Realms of Love will host an historical romance author chat Monday April 30 at 9 PM EDT. There will be give-aways of downloads of the author’s books.
Historical Romance Authors from Wild Rose Press will chat with you! Marty Kindall, Tarah Scott and Devon Matthews will join Lucynda Storey in the Realms of Love Chat Castle.
Here’s a little bit about these authors:
Marty Kindall- Vintage Rose (1920-1970 historical)
Marty is a native Buckeye who now considers North Carolina her home. An overactive imagination has been getting the better of her from an early age. She wrote her first ‘novel’ at age ten, and has been juggling her creative side with school, career, and other pursuits ever since. By day, Marty is a mild-mannered college administrator and history professor. By night, she lives the adventurous lives of her characters.
Tarah Scott- English Tea Rose (Non-American historical)
Award winning published author Tarah Scott cut her teeth on authors such as, Georgette Heyer, Zane Grey and Amanda Quick. She writes classical romance, suspense, horror and mainstream. She is assistant director of the advanced writer’s group Paper, Candlelight and Quill, and leads Word Zone, a weekly advanced critique group, as well as participates in, Creative Heights, an intense critique group.
Devon Matthews- Cactus Rose (western historical)
From my earliest memories, I’ve been fascinated with all things western. My first cases of hero worship were aimed at Audie Murphy and John Wayne, and I never did get past them. As a young woman, I traveled much of the southwest and saw the breathtaking vistas that had inspired such awe in the old western movies from my childhood. Though Texas claimed me for several years, I now live in the picturesque foothills of the Appalachian Mountains with my husband and two children. My passion for the west and those dashing sagebrush heroes remains as strong as ever. I write about those characters and their times because I can’t imagine doing anything else. I hope you enjoy reading about my heroes and heroines of the old west as much as I loved writing about them.
The romance writer chats at Realms of Love are a great way for readers and writers to get together and discuss romance stories in a variety of genres.
Here’s a short interview with Claire Thompson. You can read Claire’s books of manlove and romantic submission at Ellora’s Cave.
What prompted you to consider writing an erotic romance that featured BDSM?
I had always had submissive, masochistic sexual leanings, but I married very young, without the courage to express my sensual needs to my partner. My sex life was aided by a rich but very secret fantasy life. During my twenties I harbored the misguided notion that my natural sensual impulses were “sick” and “twisted” and thus I kept my dirty little secret to myself. Then the Internet got rolling and I got onto it, and discovered there weren’t just a few, but millions of people just like me, who derived deep sexual pleasure from erotic submission and erotic “suffering”. It was extraordinarily freeing to learn that, not only was I not alone, I wasn’t a sick puppy, but simply hardwired in a different way from my “vanilla” sisters. It was during this time that I began to write about my fantasies, to create stories that connected with my heretofore hidden sensual nature.
What type of research did you do to be able to confidently write BDSM themed erotic romances?
Nothing like being “out there in the field”! My initial “research” if you can call it that, was just through reading. But once I began actually exploring a D/s lifestyle with a loving partner, the research was very much “hands on”. I’ve been actively involved in D/s for the past ten years. But BDSM is an underlying theme, not the be-all and end-all of my novels (nor do I exclusively write BDSM tales). I strive to create real stories with characters I care about. If the people one creates are real, with issues that matter and emotions that ring true, the story will resonate with the reader. That is always my goal.
What aspects of BDSM do you like to explore the most through your erotic romances (submission, bondage, or pain giving or receiving)?
Lately my focus is on working through fear—the fear of honestly exploring one’s true nature and fear of falling in love with the risk of loss. A common theme in that regard is coming to terms with one’s submissive nature and then finding the courage to honestly experience it with a loving dominant guide. In my male/male erotic romances I add the overlay of dealing with homosexuality—how it affects and informs the relationship, especially for someone just coming to grips with it. I want each story to be sexy, hot and fun as well, letting the reader, even a reader who may have no direct experience in or inclination toward BDSM, get a glimpse into the delicious intensity of the experience.
Do you have a favorite erotic romance author/book that writes using BDSM themes?
Strange to admit, but I read very little of the genre. Writers whose style I admire include Anne Perry, who creates a lush, dark world of Victorian Era London as a backdrop to her murder mysteries, and Margaret Atwood, whose sometimes dark vision of the near-future is chilling but compelling. You mention Story of O, and interestingly that book both captivated and horrified me as a teenager—with its cold portrayal of a submissive lifestyle, utterly bereft of romance or love. The story was moving, but in a sad, lonely way. For me, the romance of erotic submission is the key. Without love we lose our humanity.
