COVER REVEAL

I don't know when Blind Passion will be released but I have the cover to console me until I find out. And now you do too!

 

Yes, my hero is hot and Latin.

Me and Magic Mike

Let me start at the beginning. Flashback to my 21^st birthday. Some friends were going to take me out to an all-male dance revue for the big day, but I got sick. Really sick. Too sick to try and look pretty. Too sick to let naked men snatch dollar bills from between my teeth or boobs.

It wasn’t until years later I got the opportunity to witness a Chippendale-esque (it’s my blog and I can make up words and butcher the spelling of those words) show. I had mixed feelings about attending the performance because I have mixed feelings about female strippers being objectified and disrespected by wolf-whistling guys denigrating them by tossing dollar bills. But I thought the show would be good inspiration or experience for my writing. I hung way in the back and found the spectacle to be amusing, if not inspiring.

Flash forward to Magic Mike. I went to see it with a girlfriend, the way it was meant to be seen. I’m not a huge Channing Tatum fan. I did enjoy watching the dancing and could have stood to see more (had a disagreement with a co-worker about whether he had a dance double). I liked his sense of humor. I wasn’t into The Kid, as they called him or any of the other male dancers except Big Dick Richie. I love Joe Manganiello of Trueblood fame. And I developed a girl crush on Olivia Munn (The Newsroom). She is so pretty, smart, funny and she had amazing chemistry with Tatum. Why she wasn’t the lead female character is a mystery. The part of Joanna was actually meatier, but should not have outshone Brooke, the female love interest (played by Cody Horn, whoever she is) of Tatum. But Olivia Munn did shine bright, stealing the spotlight just like she steals every scene on The Newsroom.

In the end, I was a little disappointed. Better stripping movies might be Dancing at the Blue Iguana, The Full Monty and Flashdance. What do you think? About Channing doing his own dancing, about Olivia being the female lead, anything about Joe?

Nine Naughty Novelists: Guest Blogger Kelli Scott - Reality Check

Nine Naughty Novelists: Guest Blogger Kelli Scott - Reality Check: I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know when I say my biggest sex organ is my big fat brain. I’m willing to bet yours is too...Come on over and read the entire blog. Leave me a comment.

A Taste to Wet Your...Er...Appetite

And the release date is *drum roll, please* September 28. Here's an excerpt.

Jennifer sat at the vanity in front of the mirror and skimmed her fingers along the length of the raised scar on her cheek. For a second she was transported from her hotel room, back in time to a dark night and a rain-slicked road. The metallic taste of blood, the smell of smoke and gasoline and fear flooded her senses as if the accident had happened minutes ago instead of months before. She felt the warm, thick blood drip into her eyes, blurring the chaos around her, the same as she had felt it that night. Tires squealed and people screamed. Sirens echoed in her mind, too far away to offer any comfort whatsoever. Coming to her senses, she whispered, “I can’t do it.” Jennifer snatched her hand away from the ghastly scar as if the gash burned her fingertips. The long curl of dark hair flopped back into place to hide the jagged mar across her otherwise perfect features. “I can’t go through with it.” “You can,” said her sister Marlene, the practical and rational voice of reason. “And you will.” She also leaned toward being bossy. Taking after their father’s side of the family tree, Marlene had come to grips with her plain appearance long ago, actually embracing her ordinary looks. Instead of dabbling in the finer points of makeup application like Jennifer, Marlene focused on her education and interpersonal skills, sort of how a blind man develops a heightened sense of smell and hearing. Not that their father wasn’t an attractive man. The handsome features and large bone structure simply didn’t translate as well on the face and body of a woman. What Marlene lacked in striking beauty she made up for by being chatty and opinionated and amusing. Also like Dad. Jennifer took after their mother, a beauty icon in their circle of friends. Fashion forward. A lover of fine footwear and trendy eateries. Jennifer was like the Macgyver of accessorizing. Give her a couple of hair pins, a silk scarf and a skinny belt and she’d give you glamour. Finger-combing the curl of hair for maximum coverage, Jennifer asked, “What if people are horrified?” “Then they’re dirt bags who aren’t worth your time or a second thought,” Marlene replied with a wave of her hand. Jennifer snorted a laugh. Easy for you to say. Jennifer’s fingers glided over the embossed invitation to the Forty-seventh Annual Volunteer Appreciation Masquerade Ball. A yearly excuse for adults to dress in costume, drink to excess and pat each other on the back for their charitable endeavors. She’d been attending all her adult life. Her mother too. Her Grandmother before that. Goodwin gals came from a long line of volunteers. Each year the celebration grew bigger, the decorations more elaborate, the invitations more expensive. Why was a pressed invitation with gilded lettering a beautiful thing and her raised scar triggered double-takes and gasps? It wasn’t fair. On a man a scar added character. Intrigue. Danger. On a woman, it overshadowed all else. “I can’t take one more sympathetic comment or pitying look,” Jennifer said, her voice cracking with emotion. Suck it up. Be strong. “I dare anyone to be so stupid,” Marlene said. “My advice, Jenny—forget about the scar. If you do, everyone else will. Swear to God, I don’t even notice it anymore. Focus on having fun. If it makes it easier, leave the mask on. Get hammered. Be mysterious. Flirt with every hot guy. Get laid.” Get laid! Nothing could be further from her mind. She hadn’t flirted since way before she’d broken up with Gage, her Marine pen pal turned love interest. Her intention had been to brighten the life of one Marine in Afghanistan with care packages and cheery news from home. Soon she’d been in love with Gage. Yes, in love with a man she’d not yet met. They’d never said the word—love—but she’d felt it stronger than any force of man or nature. Jennifer had wanted to save her declaration for when she met him face to face. Shortly after the car accident, she’d broken his heart. Hers too. No explanation. She’d decided it was better that way. Marlene had pulled no punches at the time and had called her a moron. Jennifer turned to Marlene and couldn’t manage to stifle a burst of laughter. Her sister, dressed like Rhett Butler, mustache and all, cracked her up every time she laid eyes on her. It would never get old. Her husband was somewhere in the hotel dressed as Scarlett O’Hara, wearing a hoop skirt and a wig with corkscrew curls. “How do I look?” Jennifer asked. Wearing a white peasant blouse and a multi-colored flowing tiered skirt she’d made herself—no rental costume for her—Jennifer decided to embrace the mystical Gypsy deep inside and take her sister’s advice. Well, some of it, anyhow. She could get on board with being mysterious, drinking, flirting and possibly some fun. “Gorgeous,” Marlene said, twisting the upturned ends of her fake mustache. She handed Jennifer a colorful, glittery mask adorned with peacock feathers. Maybe it would be a magical night after all.

