Ten Questions with Author Michelle Picard

Today I'd like to welcome author Michelle Picard to the blog.  She's currently promoting her latest release, Surviving Eden, via a Goddess Fish Promotional Tour and was gracious enough to answer ten questions.

Without further ado, take it away, Michelle!

1. What is your favorite beverage when you write?

Coffee. Creamy.

2. What is your favorite font to write in?

Book Antiqua

3. What music do you listen to when you write (or do you prefer it quiet)?

Quiet. Well, quiet is relative, but I like to listen to music before the writing, but none during the writing.

4. When it comes to those all important jotted notes, which is it – composition pads or sticky notes?

Any paperlike surface. I suppose I try for composition pads, but the number of sticky notes that abound are comical.

5. What’s your favorite snack when pounding away at the keyboard?

Salt. Anything with it.

6. What inspires you when you write?

Having just read a really good passage from a book. Music inspires the genesis of my writing ideas, but reading a good book prior to the actual typing of words makes everything flow more easily.

7. What do you turn to when you stumble across a road block in the creative process and need to regroup?

I try to forgive myself for not writing. Exercise helps to get me going again. Going to a conference and hearing some new take on craft or picking up one of my favorite books also helps.

8. Where do the ideas and concepts for your work come from?

From my muse, the collective unconscious, and the songs on the pop mix channel I listen to on the radio. Actually, I think they grow organically from material I’ve absorbed reading voraciously and my own fascination with conflict and magic and common mythologies. I can’t pinpoint one place.

9. What do you wish there was more of in the market?

Tanya Huff’s Blood Ties books, Harry Dresden a la Jim Butcher, and anything with humanoid dragons. The first two are my personal addictions and I just think dragons are sexy. < ~~~ I think so too, Michelle! ;-)

10. Lastly, what advice would you give to an up and coming writer that hopes to submit their work and become published in the future?

Don’t give up. Keep writing and find a writing community for yourself. Toughen yourself up and don’t run away from critique. Use it to improve your craft. And always write the books of your heart. They’re the best.

Can you tell us where we can find you on the web?

www.michellepicard.com
www.michellepicardsblog.wordpress.com
www.thequirkyladies.com
http://www.facebook.com/people/Michelle-Picard/100000107670126
http://twitter.com/RulingEden

Surviving Eden Blurb:

Rachel Rieh wields enough magic to make a goddess jealous, or so she learned three weeks ago when she thought she was an ordinary, reclusive, and short-tempered gal from Boston. In this second story of Eden’s Court, Rachel, now the new ruler of the Kesayim, (angels, demons, dragons, faeries, vampires, shapeshifters and witches–the goddess-created protectors of mortalkind) finds herself faced with the task of stopping vampire hunters from annihilating the vampire race. Her lover, Gabriel, half-angel, half-demon, stands by her side to help if she can escape her obsession with protecting him at all cost.

Earth is already on the verge of destruction within six months because magic is out of balance. The new threat to the vampires destabilizes the situation more. In her race to save the vampires, Rachel meets Lilith, goddess, creator of all Kesayim and humans, and the one with all the answers to Rachel’s problems. But is the cold-hearted goddess intent on changing Rachel into her image the greater threat to Rachel and everyone she loves?

Surviving Eden Excerpt:

Moonlight filtered through the windows of my bedroom, softly draping Gabriel’s naked body as he lay next to me on his stomach. His thoughts seemed to be somewhere else entirely. I loved how the pale light played along his flawless limbs, his smoothly muscled body. The silken sheets teased my already sensitive skin. I let my thoughts drift away from my gnawing guilt as I avoided discussion about my date with Colin. As Gabriel relaxed by my side, his aura glowed bright with his pleasure.

I’d given up on trying to shut-off my perception of auras. The dizzying visuals superimposed over everyone’s bodies were now becoming familiar, natural. Gabriel’s included the outline of a pair of wings jutting from his back. Their ghostly image had been present even before he manifested those wings for the first time during his battle with Michael in council.

Tonight was no exception. With downy feathers tucked magically away inside his body, a trick he alone of his angel counterparts could accomplish, his aura reflected their shining outline. The shadow wings were almost as lovely as the real thing.

I couldn’t resist running my fingers down the raised skin on both sides of his back while I lay beside him, my head supported by elbow and hand. I’d convinced myself Gabriel felt shy about the wings. I’d only seen them twice, including the time they manifested. But his hesitation to show them to me hurt. Perhaps he didn’t fully trust me. I dismissed that thought as ludicrous, but it still nagged at me.

My light tracing of the soft, barely perceptible tissue ridges sent pleasant tingles into my hand. His body tensed under the movement of my fingers and I felt his discomfort in the contact. Disappointed with his response, I stilled my fingertips.

“I won’t touch them if you don’t want me to,” I whispered into the hushed night of the room, holding my breath for his reply.

After a moment he relaxed, as if he’d fought through his initial hesitation to some decision. “Please continue,” he said, voice sleepy. “It feels good.”

I smoothed the ridges once again, delighting in the tiny shocks sparking into me. Gabriel’s voice bounced out into the moon-touched room, filling the space with its rich tones, surprising me with its serious intent. “When I was a child I fell asleep most every night dreaming of wings. I hated being born without them.” He paused. “The dream died long ago and I never thought to gain them. Yet… Here I am.”

My breath hitched hearing the pain of the memory in his cautious words. He sounded surprised to be speaking them. Guilt flooded through me for forcing him to expose himself to this hurtful past. Every day he walked into that negotiation room to manage the talks between the angels and demons. It was one thing for me to insist on facing my own memories head-on; another to see someone I loved forced into the same.

Gabriel caught my eyes before I could glance away. “I recognize that look on your face,” he chided. “You are blaming yourself, again.”

I kept my gaze on the window, the shadows of the garden just outside, wishing I could hide the waiver in my voice. “Don’t badmouth a little good old-fashioned guilt.” I tried to joke away his point-on comment. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and the will to give my smart-mouth rein died a sudden death. “My decision puts you in that room with them everyday.” I removed my hands from him, unable to continue my caress.

He shifted on his side, reaching his hand to cradle my face. “Being in that room may be frustrating, but it is valuable to me as well. I feel less need to run from them.”

My indignation surged on his behalf. I wanted to insist that he never ran, but hadn’t I accused him of the same weeks ago? My words had been to the effect that he’d bought into their crap about being an abomination. I’d wanted this experience for him--a chance to put to rest the ghosts that haunted him. I just hadn’t counted on how witnessing his pain during the process would shred my heart.

He smiled as if he’d recognized the play of thoughts and emotions running across my face and valued them. “I did run, in my own way. But being forced to watch the angels and demons confront their issues, I feel less like I am some shameful secret that must be denied.”

“I’m sorry this hurts you,” I blurted, my words choking me. I hated how out of control my emotions became with him. I valued my control.

