"A strong and poignant love story..." @deesknight #vietnamwar #secondchance #Lostlove

About the book

Consider the role of strangers in our lives. An unknown postman in Virginia hides a bag of mail one day. His simple action set in motion untold consequences for many others—strangers—all over the country. How many bridges were burned in that forgotten mail pouch?

Sara Richards’s world is rocked when three love letters from 1970 are delivered decades late. The letters were written by Paul Steinert, a young sailor who took her innocence with whispered words of love and promises of forever before leaving for Vietnam. Sara is left behind, broken hearted and secretly pregnant, yearning for letters she never received.

Then Paul died.

Now, years later, she discovers the betrayal wasn’t Paul’s, when her mother confesses to a sin that changed their lives forever. How can Sara reveal to Paul’s parents that they have a granddaughter they’ve missed the chance to know? Even worse, how will she find the words to tell her daughter that she’s lived her life in the shadow of a lie?

Picking her way through the minefields of secrets, distrust, and betrayal, Sara finds that putting her life together again while crossing burning bridges will be the hardest thing she’s ever done.

Buy link: http://mybook.to/BurningBridges

 

Excerpt

Sara stared at the letters arranged before her in numerical order. The moment in time she and Paul shared was long ago, yet her dream had conjured his presence as though she’d just seen him. In her mind, his blue eyes darkened with passion before his lips captured hers, and he moaned his appreciation when their tongues met. She tasted his sweetness and knew the steel of his arms as he held her. How many nights had she put herself through hell reliving those memories? Too damn many.

After the concert, they’d met clandestinely on weekends, mostly at Sandbridge, where they could walk and talk undisturbed. With each meeting, stirrings built deep in Sara that pushed her to want more, but Paul insisted they restrain themselves because of her age.

Then the weekend before he shipped out, she'd planned a surprise and her life changed forever.

The kettle screeched, bringing her back to the present. Sara prepared a cup of tea and then picked up the envelope marked twenty-eight. At one time, she would have given her right arm to hold this letter. Now, curiosity and the desire for a brief escape drove her more than the passion of youth. Blind love had faded when she’d had no word to bolster her during the long weeks after the ship left.

First had come the waiting. No letters arrived, even though she wrote him daily. There were no phone calls, no notes, no anything, for days that dragged into weeks then crept into months.

Anticipation morphed into anxiety. She worried he was sick or hurt and unable to write.

One day she admitted that Paul must be afraid to write for some reason, and she feared what he would say if she did receive a letter. That their time together had been a mistake, that she was too young to be in love. That he really loved someone else and Sara had been only a stand-in while he was in Virginia. Perversely, she began to sigh with relief when she arrived home and found no word.

Now, knowing why she hadn’t received mail, what would she feel if she opened this letter and her old fears proved to be true?

“Nothing,” she murmured. “Paul’s dead. He can’t hurt me anymore.” At the very least, his letters might allow her to put his ghost to rest. For that reason alone, she had to read them.

She slid her thumb under the flap and ripped the envelope open. A single sheet held his hurried scrawl.

Buy link: http://mybook.to/BurningBridges

About the Author

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Contact Anne at annekrist@nomadauthors.com.

Website: https://nomadauthors.com/annekrist/index.html

Reader and Reviewer comments

Readers

"I loved it! And now my daughter's reading it." Sherry, a reader

"I just finished reading BURNING BRIDGES. Thank you for writing such a powerful story about how real love can overcome all obstacles. I appreciate the fact that Sara and Paul were imperfect and made mistakes. They needed each other to polish off their rough edges and make them complete. How nice that characters of middle age were written as attractive and sexual human beings." A reader, Virginia

"I give Burning Bridges 6 stars out of 5!! A true love story...I'm ready for more." - A reader, Byron, TaylorMade Bod

"I loved it, just loved it! I was going to take it with me on vacation but I started reading and didn't want to stop. It was addictive." - Chiara, a reader

"Loved it. Just loved it." - Beverly, a Beaufort reader

Reviewers

"…an emotionally captivating tale from beginning to end. … a beautiful story about a young love ripped apart that burns bright through two decades of separation."

5 Ribbons, Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies

"I absolutely adored this story ... packed with real emotion ... There was a powerful "WOW" factor..."

5 Hearts and Reviewer Top Pick, Diana, Night Owl Romance

"Rarely does a story come along which touches one in countless ways from every affecting scene, yet this writer does so with her first release. The name of Anne Krist will become recognized as an author who conveys genuine and heightened feelings between her memorable characters.

