This site contains adult content. By visiting and viewing the content of this site you confirm that you are aged 18 or above.


What can you do in three minutes?

Hi everyone,

My new Male/Female BDSM book - Three Minute Man - is coming out on Monday, so I thought I would share a bit about that this month. (Yes, I do occasional write about women – not often, lol, but it does happen.)

Here’s the blurb:

Three minutes doesn’t give Ian much time to prove he’s the dominant that Susan had given up on finding, but it’s amazing what the right dominant can do in three minutes!

Ian had plans for the submissive he’d seen playing casual games with other dominant men in the local leather bars, but she disappeared off the kinky scene before he had a chance to claim her. When he finds her working in a speed dating club, he’s determined not to let her slip through his fingers again.

Susan made a conscious decision to give up on the lifestyle. She’s not going to change her mind just because some dominant strolls into her life and starts snapping his fingers. The fact that Ian calls to the very part of her that she’s been trying to repress for the last eighteen months isn’t important. She’s not going back on her decision.

Unfortunately for Susan, she’s never been able to resist a bet—not when there’s more than money at stake.

And here’s a quick excerpt:


“If you’re talking about another damn car rather than a woman, I’m officially disowning you.”

Ian Georgeson stood stock still on the edge of the crowded car park, not paying the least attention to his younger brother’s threats. The view through the window into the club held him completely transfixed. The rows of shiny sports cars behind him suddenly became far less interesting than they had been a moment before.

“Ian, you listening or what…?” Billy trailed off.

Ian didn’t look around. He was sure his brother had caught sight of the same woman he was admiring through the glass.

“Sweet,” Billy whispered.

“Find your own, kiddo.”

“She’s not yours yet.”

“The important word in that sentence is yet,” Ian told him. He could so easily slip an imaginary collar around her neck and make the picture she presented entirely perfect. She smiled at someone just out of his sight.

A shot of jealousy raced through him at the simple fact she should smile that way at anyone but him. Ian raised an eyebrow at himself. It had been a long time since any woman had inspired that sort of instantly possessive reaction in him. In fact, it had been almost exactly eighteen months—which was precisely the last time he saw a submissive who looked damn near identical to this woman, in a kink club on the other side of town.

Billy said something off to his left.


“I said,” Billy repeated with a long suffering sigh. “No, please don’t worry about me. Of course I don’t mind you dropping your younger brother to chase after some waitress…etc, etc.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ian said.

Billy shouted after him, something about which pub they were supposed to be meeting their friends and watching the match in. Ian couldn’t care less about rugby, right then. He was already pushing open the door and walking into the club.

The woman he’d seen through the window stood by the bar on the other side of the room. As Ian strode across to her, he took the opportunity to study her more closely. She was tall—tall enough that he wouldn’t get a crick in his neck every time he kissed her. That was rare enough for a man of his height to find in a lover. It also matched with his memory of the sub he’d seen playing on a St. Andrew’s cross all those months ago.

She turned and he caught a glimpse of her face.

He could always tell. He didn’t know if it was something in the eyes, or the expression, but Ian had proved it to himself time and time again over the years—he could always spot a natural submissive. Even if he wasn’t damn near sure she was the woman he’d spotted in the leather bar all those months ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to mark the woman standing by the bar down as a true sub.

Closer to her, he turned his attention to checking for any sign of ownership. There wasn’t a single piece of jewellery visible on her body. No pretty gold necklace that could act as a subtle collar, no ring, no bracelet, not even an earring in sight.

Long blond hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, without so much as a hair clip to decorate it. The little, black, figure hugging dress was complimented by nothing more than simple black stilettos. The outfit was so simple, it was tantalisingly easy to imagine that she’d considered more intimate items of clothing just as unnecessary. Ian smiled to himself, wondering if he would have the chance to find out at some point.

“Perfect balance!” she declared as he reached her side. She lifted a folder and placed a mock kiss against the cover.