His voice roughened with irritation. “You never forced me into the room. It was my choice, if you remember.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Do not make less of what I do by claiming responsibility for that choice. I survived hundreds of years making my own decisions before you were even born.”

Gabriel’s tone made my hackles rise for just a moment before I remembered his pain. He had a point, but I wasn’t about to give up on blaming myself in this matter. Call me masochistically stubborn.

His momentary anger dissolved, shifting into an all too different mood. His fingers moved in a caress of my cheek. He was a master at distracting me when he wanted and I’d sullenly noted before how most of the time this was a good thing. “Besides,” his voice lazed, “I need your mind focused elsewhere. It has always been my fantasy to make love to a woman with wings wrapped around us, brushing along our bodies.”

My mouth quirked up as my nipples tightened. “Any woman in particular, or will you just put out a personal ad? Wanted: female with wing fetish. Only those already butt naked need apply.” His chuckle tightened all things lower on me and I shifted on the bed, anticipation licking my skin.

The blurb and excerpt sound excellent, don't they? Be sure to check out Surviving Eden at Crescent Moon Press.  Thanks so much for stopping by today, Michelle.  I'm wishing you many sells and a fantastic tour.

Ten Questions with Madelyn Ford

Today I'm so excited to welcome my very dear friend and writer extraordinaire Madelyn Ford to the blog.  I had the pleasure of reading her first story, Faith Revisited, last year and I was hooked.  Her work is dark and gritty (think urban fantasy and tons of heat) and I couldn't get enough. She truly is an author I endorse and adore. But enough about my fixation with the author herself, on to those questions!

Take it away, Mad!

1. What is your favorite beverage when you write?

It’s a triple shot caramel latte or really sweet iced tea, depending on season. Really weird, I know, but I can’t drink coffee in the summer, unless it’s iced. Too hot here already.

2. What is your favorite font to write in?

I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite font but I use Times New Roman. It’s become habit since it is one of the standard fonts for most publishing houses and I’m just too lazy to change the entire ms after it’s finished.

3. What music do you listen to when you write (or do you prefer it quiet)?

That really depends on what kind of scene I’m writing and also who the characters are. With My Avenging Angel, my playlist consisted of a lot of Disturbed, Breaking Benjamin, and Hollywood Undead. And you can never go wrong with some Metallica for the fight scenes.

4. When it comes to those all important jotted notes, which is it – composition pads or sticky notes?

Neither. I am so disorganized, I would lose them, lol. I keep everything in Word, even my notes.

5. What’s your favorite snack when pounding away at the keyboard?

It used to be Twizzler’s cherry bites or the pulls but my butt started getting too big for my chair. Now I try not to snack as I’m writing.

6. What inspires you when you write?

Lately it’s been hard. I’ve been in a funk. But in the past, it was always the desire to learn what happened to these two characters I’d grown to know and care about. Not being a big plotter, I normally start a story understanding the bad guy has to lose and the good guys have to win, but I never know how that is going to happen until the end. It’s that quest that usually keeps me going.

7. What do you turn to when you stumble across a road block in the creative process and need to regroup?

You know, I never really had this problem until recently. I’ve continued to plow through the story, even though it’s been giving me fits. Sometimes, I’ll call my crit partner and try to talk it out. But I’ve yet to find a real solution to the problem.

8. Where do the ideas and concepts for your work come from?

If I told you, I’d have to kill you. Lol. No, really, I have no idea. I’m influenced by everything around me then my twisted little mind mashes that all together and out pops words on the screen. Sometimes, I’ll read it back and think where in the world…

9. What do you wish there was more of in the market?

Really good shifter stories. I love them and I’m not even particular about what species of shifter, wolves, cats, dragons, bears…I love them all.

10. Lastly, what advice would you give to an up and coming writer that hopes to submit their work and become published in the future?

Don’t give up. The hard part is actually finishing the ms. You should feel proud for just accomplishing that. As for publishing, all it takes is that one person who believes in your story. I know it sounds trite, but it’s the truth.

Tell us where we can find you on the web. Or share any upcoming projects with us!

www.madleynford.com

http://www.facebook.com/madelyn.ford

twitter: Madelyn_ford

My Avenging Angel Excerpt:

It’s Victoria Bloom’s twenty-fifth birthday. But is she out celebrating? Oh, no. She’s in a stuffy old attic with the Three Stooges—a.k.a. her so-called spirit guides. There’s a demon who wants her dead, the same one that killed her mother two decades ago. No worries, say the Stooges. All she has to do is summon an angel. What could go wrong?

Well, plenty when you summon the wrong angel. The next thing Tory knows, she’s got one very bad-ass, pissed-off and sexy Archangel on her hands.

Michael, mighty warrior, leader of an elite team of demon killers, is shaking in his heavenly combat boots. Not because he finds all humans distasteful. But because he’d rather face Lucifer himself than the woman his soul has just recognized as his mate. Binding himself to a mortal, one who will eventually die, is the one path he’s sworn never to follow.

It’s too late now; his fate is sealed. With one touch, she becomes as necessary to him as the air he breathes. He will move heaven and earth to protect her—but against a demon as powerful as Asmodeus, heaven and earth may not be enough…

Warning: This book contains one bad-ass Archangel with a fiery, um, sword, a witch who blows things up, one nasty demon who is trying to kill them both, and ghosts who make interfering their mission. Steamy sex is had, even with the voyeur ghosts—though Tory is still blushing.

Excerpt:

Asmodeus stared down at the sniveling, postulating human, a sneer lifting the corner of his lips. He’d been ripped from his dimension, brought to this godforsaken plain known as Earth and he wasn’t happy about it. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the protection spell the man had woven into the circle surrounding him, Asmodeus would have killed the weakling for his audacity.

“Why have you summoned me, human?” he demanded, taking a step forward to test the barrier. He was delighted to find a slight weakness in his invisible cage. He could work with that.

“I ask your help, my lord,” came the timid reply.

Folding his arms across his wide chest, Asmodeus watched as the man remained on his knees, head bowed to his chin, and found the action mildly mollifying. He might just hear the human out before he killed him.

“You called me forth to ask my help?”

“Yes.” Brown eyes met his briefly before dropping back to the floor. “There is a woman—”

“I am the Lord of Wrath, king of the vengeance demons, not a damn matchmaker. Release me now, human,” he growled, rethinking his earlier plan. He was going to enjoy taking this creature apart piece by tiny piece.

The man’s head shot up, surprise lining his features. “I don’t want her love, my lord.”

“No? Then what is it you seek?”

Eyes narrowing, a look of intense hatred bleeding into those brown orbs, the man growled, “I want the bitch dead.”

“And if I do this for you? What are you willing to sacrifice?”

“Anything. Everything.”

Asmodeus studied the pitiful being for a moment, then a grin slowly spread across his face. Dead he could do. In fact, he would relish every moment of the act: skin tearing beneath his nails, blood oozing forth and the fragrant cries of pain tickling his ears. But he was getting ahead of himself. First there was payment. And then he had to decide if he would kill the human after reaping his soul or just maim him, leaving him alive to do Asmodeus’s future bidding. Oh, so much pain, so little time.

