What’s Love Got to Do With It?

Romance writers—particularly those who include erotic elements in their fiction—are in a unique position. In most other fiction genres, it’s a given that the writer isn’t doing everything her characters do. No one asks whether George R.R. Martin has fought in epic sword battles or ridden a dragon. Few people expect Sue Grafton to be running around solving horrific murders in her spare time. Science fiction writers aren’t expected to be space travelers and no one believes authors of historical fiction have lived hundreds of years in the past. Yet those of us who write romance and erotica are often asked if we’re writing from experience. It’s one of those “wink, wink, nudge, nudge, nowotimean” questions, asked either with prurient interest or, more often, with a bit of doubt and derision. And compounding those misconceptions is the idea that romance is somehow supposed to be based on real life.

I’m here both to give the doubters their “a-HA!” moment—and to snatch it away in the next breath. To burst a few bubbles and to confirm your wildest imaginings.

First of all, romance novels, even contemporary romances, are actually fantasy. There seems to be this idea that we’re “setting women up” for misery because we’re writing about unrealistic expectations. No, actually, we’re writing happily-ever-afters for readers who enjoy that particular fantasy. We (both readers and writers) are the romantics, the ones who are in love with love. We love watching the tension of will they or won’t they (and of course they will, or you’re doing it wrong). And that moment when they finally do? It puts the climax in climax.

That’s not to say that there are no happily-ever-afters in real life. But real love stories come with compromises about finances and arguments about housework, with dirty diapers and vomit, with boring day jobs and imperfections and not being in the mood and all the nitty-gritty of everyday life. But that’s not what our readers want to read about. The fantasy is that the romance is all-consuming and larger than life, and it leaves out (for the most part) the not-so-pleasant and the nitty-gritty. (And includes certain other things that are often larger than life. And last longer. Because we can.) The fact that we judge readers who enjoy this fantasy over fantasies about solving crime, or flying on dragons, or warp travel—well, let’s face it: it’s prejudice based on devaluing things that women like. (I won’t even get into how weird it is that men aren’t supposed to like love.)

Now for the “a-HA!” moment I promised you. I write love stories, but I’m not in love. I’m not married, I’m not in a relationship, and I don’t even date. My last long-term relationship ended five and a half years ago with the loss of my partner to inoperable cancer after five years of chronic illness and disability. So, to confirm what some suspect, here’s one writer who’s not doing any of the things she writes about.

But I also promised to snatch that “a-HA!” away from you. Even though I don’t have anyone in my life right now, I’m still writing from experience. When I write about falling in love and being overwhelmed with need for someone, that’s based on real-life emotion. When I write about BDSM, yes, I’m actually writing what I know. When I write about same-sex relationships (and opposite-sex relationships) and threesomes, I’ve got that covered too.

Not everyone who writes about these themes has the personal experience to draw on—nor do they have to. If they’re good writers, they’ve done the research to write about it in such a way that you believe they have. Just like George R.R. Martin can make you believe he’s flown on the back of a dragon.

So what’s love got to do with it? Nothing. And everything.

(It also happens to be one of my favorite songs from my senior year in high school.)

And also dragons. Because dragons.

Superbowl hang over.

For those of you who watch the game and imbibe a little---or a lot. Yep that's me. No matter what team you were routing for yesterday you should be happy. It was a great game. So close it kept me on the edge of my seat most of the time. I thought Luke Bryan did a good job on the National Anthem. What did you think of Lady Gaga's half time performance?

Anyway because of the superbowl I don't have much to write about. It's hard to think of much when there is some a-hole using a jackhammer in you head. Lol

I do have a new book coming out the 17^th of February. It is called Primal Lust. This story is contemporary and about three people surviving in a Brazilian jungle after their plane crashes. As usual in most of my books this one is erotic romance with descriptive sex scenes. 

