A Political Game

By David Gelber (Guest Blogger)

It was all politics. The Labyrinth, the terror, the Minotaur. Minos, King of Crete, needed to maintain order in his ancient realm; revolution was always lurking in the shadows. Pasiphae, his oft neglected wife provides him with the perfect vehicle, a half bull/half man monster, supposedly the offspring of her illicit affair with a sacred bull. It doesn’t matter if the beast is gentle and sensitive, call him vicious, have your minions paint him as a fiend capable of devouring any man, woman or child.

And, a myth is born. The monstrous Minotaur. The terror of the ancient world. Fact? Fiction? In my latest book, “Minotaur Revisited” the reader learns that the Minotaur truly lived, but the stories surrounding him are mere propaganda, a product of politics. He is truly a sensitive soul who has been locked away in the Labyrinth. Is there any hope for this poor monster? Enter “noble” Theseus, another product of political misinformation. Sent to slay the vicious Minotaur, a drunken Theseus passes out at the Minotaur’s feet. While our pacifist hero debates what to do with his would be assassin Theseus offers a deal. Theseus tells the world he has slain the terrible monster while the Minotaur slips away.

For thousands of years our hero lives in the background, shaping history from the shadows. Learn the truth about Moses and Pharoah, find out who pushed the stone away from Jesus’ tomb or why vampires live forever. All this and more is revealed by the Minotaur himself, in his own words.

Martin Luther, Jack the Ripper, the Holocaust and so much more are part of the Minotaur’s immortal life. This Minotaur lives a life as god, king, sage, mother, father, husband, midwife and so much more. And, in the end, the reader will stop and think about this world we live in, about humanity, the good and the bad, while considering who are the real monsters.

The Minotaur proves himself to be the true mover and shaker of history. Read of his exploits and, when finished, stop and think about what it is that makes any being good and noble and true. More than likely readers of “Minotaur Revisited” will stop and shake their head, perhaps look at history and question what is truly important.

 
Blurb  

Legend states that the Minotaur was confined to the Labyrinth, slain by Theseus and then laid to rest by thousands of years of Greek mythology. But, the truth is far different. Read the Minotaur’s own words as he recounts his full life as god, king, warrior, matchmaker, midwife, monk, sage, father, mother, husband and, most of all, witness. The fierce Minotaur lived to see and be a part of the best and worst of humanity during a life spanning thousands of years. Part bull, part human, the Minotaur struggled to find his place in this world and, in the end, left his unique mark on history.

About the Author

David Gelber, a New York native, is the seventh of nine sons and one of three to pursue medicine. He graduated from Johns Hopkins University in 1980 and went on to graduate medical school in 1984 from the University of Rochester.

He completed his residency at Baylor University Medical Center in Dallas, Texas, followed by three years as attending surgeon at Nassau County Medical Center in Long Island, N.Y. Gelber has since joined Coastal Surgical Group in Houston, Texas.

Gelber has been a surgeon for more than 20 years, but over the last few years he began to pursue his passion for writing, initially with his debut novel, Future Hope (Emerald Book Company, January 2010). The novel speculates about future Earth and what the world might have been like if man had not succumbed to temptation in the Garden of Eden. Joshua and Aaron is a sequel to Future Hope and follows the battle of wills that transpires between unsung hero Joshua Smith and satanic Aaron Diblonski.

Dr. Gelber has added two books about surgery, Behind the Mask and Under the Drapes, both of which provide the reader with a view of the world of surgery rarely seen by those outside the medical professions.

Last Light is an apocalyptic short story which starts off asking the question: "What would happen if nobody ever was sick or injured?"

Minotaur Revisited is an entertaining romp through history seen through the eyes of Quint, the famed half bull half man monster of Greek Mythology. It was released in October 2012.

Gelber was raised in reformed Judaism, but joined the Presbyterian Church 15 years ago. He is married with three teenage children, four dogs and 24 birds of various species. His interests include horse racing, mechanical Swiss watches and, of course, writing.

http://www.davidgelber.com

This post is part of David Gelber's blog tour for Minotaur Revisited. David is giving away a $100 Amazon gift certificate to one person who comments during his tour. Visit  http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2012/12/virtual-book-tour-minotaur-revisited-by.html to find out the other stops on the tour.
 

Sunday Snog: A Virgin's Kiss from Incognito

Happy Sunday - or perhaps I should say Snogday! Thanks for visiting me.

Today I've got a rarity for me - a character who is a virgin. This snippet from Incognito recounts the heroine's first sexual experience, with a charming character from London who's visiting her college town and chats her up in the restaurant where she works as a waitress to support her education. Those British accents will do it every time!

After enjoying my snog, hop over to Victoria's for more luscious lip locks from your favorite authors!