With surprising twists and believable interplay between characters, BURNING BRIDGES is an unforgettable love story filled with passionate desires and potent emotions."

5 Stars, Amelia, eCataRomance, eCataromance Reviewers’ Choice Award Winner

"Burning Bridges is a yummy romance. Anne Krist has a talent for conveying great emotion. Keep a box of tissues close at hand when you read Burning Bridges. I was wiping tears throughout the book. The plot quickly captured my interest, and I felt I was part of the drama. The tension between Paul and Sara (both are stubborn and hardheaded) left me tingling. The love they shared was obvious. I did not want this story to end. Fans of romance should place Burning Bridges at the top of this summer's reading list."

5 Stars, Anne, Review Your Book

"...a strong and poignant love story... Displaying unwavering talent when dealing with delicate situations, Anne Krist's BURNING BRIDGES stayed with me long after I finished."

5 Pixies Recommended Read, Twila King, Dark Angel Reviews

"Ms. Krist has a heart-warming, emotional story on her hands. ... This is one I highly recommend!"

5 Cups, Krista, Coffee Time Romance

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

Sweet, Not Smut (#sweetromance #pnr #summerromance)

Here's a bit of sweet, romantic flash fiction... just to prove I can!

Last Dance

It was hard to be brave.

Jen was determined not to give in to her tears. Across the lake, garlands of multicolored lights outlined the ferris wheel, the tilt-a-whirl and the antique carousel against the night sky. A soft breeze coaxed the dark water into playful ripples and carried the faint music from the rides. Jen leaned against the gazebo railing and took a deep breath of the moist summer air, redolent of roses and new-mown grass. The ache in her chest did not ease.

Her cheeks hurt from the hours of forced smiles. She had fled as early as politeness allowed, not waiting for the cake or the toss of the bouquet, dying to escape the visions of Amanda and Jack-- laughing together at the head table, clutching each other on the dance floor, kissing every time someone clinked a spoon against a glass...

She remembered Jack's kisses. It seemed like yesterday, although it had been more than a year. On a summer night as balmy and sweet as this one, he had parked on a country road outside of town, grabbed a blanket from the trunk and led her through a meadow to a knoll overlooking the river. She recalled the tall grass caressing her bare legs and the heat of his fingers entwined with hers. The black bowl of the heavens arched overhead, studded with blazing jewels. They had settled onto the blanket, lying side by side, entwined in a feverish kiss. His familiar smell, soap, sweat and nautical after-shave, mingled with the scent of growing things.

His mouth was fierce, his tongue bold, claiming her as his and his alone. She rejoiced. His hand slid up her thigh under her cotton dress. Summer lightning shimmered through her.

"Oh, Jen," Jack had moaned. "I can't take much more. Put this on me." He had pressed a small, square packet into her palm.

Alarm bells rang in Jen's head. "But we agreed...not until we're married..."

"I can't wait, baby. It's only three months. Please...!" He had rolled her onto her back and straddled her. Her skirt bunched up under her. His weight was both thrilling and scary. "Don't you love me, Jen?"

"With all my heart. That's why I want to wait. I want our wedding night to be special."

"It will be special. But right now--oh, have some pity on me, baby!"

"No!" She had scooted backward, away from him, and scrambled to her knees. "We promised. You promised." The raw greed she had seen in his face frightened her.

"You know what they say, babe," Jack had replied with a feral grin. "Promises were made to be broken..." Despair overwhelmed her then, as she understood how wrong she had been about Jack Barnes.

She hadn't stopped loving him, though. He had been the one to break it off. "I don't think you're right for me," he'd said. You mean I'm not enough of a slut? she'd thought, blinking away her tears, nodding her agreement that from now on they'd just be "friends". When she'd heard about his engagement, she had been physically sick for three days.

Now, at least, the torture was over. She took in another lungful of the soft night air. The tinny carnival tunes wafting over the water made her smile despite her misery. Since her dad had brought her here for the first time, when she was eight, Lakeview Park had always been one of her favorite places, She loved the smell of frying corn dogs, the melting sweetness of cotton candy, the breath-stealing thrill of being hurled into space by the amusements. When she strolled the tree-hung paths lined with lichened stone, or sat on one of the curlicued wrought iron benches, or stood here on the point where tiny waves lapped at the piles of a ruined wharf, she felt the past enfold her like a comforting blanket. One hundred and twenty years the park had been here, offering its peace and its pleasures.

