Sunday, September 30, 2007
Plum juice runs down
My arms between us as
We share a giggle and
A bite—another nibble
On my neck below my ear,
Your breath sticky, plum forgotten.
Near the kitchen sink but not
Exactly over it, the fight
We had earlier forgotten,
You explore what
Brought us together on
Our pre-date so many
Years ago, when
You kissed me
And I returned it,
Un-shy and hungry,
Lips tongue and hands
Where they had no business going
On a man I barely knew.
And I stopped you at my panties
Only because my period was due
Not because I was modest.
Here we are,
Years, houses and baby
From where we began,
Yet your lips opening
And tongue loving mine
Shivers my knees,
Makes me damp beneath.
I grasp the edge of the sink behind,
You lean into my flesh,
Hands on my tush.
Dog's been out, She's asleep—
Let's go, cowboy. . .
Kelly McCrady author site
Friday, September 28, 2007
Coiled Revenge is a sexy read about Tony, the detective who thinks he can save his town but is he really the cause of the problems? Marissa isn't taking junk from anyone. She is ready to defend herself, but must rely on Tony when everything falls apart for her.
Marissa hadn’t seen him yet. His eyes roved over her body, studying every detail. Her golden skin shone in the sun, making Tony want to caress her arms. She was still as beautiful as she had been the day they met. The fear of losing her forever brought pain to his chest. Regret over his past mistakes snaked through his mind. How had he ever been so stupid?
“Tony.” Marissa waved as she turned towards him. Smiling, he moved through the tables and chairs. Seizing the moment, he lowered his head to kiss her before she had a chance to turn away. Her shoulders stiffened when his lips brushed hers, but he wouldn’t apologize. He would never apologize for kissing her.
Buy Coiled Revenge today and immerse yourself into Tony and Marissa's world.
Of gunpowder, treason and plot
Of intrigue and romance and ambition
At King James' court
And Guy Fawkes and Catesby and others
For theirs is a tale of woe
Captured in Ripples in the Water
A twist in a tale of old
Michelle Chambers- Ripples in the Water
Available from: http://www.thewildrosepress.com
I had successfully signed up ages ago... and leapt back aboard to announce the new release only to find myself tossed overboard. So, a few days late but nonetheless excited:
For horse enthusiasts out there, (or even those who just find that muscular cowboy appealing) may I present "Dressage Cowboy." This short story takes place in a very short span of time; but for any of you that have trotted around the warm-up ring waiting for your class to be called, you understand how interminable that time can be. It can be so much more pleasurable to have, shall we say, a handsome diversion to soothe those competition jitters away.
This is the very first in what I hope will be a 'Horse-lovers series.' The stories will feature many different activities from the riding - and carriage driving - worlds. From reining to three-day eventing, driving that carriage on a marathon course or executing a shoulder-in, this series will put all sorts of different breeds- and all sorts of different people- in the 'show-ring.' I would love feedback on it: if you read it, please do jump in and email me if you have any comments! Drivenwizard1 at yahoo.com (fix that 'at," & no spaces.)
There is nothing like the chink of spurs as that rough-n-ready fellow marches over to give you the good-old-boys' standard greeting...
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Well, it's been a long time coming, but my first book has finally been released. YIPPEE! THE PIRATE AND THE PUSSYCAT (a Scarlet Rosette for Halloween) is available now from The Wild Rose Press.
I LOVE the folks over at The Wild Rose Press aka TWRP, they are without a doubt, the most professional e-publisher I've ever had the pleasure of dealing with. I'm not knocking the other e-pubs, mind you, I'm simply saying personally *I* have had the most satisfying experience both buying from and selling to these folks. And I HAVE to add how much I ADORE my editor, Jennifer. I'd mention her last name, but I think she may have a side job as a ninja and will hurt me if I give out too much info (psst, look at the about us page on TWRP and you might find her, hee hee!) Oh, and thanks to Rae Monet who made that sexy cover. She's so talented!