Aspen Mountain Press
JILTED
Dara Edmondson
Genre: Contemporary romance with erotic elements
Price: 6.99
http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/new-releases/jilted/prod_49.html
BLURB
When Amy Worth is jilted, it seems her life can’t get any worse. She’s saddled with a house payment for a “fixer-upper”, a new business to make profitable and a shattered heart. In a fit of anger, Amy trashes the room that was her fiancé’s office.
Only her neighbor, Falon hears the noise. Together the women form a fast friendship and they work their way through the hard balls of life in an attempt to find happiness that seems intent on escaping them.
Excerpt:
Amy Worth climbed out of her father’s Town Car and opened the back door to retrieve her wedding dress and veil.
“I wish you’d think about staying with Silvie and me a few more days, honey. There’s no shame in taking some time off to recover from such a major—upset in life,” her father said. “I hope you know Evan’s a jerk for leaving you. You were the best thing that ever happened to him.”
Amy shook her head. “I know, Daddy. And thanks for the offer, but I have to face this house and my life, such as it is. I appreciate your hospitality.” One night of listening to Silvie’s I-told-you-so’s was more than enough. She knew what she needed was time to think and regroup–alone. “I love you. I’ll call in a couple days.”
Dan Worth pursed his lips as he’d always done when he was worried as far back as Amy could remember. “All right, honey. I love you too.”
She watched the car disappear into the red November sunset, then turned toward her house. The two-story Tudor had been her dream home. She’d talked Evan into it. As a handyman special, the price had been within their reach. But the work it needed would have taken years to complete on their tight budget. Would it ever get done now? She couldn’t even bring herself to care. Evan was gone and life as she knew it was over.
Shuffling toward the front door, a sense of dread gripped her. Although she’d been staying there alone since they’d closed on it a month ago, the reality that she was going to live there as a single woman hit her like a freight train. She stopped at the threshold and stared at the rotting beam, the peeling paint. Slipping her key in the lock she prayed the old wooden door would hold up for a while longer. Its hinges were rusted and they creaked as she pushed it open.
The foyer was empty but for her suitcase and garment bag. Two plane tickets lay on top, for yesterday’s flight to Bermuda. At least she knew Evan hadn’t used them to take Candee with two e’s at the end of her name on the honeymoon he’d promised to Amy. She sucked in a breath and strode into the living room. She carefully set her tear-stained white gown across the plastic-draped couch and surveyed the area. A couple of empty boxes flanked the wall. The smell of fresh paint filled the air. Masking tape framed both windows. The dingy yellow walls were partially covered by clean cream-colored paint. Dark wood beams ran the length of the ceiling.
She headed into the kitchen, her favorite room in the house and the only one that needed no repairs. The same heavy beams crossed the ceiling as in the living room. The two windows on the back wall were the only original ones in the house. Thick, leaded glass, diamond-shaped panes distorted the view just enough to give privacy but still allow lovely prisms of light to enter. A built-in table and bench were done in dark walnut, as were the cabinets. Sturdy chains held the medieval-looking chandelier over the dining table. Boxes were still scattered on the counters and floor, waiting to be unpacked. This room was made for people to fill it and celebrate in it, not to sit alone and wallow in grief and loss.
A green light flashed on the answering machine on the counter. She hit the button.
“This is Ken Epstein from Mazel Tov Catering. We didn’t receive final payment for your event Saturday. Please give me a call. We accept credit cards. Thanks.” Beep.
Her head started pounding. She rubbed her temples and took a deep breath, trying to rid her brain of thoughts of her ill-fated wedding.
She lifted the phone off its cradle and tried to think of whom she could call. What friend would listen to her woes? Carla and Emily were Evan’s friends’ wives. She wasn’t comfortable spilling out her heart to either of them. She thought of Sharon and Julie, friends from beauty school she hadn’t spoken to since things had grown serious between her and Evan. Why hadn’t she stayed in touch with Natalie, a high school buddy she’d run around with until a year or so ago? Even Maryann, her old next-door neighbor hadn’t called for ages. But she couldn’t blame Maryann or any of the others. It wasn’t their fault.
The fault lay on Amy’s shoulders. Had she been so wrapped up in Evan’s world that she’d completely lost her own? She’d yet to meet a single neighbor since she’d moved in. The fortyish woman next door constantly tended her beautiful garden. Amy wished now she’d introduced herself to the woman. Or to the young mother across the street.