Excerpt from Primal Lust

Rebecca jolted awake at the crash of thunder. She peered out the window beside her and saw the sky surrounding them was dark, but frequent flashes of lightning dispelled the gloom. Unlike the major carriers, this small plane, she thought of them as tree-top airlines, was unable to climb above the storm. Instead, they were forced to fly around them, or fly through the thick of storms. Obviously, they were flying through the thick of this one. The air became turbulent and the pilot advised them to fasten their seatbelts. Casting a glance at Bret showed her that somehow, he was smiling as he slept through this.

The plane skidded sideways, then her stomach jumped to her throat as the floor abruptly dropped away like a runaway elevator. The nose of the plane rose as it struggled to regain altitude. Another crash of thunder split the air. The interior of the plane was illuminated brightly followed by a roar that deafened her.

Rebecca stole a glance out her window and along the wing. To her dismay, she saw smoke erupt from the engine there. The propeller came to a halt and the nose dipped down. The interior lights winked out, plunging them into darkness.

Distantly, Bret exclaimed, "Holy shit!"

Rebecca gripped the armrests white knuckled while the craft continued to plunge toward the ground.

"Brace yourself, Rebecca. We're going down!" he shouted.

She grabbed the pillow wedged in her seat, placed it in her lap, and planted her face in it. Wood snapped in the distance. The plane skewed sideways and something flew out of the darkness to strike the back of her head. After that she didn't hear or feel anything.

The craft struck the treetops and one branch, thicker than the rest, hit the right wing, shearing it away. The plane pitched to the right and another branch sheared away the left wing. The fuselage plunged deeper into the trees, and the nose buried into the ground, causing the passenger cabin to surge upward. Tree trunks snapped and tumbled away. In the process the passenger cabin broke apart, spewing people and interior contents into the jungle growth.

Rebecca became aware with a start. She couldn't breathe because her face was pressed into something thick and soggy. Instinct kicked in. She pressed her hands forward, and at the same time, rolled to one side. Spitting mud from her mouth allowed her to inhale and take in a welcome breath of air.

For a moment, she lay still as she slowly came to grips that she was still strapped into her seat, she was no longer moving, nor was she in the plane. It was still daytime, although the light around was the same as in twilight, so she reasoned she hadn't been blacked out very long. Torrential rain poured down on her as if she was standing in a shower.

I'm on the ground and I'm alive.

She performed a quick reconnoiter. None of her limbs were broken. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she rolled away from the seat and stood on shaky legs. Rebecca quickly examined herself. She had multiple cuts and scrapes. She brushed her hand through her sodden hair and felt something sticky. Just before the heavy downpour washed it away, she saw her hand was red with blood.

Head wound. They always bleed heavily, so hopefully it isn't real bad. Okay I'll live, but did anyone else survive?

She cast around in the thick foliage searching for others. The first two passengers she found were dead. Turning over a seat, she saw Bret. While she was searching him for a pulse, he inhaled sharply. "Thank God, you're alive," she shouted to be heard above another roar of thunder.

Bret unfastened his seatbelt and stood. Rebecca quickly examined him. Like her, he had many cuts and scrapes, but otherwise appeared to be intact.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm alive, and I'm not alone anymore, so yes, I'm okay for now. Unless you need me to treat one of your wounds right away, help me locate the others if you feel up to it."

"I'm okay and will do."

They separated and searched. Each time they located one of their fellow passengers, they called out to each other. The news was grim. Including them, all but one were soon accounted for, except for them, all were dead.

Rebecca stumbled across the final passenger, a man. He was alive, but one of his arms was twisted to a wrong angle. While she examined him, he opened his eyes, but they darted to each side and appeared unfocused, leading her to believe he was disoriented.

"What are you doing?" he asked, then groaned.

"What's your name? I'm Rebecca. I was one of your fellow passengers on the plane. We crashed. I'm a doctor and I'm checking you for injuries. It appears you have a broken arm along with a number of other less critical injuries."

"My name is Rubo and get away from me. I need a real doctor, not some fucking woman pretending to be one."

Rebecca stepped back, aghast. "I am a real doctor," she said.

"Women aren't real doctors. That is a man's occupation."

