Setting #Goals -- a post by mama virg

I used to post all of it on the blog, but in recent years I've gone far more private with a lot of my goals.

When I started, I did it for accountability--if I'd published online that I was going to do something, I was more likely to hold myself to the goals I'd set.

But then I became more involved in social media. Some folks were fantastic, really supportive and encouraging. They'd say they believed in me, rah-rah, that sort of thing.

Some folks? They attack you for being transparent. Whether they call the posts bragging or if they flat out say you can't do it, they're there to encourage that little voice in the back of your mind which told you that you couldn't do The Thing.

I say The Thing because it doesn't matter what goal you've set, they're out there to either accidentally or purposefully undermine what you're doing. Are you all about losing some weight this year?

"God, don't tell me about your salad or the fact you've managed a mile in under ten minutes!"

Sure, you may have just accomplished something really, really major (perhaps you were addicted to soda or couldn't walk the block without wheezing a few months prior to posting your update), they are there to tell you to stuff it.

This goes with writing, too, although it has always been mind boggling to me when other writers attack their own kind with cannibalistic glee. We're all out there, sitting alone with blank screens and minds full of doubts, trying hard to do something we've dreamed of. Why, when you know how hard it is to juggle life and storytelling, would you tear anyone else down? Can that actually make anyone, whether you're the poster or the one reading it, feel better about themselves?

Eh, well, it happens and it happens to everyone is my point there. It isn't always trolls, either. More often than not, the naysayers in the world are people we actually know--our family, our friends, our spouses. If they can't see where you're aiming or understand how you're planning to get there from here, they're as likely to accidentally shred dreams with their comments as strangers.

Even if they follow the statement with a jovial, "Oh, you know I'm only kidding!"

So, that said, I've been quieter about my personal goals. I've told some of them to my best friends. Some I've shared with my crit partners. But like a dragon guarding a treasure, I never gave anyone access to the whole dream. Almost like I thought if I only shared fragments with this person and other fragments with another...

No one could tell me I couldn't do it.
My point? Setting personal goals is important. Whether you share that goal with the world (joining something like NaNoWriMo where everyone can see that you're trying to write 50k in a month or joining a weight loss support group, for instance) or if you keep the nuggets spread out like me, the goal itself can drive you to more.

I told my kid the other day that he shouldn't worry what people think of him. Most people are far too concerned with the little voice in their own head--

The one saying, "Gah, I got coffee on my shirt. Now all anyone can see is the coffee stain...is there something in my teeth? God, I can't believe I just said that. I'm an idiot."

--to even bother worrying about all the things you're busy crucifying yourself for.

Because we all do that. We all fight the little voice in our heads. We wage a daily and constant war against the internal narrator, bury our insecurities with fake smiles, pretend we're okay when we're totally not...

I've said it before and I'll likely say it another thousand times--

If we spent our days working to bring up those around us, giving them hope, encouragement, and bringing light to the world in general, we probably still won't change the world. We likely won't even change our hometown.

But we can change the people around us, one smile at a time. If we make the people around us happier, we've changed OUR world, which is more than a lot of people ever manage.

Set goals. Nail them. Do a little butt wiggle and dance around your house with the joy of accomplishing The Thing, whatever your thing is.

Change your world instead of trying to change minds. You'll never change what the world thinks of you, but you can change how you look at it.

Sometimes all it takes to start is knowing one person believes in you.

xoxo
mama virg

How to train your writer

My best friend has excelled at this particular skill, so I figured a couple methods she's used in her hard work in training me might be useful to someone out there.

1. If you feed them, they will come.

Not an exact science, since a writer in their natural habitat won't leave their natural habitat (staring at the screen or paper), however if you feed your writer, they will make appearances. Like most wild animals, the writer must eventually eat. If you provide warm food--or even cold food, depending on the length of time since you've last seen your writer--the writer will (like a stray) come back for more. Sometimes, just shoving food in the general direction of your writer will be the most you can do, but if you wait patiently, they will again reemerge from the writing cave and seek out what they know is a good source for sustenance.

2. Let them babble.

Writing is a most solitary profession, so your writer likely spends hours if not days (and nights) with no other sound than the tap of their fingers and maybe their own voice if they pause and read things out loud. Other than, "Get down, cat!" your writer might not have spoken at all since the last time you've seen them. Although you yourself might have things to say, just let your writer babble for a bit to remove the words bursting as if from a dam just broken and they will eventually run out of steam. Allowing for this babble will mean that your writer will hear you when you speak, since the pressure from all the words unspoken has been relieved.

