I’d like to welcome my third guest this week for the Blogger Book Fair, Eva Lafoy. I hope everyone is checking out some wonderful authors and adding to their reading lists! Eva and I share a love of all things science fiction (though her newest release is a contemporary romance … I guess I’ll forgive her for that. *vbg*) Take it away Eva …
When I signed up for Blogger Book Fair I had no idea I’d be signing up for two more blog hops the same week! Yowsa!
A bunch of authors got together for the Winter in July event that runs July 24-27th and since I didn’t already have a winter book out I had to hustle. And hustle I did.
The result was STEAL MY HEART, a winter time short story.
Tiffany’s addicted to high-priced custom homes and expensive jewelry. To make ends meet, she embarks on a life of crime. But when she targets the $32 million house at an exclusive ski resort everything goes awry. Instead of jewels, it’s her heart that might be stolen…
Jeff can’t take his eyes off the gorgeous thief he finds naked in his hot tub. She’s the exact opposite of his soon to be ex-wife. When the law comes to the door he offers Tiffany a choice: give up her stealing ways for an all-expenses paid stay in his fabulous custom A-frame home or go straight to jail.
Together the two add new meaning to hotter is better. Frigid had better look out…
We first meet Tiffany, the diamond thief as she’s scoping out a kazillion dollar custom log home. Turns out architecture presses all the right buttons (ahem!) for this gal and it’s not long before she’s wiping the drool from her chin before it freezes into a droolsicle.
Homeowner and newly divorced Jeff comes home to find a naked woman in his hot tub giving him an erection that just won’t quit. What’s a guy to do when the cops come to the door looking for Tiffany? Turn her in? Offer her an deal?
Well, she’s already got his wine well in hand, so why not take him in hand too? All she has to do is give up a life of crime…. Easier said that done. Who doesn’t want to play with all the bright shiny diamonds? Pretties!
Uh oh, just had a Lord of the Rings moment there… “Precious!” Ha!
Anyway, for the two of them it’s lust at first sight. Is there a cure? Well, one reader asked for a sequel, so I guess I better get going on that. After the blog tours end…. Some day!
He left the junk on the bed, shut off the light and checked the rest of the rooms. Papers were moved. Paintings askew, but nothing appeared missing. Everything sat where it belonged. He ventured into the kitchen and saw a pair of black gloves and a wine opener lying on the counter. “That’s odd.”
An unknown urge made him spin a one-eighty, looking out toward the patio. There, in the hot tub’s flood lights he saw a shape. He sucked in a breath. “What the hell?”
He didn’t have a gun in his coat pocket, but wondered if he needed one as he headed for the double French patio doors. Halfway there he paused. The figure reclined in the tub was a woman. A naked woman. His balls contracted automatically. His gaze took in her long blonde hair, the wine bottle, and the pile of black clothes. He couldn’t see her feet, but he’d bet money those skis were her size. She appeared to have fallen asleep. He ventured onto the patio and after a wistful gaze at her reclining form, cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
She thrashed awake, sending water over the tub’s lip. “Wha-what?” She caught sight of him and blanched. “Who are you?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Just the owner. I live here.”
Her jaw fell open. “You do?” She seemed to look him over anew. “I mean, you do? Wow.” She shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
He walked a few steps forward and grabbed the wine bottle off the deck. “It helps if you read the name on the mailbox.”
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Eva Lefoy writes and reads all kinds of romance, and is a certified Trekkie. She’s also terribly addicted to chocolate, tea, and hiking. One of these days, she’ll figure out the meaning of life, quit her job, and go travel the galaxy. Until then, she’s writing down all her dirty thoughts for the sake of future explorers.
Today I’m hanging out over at BABUS BOOKSHELF chatting about a book’s bait and switch … yep it happened to me. I hope you’ll stop over and visit.
And while you’re bumping around the internet, why don’t you swing over to the Blogger’s Book Fair READER’S CHOICE AWARDS and vote for your favorite titles. (A TOUCH OF LILLY is in the erotica category and could use a few more votes if you’re so inclined. Just sayin…)
Thanks for stopping by. I’ll leave you with a little hump-day inspiration:
I’d like to welcome my second guest this week for the Blogger Book Fair, Drako Damon. Drako was born in St. Louis, Missouri. He is mainly a fantasy writer, though he also writes some poetry and general fiction. He’s very active on both twitter and facebook and you can visit his website to stay current with his newest releases.