Geoffrey slowed to a stop in front of a three-story frame house. He helped her off the bike. Miranda’s legs wobbled, the muscles still twitching from the bike’s vibrations.

“I’m renting a room here,” said Geoffrey, “while I‘m visiting. It’s not fancy, but it’s comfortable enough. Come on up.”

By this time, they were in a dark entry hall. Miranda had the urge to run. What did she know about this young man? She should be home; she needed her sleep; she had to study for her linguistics examination on Monday.

Geoffrey took her hand, then seemed to sense her hesitation. Silently, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. The warmth and strength of his body felt incredibly right. Miranda found herself melting in the embrace, offering up her mouth to his urgency.

They fit. The curves of her body matched the hollows in his, perfection, completion, the puzzle solved. Her eyes closed, Miranda revelled in the sensations, strange and yet familiar, comfortable. He pressed his pelvis against her and she felt the hardness there. She skipped a breath at the thought of what it meant. She had talked to friends, of course, read books, and examined pictures alone in her room, but she had blushed even then.

They flowed from the embrace, up two flights of stairs. His hands were on her the whole way up, stroking, supporting. At the top of the stairs he unlocked a door and ushered her into a dark space of indeterminate size. He locked the door behind them. Then he once again swept her into a kiss, which she enthusiastically returned.

His roaming fingers brushed her nipples through the nylon of her uniform. Miranda gasped as a delicious shiver ran down her spine. When he touched her lightly between her legs, though, she stiffened. As she pulled away from him slightly, he released her.

In the dim, streetlamp-lit room, he searched her face. Miranda stood nervous and uncertain under his gaze.

"Miranda," he said softly, finally. "This is your first time, isn’t it?"

She nodded, embarrassed at both her inexperience and her fear.

“Forgive me,” Geoffrey said. “You were such a delightful tease at the restaurant, I never would have guessed.” She felt her blush deepen.

 “I want you, Miranda. I want to touch you, taste you. Teach you. But only if that’s what you want.”

He stroked her face with a gentle hand. Something fierce and unfamiliar surged through Miranda. She grabbed his hand and planted a fiery kiss in his palm. Then she brought it down and placed it between her legs, pressing it against the padded triangle of flesh below her belly. She knew that he could feel the curly hair, there, through the thin fabric of her tunic. Inside, she felt a buzzing, a vibration, as if she were still astride the motorcycle.

“Take me,” she said. “Please, Geoffrey. I want you, too. I don’t know what to do, really, but I want to do it.”

She threw her arms around him and ground her body against his hip hungrily. Geoffrey laughed a little.

“Shh,” he said. “Slow down. Let’s relax and take our time. We have all night, after all.”

“Let me undress you,” he said. “But first, some illumination seems to be in order.” He lit a candle. In the flickering light, Miranda saw that they were in an attic room with a sloping ceiling. There was a twin bed covered with a colonial quilt, a chest of drawers, a desk piled with books near the dormer window, which was open to the spring night. The scene was reassuring, much more a student domicile than a playboy’s lair.

“Now,” he said, returning to stand in front of her. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that zipper since I first caught sight of you.” He grasped the tab near the collar and began to pull it down slowly, inch by inch exposing Miranda’s flesh to his view. She shivered a little as the night breeze caressed her bare abdomen. The zipper disengaged at the bottom and the zip-front uniform fell open. Geoffrey slipped his warm hands inside the garment, reached behind Miranda’s back, and unfastened her bra. Lifting it out of the way, he cupped her breasts, then bent to nuzzle her nipples with gentle lips.

Miranda sighed with delight. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensations aroused by her companion’s hands and mouth.

Roughness where his tongue grazed the erect points, wetness as he licked their sensitive surround. He sucked hard and seemed to tighten some cord linked to her sex. Between her legs there was an ache, a tingling, a yearning that swelled whenever he increased the suction.

His mouth still feasting on her breasts, he slipped the uniform off her shoulders. She raised her arms, and let him pull off the loose brassiere. Only her sensible cotton panties stood between her and nakedness. Miranda itched to remove them, to let the night wind cool the fires raging between her thighs. Still uncertain and shy, however, she allowed Geoff to set the pace.

He lingered a while longer on her nipples, until she was sure he was teasing her. Then he began moving downward, ever so gradually. He ran his tongue lightly down her abdomen, left a wet trail around her navel. Now he kissed her delicately, just above the edge of her panties. He pushed his tongue under the elastic.

“Oh, please, please, take them off. I’m dying...” Miranda wanted to beg, but she was too shy to say a word. As if answering her thoughts, Geoffrey deftly slipped his thumbs under the waistband and pulled the garment down around her ankles. Crouching at her feet, he used his thumbs to part the fur cloaking her sex, and plunged his tongue into the crevice revealed.

