A Skeleton at Her Door

By E. Ayers (Guest Blogger)

Thanks, Lisabet, for inviting me to be your guest again. It's great to be here again with you and your friends.

October is the fall season for most of us in the northern hemisphere. That means cooler nights and cooler days. It's a time for the leaves to turn red, yellow, and orange. Now, if you'd like an explanation of how the color is in those leaves even when they are green, I'd be more than willing to don my botany cap and explain it sometime. But I'd much rather talk about one particular holiday - Halloween.

It's really not a USA holiday, as its roots trace back to Samhain and other pagan festivities, which were then turned into a Christian holiday to honor the dead and to celebrate the Saints. Anyway, this jumbled heritage got tossed in our American melting pot, and by the 1920's people began to celebrate it. The result is today's Halloween with costumes, trick or treat, and carved pumpkins amongst pretty fall decorations.

It's actually my favorite holiday. I love the colors of fall and I love pumpkins. I love decorating the porch, front door, and my mantels with gourds, pumpkins, fall berries, corn, and other fun things. I'm also a sucker for a bowl of candy corn. As the holiday approaches it's fun to tuck in a witch's hat, some plastic black spiders, or an adorable skeleton.

They say to write what you know. I did. Many years ago, I was involved in a community Halloween party with a haunted woods for the older kids, and a clubhouse party for the younger ones. We had a community member who was part of a little theater and had access to all sorts of things including a woman who was more than willing to donate her skills as a makeup artist. Put a handful of creative adults together and we had a haunted woods that was totally awesome.

I knew my single male neighbor was going to a big fundraiser where they auction off the Halloween costumed guys for dinner. It was growing in popularity and a financial success. Who wouldn't want a dinner date with Spiderman, Zorro, or Count Dracula? Well publicized, it took place a few days before Halloween. Considering I was married to Prince Charming and didn't have a lot of extra money, the fundraiser was the least of my concerns. I only knew that my neighbor Roger intended to be part of the haunted woods with the same costume as he was using for the fundraiser.

About three days before Halloween my doorbell rang. Like an idiot I opened the door without even looking to see who it was. There stood this incredible skeleton. My mouth fell open. I knew this makeup artist was trying things ahead of time so I figured Roger used her before his big fundraiser dinner. I swear it was bitter cold, so I dragged him in, and called up the stairs for my girls to come see him. The guy was not talking. I'm walking around him. I'm admiring his…ah-hem…costume. Really. The costume. His shoulders were this wide, and his butt was this little, and his… There are no bones in certain places. He was ripped! He had the leg muscles of a skier. The arms of a…Oh, yeah. It was the costume I was admiring, definitely the costume! It glowed in the dark. It covered his body, feet, hands, and head, except for his face. That was carefully painted.

Really, it was the costume. I'd never seen one like it before or since. It fit the man like something worn by an Olympic speed skater. Unfortunately, all I'd even seen my neighbor in was a suit and tie. So I assumed… Until one of my girls said, "Mom, Roger has brown and this guy's eyes are blue."

"You're not Roger?" My heart fell into my stomach. Who did I just yank into my house?

That incident became the opening of A Skeleton at Her Door. What if? What if the woman who opened the door to a skeleton was divorced with an ex-husband who was abusive? What if the skeleton was a really nice guy who's been burned by enough women that he's lost faith in ever finding a woman who could be faithful?

I write sweet romances and I write what I call sensual romances where I don't close the bedroom door, but if your fourteen year old reads it you won't have to explain a thing, although I wouldn't consider it suggested teen reading. I write for adults. A Skeleton at Her Door is a sensual romance. It's about trusting, putting the past away, and finding love when it's least expected. It's also about blending two households, parenting, three children, and sneaking off for some adult time.

Just for fun, if you email me at e.ayers [ at] ayersbooks.com and put "Blog" in the subject, I'll enter your name into a drawing for a free ebook of A Skeleton at Her Door.

Here's a sexy except of their first time together.

****

Angie looked up into Tom's light brown eyes and she knew she had to make a decision.

"The condoms are in the van."

He grinned. "I stocked this place, too. I like being prepared."

He sat her up and then pulled her to her feet. She smiled as she watched him put their glasses in the sink and check the woodstove one last time. He picked up the single oil lamp and took it with him to the small bedroom.

"The bathroom's there." He grinned. "There's a light switch in there."