With one tiny hand, she brushed sweat-drenched hair from her eyes while she reached out with the other, fingers trembling slightly, to nudge the prone figure on the bed.

“Mommy,” she whispered. Her gaze fell to the empty bottles littering the bedside table and she knew it was a waste of her time. Mommy always got like this after the bad man left. But she had to try. “Please, Mommy. You need to wake up.” She grew louder as her urgency rose. “The bad man is coming back. We have to hide.”

The soft voice in her ear told Tory she was running out of time. Hands swirled out of the mist in an attempt to herd her away from Mommy but she clutched Mommy’s shirt tightly in her fists. Unexpectedly, pain exploded throughout the side of her head, filling her eyes with tears. Mommy had hit her.

“Go back to bed, you little shit,” Tammy Bishop mumbled, rolling away from her. “Get out of here.”

“But Mommy…”

The voices were frantic now, raising the level of terror coursing through Tory’s small frame. Then she sensed him, the bad man, the one Mommy had said was her daddy. But she’d felt the evil rolling off him and knew Mommy had lied. Tory’s daddy was a prince. Or an angel. Or maybe a princely angel. Just not the bad man.

She let the mist guide her into the hall closet and burrowed under a blanket that had been thrown carelessly on the floor. Surrounding her, the mist obscured the blanket and her presence beneath it only moments before the front door of their little apartment crashed open. She slapped a hand over her mouth to conceal a tiny cry, tears beginning to slowly leak down her cheeks. The voices murmured softly, trying to soothe her, but it wasn’t until heavy footsteps went unheeded past her hiding spot that Tory’s immediate panic receded. And then the screams began.

Clasping her hands tightly before her, Tory began to pray to the angels. She didn’t want to die and even though Mommy sometimes called her a baby, she wasn’t. Tory knew if the bad man found her, he would kill her. And so she prayed until Mommy grew silent and the laughter began. The sound, one Tory knew she would never forget, chilled her to the bone. Her prayers were forgotten as pure terror filled her soul, squashing all that was good, all the hope and love within her, leaving her dejected and heartsick.

It called to her, trying to draw her into its evil web, and the only thing holding her back from answering was the mist. They saved her that night, the spirits drawn to her light, not releasing her from their otherworldly grip until all was silent and the veil of evil had lifted. Only then was Tory able to crawl out of the closet.

“Mommy?” she called as she slowly trudged down the hallway.

Coming to a stop outside Mommy’s bedroom, the hands tried to hold her back, but she slipped right through their grasp. Their protection had weakened them and she had to see…had to know.

What filled her vision stunned her for one split second before high-pitched screams of horror were ripped from her throat. And while she shrieked, tears streaming down her cheeks, trails of her mother’s blood slowly trickled down the walls.

Thanks so much for dropping by, Mad.  You are welcome here anytime! :-) 

You can purchase My Avenging Angel at My Bookstore and More and Amazon.

Ten Questions with author Jessica Lee

Welcome author and friend Jessica Lee to the blog today! She has a hot new release out, Dark Desires At Midnight, the second in her Warriors of the Enclave series, and let me tell you, it sizzles! She is also giving away a $10 Loose Id Gift Card to a random commenter, so be sure to leave one for the chance to win!!

Thanks for stopping by Jessica. Without further ado, take it away!

1. What is your favorite beverage when you write? Oh, that's an easy one. LOL A Starbucks Iced Vanilla Latte!

2. What is your favorite font to write in? Times New Roman 12font. Maybe not my favorite, but it's sort of required, and I've gotten used to it.

3. What music do you listen to when you write (or do you prefer it quiet)? I like to listen before I start writing, just to get into the mindset of my characters. But when I'm actually writing, I prefer quiet.

4. When it comes to those all important jotted notes, which is it – composition pads or sticky notes? Sticky notes. Jeez, you should see my desk. LOL

5. What’s your favorite snack when pounding away at the keyboard? Hmm… Chocolate.

6. What inspires you when you write? Songs and photos/images before starting. But when I'm writing, I have no clue where the words come from most of the time.

7. What do you turn to when you stumble across a road block in the creative process and need to regroup? For me, it would be who do I turn to, and that would be my critique partners. Naima and Lanna are wonderful to bounce ideas off of, or to go to when I'm not sure where to go with perhaps a certain scene.

8. Where do the ideas and concepts for your work come from? Man, I wish I knew the answer to that question, because I'd visit that place a little more often. LOL

9. What do you wish there was more of in the market? Honestly, I'd have to say that I don't feel like there is something missing in the market.

10. Lastly, what advice would you give to an up and coming writer that hopes to submit their work and become published in the future?

Here are my top five tips for any aspiring writer:

1. Read, read, read in the genre that you write.

2. Never get to the point that you think you know it all. There's alway room for improvement.

3. Get involved in a writing group. Be it RWA or some other. Talking and sharing with other authors is so motivating and super educational about the business.

4. Set a schedule. If you want writing to be a career, you have to treat it like one. (I need to take my own advice sometimes. lol)

5. Never give up. Don't lose sight of your dream. When things get rough sometimes and you want to cry and throw in the towel, don't forget why you wanted to do this in the first place. Because it can be really tough sometimes, but in the end, it's worth all the swollen feet and the aching backs.

Tell us where we can find you on the web. www.jessicaleenovels.com www.facebook.com/jessleenovels www.twitter.com/jessleenovels Or share any upcoming projects with us! Latest release: Dark Desires at Midnight buy link: http://www.loose-id.com/Dark-Desires-at-Midnight.aspx

Dark Desires At Midnight Blurb:

Arran MacLain is a vampire on a suicide mission, driven to kill his former partner who betrayed him and the Enclave they served. But two things stand in his way: Gabrielle, the human female who holds his heart, and the past that won’t let him go. If only death was enough to cleanse his soul.

Gabrielle Steven’s sister is missing. Her hunt for clues brings her face to face with the one vampire she can’t forget. Their missions combine and thrust them into the heart of evil. Will their passion be enough to overcome the pain from their past, or will their dark desires destroy them both?

Dark Desires At Midnight Excerpt:

Arran rolled his Ninja into the parking lot beside Gabrielle’s car and killed the engine. She’d taken the newsflash about Markus and Marguerite pretty much like he’d expected. She’d mumbled an oath of determination right before she’d kicked him out of the car. Gabrielle wasn’t a member of the Enclave in name only. It didn’t matter that she didn’t work patrol. Gabrielle was as much a warrior as any of the males. Life hadn’t dealt her any favors. And she wasn’t one to lie down and let it bulldoze over her. She stood and fought for every inch of ground gained.

He waited for her to get out of the car, then removed his helmet.