The younger waitress on the other side of the bar giggled.

“Finally! Thank you, Lord! They’ve finally coaxed enough women through the door. For once I won’t have to sit through a dozen different versions of…” Seeming to sense his presence, she looked over her shoulder. “Can I help you, sir?”

The honorific fell from her lips as if it was just any other word. As if she put a great deal of effort into making it sound as if she thought it was just any other word.

An experienced submissive then—she knew what that word could mean in the right context. It must be a special brand of torture for a woman who had offered that token of respect to someone who deserved it, to have to apply it to every idiot who walked through the door. The last of his doubts vanished. So this was where that sub he’d had his eye on had disappeared to…

She looked him up and down before lifting her eyes politely back to his. Her expression didn’t change, but her posture altered. She knew what he was too. She recognised a dominant man, a master, when she saw one.

“Miss?” He held out a hand.

“Susan Fisher,” she filled in, putting her hand in his. After the briefest possible moment, she tried to take it back.

Ian closed his fingers around her hand, not gripping hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough that she had little choice but to leave her hand in his or cause a scene by struggling to break contact.

He heard her breath catch in her throat. She closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed. Ian studied her carefully. Her instinct to submission was right there, just a scratch below the surface. It had obviously been far too long since she played.

“Susan, is there a problem?”

Ian glanced over his shoulder and saw an older man approaching them. Employer. He spared him one more glance, a very swift up and down inspection. The kind of boss who liked to get to know his female members of staff very well indeed, if Ian was any judge.

“No problem, at all,” Ian said. “Miss Fisher was just explaining that she would be happy to sit in with me to balance out the numbers.”

Her fingers twitched in his grip, but her practiced smile didn’t falter.

“Excellent,” her boss cooed.

Ian waited until she met his eyes before he allowed her to retrieve her hand.

Susan’s boss lingered at her side. She had no choice other than to play nicely while he watched, but Ian could see the anger she barely kept in check. Susan Fisher was royally furious with him.

“If you’ll fill in the form, sir,” she said, coolly. “I’ll see to it that an extra table is set up in the other room.”

She handed him a piece of paper.

Ian’s lips twitched into a smile as she strode off, far faster than anyone should be able to walk in heels that high. When she’d moved out of sight, he turned his attention to the piece of paper in his hand. Speed dating? He held back a sigh. There really was no gain without pain.

He filled in the form and handed it to the waitress behind the bar. She was still studying him with blatant curiosity. That was good. No doubt the staff would have noticed if other dominant men were coming to the club with an eye to collaring Susan.

“Have you ever heard the expression—‘all’s fair’?” he asked her.

“And is it love or war you’ll get from Miss Fisher, sir?” she asked, a soft Irish lilt tinting each word.

He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps both if I’m very lucky.”

Thanks for reading. If you’re reading this any time after the first of March, the book is available here :)

Kim Dare
Kink, love and a happy ending. Do you Dare?


Chasing Your Dreams

Greetings from Whistler, BC, the site of the 2010 Olympic downhill skiing events and Sliding Center!

It's been an amazing experience to be here at the Olympics, watching people chase their dreams. We came out to support luger Ruben Gonzalez, competing for Venezuela.

As you know, the unthinkable happened. A young Georgian luger tragically died on turn sixteen at the Whistler Sliding Center while pursuing his Olympic dream.

I was impressed by the way the other athletes were undeterred--shaken, but not stirred to quote a famous character.

And I learned a lot from the experience of watching others.

A couple of days later, I took an impressive fall on one of Whistler's magnificent ski runs. (I felt much better when I saw an Austrian Olympian crash on the same run!) I landed chin first and ended up with whiplash from the impact.

I was lucky. First of all, I wasn't seriously injured. Second of all, I was skiing with a coach who knew all the right things to say to get me headed back down the slope. My confidence took as much of a beating as my ego and my body. But deep down, I wanted to go for experience completely, totally.

