Have a great rest of the week!

Karin*

Oh, PS, Alyssa Day is guest blogging over at Murder She Writes today, and she’s giving away books!

DELICIOUS
Berkley Heat
ISBN: 978-0425232422
Release Date: March 2
LINK to cover: http://www.shaylablack.com/wp-content/delicious.jpg
BUY LINK: Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Delicious-Shayla-Black/dp/0425232425/, B&N – http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Delicious/Shayla-Black/e/9780425232422/?itm=13
BLURB:
He can’t control his desire.

 Luc Traverson’s entire future is planned out—but there is one very sexy obstacle in his path: Alyssa Devereaux . She’s a former exotic dancer turned strip club owner and restaurateur. Recently, Alyssa and Luc shared one night of wild abandon that left Luc terrified by his loss of self-control—and Alyssa desperate for more.

 And that’s just the way she wants it.

 Fulfilling a promise, Luc is the guest chef for Alyssa’s restaurant debut. The sight of her makes Luc wild, so how can he survive a week without letting loose and ravaging her—especially when she’s begging for it? Luc’s desire for her explodes when he realizes he isn’t the only man desperate to have her. But one of the others is deadly. And that’s not the end of Alyssa’s secrets…which are as dark and mysterious and enticing as her fantasies.

Excerpt:

Until Alyssa Devereaux, had he ever gotten stone hard just by looking at a woman from across a room? Luc didn’t like the answer.

He didn’t have to wonder what was under that little skirt; he knew. Sleek thighs surrounded by garters in some color designed to drive a man wild. A lacy thong that would reveal far more of her assets than it concealed. And under that . . . The feel and taste of her slick, swollen folds dive-bombed his memory and revved him up, as if he’d injected rocket fuel in his bloodstream.

And he had to work beside her for a week. Hell. How was he going to prevent a recurrence of the event he wanted to forget—yet couldn’t?

You’re a professional. Cook and keep your hands to yourself. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had nothing else to think about. Negotiations for his cable TV show were nearly at an end. He had a bit of editing to do on his latest cookbook. There wouldn’t be that much downtime this week, but what little there’d be, he would fill.

Clearly, Alyssa had a way to fill her time as well. The huge slab of man at her side whose cheek she’d kissed a moment ago wore a Sexy Sirens T-shirt stretched across his enormous chest. A bartender? A bouncer? Whoever he was, the guy slanted a possessive glance at Alyssa that Luc couldn’t miss, then glared at him.

Tamping down his irrational anger, Luc reminded himself that if Alyssa wanted to fuck her hired help, that was her business.

The violent urge to dismember her employee would pass.

Alyssa took a step toward Luc, then another.

“Mistress Alyssa,” a female called over the speakers in a saucy vamp voice. “Your turn!”

She stopped. Closed her eyes. Sighed. Bracing herself?

Then, as if the hesitation had never been, she flashed him a cool blue gaze, pointed at a chair in front of the stage, then turned away and strode backstage. Luc couldn’t help himself. He watched her walk away, the sway of those curvy hips a siren call. Damn.

If they had been alone, there was no way Luc could have prevented himself from touching her. Period.

Unless he wanted another brush with his uncontrollable wild side, he needed to forget his reckless promise to her and get out of this job. Now.

Reluctantly, Luc sauntered to the front of the stage and sat in the chair Alyssa had indicated. As soon as she finished whatever the hell she was doing and talked to him, he’d tell her all bets were off. Hell, he’d pay her for her inconvenience.

Because if he stayed, his dick would get him into trouble. He’d have her naked and be between her legs in two minutes. Or less. And that would be bad. He was looking for Mrs. Right, someone uncomplicated who wanted children as much as he did and would help him keep his beast at bay. Alyssa Devereaux, stripper divine, was definitely not that woman.

Suddenly, music pounded through the speakers, blaring with a naughty beat, a wicked slide of horn. Every note suggested sex—the hot, sweaty, no-boundaries variety.

The type he’d had with her and wanted again.

Pulling his loose shirt over his lap to cover his erection, Luc watched as Alyssa strutted onto the stage. She’d piled her straight platinum hair into some wild arrangement on top of her head and donned a sequined bolero jacket in red. He was dying to see what she wore underneath. The way she moved was an invitation . . . and a promise.