Then Jen remembered that she would soon lose this as well. Probably the last season, the local newspaper had said. After a decade of losses, the owners were selling to some conglomerate that wanted to build a shopping mall. No one was interested in old-fashioned amusement parks anymore.

No one but me, Jen thought. The tears she had been fighting all day welled up and spilled down her cheeks. Huge sobs shook her slender body. She buried her face in her hands and finally allowed sorrow to overwhelm her. Everything she cared about was gone or going: Jack, the park, her cancer-ridden father...

"Please don't cry, Jen."

A male voice, full of warmth. A strong hand on her shoulder. Jen turned to the source, blinking to clear her vision. A young man stood beside her, dressed in a brown uniform she didn't recognize. His straight black hair was parted on the side. His even-featured face wore an expression of concern. Something tickled the back of her brain, some vague sense of familiarity.

"Do I know you?" she asked. She must look horrible, she realized, with her eyes swollen and her skin blotchy. She sniffled and stood straighter.

"Well, not exactly." His grin made him look more boyish. He had a cleft chin, she noticed, and dimples in his pale cheeks. "It's complicated." He laughed, and Jen discovered she couldn't help joining him.

"What do you mean, complicated?" she continued when her giggles subsided. Something about her companion made her feel totally at ease.

"I'll explain later," he said. He brought his hand out from behind his back. Between his thumb and forefinger he grasped the stem of a single red rose. "For you, sweet Jennifer. A token of my esteem."

How did he know her name? She took the blossom. Its heady perfume surrounded them. "Thank you. But if we've never met..." she began.

"I'm Daniel," he interrupted. "You can call me Dan." He leaned on the rail next to her, gazing out over the lake. "It's lovely here, isn't it? Even with the music, there's a quiet calm that's healing to the soul."

Jen didn't answer. It didn't feel necessary. On the opposite shore, the amusements twinkled like a faraway galaxy.

"In the old days, there was a dance pavilion here on the point. On summer nights like this it would be crowded with couples of all ages, from seventeen to seventy. The trolleys brought us here from town. The whole place was strung with lights. It was a fairy land."

Daniel took her hand. It felt so natural that she scarcely noticed. She was caught up in the picture he was painting of a happier past.

"The orchestra played from dusk until midnight. Admission was a nickel. Over there" -- he pointed toward a clump of trees to their left-- "they sold refreshments: sweet corn, lemonade and shaved ice with syrup..."

"The night we met," he said, slipping his arm around her shoulder, "I bought you a raspberry ice. It made your lips purple. I just had to kiss you..."

Just like that, he did. His mouth was gentle but Jen still felt the passion as he pressed his body against hers. Strange electricity sparked between them. He kept his mouth closed. Wanting more, wanting to taste him, Jen teased the seam where the lips met. He relaxed and allowed her to entangle their tongues. Pulling her to his chest, he ran his hands down her back to her waist. Her nipples peaked under her thin dress. She rubbed them against the odd, rough-woven fabric of his shirt. Between her thighs she began to melt.

The kiss made her dizzy. Perhaps she wasn't getting enough oxygen. The world spun around them, but there was no chance of her falling. Daniel held her, strong and secure.

Gradually the whirling ceased. Dan brushed his lips against hers one last time, then drew back. His left hand rested between her shoulder blades. The other held hers, out to the side. Jen became aware of music. She clutched his belt as he led her in a sprightly waltz.

They moved together across the floor of an octagonal pavilion, its wooden roof supported by carved pillars. Strands of bright bulbs sparkled overhead, radiating from the center to the periphery. Other couples danced around them, the women in tunics and slim, ankle-length skirts, the men wearing cuffed trousers and waistcoats or uniforms like Dan's. She felt the fabric of her own skirt fluttering around her calves.

"How...where...what's going on, Daniel?" She looked up into his warm brown eyes. His ripe lips curved into a smile and those adorable dimples winked at her.

"Never mind, my sweet. Just dance with me."

He led her with grace and confidence. Jen found that if she simply relaxed into his arms, following was effortless. As the music slowed, he held her closer. A hard bulk at his groin pressed against her belly. Languid arousal washed over her in waves. I must be dreaming, she thought. She never wanted the dream to end.

They swayed together. Jen closed her eyes, breathing in his scent of fresh-cut wood and lavender. When she leaned her head on his chest, she could hear his heart, strong and regular. She felt their breathing synchronize.