Miranda gasped, jerked, nearly lost her balance. This was totally new, lightning, electric shock, a surge of pleasure so acute she could barely believe it. Expert, his first probe hit its mark.

She knew about the clitoris, of course, in these days when such things were discussed on television. She masturbated, very rarely, lying on her stomach with a pillow stuffed between her legs. She had never dared touch herself there, though, shyness and embarrassment winning over curiosity even when she was alone.

So she was totally unprepared for the effects of Geoff’s skillful mouth. Holding her lower lips apart with both hands, he sucked the reclusive button of flesh while raking his tongue over its tip. Miranda moaned, her knees sagging. Geoffrey caught her, kissed her lightly, and laid her on her back on the bed.

Miranda tasted a hint of ocean on his lips, salt and seaweed. She was thrilled to realise that this was her own flavour.

Geoffrey resumed his attentions, his tongue dancing in her sex. Miranda spread her thighs wide, brazenly pushing her pelvis at him. She wanted more, more. He obliged, grasping her buttocks and lifting her to his mouth, eating her greedily and yet tenderly.

Miranda gave herself up totally to her pleasure. She thrashed and twisted, urging his tongue deeper.  Taking his head in her hands, she pressed his face into her crotch. She was beyond shyness, beyond shame, beyond thought.

How a Werewolf Wrote my Book

By Amber Polo (Guest Blogger)

My first attempt at writing fiction resulted in a story that started out nice. And got nicer. Tension? I don’t think so.

I learned pretty fast I needed to add some action and serious plot. Not that I’m ever going to spatter blood on every page or kill off the hero, but not every character can be admirable.

In my second novel I took a risk and killed off a good guy, but it was sad and teary. When I started my urban fantasy series starring dog-shifter librarians I couldn’t bring myself to write a renegade dog. Dogs are kind and loyal and smart (sorry cat lovers) so the bad guys had to be book-burning werewolves, a whole pack of them.

I introduced a banker werewolf and for some reason I created his wife. Actually I think Sybilla Dinzelbacher inserted herself into my story. She was so deliciously mean she offered comic relief. In Book One, Released, she was the pushy wife and restaurateur. In Book Two, Retrieved, she takes over as pack alpha, divorces her weak-kneed half breed werewolf husband, and recruits a sexy young wolf as her explosives expert, and challenges the head librarian to a contest for territory.

I stood by while Sybilla ran the villainous pack for me. Of course I love her - she does mean the way I never could. In Book 3, my WIP, Sybilla starts out working in DC for her Senator father. Oh yes, like many werewolves, she has a law degree and influential friends. Again my sexy villainess leads my story to places only she could discover.

And not only that, she wants to speak for herself.

Sybilla Romano Dinzelbacher, LLD, Restaurateur (Black wolf, Beta Female)

I should have been the heroine of Amber’s series The Shapeshifters’ Library because I’m way more interesting than that librarian Liberty Cutter or that chocolate Labrador Retriever Children’s Librarian, Godiva. I would have taken over the entire series except for my husband Harry. Don’t get me started about Harry, but marrying him was not one of my better decisions. His shaggy innocent good looks were so different from the slick confident werewolves prowling around my law school campus. His half-breed persona caught me in a moment of rebellion.

When his father gave him the opportunity to move to Ohio, run a bank, and wait for the ancient pack Alpha to croak, it seemed like a first step in moving on to bigger things. Settle for being a small-town banker’s wife? I don’t think so. I’m a big pack girl.

Anyway, if Amber had wanted more sex to heat up her books, she should have given me more pages. I get to be the villain, which suits me fine. I’m one of the most important characters and got my own POV, which is cool because without my viewpoint you’d think books and libraries are wonderful and worth saving. I get to tell you about the werewolf plot to destroy books and libraries. Who else lets you in on the good stuff?

I wear sexy clothes and own a trendy bistro which serves the best food you’ve ever eaten. Forget the stale donuts in the library’s staff room, my French chef’s flaming deserts are to die for.

Harry is Beta Male to Elsie Dustbunnie (and you thought my name was dumb). In book one, she’s retired from the public library but still runs the pack. I do give her credit for burning down the old library, but when the librarians moved into the old dog-shifters’ building we had to figure out how to put them out of business and kill all the dog-shifters still in the basement. That old bag needs a new hip and a quick trip to the old wolves’ home, but she thinks Harry would flub the whole thing. But no, she won’t let me have a go at running the Pack because she’s so jealous of my youth and beauty.

I try to get Harry to be a man – or a wolf – but his dog blood makes him wishy washy. I’ll admit when old Harry is in wolf form he still can light my fire, but the rest of the time – if I were a reader - and I’m NOT – I’d rather curl up with a good book.