Instant anger seethed in Rebecca, and for a moment, overwhelmed her normal doctor compassion. "What the hell, Rubo? Have you been living under a rock? There's a lot of female doctors and this one is trying to help you." She waved her hands, indicating their surroundings. "In case you haven’t noticed, there isn't a large selection of doctors to choose from in our location. Now you can either allow me to try to help you, or you can lie out here in fucking misery. I don't care because there are others who need my help, too, and they aren't bitchin about it."

Rubo didn't answer her tongue lashing right away and she turned to leave.

Please click on over and journey through my website. 

Groundhog Day Relived

I’m a southeastern Pennsylvania resident. What this means is I’ve lived through some brutal winters. Okay, not as bad as upstate New York, maybe not as bad as Alaska, Canada or those Arctic places – but it gets damn cold. I simply abhor, detest, loathe, and despise this time of year. Has nothing to do with less light and everything to do with cold. Below 70 degrees I get pretty miserable. I sleep in flannels practically all year and my heat is on eight months from early September to late May, occasionally June when a chilly night crops up.

Sigh. Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow. I read that since 1988 he correctly predicted 14 times, incorrectly 15 times. Therefore, I have a 50/50 chance of warming up a little bit. Also, I remember from past years that Groundhog Day was derived from an old European celebration of Candlemas. This is the midway point between winter solstice and spring equinox. Nice weather on Candlemas meant a bad second half of winter. You can see a short video about groundhogs and read more about Punxsutawney Phil.

TMI? Probably but, trust me, there’s a reason I wanted to talk about Groundhog Day which occurs on February 2^nd every year.

In California I lived about a thirty-minute ride from Big Bear and Arrowhead. It’s where I went if I needed to cool off (seldom) in the dead heat of summer as the high desert could get up to 105-115 degrees. Ahh, the joy of dry heat. No fleas or ticks on my kittehs! I loved it; hence, the setting for most of my stories especially my big, bloody vampyre cats. Should I ever hit it big—back to the southwest for me!! Looking at Arizona this time as it’s where one sister’s daughter lives and she wants to move there to be near her granddaughter. We’ll be great company for each other in rocking chairs.

Here’s where Groundhog Day ties in. Sort of like the movie, books I’m about to talk about have been around once and, like the movie—they’re turning up again. As I talked about the setting for many of my books, wanted to preview two being readied for re-release. One, Ace of Spades, took place in an unexpected venue. It’s a contemporary romance set on the east coast in Atlantic City, a place I lived for little over a year. Aldan ‘Ace’ Spade is a wealthy gambler who owns a gentlemen’s club near a casino in AC and he falls for his hostess, Rosemary Carino who doesn’t reveal she’s an ex topless dancer.

The next one will be Hard Case. Case Tangara is a white lion shifter infected with vampyre blood who owns a club in the high desert of California that features rooms for voyeurs and, well, whatever else Case wants to get up to with Tres Moran, his green-haired snow leopard shifter. They're getting a thorough look over by a few of my readers and will be coming back real soon.

I loved the covers for both books and, with the blessing of the awesome Syneca Featherstone, I’m keeping them.

So, keep your eyes and ears open. Both will be available soon via Amazon’s KU program.

Growl and roar – it’s okay to let the beast out. – J. Hali Steele

A Magical Time for Romance & Reflection - Maureen Bonatch

by Maureen L. Bonatch 

As Valentine’s Day approaches, every store and commercial is emphasizing that it’s time for romance. Time to tell and/or show your loved one how much you care.

This time of year often turns our thoughts to love stories, and we may wonder how the story began.

How Hard Can it Be?

Many years ago, in the mind of a naïve writer, I picked up a pen (rather, put fingers to the keyboard) and wrote a romance novel. 

A contest and a deadline spurred me to chase my dream of writing. This started out as straight romance- with no paranormal elements involved- and kind of fell short on several accounts. (As I have reworked this manuscript, I discovered my love of paranormal and it helped bring the story to life.) However, I didn’t know that, I thought it was fabulous! 