I had a wonderful writer named Shelby Reed give me a fantastic review on The Pirate and the Pussycat and I have to share it with you because it made me giddy that this ultra-talented author gave me such praise. Here 'tis:
"The Pirate and the Pussycat is a definite keeper for this reader! Paisley Scott’s characters bring humor,unexpected plot twists and unbelievable heat to every page…and did I mention the heat? The sheer sexual chemistry between the hero and heroine will knock your socks off! Kudos to this talented, up-and-coming author. I can’t wait for her next release." —Shelby ReedRaise your hand if you heard me SQUEEEEE into the next county. Wasn't that an awesome thing to say? And from someone who is thisclose to being a legend in the romantica field?? OMG I feel lightheaded.
Okay... let me get down to business. Without further ado... I give you a tiny sampling of the book (hey, it's a rosette... 17 pages long. There's only so much I can post, y'know?). Please let me know what you think! WARNING: The excerpt is for an erotic story, therefore it is R-rated in description.
~hugs all around,
THE PIRATE AND THE PUSSYCAT (a Scarlet Rosette for Halloween)
-coming September 26, 2007 from The Wild Rose Press.
Not in a million years would anyone have guessed it was Cecilia Thomas, high school science teacher, beneath the tight-fitting cat woman costume. But when a sexy swashbuckler captures her at the Halloween Ball, Celia soon discovers the treasure waiting for her in a pirate's bed.
** WARNING: The excerpt is for an erotic story, therefore it is R-rated in description. **
"Ahoy there!" a voice boomed from above.
Looking up, Celia spotted a man dressed like a pirate captain -- or at least the sort of pirate captain she’d always fantasized about. A white, ruffled shirt open to his waist adorned his muscular chest. His pants were tight and black, leaving little to the imagination. The bright red silk sash tied around his waist only accentuated his manly bulge. A pair of high boots cuffed at the top rounded out his outfit.
He slid down the ropes and drew his cutlass as he approached. "What business have you aboard my ship, wench?"
Wearing a bandana around his head and a Zorro-type mask across his eyes, his face was a mystery. His voice was smooth, like perfectly aged brandy, and his body was to-die-for. His tanned forearms, visible through the lightweight shirt, were strong and sinewy, the dark hair covering them lightened to a golden shade by the sun. Her gaze wandered across the scarlet sash at his waist and lingered a moment, appreciating the way his upper torso slimmed, then flared at his legs. Damn, he had nice thighs. Encased in the tight-fitting pants, the muscles bunched and relaxed with each movement. Her mind wandered, conjuring images of how his body would look without clothes. Her breath caught. He would be magnificent.
"What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, kitty?" he asked, trailing the blunt side of his cutlass against her bare arm.
She shivered as the cool steel slid across her skin. The feel of it was dangerous and alluring at the same time.
This is role-playing, Celia. You can do this. "S-sir, I need passage on your ship."
"Women are not allowed." His amber gaze raked her from head to toe.
She cleared her throat, exorcising the nervousness. "But sir, I have already stowed away." She indicated their surroundings. "The next port isn’t for miles. Please. As a gentleman, you must help me."
He sheathed his sword. "Madam, I assure you I am no gentleman." His eyes darkened rakishly. He straightened and held out a hand. "Pray, what number have you?"
"Seven." She gave him the slip of paper.
"Ah yes. Lucky number seven." A dark eyebrow arched thoughtfully above his mask as he glanced at the note. "This guarantees you safe passage upon my vessel." He slipped the paper into his pocket. "Come now, wench, before the crew sees you."
Celia followed him below the deck and into a lavishly decorated cabin. There was a huge round bed situated against the back of the make-believe ship. A night scene embellished the windows behind the bed, complete with a full moon reflected against the inky darkness of the night sea. It was so realistic. So far, she was loving this game.
He leaned down to her. "What are you called?" His voice was low and husky against her ear.
Shivers ran up her spine. It was hard to stay focused.
His warm breath blew across her skin, caressing her. "Y-you may call me Kitty."
"Kitty," he purred, a small grin lifting his mouth. "I am Captain Rolfe." He closed the doors behind them and turned the heavy iron key in the lock. Withdrawing the key, he handed it to her. "Keep this safe." He sauntered over to the small bar against the side wall. "Would you like a drink? Wine? Rum? Brandy?"
Yo ho ho and a bottle of..."Rum, please?" She slipped the key into her boot.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Whatever you want...Kitty."