The waltz went on forever. Then the music stopped. The lights went dark. They still stood, holding each other, at the center of the floor. The orchestra and the other dancers had disappeared.

The summer wind ruffled Jen's hair. The forest stirred around the deserted pavilion.

"Come home with me, Daniel," she whispered. He answered with a kiss, sweeping her back into her voluptuous dream-state.

"I can't," he said finally. "Tomorrow I'm shipping out."

"Shipping out?"

"I'm off to the Western Front. To Marne."

Jen racked her brains, trying to remember why that sounded familiar. "No, don't go," she pleaded . "I've just found you."

"You'll find me again, Jen." He smiled sadly. "You always do. Or I'll find you. Look for me, when you return. Follow your heart. When we meet again, you'll know."

"But Daniel..."

He placed one last luscious kiss upon her lips, then stepped back into the shadows. "Remember me, darling. And don't cry."

The dizziness descended again, but this time she didn't have Daniel's sturdy frame to hold on to. A hurricane raged around her. Tears poured from her eyes but the gale whipped them away. When the tumult eased, she found herself back in the gazebo, sitting cross-legged on the splintery floor. Alone.

"Daniel!" she cried, her agonized voice echoing out over the lake.

"Don't cry," she heard, in her ear, in her heart. "Look for me. I'm waiting for you."

The summer air was heavy with the scent of roses. Looking down, she discovered she still held Daniel's gift. She brushed the velvety petals across her lips, remembering his kisses. "I'll find you," she whispered to the night. "I promise."

Clean Romance (#erotica #genres #cleanromance)

I’ve been around the publishing world for quite a while. I know a lot of authors, and host many of these colleagues here at the blog. Every now and then I get a guest who claims to write “clean romance”.

I have to be honest. That term really annoys me, for a whole range of reasons.

First of all, it conveys a sense of smug superiority over those of us who write more explicit fiction. It implies that what I write is “dirty”—messy, unsanitary, disgusting and gross. I don’t view my work that way, but I find it disturbing that some people apparently do.

Second, like all genre labels, it suggests a sort of absolute categorization that does not exist in practice. Romance stories fall on a continuum from completely G rated to triple X. Where’s the dividing line between “clean” and whatever the alternative might be? Presumably kisses don’t disqualify a romance from receiving the cleanliness label, but how about passionate embraces? If the hero’s hand brushes the heroine’s breast as he holds her tight, can the story still be “clean”? What about lustful thoughts or feelings of arousal? Are they allowed?

Arousal begins in the mind. I sometimes toy with the notion of writing an intensely erotic romance that nevertheless includes no sex at all. I’m confident I could manage this. Would I be able to sell this as “clean”?

Third, the label trades on the discomfort many readers have about sex. Read my story, the label suggests, and you won’t have to think about the nasty things that people do behind closed doors. You’ll be safe. You won’t be tempted to think dirty thoughts. You can enjoy the vicarious pleasure that comes from reading romance and still be “good”.

Don’t misunderstand me. Every reader has the right to make her own choices. If you’re not comfortable reading sexually explicit fiction, you shouldn’t force yourself to do so. On the other hand, it’s a bit disingenuous to pretend that romantic love can be divorced from physical sex.

It probably won’t surprise you to learn that I personally think the world would be in much better shape if people were more open about both discussing and enjoying sex. For instance, I believe that sexual frustration is a major, unacknowledged motivation for terrorism. Of course, I don’t expect everyone to agree with me. Still, the emotional valence associated with the world “clean” (and its opposite) denies the validity of my views.

“Clean” equals good, moral, healthy, admirable, desirable... you get the idea. “Unclean” means forbidden, tainted, immoral, evil.

I refuse to accept those judgments about what I write. But that sort of categorization is exactly the reason my books end up invisible, hidden in Amazon’s “dungeon”.

The funny thing is, I’ve talked to authors of “sweet romance” (a much less loaded term than “clean romance”) who’ve said, “I really wish I could write hot stuff like you. That’s what readers want, but I just can’t do it. I’m too embarrassed.”

I get this. Not everyone can write sexually explicit stories. Not everyone is interested in that kind of stories.

I’m just bothered by the implication that there’s something wrong with me because I am and I do.

