Welcome, Rachel Brimble

This is my very first offering as a guest blogger so I thank Ginger from the bottom of my heart for taking a risk with me! Now, let’s see if I can draw you to the edge of your seats in anticipation of wanting to read my latest novel…
I am already an author of two romantic suspense novels, but it is my latest release I am here to talk about today. The Sharp Points of a Triangle is a sexy, romantic comedy and my first release with Eternal Press. Inspired by a newspaper article about about past lovers reunited, the book was my favorite to write so far. Hannah Boyd and Jamie Young leapt from the page and became the funniest, smartest, sexiest couple I have created to date.

Let me tell you a little about the book and then I’ll post an excerpt.

Hannah is flying high – newly appointed as the youngest female financial adviser in the UK, she is more than ready to accept her boss’ challenge of securing one of the wealthiest men in the country as a client. They embark on a four day Medieval themed conference where the client is attending and Hannah begins her seduction…but then her worst nightmare comes true when her biggest rival turns out to be the ex who broke her heart six years before - Jamie. An ex who will do whatever it takes to prove how much he still loves her and get her back by his side where she belongs…

Excerpt: (CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT)

I look down at my fingers lingering above the waist band of his jeans. Have I lost my mind? I whip my arm back so quickly I hear a crick in my shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t know...”

But then his lips are pressing down hard against mine. I feel his arm come round and support my back which I am bloody grateful for, because although swooning women are a thing of the past, I’m not sure my legs will hold me. He pushes his tongue tentatively into my mouth and I lift mine to meet his, his lips linger somewhere between soft and firm, and for a long moment my mind is whirling. There is a red hot stirring between my legs and I kiss him back with everything I’ve got.

I lift my hands to his face and pull him closer. A gasp escapes my lips when he gently nudges my feet apart and presses a thigh firmly between my legs. He begins to tug at the hem of my dress and with our lips still connected, I lift my arms. The silky material glides up my back and our mouths separate for a brief moment as he lifts it over my head, before joining once more.

“Hannah.”

He breathes my name into my mouth and I feel a solitary tear slide slowly down my cheek. This is all so wrong, but I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. Eventually, I have to pull away for fear of drowning.

“Let’s swim.”

We quickly discard the remainder of our clothes and sprint towards the water. I cannot believe what I’m doing, and I’m secretly hoping the moonlight isn’t bouncing too savagely off my lily white ass. My breath catches as I leap head first into the waves and when I re-surface, Jamie snatches me close.

I can feel the length of his erection pressing up against my belly. I smile as I reach up to push the hair from his eyes. “Now that’s just showing off,” I say.

“What is?” he murmurs, his eyes lingering over my breasts as they bob above the water.

“There aren’t many men who could dive into cold water like this and maintain an erection of that size.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That size, huh? The lady is impressed.”

I reach my arms around his neck. “Nah, not really.”

He throws his head back and laughs. The sound penetrates my skin and fills my heart. And I know in that moment, I want to hear him laugh forever. I look into his eyes and purposefully, push the notion of regret to the back of my mind. I lean closer and his smile slowly dissolves as my lips find his. I taste salt, feel heat and hear my own blood rushing through my veins as he lifts me. My legs easily encircle his waist. The world drifts farther and farther away from us. It’s Jamie and I, alone, happy, re-discovering each other…

“Hey you, Mr. and Mrs. Naked Lovers! Yoo-hoo!”

We break apart and turn to the shore. I slap one hand over each tit.
“Oh, good God. Nooooooo!”

But it’s too late. The three teenagers have taken our clothes and they’re running, screaming and laughing up the beach like the little shits they are. I turn to Jamie who is staring at them as though hypnotized.

Please check out my website: www.rachelbrimble.com

The Poll

The Preditor and Editor site is well-known among e-authors, for their helpful information about publishers, agents, contests, etc. Every year they host a competition where readers and authors alike can nominate themselves or their favorite books, publishers, artists, ezines, poems, short stories, and more. The excitement sparks strings of posts begging for votes. Everyone wants to vote for their friends, but if you have more than a handful, it's hard to pick who to favor. And, you can only vote once in each category. I have at least ten friends that I feel are worthy under romance novel. So how do I choose?

I cannot tell you how many times I've read this line: "I can't believe it. Someone nominated *insert title here* on the P&E poll. I'd appreciate your vote."

Well of course, the first thing I think is...you nominated yourself but you're too ashamed to admit it. I understand the need to see your own work on the lists, and in years past, I've been among those begging for votes...even asking my sister to have all the employees who work for her to cast their votes for me. You know what...I never even finished in the top ten.

This year, I didn't bother. I didn't send out any notations that three of my books are nominated, and I entered my own name in the author category. I didn't ask a single person to vote because I want to see how I fare on my own. I checked the results and I'm hanging at the bottom for author (my nomination), and my books are somewhere mid category. At this point, the contest becomes more about who has the most friends and influence...at least in my opinion. Is there pride in winning something you have to beg for? You bet! I wouldn't turn down the opportunity to display the winning logo on my website. It's about prestige.