3. Sympathize.

Your writer is babbling about some author or publisher or editor? Now they're telling you all about this person who made them mad, only for you to realize a half an hour into the conversation that they're talking about a fictional character in either their story or one they've read? Just sympathize, even if you have no clue what they're babbling about. Sometimes, your writer isn't so much looking for you to follow all that they're saying, they're simply hoping for someone to sympathize since they can't talk to anyone in the business about these things.

4. Pet frequently.

Remember, your writer is an artist at their core, no matter how businesslike they might pretend to be. As an artist, this means their temperament leads to the favorable insofar as they're great people watchers and might understand you pretty well when most people only see the surface stuff.

Conversely, this same artistic temperament means your author is constantly battling monsters known as self-doubt, insecurities, and otherwise a general surety that they're a hack. If you pet your writer, perhaps even remind them that you loved that one thing they wrote that one time, it will give your writer the steam to keep on keeping on, so to speak. One tiny nugget of belief is enough to fuel your writer for weeks, since they hoard any cheerleading comments like dragons guarding gold. When your author goes out into the world to deal with trolls, negative reviews, rejections and revisions, your breadcrumb of belief is the stuff that keeps them from turning in the writing hat and planting a nice garden instead.

5. Don't take their hermit ways personally.

Your writer can't be a writer if they're not writing. This means, sometimes? They're literally not present. They're home or in the office and writing away and it isn't that they've decided not to hang out with you...

They're not there at all. They're off slaying a dragon or otherwise living the lives of the character. They've probably not showered or eaten or even slept. So it isn't a rejection of you...they've forgotten themselves, too. It isn't personal. They do love you, but they're working. Once in a while, it is totally okay to steal your writer away from their work, since they likely won't remember to do it themselves, and will also likely thank you for the much needed break they didn't realize they required. Expect hugs and sometimes tears for this kind of rescue, but don't think it means they won't again be eaten alive by the next story or chapter.

6. Prepare to be immortalized.

Your writer will love you and cherish you so much that they'll likely give you immortality on the page. That one time you gave them a hug when they were crying? In a book. Your writer might sometimes burst into tears over fictional people or stare into space with a vague look on their face...while not remembering what you asked them to get at the store...but your writer still loves you, so you will live forever in the words they string together into stories.

"So, why do you write romance, Virg?"

I got that question again, uttered in exactly the selfsame apologetic tone I've heard it asked in hundred times before. Sometimes I've been asked in an academic setting. I can hear all the accompanying words, since I've heard them before, too, even without asking for clarification.

"But you're actually very intelligent, Virginia. I mean, you could write something else, something really meaningful." Once, even, although I'm paraphrasing (but awful close to a direct quote), "You're wasting your talent, surely you can see that! You have a gift and you're using it to write trash. Doesn't that make you sick to your stomach? Aren't you ashamed?"

Jayden Neverfails, if you read that last bit, yeah...I still remember your words and they still *&^$ing hurt, thank you very much. Because you and everyone else that asks doesn't understand and can't, not really. I could use a thousand words and never make it make sense to you. But I can try...

I've heard the question in less academic settings, where the person is just mildly curious. After all, I could write a nice horror novel. Spatter some blood about. I have a gruesome enough imagination and the correct level of general cynicism--surely I could devote my use of the craft that direction instead of 'dithering away' in the romance genre.

I can admit, rather freely, regardless of the intent of the person asking me why I write romance, that it is bloody unlikely I'll ever truly give up doing it. Not for however long there are stories inside me, anyway. A lot of things combine to drive me to write these books.

For one, I love fairy tales. In real life, I've never found that kind of epic love. I've never been the woman to inspire single-minded devotion and an overwhelming need to never leave my side in a partner. Some have walked beside me for a time, some have stuck around and become friends, but the kind of love I write about? Yeah, I am not one of those romance novelists, enchanted by her real-life hero, who pens stories with that lover at the root of every hea she crafts. Me? I write the stories of what I think love should be like and I don't know that I think they're all entirely possible, even if I made it so on paper.

But I do feel one thing very, very strongly.

Romance novels are magic.