I skied the next day, as well, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to ski in a part of the world I may never get back to. The Canadian Rockies are majestic and impressive

We all have places in our lives where we want to go for it, to experience life fully. We may experience fear (I certainly did after my ski crash), but we shouldn't let fear deter us. We need to be smart, make sure we cover our bases (helmets, protective gear, taking lessons, etc.), but when we have a dream, we should chase it, whether it's writing a book, taking a trip, racing a car.

I'm happy to report that Ruben slid well. I'm happy to report that I'm feeling a whole lot better (thanks, Coach!). And what was the take-away from watching others chase their dreams...? I'm planning a trip to the Olympics in London to be inspired all over again.

Being around people who are inspired is inspiring.

So, if you want to write, find other writers. If you want to be the best, find a coach and others who are doing what you want to do.

Bottom line...? Chase your dreams!


My Last Day As A Thirty-Something

My first grader took this around the holidays. It's the most recent I have since I'm usually the one on the other side of the camera. Go ahead and zoom in if you like, I don't mind.

Yes, it's my last day as an official card-carrying "thirty-something". Remember that show? I thought they were so old and kinda boring. It would be interesting to go back now and watch it, having gone through my thirties, been married, had kids, jobs, houses, all that jazz.

It's funny: I don't feel forty. Not by a long shot. I mean, I look in the mirror and I do see wrinkles, oh, excuse me, laugh lines...which don't go away anymore when I stop laughing. But other than that deserved result of too much baking in the sun as a teen, I still just

I don't see the tell-tale physical signs which make up the stereotype of someone advancing in age. Most of the time, I have no makeup on (don't really need it) and my hair back in a ponytail (haven't surrendered to the convention that 'older' women should have short hair). No sign of grey in said hair. My vision's still perfect, so no glasses, reading or otherwise. I spend time on the floor with the kids and don't grunt or groan when I get up.

As for the way I act? I can sing along with the same music my teenaged nieces are listening to. I still run. I make it out on the dance floor at every wedding or event, and usually close down each set. My social views are more enlightened rather than becoming more conservative. And I probably feel sexier now than ever before.

I've come to the conclusion that age is truly a state of mind. And my mind? Is pretty oblivious to the black-and-white evidence on my driver's license. Yeah, it's there, but not gonna hide it, or kvetch or moan. Not my style.

And maybe, just maybe, it's thoughts like that which keep me "young" in the first place.

Instead of a black-balloon birthday, I'm hitting Forty and Fabulous tomorrow. Happy birthday to me! :)


Stroke of Luck by Jenna Byrnes

I'd planned/hoped to give you a little background on this one, but the flu has other plans for me today. So just a tease, and please click on the link below to go read an excerpt. Enjoy!

~ Jenna *with a pounding head*

Stroke of Luck
is now available!

When a sexy lottery winner calls on an equally handsome accountant for advice, will love or money rule?

Ninety-seven millions dollars is more money than Steven DeLong can even imagine. When he realises he's won the lottery, he knows he needs advice from a professional, and fast. He calls on an accountant recommended by his brother, unaware the man is the sexiest hunk Steven has ever laid eyes, or anything else, on.

Paul Aspen seems excited by the prospect of helping Steven with his money, and even more excited to get the naïve bartender into bed. When both men come up for air, Steven's left wondering if Paul is more interested in him or the lottery winnings. In the end, he's forced to decide whether love or money rules his heart.


Acquanetta Ferguson, the Erotica and Romance Examiner, gives this story 4 stars and says, "This book was a fast and furious read. The eroticism between the two men is hot and the love they find in each other is touching. Jenna Byrnes is continuing to be this reviewer’s favorite author with her brand of erotic romance."

Read the whole review here.

Read an excerpt or buy the book here.