Please enjoy this introduction to Drako’s dragons:
It was a night like any other night. I’d just gotten off work from my call center job, and it took me about two hours to get home on the bus. I was tired as hell, but at least there was a good smell coming from the house. Apparently I’d come home to a nice hot meal. It’s nice to know something is going right. Today had been long and crappy. It was ten o’clock at night, and I’d been gone since nine this morning. It’d been a rough few months. I’d lost a job and my car, but found this one and had to start making my way around on the bus. It wasn’t fun, that’s for sure, but it had to be done.
At least I got to enjoy my meal. The person I was with was still good company. He didn’t work at the time, but I couldn’t fault him for that. He was trying to find another job. We were at that point in life where we’d hit a rough patch and were picking ourselves back up.
At last it was time for bed. During the week I don’t stay up too late because I don’t want to wake up late and not get to work on time. So he and I went off to bed. I drifted off to the sweet oblivion of sleep, or so I thought.
As I came to, I wasn’t where I went to sleep. My other half was nowhere to be found, and I was in a place I’d never seen before. It looks like something you’d only see in the movies. The room I was in was bigger than my entire apartment building. I was lying on the floor right in the middle of the room, and I quickly sat up to take in my surroundings.
It seemed like some kind of hall. There were windows letting in bright sunlight in a clearly stone building. I was in a palace of some sort, and though I wasn’t up to date with the structure of a palace, I’m pretty sure I was in a throne room. Why? Because there was a throne at the end of the room with what was positively the single most attractive male in existence sitting on it. Judging by the extremely bright light all around in this currently empty throne room, save for the eye candy on the throne and the black marble throne he’s sitting on, I figured I must be dead.
A deep rumble of laughter startled me from my thoughts. I looked to the man, who was clearly amused by me for some reason. Perhaps he heard my thoughts?
“Of course I hear your thoughts, human. I’m a god.” He smiled at me.
I can’t say the smile is warm, exactly. This guy was hard to read, and I’m normally great at reading people. I figured since I’m dead, he wouldn’t mind if I enjoy the view. He was a huge towering man, even though he was sitting. He dressed in a black chiton, but it was pulled down to his waist, leaving his chest bare. And what a chest it was. This guy had the body an average guy dreams about, and a short too skinny guy like me drools over. To make it even better (for me at least) he had tattoos all over his torso. I couldn’t make out exactly what they were, but they appeared to be several small dragons with names written around them.
I tore my gaze from his body and looked into his eyes, which were a strange swirling silver. His hair was long and black and rested down his back. His skin was absolutely flawless and brown and he appeared to be in his late twenties at the most, maybe early thirties. God he was gorgeous.
He cleared his throat, snapping my attention back to him again.
“I’m a very busy god, so it would be nice if you’d finish gawking at some point in the near future.”
“Yes, I’m a god,” he told me, clearly following my line of thought. “Come closer. I tire of shouting down the room at you.”
Ok, so I was definitely dead. How else would I come to meet a god? It seemed like now was a good time to start obeying, maybe redeem my soul a little bit. He must be the god of the dead if I was seeing him, right?
“Wrong,” he told me.
By this time I’d moved forward and was now standing directly in front of him. I felt like a two year old standing next to this giant. He smiled at me.
“You are very much a man, now aren’t you?” he chuckled. “Drako, isn’t that your name?”
“Well, yeah, that’s my nickname,” I answered.
He shook his head. “No, that is your name. That name you were born with doesn’t fit you. In my presence, you are and will always be Drako.”
Well, that was just interesting. I did hate my real name, and that’s why I went by my nickname, a unique spelling on the Latin word for dragon. But anyway, I figured I’d better start talking before I get cast into hell.
“So, who are you, if you don’t mind my asking?” I asked
“I’m known by many names, none of which will ring a bell to you because I eliminated myself from human history on purpose. I am Jarel, the Black Dragon God. And you are not dead.”
I couldn’t hold back my skepticism. “If I’m not dead then why am I here? Gods don’t talk to people in my world.”
Jarel nodded. “This is true. Man has long since lost touch with us, and I for one am content with that.”
Well, what the hell was I supposed to say to that?
BLURB (First Book in The Dragon Hunter Series):
Andreas was born a Spartan warrior, long before human history even records Sparta existing. He served directly under Ares, until the day his lover was killed on the battlefield in front of him. On that day, he met his father, the mysterious Black Dragon God known as Jarel. From then on, he served his father faithfully, enforcing the laws of the primordial embodiment of black fire and father of the paranormal. Now, in these modern times, he hunts the rogue vampires and their leader. Little does he know, there’s more to this than vampires simply turning against his father.