I do my best to destroy every book I find. I love the rituals when we run around in the woods on four feet and toss books onto bonfires.

So read The Shapeshifters' Library Book One: Released to see if I can nudge Harry and Elsie into burning down the town library. And don’t miss Book Two: Retrieved. I’m Pack Alpha and battle the librarians for control of the town with the help of a hunky ex-Marine wolf by the name of Blaze.

Oh, and Amber’s reminding me to tell you both books are sweet, despite all my efforts. And wait till I start writing Book 3 for her.

Bio

Amber Polo has had a lifelong love of libraries. A fascination with ancient libraries and curiosity about why werewolves outnumbered dog-shifters in literature inspired her new urban fantasy series The Shapeshifters' Library filled with librarian dog-shifters.

To help writers and readers reduce stress her Relaxing the Writer: Guidebook to the Writers’ High offers suggestions and simple exercises.





Find her in the usual places:

Website
Blog Wordshaping
Goodreads
Face Book
Twitter

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Roses, Candy and Clamps

Is BDSM romantic?

I think so. (As if you couldn't guess...!) In a D/s relationship, each party gives a precious gift to the other. The submissive offers the Dominant her total trust, placing her body and her safety in his hands. The Dominant gives his sub his promise to cherish and protect her - along with his unstinting attention, his lust and often, a good deal of pleasure.

Much more intimate gifts than chocolates or flowers...

Because BDSM is often viewed as evil or sinful, the top and the bottom are more emotionally naked than one normally is with a lover. They choose to reveal their real selves in order to experience the thrill and satisfaction of complementary desires. D/s takes honesty and courage, but the rewards are great. The powerful connection that results can be intensely moving, a true bond of love  - at least, based on my experience.

So today, on Valentine's Day, I'm celebrating the deeply romantic nature of dominance and submission with my short story, A Old-Fashioned Valentine. Enjoy! 

An Old-Fashioned Valentine

Sometimes I think I can't bear it. His absence hurts me more than any whipping or caning he might administer, especially when he's very so far away, on the opposite side of the globe. I desperately miss his orders - never mind how difficult they might be to obey. His touch, alternately rough and tender - his hypnotic voice - his fierce, inescapable lust – I can't live without them anymore. I stumble through my days dazed with need. Working, doing chores, eating, even sleeping, I'm preoccupied by memory and desire.

In erotic stories, Doms always text their instructions to their slaves, but he doesn't even own a mobile phone. There's email, of course. He worries about privacy, though, and so I must be content with vague messages that scarcely satisfy me. "Dear Pet, I'm thinking of you. Are you being good?"

I know what he means. Yes, I'm good. It's a matter of pride, and practicality too. An orgasm at my own hands will never provide that sense of completion he can bestow. I'd far rather wait and reap the sweet rewards of obedience.

Given the twelve hour time difference, phone calls require prior planning, and because of the costs, they're usually short. Still, it's a gift just to hear him breathing. He's paranoid about being overheard – not necessarily unrealistic given where he's working – so we stick to safe topics. I can't tell him how badly I need to feel the sting of his palm on my backside or the tight embrace of his ropes.

The past three weeks have been hard enough, but today is Valentine's Day, usually a special occasion for us. He is surprisingly sentimental as well as devilishly clever. Each year that we've been together, his meticulously designed Valentine's scene has broken his own previous record for creative perversion. I steel myself to the fact that this year will be different. For me, February the 14th will be a day like any other. We'll talk tonight – tomorrow morning his time – but meanwhile I'll go about my business, trying to forget the hungry ache in my chest and emptiness between my thighs.

***

Read the rest of the story here.  

Happy Valentine's Day to all!

The Perils of Writing Historical Fiction

By B.J. Scott (Guest Blogger)

Thank you for having me on your blog today.

I was asked to talk about the pitfalls of writing a historical novel and there are many. First of all the genre is important. Historicals can fall into two categories, historical romance or historical fiction. While most would think them one and the same, they are not.

In a historical romance the history sets the stage and the ambiance for the book, but the main focus is on the romance between the two main characters. Most readers of historical romance are well versed in their favorite time periods and expect the book to be as accurate as possible when it comes to setting, speech and customs, so research is very important. An author can weave in details about important historic dates or battles into their plot, and might use historic figures as secondary characters to enhance the book, but it is the relationship between the hero and heroine that must be center stage. Most publishers of historical romance have very strict guidelines and the POV of the book may only be that of the hero or heroine or a combination of both. The secondary characters, while they help to flesh out the story, basically stay in the background. The history must never overshadow the romance. There must always be a HEA ending as well.

In historical fiction, the historic events, battles or figures drive the story. While there might be a romance in the wings, like in the movie Braveheart, it takes the backseat to the historical events. Secondary characters can have their POV expressed and play a more significant role. The ending does not have to be a happy one.