Pulling open the pantry, the bottle of vodka on the upper shelf called to her. It was Evan’s favorite–a pricey Scandinavian brand he mixed with orange juice. She stood on her tiptoes and grabbed it. Taking a juice glass from the cabinet, she sat at the table and poured a small amount of the clear liquid, then downed it in two gulps, wincing at the strong taste. The burning in her stomach only lasted a moment. The second shot went down easier. Fifteen minutes later she’d consumed four drinks and decided to stop, lest she get sick later. Swaying a bit when she stood, she replaced the bottle on the top shelf, pushing it as far back from the edge as she could. The liquor-induced fog didn’t eradicate thoughts of Evan or her ruined future.
She opened the door off the kitchen and stumbled three steps down into the one room they’d redone almost to completion–Evan’s office. A can of dark green paint sat beside a box overflowing with books and magazines. A framed photo of Amy and Evan and a pencil cup filled with his collection of vintage letter openers poked over the top of the carton. Picking up the picture, she felt the familiar stab of pain before she shoved it deep into the box with the rest of their yesterdays. She scanned the formal wallpaper, a burgundy and green paisley. Not very masculine, she’d told him. But he had liked it.
A white chair rail separated the top of the wall from the bottom, the under portion painted dark green. What would she do with this room now? She hated the colors, loathed the darkness. Anger and frustration bubbled in her gut. Grabbing one of the antique letter openers, she flung it toward the wall, its point landing squarely in the middle of a paisley swirl. It felt good to destroy something Evan loved. She took another dagger, aimed it at his precious college diploma and let it fly. Glass exploded everywhere. But she needed to destroy more of him.
Rummaging through the box, she dug out a thick black marker and drew a huge face on the wallpaper, complete with a double chin. She barraged the paisley portrait with knife-like letter openers, leaving it looking like a dagger-covered pincushion. Then, as the piece de resistance, she pried open the paint can with the last letter opener and flung the remnants of green paint at the wall. It seemed to move in slow motion, sliming a green track as it went. Heavy drips landed on Amy’s jeans. She tossed the can toward the door, spattering the last few dark droplets across the pristine white door and the beige Berber carpet he’d picked out.
When the buzz in her head finally died down, she heard knocking. She spun around, trying to discover the source of the sound. She bounded up the steps and back into the kitchen. A woman stood at the backdoor, banging on the glass.
* * * *
Falon O’Malley stopped pulling weeds from around her daffodils when she heard the racket next door. Things banging and glass breaking. She hoped everything was all right. She’d only seen her new neighbor a few times, taking out the trash and moving in boxes. But the sounds coming from the house weren’t normal move-in noises. Getting to her feet, she marched to the back door and knocked hard on the wood part, peering through the leaded glass. After a few moments, something moved into the light. The door inched open.
The woman she’d seen there peeked out at her. Disheveled brown curls flew in every direction. “Yes?” the woman said, opening the door all the way. Her face was red and her chest rose and fell like she’d been breathing hard.
“Everything okay in here?” Falon asked. Her gaze traveled down the woman’s body. Large green stains on her pant legs dripped onto the floor. “What happened to your jeans?”
“Oh, God.” She ran to the sink, grabbed a wad of paper towels and wiped the drips from the floor. “I had a little accident with paint,” she said. She ripped off more towels and patted her jeans.
Falon took a step inside. “I’m Falon. I live next door.” She pointed toward her house.
“Sounded like the Marx Brothers were painting. I was working in my garden.” She pointed toward her house again. “It’s right next to your window. I heard noises so I peeked in. Sorry.”
Amy smiled. “This is really embarrassing. I spilled some paint on myself. I’m such a klutz. I’d shake your hand if mine weren’t both covered in paint. My name’s Amy.” Her face grew rosier. “I…I was angry with my ex-fiancé. I guess I was executing him in effigy.”
Falon snorted. “Sounds like some of my exes.” She brushed her bangs off her face.
Amy blotted the paint from her jeans then washed her hands. “You want a glass of wine or something?”
Falon nodded. “Sure. Let me go lock up my place and I’ll be right back.”
* * * *
Amy took advantage of the opportunity to change her pants. Returning to the kitchen, she met Falon at the back door. “Come on in. I have a bottle of very expensive Shiraz Evan brought back from Australia. Let’s crack it open, hmm? I’m on a quest to polish off all his prized spirits.” He wanted to save it for a special occasion, he’d told her. This was special. He’d gone and left her for a bimbo named Candee with two e’s.
Amy pulled the bottle from her countertop wine rack and rummaged through a drawer for the corkscrew.
Falon extended her hand. “Allow me. I work in a bar.”
Amy gave her the bottle and corkscrew. It was probably a good thing since Amy still swayed as she tried to stand still. She watched the woman work out the cork like a pro. Her shoulders were broad but her waist thin and she looked to be about forty. Her slim build seemed contradictory to her huge chest. Implants, Amy decided.
“I’ll assume Evan is the ex?” Falon asked sliding her lanky frame onto the bench seat and depositing the bottle between them on the table.
Amy nodded. “We were supposed to get married yesterday. He left me at the altar looking like a fool.”
“Wow. I thought that shit only happened in the movies.”
Amy raised an eyebrow as she poured wine into two Waterford glasses. At least some of her wedding gifts were being put to good use. Most she’d have to return. “Unfortunately not.” She handed Falon one glass and tapped hers against it. “Cheers.”
“To getting even,” Falon said. She downed half the glass in one gulp. “So what did the jerk have to say for himself?”
Amy sipped her wine, savoring its fruity flavor. It soured on her tongue when thoughts of Evan’s betrayal crept into her mind. “He left me a note. Didn’t even have the balls to tell me in person. My dad went to his apartment when he didn’t show up at the synagogue and found it taped to his door.” The wine’s warmth started spreading to her extremities. Some of the tension eased. Telling a stranger about her problems was better than holding them inside or dealing with her family’s pity. Between her sister Nancy’s sympathetic headshakes and Silvie’s annoying clucking, Amy was over being with them for a while.
“What an asshole. What’s your game plan?”
Amy stared at her, not comprehending. “My game plan?”
Falon jumped off the bench and threw her hands in the air. The bottom of her T-shirt lifted above her bellybutton. A silver bar pierced the skin. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of what you could do to him. Twist his weenie with a pair of vice grips, pull out his fingernails, screw up his credit. Do anything, but don’t let the scumbag get away with it.”
Amy’s eyes opened wide. She hoped Falon was kidding about the torture. “I can’t really do anything. He took off with someone named Candee to parts unknown.”
Falon sank her fists into her hips. Could her shorts be any shorter or tighter? “Oh, honey. There are loads of things you can do. When I lived in Vegas, this orthodontist I was living with dumped me for a showgirl. So I cancelled all his credit cards, had the power and water turned off at his house and office and I gave his Social Security number and all his passwords to some guy named Rico who paid me twenty bucks for them. I heard through the grapevine it took him months to undo the damage Rico did.” She crossed her arms, obviously impressed with herself.
Amy tittered nervously, trying to remember where her Social Security card was. This was not a woman she ever wanted to piss off. “I could never do anything like that. Anyway, I have no idea where he went.”
Falon waved her hand in the air. “That should be easy to figure out. Where does he work?”
“He works from home. He’s a headhunter.” She pointed to the room off the kitchen she’d just destroyed. “That was going to be his home office.” Heat surged to her face. “I’ve made a bit of a mess of it.”
Falon started toward the room.
“No, get away from there,” Amy said as she stood. Bad enough she’d had the tantrum, but for anyone to see the evidence was mortifying.
It was too late. Falon descended the steps and started laughing. “Like hell you could never do anything like that. You definitely have a little anger in you, Lovie.”
Amy followed her inside and stared at her handy work with shame. “I guess I lost it.” She shrugged. “I feel so helpless. He’s off with Candee and I’m all alone. And to make matters worse, this damned house is falling apart.”
http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/new-releases/jilted/prod_49.html
Fool’s Gold
Melissa Glisan
Genre: Romantic suspense with erotic elements
Price: $3.99
http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/new-releases/fool-39-s-gold/prod_56.html
Jade Savani is trying to made her life work. That means kicking out the dope dealers and the underage drinkers in her bar, along with keeping an eye out for trouble-makers.
And trouble is just what she gets when Iago de Oro walks through her door. Hard muscles, easy on the eyes, he might be what her long ignored libido needs.
But Iago is an undercover cop with an agenda all his own. And if seducing the beautiful Jade is a part of the deal, all the better, as long as he can keep her safe, and tend to business with his objectivity intact.
(editors note: this is a re-release)
Excerpt:
Across the bar, Detective Iago de Oro watched the green eyed beauty spin her magic on the under-experienced college set. When his regular snitch told him to watch the green passing through the doors of Fool’s Gold, he surely didn’t think the man was giving justice to the bartender’s eyes. He also hoped, for the snitch’s sake, that he wasn’t being fed a line. Being set up wasn’t too far out of his mind either, given the name of the bar and his own moniker.
Mind pondering the possibilities, his eyes continued to measure and mold the woman before him. She had an innate grace, watching her serve drinks was like holding a front row seat at the ballet. She dipped then twirled; side stepped, raised en pointe and flowed along the counter with the ease of a butterfly pirouetting in the breeze.
Wasn’t much to look at, if you started with the face, but what real man just looked at a face? Her pretty little nose had been broken leaving her looking as if she was caught mid-wrinkle, cute. He liked it the imperfection gave her character. Dusky skin proudly staked her Italian heritage, but those eyes, luminous and earthy shards of emerald under the thickest sooty lashes, screamed fairy princess. She’s either out of your league, his gut argued, or so deep in shit that her pretty little eyes will never pay her way clean.
He hoped she was clean.
Bending at the waist, she lifted a case of beer from under the counter and began quickly filling the wall behind the counter. The after image of her heart shaped, firmly rounded ass was burned into his mind. Average height, panning down he smiled at the female vanity he spotted on her feet. A well-turned ankle disappeared into ugly brown leather that goosed her height a good four inches. Platform heels never looked good, but on her slim, well-filled frame they made his blood burn. She had the body of a girl fresh out of college, but her eyes, in those fleeting moments where her gaze caught his, held age and experience that made her shapely outline of curves and planes a lie.
Made no matter, Iago shook his head clear and hunkered over his dark ale watching the comings and goings at the bar. Someone, somewhere in the crowd of fresh young faces was selling stolen guns; it was up to him to follow the money home.
http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/new-releases/fool-39-s-gold/prod_56.html
Check out the review of Scarred by JM Snyder over at Romance Junkies.
JM is one of the hardest working romance writers around. Writing, promoting, evangelizing the ManLove genre, JM is a role model for the romance writer who wants to build themselves a lasting career.
JM is self-published and has books published at Aspen Mountain Press. Be sure to check them out.
Here’s that review:
Daelyn is the only protector his sister has. In a futuristic time, the world in which Daelyn lives is controlled by regulators who patrol the streets with a heavy hand. Oftentimes, they are sadistic, hateful men who make everyone they come in contact with bow down to their wishes. One such regulator, McBane, has made Daelyn his own personal property and Daelyn has the scars, both physical and emotional, to prove it. When a new group of regulators enters his diner, Dae foresees additional cruelty just waiting around the corner. Only, that doesn’t happen. Coby, the leader of this band of regulators, doesn’t have the look of brutality; he has the look of forever.
Daelyn’s world and existence almost broke my heart. Knowing nothing but cruelty since the death of his father, Dae was so afraid to reach for what Coby offered. Like Dae, though I resigned myself to believing that Coby had to possess some of the same malicious qualities of the other regulators, I still hoped he would be different and would somehow treasure the resilient man that was Daelyn. I was not disappointed. Coby’s patience, kindness, and protection towards Dae was just enlighteningly beautiful.
SCARRED is a homoerotic love story, and while I adore reading this genre, some may not. I can honestly say, however, that the love between Coby and Daelyn is poignant and steamy, yet almost surprisingly innocent. It was a joy to watch Daelyn flourish under Coby’s unexpected care. I happily recommend this story to those who enjoy homoerotic love. J. M. Snyder has a new fan!
ManLove writers chat this week at Realms of Love. Monday, April 2 ManLove authors James Buchanan and Claire Thompson will join Lucynda Storey in the Realms of Love Chat Castle. Come on by Realms of Love at 9 PM EST/ 6 PM PST and be in on the fun. There will be give-aways.
Claire Thompson’s newest male/male erotic romance, Island of Temptation, will be released on April 19 with Ellora’s Cave! When artist Sam Jamison finds himself stranded on an island with dark-haired, blue-eyed Donovan McNair he knows he’ll have to keep a tight rein on his rising passions, Donovan’s straight as an arrow—or so he assumes. Survivors of a cruise shipwreck, the two men are thrown together in a desperate struggle to survive. Experiencing a freedom not possible back in “the real world”, desire boils over, inhibitions melt away and passion burns a clear, loving flame.
March was Cop Month for James Buchanan! Pat Down is a story about cops who are hot, tough, and looking for love. Technique features Agent Nicholas O’Malley and Det. Brandon Carr and a little afternoon diversion with a set of handcuffs. James also has stories of angels and slightly off center fairy tales from a Seventeenth Century that never quite was. Find out more Monday April 2.