Blurbaliscious

I know I haven't stopped talking about my August Quickie release, Silk Stalkings and here I am pushing another book. My September release is Costume Ball. Here is the cover.

And here is the blurb.

Jennifer Goodwin is recovering from a traumatic car accident that has left her scarred, inside and out. Her sexy Marine pen pal haunts her dreams and has her heart racing, but she’s dumped him anyway, afraid of his pity. A costume ball gives her the chance to come out of her shell while hiding her face, and the hot sailor who approaches her tempts her to indulge in a night of forbidden passion.

Gage Brewer is on a mission, despite being on leave from the Marines. He’s determined to confront the woman who befriended him while he was deployed and find out why she left him. Once he’s claimed her body, maybe he can win back her heart.

Silk Stalkings - All Romance Ebooks

Silk Stalkings - All Romance Ebooks

 

We are for sale at All Romance Ebooks!

Tasty Teaser

Silk Stalkings excerpt!

 

The late model Miata in front of Diego Ramos crossed the centerline for the second time in the span of as many minutes before swerving into the left-hand turn lane without using a blinker.
 

Typical. Probably drunk, he thought. Diego had just come from towing a BMW to the city impound lot—the driver had been issued a DUI and hauled off to jail. It was a weeknight, but the owner of the BMW had stopped off after work for a nightcap that had turned into three or four. Maybe the driver of the little red sports car ahead of him had too.
 

Now I’ve seen everything. Or rather, despite his headlights cutting through the murky darkness, he could see nothing in the car ahead of him. Not even the driver’s head. Oh. There she is. He assumed she was a she because she drove a total chick car in a color that probably matched her fingernails—red. She must have had her head between her legs, kissing her ass goodbye. Excellent use of time, judging by her driving skills.
 

A hip-hop beat thrummed from her car, carrying all the way to the cab of his tow-truck. Diego watched her head bob to the music as they waited for the light in the turn lane to change. What is she doing? Applying lipstick, as near as he could tell. When the arrow glowed green, he waited a few beats before tapping his horn. Nothing.
 

She gunned her car through the intersection as the arrow turned yellow. Diego threw his hands in the air, but stopped his truck just short of the crosswalk. He didn’t need another ticket on his record. He beat his fingers against the steering wheel while he waited. When the light changed to green again he eased through the intersection and turned into the parking lot of the grocery store, as the sports car had.
 

She whipped her car into a prime compact spot close to the front doors as he cruised the lot for something roomier that would accommodate his large vehicle. Diego backed his tow-truck into a space alongside the building adjacent the grocery store, where he could enjoy his dinner in solitude later. But he could still clearly see her sports car. Not by accident or circumstance. Diego was drawn to trouble as a nail is drawn to a magnet. Being a wise man with a fair amount of common sense, he should head across town to a different store. She struck him as dangerous in the best possible way.
 