A thrill skipped down her spine. From the gleam in his topaz eyes, to the glint of white teeth against his tanned skin, the man absolutely oozed sexiness. A pirate hadn’t looked so yummy since Johnny Depp sailed the Caribbean.
Drinks in hand, he walked to her. "Did I mention I, too, am a seven?" He raised his glass and clinked it against hers in a toast.
"Oh?" She took a long pull of the rum, welcoming the warmth as it tumbled down her throat. "What a lucky coincidence."
Above his mask, a dark eyebrow arched. "And do you know what our having matching numbers means, lovely Kitty?"
The endearment caressed her skin, fluttered down her tummy and pooled hotly between her thighs. Good God, what was he doing to her? She shook her head. "Not exactly." It was getting hard to breathe in the suddenly small room.
"Allow me to explain. As the female, you are basically in charge of our...time together. You have the key. You set the pace. You are in charge of everything. The rules are yours to make..." A slow, wicked grin curved his lips. "...or break."
"What do you mean, our time together?" She wasn’t scared, but more intrigued by the idea of how this might play out. Titillated, her breasts grew heavy, pressing against the tight latex of her costume. "Do you mean…sex?"
He reached out and trailed his thumb along her jaw. "You are in charge. Whatever you desire."
Her senses ignited at his touch while his velvet voice curled around her like a living thing, vibrating through her. "Yes." She rubbed her cheek against his hand.
"Yes to the sex part." She licked her lips and planted an open-mouth kiss against the palm of his hand. "That is what I desire, sir." She let her gloves drop to the floor. He pulled her to him and kissed her hard and deep.His tongue swirled in her mouth, mating hotly with hers. Firm, strong hands slid up her naked midriff to settle on her breasts.
The five inches of added height from her boots made kissing him absolutely perfect. She arched against his hand, hoping the costume would magically evaporate so his fingers could explore more. And those sexy lips. He even tasted tropical, like coconut and Captain Morgan rum.
She unbuttoned the last two buttons on his shirt and pushed it open completely, leaving it gaping in front. Her lips began a slow journey down the side of his jaw, down his neck and across his chest. She blazed a trail of hot kisses across his hard, bronze chest and the washboard abs of his stomach. He was delicious and rock-solid.Sliding her hands down to the sash still knotted at his waist, she fumbled blindly until she got it untied. Next, she unlaced the cotton pants and dipped her fingers inside to explore what lay within.
Catching his shallow groan in her mouth, she smiled to herself as her fingers wound around his turgid length.He was hot and hard, yet smooth and silky. She squeezed slightly, and he groaned again. God, this was going to be good.
Pulling back, Celia ordered, "Take off your pants."
Again, the brow rose. "Just my pants?"
She ran the tip of her nail over her still-tingling lips."For now."
He hooked both thumbs into his waistband and pushed the material down past his knees, finally kicking them and his boots aside. The black briefs he wore were trimmed in red and displayed a skull and crossbones on the fly.
Celia closed the short distance between them and rubbed his crotch. She purred, "Permission to hoist the Jolly Roger, Captain Rolfe."
His sharp intake of breath was all the answer she needed.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
I'm on a friend's "quote du jour" list and this offering made me think. What's your take?
"What do you believe is true even though you cannot prove it?"
This was the question posed to scientists, futurists and other creative thinkers by John Brockman, a literary agent and publisher of Edge, a Web site devoted to science. The question is different each year, this one was from 2005.
Psychologist, University of Texas; author, "The Evolution of Desire" :
I've spent two decades of my professional life studying human mating. In that time, I've documented phenomena ranging from what men and women desire in a mate to the most diabolical forms of sexual treachery. I've discovered the astonishingly creative ways in which men and women deceive and manipulate each other. I've studied mate poachers, obsessed stalkers, sexual predators and spouse murderers. But throughout this exploration of the dark dimensions of human mating, I've remained unwavering in my belief in true love.