The Future Looks Promising

There's something about futuristic romances I just love. The premise of new worlds, new rules, and people and technology we have yet to discover is so exciting to me. And being able to create those rules, worlds and people is too much temptation for a control freak like me.

I've written quite a few futuristics for Total E-Bound. Some are rereleases, others new stories. Later this year,
Seriana Found will be out. A novella about a (space) pirate and the woman he's been hunting, the woman he's finally run down. And boy, does he have ways of making her pay. Here's a sneak peek. Enjoy!


Seriana could do no more than blink before she was spun around and pressed against a rock hard chest. She caught a glimpse of blazing eyes and a flat mouth before she was thrown into a whirlwind of desire.

Hard lips descended over hers with enough force to make her gasp. The minute she opened her mouth, his tongue invaded and his touch turned into seduction incarnate. Molding his mouth to hers, he swept the soft petals of her lips with enough heat to make her moan. His arms curled around her frame, bringing her tight against his body.

The padding prevented her from truly feeling him, but the rocking motion of his pelvis told her he more than wanted her.

Seducing her mouth, he began sucking at her tongue, stroking and thrusting until she wanted to melt through the floor. He tasted like ambrosia, heady and addicting and enticing all at once. Knowing it was Abjon but unable to stop herself, she reached for his hair and sighed as she felt the whispery soft strands under her fingertips.

He deepened the kiss and hugged her tighter, making her knees tremble and her loins pool with want. She could feel her undergarments wet with desire, could feel her nipples chafing the padding crushing her sensitivity. She groaned in defeat, that he could make her want him so soon, so easily, when she’d spent the past year running from him, running from this.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.” His voice sounded deeper, more enthralling than she remembered, and she had to blink not to fall under his spell.

His arms encircled her firmly but without pressure. The contrast between his deadly potential and his gentle restraint increased her susceptibility where he was concerned. She found his strength and his control unbearably sexy.

Breathing deeply to still her trembling, she managed a faint if steady voice. “How did you find me?”

He said nothing, merely stared from her hair to her overly large breasts. His smile, when it came, was hard, measuring. “I always find what I’m looking for, didn’t you know that, Seriana?” He sounded cool, his anger in check but there close to the surface.


“Say it again, say my name.”

She swallowed against his threatening sensuality. “Abjon. Let me go.”

He ignored her, releasing her enough to peruse her costume. “Take it off.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I said take it off. Do it, or I will.”

Nervously eyeing the bulging arms he crossed over his massive chest, she pondered her options.

“I have no more patience, Seriana,” he said in a low voice, all the more menacing for its quiet. “If you don’t take it off, all of it, right now, I’ll do what I’ve been fantasizing about since you left.” He grabbed her hand and held it to his crotch. His erection was huge and swelling larger. He caught his breath, his eyes glittering with need. “Take it off or I will.”

She snatched her hand away as if burned, ripping off the hair falsifier. She peeled Ractor’s fake skin from her face, chest and arms, not surprised that Abjon’s gaze lingered over her still padded bosom. When she had removed all the fake skin, she moved to the pads under her clothing. His bland nod of encouragement had her gritting her teeth. Much as he loomed over her, she’d never really been afraid of him. Of course, he never used to look at her as if she were a meal he had every intention of devouring whole.

When she had discarded all the padding to the floor, she waited.

“I said all of it.”

“But that is all of it.” She didn’t understand. Did he want her to--

“To your bare skin. And don’t forget the false lenses.”

She gasped. “I’m not going to--”

He reached her in the blink of an eye, his speed as deceptive as his calm. “I told you not to play games.” He ripped her dress right down the middle, leaving her with nothing more than a pair of sheer panties and a thin camisole he quickly discarded...

Happy Monday!



How to Keep your Heart Healthy

February is Heart Health Month and that got me thinking about what you can do to keep your heart healthy. I’m going to show you some things I love and since they make my heart soar, I assume they must be good for it.