Why? Why, after only seconds ago admitting I'm not sure if it is possible to love like that in the real world, do I claim the stories are magic?

Because I've been surrounded by darkness, overwhelming hopeless and weighted dark. Scary, bad things have happened to me, situations I couldn't get out of or forget. I've been hit by deaths of loved ones that left me mired in overwhelming grief and sadness and not sure how I'd face a morning without my loved one in it.

I've been surrounded by sickness. I've been so not well, I wasn't even for a second wondering how I'd draw my next breath. Instead, I've been to the point where you're pretty sure you won't draw that next breath at all. When part of you just stills... and says with quiet acceptance, "Ah, so this is how I'm going to die."

I've been weighted by impossible realities. Bills too large to ever get paid, unsure where me and my family would sleep that night, unsure where I'd manage to find our next meal, unsure of abso-f*&%ing-lutely everything--other than feeling scared to death and not nearly a good enough person to make it past that point.

I've walked the midnight vigil only another parent would understand. That horrible lo-o-ong night when your child is gravely ill and you've spent all your tears and prayers and begging to whatever gods might be listening for that child to just make it through the darkness and see another sunrise. I've wheedled and bargained and made deals I could never hope to fulfill, been sure that nothing and no one heard my desperate cries...and yet there are still hours of hopeless night remaining where you just pace the floor (or the garden outside Rainbow Babies and Children Hospital, as the case may be) feeling entirely alone and inept.

In those times of darkness, depression, self-doubt and sometimes even abject hatred of myself, there has been one truth that always remained.

I could open a book and become someone else when the weight of my life was too great to carry.

I could fall into a story, become someone else--if even just for the duration of a chapter--and cry about something else. I could fall in love, even if I never quite managed it in real life with any sort of success, and the hero would love me back. I could laugh and be mad and feel a thousand different things, but by the end of the book...

There would be a happy ever after.

While reading those fictional happy ever afters, I can half believe in my own against all logical odds. I can hope that there is a reason for the dark times, that they might one day lead to ones that are brighter.

Sometimes hope is the one thing we're denied in the real world, but it shines so bright in the stories.

And that is why I write the books I write. Because somewhere, some day--maybe even today--some other person is lost in the darkness and isn't sure how they'll make it to morning. Maybe they're in a hospital bed, cradling a smart phone with an amazon app in their hand, facing unbeatable health odds, and maybe one of my stories is how they make it through their seemingly endless night. Maybe I can make them smile, even while their personal hell is bigger than any I've personally faced.

Maybe there is another mother, just like me, out there alone. Maybe she's so much like me that no one else is at that hospital with her...she's feeling young and inept and completely not good enough to fight for the precious life laying in a bed, but she'll be damned before she'll walk away. Maybe others walked away from her, left her alone in that battle, but she's not going to walk away. If I can give her  a measure of solace or even a moment of respite from the fears clogging her throat...

Then I'll keep telling these stories.

It is entirely possible none of that will ever happen. Maybe every time any of my stories are read, they're just a couple of hours of fluff and kinky sex, easily forgotten once the reader gets to The End. I know in the past (Dom of the Dead, for example, triggered A LOT of reader emails and messages suggesting others dealing with grief understood my need to bring that lost person back to life, if only on the page, and their words meant the world to me...) some of my stories have mattered to a few, and that is enough.

Even if I never manage to be the light again, I am happy that my words have been the light for someone else. Authors have written hundreds of books which were my lights, so if I've done that for even one reader?

Then my work is important.

It isn't a 'waste', because how can adding to the light in such a dark and pain-filled world ever be considered a waste?

Anyway, with less rambling--THAT is why I write romance. That is why this genre, these stories, this use of my life...because I've needed books like this. If I've needed them, others need them too. Maybe they won't find my book when they need that escape, and that is okay, because I'm not the only one writing these stories.

There are hundreds of us, thousands maybe. We're all sitting in the darkness (or light, if you're a morning writer) and putting word after word on the screen or paper
.  

We're a literal army of voices, rising up and chanting the most important words in the entirety of human experience.

• There is hope. 
• Everyone deserves love. 
• You can make it through this. 
• You are not alone.

There are other important words besides those ones. You'll hear the ones you need to hear in whichever book you're reading...because of that army of writers, all scrabbling to find new ways to scream into the dark and battle it back, even if only for a little while.