“You didn’t need to follow me home,” she said over her shoulder, heading for the front door of her sister’s townhouse. He was surprised when she’d led him here instead of a hotel. The place must have belonged to her sister. He palmed his keys, slid off his bike, and shoved the keys in his pocket.

“I wasn’t going to let you leave alone after the info I just dumped on you,” he said as he came up behind her while she unlocked the door. “I wanted to make sure you got home safe. And I wanted to be sure you actually went home.”

“Oh my God, you can be such an ass sometimes.” Her back was to him, but Arran could almost hear her eyes roll with that statement. She was right. He was an ass. But while he was here, he would be taking care of hers.

Gabrielle flipped on the lights, and he followed her inside. The heels of her boots clicked on the hardwood floor of the foyer, echoing in the open stairwell of the two-story apartment. She couldn’t have been in town long, but the air in the place already carried her scent. He pulled in another slow, deep breath through his nostrils. His heart rate quickened. Honeysuckle. Arran wanted to smile but repressed the grin. Ironic that such a delicate and sweet fragrance emanated from the hellcat with whom he’d just been reacquainted.

Her keys clinked as she dropped them in a bowl on a table near the staircase. Arran’s gaze devoured her provocative profile. He’d never seen her dressed like she was tonight. Living with five male vampires within the Enclave walls, she usually dressed a bit more conservatively. Not matronly, but definitely not this revealing. A short black leather skirt barely covered the lush curves of her ass, and a shirt that couldn’t have been more than a decked-out bra did its best to contain her full breasts. Shiny black leather boots wrapped her legs, highlighting the toned sweep of her calves. This couldn’t happen again. Arran slowly shook his head. He would end up killing someone if she dressed like this again.

She turned her head to the side, facing him. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” She shifted and faced him head-on. “You’ve been gone a long time, Arran. Things have changed. I’ve changed.”

“Maybe so. But you’re not taking on that colony alone. I can’t believe Logan let you come here without him.” Gabrielle turned her back, rearranging her purse on the table. Shit. He recognized the body language. “You didn’t tell him, did you?” Arran closed the distance between them.

“No. I didn’t need him here.” Gabrielle looked up, fierce determination written on her face. “I can handle this. Alex needed me. And I’m going to be there for her.” She shifted to face him again, leaning her hip against the table. “I’m smart enough to know if -- and when -- I need help.”

Arran closed in, crowding her personal space, wanting a reaction. Aching for it, actually. Gabrielle straightened and took one step back but stopped and lifted her chin, refusing to cower and give him the reaction he itched for. She caught on quick.

“You think you have it all handled, lass?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You got it all under control?”

The amber color of her irises had grown near molten. He allowed a small smile to pull at the corner of his mouth, loving the way she got all hot and bothered when he pushed her.

“Yes. I do.” The words had barely left her lips when she attacked, one leg coming out to catch the back of his ankle. Caught off guard, he stumbled.

Before he could regain his balance, she had his wrist locked in her grip. Swinging his arm up, she spun underneath, twisted, and wrenched his arm up the middle of his back, then shoved him face-first into the dank-smelling wall.

Well, damn. Not bad.

“You’ve been training,” he mumbled against the Sheetrock.

“A little.” She sounded quite proud of herself. She was good. He’d give her that. But her heavy breathing told him it was all she could do to contain him, and he hadn’t even come close to tapping into his full abilities. She’d caught him by surprise, but she was human, a woman, and no match for a mature vampire. Especially in a multiple attack.

With a burst of speed, Arran pushed back, forcing Gabrielle to release him instead of falling on her rear. He whirled, catching her before she hit the floor. In less than a second, their positions reversed. Except this time, he’d pinned her back against the wall, her hands imprisoned by his, over her head.

The position pushed her full breasts up, almost spilling them from her top. Nice. He lifted his gaze, prepared for a hard glare. If her eyes were molten earlier, they were near boiling now. He couldn’t have stopped the next words that spilled from his lips if he’d tried.

“I win.”

“You ass!” She squirmed and bucked against him like a feral cat. Instead of gaining her freedom, though, each maneuver jammed her tighter into his hold. Her every inhale shoved her breasts into his chest. Heat radiated off her body, threatening to scramble his brain. Before he knew he’d even moved, his lips hovered over hers. What made him stop, God only knew. Maybe it was the way she’d suddenly grown still? Or maybe it was the moment she’d parted her lips, releasing warm, peppermint-scented bursts of air that seduced his mind. So damn enticing. All he had to do was lean in one more inch, and he’d --

Fire shot up his arm. “Son of a…” Releasing her, he jumped back and flung his gaze to the offending limb. Blood.

A thin line of crimson blossomed along the outside of his bicep. She’d played him. Purposefully distracted him, so she could pull her hand free and reach for a blade that must have been hidden under her skirt and against her thigh. The little minx.

He swiveled his head back in Gabrielle’s direction. Air punched from his lungs. Christ. Blood surged to his cock. The overwhelming urge to stroke the rock-hard length at the sight of her was short-circuiting his brain. Gabrielle stood, one boot in front of the other, palming a short dagger. She was ready to fight.

He was ready to fuck.

Arran rocked from one foot to the other, searching within for the strength not to take what was his. Mentally, he shook his head. No. She’s not yours, asshole. But damn if his cock had the sense to listen.

“I know you weren’t about to kiss me, warrior. Were you?” She raised a delicate brow and tilted her head. “Because last I heard, my kiss was ‘forgettable.’”

Ouch. He’d had a feeling if he ever saw her again, that asinine comment would come back to bite him in the ass.

“Give me the blade, Gabrielle.”

“This?” She twirled the dagger, then palmed the hilt and held it up for display. “You want it?” A devious smile lit her face. With her other hand, she beckoned him with her fingers. “Come and take it.”

Bad, bad challenge, kitten. A tremor started in his gut and worked its way up, until it was a buzz inside his brain. Every cell in his body wanted to take.

Mark.

Claim.

A gasp of air in his ear was the only indicator that he’d grabbed her. He didn’t remember the trip. Arran lifted her feet from the floor, whirled, and gently laid her on the stairs, pressing his hips, his chest into hers. He had to get his body next to hers. Everywhere. The dagger fell from her hand, rolling and thumping its way down the steps, each tumble a hollow thud.

The loud percussions bypassed the noise inside his head and brought him to a dead halt. He lay with his hips between her legs, his groin pressed to hers. His mouth suspended above her lips. He dropped his gaze to her mouth. God, how he loved the delicate line of her lips, a perfect bow. So full and pink. Her tongue darted out and moistened the lower one. He couldn’t stifle the groan that rolled from the back of his throat.

He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. Passion mixed with doubt and fear stared back at him. “I’m sorry.” The whispered words tumbled from his heart.

She blinked, then swallowed. “Why?”

“For hurting you.” Her eyelids shuttered, and her breath hitched. Did she believe him? Was an apology enough for what he’d done? He’d walked away, leaving her to think he’d never wanted her, when the truth was, he wanted her more than his next breath. Sorry sounded so insignificant, compared to how much damage he’d done to her heart.