When she came out, he had turned down the covers and was waiting for her.

"If you change your mind, tell me," he whispered in her ear. "We'll take this slowly."

She nodded as he slipped her sweater off. His fingers trailed across the top of her shoulders and then followed the outline of her camisole to her cleavage. She inhaled. Excitement ripped through her and with it a mild feeling of dread. He unbuttoned his shirt and then pulled off the tee he had under it. There was a small narrow diamond shaped patch of hair on his chest. She reached out and ran her fingers through it. He dropped his pants.

Cotton knit undies covered him but didn't disguise what was under them. He was gorgeous. Most twenty year old males didn't look as good.

"You don't look quite as bony," she said in a low voice.

He chuckled as he dropped her slacks and caressed her legs. "And you look lovely."

She chewed at her lower lip as he started to lift her camisole off.

"You're okay with what we're doing?" he asked.

She couldn't look at him. She wanted to tell him no, but she wanted to say yes. She was just as horny, and wanted it probably as much as he did. All she could do was turn away from him.

Now, her back was to him, and his fingers were on her bra hooks. Obviously he had taken that as a sign to remove her bra. It fell to the floor. His hands were on her waist traveling slowly to her breasts. She inhaled and held the breath as heat traveled through her.

He pulled her back against his chest and she exhaled. The room was chilly and he was warm. He let go of her and she could tell he was removing his undies. Hers followed and then he pulled her against him again. His hand moved her hair from her neck and his lips caressed her nape. Then she felt his thumb tracing the scar on her shoulder.

"I'll never hurt you," he whispered. "Never."

His hands traveled from her shoulders to her breasts and then lower. She forgot how to breathe.

He lifted her arms over her head and began to nibble from her elbow to her underarm and then around to a breast. She heard an odd buzz and then heard him sigh. "It's the house."

He left her and reached for his pants. He opened the mobile phone connection. "Hello." 

"That's fine. Thanks.”

“Yes. Lock up. I'm staying at the cabin."

"Yes. She's with me." A slight chuckle erupted. "I'm your father. Don't ask me those questions. Go to bed." He closed the phone and put it next to the bed. "That was Emily. Lissy's asleep on the sofa."

She nodded and watched his eyes. His gaze traveled over her body. Suddenly, she felt ashamed of her nudity and she wanted to hide. Instead, she gulped.

He drew her back into his arms. His lips covered hers, parting them. Gentle and tender, yet demanding and full of want, his actions were of a man who hungered for her. Her own feelings of lust overrode her panic and fear. One hand was on her back and the other on her bottom. He held her tight to him as his mouth devoured hers. Heat pulsed through her and pooled between her legs. Sexy and lovingly, he swept her off her feet, carried her to his bed, and pulled the covers over her. Her body warmed in anticipation.

He turned the lamp down until it went out and then climbed in next to her. His embrace tangled their bodies all the way to her feet. She didn't feel pinned, instead she felt liberated. She wanted to be with him and feel his arms and legs intertwined with hers.

"You haven't told me what you want me to do, what you like, or what feels good." His breath fluttered over her skin.

Her eyes were now adjusted to the almost pitch darkness. "I want to touch you the way you've touched me." She ran her fingers through his hair and then down over his cheek.

"Then I want you to make love to me. I want to be loved."

*****

Oct 10 through Oct 11, E. Ayers' book Wanting (A River City Novel) is available for free on Amazon. It's the first book in the River City series. It's a sensual, contemporary, full-length novel with mainstream elements.

Businessman Mac McGuire fell head over heels in love with Amanda Conner. His money has always gotten him what he wanted, but not this time. He's trying to rescue her from the poverty and violence of River City's housing projects and pull her into his glamorous world of downtown high-rises and opulence. Mac is used to risking everything and winning, but he realizes that wanting Amanda could cost him everything. Is that a price he's willing to pay?





You can find my books at your favorite online bookstores!

Wanting 
         Amazon 

A Skeleton at Her A  Door  
          Amazon
          B & N       
         iTunes   

Welcome to River City

By E. Ayers (Guest Blogger)

Ready for a change of pace? Want to move to a mid-sized city in the eastern United States? It's a nice place to live, work, play, and fall in love. It's also fictional.