While love is common, true love is rare, and I believe that few people are fortunate enough to experience it. The roads of regular love are well traveled and their markers are well understood by many - the mesmerizing attraction, the ideational obsession, the sexual afterglow, profound self-sacrifice and the desire to combine DNA. But true love takes its own course through uncharted territory. It knows no fences, has no barriers or boundaries. It's difficult to define, eludes modern measurement and seems scientifically woolly. But I know true love exists. I just can't prove it.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Last year at my first book launch, I told the guests how my English teacher used to read my stories out to the class. I was about fourteen at the time. I wrote other stories before those of course, but they were my most memorable ones. Probably because the girls in my class used to beg me to read out the endings if the teacher hadn't got that far before the bell rang.
One story in particular stands out in my mind. It was about a newly-wed couple. What the young bride hadn't realised was that her husband was a serial killer who chopped his last wife up into bits and disposed of her body in a baling machine, so all her body parts were embedded in bales of hay!
Now where I got that story from, I haven't a clue! At that time, I loved magazines like 'Loving' and 'Love Affair' which I read at night under the covers by torchlight when my parents thought I was asleep. Those stories were written in the first person and seemed very true to life.
I'd penned the story about the young bride in the first person, as if I was that woman [not a fourteen-year -old school girl.] Maybe that's what my teacher liked about my stories, I don't know. I can't remember the ending but I know the bride would have come out of it okay. I wouldn't have allowed any harm to come to her. As for that evil hubby of hers -- I guess he's still rotting behind bars!
Today, I'm just as gruesome as ever. Although I write romance, I love throwing in the odd dead body and a bit of organised crime. And guess what? I adore TV programmes like 'The Sopranos' and films like 'The Godfather'. No surprises there.
It's only now in retrospect I realise I've been a story teller most of my life.
So, the question is, what was your first story, the one that sticks in your mind?
Saturday, September 15, 2007
This Saturday morning I thought I'd share a small excerpt of my story, Freedom's Touch. It takes place during the Civil War, when women struggled on the homefront while their men decided the nation's destiny. I hope you enjoy it. :)
Weary, that’s what I am. Plain weary. This whole
affair has gone on for so long, with so much heartbreak.
Even when I try and do all I can to further our cause there
always seems to be a blockade to go around…or over…or
under. Why oh why can’t everyone see this slavery issue for
what it is? Why can’t we simply let people live as they were
intended to live without having to go through all of this
misery? Damn, I’m so tired of it all! Just so…
At the sound of the approaching horse, Kay turned
and opened the door. Had Captain Conrad forgotten to
tell her something? Surely not another maudlin
Stepping out onto the porch, she noticed, as she had
earlier, the scent of a few early rose blooms that wafted
upward on the night air and surrounded her with their
sweet fragrance. A distant grandmother’s transplant, the
roses grew in abundance beside the front porch and along
the back wall of the garden, in the side cutting garden
and near the barn. Their fragrance masked the odor of the
privy, as well. Apparently a snippet of a rose bush grew in
profusion when planted in rich, sweet soil!
Crossing her arms over her bosom, she waited for the
men to make themselves known to her a second time. She
saw only one large black mass in the darkness and
thought Mr. Parker must wait at the end of the lane,
assumed that the Captain had one last word or two to
exchange with her.
The voice that came to her from the gloom wasn’t the
one she expected. It was, instead, the voice she heard
night after night in her dreams.
“Why, you’d think it was an ordinary occasion for you
to receive visitors after dark, the way you’re standing
there in your night dress.”
“Marsh—is that really you?”
The figure swung off his mount, secured the animal
to the hitching post and took the steps two at a time.
“Of course it’s me, Katy-did. Did you expect someone
else?” His teasing tone made her heart skip a beat, as did
the familiar nickname—no one else called her Katy-did
but Marsh. The sound of it on his lips stole her breath
Throwing her arms around him, she lifted her face to
his and smiled. He felt solid in her arms, the living
embodiment of her endless imaginings. Pressing herself to
him, she opened her mouth to speak but didn’t manage to
utter a sound. Marsh’s mouth met hers with a hunger
that took them both by surprise. Their lips touched, their
tongues explored and their bodies heated as all the
repressed desires rose to the surface in the beat of their
hearts. Kay met his touch without restraint, her tongue
swirling around his in the age-old dance of love that
required no lessons.