“Gabrielle.” Long, dark eyelashes lifted. Beautiful, near gold eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Please don’t cry. If only he had the power to bring her tears of joy. Instead of the pain he was so damn good at. He wanted to kiss the hurt away. “Remind me.”

Her lips parted first in silence before she asked, “Of what?”

Arran released her arms and cupped her face with his palms. He caressed her lips with his gaze before lifting it back to hers.

“What I walked away from.”

Thanks again for visiting Jessica!! Wishing you many sells and much success. Be sure to check out Dark Desires At Midnight and if you haven't read it, the first in the series, Desire To Die For.

Ten Questions with Author Maggie Dove

Today I'm excited to have fellow Eternal Press author Maggie Dove answering Ten Questions. Her story, Angel of Windword is currently available in print at Amazon.com, as well as e-book at Eternal Press and Ebookwise. Let me tell you, I finished it last night and it is FANTASTIC. Nicholas is so hot you'll melt, and Angelique is the kind of heroine you'll positively cheer for. Be sure to keep an eye out for my upcoming review this week.

But enough of that. Let's get down to those Ten Questions. Maggie, take it away!

What is your favorite beverage when you write? Definitely coffee.

What is your favorite font to write in? Times New Roman 12

What music do you listen to when you write (or do you prefer it quiet)? Quiet.

When it comes to those all important jotted notes, which is it – composition pads or sticky notes? Both! My notes are almost always wet and I have to decipher them because I think best in the shower and rush out and scribble all my thoughts on whatever I can get my hands on so I don’t forget.

What’s your favorite snack when pounding away at the keyboard? Diet Coke. I try not to eat while I’m writing because sitting down at the computer is fattening enough!

What inspires you when you write? I write looking at palm trees outside my bedroom window. They have a calming effect on me.

What do you turn to when you stumble across a road block in the creative process and need to regroup? General Hospital! I take a soap opera break or a shower and the creative juices start working again.

Where do the ideas and concepts for your work come from? I don’t know. Plot is never a problem. It just comes to me and my original idea never changes. I just add more situations and characters.

What do you wish there was more of in the market? I think the market is just fine. There is a book out there to satisfy every taste.

Lastly, what advice would you give to an up and coming writer that hopes to submit their work and become published in the future? Never to give up. Plot it, write it and send it out…and sent it out again…and send it out again…and send it out again!

Tell us where we can find you on the web. www.maggiedove.net

Angel of Windword Blurb:

Evil forces are at play surrounding Angelique Beauvisage, but she has no clue. Sensuous and suspense-filled, ANGEL OF WINDWORD, begins with a murder that takes place four years before and turns into a perilous cat and mouse game played by two reluctant lovers, who spin a web of deception that only their love can unravel.

Excerpt #1

His thunderous expression softened. “Come closer.” His eyes swept over her face as he caressed her cheek with the knuckle of his forehand. “I did not see her slap you, but your cheeks look burning hot. Answer something for me, Angelique,” he ordered gruffly. “Has that woman ever hit you before?”

Angelique drank in the comfort of his nearness. His touch was soft and soothing.

“Never,” she lied. “Victoria has never slapped me or hurt me. My lord, it was really my fault...I provoked her.”

He definitely will have his way with me and my place will be in his bed! Mon Dieu!

A guttural sound escaped her lips when she recalled her own words. She was not certain whether she was more distressed at having thrown those awful words at her stepmother or the dreadful possibility that Nicholas had actually overheard them.

Attempting to sound nonchalant, she stammered Victoria’s original question to him, “H-how long had you been standing there, monsieur? Did you...did you hear anything?” she asked in a faint whisper, her voice cracking with embarrassment.

“Hear what, my love?’ he asked innocuously.

“Monsieur, how long had you been standing there?” she repeated with mounting dread.

Then gazing at him, she suddenly wished she had not asked. His dark blue eyes sparkled with complete understanding as he stood casually against the doorjamb, strong arms folded across his chest, a devil of a smile beginning to form on his face.

“How long, monsieur…?”

Nicholas did not wait for her to finish. Without another word, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard on the lips. Then, just as suddenly, he let go of her, allowing her to fall back against the doorpost.

“Long enough to know I’m going to enjoy those willful ways of yours. Not to mention putting you in that bed of mine.”

Her heart pounding fast against her heaving chest, Angelique watched in stunned silence as Nicholas turned on his heel and made his exit. She could still feel his warm lips against hers as his deep, masculine chuckles echoed in the hallway.

Excerpt #2

“I am with child,” she announced. “You are the father. If you love me…”

Pie-eyed, James hiccupped. “Did you say love you, my dear? I’m not certain I even fancy you anymore.” He began to laugh, taking two steps forward, almost tipping over, and then catching himself in a circular motion. “It matters little whether or not you find yourself with child. You’re all the same,” he rattled on, “faithless, deceiving bitches. I must have been insane to bed you. Filthy slut…seducing the viscount, while lusting after the sailor.”

She stood stunned. How had he known? James spat in her face. “Get out, whore, and take your future bastard with you!”

She flinched, wiping the spittle from her face. “You are a vicious and vulgar man, James Kent,” she retorted. “The liquor does not excuse your cruelty. Nicholas would never treat me this way.”

At this, James scoffed. “My brother hardly knows you exist anymore. I, on the other hand, have accommodated you for years.”

“My fantasies of Nicholas are much more pleasing than your slobbery attempts at lovemaking,” she finally admitted, her voice cold and devoid of feeling.

She walked out of the room with James trailing behind her, and heard him bellow after her, “Why, you uppity little bitch—putting on airs of superiority, are you? Enjoy your fantasies, my dear. It is all you’ll ever have.”

Refusing to listen to any more of his insults, she stormed up the steps and watched as he made his way up.

“I wish it were his child, not yours.”

James’ glossy eyes tried to focus on her form. He rambled furiously, “Nicky is much too scrupulous a man to dwell in the gutter, my dear. He would never have fathered your child.”

She stared down at him with contempt, then smiled provocatively, pulling up her skirts. “You like what you see, don’t you?” Goading him, she licked her lips suggestively, enticing him to her. “You are not so scrupulous, are you, Jamie? You thrive in the filthy gutter. That’s it. Come to me. You know you still want me.”

“You slut,” he growled at her, but she knew her words aroused him. In spite of his inebriated state, she saw his tongue slide over his lips in preparation for her lusty kiss.

“Your slut,” she purred, smiling sweetly.

James reached for her just as she knew he would. Before James knew what was happening, she kicked him hard in the stomach, pushing him down the stairs to the cold stone flooring below. His look of surprise, followed by absolute horror as he tumbled back, both exhilarated and repelled her, causing her to burst into hysterical laughter. A moment later, she was not laughing anymore. Pointing a finger at the crumpled body that lay in a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs, she rubbed her belly and caressed her unborn child.