While protecting the lovely Cassandra Odele, Andreas must battle forces he doesn’t know as he attempts to stop the resurrection of the Titan king, Cronus. Added to his problems, he now has two teenage nephews to see into adulthood. Of course, there’s always a twist when dealing with the gods, and Andreas will come face to face with his past, leaving him to decide which is more important, his soul or the world?
I’m so pleased to be part of the BLOGGER’S BOOKFAIR this week! There are tons of new authors to meet, prizes to be won … and many many many books to be added to your reading list. As a blogger and an author, I’m both hosting some wonderful authors and visiting the blogs of authors and bloggers who are participating this week.
Click HERE to check out all the authors and bloggers participating this year!
And without further ado, I’d like to welcome my first guest, LV LEWIS! L. V. Lewis is a married, mother of four who lives in South Georgia and works in the Florida Panhandle. A new author who decided stories like Fifty Shades of Grey needed a little more diversity and comedy, she penned Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever as a parodied response to those wildly popular books from a woman of color. A voracious reader since Kindergarten, Lewis loves nothing more than to curl up with a good book and a glass of wine. She and her husband are political junkies, a hobby that is time consuming but free. Now that Lewis has teens who think they don’t need their parents anymore, she has taken up another time-draining career of writing. However, she is happy to report, for once, her extra-curricular activity costs far less than her husband’s. Her love for writing is only eclipsed by her love for her family.
Fifty Shades of Grey meets Keisha from the block!
Keisha Beale is a quarter of a million dollars away from realizing her dream of opening her own recording studio. A botched attempt at securing the funding required from venture capitalist Tristan White leaves her without many options… until Tristan White makes an indecent proposal. As Keisha navigates the treacherous environment of the billionaire’s secret kinky lifestyle, she discovers surprising things about herself and unleashes demons from her past she thought were long resolved.
Saturday morning after breakfast we have the first of many fencing lessons in Tristan’s gym. Once again, he is well prepared. He’s gone overboard in my opinion and bought me three sets of fencing whites. I dress in my knickers, plastron, chest protector, jacket, socks, trainers and glove, and then carry my mask and foil out of the dressing room. I meet Tristan out on the floor. He’s already dressed and practicing. He stops when I enter the room, and his eyes rake over me with the same appreciation mine are showing him.
Damn! He’s fine in that getup, especially the tight breeches! My Fairy Hoochie Mama says. Triple-G even lets loose a wolf whistle. I execute an extended mental eye roll.
“Seeing you dressed out gives me ideas, Ms. Beale,” Tristan says, his eyes bright.
“What if I don’t like fencing? Then these cute little outfits you bought will go to waste.”
“They’re not just cute little outfits and believe me, once you get into it you’ll love it.”
“Says the man who’s probably been doing this since he could walk.”
He looks thoughtful. “My mother did begin to teach Nate and me when we were five.”
Every so often, I learn something new about Tristan that underscores the differences in our upbringings. This is one of those moments. When I was that age my mama was teaching me nursery rhymes, reading, and singing. However, knowing that his mother fenced makes me feel like I can do this.
“Then, in homage to the late Mrs. White, I’ll give it a good old college try.”
“Oh, you’ll give it more than that.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Physical fitness is part of your contract, and it will go a long way in helping you endure the rigors of our role-play weekends. I can tell from your muscle tone you have not been sedentary, and your lines suggest you could be good at this. What sports did you enjoy in school?”
“Track and field. I was a hurdler and long jumper in high school. And even though my music major didn’t allow me to continue in college, I used DePaul’s track and gym whenever I could.”
“I’m impressed and happy to be the beneficiary of your diligence.”
“You have a weird way of giving compliments.”
“You’ll undoubtedly find many things weird about me, but I prefer the term eccentric.”
“Eccentric is more pleasing to the ear.”
Tristan brings me a shiny silver jacket that matches my mask perfectly. “Here, put this on.”
“What’d you do, rob Michael Jackson’s wardrobe?”
He tries to resist smiling but fails. “Funny. The answer is no. It’s an electric lamé or over jacket. When our body cords are attached to it and plugged into the reel on either end of the fencing strip, it’ll register electronic scoring as targets on our bodies are hit.”
“So, this is kinda what you like to do with the whips, crops, and floggers in The Grotto?”
He pauses for a second. “Now that you mention it… Yes.” His eyes shine with an elation that wasn’t there before, and he finishes getting us both outfitted with equipment and in position.
