still hardly any law. That way a man could do whatever was necessary to keep his land without answering to anyone but himself. This wagon train would get him as far as Wyoming. From then on, he would be on his own. The prospect was exhilarating. He was determined to show his father and his brother that he didn’t need the inheritance money that had been denied him. To hell with them both! His father could believe what he wanted. He knew in his heart he was not a bastard. He had every right to the Fontaine money, and he swore that someday he would be a hundred  times richer than his father, and he would do it all on his own.

The crack of a gunshot startled him out of his thoughts. Horses whinnied,  and a woman began railing at her husband for being careless with a handgun. When  Luke looked up, a couple of horses had bolted at the noise of the gunshot and were running toward him.

Then  everything  seemed  to  happen  at  once.  “Nathan!” a young woman  shouted frantically. Luke turned  to see a towheaded little boy running toward him from another direc- tion, a stuffed animal in his arms, a big grin on his chubby face. The boy obviously thought his mother was playing a game by chasing him, but his path was taking him on a collision course with the runaway horses.

Luke ran to the boy, lifting him with one strong arm a split second before the horses would have trampled him. He ducked aside, landing on the ground and covering the child. He felt a blow on his right calf from a horse’s hoof and grimaced with pain, wondering why it had to be that particular spot. He still suffered enough  pain there  from his war wound.  He  didn’t need a horse’s kick to awaken the agony. He heard the shouts of “whoa,”  felt people gather near him. Someone grabbed the little boy right out of his arms.
“Nathan! Nathan!”

A couple of men helped Luke to his feet, asked if he was all right.  They  held  his arms as Luke limped over  to  a log to  sit down.  “I’ll be  fine,”  he  insisted, rubbing  at  his leg. “Just got a little kick.” He decided not to mention the war wound. In crowds like this there was usually a good mixture of Northerners  and Southerners. Mentioning he’d fought for the Union  army just might start a needless argument, and for the next four months or so, they all had to forget their differences and band together for the journey west.
“Sorry, mister,” a man spoke up.  “I  accidentally spooked my horses.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Luke answered. “I’m okay. All of you can get back to whatever you were doing.”
The  man who  had misfired his gun apologized again, this time to a woman standing near Luke. “Thank  God your boy wasn’t hurt,” he told her.

“It was partly my fault,” the woman answered. “Nathan has just found his legs, and he is always running. He thinks it’s a game. I think I shall have to put a rope on him and tie it to my own waist.”

“Might  be a good  idea, ma’am.” The  man left to  collect his horses, and Luke looked up at the woman  who  held the towheaded youngster he had just rescued. The boy still clung to his stuffed animal, which Luke could see was a homemade brown  horse. Part of a feather from the stuffing stuck out of one of the seams. The child was still grinning, oblivious to the danger he’d been in. His mother chided him for running away from her.

“I don’t know how to thank you, sir,” she told Luke then. “Nathan could have been killed if not for your quick thinking. I do hope you’re not badly hurt.”

For the first time Luke truly noticed her and was surprised at how pretty she was. That thought had barely registered before it was eclipsed by the pain in his leg and his irritation at how the whole morning had gone for him.

“I don’t think so,” he answered, “but you ought to keep a better eye on the boy there. On a trip like we’ll be taking, you’ll have to hold a tighter rein on him, or you’ll be running into  this  kind  of  problem  every  day.”  Luke  watched  her stiffen at the words, and the concern in her pretty eyes gave way to consternation.
“It isn’t easy to watch an active two-year-old  every second, Mr.—”

“Fontaine. Luke Fontaine.”

“Hossy.” The little boy held out his stuffed horse to Luke. “That’s his word for horse,” the woman told Luke. “As you can see, there isn’t a bashful or fearful bone in Nathan’s body.” Luke could see the deep hurt and anger in her eyes, figured she was holding her temper in check for the boy’s sake. He ignored the child’s gesture, at the moment  more interested in how a woman with such deep red hair and luscious green eyes could have given birth to a blond-headed, blue-eyed child like the one she was holding, but then that wasn’t his business. Her husband must be the one with the blond hair. Luke wondered where he was. “You might try tying a rope around the kid like you mentioned earlier.” He rubbed at his leg a moment longer, then stood up.
“Well, thank you for the sage advice,” she told him coolly. Luke studied her full lips, the porcelain look to her skin, her slender waist. He could not help noticing how nicely she filled out the bodice of her flowered cotton  dress, a dress, he took note, that was suited to the journey ahead, but still had a more elegant look than what the other women  were wearing. Her hair was nicely done up, in such a pile of curls that he was sure it must hang to her waist when she let it down. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I haven’t had the best morning.”
The woman sighed. “No,  neither have I.” She struggled to hang on to her son, who was wiggling to get down again.