The thin cotton nightdress provided no buffer
between her body and the regulation uniform Marsh was
wearing. His arousal was evident, insistent against her
body as her hips ground into his.
I don’t know what you’re doing here, my darling man,
but I’m not going to let you go until we’ve dropped these
barriers between us. So often I wonder if I’ll ever see you
again. Why waste what precious time we have on social
protocol? It’s ridiculous, and I won’t stand for it, not
another second. In this world, a second may have to
sustain us for a lifetime. And more importantly, you feel so
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
A year ago, I left my old publisher. I won't mention the name here as I don't want to get sued but let's just say the parting was amicable. I wanted to leave and I suspect after all the fuss I made, they were glad to see the back of me.
You see, I knew they weren't serving my needs as an author. There was a distinct lack of communication from them, plus I was expected to pay a set-up fee for the privilege of publication. I got to thinking I deserved better as an author. So as soon as I was released, I sought a new publisher.
Following my experience with that publisher, I had certain expectations I wanted to see fulfilled from my new publisher. The first one, I wanted good communication. The second, they would respect me as an author, so I could keep my particular Welsh voice and British spellings. The third requirement was that they would spell my name correctly, the last publisher hadn't even managed to do that.
I had heard about The Wild Rose Press from somewhere, I can't remember where it was now, probably an online writers' group or something, and thought I would give them a go.
I was delighted when It Happened One Summer and Return to Winter were accepted for publication.
I have to say that The Wild Rose Press has exceeded my expectations as a publisher. Communication is fantastic. If I send an e-mail to one of my editors or anyone else on staff, it's answered within a reasonable amount of time. Unlike my old publisher where I tried to contact three members of staff one week on an urgent matter and not one of them replied!
I have been treated so well as an author by everyone. Today, I sent off the contract for my third book, Watching You, for publication next year. I was just as thrilled to get this one accepted as I was last year with the other two.
My romantic suspense editor, Ally Robertson, has gone above and beyond the call of duty as an editor. She's inspired and encouraged me and Watching You is dedicated to her.
The Wild Rose Press is an exceptional publisher in my eyes.
Three cheers for The Wild Rose Press!!!
Monday, September 03, 2007
Saturday, September 01, 2007
The seventh novella in the popular Legacy of the Celtic Brooch series is Karen Duvall's For Love or Money and it's now available from The Wild Rose Press!
Claire Ballard has spent her adolescent and adult life caring for her alcoholic mother and Down Syndrome sister, when a car accident takes both of them away from her. Having seen herself only as a caregiver all her life, she's suddenly slapped in the face with a new reality. Her estranged father is killed soon after, and he's left her a beautiful family heirloom as well as a lot of money. Claire sees this heirloom as a sign, a charm that brings her good luck, and she makes changes to herself to reflect that good fortune. The duckling becomes the swan, but she soon learns that change comes from within herself, from something that was always there to begin with, beginning in her childhood. It just took a "trigger" to bring it out.
A Scottish crime family named Coine claim the brooch really belongs to them and they'll do whatever it takes to get it back. Liam Coine has his own agenda, part of which is to claim Claire as his own. Getting the brooch would just be an added bonus. Their families' feud makes for a fiery connection between Liam and Claire, but their attraction to each other fuels the flame even more. Will the brooch be responsible for getting Claire killed by the same family of criminals who murdered her father? Or will it reunite her with her childhood crush, Liam the classroom bully?
"Karen Duvall's FOR LOVE OR MONEY is a tantalizing blend of suspense and humor bathed in the golden glow of rediscovered love. I guarantee you'll read it from start to finish without pause." – Alice Sharpe, Harelquin Intrigue author
"With FOR LOVE OR MONEY, Karen Duvall takes readers on a fast-paced adventure full of excitement and romance." -- Cindi Myers, author of Marriage On Her Mind, (Harlequin, October 2007)
"A cool, sexy romance heightened by danger, mystery and a hint of mysticism involving a priceless Scottish heirloom, FOR LOVE OR MONEY pits a feisty redhead against an irresistible, modern-day highlander." – Cassie Miles, author of Navajo Echoes (Harlequin Intrigue, July 2007)
Read the first chapter of FOR LOVE OR MONEY on my website: