Ericka Scott on the Cyber Tour

Ericka Scott has a delicious-sounding story out called The Vampire Oracle: Chalice. I must admit, I love a mystery!

The Vampire Oracle: Chalice

Reclusive vampire Sapphire McKenzie lives in her penthouse apartment with fortress-like security run by her AI computer, Van. She’s been hailed as the greatest armchair detective since Mycroft Holmes and has solved every case she’s ever been asked to investigate – and even some she hasn’t.

Her ex-lover, Drake Chastain, is a retired basketball star living off his fame and fortune until women he’s dated begin disappearing, then reappearing…dead.. With Drake framed for murder, Sapphire has to leave behind the safety of her home to save the man she loves…or die trying.

Publisher: Cobblestone Press
Genre: Paranormal Romance
ISBN# 978-1-60088-273-9

Read Excerpt

Q & A with Ericka:

In which of your books is the heroine most like yourself?

Unfortunately, none of them. They are all thinner, prettier, and richer than I am. Thus, I have to live vicariously through my characters.

Pantzer or Plotter?

I must have tried out and discarded a dozen methods for writing a novel until I stumbled upon the method that works for me. I plot out the story and then begin writing. Usually along the way, the story veers off from my plotted outline and I wing it from there. So, I’m a plotter to begin with and a pantzer when needed.

What's your writing schedule like?

Schedule? I’m a stay-at-home mom with a teenager and two preschoolers (although one of the boys is going to kindergarten this fall. Yippee!). I’m lucky if I get an hour or two a day to write, so I have to make the most of it.

What does your writing space look like?

My computer is in a hutch in the family room. I’m surrounded by noise and available to all. Sigh. I dream of one day having an office, but until then, I’ll wear my headphones.

What does your family think about you writing erotic romance?

My husband is incredibly supportive. His mother is my biggest fan. As for my family, I think I would die if my mother ever found out I write erotic romance!

What do you wear while you're writing?

It varies, but mostly jammies and sweats, since I write early in the morning or late at night after the kids have gone to bed.

What's your favorite snack and/or beverage while you're hard at work?

My hubby is a network administrator, so I don’t eat or drink at my computer (snort). And since you don’t believe that, I’ll admit to drinking gallons of Diet Pepsi.

Do you believe in soulmates?

If you had asked that BEFORE I met my husband, I would have said no. But since my marriage, I’ve come to strongly believe in them. I have no idea what I would do without him.

What's your favorite holiday?

Halloween ~ can’t you tell?


ABOUT ERICKA

Ericka Scott is a multi-published best-selling author of seductive suspense. She's written stories for as long as she can remember and reads anything under the sun (including the back of cereal boxes in a pinch). She got hooked on romantic suspense in her college days, when reading anything but a textbook was a guilty pleasure. Now, when she’s not chauffeuring children around, wishing she had a maid, or lurking at the library, she’s spinning her own web of fantasy and penning tales of seduction and suspense. She currently lives in Southern California with her husband and three children. You can find out more about her at www.erickascott.com.

Links:

Website: http://www.erickascott.com
Blog: http://erickascott.blogspot.com
My Space: http://www.myspace.com/erickascott

On the Cyber Tour: Alexis Fleming

Who says Cupid has to confine himself to one day of the year? Not Alexis Fleming! PANDEMONIUM, co-authored with Lyn Cash, is the second story in the Sexy Mythconception series from Total-e-bound Publishing.

PANDEMONIUM

The love doctor is in…but can he take a dose of his own medicine?

Pan, the Arcadian god of lust and magic, has had enough of his restricted existence hidden away on Arcadia. When Cupid, the Greek god of love, suggests he live on Earth, Pan decides to give it a go.

Pan establishes himself as the luuuuuv doctor and announcer for a nighttime romantic music slot with a local radio station. He plays his pan-pipes, enthralling all who listen. Cupid warns Pan that his days of playing fast and loose with women’s emotions are numbered. Sure enough, Pan meets Kris, the woman who takes him to task. The leather-wearing, Harley-riding, hard-ass psychologist has her own agenda, and it doesn’t include him. Before he knows what’s happening, she has turned the table on the god, and he’s smitten.

Kris is exactly the right medication, the perfect dose for the nomadic God of Lust, who has finally found a love of his own.

Publisher: Total-e-bound Publishing
Genre Lust Bites/Contemporary/Paranormal
ISBN# 978-1-906590-53-6

Read Excerpt

And now.. a little Q & A with Alexis!

In which of your books is the heroine most like yourself?

I hate to admit it but I think there’s a little bit of me in every book I write. I guess it comes back to that ‘write what you know’ thing. I pull on situations I’ve been in or emotions I’ve experienced to flesh out my characters. Not consciously, but when I read over what I’ve written, I’m able to track it back to something that has happened in my life.

Then there’s the fact that most of my heroines are quirky, weird, irreverent, sassy-mouthed, fiercely loyal, and just plain crazy at times. Lol Guess you could say that’s me to a large degree.


Where do you get the inspiration for your stories?

I think inspiration is all around us if only we open ourselves up to it. Stud Finders Incorporated came into being because I walked into my friend’s house and saw a little black stud finder machine sitting on her kitchen bench. A Handyman’s Best tool was the result of a leak in my living room ceiling during a summer downpour. The simplest things can trigger a story.

Then there’s the dreams. Lol I often dream up story ideas. My husband has gotten used to me jumping out of bed in the middle of the night because I had a dream that just had to be written down.


Pantzer or Plotter?

I’m a little bit of both, I think. I usually have the beginning and the end of the book, a fair idea of my characters, and then I just sit down and write. Once I get to the end of chapter three I tend to stop and do some plotting, but even then, I can go off track. Sometimes the story just takes off and I have no choice but to go with it. Amazing what can come up when that happens.


What's your writing schedule like?

*groan* I have a shocking writing schedule. In my other life, I help run a busy 34 room motel situated on the edge of a national marine park in Australia. Running a motel can be pretty much a 24/7 job during the high tourist season and then I have to fit my writing in around that.

I get up at 5.30am, make a coffee, and then hit the computer until 7.30am when I start work in the motel. During the high season, I probably won’t get back to the computer until late in the day. Then I sit up until the early hours of the morning writing. Low season I get a bit more computer time during the day which is fantastic. Means I can sleep at night like normal people. lol


What does your writing space look like?

I am truly spoilt when it comes to my writing space. We have a three bedroom residence above reception and I’ve taken over one of the bedrooms for an office. Thank God it’s a big room, because it does tend to get cluttered at times. Two walls are filled with bookcases. What books don’t fit on the shelves get packed into cane baskets and lined up underneath the shelves. One end of the office is taken up with my desk and filing cabinets, and my jewelry-making worktable. Then there’s the wall-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that open out onto a balcony, and the two tub chairs placed strategically in front of the doors so I can see out over fabulous Jervis Bay. Nothing nicer when I need a break than sitting there watching the sea. Jervis Bay is a national marine park and if I’m really lucky, I can see the dolphins playing in the water just opposite my balcony.


What do you wear while you're writing?

If I could, I’d probably slouch around all day in my nightie. Or alternatively, nothing but a sarong. Lol.

Given that’s not possible because I might have to go down to answer the bell in reception at any moment, I’m usually in my work uniform of polo shirt and cargo pants. Sorry, no feather boas and diamonds for this writer.


What is the strangest thing anyone has said to you about your writing (if it has happened)?

Being accused of selling porn along with the bacon and eggs.
We had an old lady staying here, and once I’d been outed at the Motelier who wrote “dirty” books (the journalist’s words, not mine), my hubby started putting one of my bookmarks on the breakfasts trays before they went out. This old dear ate her breakfast, which I had cook with my loving hands, and then checked out. The next thing I knew, the police were coming to call. She’d reported me for selling porn. Lol The police officer about cracked it when he realized what it was all about. In fact, he wanted to buy a couple of my books for his wife.


ABOUT ALEXIS

Alexis Fleming is one of those strange people who lives inside their mind. No, she doesn’t hear little voices... Well, she does, just not the type you're thinking of. Alexis’ world is peopled with interesting characters and exciting possibilities that come to life in each and every book she writes. Her first love has always been romance, whether on this world or the next. Hot, sizzling relationships with a dash of comedy and a few trials and tribulations thrown in to test her characters.

When she’s not tied to her computer creating sizzling stories to tempt her readers, she helps run a busy motel set on the edge of a national marine park in Australia. What better place to get inspiration for the tales she turns out? A glorious sunset over the ocean, dolphins playing almost in her front yard, suntanned bodies lazing on the sand... How could she not get caught up in the eroticism of that?

Website: http://www.alexisfleming.net
Blog: http://www.alexisfleming.net/blog
My Space: http://www.myspace.com/alexisfleming
Yahoo Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/AlexisFlemingandFriends

Next on theCyberTour: Shelley Munro

Welcome to Shelley Munro, whose latest book, "Lovers at Large", is out now at Ellora's Cave!

Shelley tells us, "Friends to lovers—it’s one of my favorite plot devices. I like reading Friends to Lovers stories and enjoy writing them. I love being able to jump straight into an intimate situation in the first few pages of a book. The characters are familiar with each other and have a history together. They might not realize they’re even attracted to each other until one pivotal moment that changes everything, or one of them might have developed feelings for the other over a period of time, agonizing about acting on them.

A relationship like this comes with problems: does the couple want this to be a one-time thing or do they want to play for keeps? What happens if the sex between them is so bad they destroy their friendship forever? Or what if one of the pair doesn’t feel the same way?

Yes, moving from friends to lovers is fraught with dilemmas for both parties.

In Lovers at Last Pearl and Justin are best friends. When Pearl’s current relationship fails, she seeks out Justin for comfort. Justin, who has wanted Pearl for a long time, decides it’s time to stake his claim.

Shelley, tell us some more about yourself. Where do you get the inspiration for your stories?

I’d like to be a smartass and say I buy my story ideas at Walmart, but the truth is that I find inspiration everywhere. A story idea can spring from a television show I’ve watched, a newspaper article I’ve read or a book written by another author might spark a series of ideas. I’m lucky enough to do quite a bit of travel and find this a great source of ideas, especially for settings. Maybe I have a fertile imagination, but I have a continual stream of ideas and add a few brief details to an ideas folder so I can save them for when I need them.

Are you a pantzer or a plotter?

When I first started writing I used to make up things as I wrote. Now that I’m a published writer I find I need a more organized approach since editors and agents like to know how a book ends, often before I’ve finished writing it. These days I tend to be a hybrid of the two. I plot enough to know how the book ends but leave myself enough leeway so that each book remains an adventure during the writing process.

Where did you get the idea for your latest book?

Lovers at Last is part of Ellora’s Cave Gemstone series and is a pearl story. The pearls play a large part in the story and bring the hero and heroine together. I took one of my favorite plots, that of friends and lovers, added in the pearls and came up with a couple who knew each other well. The first scene popped into my head and the story came from there.

What makes a hero for you? Do you see them on the street, or are they simply in your head?

In short, my heroes come from my imagination rather than a real person. I have a liking for tall and dark heroes and usually start off with those two characteristics, although I have written a few blond heroes. Most of my heroes also seem to be on the alpha side and are heroic in the sense that they never abuse their position and bully those weaker than themselves.

What’s your writing schedule like?

I write full time and treat my writing like an office job, working set hours. I set myself a writing target for each day and also fit in promo and other writing related activities such as blogging, correspondence and maintaining my website. I think I work harder now than I ever used to!

What advice would you give to aspiring erotic romance writers?

First of all—read. I can’t stress that enough. Read to analyze the market, take all the elements you enjoy and set out to write something unique that hasn’t been done before. Erotic romance isn’t for everyone and if you’re not comfortable writing it this shows in your work.

What’s your favorite snack or beverage while you’re hard at work?

I don’t usually snack or drink while writing, not when I’m in the zone. If I’m procrastinating I find myself making cups of tea all the time, but otherwise I’m write for several hours and make myself a cup of tea or coffee while I take a break.

LOVERS AT LARGE by Shelley Munro

Pearl’s master plan to catch a rich husband—results so far…A for effort, F for success.

Justin Collet wants way more than friendship from Pearl. He craves love, laughter and hot, down-and-dirty passion. A life partner. All he needs to do is convince Pearl.

A broken relationship, a few drinks and a string of pearls. Comforting Pearl takes a turn into carnal territory. Heat blossoms between them, fiery and consuming. Sweet kisses inflame and erotic whispers tempt. It’s all or nothing for Justin as he seduces Pearl into agreeing they’re lovers at last.

Excerpt

Adventure into Romance
with Shelley Munro

website: http://www.shelleymunro.com
blog: http://www.shelleymunro.com
MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/shelleymunro
Danger Zone: http://www.dangerzoneauthors.com
Dynamic Trio: http://www.dynamicthree.com

My Dad, and an Update

I thank everyone who sent good wishes regarding my dad. He died on May 29 at the age of 89. We all miss him terribly, but we're glad his suffering is over.

In the meantime, I'm writing and tending to my mother long-distance. I'll be traveling to see her more often than in the past.

I'll resume regular postings at the beginning of July. Enjoy summer, and don't forget your sunscreen.

Barrie

A Quick Personal Note

I haven't been around much, and I apologize for that. Right now my dad is in ICU and is doing very poorly. I'm home briefly, but will be driving back down there soon--I'm about three hours away.

If you would like to remember us in your prayers, we would really appreciate that.

I hope I will be able to update you on my writing and my life soon.

Thanks for your understanding.

Barrie

PI Cyber Circuit: Lyn Cash

The next author to be featured on the Cyber Tour is Lyn Cash. Welcome, Lyn!

RC Jones poses a problem for his sibling, who wants RC out of the way before their grandfather's upcoming birthday. Shanghaied, inebriated, and tossed onto a cruise ship for the kinky, only to wake up with a leather-clad dominatrix standing over him—just what every alpha male needs!

April is a psychology major who earns extra money during the summer by working as a dominatrix on a cruise ship.

When RC gets shanghaied, April thinks he's her next submissive. But a challenge is issued—if she falls for him during his 'vacation', she becomes his submissive for two weeks.

What's a woman to do?

Mistress Mine
Book one in the Kinky Kruising Series, by Lyn Cash
Total-e-bound Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-906590-09-3
Contemporary erotic romance/light bondage/BDSM
Book Length: Novel

1. Tell us about your hero and give us five descriptives of his personality.

James Caesar in Spies, Lies, & Duct Tape is a spy for our country, and when he locates his former lover, Samantha Stone, he is perplexed when she doesn’t respond to her own name—she thinks she’s Merry Rogers, a librarian instead of a ruthless government agent! But Caesar is fearless, determined, strong-willed, quick-witted, and compassionate, all of which serve him to convince Sam in a short amount of time that he still loves her and that with her help, they can capture a man who is a national disaster trying to destroy the United States government.

2. In which of your books is the heroine most like yourself?

Samantha/Merry – lol. She’s a survivor.

3. Where did you get the idea for Spies, Lies, & Duct Tape?

The heroine and I share the same head injury, and while I’m no spy, I wanted to give another woman, even one I imagined, the abilities to overcome her fears and to not only live with her disability but to succeed despite it.

4. What do you like about romantic suspense best?

The Great Unknown. Edge of the seat situations, wondering what makes people tick, trying to find their Achilles heel, their hot buttons, what turns them on or how they’ll react in any given situation.

5. What advice would you give to aspiring erotic romance writers?

Write WHO you know, not just WHAT you know. Same for any genre. People are complex and have speech patterns, habits, spirits unlike anyone else – we’re all unique, and once a writer latches onto the perfect character for the perfect plot, the rest is gravy. Just write interesting characters and give them something interesting to do.

6. What's your favorite snack and/or beverage while you're hard at work?

Salad and bread. I could live off of great bread and tasty salads and bottled water.

7. If you had one superpower, what would it be and what name would you call yourself?

I loved the television series “Heroes”, and the Peter Petrelli character had my vote for the most awesome superpower – he could acquire whatever power any of the other characters possessed. What would I call myself? I’d have to be naughty and call myself Super C. The C would stand for my last name, but it’d be ‘out there’ for interpretation. Gotta give those who don’t like us the opportunity to trash us, you know?

8. You write the male/male erotic romance relationship in a way that can completely absorb and arouse a female heterosexual reader. So what is it that’s so titillating to you personally about writing male/male and male/male/female?

The male/male wasn’t difficult to write, because I have gay male friends—I fly out to DC to visit them about once a year, and I get to watch the romance (not the sex – pull your minds out of the gutter) between them. The m/m/f is easy, because it’s a fantasy nearly every woman envisions. The f/f, however, has been different – I have a book due to release this fall for Carol Lynn’s Cattle Valley series. I’m enjoying writing it, though, because it’s forced me to examine my own perspective, what I enjoy receiving rather than giving. Once I got into that mindset…piece-a-cake. J

Lyn Cash is the multi-published author of over fifty short stories and confessions, a couple of non-fiction books, and over a dozen novellas and novels. Her mainstream fiction is written under Bobbie Cole, her erotic fiction under the pen names of Lyn Cash and Cash Cole.

Sex and TV

I'm blogging today over at the Loose-Id blog about sex and TV, and it's not the TV you might be thinking of. Interested yet? Check it out!

Barrie

Romance and Spanking and Delicious Food!

I've been neglectful in mentioning my latest Discipline and Desire book, a long contemporary spanking romance novel titled "The Baker's Man."

The book is special to me, because it's the first real novel I ever wrote. Years and several edits later, it was ready to be published. I hope you'll find the story of the four main characters--Lena, her younger sister Annie, Lena's catering rival Jackson, and Jackson's main employee, Ricky--as happy and sad and romantic as I do. Below is a description of the book, and the entire first chapter. Happy reading!

THE BAKER'S MAN by Barrie Abalard

"After years of hard work, Lena Korhonen and her sister Annie are finally making it as caterers when rival caterer Jackson Portsmouth appears, threatening their livelihood—and Lena's heart. The two are thrown together when Annie is injured, and Lena's cantankerousness requires Jackson to spank her—more than once—to bring her around. Well-matched in many respects, the two fall in love with each other when they work a job together.

But an overheard phone message after a night with Jackson convinces Lena she's put her trust in the wrong man—again—so she backs out of the catering job she was supposed to work with him. Then someone sabotages Jackson, jeopardizing his reputation and career, forcing Lena to decide if she’ll obey her heart and stand with him rather than against him. Only now, an angry and heartbroken Jackson wants nothing to do with her. Will these two stubborn people, made for each other, ever combine their hearts and lives and find a spanking-ever-after happiness? Read "The Baker's Man" and find out!"

Excerpt from "The Baker's Man", © 2008 Barrie Abalard. All rights reserved.

Jackson Portsmouth's right foot shot out at his office's dented trashcan—and missed. Instead, he whacked his foot against a desk leg. While hopping on his good foot, he howled.

Great. Now I have a broken foot on top of everything. And it's my own damned fault.

His cell phone chirped, and he prayed for new business. He'd had to sell his cherry desk with matching file cabinet and executive chair last year to pay the bills. The newest thing in his office was the computer, and that was over three years old.

As he settled into his thrift-store chair, he forced his voice to sound smooth and professional.

"Yankee Elegance Catering. How may I help you?" Jerking his shoe off one-handed, he massaged his bruised toes.

"Mr. Portsmouth, I'm so glad I caught you. I know it's rather last-minute, but as it turns out, we're not going to need your services on Saturday after all."

"Oh. Have we done something wrong, Mrs. Jakes?" Jackson shot his glance skyward in disbelief. "Please let us make it up to you. Are you unhappy with the menu? Even at this late date, we could accommodate changes." His mind began calculating costs and time commitments. If he had to change what he would be serving, he could still turn a profit if he were careful.

"You've done nothing wrong. Tiffany has simply changed her mind, that's all, and is insisting we hire SweetKakes. She said all her classmates' parties are being catered by them. You know how teenagers are—they have to do what everyone else does."

"But, Mrs. Jakes, you know that you love our ham-and-asparagus tea sandwiches."

Yankee Elegance used to be the most popular caterer in town. Damned SweetKakes.

"Your presentations are exquisite, I agree. But Tiffany will throw a tantrum if I don't hire SweetKakes. She's quite firm on this and, after all, it is her party, not mine. Of course, we understand that you'll need to keep our deposit. I'm terribly sorry."

Upon hearing the click, Jackson's first impulse was to smash the phone against the wall. Instead, he turned it off and set it down gently. He couldn't afford a new one.

He raked his hands through his hair, thinking. Mrs. Jakes' deposit would barely cover the costs of the supplies he had already bought. He should start asking for more up front. A few hundred bucks was chump change for many of his clients. Or, should he say, former clients?

Jackson ground his teeth. SweetKakes was stealing all his business these days, it seemed. He wasn't buying this “Tiffany insists” stuff. He'd bet his competition had underbid him, because Mrs. Jakes had let the deposit go without a peep. It had to be money. Even the wealthy like a bargain.

He'd go see this SweetKakes upstart. After all, a man has to know his competition to learn how to beat them at their own game, and he didn't know much about them at all. In fact, he'd thought all they sold were desserts. His resolve hardened, he locked his office and unlocked his car.

I should revert to my old, ruthless self. I never cut anyone any slack back then, not even myself. It's time to bring back the good old days, even if I was miserable most of the time.

By parking across the street from SweetKakes after business hours, Jackson figured he wouldn't see anyone. Indeed, he didn't want to meet anyone connected with them, not yet. He was conducting industrial espionage and fighting for the survival of his business. That was why he'd driven his anonymous sedan rather than his well-marked delivery van to 85 Front Street.

A woman was repainting the trim on the Victorian triple-decker marked 85, the blue of it matching the late May sky. He squinted, inwardly shuddering at the colors on the old “painted lady”.

Give me a traditional New England house any day, white with black trim, or maybe dark green, if you were daring. This damned thing looks like a sunset—blue trim with purpley-pink on the rest of the house, the color Tess had called mauve.

Tess.

A stab of anger at her betrayal punched him in the chest, but he tried to ignore it. He needed to keep his mind on the problem at hand, which was that 85 Front Street looked more like a residence than a business. He powered down his window to take a better look. The female painter's sculpted calves started at the top of her work boots. He ran his gaze up her long legs to her curvy thighs. Here she blossomed, filling her brief denim cutoffs and making Jackson think, inexplicably, of cream puffs. Nice, fully-packed cream puffs, pale, soft, and delicious.

He swallowed hard, not willing to quit staring.

Her denim-clad lower half nipped in sharply at the waist, then expanded slightly outward, with her white tank top revealing muscle definition in her back and shoulders. His eyes widened when he realized the thin cotton top hid no bra.

Oh, man. Turn around. Please.

But she continued painting, oblivious to his gaze. Her long, straight hair, caught in a simple ponytail, resembled a swirl of caramel—or maybe butterscotch.

She turned toward him. He jerked his gaze away, pretending to look at the dilapidated property on his side of the street. He gulped the bottled water he brought with him and worked at ignoring his fierce erection. Obviously, it had been way too long since he'd had sex.

Maybe the SweetKakes business had moved. This triple-decker was an old house that looked like it might have been divided into apartments. Maybe the woman painting owned the place, or, more likely, she was a college kid, earning money for school by wielding a paintbrush. He shook his head, trying to chase away visions of the woman’s body as he pulled away from the curb.

He considered stopping at Sommers Farms for some of their homemade caramel ice cream. Caramel, cream puffs, soft, sweet things for nibbling, for licking. Why did the painter make him think of desserts? He'd barely noticed other women over the last year, his frozen heart chilling his urges. Now, after watching a strange female paint a house, he was as ready as a horny virgin.

He needed to get drunk and jerk off, not necessarily in that order. Actually, what he really needed was to get laid, but picking up a woman in a crowded bar had never been his preference.

Then again, I haven’t done that since the first month following The Tess Disaster. Maybe I’d like bar pickups better now.

He could scarcely keep his mind on his driving, let alone on the threat to his business, all because of a shapely female. Skidding into the driveway of his condo complex, he screeched to a halt in the first open space, threw the car in park, and pressed the alarm button in his hand that secured the vehicle. He rode the elevator to his floor, grateful that no little old ladies had seen his tented khakis. As he shut his condo’s door, he sighed.

Women. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t find one when you need to—.

*****

Karolena Korhonen turned to watch as the man in the old Mercedes sedan pulled away. She narrowed her eyes, automatically memorizing his plate number. At first she'd thought he was a potential buyer for the triple-decker across the street, but the longer he’d parked there, the more she'd wondered about his purpose. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had expressed interest in the dump. The place across the street had been on the market for so long, the metal “FOR SALE” sign was rusting.

She had sensed his eyes on her, so she’d patted her right front pocket to reassure herself that her cell was still there, available for any emergency. Although she liked her new digs, this area of Gainesborough occasionally had problems, and any stranger sitting in a car staring at her rather than going about his business made her wonder exactly what his business was.

Still, she had caught a glimpse of simply styled, jet-black hair, a strong profile, and large, capable-looking hands. She imagined his long, tactile fingers skimming slowly down her torso, trailing fire. She also imagined his hands spanking her bottom with authority, as if he had a perfect right to do so. Then those long fingers of his would explore the hot wetness between her legs…

Looking down, she realized she'd neglected to put on a bra earlier, something that was all too apparent now that her body was responding to her fantasy. Scolding herself for her foolishness, she descended the ladder. She had to go find an undergarment to immobilize her bouncing breasts. Damn it all, she was still tingling, and she had work to do.

A vehicle pulling up behind Lena startled her. A mixture of relief and love replaced nerves as a blue-eyed, pixie-sized woman with burgundy-dyed hair bounced from the car. She was teetering on platform slides, and wearing a skimpy halter and micro shorts that made underwear irrelevant.

"Lena, you won't believe what happened,” the pixie said, dancing around her.

She glared. A couple of bandages would have covered more skin. If she'd been home earlier when her little sister left, Lena would never have allowed her to go out dressed like Paris Hilton.

"Annie, what are you doing, dressing like a slut?" Lena crossed her arms, effectively flattening her chest. Her little sister’s petite stature always made her feel so big and lumpy and ugly.

Annie, ignoring the pointed comment, plowed ahead. "Come with me tonight to Jillian's in Boston to celebrate. We can play a little pool, get a little crazy, maybe meet an interesting man or two, especially if you wear what you've got on—"

"I will not go out in public without a bra, not in this tank top. Besides, you know I'm not interested in attracting men right now. What are we celebrating?"

Annie fluffed her hair. "You simply have got to get over this ridiculous complex about your looks. I don't have half the curves you do, and I do all right."

Lena snorted. "Yeah, I know. Thanks for reminding me what a big, fat-assed loser I am. What a sister, what a pal."

"What you are is gorgeous. You're the kind of woman that men dream of, despite the popularity of rail-thinness." Annie hugged her, and Lena found it impossible not to soften. She'd do anything for her little sister, and had, starting way back when their mother died.

"All right, enough nonsense. What's your big news?" Lena smiled to mitigate her gruffness.

"I found a job. A really good one. I'll be able to earn enough this summer to pay for all of next year's schooling. And I only have to work four nights a week, eight to three, so I can help you out around here."

"Three in the morning? What sort of job is this?"

"It's at, uh…" Annie mumbled, grabbing her purse and heading for the house's entrance. "Got to run, I've got a date with something called fun tonight. You remember what that is, don't you?"

Lena grabbed her sister's ear and immobilized her as she tried to slip past. "Annie, tell me right now. Everything. Or I swear I'll ground you."

"Ouch, let go of my ear! You wouldn't dare."

"Yeah, well, maybe I would. Maybe I should." Lena tugged and Annie squeaked. "Out with it."

"I, um, have a job as a waitress."

"Pray tell, where are you waitressing until nearly dawn?"

Annie toed the sidewalk, not looking Lena in the face. "The Pussycat Lounge. They pay really, really well, and the tips are supposed to be incredible."

"Let me get this straight. You'll be serving drinks four nights a week in a strip joint to a bunch of obnoxious jerks who are going to pinch your butt and paw your breasts while you prance around in four-inch spikes and a second-skin, thong-style teddy."

"And your point is? Ow!" Annie said as her sister tugged her ear again.

"My point is, why not go all the way and strip for the money? I'll bet that pays even better.” Thank heavens she was the one who had been blessed with common sense, even if she didn't have Annie’s looks. Her little sister had both beauty and brains, but less common sense than would fit in her microsized pink purse.

"I just want to pull my share of the load. You haven't had it easy, taking care of me since Papa died. I know how you've worked to make a life for us. Why won't you let me do this? I want to give, not just take," Annie cried. She collapsed against Lena, who enfolded her sister in her arms and let her sob. Poor kid.

Annie had been only twelve when Papa died. It had been August, barely a month before Lena would have started in the Culinary Arts program at Johnson and Wales University. She'd planned her life precisely—first school, then an apprenticeship, then work as a sous chef, and then head chef, capped by establishing and running her own four-star restaurant. Her plans had included wealth, maybe even fame. Instead, Lena had been forced to work two jobs while pretending an adult relative lived with them whenever the social workers investigated, which wasn’t often. Somehow she and Annie had stuck it out together, she the sober ant, toiling for the future with no thought of present pleasures, and Annie, the party-loving grasshopper who landed in trouble a few times. Her kid sister was a sucker for a handsome face. Lena had never disciplined her sister for those mistakes the way Papa would have if he'd been alive, and she was proud of the fact.

Lena hugged her sister tighter, feeling tears sting her own eyes. Here she was, damaged goods at twenty-seven, with a little sister who was twenty-one and living life at one hundred miles per hour. She just wanted Annie to be happy and safe and to have an education in something more than parties and men.

"You’ll never have to worry as long as I'm around, buttercup." Lena stroked her sister's trembling back, wishing Annie had left her hair blonde instead of dying it such a weird red shade.

"But I want to help." The suffering in her sister's face as she lifted her head to look into Lena's eyes almost broke her heart. Annie toiled as much as she did. True, she played as hard as she worked, but she was a good kid. Not to mention she was all the family Lena had left.

She smiled. "Kiddo, just get a job bagging groceries. Or land some temp work. Don't worry about the money. We'll make it. We always do." She pulled her little sister along, left arm entwined around her, a waif protected by an earth mother as they mounted the front steps together.

Annie stopped short, tears not dry on her face, yet grinning when she saw the fruit of her sister's painting labors. "Hey, the house looks bitchin'. I told you mauve and sky blue were the way to go."

Lena shook her head. Her sister's emotions could change faster than a ricocheting bullet. "Yes, you were right, I was wrong, sing the song, all day long."

"Nyah-nyah, nyah-nyah-nyah." Annie finished their private childhood ditty, a bratty smirk on her face.

"Get inside now, girl." She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't played Mama to Annie, she realized, suddenly feeling old. And because Papa had turned harsher and drunker after Mama passed on, Lena had been the protective big sister as well. She lied, claiming her sister's misbehaviors as her own, and took her father's punishments, the nights without supper, and the beatings as her sisterly duty, for she was older and stronger and better able to bear it than fragile Annie. Papa, she knew in retrospect, had been an abusive tyrant. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lena’s breath caught, lost in the recollection of hurts inflicted by the hands and words of a broken, lonely man who vented his anger at his wife's early death on his elder daughter.

"Only if you come with me to Jillian's tonight."

"What?" Lena struggled to come back to the present, away from painful memories. She'd walked down the hall to the kitchen yet had no recollection of it.

"Jillian's! Say we can go, puh-leeze?"

"I can't. In fact, you can't go, either. We've got planning and maybe some shopping to do. I landed a gig for Saturday."

"Who? What?" Annie swept her up in a mock-tango. "Dahling, don't hold back."

Lena ducked her head in amusement while spinning around the enormous first floor kitchen. "The Jakes family, you know, the ones that own half the town? Tiffany is graduating and 'she simply must have my Mocha Coconut Cake.’" Lena’s Mrs. Jakes imitation made Annie giggle. "Enough for one hundred of her closest friends. We're both going to be making precious little tea sandwiches and baking cakes out the wazoo starting early tomorrow morning. Dahling."

Her sister pogoed with delight. "Woohoo! I hope you charged her a pretty penny and a half."

"Of course I did, but it was still less than the other caterer she had lined up, apparently. That's because I have help that works cheap. Dirt cheap."

"Dirt cheap, that's me." Annie shook her upper body as a stripper would.

Lena winced. "Annie, tell me that you don't do things like that in public. Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know."

"Don't you worry, mamakins," Annie cooed, "li'l Annie can take care of herself."

Lena sighed as her sister bounded up the stairs to the second floor and her own little piece of privacy. Annie was a terminal flirt, but love had eluded her. Her seemingly outgoing and bubbly sister kept her own counsel in such matters, but Lena’s heart ached each time Annie's latest golden hope turned to dross.

Love. Only once had Lena thought she was in love, and was loved in return. Betrayal, anger, and hurt surged through her, as did the feelings that made her body wriggle with delight. Lust, that's all it had been, just like the lust she felt earlier after seeing her unknown admirer.

She thought again about the man's hands, imagining them spanking her bare cheeks, then comforting her after the spanking was over. Then those hands would slip under her shirt…

Lena shook her head. Admirer? Who was she kidding? He was spying on her, for God's sake, and who knew what he intended. It didn't matter if you were petite and beautiful like Annie or tall and muscular like her, they all wanted the same thing.

She leaned against the fridge, a quirky half-smile curving her lips. Men might be pigs, but they sure could make you scream with joy. Maybe it was time to go find a sex buddy. She could live without love, but she needed sex, or she’d go bananas. Without sex, she had nothing in her life but work and sleep.

A voice inside her crooned, Imagine getting spanked by a no-nonsense man, the way you were once, last year. Imagine how he’d rip down your cutoffs, bend you over his knee, and crack his palm against your squirming backside. Imagine how much it would sting, imagine the heat you’d feel, and not just in your bottom. Imagine how he’d kiss away your tears, how he’d spread your legs, unzip himself, and slide inside. Imagine how his thick shaft would stroke you, inside and out, until—

She ran herself a glass of water and drank it, determined to banish sexy fantasies from her mind. Still, the heat in her delta lingered as she thought of the dark-haired man in the sedan. Slowly she climbed the stairs, enjoying the sensuous movement of her ripe body.

*****

Jackson polished off his beer, dinner long since consumed, Aerosmith long ago silenced. All night he’d been under the spell of the woman on the ladder. Closing his eyes, he imagined her descending. The muscles of her thighs would work, and creamy half-moons would appear and disappear as her cutoffs rose and fell. Her breasts, heavy and full with the sensitive points standing at attention, would sway as she made her way down the ladder. He would leave his car in time to meet her when her feet reached the grass. She would be taller than he imagined, but not as tall as he, with a saint's face atop a body made for ample sinning.

He sank deeper into his fantasy.

His hands would slide down to cup those two delectable breasts, his thumbs massaging the peaks into trembling stiffness. Lower still, his hands would encircle her incredibly narrow waist, then, when his fingers finally reached the bottom of her cutoffs, they would brush against her bottom’s flesh, as smooth and lush as a ripe peach. He would slap that flesh, turning it pink and making it burn, and her hips would move in time with the finger he would use to explore her wetness. Her lips would taste of strawberries and feel like silk. Her tongue would do naughty things to his while he continued to spank her and touch her, so hot and ready under the denim. Her hands, educated in the ways of pleasure, would tease him till he wanted to throw her on the lawn and take her, right there in public.

She would pull him up the porch stairs, into the house, to a nearby couch. Sitting in front of him, her fingers would unbuckle his belt, release the waist button on his khakis, and then her teeth would delicately grip the zipper tab and pull, oh, so slowly, down. Her fingers would reach inside, finally touching him skin-to-skin, extracting him, her silky red lips, her velvety tongue, so near, so very near to him, and he was quivering, throbbing, breathless for the moment of contact as her mouth opened. Her tongue swirled, and he moaned, reaching out…

"Hell," Jackson said as he jumped off the couch, cold and wet and not comprehending what had happened. Water and ice were all around, on his couch, on the floor, and on him, numbing his bare toes and quite effectively dampening his ardor. The ice bucket. He'd forgotten about the ice bucket next to him on the couch, and in his throes of fantasy he had apparently knocked it into his lap. One remaining bottle of beer rolled on the floor in a puddle. Had he really finished nine?

He found towels to wipe up the mess, then stripped off his wet clothing, slipping into sweatpants and sweatshirt. However, his interest in the fantasy he'd built was as chilled as his final beer. He mechanically emptied the bottle before weaving his way to bed. His last conscious thought was a fervent wish not to dream. Dreams were for those who still had hope, not for those whose hearts lay in icy shards, never to be healed.

Excerpt from "The Baker's Man", © 2008 Barrie Abalard. All rights reserved.

The Story Behind the Story

HOT TO TROT is out today!

I blogged today over at the Loose-Id authors' blog, providing details of my life that inspired the characters and plot for the book. I hope you'll take a look.

Be sure to stop by my Yahoogroup with details on how you can win a copy.

Barrie

Gorgeous Cover for My Upcoming Release!

I'm busier than the proverbial one-armed paperhanger, writing, writing, WRITING, but I had to make time to post this beautiful cover for my Loose-Id release, which happens next Tuesday, April 1. The artist is Marci Gass, and she's done a terrific job.

I can hardly believe it's almost time for the book to be out. The weeks have been flying by--my work schedule has been in perpetual crunch mode for two months now. At any rate, below is some more information about "Hot to Trot," along with a hot excerpt. Hope you enjoy it!

Hot to Trot by Barrie Abalard, Available April 1, 2008, from Loose-Id

Exes Patti North and Dylan Decker adore each other. Her problem? He cheated. His problem? Her temper. Fixing things will take more than spankings and hot sex, though that’s a good start.

Patti’s afraid to let Dylan back in her life, but, broke and desperate, she takes a job at the company he co-founded. Still lusting for him, she also yearns for some old-fashioned attitude adjustment—that is, a good spanking—over Dylan’s lap. Being childhood friends, they share memories and values. But Patti feels she can’t trust Dylan, and that pisses her off, which leads her to act rashly—and that pisses him off.

Dylan works at convincing Patti that he’s really changed and ready for monogamy. Hot spanking and sizzling sex erupts between them repeatedly, only for something to break them apart. A climactic scene in “Hot’lanta” that has Dylan spanking Patti for her temper leads to his claiming her back door. But can this contentious, lusty romance end happily?

HOT TO TROT, set in the sometimes funny-weird world of Boston high-tech, tells the story of two exes who still adore each other—and still annoy each other—more than any other twosome on the planet.

GALLEY EXCERPT FROM HOT TO TROT BY BARRIE ABALARD. COPYRIGHT 2008 BY BARRIE ABALARD. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

“Ms. North, I think you’d better report to my office.”

His distant tone made me shiver. What had I done now? “Yes, sir.”

I hurried down the halls, a little worried that he’d found a peach tree nearby. His door was closed. I knocked.

“Yeah?”

I poked my head around the door. “You, uh, called me?”

He stood, toying with a mean-looking wooden ruler. “Sit down.”

I sat in the chair opposite his desk. He walked around his desk to perch on its front edge, two feet away, and loomed over me. He whacked his palm with the ruler while he spoke.

“What we have to do, Ms. North, is find the underpants.”

Huh?

“Do you follow me?” Dylan asked.

“Not really,” I said. Has he gone totally nutso?

“You mean you don’t watch South Park? I figured you for a fan. You always liked Beavis and Butthead.”

He kept smacking the ruler against his hand. That, plus talk of underpants, made me hyperventilate.

“Nuh, no, I watch South Park sometimes, but I don’t follow you. Underpants?”

“You didn’t see the classic episode featuring the underpants gnomes?”

I could only stare. He must have finally flipped.

“Y’see, hon, these guys called the underpants gnomes sneaked into kids’ rooms at night and stole underpants, because the gnomes had a plan: find underpants and make a profit. However, they were hung up on exactly how to get from underpants to profit. Basically, the entire episode was a wacky lecture about capitalism. At any rate, you and I know how to get from underpants to profit. What we don’t know is how to find enough underpants to sell.”

I stood. “Dylan, excuse me for saying so, but what the hell is this all about?”

Wagging the ruler in my face, he ordered, “Sit down. I’m not done.”

I sat, bottom twitching in fear. He was definitely on something weirder than coffee. I sniffed a little, trying to detect a telltale odor on his breath.

“So, as I was sayin’, we need to find more underpants. In our case, it means more features for the latest version of our bread-and-butter product. Would you like to help with the effort?”

“I, uh, guess so.” I thought I smelled bourbon. Maybe he was a little drunk. Best to humor him.

“It’s settled, then. I’m going to add your name to the list of employees who meet once a week to brainstorm how we can make the product better for our customers. More underpants to sell means more profits. Right?”

“Uh, whatever you say, sir.” Nah, smelled more like bourbon mixed with paint thinner. Maybe gin? But when the hell had he started drinking gin?

“In the brainstorming meeting, you can feel free to trash the product all you want. I won’t be there.” His grin split his face in two, and the penny dropped.

“Dylan, is this impromptu session your way of punishing me for my faux pas in today’s project meeting? Scaring me to death, talking about underpants, and waving that ruler around?”

“Were you afraid I might use this ruler on you, with or without underpants?” He smiled like a fox inside a henhouse when the farmer’s not home. I swear, in another minute, he’d begin licking his chops.

“Wasn’t that the idea, to get me to think that?” Anger began to simmer inside me.

“Oh, yes. And it worked.” He laughed for a moment, then said, “You looked ready to bolt any minute.”

I stood, psychically spanked and privately oh-so-thoroughly humiliated. I forced bravado into my voice. “Well, I wasn’t that scared. Mostly, I thought you had gone around the bend.”

“Crazy?”

“Of course. All that talk about underpants and profit. Really.” I sniffed to punctuate my statement.

He aimed the ruler at my derriere. I jumped out of the way, and he laughed again. “Now, you’re upset, the way I was upset earlier. That means we’re even.”

I was halfway to the door when he said, “Listen, I have a proposal for you.”

His expression was full of longing. I began to feel less upset with him for the trick he’d played on me, but I wasn’t about to let him know that -- yet. “Yeah?”

“Call me crazy, but I think we can have the best of both worlds, kind of like we did at lunch today.”

I smiled. “You mean you want me to dump water on you?”

He suddenly found the markings on the ruler intensely interesting. A shy Dylan was a new-to-me Dylan. “Actually, I was thinking more like I could spank you now and then. You know, because it used to be so much fun. And hot, it was hot, like at lunch.” Now his gaze lasered into mine. “What do you say, ’Cakes?”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, to shake my tits in his face and laugh, telling him to dream on.