“Here, let me hold him for a minute,” Luke said. “I’ll walk you back to your own camp.”

“That  won’t be necessary,” she started to protest, but  the husky boy was obviously more than she could handle when he had the desire to climb out of her arms. “Oh  dear,” she said, reluctantly handing him over.
Luke gathered the child into his arms, surprised at how easily he came to him when he had never met him before. “Well, Nathan, you’ve got to quit giving your mother such troubles.” “Hossy,”  Nathan  said again, touching  the  horse’s nose to Luke’s. The  gesture broke  the  strain between  Luke and the boy’s mother, and they both smiled.

“I am Lettie MacBride Dougan,” she told Luke then.

Luke nodded,  secretly touched  when  little Nathan  put his head down on his shoulder. Over the last year he had given a lot of thought to what it might be like to have a son of his own. He’d certainly give him more love than he had ever known from his own father. “Glad to meet you, Mrs. Dougan.”

She looked past him then at his mules. “You…you’re traveling alone?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, then, I insist, Mr. Fontaine, that you let me and my family thank you for saving Nathan  by joining our  campfire tonight  for  supper.  This  first day’s journey  is bound  to  be difficult. The least we can do is save you the trouble of having to fix your own supper tonight.  That is our lead wagon over there,” she said, pointing to a wagon with a pole, tied with a red cloth, sticking up above it. “We marked it that way so that if Nathan runs off, he could spot our lead wagon easily and find us again. Actually, we have three wagons. My father is both a farmer and a merchant. He is taking a load of supplies along to start his own store when we reach Denver.”

“Denver? You aren’t going all the way to California?”

“No.  We and some of the others will stay with the train to the fork of the North and South Platte rivers. Then we’ll follow the South Platte to Denver. Father feels there is a great deal of potential there for a businessman, much more than in California and Oregon,  which are already so heavily settled.”
“Could be,” Luke answered. “And how does your husband feel?”

He noticed the woman’s face redden as though for a moment she felt some kind of shame.

“Nathan’s father is dead,” she answered. “Killed in a border raid.” Luke watched her eyes, and what he saw there was not the look of a grieving widow. Something was amiss. “I’m sorry,” he told her.
“Yes, well, that’s part of the reason we’re starting someplace new,”  she told him.  “Father’s store was burned,  as was our home and farm. We’re from up in the St. Joseph area.”

Nathan  reached out for his mother,  and Luke handed him over. “I’m from St. Louis, headed for Montana,” he told her.

“Montana! Oh, isn’t it terribly wild and lawless there?”
Luke grinned. “A good place for a man to make his claim and set his own rules.”

“Yes, I suppose.” In spite of her initial irritation with the man for telling her how to handle her own son, Lettie could not help noticing how handsome he was. Never have I seen such beautiful blue eyes on a man before, she thought. Immediately she felt the crimson coming to her cheeks, along with another burst of shame. What right did she have to be attracted to any man, and what man would  want her,  if he knew  the  truth  about her? “I had better get back to our wagons. My parents are in town  getting more supplies, and my brother and sister are off wandering. When everyone is back I will explain what you did, and I know  they will insist on cooking you a decent supper tonight. Please say you will come.”

To be able to look at you again? Luke thought. “I’ll be glad to join you.”

“Good.  Look for us when  we make camp tonight,  then, Mr. Fontaine.”

Luke nodded, then reached out and gave little Nathan’s chubby hand a squeeze. “See you tonight, then.”
He turned and walked back to his mules, and Lettie noticed he limped badly. She thought again how handsome he was, but such thoughts only brought an ache to her heart, for in her situ- ation, it was useless to allow special feelings for any man. There simply could never be another man in her life. She did not want one, and no decent man would ever want her.