I love:

Men on motorcycles

Sweaty men

Men in black and white

Thoughts of men together

The small of a man’s back

Form-fitting underwear

Men on horseback


Men with tools

Men in a leather harness and jock

Wet men

Men in tighty whities

Men undressing

Men at the gym

And here’s what I really love.

My story, Indulge Me, from the Naughty Nooners anthology, will be released as a stand-alone on March 22nd. Now news like that is definitely good for your heart. You can read the first chapter at my website and check out my other books as well.

Make sure you take a peek at my latest feature in the Total-e-Bound newsletter. I take you to Spa Excess-the largest, most luxurious gay spa/bathhouse in Toronto. Come behind the scenes and find out what happens in an all-male world.

Have a Heart Healthy Month and see you in March.


Tales to seduce and entice…


Behind the White Tigers - the place

As you know, so much of inspiration in writing has its roots in the real world. Whether it's place, characters, events, something has inspired us authors to bring it to life in the story.

It would be impossible to put it all down here the elements that have inspired the White Tigers series but I can begin with the place. This is the ryokan, the Japanese inn, on which Kiku's White Tiger is modeled. No, I've never been there but when I saw this photo, I knew that this real place was actually, in my world, the White Tiger.

Beautiful and simple and utterly tasteful, this place is exactly where I envision the men coming to stay and live at the White Tiger - the perfect setting for romance and meditation!

Oh, and of course, Basho's beautiful food! lol


Keeping it Real

One of the biggest things with me is keeping it real. Being false takes to much time, energy and nosy being you will shine through. I don’t have time for it. Don’t surround myself with it. So what you see is what you get. This keeping it real extends to my reading choices and my own writing.

No matter if it is a sci fi, paranormal, contemporary or any genre in between making your characters believable is what I look for in a book and in my own writing. They could for example do many wondrous things with a wave of their finger but make sure that at their core they are real. I’ve had a discussion with a few friends of mine concerning paranormal, sci fi and other genres which feature characters that may not be human. Simply put “they are human with extras” which in my opinion means they feel the same emotionally as any human does. They are looking for love as we do. They cry as we do when needed and all that. They are real.

Yes they may have the power to control things around them or fight to the bitter end. But that one moment when they show their real side that emotional moment will get me every time. My favorite emotional moments in books is when an author can bring me to tears. And I’ll admit that I enjoy writing scenes in my novels that I know will make a reader cry. It can be tears of joy or going for the emotional jugular. Grabbing you in that place where that deep well of emotion is and touching a cord in you that makes the eyes burn, the breath hic up then the tears fall. Yeah I know I’m strange but it is real.

Share some scenes or books that came across as real to you or brought some sort of emotion that caught you and you remember.

Taige Crenshaw
…increasing the sizzle factor

Chat Group:
Free Reads Site: http:/ /


A Visit to Le Trapeze

By Lisabet Sarai

Have you ever visited a sex club?

Would you like to?

I can't trump Kaenar, with her juicy photos of gay spas and bondage hotels. However, I can share my personal experiences at the famous New York sex club, Le Trapeze. My husband and I have spent close to a dozen evenings there over the last decade or so, whenever we happen to be in the city on a weekend.

Le Trapeze does not exactly match the way such places are portrayed in erotic romance. It's not particularly glamorous, and definitely not dangerous. However, I don't think that you'll be disappointed either.

Le Trapeze is less well known than Plato's Retreat, but I believe that it dates from the same era, toward the end of the swinging seventies. There's a nondescript door on East 27th Street with a sign—the name but nothing more. When you enter, there's a kiosk to your left. You'll be asked for your membership card and the substantial entry fee. Everything's on a first name only basis. Entrance is restricted to couples or the occasional threesome; single males are prohibited.

There's a buzz and you pull the door open, stepping into a world where your fantasies just might become reality...