“Sleep soundly, my sweet, Jamie. Sleep soundly.” Her tender words spoken so coldly, so calculating, and the demented, morbid laughter that rang in the darkness were the last human sounds James Kent would ever hear.

Thanks for visiting the blog today, Maggie. Wishing you much success and many sells!!!

Ten Questions with Rebecca J. Clark

Everyone, please help me welcome the marvelous Rebecca J. Clark to the blog! She's promoting her fabtastic story, Borrowed Stilettos, and was gracious enough to answer Ten Questions!

Without further ado, welcome Rebecca!

What is your favorite beverage when you write?

Something hot. I drink a lot of coffee and green tea. When writing steamy love scenes, however, a good red wine is nice.

What is your favorite font to write in?

Anything but Courier. When I read that font, everything I write sounds like a bad rough draft. If I change it to Century Schoolbook (my favorite), the same words miraculously morph into something readable.

What music do you listen to when you write (or do you prefer it quiet)?

My preference is quiet. If I do listen to music, it can’t have any lyrics.

When it comes to those all important jotted notes, which is it – composition pads or sticky notes?

Composition pads. I’ve tried using sticky notes, but they end up stuck all over my house. I once found one stuck to the bottom of my purse while grocery shopping.

What’s your favorite snack when pounding away at the keyboard?

I try not to eat while I’m writing, because it would be way too easy to snarf away 100s of calories. If I was eating something like broccoli or baby carrots, it wouldn’t be an issue.

What inspires you when you write?

I use an online timer or Write or Die. There’s nothing like a ticking clock to make my fingers start flying across the keyboard.

What do you turn to when you stumble across a road block in the creative process and need to regroup?

I do several things. Taking a long walk outside always helps, as does reading a fiction book outside the genre I write in. Sometimes, I’ll switch gears and work on a different project, because the other projects are always way more interesting than my WIP.

Where do the ideas and concepts for your work come from?

Anywhere and everywhere.

What do you wish there was more of in the market?

I wish there were more straight contemporary romances. I enjoy a good paranormal every now and then, but it seems like every new release these days is a vampire/shifter/werewolf/demon/apocalypse story.

Lastly, what advice would you give to an up and coming writer that hopes to submit their work and become published in the future?

Focus more on the writing and the craft of writing than the business and promo aspects at this point. And don’t ever, EVER give up. If you give up today, you’ll never know if tomorrow was your big break.

Great answers, Rebecca. ;-) Tell us where we can find you on the web. Or share any upcoming projects with us!

Find me on the web at www.RebeccaJClark.com, www.shywriters.blogspot.com, www.Facebook.com/rebeccajclark.author

Now, for a preview of Borrowed Stilettos (which is on my TBR list as we speak!).

Borrowed Stilettos Blurb:

It's a classic case of mistaken identity...only this time, it's no mistake.

Mild-mannered teacher Audrey Thompson dresses as her flamboyant but cowardly twin in order to break up with her sister's fiance, Zach Banister. Before she can do the dirty deed, she starts to fall for him herself. Her plan goes hilariously and seductively awry, as things tend to do when you're stuffing your bra and borrowing your sister's stilettos. Little does Audrey realize, however, Zach is also playing a game and has his own agenda.

Borrowed Stilettos Excerpt:

Well. It was now or never. Adrenaline blasted through her veins, heating her skin. Taking a deep breath of courage, she navigated the first step downward while holding the banister for support. Her ankle wobbled on the four-inch heel. She took another step. This time, she swayed precariously. Her head swam with visions of being splayed out like road kill on the Banister slate.

The threesome below turned her way.

“Ava,” Zach greeted with a smile in his voice. Its deep tone echoed the answering quiver in her belly. She imagined what her name would sound like rolling off his tongue. She froze on the second step from the top, afraid to move. Who in their right mind would ever install hardwood stairs? Nerves rattled around her gut like coins in an empty soda can.

“Darling, we were just talking about you,” he said, moving toward the bottom of the staircase.

Darling? Oh, crap. How was she supposed to break up with a man who called her ‘darling’ in such a sexy way?

“Come down here, and I’ll introduce you.”

Judging from the hostile postures of the women, Audrey decided she’d rather have a root canal. She hoped they couldn’t see up her skirt from their lower vantage point. She said a silent prayer of thanks she hadn’t taken her sister’s advice and was, in fact, wearing panties. Could she call a thong “panties”?

Thanks for stopping by the blog, Rebecca! I apologize for my tardiness! Everyone, give her an extra special warm welcome! ;-)

Ten Questions with Jeanne St. James

Please welcome the wonderful Jeanne St. James to the blog today! I had the pleasure of reading her story, Banged Up, not too long ago and absolutely loved it! She here to answer Ten Questions and to offer a glimpse of her latest offering, Double Dare, for your reading pleasure.

Hello, Jeanne! Welcome to the blog!

What is your favorite beverage when you write?

I prefer to drink Diet Vanilla Coke and Captain Morgan. If it’s later in the day and I don’t want the caffeine, I will have a glass (or two) of wine, Sangria preferably. Otherwise, I drink water. I’m a huge water drinker.

What is your favorite font to write in?

Times New Roman, 12 pt.

What music do you listen to when you write (or do you prefer it quiet)?

I prefer quiet. If for some reason I have music on softly in the background, I usually put on classic or soft rock.

When it comes to those all important jotted notes, which is it – composition pads or sticky notes?

Neither. I use Microsoft Word and make a file of notes. I’m so used to using computers (at work and at home) that my handwriting is atrocious. AND I’m so much slower handwriting. I can type over 80 WPM.

What’s your favorite snack when pounding away at the keyboard?

None. I try not to snack.

What inspires you when you write?

Your question #1. Alcohol loosens me up a bit and my imagination just takes over. I get into my characters’ heads and just write.

What do you turn to when you stumble across a road block in the creative process and need to regroup?

Go watch a movie. Movies seem to inspire my creativity. Sometimes they spark an idea.

Where do the ideas and concepts for your work come from?

Lately, it’s been special calls for submission. I see something a publisher is looking for and it sparks an idea.

What do you wish there was more of in the market?

Interracial ménage a trios (m/m/f). I love them. That’s why I decided to write one myself (DOUBLE DARE with Loose Id).

Lastly, what advice would you give to an up and coming writer that hopes to submit their work and become published in the future?

Keep writing. Don’t get discouraged. Find a good critique partner. Keep writing. Keep writing. I can’t say that enough.

You can find Jeanne by visiting the links below!

My website: http://www.jeannestjames.com
My blog: http://jeannestjames.blogspot.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jeannestjames
MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/jeannestjames
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/jeannestjames

Now, for an excerpt of Double Dare, available now from Loose Id. Be sure to check back Wednesday and Friday when I'll share snippets from Banged Up and Rip Cord! Thanks for stopping by the blog, Jeanne! All my best!

Double Dare Blurb:

What could be better than waking up next to a hot guy? Waking up sandwiched between two of them.