Like the first time I tried to sew a teddy bear in junior high. I thought that hideous monstrosity (despite copious amounts of help from the Home Economics teacher) was perfect too, and promptly sent it off as a gift to my nephew who lived out of state. (In reflection, I must ponder whether his mother thought it might be some type of voodoo threat, rather than a gift sewed with love and poor skill.)

The frightful excuse for a stuffed “bear” came home to visit with my nephew years later. I looked on it with fresh eyes—no longer blinded by the delight of completing the project—and was horrified. I attempted to bribe my nephew so I could destroy the hideous stuffed entity my nephew told everyone his aunt made.

Facing the Music

So…I digress…I took my fabulous first story and entered the first 3 chapters in a contest—and I didn’t win. Then I paid to have a critique of the entire story—and received pages of notes back. 

To summarize-—one of the biggest problems with my story was my hero. In the eyes of the ‘romance world’, he was no hero. I thought he was funny and realistic. The critique implied that he was a bit of an asshole.

She didn’t say it quite like that. Instead, she worded it nicely, emphasizing that this was romance. Nobody wanted a man who had no viable income, appeared totally self-absorbed and dripped sarcasm to the point of rudeness. Apparently, women were not looking to escape reality with a man like my hero. He was not the man of fantasies—perhaps he was too much like the man already lying on many women’s couches.

Somebody for Everybody

My bear was nowhere near perfect, and needed a lot more work. Okay. Let’s be honest, nothing would’ve saved that stuffed miscreation. Nevertheless, my nephew loved it because I made it with love—poor sewing skills—but heartfelt intentions.

Same thing for my first manuscript, and for any real-life romance. Nobody is perfect, but if you love someone, you tend to overlook, or ignore the flaws most days and find the gem buried within the stones.

I continue to carve away at the first manuscript, (sprinkling in some paranormal and a much more loveable hero) because I love the story and I can’t rest until I bring it to the world. 

I hope you find a way to show your special valentine how much you care and stir the magic in your relationship.

Need Some Ideas for Valentine’s Day? I Have Some for You Right Here

Looking for a short sweet magical read? Forget Me Not—and all the Candy Hearts Romance stories are 40% off now at The Wild Rose Press to get you in the mood for love.

Maureen Bonatch dreamt of becoming a Solid Gold Dancer. When the show ended, she followed other paths. Surviving twins gave her confidence to belly dance, declare herself a tequila connoisseur and biker babe to her alpha hubby. She lives in small town Pennsylvania and her love of the four seasons—biking, sweat pants, hockey and hibernation—keeps her there. While immersed in paranormal romance and fantasy, she survives on caffeine, wine, music and laughter. A feisty Shih Tzu keeps her in line.

Check out her Amazon Author Page right here for all her Books

Find Maureen:

Writing on my Website

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Guest Marie Johnston @mjohnstonwriter

Please welcome our guest, Marie Johnston.

The natural evolution of reading

A couple of, ahem, decades ago, I was chatting with a coworker and he asked what I was reading. I don’t remember what book it was, but likely a fantasy, probably even Game of Thrones. He said, with utmost confidence, that I’d tire of books like that—because they’re not real life. I remember thinking, Um, hello? That’s why I read them.

We all have different tastes and reasons why we read what we do. I was a diehard fantasy reader. Diehard. I had rarely read anything other than fantasy since I pilfered my mom’s David Eddings books in elementary school. The tattoo I got when I was eighteen is a sword. It looks more like a butcher knife now because I don’t have eighteen year-old ankles anymore. However, like the evolution of my cankles, my reading tastes morphed…and I grew pickier. I’d scour the blurbs looking for that special element, the one that’d never fail to sell the book to me.

Romance.

After combing several books one night in Barnes and Noble, it dawned on me. Why not just read romance?

Over to the romance section I went. Foreign land. Full of new books I had yet to peruse. Full of new-to-me authors. But where to start?

I picked up a few contemporary romances. A friend passed on her collection of mostly historical romance. I raided library sales. I devoured romance. I enjoyed many books, but hadn’t attached to an author the way I did when I read fantasy.