A Genre I've Never Dared to Attempt

Anyone who looks at my back list will realize that I love to experiment with new genres. Easily bored, I really don't want to write the same sort of book over and over again. Instead, I'll branch out and try my hand in a sub-genre that is different from anything I've produced previously.

Gay erotic romance? Sure, why not?

Science fiction? One of my first loves.

Historical? Tough to do well, but given how much historical fiction I read as a kid, how can I resist?

How about a vampire book? No problem, though don't expect my vampires to follow all the traditional rules.

Steam punk? A total blast!

Humor? I'll give it a try, though my siblings used to ridicule me when I tried to tell jokes.

I realize this is not the best way to build a brand. Indeed, I'm sure that my diversity - or lack of focus, to look at it from a negative perspective - is at least partly responsible for my lackluster sales figures. That's too bad, but I really can't force myself to stick to just one or two genres.

I realized recently, though, that there's a genre I've never attempted. And now that thought is niggling away at me, tickling my sense of perversity.

I've never tried to write sweet romance.

Could I? Could I really keep the bedroom door firmly shut and still generate that sense of being swept away by emotion?

Should I? Or do my fans only want the explicit heat for which I'm known?

Would it be a waste of my time? Or an intriguing experiment?

What do you think? I actually have a couple of characters I've been working on and a setting back in the golden age of  Hollywood. I'd write the story for my beloved 92 year old aunt, who despite her own rather colorful life (three husbands) tells me she finds my books embarrassing.

Is it worth the effort? Should I take up the personal challenge? Do I dare?

Or is this a totally silly idea for someone whose tagline is "Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac"?

Metrosexy!

By Sheila Claydon (Guest Blogger)

I’ve just returned from the past and what a journey it’s been. No, I wasn’t in outer space, nor did I travel through a time portal. All I was doing was re-reading the books I wrote more than a quarter of a century ago because a publisher wants to reprint them under a Retro Label.

Now before I go any further you have to understand that I’m talking about sweet romance…the ones that were mostly published in paperback and read avidly by women who wanted to escape from their mainly domestic lives for an hour or two. There were other books and other genres, so don’t think this was all that was available, but I wrote the sweet romantic fiction that was popular at the time. I loved it…it was my escape from my own mainly domestic life, and I sold to two different publishers. It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d sold to another dozen, though, because the rules were always the same:

• Macho hero meets heroine early in first chapter (usually page 5)
• Feisty (virginal) heroine is instantly attracted to hero but fights it
• Macho hero kisses heroine against her wishes, usually after an argument
• Feisty heroine fights him off and then spends time regretting it
• Macho hero becomes moody and troubled
• Feisty heroine tames macho hero
• They marry and live happily every after

Okay so that’s a bit of a caricature but it’s close enough. So has anything changed over the years? Well not that much and yet everything.

The protagonists still meet in the first chapter, and yes, they are still usually instantly attracted to one another. 

This time around, however, the heroine doesn’t always fight it. Sex is allowed even without the surety of marriage at the end of the book, and even in a sweet romance.

The hero is a lot less macho though. Now he’s much more of a metrosexual: good with children and animals, kind, thoughtful, caring. He’s nice to old people too and he has some of the softer skills as well. For instance he might be able to produce tasty meals, take care of someone who is sick, deliver a baby (I’ve just finished reading that one!) or be a sensitive son of the soil. He’s good with his hands too, and that’s not a double entendre. If he doesn’t know how to build and repair things then he can forget all about being a hero and settle for a secondary character. And if he doesn’t know how and when to restrain his baser passions then he can forget about it altogether. He’s even learned how to tame the heroine (yes, she’s still feisty) without resorting to a forceful, uninvited kiss. Nowadays he shows more respect. He can still be moody and troubled of course, and lose his temper, and behave irrationally…but so can the heroine.

She’s a real person these days. Unlike her sisters from the 1980s, she is no longer half a person searching for a man to make her whole. Instead she is independent and self-sufficient, and she is often far too preoccupied with her own worries to think about men at all. When she does find him it’s because he just happens along and she is frequently the one who resists the growing love between them, often because she’s been let down in the past. (That hasn’t changed!) Today’s heroine expects more than just a hero. She wants her career as well, and she wants someone who will support her dreams. Marriage, finding her soul mate, loving someone…they all have their place in her life but they are not the end of the story.