“The first thing you do is salute your opponent as a sign of respect.” He closes his mask. “Mask down, Ms. Beale.” I feel like he’s ordering me around in a scene. He moves into a posture and stands still. “This is the en garde position. Front foot facing forward and then your back foot at a ninety degree angle with your front foot. Your feet are shoulder width apart and your knees are bent. Like so.”
I follow his instructions and manage to mirror his stance exactly after a few seconds.
I grin. How ridiculous is it that I crave his approval so much?
He points at the line next to him on the strip. “Don’t cross that line until you’ve been signaled to engage after completing the en garde stance.”
He approaches me in a sexy swagger made more pronounced by his fencing shoes, a literal rolling from his heels to the balls of his feet.
“This is a classic lunge.” He executes one. “It is how you attack your opponent.”
I mimic his movement until he deems I’ve done it right.
“You always want to block your target areas from your opponent during a lunge.” Tristan uses the foil to point to the areas he describes. “The arms, chest and head are targets, and there are three parries designed to block these targets.” He holds the foil horizontally at his shoulder. “This is the three parry to block your flank.” He moves the foil diagonally across his chest. “This is the four parry to block your chest.” Finally, the foil is horizontal at head level. “And this is the five parry to block your head. There’s also a two and a one, but those aren’t used quite as often as the ones I’ve just shown you. As we progress and you have need of the others, we’ll learn them.
“Now, for a bit of footwork. I’ll show you advancing and retreating today. I’ll save some of the fancier stuff for later.”
He moves into en garde position. “Okay, here’s the advance. Watch my feet.” He does something that looks like a hip-hop dance move and he executes it with such lightning speed. “To slow it down for you, the advance is done in three distinct steps, and your feet should remain shoulder width apart at all times. The front foot moves first, beginning by lifting the toes. Straighten the leg at the knee, pushing the heel out in front. Land on the heel and then bring the back foot up to the en garde stance again.”
Tristan shows me again several times until I get it. Then I execute several advances until the movement feels natural to me.
“Final movement I’m going to show you today is the retreat, which is sort of a reverse of the advance. It’s a three-step process also. Back foot first to the ball of the foot. Down with the heel and then on the ball of the foot. Like so.” He retreats, advances, then retreats until I’m able to follow him without a misstep.
We go through the parries, slowly again and again, all while advancing and retreating, until I’m well familiar with them. “Now, these will be executed very quickly, but we’ll go slow until you get the hang of it,” Tristan assures me.
I find myself enjoying figuring out how to block his attacks. They are slow in the beginning, so I’m able to think fast and position my foil so he doesn’t hit me every time. As he gathers speed, even though I parry to block, he hits my targets, particularly my chest. So much so, if I weren’t wearing the chest plate, my breasts would be stinging right about now.
I see him smile when he gets three successive points against me, and I feel powerless against his lunges they are executed so flawlessly. I retreat all the way off the strip.
“No fair! You have me at a complete disadvantage.”
Tristan stops, flips his hood back, folds his arm and crosses a long leg at the ankle. He holds his foil lightly in one hand and beckons me Mortal Kombat style with the other hand.
I push my hood back and shake my head. “You’ve got to be crazy if you think I’m lunging at you again right now.”
“You were doing well for a beginner if we discount the odd moments when you were whacking me like you were trying to chop vegetables on a cutting board.”
“I’m a girl. We always resort to flailing during fighting, didn’t you know this?”
“I’ve seen you hit someone, remember? You don’t flail when you fight, so don’t do it while fencing. In fact, if you treat fencing the same way you do boxing, you’ll do fine. Practice the moves enough, and they’ll become second nature to you. Use the gym when you’re here and in a few months, you’ll be fencing like an amateur.” He grins at his own attempt at a joke.
I don a fake smile then show him my serious face. “Funny, White.”
“Okay, I’m going to use my left hand during this final bout. This should give you some advantage.” He moves to his place on the strip, and I do the same.
“En garde,” he says.
“En garde,” I respond, and we fight a near equal match, but he still gets the better of me in the end. In fact, he presses toward me using some fancy sword play reminiscent of The Legend of Zorro. Then he makes a series of scores, all in the vicinity of my breasts and finally he relieves me of my foil and touches near the vee of my legs with his.
“I don’t recall that being a target area,” I say, my voice husky.
“It’s always a target for me,” he replies and drops his own foil, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me till my knees go weak. Our tongues lunge and parry like they’re fencing and hitting all our target areas. We rack up so many points the bout is tied when we come up for air. The next to attack will score the winning touch and it’s safe to say, neither of us is concerned about who will come out on top.
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