Then it happened. I stumbled onto a Sherilyn Kenyon book, Night Pleasures. A sexy vampire—with a whole bunch of sexy vampire friends. Yes, please. Then came J. R. Ward. A little Christine Feehan. It was a natural transition from my previous fantasy obsession.

But then came my first kid.

Reading? What’s that?

I didn’t put down books because I didn’t have time to read. I set them aside because I got so irritated at the little bugger when he interrupted my reading time. Kid, the hero just betrayed the heroine, only she doesn’t know he really didn’t betray her, and the bad guy just kidnapped her, and you want your sippy cup refilled?! Why do I gotta stop for Winnie the Pooh? I have my own reading needs!

Enter magazines for the next several years until kid number three. By then I’d left my career to be a full-time sippy cup refiller. I needed, neeeeeeeeded, an escape. I’d kept up with Sherilyn Kenyon and J. R. Ward but I sought more authors. Not just books. I wanted a writer who’d constantly supply me with an escape worth hiding in the laundry room with a smuggled chocolate bar for. Back to the library. I brought home some Gena Showalter books. From there, I made my way to Kresley Cole. More, I needed more!

Thank you also boughts for bringing me to Larissa Ione and Laura Wright. I was steeped in paranormal romance.

Now, it’s my magazines that rarely get read and books that I cruise through. I have four kids and no shame when I need time to read. I call it the curse of the last twenty pages. Every living being under the same roof as me will swear their world is ending while I’m trying to finish a book. My husband knows when I tell him I have fifty pages left that he needs to run interference so I can finish. A month ago, it was my turn to sleep in. I spent two hours finishing J. R. Ward The Angel’s Share. Not one interruption. Suh-weet.

When I become a writer, paranormal romance was a natural genre for me to write. Developing a career as a writer brought me to contests. Entering a hundred million contests brought me to judging. I signed up to judge the RITA (the Oscars of romance books). When that package of books dropped on my doorstep one cold January day, it was like Christmas came back for seconds.

I’m a judging addict. I don’t care what contest, I’m signing up to judge it. Aside from helping me become a better writer by determining what works and what doesn’t and why, it exposes me to other romance sub-genres. I got a regency romance in my last RITA packet and I fell so hard for it, then had to rush out and find the first two in the series. There was also a contemporary romance that I probably would’ve passed over because I’m not often diving into contemporary that doesn’t have super soldiers or rugged cowboys. It was so good! And a really late night because I had to finish it!

My romance reading evolution seems to be expanding what I read, which is pure awesome because I’ll find even more happy-ever-afters!

Book Title: Ancient Ties
Author Name: Marie Johnston

Name of series and book number in series: Book 2, Pale Moonlight

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Blurb/Book Description:

Born to be Guardians…

Chayton Eagle comes from a strong line of wolf shifters, his father an ancient in their pack. Chayton proudly acts as a Guardian, defending the colonies from danger –both from outsiders and from threats inside the pack. The one thing he doesn’t need is a human-raised female on his team—especially not one who passes out each time she shifts! Never mind that she was trained by elite Guardians, Chayton doesn’t need the distraction of a tall, willowy, sexy-as-hell redhead when he’s working. He has to focus. And he has to remember he’s scheduled to take the blood oath with a female, a long-ago pairing, arranged by her parents. It doesn’t matter he and Kaitlyn are fated mates.

She can’t be his. Not now. Not ever.

Destined to be Mates.

Kaitlyn Savoy knows Chayton is supposed to be her mate. Too bad he’s such an ass about her human upbringing making her weak. Too bad she’s been assigned as his partner to take down the feral shifters threatening one of the colonies. Too bad she’s so damn attracted to him. As the mission continues, Chayton is captured by the ferals, and Kaitlyn proves her worth as a Guardian. During the rescue, she uncovers the secrets of her past, secrets that will affect her future. Despite his best efforts, Chayton’s opinion of her begins to change, his respect growing—along with feelings he can’t deny. She’s become part of his life, part of his heart. A fact his soon-to-be inlaws notice—and they intend to put an end to the temptation Kaitlyn poses to Chayton.

No matter what.