That is why I write romance. It makes me part of the battalion against hopelessness.

That is why I taught my children to read. I knew if I taught them nothing else, reading offered a key into a thousand other worlds. Reading would unlock the door to their souls and show them they weren't alone when I couldn't be there to remind them.

That is why this genre. Because even if I don't know how to make a love last in my life, I can create hope. Sometimes that is more powerful than real arms, anyway.

Eh, I guess this is a bit of a dark post. But as I watched the sun rise this morning and battled my personal demons, I remembered why I do this. When I get asked? Sometimes I just blink back tears of frustration or shake my head because no short answer says what I mean, not really. Often, I'll laugh and give some snarky answer.

"Why not spend my life writing about nipples?"
or

"Because kilts,duh."

When I actually mean something more like all of this...all this rambling truth. It might not be everyone's truth, but it is mine.

Just like everyone else, though, I often don't have the words to say what I mean. Feelings are bigger than words, which is why it takes a whole book to fit them.

Happy writing and reading and thanks for listening to an old lady babble.
xoxo
virg

Write It Now! (A Writer's Parody of Let It Go!)

So, uh...

Sometimes I write parodies for songs for writers. For instance, I've done:
Jingle Bells (Writing Sells)
Sexy and I Know It (Writer and I know it)
We Are Young (We Are Writing)
12 Days of Christmas (12 Days of Writing)

But I haven't done one for quite some time. If there are other songs you'd like me to parody, lemme know in the comments section below and I'll try to get to them asap.

In the meantime, my son (like, uh, everyone's kids) had a big Frozen phase and that song played and played and played and... So here is my parody of Frozen's "Let It Go."


It is called,  

"Write it Now"

The cursor glows white in my word file tonight
Not a sentence to be seen
An office of isolation,
And it looks like I'm not Stephen King.

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside
Couldn't write a word, heaven knows I tried!

Can’t think of plot, can’t think of scenes
Write the stories like you’ve always dreamed
Reveal, don't feel, don't ever slow
Don’t tell, just show!

Write it now, write it now!
Can't hold it back anymore
Write it now, write a book
And then you can publish for Nook!

I don't care
What reviewers say
Let the storm rage on,
It could be a bestseller anyway.

It's funny how some grammar
Makes everything seem wrong
And the characters who wouldn’t shut up before
Won’t say a peep at all!

It's time to see what I can do
To test the limits and break through
No right, no wrong, no rules for me, I'm free!

Write it now, write it now!
I am one with the keyboard and screen.
Write it now, write it now!
You'll never see me cry!

Here I sit
And here I'll stay
Let the plot rage on!

My story scurries from my fingers to the file
My soul is spiraling in run on sentences all around
And one thought crystallizes like an epic task
I'm never going back,
Page one is in the past!

Write it now, write it now!
And I'll write till the break of dawn
Write it now, write it now!
That panicked girl is gone!

Here I sit
Until the light of day
Let the story rage on,
The critics never bothered me anyway! 

heehee...so, yeah. That happened. Happy Writing!

On #CoverArt - Putting a face to Janie from the Odd Series

This is kind of another peek under the hood kind of post, this time about covers instead of word counts.

Since I am self pubbing the Odd Series, I had the great pleasure to control the cover art. We discussed, AT LENGTH, all kinds of cool things we could put on the cover (since this series is chock full of things that would look pretty darn awesome on a cover--and coincidentally I have an artist on hand who could have drawn me up some really awesome stuff), but finally I decided that I'd settle on ONE model, a Janie looking one.

That part decided, I really wanted her transformation over the series to show on the book covers. The actual model? I couldn't change her since she was a stock image I bought usage of from Shutterstock.
 
Sooo...

For the first book, I chose a pic that looks really human. She is pretty, sure, but she has some flaws. Some wrinkles around her eyes, some veins showing in her eyeballs, her eyes are a pretty normal hazel.

Just like Janie at the start of Odd Stuff, she looks human.

Here is the original pic of the model side-by-side with the cover I put together.

As I said, though, I couldn't change the model herself, but Janie changes. As the series goes on, she gets a bit less human, recognizing things about herself that she'd basically been in denial about. With that knowledge, her powers go darker. Her eyes become just a smidge less human looking, her skin the pearly white of the siren and she's less able to hide what is inside with illusions outside...