Quinn Preston, a financial analyst, is not happy when her friends dare her to pick up a handsome stranger at a wedding reception. What better reason to give up men when her previous long-term relationship had not only been lackluster in the bedroom but he had cheated.

Logan Reed, a successful business owner, can’t believe that he’s attracted to the woman in the ugly, Pepto-Bismol colored bridesmaid dress. And to boot, she’s more than tipsy. After turning down her invitation for a one-night stand, he finds her in the parking lot too impaired to drive. He rescues her and takes her home. His home.

The next morning Quinn’s conservative life turns on its ear when Logan introduces her to pleasures she never even considered before. And to make things more complicated, Logan already has a lover…

Tyson White, ex-pro football player, is completely in love with Logan. He has mixed emotions when Logan brings home Quinn. But the dares keep coming and things heat up with the three of them. Nevertheless Ty wonders: will adding Quinn to the mix end up enhancing or destroying Logan’s and his relationship?

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, BDSM theme & content, male/male sexual practices, ménage (m/m/f).

Double Dare Excerpt:

Quinn Preston almost choked on her Alabama slammer when her friend elbowed her in the ribs. "Ooof."

She saved her drink before it could spill all over her ugly bridesmaid dress. Yeah, that would have been a shame: to ruin such a nice, frumpy, pukey pink taffeta dress. One the bride had said she would be able to wear in the future. Like to a cocktail party. Or maybe her own funeral. Yeah, right. No one in their right mind would want to get caught dead in this thing.

Ruining the dress wouldn't have been a loss, but losing her drink would have. She was drinking slammers for a reason -- to get good and drunk.

Lana nudged her again. "You see that?" She nodded her head toward the back of the room.

"What?" Quinn really didn't care what Lana was excited about. She just wanted to get this day over with. She was tired of watching the happy couple. She was tired of pasting on a plastic smile for the photographer. And she was really tired of listening to the sappy congratulations. All things she might never have -- the wedding, the husband, the bridal bliss. And something her parents never failed to remind her. Especially now that she was in her early thirties. And single. Again.

"Not what. Who."

"Huh?" She sucked on the dainty little straw the bartender had put in her drink. Hardly anything would come out of it. Maybe it was designed just for stirring. She pulled it out and threw it onto the bar. She really needed one of those big giant straws that came in those fancy frozen drinks.

"Him. Over there." Lana grabbed Quinn by the shoulders and turned her around to face whatever had caught her friend's attention.

"Oh, him." She took a deep draw of the punchlike drink, only there wasn't a bit of punch in it. Not the fruit kind anyway.

"Yeah, him." Lana dragged out him like she was sucking on a maraschino cherry and enjoying the sweetness on her tongue.

Quinn didn't even take a good look. Men were on her shit list at the moment. She didn't care how hot they were. The potent drink in her hands was all the company she needed. She smiled into her glass; it was the best date she'd had in a while.

Another pink taffeta blur whizzed up to them, out of breath.

"Jeez Louise. Did you see that hunk of man meat?" Paula, another victim of the wedding fashion nightmare, was flushed and had a bead of sweat running down her chipmunk-like cheeks. "Do you think he's single?"

Quinn raised one shoulder in a half shrug and turned back to the bar. It was bad enough when the three of them had to stand next to each other at the altar, then throughout the grueling pictures, followed by having to sit beside each other at the head table. All in that awful pink froth. But now that it was all over, and they had done their duty for their friend Gina, there was no reason they all had to stand there looking like someone threw up Pepto-Bismol.

She leaned into the bar and asked the semicute bartender the time. When he answered that it was six, she gritted her teeth. They had only been at the reception for an hour. It was way too early to bail.

Damn.

With a sigh, she turned back to her friends. They were still ogling the male eye candy across the room.

Paula's sigh drifted over her. "I wonder if he likes women with a little meat on their bones."

A little meat? She opened her mouth to correct Paula, but shut it quickly. Her friend didn't need to be on the receiving end of her miserable mood.

"Quinn, I bet he'd make you forget Peanut."

Quinn winced and took another long draw from her drink. She loved the flavor and the tanginess on her tongue. And she was trying to forget Peanut. She hated the nickname her friends had called her ex-boyfriend, Peter. Once they had actually called him Peanut in front of his face -- by accident, of course. Right. It had taken her a while to brush that one under the rug. He had never liked her friends after that.

On the other hand, her friends had never liked Peter from the beginning. Unlike her parents, who loved the bastard. Probably more than they loved her.

"Yeah, Quinn, he could probably fuck your brains out, and you'd never remember that douche again."

Quinn frowned at Paula. She noticed her friend's string of pearls hiding in the skin around her neck. Quinn's hands automatically went to her neck to finger a similar necklace -- a part of the stupid wedding costume. Ugh. She hated pearls!

She hated taffeta. She hated pink. She hated frilly dresses.

She took a long swig from her glass.

And she hated Peter. The asshole.

His gift to her last Valentine's Day wasn't an engagement ring. Oh no, after five long, wasted years of dating the shit, he couldn't have gotten her a ring. Nope. Instead he sent her a text message.

That was it.

A stupid little text message. One line.

We've grown apart and I've found someone new.

She deserved more than that. Something better. After all those years of loyalty, standing by his side, being the "good, proper" girlfriend. As Peter had expected. As her parents had expected. The girlfriend any decent man would want on his arm. Right?

Not even a sorry. Not even an explanation. Nothing.

And the next day, FedEx had delivered a box with all the things she had left over at his apartment during the last half decade.

Quinn emptied her glass and turned back to the bar, blocking out her friends' chattering over that man.

She needed another man like she needed a hole in the head.

She slid her glass over the bar top, and before she could ask for another, a deep voice washed over her.

"Put her next drink on me."

Dumb ass. The drinks are on the house. She turned to ream whoever it was, and stopped. Her mouth opened, but nothing escaped.

"You look like a fish out of water with your mouth hanging open like that." When he smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkled. He was tan, an outdoorsy tan, not a manmade one. And he had beautiful green eyes. Shit. She had never seen such beautiful eyes on a man. His nose was a little crooked, like it had been broken, and it made him even more beautiful. No. Not beautiful. He was. He was.

Quinn closed her mouth and swallowed hard. He was so unperfect, he was perfect. His hair was a dark brown with natural highlights, more proof he liked being outdoors. It was long and pulled back into a neat ponytail.

She hated long hair on men. But it was right on him.

He had a beard that wasn't a beard. It was like a longer five-o'clock shadow.

She hated facial hair.

He had a strong, corded neck that disappeared into a stiff dress shirt. The collar had been already released and one more button undone below that. The knot of his tie was loose and hung crookedly from around his neck.

The sleeves of his crispy white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms were tan covered in dark hair. His hands.

Oh. Damn.

His hands were large. They were working hands. They weren't soft and pampered. But calloused and thick and strong.

Capable. Capable of doing all kinds of things.