Short Excerpt:

Chayton stormed to his cabin.

A four-hour drive. With Kaitlyn.

Spending the night. With Kaitlyn.

Roaming the woods. With Kaitlyn.

His heart pounded, his nostrils flared, and he huffed like a bear after a marathon. Slamming his front door open, he charged through and kicked it shut behind him.

Only then did he double over, hands on his knees, sagging to catch his breath.

Kaitlyn Savoy.

The sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

The shifter he was never supposed to meet. His mate.

And she was oblivious to it.

He stomped through his cabin. Her lack of mating insight was for the best. If he had his pick of shifters, she’d be the last on the list. Besides, he was promised to another. Kaitlyn was young yet, and based on her blasé-to-distasteful reaction to him, she’d have no trouble moving on. Or not. Her sanity may last longer than most who don’t anchor their souls with a mate. But if she needed to bond, she wouldn’t have a problem finding someone. Like that bartender at Pale Moonlight.

His fangs bared and a growl escaped before he stopped himself. Chayton had never caught her with him, but stories had it the bartender helped her assuage the physical needs experienced by shifters of their caliber. She hadn’t been with the guy in the months Chayton had been around. That decision had increased the bartender’s life expectancy considerably.

No. No. It shouldn’t matter. She would find someone to mate with and he had no say with whom. Chayton straightened and wiped his brow dotted with sweat. It was always an effort to contain his reaction around that female.

Why her?

Ancient blood—pure, undiluted shifter blood—ran through his veins, thanks to his father. His Sioux mother would roll over in her grave. Chayton’s bloodlines were rich with history and honor.

The female he’d sworn himself to, Tika, would make a lovely mate instead. Soft brown eyes, feminine curves, and ancestry as strong as his. In fact, she was coming of age soon. For him, that was twenty-five. Her parents had pushed for their union when she turned eighteen, but that had seemed too pervy for him. At two hundred twenty-nine, he wasn’t about to jump a girl the second she was legal. If it was up to him, he’d wait even longer, but even Tika had pushed for their binding.

His stomach rumbled, alerting him that he’d missed dinner. Not that he’d eat at the main lodge anyway; it was a tactic he used to avoid Kaitlyn.

Purchase Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Ancient-Ties-Moonlight-Shifters-Romance-ebook/dp/B01MFEATE2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1481421528&sr=8-1&keywords=ancient+ties+marie+johnston

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ancient-ties-marie-johnston/1125059988?ean=2940153813769

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/ancient-ties-1

Author Bio:

Marie Johnston lives in the upper-Midwest with her husband, four kids, and an old cat. Deciding to trade in her lab coat for a laptop, she’s writing down all the tales she’s been making up in her head for years. An avid reader of paranormal romance, these are the stories hanging out and waiting to be told, between the demands of work, home, and the endless chauffeuring that comes with children.

Author web links:

Website http://www.mariejohnstonwriter.com/

Blog http://www.mariejohnstonwriter.com/blog

Twitter https://twitter.com/mjohnstonwriter

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/mjohnstonwriter/

Guest Jenna Barwin @jennabarwin

Please welcome our guest Jenna Barwin.

Happily Ever After and Then Some

One piece of advice writers are often given is to write the book you want to read.

I enjoy reading urban fantasy, paranormal romance and mystery novels. I’m also an avowed fan of “same couple series.” You know, a series of novels following the same couple from their first hot glimpse of each other, all the way through to their marriage and beyond. As a reader, once I’ve fallen in love with a couple, I want more of them.

Faye Kellerman did a great job reeling me in with the Peter Decker/Rina Lazarus mystery series. Peter Decker is a police detective and his Orthodox Jewish wife Rina assists him in solving crimes. They have their ups and downs, but I fell in love with them when they fell in love with each other. I happily followed them through their engagement, marriage, kids and ultimately, into retirement.

In the world of urban fantasy and paranormal romance, I swoon over Jeaniene Frost’s Cat and Bones books. She kept the sizzle going through seven books, along with writing very satisfying adventures for her pair. To keep me entertained, the adventure or mystery has to be as strong as the romance, and Jeaniene Frost delivers on both.