And here’s another thing; when I re-read all my books from the 1980s I discovered something unexpected. I like my modern heroes much more than I did the macho men of old. Somehow the development of all those soft skills has made them far more desirable. Even though the heroines are not holding out for marriage and children any more, somehow they are ending up with men who are a much more interesting and attractive proposition. The hero of today is someone who I’d be happy to meet at the breakfast table every morning, and the fact that he might just be able to whip up a berry and buckwheat pancake for me is an added bonus.

I truly didn’t realize how much relationships had changed between the sexes until I re-read those books. I was expecting the hero and heroine to live in a time warp because it was before cell phones, before the Internet, even before home computers. In the UK in the early 1980s, typewriters were commonplace, people wrote letters, and meetings were arranged via landline telephones. The food was different too, much less cosmopolitan. An Italian trattoria was the height of sophistication. Now though, along with modern technology, equality has crept in. Twenty-five years ago the hero would have kissed the girl and worried about the consequences later. Now, he waits to be asked…well maybe that’s a bit of a stretch because this is romance after all, but he usually waits until he’s sure he won’t be rejected, that it really is what the heroine wants…and you know what…I like that.

And if this is before your time, well look at the covers of my book Golden Girl for some proof. In those days I used the pseudonym Anne Beverley. Due to be republished by Samhain in August, it is the story of an ingénue who is persuaded, against her better judgment, to model a range of cosmetics. In the 1980s cover she looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, whereas in the modern version she is quite obviously a young woman with spirit who is enjoying the effect she is having on the men around her.

Then, for even more proof of how times have changed, look at the cover of one of my latest books, Pathway to Tomorrow (Books We Love). On this the heroine is not only very obviously sexually turned on but she is also fully prepared for some alfresco loving while, in the background, the horses that play such an important part in her life and her career, are never far from her thoughts. And what about the hero? Is he another modern man? I think so…he’s sexy that’s for sure, but is he metrosexy? What do you think?

Blurb for Pathway to Tomorrow:

When musician Marcus Lewis buys the derelict farmhouse next to Jodie Eriksson's riding school he doesn’t know whether to be amused or irritated by her angry reaction to his plans. Then her sister Izzie visits him and makes things a whole lot worse…or is it better…because now he has an excuse to see Jodie again. Although, when he sees her, it’s not exactly a meeting of minds, they do discover they have one thing in common; they both believe they know what’s best for Izzie, and for Marcus' son Luke.

It turns out they’re wrong. The children they thought they were protecting need to be set free. It’s Jodie and Marcus who have the problem; but can two broken hearts make one whole one? The battle lines that were set when they first met have long since been breached but the war won’t be over until Jodie learns how to trust again, and until Marcus allows himself to believe in his son.

Excerpt:

Later, they pulled one another up a wooded slope, leaving the lake behind them as they searched for somewhere to sit and enjoy the spectacular scenery. Long before they found it though, Marcus tumbled Jodie into a grassy hollow that was hidden from view by the green fronds of new fern and the black skeletons of dried heather.

“I thought walking by the lake would be enough, but I was wrong,” he told her, supporting his weight with his hands as he leaned over her.

She smiled up at him, her eyes dark as sloes in the shadow of the ferns. He felt his breath hitch in his throat as he claimed her mouth. This wasn’t how he’d imagined their first time but he wasn’t strong enough to fight it, not when she was so eager and willing and the sun was so warm on his back. With a muttered oath he sat up and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

The touch of Jodie’s fingers as she stroked his shoulders was the final straw. He covered her hands, stilling them. “Only if you’re sure Jodie. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Yes it does,” her voice was soft as she pulled her hands free, sat up, and unbuttoned her polo shirt.

He helped her take it off and then he unhooked her bra, releasing breasts that put his imagination to shame. 

He didn’t touch her though. Instead he removed the band at the end of her plait and gently unwound her hair until it tumbled down her back in blue-black waves.

“I’ve wanted to do that ever since I first saw you,” he whispered, tangling his fingers in the thick skeins and pulling her towards him. He took his time after that, savoring her lips and the soft curves of her body before lying down and lifting her above him so the thick curtain of her hair screened them both from view. Then he took her nipples into his mouth and kissed them from pink to a moist, beckoning red.

Lost to everything around them they didn’t hear the voices until a small black and white dog burst through the ferns and started barking. Ignoring the angry commands of its owner, it darted at them, trying to nip them with its sharp little teeth.

With a muffled exclamation Marcus struck out at it. A lucky blow sent it yelping back to its master, and moments later they heard laughter as a group of hikers speculated about what sort of animal it had disturbed in the undergrowth.