She planted her stiletto-clad feet in front of him with a decisive step, then swung her hips, making a sensual circle. She flattened her palm across the bare skin of her tanned abdomen—and began lowering it. She reached down . . . so damn slowly. Luc’s breath caught in his chest until, finally, she touched herself. Oh, hell.

Her fingers glided between her legs, and she tossed her head back as if she was in utter ecstasy.

Luc swallowed. And started to sweat.

With a jerk of her head, Alyssa snapped her gaze back to him, her eyes like focused blue lasers jolting him to his toes.

Damn it, his nine weeks of dating church secretaries, interior decorators, and elementary school teachers showed. Not one of them had incited an erection. During that time, he’d awakened in the middle of the night more than once, sweating, his dick in his hand and Alyssa’s name on his lips. Now, after less than five minutes in her presence, he felt ready to explode.

He had to think about the right F words—future and family. Unfortunately, with Alyssa near, the urge to fuck her again kept killing his good intentions.

In the next moment, she released the soft strands of her hair, which hugged her shoulders, clung to her breasts, flirted with her waist. Then she peeled off the little jacket and left it carelessly on the floor, exposing a tiny half top Luc could swear showed the shadows of her areolas. She stepped over the jacket and strutted toward the pole in the center of the stage. When she gripped it with both hands and undulated against it, pressing it to the juncture of her thighs, Luc damn near choked.

And still she continued to stare as if she danced just for him.

The music swelled, wailing with sensuality and suggestion. Alyssa upped her game, sticking a finger into the wet cavern of her mouth and sucking. More blood rushed to Luc’s cock at the memory of her mouth around him, her tongue slick across the head, inciting a sizzle that burned his whole body. Even months later, he could feel the lash of her tongue, the hot silk of her mouth. He shuddered.

With a kittenish smile, Alyssa popped her finger from her mouth and drew the damp fingertip down her cleavage. Then her palm took over, smoothing her right breast with an invitation to pure sin on her gorgeous face.

Dear God, no wonder she’d built herself a little empire here in Lafayette. The woman was a walking wet dream and did her job well. No red-blooded, heterosexual male could withstand such intense teasing and stay sane.

Out of the corner of his eye, Luc saw Alyssa’s employee, the one she’d touched earlier, sidle closer to the stage. With a quick turn of his head, Luc quickly saw that the mountain in the tight black T-shirt was tense, panting, and sporting a bulge that said he wanted to get busy.

Luc wished he could say that didn’t piss him off. But he’d be lying.

Then, as Luc’s stare returned to the stage, he damn near forgot his own name.

Alyssa turned her back on him and bent at the waist, staring at him over one mostly bare shoulder with a fuck-me look that stunned him. Luc gripped the arms of his chair, willing himself to stay in it, not charge up on the stage, lay her flat, and get inside her again this instant.

The spaghetti strap of her little top was falling down her arm. And that indecent skirt . . . With her bent over, the hint of the bare ass cheeks flashed from beneath the black silk. Her garters were a come-hither red. Her thong—he could see only a scrap of it—matched.

Soft fingers teased their way up her shin, her thigh, and disappeared under that little skirt. Her eyes half-closed, her sultry mouth parted on a silent moan of seeming self-pleasure. His entire body tensed.

He had to get the hell out of there.

Her hands swept up her undulating hips, gathering the skirt with them. She tugged at the little black garment, and it fluttered to the floor. The tanned halves of her backside, bisected by a bit of red lace, crashed fresh lust into his chest, making it damn hard to breathe.

Alyssa had a gorgeous ass. But he’d known that. Luc squeezed his eyes shut so the visual temptation of her bare flesh didn’t taunt him. Memories of tunneling into her ass pounded him instead. Her perfect willingness to take him any way he’d wanted. The tightness of her damp, musky body clasping him. The sweat dripping off of them as he’d thrust deep. Her moans.

Christ, the burning lust had to stop—at least long enough to tell her that he wouldn’t be staying.

Praying the torture would end soon, Luc opened his eyes. And sucked in a breath.

Alyssa flashed him a naughty smile of invitation as she ripped her small top right down the front to reveal a red demi bra that barely covered her nipples. Hard nipples. Pink, melt-in-his-mouth nipples he remembered all too well.

Luc squirmed in his chair—and nearly went off like a teenage boy. Beyond aroused, his cock was so sensitive, the feel of denim sliding against the head nearly had him coming.