The light is pleasantly dim, with a flattering rosy tinge. Rock music with a heavy bass thumps in the background. Ahead of you is a counter with a coat check and a bowl of free condoms. A nude soft sculpture angel swings on a trapeze over the head of the smiling clerk. To your right you'll find a dance floor complete with a twirling disco ball, surrounded by couches which are occupied by people in various stages of undress. A TV on the wall displays adult movies, a never-ending parade of penetrations to get you in the right mood. To your left is the bar and buffet—no alcohol is served, although you're welcome to bring a bottle, but the entry fee includes soft drinks and all you can eat.

Of course, you're not thinking much about food.

If it's your first time, Len, the manager, will give you a tour. He's a friendly bear, with a powerful body, curly gray hair, and a relaxed manner. He leads you down a corridor lined with closed doors. “Private rooms,” he says. “No one will disturb you if the door is shut.” The area at the end of the corridor includes a kind of mezzanine, a raised platform shielded by a wrought iron barrier, the floor strewn with mattresses. Although it's still early, you can make out a few naked forms on those mattresses, limbs entwined or humping away with frenetic energy. You try not to stare, much as you want to. Later, you'll come to understand that it's perfectly okay to watch. That's the whole point.

To the far right, Len points out the entrance to the locker room. “Rick will give you a number. Just let him know when you want to get in to your locker. You've both got to be there, though. Any couple who arrives together has to leave together.” This is one of the few rules at Le Trapeze. The other one, which everyone seems to know without being told, is “no means no”.

Next to the mezzanine, a spiral stairway leads to the second floor. At the foot is the entrance to the spacious orgy room, which features wall-to-wall mattresses and a mirrored ceiling. You blush. You've never seen so many naked people playing, not even in the porn flicks you and your husband sometimes enjoy together.

Len points upward. “Upstairs are semi-private rooms. Some of them have—equipment.” When you investigate later, you find odd chairs of twisted metal tubes, with stirrups to support spread thighs, vaguely reminiscent of a doctor's office but offering far better access. The “semi-private rooms”, you discover, have no doors. They tend to be occupied by triples or quartets. The narrow hallway running between them is crowded with naked men and women, all craning for a view. You feel a hand weighing your breast, a hardness brushing your rump, casual, exploratory. Do you want this? You can say yes. You can say no. Or you can simply be silent, allowing things to happen.

After the tour, you can return to the locker room and strip, wrapping up in the towel Rick hands you. Or you can stay dressed for a while, relaxing on one of the sofas, making out and getting turned on by the people around you.

When we visit, I like to wear something risqué and accessible. Think plunging necklines, fishnet stockings, high-heeled boots. So I don't necessarily want to get naked right away. I want my costumes to have their effect on the other guests. My husband and I will settle down near the dance floor, on one of those plush couches. He will slip his hand under my miniskirt and finger me through my split crotch; I'll loose his erection from his pants and start to stroke. I might slip to my knees and take him in my mouth, feeling my skirt ride up my damp thighs, deliciously aware of the lustful eyes that might be feasting on us as I feast on his cock.

There's no pressure. You don't have do anything at all, if you're not comfortable. But there's this wonderful sense of permissiveness. You're allowed to ogle the men and women around you—in fact, you're expected to. You don't need to feel guilty. You don't need to torture yourself wondering if they might be interested in a sexual encounter—it's understood, though of course any particular individual or couple might decline your invitations. The social constraints are relaxed. You're not going to offend or shock someone with your desires. Everyone here is horny.

The physical variety of people playing at Le Trapeze is remarkable. There are taut, athletic twenty-somethings as well as well-worn couples ten years older than us. Given New York's multicultural population, you'll see complexions of every hue, buzzcuts and dreadlocks, tattoos and piercings. There are always a few couples who are simply drop-dead gorgeous. My husband and I know that we're unlikely to be of interest to them, but they're a lot of fun to watch.