When I first started writing I was told to anchor the story. If I chose a real place, I had to be careful where everyone went, where they ate, and that happened to them. I didn't want to be accused of portraying a place in a bad light. Every city has its good points and its bad ones. Yet, I wanted that special energy that is in every city. I also wanted to be able to fire the city manager.

Ever notice when approaching a city and the tops of the skyscrapers come into view how our skin prickles with excitement? I'm not sure why that happens but it does. I wanted that pace, that flow, and that vibe of a bustling city. There also something else about a city - a plethora of people!

Cities are melting pots. I like that diversity. A city also provides a mixture of people who come in different sizes, shapes, and colors. There are those who are newcomers and those who grew up together. There's lots to do and places to visit. Staying home on Friday night being bored is a preference because a city provides plenty of other options.

I don't think heroines need to wear a size two, have blue eyes, and blonde hair. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. When does an ordinary man become handsome and sexy? When the right woman falls in love with him. And what is ordinary? What is normal?

Very slowly, River City was born. It sprouted a university and a major hospital, a historical area, congestion, expressways, bypasses, interstates, railroads, a water supply, businesses, shopping areas, markets, parks, a museum, an orchestra, an airport, and the suburbs. It's still growing! I built a city and in it are young people building careers and trying to make their world a better place.

Most series must be read in order and it's difficult to jump into the middle of one. I didn't want that. Some of my character do show up in other books mainly because people who are active in their community tend to know the other people who are also active. Some are friends and some are acquaintances. The glue is the city.

I have only three requirements for my River City characters: they must be young, they must be actively doing something to make the place better by either financially contributing, volunteering, or their job has a direct impact on the community, and most importantly, they must be good people. They have juice, they are ones who get things done and make things happen.

I strive for realism in what I write. I allow the characters to dictate what they want. Everyone is different. I write about falling in love. Making it last usually isn't easy. When two people have careers, and most young people have careers, it's difficult to find time for another person. People shouldn't have to give up something for love. A couple should enhance each others lives and make it fuller. It's about complimenting and balancing each other. Team work. They both must respect each other and themselves.

That doesn't mean there aren't sacrifices. What are you willing to do for the person you love? There's also an issue of trust. Communication is a huge element in any relationship. Sometimes you have to agree to disagree, and sometimes it takes a little extra work to see the other side of the issue. Falling in lust is easy, but falling in love is very special.

In my writer's mind, a city becomes fertile ground with an infinite number of characters who need me as a matchmaker. I built a city, with a proud history, it isn't perfect, but I hope you'll enjoy your stay.

Thanks, Lisabet, for having me as your guest. I'm going to give away copies of my River City books to your commenters. They need to leave a comment on your blog and email me with their River City book choice to be entered into the drawing.

e.ayers[at]ayersbooks.com

Wanting

If you ask businessman Mac McGuire, he'll tell you this is his story. He fell head over heels in love with Amanda Conner, an unfettered beauty with a turbulent past. Wanting her is one thing, winning her trust is another. From the violence of River City’s housing projects, to the glamorous digs of the downtown, and out to the lake district, this is one time that his money isn't working in his favor.

A New Beginning

When Dallas Nixon's parents throw her out, she seeks a safe haven. She arrives on the doorstep of the one person she always trusted, except Patrick Makowllen isn't looking to adopt a foul-mouthed waif with blue hair and yellow contacts. He reluctantly shelters her. The last thing he wants is someone sharing his life - he's a meat and potatoes guy, and she's a vegetarian. Against his own better judgment, he opens his heart and kisses his well-ordered, mundane life goodbye.

A Challenge

Tate Zaro has a black belt in TaeKwonDo, a career, and doesn't yearn for a man in her life. So why does she take a lousy paying job with a boss she dislikes, to be with a guy who spends his Saturdays coaching soccer? Life does not always give you what you want. Sometimes you get more than you ever expected.

The next River City book should be available Spring 2012.

Here's a snippet from Wanting.

Silence filled the air again. He took a sip of his coffee and then looked at Amanda. She was wearing the same knit top she had worn on their first date and he suspected it was either the best thing she owned or the only thing she owned.

His mind raced. He wanted to talk to her about her past. The only way he'd know for certain was to ask, yet molestation wasn't something normally discussed, nor was it considered polite conversation. His brain was telling him to deal with it, as if she were a client who needed to be told unwelcome news.