He had to leave. Forget the polite conversation; he’d send her an e-mail with an explanation. Because if he stayed, he would shove his long-term goals aside and fuck her senseless.

As he stood, Luc mentally reviewed a list of chefs—female ones—he could pay to assist Alyssa this week. A short list, but a few durable names. He’d send idiotproof recipes . . .

The red bra dropped to the ground at Alyssa’s feet.

Her large breasts were as golden as the rest of her body and swayed gracefully with her every undulation, every step. Those nipples he remembered so damn well beckoned, Taste me.

Turn away! he demanded of himself.

His legs didn’t move.

Alyssa danced her way down the stairs, holding her breasts up in offering. She pranced past her aroused employee and shot the man a mirthful smile as she caressed the side of his face. Luc tensed when the beefy guy tried to snatch her up in his arms. But Alyssa was too fast and spun out of his grip, toward Luc.

The damp spot at the front of her thong kicked him in the gut. He clenched his fists as she danced closer, closer . . .

She dropped to her knees before him and looked up. Their gazes locked. She panted. Hard. Despite his jeans, her hot breaths caressed his cock. Release broiled in his balls, and he hadn’t touched her once.

There was no way he could stop himself from reaching out to tangle his fingers into her hair and bringing her mouth closer.

Shayla Black
DELICIOUS – 3/10 * Berkley Heat
SEDUCE ME IN SHADOW – 10/09 | POSSESS ME AT MIDNIGHT – 11/09 * Pocket Books
www.ShaylaBlack.com | www.DoomsdayBrethren.com

Speaking of smiling, we saw The Blind Side.  Great movie.  While I doubt Sandra Bullock will win the Oscar, I loved her as Leigh Anne Tuohy.  I was reminded by several family members during the movie that there wasn’t much separation between me and Miz. Tuohy.  We’re both mama bears and are not afraid to get in anyone’s face when it comes to doing the right thing or protecting our families.  I just wish I had her money.  The people I could help! Which brings me to a story I saw on NBC during the Olympic coverage the other day.  Tom Brokaw was talking about how close we and the Canadian people were, and not just sharing a border close but there for each other close.  Then he told the story of Gander, Newfoundland, Canada.  Gander was there for us on 9-11.  It was where something like 200 jumbo jets landed when the U.S. shut down its airspace.  The town of 10,000 swelled to a town of 16,000 in one day.  And they stepped up.  They stepped up big time. Because these folks who opened their homes, businesses and hearts to 6,000 strangers would not take any compensation, many of the 6,000 started a scholarship fund for the high school.  If you can find the story on uTube find it and watch it.  You’ll find it as amazing and heartwarming as I did.

It got me to thinking, if I had the kind of money the Tuohy’s had, or the resources the town of Gander had, what would I do with it?  I know I’d set up college scholarships.  I’d build a refuge for battered women and their children, and I’d buy a gazillion acres, create a sanctuary then rescue every fur, feathered and scaly creature that needed a home.  

What would you do if you could?  Or if you already are doing, inspire us with your story!

 Karin*

Thanks, Karin, for letting me guest today, and to tell you about the marketing strategy for my book, THE SHOP.

I did everything I was supposed to do. I wrote the book of my life. I got a terrific, rocket-fueled agent.  As with previous books, I trusted that would be enough, but realized early on that the publishing industry has changed, and not for the better.  If I didn’t do something to add value to my book, it might never be published. 

So my hubby and I came up with a plan.  At the beginning of my thriller, THE SHOP, six people are killed in a house in Aspen, Colorado, including rising country and pop star Brienne Cross.  The book itself does not explore the lives of Brienne Cross and the people with her—-not as much as I’d like.  So I built a website around Brienne Cross and the final four contestants on her reality show, and captured their lives through features (Someday We Will Know the Truth), articles (Inside the “Soul Mate” Reality Show), blogs, and even blog comments.

An only child, I used to role-play with myself. One minute I was the swash-buckling sailor, the next, the beautiful maiden.  It went like this:  “Dost thou know how much I love thee?”  “I do, sir.”  Now, all these years later I am role-playing again, commenting on my own blog to build the aura of reality around Brienne Cross’s life and death.  I’ve argued with myself, insulted  myself, and agreed with myself.  Some friends have pitched in, and we’ve had a whale of a good time.