About half the times we've visited Le Trapeze, we haven't gotten involved with anyone else. The other times, we've started with conversation and then adjourned with our new friends to a private or semi-private room. I don't really care to be intimate with someone based entirely on a physical attraction. In fact it's difficult for me to separate physical from emotional attraction. As I've shared in other blogs, my husband and I have always been interested in polyamory. We come to Le Trapeze hoping that a connection might turn into a more enduring relationship. So far we haven't been successful in our quest. However, we've had some good times during the search!

You might wonder about jealousy. How does it feel to watch your husband having sex with another woman? How does he react when a stranger goes down on you or fingers you to orgasm?

I can't speak for other couples, but somehow neither of us are bothered. We know that we're going home (or back to our hotel) together. I have no doubt at all that I turn my husband on. Just because he's aroused by other women as well does not reduce his attraction to me. The fact that I'm bisexual makes things even easier, since we tend to have similar tastes in women.

Do I get nervous? Certainly—pretty much every time we visit. I feel shy and embarrassed at first. However, it soon becomes difficult for me to distinguish the trembling of anxiety from the buzz of excitement. The atmosphere at Le Trapeze is ripe with sex. You can't help but feel it and react.

We tend to end up in the orgy room on nearly every visit. Usually we're just concentrating on each other. He'll be on top of me. Our reflection in the mirror above us amplifies every sensation. Perhaps a finger will trace a circle around my nipple. Unfamiliar pubic hair will rub against my thigh. A solid, foreign cock will brush my palm in invitation. I can accept or decline.

Or I'll be straddling my darling, hands braced against the wall, grinding myself against his luscious hardness. I arch my back, knowing that in some sense we are performing, and enjoying every instant. Perhaps there will be hands cupping my ass or stroking my cleft. My husband feels them, too, and groans.

The one disappointing aspect of Le Trapeze, for me, is that it is close to 100% vanilla. Also, there's no male-male sex. In that sense, it's quite traditional compared to Kaenar's haunts. I know that gay and fetish clubs exist, but my husband has zero interest in BDSM or homoeroticism, and I wouldn't feel comfortable going on my own. (That is something that would make him jealous, a sexual experience that we couldn't share.)

I guess that in this case, I'll have to continue using my imagination. You'll find S&M clubs in several of my books, including Raw Silk, Incognito and Tomorrow's Gifts.

I hope that you've enjoyed your visit. I'd be happy to answer any questions...just leave a comment. Or contact me by email (lisabet [at] if you're too shy to ask in public!


Ice cream, stories and heart.

All Romance Ebooks is running a month of releases where ALL the profits from each book go to the American Heart Association. This means every title you buy is essentially a donation to this incredibly good cause. How great is that? You buy yourself a hot little story and help to protect people's heart's all through America and the World over.

Well from tomorrow you will be able to purchase my 28 Days of Heart story from ARE and it is called Vanilla with Extra nuts and here's the blurb:

She was just a vanilla girl until she found her perfect toppings...

Megan was slowly falling in love with Adam and was devastated to hear he was also sleeping with a man behind her back. When she confronts Adam she finds her lust for him over-riding her reticence.

When she makes a secret fantasy come true and goes to bed with both Adam and his lover at the same time, vanilla Megan has to decide. Can she come to terms with this unusual relationship?

Vanilla with Extra Nuts
will cost you just $2.50 and if you pop on over to this page and scroll to the bottom you can read a hot little excerpt to enjoy while you wait for the books release!

And because I am so terribly kind and good natured here is something that is good for your heart. A completely free Blisse eBook!

Summer Exposure will not only get your heart racing it will warm you up on this cold, winter's day as it's a hot little tale of exhibitionism that finishes with a hot climax.

Remember be good to your heart and it will be good to you.

See you again next month here at Hitting the hotspot.