SoI'm not downing those who still get excited. Every year, there's a new crop of authors and hoards of new names, but after so many years of pleading for votes, I've given up and I'm going to "let the cards fall where they may." I have a feeling, I'll be sliding off the charts real soon. *lol*

Best of luck to those of you still hanging in the top ten. I wouldn't mind too much saying I was a contender in the P&E poll. People are still very impressed by it. That's a good thing.

White Heart, Lakota Spirit - Coming Soon

I'm tickled pink to have my cover for White Heart, Lakota Spirit, my historical romance set in the Dakota Hills during the 1800s. Dawne Dominique is the amazing mind behind this eye-catching beauty.

WHLS is an upcoming release from Moongypsy Press, a new publisher with a talented line-up of authors and staff already in place for the grand opening later this month. I hope you'll be on the lookout for it. Check out Moongypsy Press

Here's an UNEDITED excerpt from WHLS:

Lone Eagle crossed the compound in search of his son. Nearing his mother’s lodge, he heard raised voices and saw a crowd gathering at the far end of the village. He quickened his pace toward the commotion, thoughts of finding Little Cloud lost.

Six young warriors rode into camp—their faces and horses painted for war. Shock and confusion jolted Little Eagle at seeing his nephew, Little Elk, among them. Where had the group been? He had no idea they’d left the village. He shoved his way through the throng.

His gaze shifted to the white woman tethered and stumbling behind the Appaloosa of his nephew’s closest friend, Black Crow. Each faltering step testified to her exhaustion. She struggled to remain standing. Her chin lifted momentarily, and she looked directly at Lone Eagle. Long blonde hair hung in matted strands. Her blue eyes, barely visible beneath the dirty tresses, widened with fright. One sleeve of her soiled dress hung in tatters down her arm, and her wrists looked painfully chafed. Raw and weeping red spots peeked through the veil of dust on her bare feet.

Rage burned within Lone Eagle. He stood in the path of Black Crow’s horse and raised his hand. “As your Chief, I demand to know what you have done.”

The band dismounted. Little Elk came forward, pride shining in his eyes. “My uncle, we rode together to make war against the whites. We have brought a captive as evidence.”

Lone Eagle’s icy glare spanned the young braves. He stepped closer to Little Elk and leaned in until they were almost nose to nose. “Your chest puffs with pride, but your actions were foolish.” He fought the urge to shake some sense into his nephew and knotted his fists at his sides. “How dare you decide something without advice of Tribal Council! You have no right to put the tribe at risk of war. By bringing a wasichu captive to our camp, you place our people in danger and bring shame upon yourselves.”

“But, Uncle...”

Lone Eagle held up his palm. “I will not hear from you now. We will discuss this among the elders, but first, is anyone injured?”

Little Elk hung his head. “None of us here...but...but two of our brothers now walk the ghost trail.”

Blood pulsed in Lone Eagle’s temples. “Do you see what your foolish impulse has cost?” He scanned the faces of the young men. “Because you wanted to prove your manliness, two of our people are dead. I will go and call a tribal meeting at once to discuss your actions.”

Lone Eagle spun and stormed away from the crowd.

Welcome, Gianna Bruno

Big thanks to Ginger for hosting me today. Hot Chocolate Kiss was released by Eternal Press yesterday, and I'm still flying high after the all the launch day festivities.

Keela Branford’s passion for extreme winter sports, fueled by anger at a cheating soon to be ex-husband, drives her to brave sub-zero wind chills and break a lot of rules--including the one to never ski alone. There are just some battles that have to be fought despite the risks.

Keela doesn't think much of Rick Marston, a ski lift attendant who is brazen enough to question Keela's judgment. And she thinks even less of his invitation for a drink when she comes down from the summit. She's sworn off controlling jocks like her ex, and is determined to exorcise the demon of self-doubt inside her. Will Keela win the battle against The Witches waiting for her on the ski slopes? And will the heat between Keela and the man who gets in the middle rout them for good?

I don't know about you, but the weather where I am is very cold, snowy and windy--not as extreme as what Rick and Keela experienced, but nevertheless conducive to cuddling in front of a fire with a Hot Chocolate Kiss- namely a yummy mug of cocoa, Kahlua, Tia Maria and whipped cream.

Eternal Press wanted some stories about winter sports to celebrate the upcoming Winter Olympics and I am so pleased they chose mine to get you all in the mood for some extreme sports, both on and off the slopes.

After you've read the story, please join me on my website forum where Rick and Keela will be guest blogging and answering readers' questions.

Stop by my blog for the latest news. Follow me on Twitter, or join my Yahoo group. Easy links to all are available on my website.

So to get you in the mood, here's the video trailer for Hot Chocolate Kiss followed by an excerpt.

Enjoy!