This might all sound simple, but it is not. When you write a historical romance, it is more complicated than one set in modern times. You have a hero and heroine from the past, a time when the dynamic between men and women were very different than they are today. Often in a historical romance, there is a war, battle or social tradition or custom that keeps the lovers from being together. Women were treated differently in the past. Until into the twentieth century they were viewed as property and used to barter for land and alliances. A woman was seen and not heard and usually had no say in who they wedded or bedded. While your dashing hero might be an honorable man in love with his lady, he may be faced with challenges and make decisions that in modern day would be considered deplorable, forcing him to choose duty over desire.

Taking the heroine out of the subservient role and making her a spirited, independent woman is also a challenge. As with the hero, you must find a middle ground that lets the reader relate to the characters and root them on, yet keeps them believable and not too modern in their way of thinking or behaving. Some readers have a problem with the relationship from the past and find they get annoyed with either the hero’s aloofness or the heroin’s reluctance to stand up for herself. It can also go to the opposite extreme where the hero is too good to be true and the heroine a shrew. So finding that happy medium is very important.

In historical romance we also must contend with different eras. Each one has its own unique set of customs and social mores to contend with. What a Viking might get away with in 1100, an English Lord in a Regency romance might not. This means an author must be diverse and familiar with the time period she chooses. Again you can never do too much research. Authors must do their best to fit the characters and plot into the mold set for that time period, yet still remain unique.

The further back in time we go, the more difficult it is to get the setting and characters right. Most romance authors pick a favorite time period and pretty well stick to that for their books. Some will branch out, but usually an author of Scottish historical romance writes books on that topic. A Regency writer sticks to that time period and so on.

What happens to the books that fall in between romance and general historical fiction? This can be a precarious place for an author! As a history buff and very much into research and historical accuracy, I find it hard to stick to the strict guidelines set for the genre of historical romance. I have a lot of history woven into my storylines and my secondary characters are noticeable and memorable. Most likely this is the reason my first book, Highland Legacy was seen by a few editors as historical fiction and by others as historical romance. I had to work hard to keep the history to a minimum and to tone down my secondary characters, to make sure the book remained in the POV of the hero and heroine.

Because a historical romance takes place in a time when the hero and heroine are likely to be apart for extended periods of time, keeping the romance fresh and not turning the book into a history lesson is a difficult. I ran into the same problem when writing Highland Legacy and again with Highland Quest. Since the books take place around major battles during Scotland’s bid for independence, the heroine and hero must be apart at times in the book. Hopefully, I have managed to get the romance sizzling enough to withstand the necessary times apart and the scenes when they are together more than make up for it. In my third book, Highland Homecoming, I am trying to have less time apart and focus more on the romance between Alasdair, the oldest brother and the one least likely to fall for a woman, and the mysterious lass he finds unconscious on the beach.

The last point to be made about historical romance is that like any genre, there are ebbs and tides in popularity. When I first was ready to submit Highland Legacy the market was saturated with Scottish historicals and the publishers were shying away from them in favor of other time periods. Fortunately, that created a shortage and they regained their popularity. Some eras like Regency seem to always hold an audience. If you talk to writers of other time periods like Civil War or Westerns they say it is harder to sell those than Highlander books or Regency Romances. If you plan to write historicals, don’t only do research for you book, but be sure there is a market waiting for it as well.

Blurb for Highland Quest

No longer content in the shadows of his older brothers and on a quest to find his destiny, Bryce Fraser chooses a path fraught with danger, passion, and decisions. Can his unspoken love for spirited, beguiling Fallon be triumphant in a time of war and uncertainty, or will they both fall prey to the devious plans of a traitorous laird from a rival clan?

Excerpt

Bryce closed the gap between them. She heard his footsteps, felt his warm breath on the back of her neck as he spoke, but didn’t turn around.

“Please dinna be angry with me, Fallon. I could not bear to think you held me any ill will. This is for the best.” He gently touched her shoulder.

“Dinna leave.” She dropped the sack and whipped around to face him, the words escaping before she could stop them. “Why must you go? Why must you risk your life?”

“You know why.” He yanked her against his chest and captured her mouth.

But this time she did not fight his advances. She wrapped her arms around his neck, responding with equal enthusiasm to his kiss. Her lips parted, welcoming the sweep of his tongue. As he deepened the exploration, her knees buckled, and she clung to his tunic as if her life depended on it.

Unshed tears stung her eyes, but she managed to blink them away. This might be the last time they would see each other and she suddenly found herself wanting a memory that would last forever. What she was about to ask was wrong, and could only lead to heartache. While she knew she should fight temptation with her last breath, she was only human.