PATHWAY TO TOMORROW is Book One of my Pathway Trilogy. It is available via Amazon at http://amzn.to/18P0ywe and Smashwords at http://bit.ly/13cp2ky.

Book Two: PATHWAY TO SUCCESS will be out later this year.

You can find me at on my blog at http://sheilaclaydon.com Also on twitter, facebook and at Books We Love

https://twitter.com/SheilaClaydon

https://www.facebook.com/sheilaclaydon

http://bookswelove.net/claydon.php

About Sheila Claydon

In the 1980s Sheila Claydon wrote a number of romances under the pseudonym Anne Beverley. Then a busy career and family life got in the way and before she knew it, she had turned her back on the characters who were begging to be liberated from her imagination.

Now she is back to writing fiction again and, considerably older and no longer shy, writes under her own name.

Her motto is a quote by author Ray Bradbury: 'First, find out what your hero wants. Then just follow him.'


She starts with plots, chapter outlines, characterization; she knows all the rules and faithfully follows them each time she starts to write a new story. Then the hero takes over and she follows him instead.

Although family remains central to her life, she still finds the time to read, to write, and to travel. Many of the places she has visited feature in her books. Her fans say that reading them is like buying a ticket to romance.

More Sex, Please...

By Lynn Cahoon (Guest Blogger)

Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m not talking about my personal journey in the wonderful world of physical contact, just writing about it. 

Temporary Roommates, which releases today with Passion in Print on April 20^th started as a sweet novella. I was at a pitch workshop when the publisher I’d expected to pitch to didn't show up at the event. (Bad form, that.)

Anyway, another publisher, Passion in Print, stepped in and loving my pitch asked for the full. When the contract offer came, they explained, there needed to be one on-screen sex scene in order for them to buy the story. But they had lots of energy and seemed to love the novella as much as I did. So I agreed to add a sex scene.

When the edits finally came, my editor felt I needed to up the sexual tension even more. More one-on-one for the hero and heroine. More compromising positions. Troy, the hero, was fine with the changes. In fact, he welcomed the increased physical relationship. My heroine, focused on her career, felt like she was selling out to the more conventional and expected role she’d been raised to lead. 

And it ticked her off. 

So what’s an author to do when your editor wants more hanky panky but your heroine is acting like a kid refusing to try something new at the dinner table? 

You let your character take the lead. Annie didn’t have any expectations from her time with Troy. In fact, she knew that building a career and a life took priority over finding a husband. No matter what her mother and supervisor thought. 

I put her in charge and gave her the aggressor role. Sex as power is usually portrayed as a bad thing. But sometimes, having gratifying, meaningless sex gives a woman perspective. And that’s not a bad thing, either in fiction or in real life. 

Now I hear the groans. For me, sex without commitment or meaning, isn’t powerful, it’s scary. But I’m not my character. I think about stuff too much. (Just ask my husband.) And even when I was wild and crazy after the divorce, I expected a night of sex to lead to a relationship. Like a girl. 

I wanted her to think like a guy. To enjoy herself for a few hours, then go on with her life.

But Troy keeps bringing their situation up in the days following. And she’s caught.

Reversing the role expectations allowed me to really play with the idea of when is just sex okay? And I had to challenge my own insecurities and deeply held beliefs. But in the end, the story was better because of my own discomfort.

So have I told you too much of the story? Or just enough to tease your appetite? Check out TemporaryRoommates and let me know what you think. 

Blurb

When a determined nurse and a hot intern find the perfect apartment, the same perfect apartment, they must find a way to share it for ninety days, without killing each other.

Annie Baxter has her dream job. Now, all she needs is a cheap apartment close to the hospital. Troy Saunders knows his life as an intern is all about the long hours. He doesn’t have time to play doctor to some Nurse Barbie. So when his sister finds a great apartment walking distance to work and next to the best running paths in the city, he’s sold. Two leasing agents, two prospective renters, one apartment. Can they co-exist without fireworks?

About Lynn

Lynn Cahoon is a contemporary romance author with a love of hot, sexy men, real and imagined. Her alpha heroes range from rogue witch hunters, modern cowboys, or hot doctors, sexy in scrubs. And her heroines all have one thing in common, their strong need for independence. Or at least that’s what they think they want. She blogs at her website www.lynncahoon.wordpress.com

Passion in Print website - http://www.passioninprint.com/ShowBook.php?CR=LC_TMPRMATES