And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

My monthly writing group posted a challenge to its members, a modified version of NaNoWriMo. We called ours, Winter NaNo, and changed the requirements slightly. The original NaNo in November requires 50K words in the month of 30 days. Our version was 40K words between our January and February meetings, which turned out to be 5 weeks. Of those that completed the challenge, three names were drawn to win a $25 gift certificate to Barnes & Nobles. FREE BOOKS! Luv it!

In November, I passed on participating in NaNo. I didn't think it was fair to put my family through my writer's madness so close to the holidays. But this January, I was ready to plow through the words and develop consistency during the dark winter months of January and February. (I live in Michigan. It's dark and cold and snowy with no sunshine.) And the shorter word count felt very doable in a stretching sort of way.

So, I embarked on this challenge with the goal to write 1200 words per day. I really only needed 1143 words per day, but I like round numbers. It was a great way to force myself to get my butt in the chair and my fingers on the keyboard everyday. Consistency has never been a strong point of mine. I'm much more of an all-or-nothing girl, but I liked seeing the word count piling up on a regular basis. Of course, there were days when the word count was 0, but only 8 out of 35 days, which is a huge improvement for me. I averaged writing more than 5 days per week for 5 weeks.

I finished the challenge last Thursday, 2 days early, and knew I would need a few days off to enjoy the feeling of accomplishment. And shop with the gift certificate I won! Now it is Monday morning, and time to get back to work because I have stories to finish.

Speaking of finishing!

My editor has accepted Book 3 of my Gifts of Desire series. The Anniversary Present will be released in July, complete with a happily-after-all ending for my American and British couples.


My thoughts on this Valentine's Day

The day for lovers, that’s what all the books say, right? February 14th, the day Cupid shows up with his arrows and boink, we fall head over heels for our true, perfect love.

According to Wikipedia, and Roman mythology, Cupid (Latin cupido, meaning "desire") is the god of erotic love and beauty. He is also known by another one of his Latin names, Amor (cognate with Kama). He is the son of goddess Venus and god Mercury.

In popular culture Cupid is frequently shown shooting his bow to inspire romantic love, often as an icon of Valentine's Day.

So, why do we modern humans need to set aside one day, out of all 365 of them, to honor our love? According to Wiki, Cupid struck at pretty much anytime and anywhere, so what’s with this day thing? I can’t say as I’m too fond of the idea of being shot with an arrow, but if that’s what it takes… Gulp!

Honestly, the legends and folklore don’t really do it for me. Perhaps when I was younger and more susceptible to that kind of thing it may have got a smile from me, or not.

I think the pressure for both men women to live up to that ideal romantic evening/perfect gift/dinner…whatever, on that one day is complete insanity. A woman might expect her man to bring home roses and chocolates, take her to a fine restaurant and perhaps propose to her, all on that one day. If, heaven help the guy if he forgets, as some men do, it’s Valentine’s Day. He’s lost any brownie points he’s made in the previous year, or more.

The buildup created by all the advertizing makes it even worse. Fancy perfumes, cars, flowers, gorgeous people with their gorgeous lifestyles are far beyond the regular Joe’s. His lady might want the dream, but there’s no way he can deliver.

It goes both ways. The fellow sees Ms Perfect lounging in a bubble bath in the bathroom to die for. Her hair is perfectly pinned and poofed, her nails are long and lacquered, and she’s the most eye catching bit of eye candy he’s ever had a wet dream over. How can any woman compete with that?

In my opinion, I’d much rather be surprised in mid-October with a glass of wine, a bubble bath waiting and soft candles lit in the bathroom. If hubby appears and offers to rub my back, I’m in heaven. No build up. No one prompted him. And I know he’s doing this because he loves me.

Give me that special unexpected evening by the fireside over an over commercialized, impossible to acquire event that will cost more than it should and I’ll be one very content lady.

And on that note, I'll withdraw gracefully and hope you'll share your feelings on the topic.



- - -

*Jude Mason – Readers needed: Come, explore with me…if you dare*


To join my mailing list, email me: jude.mason AT