She turned away. As she headed back to her own camp she kissed Nathan’s cheek. Some people thought  she should hate her son, but he was an innocent child, a child she had grown to love far more than she had thought  possible in the beginning. No child should be blamed for a horror over which he had no control, a horror caused by a bloody, useless war. Nathan was never going to know the truth about his father, and leaving Missouri was the only way to make sure of it.
* * * * *
“Fontaine. What kind of a name is that? French?”

Luke lit the thin cigar Henry MacBride had given him. Both men sat near the campfire, and all around them other campfires were lit and families settled in for supper and sleep. Lettie and her mother,  Katie, and her fourteen-year-old  sister, Louise, cleaned up dishes, pots, and pans. It was obvious to Luke that the family had money  because of their dress and mannerism, and they had a Negro woman along with them to help with the work. She was a very large woman, her hair almost completely gray. She seemed to get along well with the family, hummed softly while she worked.

Beside Henry sat Lettie’s nineteen-year-old  brother,  James. “My father is a descendent of some of the first French trappers who traded in furs,” Luke answered MacBride. “His father and grandfather roamed the Rockies  and places even farther west before most people ever gave a thought  to settling out there. They became wealthy traders, then merchants. My father inher- ited all of it, owns a big mercantile emporium in St. Louis, even some warehouses and several riverboats for carrying supplies.”

Henry arched his eyebrows, which were as red as his hair. It was obvious Lettie had inherited features from both parents. It was her father who had the green eyes that on her were so exotically beautiful, but she had her mother’s lustrous, darker red hair and milky smooth skin. James was the image of his father in every way, but Louise was the opposite of her sister, with  bright  red  hair  and  brown  eyes. Henry  spoke  with  a heavy accent. “Came over here because of the potato famine,” he had already explained. “Didn’t  have much  choice,  seeing as how everybody was starving to death in Ireland. I miss my homeland, though. Me and Katie both.”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve walked away from a pretty good thing,” Henry was telling him now. The man took a couple of puffs on his own cigar. “Wouldn’t you stand to inherit some of that wealth? What takes you to a place as wild and dangerous as Montana?”

Lettie kept her ears open as she dried a dish. She wanted to know the answer herself. She could not seem to shake off her attraction to Luke Fontaine, and for some reason, Nathan took to him as though he had known the man since birth. Even now he played near Luke, kept trying to give him his “hossy,” which he normally never let anyone else hold.

There  was a loneliness about Luke Fontaine that stirred something in her she had never felt before, certainly not for any man. She told herself she must be careful of those feelings, for they could lead nowhere.

“I decided I wanted to make it on my own,” Luke answered her father.

Lettie detected a deep hurt, even anger, in the way he spoke the words.

“There are a few things my father and I don’t see eye to eye on,” he continued. “I figured I was better off getting out.” He puffed his own cigar and glanced at her. Lettie quickly turned away, embarrassed he had caught her staring. “Besides, I guess I’m just not the kind to walk in someone else’s footsteps and do the expected. That’s for my older brother. He’ll take everything over someday. Me, I enjoy the adventure.”
Henry chuckled. “Sounds like a typical young man. You shouldn’t turn  your back on what’s rightfully yours, though, Luke. There will come a time when you’ll wish you had that inheritance. I’d think it could be a big help to you if you’re going to be building something for yourself in Montana. Me, I wish I had had something to fall back on when we lost every- thing back in Ireland. Of  course, that was before Lettie was born. We’ve been in this country a long time now. Trouble is, disaster came to greet us again.”

Luke  watched  smoke  curl  up  from  the  end  of his cigar. “Your  daughter  said something  about  a  raid  earlier today. I gather you  are victims of the  border  wars. Lettie said her husband was killed in a raid.” He noticed the man exchange a warning look with his daughter.

Lettie suddenly put down  her dishcloth. She came over to pick up little Nathan. “It’s time for bed, son.” She glanced at Luke. “Thank  you again for what you did today. If there is anything you need, please don’t hesitate to tell us.”