“Join with me, Bryce,” she whispered against his lips.

Highland Quest Buy Links:  

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AQKYPU0    

Soul Mate Publishing http://www.soulmatepublishing.com/highland-quest/   

Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/highland-quest-bj-scott/1114002946?ean=2940016110769&isbn=2940016110769 

Kobo http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Highland-Quest/book-3h45k9pPxkaA9JX__x0mRw/page1.html?s=W28tjCmTwESL-eKO_pW68A&r=1

Bio

With a passion for historical romance, history in general, and anything Celtic, B.J. always has an exciting work in progress. Each story offers a blend of romance, adventure, suspense, and, where appropriate, a dab of comic relief. Carefully researched historical facts are woven into each manuscript, providing a backdrop from which steamy romance, gripping plots, and vivid characters—dashing alpha heroes and resourceful, beguiling heroines you can’t help but admire—spring to life. A member of RWA, World Romance Writers, Celtic Hearts Romance Writers, and Savvy Authors, B.J. also writes contemporary, paranormal, time travel, and romantic suspense.

C.S. Lewis first captivated B. J.’s imagination in the fourth grade, and her desire to write sprang from there. Following a career in nursing and child and youth work, B.J. married her knight-in-shining-armor, and he whisked her away to his castle by the sea. In reality, they share their century-old home in a small Canadian town on the shore of Lake Erie with three dogs and a cat. When she is not working at her childcare job, on her small business, or writing, you will find her reading, camping, or antique hunting.

https://www.facebook.com/authorbjscott

http://www.authorbjscott.com/

http://authorbjscott.wordpress.com/

BJ is giving away various  swag (including a canvas tote bag, a mouse pad, a pen, book thong, bookmark, can cooler, magnet, and key chain -- US/Canada only) to randomly drawn commenters from this tour and her Virtual Book Tour, and a grand prize of one $50 Amazon GC to one randomly drawn commenter from this tour and her Super Book Blast. For information on the other stops on the tour, visit: 

http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2012/12/virtual-book-tour-highland-quest-by-b-j.html

The more guest blogs you check out, the greater your chances to win!

 

Dare to Believe

I realized something recently. I'm limiting my own success by my beliefs.

I've been publishing for fourteen years. I have more than fifty titles to my credit - not counting short stories in anthologies. And yet I have the deep-seated conviction that I'll never be a best-selling author.

To be honest, my sales are far from stellar. I know many of my colleagues sell as many books in a month as I do in a year. Until recently, I guess I just accepted that. I know I'm a skilled writer but I've assumed that somehow I just don't have what the market wants. I've made excuses - I'm too quirky, or too literary, or too much of a dilettante, jumping from one genre to the other. My stories have too much sex, or maybe not enough. Or perhaps the fault lies in my marketing, the fact that I'm not on FB and don't tweet, that I don't do live chats or pay big bucks for ads....

Then, during my morning meditation, it hit me. At least one reason I haven't been more successful is that I haven't dared to believe I could be. 

Of course, understanding this is only the first step. I have to change my world view. I need to imagine what it would be like to get royalty checks with four or five zeros instead of three. And you know, that's really hard. We're taught to be humble, to lower our expectations.

But that's completely the wrong perspective. Modest expectations lead to modest results, a self-fulfilling prophecy. We have to raise our expectations in order to move beyond the present to a brighter future. To a very large extent, we can only achieve what we can envision.

Can I envision myself as a best selling author? Because until I can, I never will be.

I'm not there yet, but I'm working on it. I'm trying to nip those limiting thoughts in the bud and replace them with the knowledge that there are no intrinsic limits on how far I can go.

Of course, I've got to write more books, too. You know, that's the easy part.

A Sunday Snog for Chinese New Year

All over the blogosphere right now, authors are celebrating the imminent arrival of Valentine's Day. However, that's not the only holiday this week. Today is Chinese New Year, the start of the Year of the Snake. So I've gone way back to my first novel, Raw Silk, to pull out an excerpt with a Chinese setting - specifically, Chinatown in old Bangkok. Although it's a rather long excerpt, there's definitely some orality near the end - and a lot of fun before you get there!

I'm also participating in Victoria Blisse's Blisse Kiss Chase event. Find my graphic of Smooch the Blisse Bear somewhere in this post, note his number, and add that to the numbers on all the other Kiss Chase posts to be eligible for the grand prize. For instructions on how to enter (and links to more kisses and clues) go to http://blissekiss.co.uk/!

Meanwhile, in keeping with the holiday spirit, I'm giving away a copy of my paranormal novella Hot Spell to one lucky reader who comments on my post today. I'll draw the winner on Thursday the 14th (of course!)

Happy Valentine's Day - and Happy Chinese New Year!