That said, for book two I modified the model just a bit. Most won't even notice the darker eyes, the paler skin, the removal of 'flaws' or humanity, however Janie is indeed darker and more set in her power base.

 

By the end of the trilogy? Janie is feeding regularly and from a FONT of power. She's given into the darkness, even if she still hates herself for it, and longs for the humanity she 'gave up' along the way. Her eyes, to reflect this, are the black of her hunger. Her skin is the pearly color of the siren, a creature of the sea. Her hair? Gone entirely silver. Her battle in this book is as much against the bad guys as herself, so I darkened a lot of things to show this--including the lipstick on my stock model.
All 'flaws', though are gone--she doesn't even have veins in her eyes any more, they almost glow instead. We're left with full-power Janie.

And she's hungry, hence the full-black eyes gone to dilated pupils.

Most readers won't even notice these changes, but I put on the covers as a bit of an easter egg for the ones who read the books.

Here's hungry siren Janie.

Below you can see the full transformation to learning to be what she always has been without shame.

Also intentional in these images is the direction the model is looking. Of course I couldn't control that, but I chose images of her specifically because which way her eyes were pointed.

The first Janie? Looking to the side, almost sly or coy. She's not able to meet the reader's eye because she's living a lie. 

By the second book, she's not munching candy since her hungers for other things are growing a bit...but she's getting a smidge closer to looking toward you.

By book three? Janie is finally able to meet your eyes, even if she is a monster. She knows what she is, she owns it, and maybe even learns to love herself...something we all have to learn to do and, like Janie, maybe struggle with over the years.

So, that's the story behind the covers. If you have any questions, feel free to toss them in the comments section below. I'm happy to answer, even if Blogger won't let me post comments (and I don't know WHY, but it has been going on for a year), I'll be happy to try to answer them in another post or on facebook or twitter.

Happy Writing!
xoxox
virg

Oh, and for those interested (because I forgot to make it easy for you) here are links and such for the books.

Odd Stuff, Odd Series Book 1

Print | ebook

Odd Melody, Odd Series Book 2

(Now available for preorder, releases 8/25)

Print | Ebook

Odd Fate, Odd Series Book 3

Coming Soon

To Delete or Not to Delete, that is the question...

NaNoWriMo is in full swing. Writers are huddled over their laptops, scrabbling to hit their daily goals, which makes this post timely.

Don't Do Eeeet!!

There comes a day in every writer's world when everything they've ever written looks like a steaming pile of camel dung. When the writer gazes upon this monstrosity, this absolute insult to the English language and slap in the face of all literary genius, they must do the logical thing. Delete. Crumple and toss. Shred. Burn the words, eliminate them from existence, retire the writing cap and start a nice vegetable garden.

Instead, I'd like to offer a viable and word saving alternative.

Walk. Away.

No, don't walk, run. Close the word doc, step away from the laptop or desktop or Moleskin notebook and do your laundry. Go for a walk. Go watch a movie. Read a book.

Anything but deleting all that you've written.

Stephen King started writing Carrie, hated the girl and hated the story, tossed it in the garbage and his wife salvaged it and said, "Moar."

Well, not in those words, but I'm sure it was something like that.

Anyway, he talks about that in On Writing and mentions that his first great book, the one that changed the course of horror writing forever, started out as something he tossed in the garbage.

I can't begin to tell you how many of my stories I started writing, stopped and hated, closed...and went back to later and wrote.

Hating your work is okay.

Yesterday was one of those days for me. They happen. I have gotten to the point that I recognize when I'm wriggling in loathing and I don't write. I market, I blog, I make a meatloaf, whatever...but once I've gotten into that swing, I don't write.

When I DO mass deletions (sometimes they happen. Sometimes you really DID write garbage or that scene CAN'T go in the book...this is a reality.), I stick it in a word doc called :

(Title Of Book)_Deleted

Just in case because, sometimes, I need those words later. If I don't, swell! I deleted correctly and those words are garbage. Or maybe those words are a 'secret scene' that ends up a blog post someday. Or maybe those words will only live on the harddrive of my laptop until some autobiographer drives his hover car to my house in the year 2187 to research me. Who knows? But I don't ever just DELETE them. I might need them later.

Since we're mid NaNoWriMo and everyone is bent on hitting word count goals, I figured it was a good time to mention this. Some days, you shouldn't write. Some days the best contribution you can give literature is the deletion of words and others it's the ability to NOT write or delete. And that's okay.