Quinn's nipples hardened under the scratchy taffeta.

His hands could do all kinds of dirty, nasty things.

Things Peter had never wanted to do.

Quinn ripped her gaze from him and spun back around to the bar, bracing herself against it for a second to catch her breath. She grabbed her fresh drink and took a gulp.

"Whoa. Slow down there."

She pressed the cold drink against her forehead in an attempt to cool herself off.

She needed to go change her panties, she was so freaking wet.

She could feel his heat next to her; his body was like a furnace. She wanted to plant her hands on his chest and feel how hot he really was. Her fingers convulsed around her glass.

"Are you okay?" The deep timbre of his voice sent a shot of lightning down her body, landing right in her pussy.

Quinn could only nod her answer.

He palmed her bare shoulder and turned her to him. He stared down into her eyes, his lips widening into a smile.

His lips. Oh man. Those lips probably could do all sorts of things to her, with her. Lips that were made for more than kissing.

"Yes." Oh my God, she thought. That was the kind of yes she blurted when she was in the midst of an orgasm. At least from what she could remember. It had been so long since she'd come.with a partner, anyway.

She felt the heat crawl up her neck, and she stepped back, breaking the contact.

"I.I'm fine." She cleared her throat. "Thank you for the drink." She took another sip before raising the glass to him in thanks.

"It was nothing." When he laughed, her knees almost buckled. "Enjoy it."

He stepped away and then paused. But it looked as though he thought better of whatever he was contemplating, and he continued on his way.

Quinn leaned back against the bar and let out a shaky breath.

She was suddenly flanked on either side by her friends. She had been so distracted, she hadn't even realized that they disappeared.

"Quinn --"

"Quinn!"

"Oh. My. God!"

"I told you he was hot!"

"Oh! I wish I weren't married already."

"I wish he liked chubby chicks."

Quinn couldn't take any more. She raised her palms in surrender. "Stop. Enough."

"But, Quinn --"

"But nothing," Quinn answered Paula.

"You're just going to let him walk away?"

"Paula, he isn't going anywhere. Unfortunately I'm not going anywhere. We have to be here for two more hours, at least."

Lana said, "Are you going to let Peter ruin the rest of your life? All men aren't assholes like him."

Quinn harrumphed and took another sip of her slammer.

"Why don't you at least dance with him?"

"No."

"Why not?" Lana asked.

Why not? Because if she did, she might come right on the dance floor? Because she might end up in a puddle of her own juices? The picture in her head shocked her: it was of her lying in a heap in the middle of the dance floor in the throes of an orgasm. Surrounded by all the wedding guests.

This drink was stronger than she thought.

"Because no one is dancing yet."

"Sure they are. Look."

Quinn glanced over at the area cleared for dancing, and sure enough, a crowd of people were out there shaking their groove thing. Quinn had been too busy trying to get her drink on to notice.

From the looks of the participants on the dance floor, a few of them had been partaking in the open bar also. Even the bride and her new husband were bouncing and shimmying in the crowd.

At least they were a happy couple.

Quinn took another drink.

Lana frowned at her. "Are you just going to drink tonight, or are you going to do something about your situation?"

"Situation? What situation?"

"Getting laid."

Quinn checked over her shoulder to see if the bartender was listening. He was. He had a big grin plastered on his face. Great.

The father of the bride came up and asked for a gin and tonic. While he was waiting, he turned to them. "Hi, girls. Enjoying yourselves? You look great in those dresses. My wife picked them out."

Oh joy. Quinn would have to remember to smack -- she meant thank -- her. She couldn't wait to rip the scratchy, ugly piece of shit off.

All three women gave him a smile but bit their tongues. Eventually he wandered away, and Lana and Paula jumped right back to harassing her. Good thing they were her friends.

"C'mon. It's not going to hurt to have a one-night stand. Look at him."

"I already saw him." Holy moley, she knew they meant well, but they were getting on her last nerve.

"Yeah, and we saw how you were drooling too."

She had not drooled. Her hand automatically went up to her mouth.

Paula said, "He probably isn't interested in you anyway."

"Yeah, you couldn't get someone like that. You attract losers like Peter," Lana said.

If they thought their reverse psychology was going to work, well, it wasn't.

"Looks like he's with Paige Reed, anyway."

Quinn's gaze shot over to the corner of the ballroom where the tall man stood next to the petite, dark-haired beauty. Paige Reed. Figures.

"I thought Paige was dating Connor Morgan," Quinn mumbled.

She must have mumbled loud enough, because Lana answered her. "She is. Connor had to fly to Australia for something to do with his job."

"So why is she with him?" Quinn asked. Why was she so curious all of a sudden? Why did she care?

She didn't. She nursed her drink. After one and a half Alabama slammers, she was starting to feel pretty tipsy. She wasn't used to drinking. And when she did drink, she usually had wine, not hard liquor, and especially not such a hard-hitting mix of liquors.

Paula leaned into the both of them and said in an exaggerated whisper, "Maybe he's an escort," like it was a scandal, and then laughed.

Maybe he was an escort.

He was probably worth every penny too.

His back was to them now, but that just gave Quinn the opportunity to study how broad those shoulders were in his dress shirt. When he moved, the fabric bunched and pulled with his muscles.

Lana gasped, jerking Quinn out of her thoughts. "He's not an escort! That's Logan Reed, Paige's brother. I haven't seen him since we were kids. Holy shit, did he grow up."

"I'll say." Paula agreed. "Quinn, I dare you to go ask him to dance."

"Not interested."

Lana joined in. "Yeah, I dare you too. Don't be a wuss."

If she were a wuss, she wouldn't have come out in public in this pink atrocity. And the matching shoes were killing her feet. The last thing she needed was to be dancing. She'd be crippled.

"That's a double dare, you know, with the two of us daring you.."

Oh, boy, a double dare. She would definitely do it now -- not. "You're crazy."

"No, you are, if you pass up this opportunity. "

"How do you know he's available?" Quinn asked them.

"You don't know until you ask him," Lana said. "But if I remember correctly, his wife left him a while ago. There had been some rumors."

There had been some rumors about her and Peter too, but rumors were just that: rumors. She didn't take any stock in them.

Paula suddenly shouted, "Truth or dare?" making Quinn jump. It was like they were teenagers all over again.

Lana quickly said, "Truth." And bounced on her toes like she was fifteen.

Jesus, would someone please put a bullet in my head? Quinn needed to be put out of her misery.

Paula asked Lana, "Do you shave or wax?"

"Shave. Okay, Quinn, your turn. Truth or dare?"

Quinn was not playing this juvenile game. It was stupid; she was not going to fall into what was clearly a trap.

"Truth."

"How bad was Peter in bed?" Lana asked.

Damn. She wasn't going to answer that one. Even as drunk as she was. She didn't want to relive their vanilla, boring lovemaking. And she definitely didn't want to admit it or talk about it.

There was only one thing left for her to do.