But, oh, brother, having Dylan again in that way, well, beads of sweat popped out on my brow at the thought. No one was beating down my door to offer me a spanking or sex or anything else delicious. Hmm.

“Um, and how would we keep this -- activity -- separate from work?” I found the strength to ask. God knows how.

He groaned. “Hell, I don’t know. If you say yes, we’ll find a way. I promise. And I’ll make sure I’m never the one to do your performance reviews or have authority over your status here, promotions, firing, whatever. I’ll stay completely away from areas involving your career. Just let me spank that wonderful ass of yours on a regular basis.”

With that, he dropped to his knees, singing out, “Pleeeeaaase,” his palms pressed together in supplicating prayer.

I giggled. “You’re a hoot, Dyl. You always were.”

“I’m serious about this. Will you?”

I looked into those damned green eyes of his, thought about how hot spanking got me, and of how hot his spanking got me, and of how long it had been since I’d had a proper one, with all the bells and whistles. The lunchtime swats didn’t really count.

I took a deep breath, exhaled, then said, “All right.”

He cleared his desk faster than anyone I’d ever seen, literally pushing most of the stuff onto the carpet with two sweeps of his arm. “Lock the door, sugar, then c’mere, and bend over the desk. I don’t have a good chair for over-the-knee. I’ll put that on my list of things to acquire in the next twenty-four hours.”

I did as he ordered, a lump building in my throat while I threw the lock and walked to the desk. Bending over and placing my palms on the surface, I said, “And, um, exactly what are you going to spank me for?”

He smiled, the kind of not-nice smile he always wore when he intended to get medieval on my heinie. “I think humiliating the hell out of me in today’s meeting would be a good reason.”

I felt my pussy contract. Wet already, and ready for action. “And what are you going to spank me with?”

“Oh, how about…the ruler?”

“Ahh!” was my gasped reply. Flat, wooden things are my favorite, next to a nice, hard palm.

He peeled up my skirt, slowly, as a tease. I heard him make a sound of approval and knew he liked seeing me in the thigh-high stockings instead of pantyhose. Then he hooked his fingers into my panties at the waist.

“Ms. North,” he said, using his most exaggerated drawl, “you know, darlin’, that I always, always, discipline naughty young ladies’ tender areas on the bare.”

I closed my eyes and let his words take me away while I waited for the kiss of the wood.

When the ruler landed on my sitting area, the sting was worse than anything he’d meted out at the restaurant. “Jesus H!” I cried out.

He whacked me again, this time searing my upper thighs. Oh, I hate having my thighs spanked. I hate it so much, and yet, I felt about three whacks away from coming. “Owww, no fair, no thigh spanking.”

“I think, after what you pulled in the meeting, you have no right to talk about what’s fair, Ms. North.” His voice dipped into a growl, and my pussy squeezed again. God, this man was the total package -- great spanker, great fucker, and the best head-trip giver I’ve ever experienced.

Three more times, hard and fast, the flat wood punished my seat. By then, I was bouncing on my toes, moaning from the smart and the arousal.

He walloped me another three times, in the same place, and damned if it wasn’t starting to really, really hurt. I danced a little more, bouncing my butt up and down in a vain attempt to ease the sting. I knew better than to throw a hand back to rub the pain away. Doing that always earned extra swats from Mr. Decker.

After that, I kind of grayed out with lust, as the ruler tattooed my bottom. Damned if he wasn’t awfully good at spanking the same place over and over, the way he always had been. The thought that I might still be a little sore the next morning from such treatment, well, mmm, it enhanced the experience, the whole damn hurtin’-so-good experience.

“Patti,” he whispered just before he laid his fingers on me between my legs. I moaned and twitched my pelvis, hoping he’d take it to mean yes.

“Ohhh, ’Cakes,” he said, and then the touch of a quick, hot tongue between the folds of my pussy took me away. I spread my legs as wide as they would go and pressed my front onto the desk while he made love to me, licking lightly at first, then licking with more pressure, and finally sucking my clit between his lips.

This son of a bitch, I thought, gives the best head I’ve ever had...

GALLEY EXCERPT FROM HOT TO TROT BY BARRIE ABALARD. COPYRIGHT 2008 BY BARRIE ABALARD. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

PI Cyber Circuit: Denise Rossetti

The next author to be featured on the Passionate Ink Cyber Circuit is Denise Rossetti. Welcome, Denise!

When the credits rolled up for Brokeback Mountain were you in tears? Denise Rossetti was.

Then she got mad – two souls who were destined to be together, so much love, so totally wasted. All because of the society those men lived in. But what if a similar situation occurred in another place, at another time? In a world Rossetti knew well? Her writer's brain started churning...

Enter Stage Center - Fortitude McLaren, a hard-bitten mercenary who’s had a gutful of mud and blood and death. Brought up in the bigoted society of the Straight Church on the fantasy world of Phoenix.

Enter Stage left - Griff, acrobat and knife-thrower, lithe and athletic, a man with a gift for friendship, for caring.

Put the players together and you get something like this...

When Fortitude McLaren joins the Ten Nations Fair as a roustabout, he’s shocked and angered by his hunger for Griff, a circus performer. Fort regards manlove with indifference and contempt.

Not for him. Never for him.

Although Fort fights with everything in him, Griff affects him like no one else. It’s not just his strong, supple body, the big mercenary is irresistibly drawn by the openhearted friendship the other man offers so freely.

Fort may have found a friend, but the cruel memories of his childhood are the greatest enemy of all. When a job for Jan the Aetherii puts Griff in danger, Fort discovers what’s really at risk—everything he is and everything he’s ever believed in. To save Griff’s life and preserve his own sanity, Fort must not only fight the battle in his soul, he must win it.

STRONGMAN

Book 3 in the Phoenix Rising series, published by Ellora's Cave.
ISBN: 978-1419914973
Genre : Male/Male / Fantasy

And now, on to the interview.

If you could jump into a book and go visit your characters, which book would it be and what would you do when you got there?

I would simply love to visit Valaressa (TAILSPIN) and stay at the Winged Envoy's luxurious palazzo. I imagine the city as a tropical version of Venice, with shining white towers and blue, sparkling canals. And yes, I guess there must be slums and dangerous places, but they'd be exotic too, you know? I'd use Mirry's guidebook or better yet, I'd persuade Mirry himself to show me around. *smile* I know I wouldn't have to worry about any kind of danger if I was with him. And I'd especially want to visit the Royal Library.

But there's another part of me that's always wanted to run away and join the circus. Wouldn't you love to visit the menagerie at the Ten Nations Fair and see the fellwolves? Maybe I could learn to ride a vran. Of course, being at the Fair would also mean I could sit in the Big Top and admire Griff's (STRONGMAN) backside in those tight tights while he does his knife act. Imagine looking over your shoulder and seeing Fort, so big and quiet, watching Griff from the shadows right up the back. *sigh*

So I guess this is my long-winded way of saying I'd start with TAILSPIN and then slide between the pages of STRONGMAN! It's not that I don't love GIFT OF THE GODDESS, but there's a lot of traveling through the Empty Lands in that book and I really hate having to go pee behind a bush. I'm a city gal.

What do you wear while you're writing?