There is always tomorrow.

Happy Writing! (not deleting!)

6/18 Blurb Blitz – Attack of the Car(r)i(e)s!

From Carrie Ann: Thank you for stopping by to watch Cari Quinn and I go crazy. Well, maybe not crazy, but a little quirky never hurt anyone. When we realized we both had a release on the same day, it was only natural that we showed you guys what it meant to be a Car(r)i(e). I do hope you get a chance to check out our newest editions!

From Cari: Thanks so much for hosting me and the fabulous Carrie Ann Ryan. I love that girl and I’m so excited to read her Redwood Pack series! If only I could read as fast as she writes! J

Shattered Emotions Blurb:

Maddox Jamenson is the Omega of the Redwood Pack, the one burdened by emotions stronger than his own. He's spent his entire life shrouded in the secrets of his "gift" and the price he has to pay to keep it, yet the cost just escalated. He's known a mate could be in the cards for him, but he can't have what he wants. Not when the battles he has yet to fight could destroy her.

Ellie Reyes was the Central's princess, the daughter of the most hated Alpha of all time, yet not prized. No, she's spent her life as the toy of her brother's sadistic torture and has endured a pain that no one else should have to even contemplate. Though when she's rescued, the one person who could help her, her mate, turns his back on her for reasons unknown to her. As each day passes, the strength that everyone sees in her dwindles to a point that there may be no coming back from.

When the Centrals find a new way to attack, leaving Ellie's only protection a mate that she doesn’t think wants her, they’ll both have to overcome their fears and fight for something stronger than their pain.  The war isn't over and new players are coming that will decide the outcome. Maddox and Ellie's connection will be tested even as their fragile bond is only newly forming.

Buy Links:

Amazon | B&N | ARe | Kobo | iTunes

Author Bio

Carrie Ann Ryan is a bestselling paranormal and contemporary romance author. After spending too much time behind a lab bench, she decided to dive into the romance world and find her werewolf mate – even if it’s just in her books. Happy endings are always near – even if you have to get over the challenges of falling in love first.

Carrie Ann’s Redwood Pack series is a bestselling series that has made the shifter world even more real to her and has allowed the Dante’s Circle and Holiday, Montana series to be born. She’s also an avid reader and lover of romance and fiction novels. She loves meeting new authors and new worlds. Any recommendations you have are appreciated. Carrie Ann lives in New England with her husband and two kittens. http://carrieannryan.com/

Excerpt

Ellie Reyes gripped Maddox’s hand as tight as she could. Yes, it was the first time he’d voluntary touched her since he’d picked her up out of the back of the Jeep when they’d first met, but, honestly, that wasn’t important now.

She’d think about the calloused hands of a hard worker—one who helped his Pack and brothers, not necessarily in his job—and how they would feel against her skin. She’d think about what it all meant later.

Maybe later she could even relish his touch and imagine the scents of wolf and forest washing over her.

Later.

Right now, all she wanted to do was hide in a corner so the others would stop staring at her. Or, she could raise her chin at them all and show them they couldn’t hurt her. Her wolf whimpered at the thought, not knowing if that were possible. She didn’t know if she was broken or strong anymore.

She’d been hurt far more than they could ever imagine. They had no idea what she could endure. Oh, they’d all guessed and given her their pitying looks, but they didn’t know.

They couldn’t know.

Dirty Distractions Blurb:

She wants a fling, and he wants forever…

Zoologist Sara Carmichael’s active social life is the envy of all her friends, but she has a secret. She’s bored senseless. If she has to go to one more bird sanctuary fundraiser with some guy who thinks his little sports car makes him “hip”, she'll scream.

Enter Brad O’Halloran, her best friend Kim’s much younger brother. A guy who’s picking up the pieces after a quickie marriage and even quicker divorce. A guy so hot he makes her body scream with frustration.

Until Sara’s apartment is renovated, they’re all living at Kim’s place. Despite her determination not to salivate at glimpses of Brad’s finer-than-fine body in nothing but a low-slung towel, flirtation escalates to the brink of something more.

Now one of them has to back down…or ante up for some good, dirty fun with the unspoken understanding that when the time comes, they’ll make a clean break. Neither anticipated they’d make the most complicated connection of all—love.