Well, I listened to the old advice to write what I wanted to read. I wrote Dark Wine at Midnight as a paranormal romance series about the same couple, Cerissa and Henry, following them through the various stages of their relationship, with a strong urban fantasy mystery to drive the romance.

Here is a little blurb tease of Dark Wine at Midnight. The book should be available on Amazon by April 2017. The excerpt below the blurb is a taste of the first time our couple lock eyes. Enjoy!

Blurb

Orders from the Lux can’t be ignored—a fact Dr. Cerissa Patel truly loathes.

She doesn’t want to be a vampire’s envoy and she doesn’t want to spy on the vampires she’s supposed to help. But with the fate of humanity on the line, what choice does she have?

Thanks to an assassination attempt against one of their residents, the vampires of Sierra Escondida are suspicious of her arrival and don’t want her in their small town.

Worse, she must ignore her growing attraction to Henry Bautista, a vampire winemaker with eyes the color of dark bourbon and just as intoxicating—who’s hiding his own deep secrets.

With everyone watching her—including the darkly handsome Henry—how is she supposed to ferret out who’s behind the vampire movement determined to turn mortals into one big cattle ranch?

Excerpt

[Scene set up: Cerissa arrives in Sierra Escondida on the night the resident vampires and their mortal mates are holding a formal dance. She is escorted into the dance by Zeke, who had been on guard duty at the door.]

The sudden touch of Zeke’s hand on her arm startled her. Cerissa jumped slightly. She glanced up at him and he smiled, pointing the way with a tilt of his head. Relax. He only wants to guide you through the crowded ballroom. Yet the way he held her arm carried a “she’s with me” message, as if daring others to challenge him for the privilege. Many of the male vampires, and some of the females, were tracking her every move.

She locked eyes with a dangerous-looking vampire who’d glanced her way. His eyes beckoned to her while his lips played the straight man. She felt a jolt of attraction deep in her solar plexus, the electric buzz traveling south to tickle her root chakra.

Whoa, who is that? She didn’t recognize him—another missing dossier. Her vision narrowed until all she saw was him. He sported a long black ponytail and had skin the color of dark caramel. Did he come from Latino origins? He looked terribly handsome in the tuxedo he wore.

His eyes started to blacken, drawing her in like iron ore to a magnet. She pulled hers away and then glanced back as she passed closer to him.

Oh yeah, those eyes. Fully black now, his eyes dared her to dance for him, dared her to strip for him, dared her to trip him and fall to the floor with him.

Not good. Her cousin had warned her years ago, if you spot a guy and feel that jolt of lust, run the other way. Nothing good could come of it. She walked right past the ponytailed vampire and shook her head to clear it. Remember what you told the Zeke. You’re here on business.

When she reached the mayor’s table, Zeke pulled out a chair for her and asked, “Would you like some wine?”

“A glass of cabernet would be nice. Thank you.” Sierra Escondida was known for its cabs; she couldn’t go wrong ordering it. She snuck a quick look in the direction of the ponytailed vampire, but his back was towards her now. Nice shoulders. The tuxedo jacket nipped in at his waist, fitting him perfectly.

Zeke walked off to the bar and a full-figured woman with a determined stride brushed past him. “Winston, what’s so important you’ve dragged me off the dance floor?”

Oh well, back to business.

Interested? To receive an email alert when Dark Wine at Midnight is published, click here https://jennabarwin.com/jenna-barwins-newsletter/ and sign-up for Jenna Barwin’s newsletter.

Or find Jenna here:

Website: https://jennabarwin.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jennabarwin/

Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/JennaBarwin

Bio

If only one word could be used to describe Jenna Barwin, that word would be “eclectic.” Her careers have ranged from performing magic with a circus to editing video for a local news show, and she brings those varied experiences to her writing. She’s had the writing bug her entire life, but her desire to finish a novel finally caught fire a few years ago. Coming out this spring, Dark Wine at Midnight is her first urban fantasy/paranormal romance.