And sexy, he decided when the driver opened her car door and planted one lethally high-heeled pump on the pavement. What followed did not disappoint. Good thing he was done with curvy, conceited women with mile-high legs. He was on the lookout for a round little chica with big, brown eyes who could cook like his mother.
 

No harm in watching the driving-school-dropout from a distance though. So he did. Auburn curls bounced around her head and shoulders as she hurried into the store. Diego sauntered along behind her, which was a real treat for him. She wore white thigh-high stockings that stopped a couple of inches short of her flirty, pleated plaid skirt. Bows accented her stockings a few inches below the hem. On top she wore a plain, white cotton dress shirt, probably so as not to distract from the assets she had going on below the waist.
 

He needed a closer look and something to eat. Dinner and a show.
 

 

Little Miss Wild-Behind-The-Wheel bent at the waist to pluck a hand basket from the stack by the store’s automatic sliding doors. As she bowed, her skirt stopped just shy of her panties…if she wore panties.
 

Diego bit his tongue to stop himself from hollering, “Nice!”
 

Following her to the produce department, like your garden-variety pervert, he plucked an orange from the display and sniffed it for no other reason than to look as if he weren’t following her. He gave the orange a firm squeeze to decide whether it was a keeper. The orange was. She wasn’t. But that didn’t stop him from watching her. Hell, a city-wide blackout wouldn’t have stopped him from watching her.
 

She placed a head of lettuce in her basket. As she leaned in and reached for a long, thick cucumber, her foot came off the ground and bent at the knee. The sight reminded Diego of one of those 1940s black-and-white movies where the gal does the flamingo stance while getting kissed. Even her shoes looked like reproduction 40s footwear—on stilts. Or steroids. They were dangerously high. No wonder she’d been all over the road—she’d been driving with a disability.
 

Upon closer inspection, she didn’t seem drunk. The woman could probably walk a straight line if pressed by the cops. She deserved credit for walking at all on heels that high. The rest of her apparel appeared sort of Catholic schoolgirl gone bad. Very bad. She needed detention.
 

And a spanking.
 

His mind went off to a dark place as he imagined turning Naughty Dotty there over his knee to smack his open hand on the naked, milky flesh of her thighs. Right there in the sweet spot between her hem and her stockings. Desire sizzled all the way down his spine like a burning fuse. Diego mentally stamped out the flames before he exploded, imploded or needed to hide his erection behind a shopping cart.
 

He’d come in for a salad. Nothing more. I’m working, for Christ’s sake. Diego did not need the kind of trouble that came wrapped in a package like hers. His “type” was earthy, sweet and natural—starting now. The girl next door, not the whore next door. He’d had enough of bad girls. I’m thirty, for crying out loud. It was time to settle down and stop getting his heart tramp-stamped like a passport to sin. Don’t even get me started on the ding to my pocketbook. He’d been conned and outright robbed by the naughty-next-door type. He’d decided he must have a “kick me” sign on his back, visible only to hot chicks with very high heels, short skirts and low morals.
 

He weaved a path to the salad bar to feed his cravings with a chef’s salad—extra ham, egg and cheese. He needed protein to muster the strength to stay clear of the danger zone. Along with the healthy salad, he loaded his to-go container with some bad choices. Heavy pastas, bread and half a dozen butter pats. He’d pay dearly at the checkout, but better to feed his desire with food than a mistake.
 

Diego groaned a few minutes later when he found that the checkout lane was backed up with late night shoppers. Spotting his wet-dream-come-to-life in the shorter express line, he decided to brave the traffic jam of carts to avoid her.
 

“Sir…” A floor manager attempted to usher him to the more logical express line.
 

Diego raised his hand in protest. “I’m fine here.” An overflowing cart with a fussy toddler and a stressed-out mother pulled up behind him, making him feel guilty for holding up the line because he was too chicken to get within twenty yards of the hottie in high heels.
 

The manager tilted her head. “We have less wait time in the express line.”
 

He patted his back pocket, where he’d stuffed his checkbook. “I’m paying by check.” The express line clearly stated cash only. Diego played by the rules. Not always, but starting recently.
 

She waved him along. “Not a problem.”
 

The mother of the toddler flashed him a glare that might kill under certain circumstances. Her kid wailed, leaking tears and snot that threatened to ruin his appetite.
 

“Sure.” Diego followed the manager along to the express line. Stopping way short, he left a good four or five feet between him and the sex kitten.
 

Her white shirt was gathered up and tied in a knot near her navel, giving the impression that perhaps she was wearing her lover’s dress shirt after an evening of romping. She had her basket on the conveyer belt directly behind some guy purchasing a case of beer, a carton of smokes and a smutty magazine—the trifecta of debauchery. The woman ahead of him was twitching as she bought her weight in lottery tickets. Diego decided to count ceiling tiles. One, two, three…