Luke looked her over, wishing she wasn’t so damn pretty. He regretted barking at her earlier that day about not watching her son properly. It had to be difficult raising a son with no father. He warned himself not to care about her. Where he was headed was no place for a woman and a child.

“Fact is,” he answered, “the wagon master has already asked me to do some of the hunting for the others, seeing as how I don’t have anyone to look after. Maybe when I’m doing that your brother can take care of my mules. I’ll see that the family gets some extra meat for it.”

“Well, we’d sure appreciate it!” Henry told him. “Yes. Thank you.”

Luke nodded to Lettie, and for a moment their gaze lingered before she turned and quickly left. She climbed into the family’s lead  wagon.  Luke  looked  after  her,  wondering  about  the change he had sensed as soon as he had mentioned the raid.

“We’ll be glad to look after your mules when  necessary,” Henry  told him then,  interrupting  his thoughts.  “We’ll have to tie them to one of the wagons, seeing as how me and James and my wife have our hands full with our own oxen.” The man sighed. “I hate putting my family to this hard life, but it’s only until we get where we’re going. I gave them a damn good life in Missouri. I’ve become a wealthy man, Mr. Fontaine. Up in St. Joseph we had a fine big home and farm, as well as a couple of businesses in town. We even owned slaves, and I gave them all their freedom before we left. I figured the time is going to come when they’ll all be free anyway. Be that as it may, I made a good life for my family back there, and I don’t ever intend for any of them to suffer the way Katie and I suffered back in Ireland. I could see that was beginning to happen again, only for different reasons, so we left.”

“I’m sorry about Lettie’s husband. Did you lose everything?” Henry stared at the fire thoughtfully. “They burned us out. That was all before Lettie even had her baby. We stuck it out because she was carrying. We tried to make it work for a couple more years. Finally, after a few more raids we decided to leave.
I’ve got enough money to set us up good wherever we go.” Luke nodded. “That’s good.” So, Lettie’s husband was killed before she even had the child. That meant he’d been dead for a good two and a half years. It also meant she must have been about fifteen when she married, practically a child. It seemed odd that the MacBrides had married off a daughter that young. “Tell  me  something,  Luke,”  Henry  asked. “How  old are you? Twenty-six, maybe?”

“Twenty-eight.  Why?”

Henry  studied him,  then  shrugged. “Just wondering  how a big, strong young man like yourself managed to stay out of the war.”

Luke braced himself. This might be the end of his short friendship with Henry MacBride and family. He rested his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t,” he answered. “That’s why I was hurting pretty bad earlier when that horse kicked me. He got me on my right calf. I was shot and wounded in that same spot. I’d been in the war for about a year when it happened— almost lost the lower part of my leg. After that I got discharged and gladly left. There isn’t anything uglier than what’s going on in the South right now.  Take your border raids and multiply that several hundred  times, and you’ve got an idea what the war is like. It’s bloody and senseless, and I have no desire to get involved in it again. I only joined up the first time to get away from my father. I had a lot of things to think about, wasn’t sure what to do with my life.”

Henry puffed on the cigar. “What side did you fight on?” Luke  gazed intently  into  the  man’s eyes for  a moment.

“Union,”   he  answered. He  waited  for Henry  MacBride  to send him packing. MacBride obviously hated the Kansas jay- hawkers who  had raided his farm and killed his son-in-law. He  had  even  owned  slaves. Surely he  was  proslavery and pro-South. It was well known that Irish immigrants had settled throughout  the South.

Henry held his eyes. “You ever do any raiding on innocent people?”

“No, sir. I was in the regular army. The only people I raised a weapon against were Confederate soldiers in full battle.”

Henry nodded. “Nothing  wrong with that. I know  it’s an ugly war, and everybody has an opinion  of who’s right and who’s wrong. It’s when citizens appoint themselves as the law and decide to fight the battle their own way that it’s wrong.” He looked over at Sadie, who was singing as she scrubbed some pans. “I was good to my slaves, but I didn’t really feel slavery was quite right. I felt better about all of it after I gave them their freedom. Sadie chose to stay with us. She’s been with the family so long she’d be heartbroken if I made her go…and homeless. I pay her now.” He looked Luke over. “Out  here there is no room for feelings about the war, Luke. Out  here we’re all the same, and we all need each other.  I don’t hold it against you that you were a Union  man. You’re not  wearing a uniform now. You’re just someone who saved my grandson’s life today, and I thank you for that. You’re welcome to come back and join our campfire whenever you feel like it.”