Most of the time I just want to be comfortable, but every now and then, I'll fish out my special purple dress. It's one of those pseudo-medieval numbers, with long sleeves, a scoop neck and a floor length skirt. I like the way it swishes. And if I'm having an especially difficult time, I'll throw a shawl over my shoulders. It's really a delicate, open-work baby blanket my grandmother knitted for me a very, VERY long time ago. *smile* It always reassures me that I'm loved and that I can do this.

Do you have a "secret or private" drawer, box, shelf, etc. And, if you do, name five things in it.

Brace yourself! I actually have a three drawer bedside table. Five things? Okaaay...

1. A set of Tarot cards. Sadly, I'm too left-brained to let go and be truly intuitive with the Tarot, but I'm totally fascinated by it. I do use the cards for meditation and visualisation, even for plotting sometimes! I love my Robin Wood deck, it's so beautiful, so rich in Pagan symbolism. http://www.robinwood.com/Catalog/Books/BookPages/RWTDeck.html

2. Writing stuff - pens and pencils, notepads, USB drive, backup CDs (not paranoid at all, oh no), dictionary and a thesaurus. The thesaurus is the New Oxford and it's so huge (weighs 5.5 lbs!) that when I heave it onto the bed, My Beloved refers to it as the "co-respondent".

3. The "smellies" - an oil burner, tea light candles and essential oils. Also a cigarette lighter. (No, I don't smoke.) I love bergamot and lavender and rose and add a bit of lemongrass for mental stimulation when I'm writing.

4. My "comfort/inspiration" books. I have to have my own, of course, because they're so precious to me - I print out the ones that are still in ebook. But I also have "Menage" by Emma Holly and "Natural Law" by Joey W. Hill, plus the occasional Georgette Heyer or whatever else I'm reading at the moment. Not that I have much time to read any more. *very deep sigh*

5. Music stuff - the radio/CD/Cassette player and CDs. Plus the remote control. Very handy.

6. The TMI things. You know what they are, because you have them too. And that's all I'm going to say! *wicked grin* Oh, and spare batteries.

Hmm, that's more than five, but hey, I have three drawers!

About Denise Rossetti

When Denise Rossetti was very young, she had an aunt who would tell her the most wonderful fairy stories -- all completely original. Denise grew up, as little girls do, but the love of stories has never left her.

These days, she lives in a comfortable, messy old house in the Australian suburbs and writes erotic fantasy and paranormal romance. Her work is intense, lyrical and excitingly different. One reviewer called it “erotically intelligent, intelligently erotic”.

Rossetti is currently published by Ellora’s Cave and Avon Red. THE FLAME AND THE SHADOW, the first book in her erotic fantasy quartet for Berkley Ace, will be released on 4th November 2008. She has also a story appearing in the Berkley Heat anthology, UNLACED (2nd December 2008), together with authors Jasmine Haynes, Jaci Burton and Joey W. Hill. She’s thinking of changing her name to Jenise to go with the flow.

Rossetti is small and noisy and dreadfully uncoordinated. She tends to wave her hands around a lot, which can be unfortunate if the tale she's telling happens to have explosions in it!

Denise also has a blog and a MySpace page you can visit.

Thank you for stopping by, Denise. I love the complexity of your characters. Best of luck on the rest of your cyber book tour!

Barrie

PI Cyber Circuit: Nina Pierce

Introducing the Passionate Ink Cyber Circuit! We’re a group of writers who belong to the Passionate Ink chapter of Romance Writers of America and write erotic romance. Once or twice a month our members will tour a recent release in the hope of tempting you to add it to your to-buy list.

It’s my pleasure to introduce our first author out on tour - Nina Pierce. Welcome, Nina!

What would happen if a devastating plague wiped out nearly all the male and two thirds of the female population on earth? That is the premise of Nina Pierce’s futuristic erotic suspense novel The Healer’s Garden available now from Liquid Silver Books.

In the female dominated society of 2172, mating with a male, even to save the human race, is a distasteful task and one Healer Jahara Hriznek, has successfully avoided—until now. Brenimyn is a gifted breeding instructor at the Garden. Forced to copulate with all females who request his services, he is tired of the government enslaving men. He lives to find the one woman who will fulfill his destiny and help him bring about social equality for all people.

The Healer’s Garden chronicles the sexually explicit love story of these two people and their changing attitudes toward the social mores of their time. There are many at the Garden who oppose the burgeoning relationship between Brenimyn and Jahara and will fight to keep them apart, but just as many who think now is the time for the vision of equality for all genders to be realized. Can Jahara believe in her love of a man and follow Brenimyn into a battle to overthrow the sexist government? Will Brenimyn trust his heart and allow a woman to lead the fight to bring about the new world order?

And now... time to ask Nina some questions.

What makes a hero for you? Do you see them on the street, or are they simply in your head?

The hero for me is always the softer side of the guy. No matter what else he has going on there always has to be a kind heart that sneaks out and steals my heart.

Do you believe in soulmates?

Absolutely. ‘nuf said.

Do you have a "secret or private" drawer, box, shelf, etc. And, if you do, name five things in it.

A mom with a secret hiding place? I’ve never heard of such a thing. I thought everything I owned also belonged to my children. (I’m very artsy and one time I bought my own markers and hid them away from my children and sometimes I hide the chocolate in the waaaay back of the cupboard!)

What's your favorite holiday?

Fourth of July. When I was a kid my mother’s family always had a big reunion on the Maine coast. We spent the day eating and swimming. My grandparents lived far away and it was the one time we were all together. I’ve since lost my grandparents and my parents are divorced so we don’t do it anymore, but the holiday still holds fond memories. And I still love fireworks.

What advice would you give to aspiring erotic romance writers?

Before you start writing erotica… read it. What turns you on? Figure out how the author got your motor revving and keep that feeling. Anyone can slot part A into B, but can you make it sensual? It’s important to wrap the reader up into the scene and make them feel what your characters feel. This is true of all writing, but sex scenes have the added element of titillating.

The second thing is to find a solid support system of other writers. They don’t have to be erotic authors, (my crit partners include an historical author and a suspense author) but they have to know the craft so they can help you push your talents.

Thank you for stopping by, Nina. Your new book sounds fascinating.

Nina also has a blog and a MySpace page you can visit.

Nina, best of luck on the rest of your cyber book tour!

Barrie

The Winner of My "Read an Ebook Week" Contest!

Congratulations to Sharazz020! Sharazz020 has won her/his choice of any of my ebooks, as part of my "Read an Ebook Week" contest! Yay, Sharazz020! Congratulations!

Barrie

How "Green" Is Your Reading Material?

I have to say, I never thought about the issue of "green" reading material until I ran across information about Read an eBook Week, which begins this Sunday (March 2-8). As I write ebooks, I really have no excuse not to support Read an eBook Week.

Ebooks are environmentally friendly because they don't require any paper. Did you know that over a third of all books printed are never read? I'm quoting from the Read an eBook web site here: "They are returned to the publisher and end up in landfills."

I was astonished to read that!

So, I am supporting Read an eBook Week, and I hope you do, too. Not only that, I'm giving you an incentive to support it. Simply join my announcements Yahoogroup for a chance to win an ebook copy of any of my ebooks. Yes, any one you want! (If you're already a member, you're automatically entered.)

That's all you have to do! I'll draw the winner on Sunday, March 9th. Hope to see you on my group, and good luck on winning the book!

Barrie