Warning: This book contains a hero who knows how to make engines— and women—purr, seduction while on cold meds, and a heroine who might be a little older but still enjoys learning a few naughty new tricks.

Buy Links:

Samhain Publishing | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iTunes | Kobo

Author Bio:

USA Today bestselling author Cari Quinn saves the world one Photoshop file at a time in her job as a graphic designer. At night, she writes sexy romance, drinks a lot of coffee, and plays her music way too loud. When she’s not scribbling furiously, she’s watching men’s college basketball, reading excellent books, and causing trouble. Sometimes simultaneously.

www.cariquinn.com

Smexy Excerpt:

Lips curving, Sara reached for her body wash and squirted a huge dollop into her palm. She set aside the bottle and rubbed the soap over her torso, her smile turning impish.

“Uh-oh. That smile scares me.”

She laughed and trailed bubbles over Brad’s chest, leaning forward to nip the corded muscles in his shoulders. He tensed, his pecs flexing under her meandering fingers.

“I want to watch you touch yourself.” She looked up at him under her lashes. “That’s not scary, is it?”

“No.” His throat rippled as he swallowed. “And I do aim to please.”

He didn’t hesitate to load up his hands with the body wash she even now worked into his ropey upper arms. This was a man for whom life itself was a workout. She would bet he didn’t even have a gym membership. He just worked and played hard.

And she had a feeling he had sex the same way. God, she couldn’t wait to find out.

They soaped each other for a couple minutes, the only sounds the rushing water and their increasingly heavy breathing. Without a word, he reached down and gripped his cock. When he began to move up and down in short strokes, her breath caught. So hot. She’d seen men do that in adult movies but never in reality. Never right in front of her.

His arm muscles flexed as the first fat drop of precome seeped down his shaft before being washed away. He sped up, working himself hard. Noting his firm hold, she bit her lip. Maybe she’d been too careful when touching prior lovers. Not that she’d gotten any complaints, but the harsh pumps of his hand gave her pause. They also provoked a low moan.

The sexiest part of this? His low-lidded, burning blue eyes were focused on her. Right now she was the fuel for his fantasies. Knowing that brought a fresh rush of moisture between her thighs.

Riveted, she cupped her own breasts, hardly aware of what she was doing. But then she sneezed again, and he choked out a laugh. “I’m going to get an erection every time I hear you sneeze from now on. You know that, right?”

Instead of responding in kind, she stared at his hand, now moving slower than before, and unwittingly pinched her nipples. The pinch twanged in her lower belly, swift and sharp.

“Damn, baby, that’s beautiful.” Reverence filled his tone.

She splashed a little water on them to wash off the last of the body wash. After she turned off the tap, she stepped closer and gazed deep into his eyes. What she saw there made her heart flutter and her core clench. “Tell me what you imagine when you’re doing this alone.”

“I usually pretend you’re riding me. Your hair loose, your breasts bouncing. I knew they’d be like this.” He molded her flesh, his tanned fingertips against her pale skin an incredible turn-on. “Not too big. Not too small. And your nipples…they’re the same cinnamon brown I always pictured. Almost as pretty as those light brown eyes of yours.”

That his attention returned to her face as he spoke inflamed every dormant nerve inside her body. He captured her lips, tormenting her with light, teasing kisses that made her want to grab his arms and drag him against her. But she reached for his cock instead, desperate to learn how he would feel in her hand.

In her mouth. Inside her. Everywhere.

She shuddered, and he palmed her cheek. “Let’s go in the bedroom.” Each subtle throb of his thick, velvety flesh told her how much his own monologue had affected him. “It’s too cold in here, and you’re all wet.”

“That won’t improve if we go in the bedroom.”

His rich, appreciative laughter wound around her while he nudged her out of the shower and bundled her into one of her thick, Egyptian cotton towels. He folded another around her hair and led her into her room, then tugged her onto the bed. When he started to pull her on top of him, she put up a fight, enjoying the fierce flare of arousal on his face as he finally pinned her beneath him.

“Like it rough, hmm?”

“Maybe.” She blew an escaped strand of damp hair out of her eyes. “But it was more that. I had an ulterior motive. I wanted you just like this.”

He arched a brow. “That so?”

“Oh yeah.” Watching his face, Sara stroked the delicious erection flush against her belly. Then she licked her palm and slickened his length, repeating the move until his cock glistened. “Because you’re not finished.”

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