''Amanda, at some point in your life something has happened to you. There's something very wrong, and I'm fairly certain I know what it is, but we can't discuss it until I know specifically, so you need to start talking.'' He knew what he said was lame, but he was trying to open the door for her to tell him rather than accusing her of being a victim.

''I have no idea what you're implying.''

''Yes, you do.''

''No, there's nothing. I'm going to bed now.'' She started to stand, but he was on his feet in a flash.

''No, Amanda, you're going to sit here and talk. Whatever has happened to you is affecting us, and I want to know what it is. So have a seat and get it out.''

She got that icy hard glare on her face, and her pale blue eyes had turned to a cold gray. ''I don't know what you are insinuating.''

''I had one class in psychology in college and to me it was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo.'' He took a breath, ''If you want to discuss stocks, options, markets, mortgages, and commodities - then you'd be on my playing field, but not psychology. I do know if you keep things inside and allow them to fester, they only get worse.'' He watched her body stiffen. ''Sometimes you have to drag up the past, take a good hard look at it, and then move on. Something happened to you, something that's now having an impact on our relationship. We need to talk about it, but we can't discuss it until you tell me what it is.''

She sat quietly and stared into her lap. The ticking of the clock on the table seemed twice as loud.

''Take my hand and tell me what happened. What has made you so scared to be near me, so fearful? You know deep down inside of you that I will never do anything to you, yet you are still frightened.''

She ignored his hand, but he could see the tears welling in her eyes. He found a box of tissues, and laid it upon her lap.

She composed herself and said, ''I can't talk about it. I don't remember.''

''How old were you?'' he asked, in a quiet voice.

''I don't know, maybe six or seven the first time.'' She wrung her hands as she spoke. Her shoulders hunched and slowly she drew herself into a ball and wrapped her arms around her legs.

''Who was it?''

She closed her eyes. Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed to a grimace. ''I don't remember. I really don't remember. I just remember all the pain.''

He shook his head.

She sobbed and blurted out bits and pieces of the story.

He remained silent and listened. Occasionally, he reached over and touched her shoulder or her knee. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and tell her that no one was ever going to harm her again. The more she rambled, the more the story's fragments came together. Her eyes were now wide open but unseeing. The realization that her mother wasn't just hooking, she was also selling her young daughter to the highest bidder, wrapped around his stomach. Half of what Amanda said didn't even make sense. It was a child's perception of a hideous crime against her.

At one point she quit talking, uncurled from her knot, put her head back, and closed her eyes again. Her face was now red and puffy from crying, and although it was not hot in the condo, her hair was damp around her face from sweating. He retrieved a washcloth from the little bathroom, wet it, and brought it to her. Sitting on the arm of the sofa, he wiped her face and watched her breathe.

He wanted to kiss her lips, but he knew he'd better not do anything she could misconstrue as taking advantage of her. Instead, he sat quietly beside her. After a few minutes, he stood and walked to the kitchen. Wringing the washcloth under cold water, he brought it back, folded it, and placed it on her forehead. He wanted to ask her if she was okay, but that would have been stupid because she wasn't, so he stayed near her until she was ready to talk again. There was no sound other than her breathing and the rhythmic tick of the clock.

He reached over and was taking the washcloth from her face when she opened her eyes, looked up at him, and said, ''No man will ever have me again, never. I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't.''

He leaned down and kissed her damp forehead. ''No, Amanda, you're not a little girl anymore. You are a grown woman. The difference is now you can control your life and your body.''

He touched her hot, rosy-red cheek with his thumb. ''You have the right to make your own decisions. Giving yourself and your body to another person is not a light decision. It should only be done if you truly love the other person and there's a commitment between you. I have fallen madly in love with you, and I think you know that. But I will never take from you what you are not willing or ready to give.''

She closed her eyes again, and took a deep breath. He went to the kitchen and brought back the freshly dampened cloth. He picked up their cups of cold coffee, and refilled them with a fresh supply then sat on the arm of the sofa and gently touched her face. ''Sit up and drink some coffee. Do you want to talk some more?''

''I feel horrible.'' She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. ''You must hate me.''

''Never. No. You were the victim of a crime.'' He tucked her wayward lock of hair behind her ear. ''You are not responsible for what happened to you. The crime that was committed against you was hidden, and your wounds healed, but it left mental scars.'' Her gaze locked with his, staring deep into the very fiber of his being. ''Drink your coffee.''

''But you have to understand that I could never allow another man near me. I can't go through that ever again.''