“Thank you,” Luke answered. He rose. “I expect I’d better turn in. Tomorrow  is going to be another long day.”

“That it is, boy, that it is.” Henry reached out and shook his hand. “We’re glad to share our campfire with you any time.”

Luke glanced at the wagon where Lettie had so quickly disappeared, wondering  why  such a beautiful young  woman had not found another husband by now. She’d turn any man’s head, and her little boy would be easy to love. He bid another good-night to Henry MacBride and left. Whatever Lettie’s situation was, it wasn’t his affair. His only concern was to get himself to Montana.

Inside her wagon, Lettie lay beside her son, stroking his white-blond  hair, part of her longing to be a natural woman, another part of her terrified at the thought.  Why had meeting Luke Fontaine  stirred these surprising desires in  her? It  was foolish, wrong;  more  than that,  it was hopeless. She studied Nathan by the light of a lantern that hung nearby, kept lit so the boy wouldn’t be afraid of the dark. His big brown eyes blinked open,  and he smiled softly at her before his eyelids fluttered closed again.

Lettie supposed she should have thanked Luke Fontaine again, but  decided it was best not  to encourage any man. It saved a lot of hurt later on. Weariness from the long, hard day finally overtook  her, and her own eyes drifted closed. But as it so often did, the horror flashed into her mind…the  raider’s leering face…his white-blond  hair…and the ugly eagerness in his brown eyes. She started awake, looked down at Nathan to make sure she had not disturbed him.

She gently pulled away from him, knowing  that the only way to clear her head was to stand up for a few minutes. When she moved to the back of the wagon she saw her sister Louise climbing into the second wagon which she shared with her mother.  Her father and brother slept in the third wagon. She wondered  how Luke would sleep tonight.  On  the cold, hard ground, no doubt. Did he have a tent or anything for shelter?

After a time she lay back down. There was another twenty miles to cover tomorrow,  most of it on foot. She would  be carrying Nathan part of the way, trading the boy off with her brother and father. She closed her eyes again, this time turning her thoughts to Luke, how he had rescued Nathan, the way he had looked…how he had watched her tonight.

Thunder on the Plains – Excerpt

Following is a short excerpt from THUNDER ON THE PLAINS.  It should be noted that Sunny is our heroine, an extremely wealthy young woman who has inherited the unlikely position of being a key figure in the construction of the Transcontinental Railroad.  Colt (our hero) is an Indian scout (half Indian himself) who works off and on for the railroad builders and who comes from a far different world than Sunny.  Various circumstances keep throwing these two together, and in spite of the unlikely chance either of these two could belong in the other’s world, a deep passion and desire that they feel for each other keeps getting in the way of common sense, until finally … one afternoon … caught alone out on the prairie … (Colt has pulled Sunny onto his horse in front of him) –
* * * * *
“Tell me, Colt.  What does an Indian do with his captive?”
For a moment everything went silent for Colt. Nothing existed but the utterly beautiful woman in his arms … her blue eyes … her golden hair.  He moved a hand to rest against the flat of her belly.  “He takes her to his tipi and makes her his slave,” he answered, his voice gruff with passion.
She touched his face.  “That’s what I want you to do with me, Colt.  Make me your slave – today, tonight, tomorrow.”
He shook his head.  “Sunny –“
She touched his lips.  “Don’t say it, Colt. I don’t know what’s right and wrong anymore, and today I don’t care.  I just want you.  I’ve always wanted you. My first time just can’t be with anyone else.  I –“
His kiss cut off her words, a deep, hot kiss that removed any remaining inhibitions. She could barely get her breath for the thrill of it, the ecstasy of his hand moving to her breast, the ache of womanly desires that surged in her when his tongue moved between her lips.
Dancer moved slightly, and she clung to Colt.  He left her lips for a moment, keeping one arm around her as he slid off the horse and pulled her after him.

Thank you for visiting today, Susanne, and best wishes for a successful tour!