I got help along the way. A friend told me about a “Demand It” button that musicians use to find out if people want them to come to their town. The movie “Paranormal Activity,” made for $11,884 dollars, was marketed this way.  If enough people Demanded the film, it would show in their town.  The “Demand It” button does ask you for a minimal amount of information, but they do not sell the info, and it’s just so The Demanders will be kept informed about the band or movie—or in this case, book.  

So I put a “Demand It” button on my website. I’m hoping you will push it.

If I get a ton of demands, it translates into a readymade readership. Publishers love a sure thing.

Okay, end of sales pitch. 

As happy as I am with the site “Who Killed Brienne Cross?” I believe I need to go one louder.  This is a big project—-the first of its kind that I know of—-so it morphs as it goes along. I want it to be interactive. And I could use some help brainstorming. 

One idea is to have a poll every week. Who Killed Brienne Cross? Or, did Brienne have plastic surgery?  (Before and After photos.)

I’d like to sprinkle clues across the four sites (yes, there are four sites: www.briennecross.net, www.briennecross.com, www.celebritymurders.net, and the Mother Ship, www.whokilledbriennecross.com.) I don’t want to get too complicated. But I would like it to be fun, and there would be prizes. I’d like to make it part mystery and part scavenger hunt, with tiny icons marking the clues.

As you can see, this aspect of the project is still in its infancy.

I’d love it if you’d go to www.whokilledbriennecross.com, look around, maybe argue with me, and then Demand It.

And any ideas are greatly appreciated!    

Thanks,

M.J. (Maggy)

Karin*

Is it me or do I seem to be writing a lot of blogs about me going under then surfacing?  I was thinking last night that not only was it true, but asked myself what it meant.  Here’s what I came up with:  I have a lot going on.  And, it’s never going to change.  And, I’m ok with that.   Despite my writing schedule, which is challenging to say the least, my family life (Baby G is like a crack addiction!), and life outside of my family, I manage to get it all done. 

I just wrapped up a book that I have put more time and effort into than any other book I have written.  The copyedits were grueling.  I tore that manuscript apart.  Over thirty pages of inserts plus changes on just about every page.  Not including the copy editor’s marks.

I loved the story when I sent in the final to my editor.  Not so much after the copy edits were complete.  It felt too disjointed to me.  But I know when I receive the first pass pages it will all fall neatly into place.  Keeping fingers crossed!

The creeping crud has also been making its way through my household.  Nasty stuff.  The only one who has not been affected is the baby.  I’d take it on again so that she doesn’t get it.  So far so good. 

Today is Ash Wednesday.  For Lent, I’m giving up white carbs.  Rice, bread, and pasta.  Giving up pasta is going to kill me, but I’m going to do it. I’ve been enjoying the Olympics, and AI.  I’m trying to catch up on returning emails, reading my RITA books and working on the new book. 

So what’s new with y’all?

Karin*

Now to jump to a totally different subject: How many of you have seen Human Target on Fox?  I am in love with that show!  Hunky Christopher Chance has nothing at all to do with it.  Nada!   Snerk.  Not.    

How many of you watched AI this week?  Thoughts on Ellen?  I think she was fab.  I like her much better that Kara.  <Scratches head> not sure why Kara is even there.  I already have a favorite.  Casey the cowboy with the blond ponytail.  I’m rooting for Big Mike too, and the girls have some talent!  I think this year is going to have more talent than any previous year, including the year Carrrie won.

OMG!   I just realized, the Olympics start tonight!!! How could I forget?  So much to watch, so little time.  Thank god for on demand.

Ok, it’s the wee hours of Friday morning, and I have to hit it.  Oh, and if I owe you a return email, don’t hate on me too much.  I am trying to catch up.

Happy Friday!

 Karin*

I’m not sure if it’s the time of year, seasonal depression and all, this crappy economy, or what, but there seems to be a lot of depressed writers out there.  Almost to the point of an epidemic.  I get some of the reasons.  Rejection hurts.  It makes us feel, well, rejected.  Not good enough. Like we have failed and/or are a failure. But we have to remember there are other reasons for a rejection other than not good enough.  I know lot’s of writers who are more than good enough.  Hell, I’d cut my hands off to write like them!  Yet, they have been unable to sell in this current market.

But we have to work through it.  Work being the optimum word here.  It’s all work. Life is work!