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The Chinese area of Bangkok was one of the oldest parts of the city. Tucked into a bend of the Chao Phraya, it was a warren of narrow streets, flanked by crumbling three-story shop houses. Charoen Krung, the main thoroughfare, was barely wide enough for two cars to pass. The traffic crept sluggishly along its length, but the sidewalks bustled with commerce.
   
The street was lined on both sides with jewellery stores, their bright red signs blazoned with gold lettering in English, Thai and Chinese characters. Some were glassed in, protected from the heat and the dust of the road, but many had open fronts stretching a quarter block or more. Inside, the walls too were crimson. Kate saw long counters and display cases with glittering contents. Customers sat on stools at the counters, bending over the cases or haggling with the proprietors.

In front of the gold shops, vendors hawked everything from fresh vegetables to movie posters. As Kate got off the bus, she took a deep breath. The air smelled different here. Mixed with the normal exhaust fumes, she caught spicy hints of anise and ginger. She passed a traditional medicine shop, its murky interior lined with wooden drawers holding mysterious roots and herbs. A pale ginseng root floated in a glass bottle, its hairy extremities vaguely suggesting a human figure. The wizened, bespectacled shop owner behind the counter looked up as she paused. Flustered, she hurried on.

At the address Somtow had given her, she found a narrow door framed in Chinese script. There was no English sign. The door was open, and led, she saw, to a steep, carpeted stairway. The building smelled of age, but there were also some rich food odours that she could not identify.

At the top of the stairs, she found a small antechamber made even smaller by the huge porcelain jars standing on either side of a curtained arch. She was met by an elderly Chinese man in a rusty black suit.

“Miss O’Neill?” he asked, his accent making it difficult for Kate to understand him. She nodded. “Please come with me.”

He held the curtains aside for her. They entered a cavernous room, two stories high. Fans turned lazily above them, hanging from the embossed tin ceiling. Round tables were scattered around the room, but only one or two of them were occupied. None of the diners was Somtow.

“This way,” said her guide, gesturing toward the back of the room. Here, Kate saw, there were wood-panelled walls that reached halfway to the ceiling. As they came closer, she realised that these were enclosed booths made of teak or mahogany, arranged around a central corridor. Floor-length drapes of heavy brocade covered the entrances, ensuring the privacy of the occupants. Halfway down the corridor, they stopped, and the Chinese man knocked on the door post. 

Somtow’s voice was muffled by the curtains. “Come in,” he said, sweeping the draperies aside. “Come in, Katherine.”

The interior of the booth was furnished with brocade-cushioned benches and a table covered in white linen. It was surprisingly spacious. There was no sense of being confined. The top was open; immediately above their heads, Kate saw one of the fans twirling slowly.

Somtow closed the curtains and took her hands. “Thank you for coming. Please, make yourself comfortable.” She seated herself on the bench. He smiled at her delightedly. “Well? What do you think?”

Kate looked around her. “Interesting,” she said. “I’ve certainly never seen anything like it.”

“The Chinese conduct all important business over food,” explained Somtow. “and sometimes, discretion is important. The Three Moons restaurant has seen five generations of negotiations, deals, intrigues and coups. Not too mention illicit meetings and lovers’ rendezvous.”

Kate just smiled at his enthusiasm.

“In addition,” he continued, pouring them some tea, “the food is exceptional. I took the liberty of ordering Peking Duck for us. They need twelve hours advance notice.”

Kate laughed. “You are unbelievable. It seems that all you think about is food and sex.”

“Not so,” Somtow protested in mock seriousness. “I will admit those are among my primary occupations, but I am also interested in business. You have not told me yet whether you will take the position I offered you.”

“After Saturday, I will let you know. After Saturday, everything may change.”

“I know,” said Somtow softly. “Still, I am looking forward to it.” He reached across the table and stroked her cheek gently. Something inside her melted. Her eyes grew wet, and so did her sex.

“Are you hungry?” he asked after a moment. Kate nodded. He pressed a button on the wall that looked like an old-fashioned doorbell. In less than sixty seconds, there was a knock outside.

“Come in.” The elderly gentleman and a much younger man entered with two trays. The steam rising from them made Kate’s mouth water. With remarkable speed, they set the food on the table, and left the cubicle, closing the curtains behind them.

The food was wonderful, but they ate mostly in silence. Kate was surprised at Somtow’s uncharacteristic reserve. She felt a strange tension growing between them. She picked up a morsel of duck with her chopsticks and placed it thoughtfully in her mouth. Was it because of David, she wondered? Or the coming moment of truth? She watched Somtow as he used his chopsticks to pull the juicy flesh from the bone, then brought it to his lips. She was seized with the desire to kiss those lips, to run her hands over his smooth, firm limbs. She felt the pull of his body like magnetism.