I’ve been depressed before, mostly hormonally induced, and usually it only lasts a day or two at the longest and luckily the occurrences are rare.  I’ve been very sad before, but not severely depressed (not that I can remember anyway).  I don’t have days where I don’t want to get out of bed (unless I’m being very lazy!), or feel as if my life has no meaning.  Maybe I’m too arrogant.  I don’t look to others to make me happy or for justification.  I am just me, at my core, a good person, and have no difficulty if someone doesn’t like me.  I figure it’s their loss not mine. 

I’ve noticed that a lot of folks who are starved for attention tend to get depressed easily, but I wonder—is that just a way to get attention? These types seem to be more sickly than most, or when you talk to them they have the, I’m-at-death’s-door-delivery. A cry for attention?  Or am I being insensitive?  I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not the, “Oh, are-you-alright-what’s-wrong-let-me-help-you,” type.  As in, I don’t cater to those who are looking for attention.  I’m there with bells on if someone needs something and is willing to work hard to get it.  It’s what I do.  To a fault.  Hey, I was 2008 RWA Pro Mentor of the Year!  But I don’t seem to have much tolerance for the woe is me crowd.  I can’t relate. I can’t relate to quitters either.  Or those who whine about how hard they have it but neglect to look in the mirror and realize they haven’t been willing to do the work to actually get it.

It’s all about doing the work.  Not giving up, forcing oneself to get up each morning and taking meaningful steps toward your goal.  No matter what the goal is.  A new job, writing a chapter, going to school.  If one is not willing to do the work, how on earth can one expect the reward?  Who do these people think they are and why do they think the working hard motto doesn’t apply to them?  I guess that’s denial.  I know a person who has had several, ok, more than several, many jobs in a certain industry since they began working.  This person gets hired with high hopes and within months they find their hours are cut, they aren’t making the money everyone else is, and somehow, this is always the management’s fault.  Hmmm.  Funny, the other folks who are willing to do the work don’t have that problem with the management.  The very sad part is, these types of people don’t understand it’s them, not the world.

This turns into a woe is me episode and then the depression follows and then they walk around all sulky with their chins dragging on the floor, and well, I just really want to kick some sense into them.  But that is their cycle, what they do, who they are.  I stay very far away from those types of people.  Unfortunately there are a few of these types sprinkled throughout my family, and I’m the insensitive bad guy because I want nothing to do with their negativeness.  Yeah, whatever.  I so do not have time for being a cheerleader for a team that isn’t willing to practice.

OK, so this blog did not end up anywhere near how I had envisioned it.  It was going to be an uplifting, You can do it, post!  Not a get off your whiney ass and just freaking do it, post.

Ugh.  Sorry, but to those of you who need to get off your ass and just do it, take heart, it’s easy.  Just drop the bullshit excuses and make today the day you begin your new way of life. (yes, it really is that simple.  It’s a choice.  You’re either in or you’re out, only you can make that decision for yourself.)

To those of you who are doing the work and feeling frustrated, (and that is who this blog was intended for) keep working hard.  Each step is one step closer to your goal, whatever that goal may be.  Do not allow naysayers to interfere in your quest.  Do not allow anyone for any reason to deter you from what you want.  It’s yours, but nothing worth having in this life comes easy, most especially to the ones who are in for the long haul!

 Happy Monday!  

Karin*  who is feeling happy and sassy today.  We had a scare yesterday with my FIL and I am just so very happy he is going to be okay.  It’s times like this that always gives me cause for pause, and to realize how good and precious life is, so I get irritated at those who waste so much time being self-induced miserable and blaming the world for it.  Get over it and LIVE!   Life is a miracle!

Ugh, my right hand is about toast!  I’ve had some issues with it for a long time, but now they are compounded by all of the crazy time I spent at the keyboard with this last book, and I think I may have some carpal tunnel going on as well.  No bueno for a writer.  I’m doing the ibuprophen and icing, and I am also staying off the keyboard as much as possible.  I have a ton of emails I have to respond to, but haven’t because it just hurts to type.  My apologies for not getting right back to you, but I will!

I started book one, BLOOD LAW, today, and really need to conserve my hand for writing the story, so I’ll be here, reading and hanging out but silently.  Just consider me your friendly neighborhood lurker this week, at least until I get the pain and swelling under control.

 So, a question:  Totally unrelated to my blog, but who is jazzed about the Olympics starting next Friday?  I can’t wait!!  And who is your fave Olympian??

K*

Karin*