Of course, she reminded herself, she had been celibate for more than a week now, in preparation. She had to laugh at herself. A week without sex these days seemed like a year.

Finally, she leaned back on the cushions. “I can’t eat another bite,” she said. “That was magnificent, though. Thank you.”

“I love to please you, Katherine,” he answered. “As I am sure you know by now. As I told you, I have something for you. If you are finished, I will have them clear the dishes.”

He rang for the waiter, and the dirty plates disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. The young man also brought them a fresh pot of tea.

When the curtains were closed again, Somtow reached into his pocket. He brought out a blue velvet box. “I hope that you will accept this, Katherine, as a token of my love and respect for you. As something to remember me by, perhaps.”

Kate wanted to refuse the box, but the look in his eyes stopped her. Silently, she took it from him and opened it.

It was a sapphire necklace, an oval pendant on a delicate gold chain. It was unbelievably beautiful.

Kate was overwhelmed. “Somtow, I can’t take this. This should be for your wife, not for me.”

“Nong has her own sapphires, Katherine. And she has the honour and misfortune of being my legal wife. I want you to have something tangible, something precious, something to convince you that you are more to me than just a playmate and a diversion.” 

He was so sincere. Kate felt tears prick her eyes again. Without further comment she carefully fastened the chain around her neck. The stone sparkled in the hollow of her throat.

“Thank you, Somtow,” she said softly. “I'm deeply touched.”

Her prince watched her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You look lovely,” he said. “Of course, you would look lovelier still if you removed your blouse.”

“Somtow. You promised!”

“Promised what?” he said with mock innocence.

“That you would stick to the rules and would not try to seduce me.”

Somtow grinned. “I am sure that I never promised that.” He leaned forward across the table. “I would never make a promise that I could not keep. In any case, I have a feeling that you really want to take off your top.”

It was true, of course. The attraction that Kate had felt toward him during lunch was a hundred times stronger now. She glanced over at the curtains. They were tightly closed. “The management would never enter a booth unannounced,” said Somtow. “It would violate all the traditions.”

Without a word, she pulled her silk shell over her head. Then she unhooked her brassiere in the front, and let it slide off her shoulders. She sat up straight, enjoying the hungry way that he eyed her bared breasts.

“Ah, Katherine,” he sighed. “I see that I was right.” He picked up his chopsticks, reached across the table, and deftly caught her left nipple between them. “Quite stiff,” he commented approvingly. He applied a bit more pressure and the button of flesh swelled further. Her cunt muscles tensed and her clit tingled.

He switched to the other nipple, rolling it back and forth between the lacquered wood sticks. Kate gave a little moan, and thrust her chest forward.

“You are incorrigible, Somtow,” she said when she had caught her breath. “In any case, I’ll bet that you are quite stiff yourself.”

“You would win that wager,” he chuckled. He stood up and Kate saw that he had already unzipped his trousers and released his erection, that he had been stroking himself with his left hand even as he used the chopsticks with his right.

“You know,” she said with a smile, “I am still a bit hungry after all.”  She grabbed one of the cushions from the bench and threw it on the floor in front of him. Then she knelt and began feasting on his smooth, cool flesh.

The slender Thai rested his hands on her shoulders and pressed his pelvis against her mouth. Kate worked his penis like a vacuum cleaner, sucking him as if to extract every drop of his cum,. She relished his slightly salty taste and the now-familiar whiff of sandalwood that came from him. He moaned, and she paused to admonish him. “Shh!” she whispered. “I don’t want the management to come rushing in thinking that I’m doing you harm.”

“I cannot help myself, Katherine,” Somtow gasped.

“Maybe I need to gag you,” she said playfully, and then was a little shocked by her own words. Was her association with Gregory polluting her mind to such an extent?

She returned her attention to his cock, licking up and down its length before swallowing it again. The skin was petal-soft. She could feel the pulse of blood raging beneath.

As Somtow came closer to climax, Kate felt her own heart beginning to pound. Her clit throbbed in the same rhythm as his cock, and she could feel her lower lips swelling, opening, aching for attention. She was determined, though, not to allow him access to her sex. Technically, at least, she wanted to adhere to the rules she had established. She wanted the contest on Saturday to be fair and unbiased.  She sucked harder, and lightly raked her teeth over his rigid flesh. Come on, Somtow, she thought. Come in my mouth, my sweet prince.

He hovered on the edge. Kate could feel his muscles tensing. But instead of letting go, he gently
pushed against her shoulders, pulling out of her mouth. “Turn around, please, Katherine. I want to share my pleasure with you.”

“No, Somtow. We all agreed, no sex until the showdown.”

“Oh?”  He raised one eyebrow. “And what do you call this that we have been doing for the last fifteen minutes?"