Excerpt:

The blonde perched on a stool wore boots that looked like she’d strapped a husky dog to each leg. Keela doubted she had ever skied in her life. That sleek blonde ponytail wouldn't fit under a helmet, and she'd freeze her perky tits and tight ass off wearing that pink fleece jacket and black spandex pants.

She prattled out the usual disclaimers while processing the credit card transaction. "No refunds for conditions. The gondolas are closed due to high winds. Only the open chairs are going to the summit, and we might have to close them as well. The ski patrol has put up an extreme weather alert: no exposed skin, take frequent re-warming breaks."

Keela tried not to sound bitchy. This wasn't one of Ken's girlfriends. The kid was just doing her job. "Thanks for the tips."

After securing the $75..00 ticket on her parka and putting on every piece of protective equipment in her pack., she waddled out the door like a stuffed pig, sweating like one, too.

She knocked the ice off the bottom of her boots with her poles and clicked into the bindings. No matter who I’m with, it’s always me against the mountain—alone. Keela skated over to the lift where the same guy she’d met outside the can was working. "It’s the Tuckerman lady." He winked and guided the chair under her butt.

She couldn't see the rest of his face but imagined him licking his lips.

The lift swept her up, and he called out, "Seriously, be careful. I’ll buy you a Hot Chocolate Kiss when you come down from the summit, sister."

I don't think so, dude. No more being treated like a buddy who happened to have a receptacle instead of a plug. No more schlepping boots and ski equipment, plus a backpack full of camping gear to the summit of Mount Washington , dodging rockslides and avalanches, to ski Tuckerman Ravine. No more romantic nights crammed into a lean-to, surrounded by a unisex cadre of other idiots, with a sleeping bag, thermals, and Gore-Tex to light her fire.



Hot Chocolate Kiss

by Gianna Bruno

order your copy from Eternal Press

Dirty Laundry & New Beginnings

by Maggie Dove

In the spring of 1981, my husband, a Captain in the Marine Corps, decided to leave the Marines to practice law in Florida. We met soon afterwards on a blind date in June and married six months later. During our first year of marriage, we lived in a condo by the beach and he worked as a lawyer for the State Attorney’s office. I was a very happy newlywed living in the same town that I had grown up in surrounded by family and friends.

Eight months into our marriage, my husband received a letter from The United States Marine Corps., offering him the opportunity to come back for three years of active duty to practice law and live in the base at Quantico, Virginia. My husband told me that he missed the Marine Corps., and that he would love to return to service. I was horrified. I pictured myself as Private Benjamin, leaving my beautiful loft apartment near the beach and trading it in, as well as my family and friends, for a marine barracks in the cold with strangers.

I really did not want to go, but my husband uttered the magic words. “Everything is paid for…you don’t have to work.” I had been working for ten straight years in a beautiful Florida hotel and was a bit exhausted. The idea of becoming a stay home wife was a very convincing notion. I was even looking forward to watching soaps and having coffee with newfound friends ala 1950’s sitcoms where housewives were just that and Lucy and Ethel had nothing better to do than relax and think up ways to drive their husbands nuts! I longed for peace and quiet. Without further hesitation, I packed my bags and three months later, we said goodbye to our loved ones and headed off for Quantico, Virginia.

It took about 2 days for me to fall completely in love with the base. My “barracks” was a beautiful 3 story brownstone with French doors and polished wooden floors located on the top of a gorgeous hill near the General’s quarters and the Officer’s Club. The building, surrounded by luscious woods, was part of a group of redbrick brownstones called the Letter Apartments. Each building consisted of 3 floors occupied by 6 couples (2 couples to a floor.) My husband and I lived on the first floor. My building was Building A. I spoke with my mother-in-law my first week at Quantico and she asked me how I was doing my laundry. I told her that my husband was right and that everything on the base was, indeed, free! Apart from food and clothing, there were no bills to pay. Unlike my apartment in Florida where coins were needed to use the machines in the laundry room, I was thrilled to tell her that the basement of my Quantico brownstone was filled with washers and dryers and it did not cost a penny to do laundry.

After living in Quantico for two months, Building A had its first “Building Good Neighbor’s Meeting.” My husband and I were invited for coffee and doughnuts at our neighbors’ apartment upstairs where we discussed pertinent issues and the distribution of duties such as the raking of the leaves, shoveling snow, cleaning the stairwells, etc. Everything was going well until I decided to be a “good neighbor” and ask very politely about the protocol for doing laundry. Raising my hand, I said, “I hope that you all don’t mind, but I really do not have all day and when I go down to the basement, I find that you have taken all the machines. Sometimes I have to go down more than once to check and see if you have finished your laundry. Some of you leave the clothes in there all day. Again, I hope that you don’t mind, but I find myself having to take your clothes out (sometimes wet) so that I can use the machines.” I left out that this was taking time out of my soap opera watching and that, although, I actually did have all day to do laundry, I thought this was extremely rude and discourteous of them!

The couples stared at me funny and looked amongst themselves as though they did not comprehend a word I had said. “Are you talking about the laundry machines in the basement?” asked a neighbor. Smiling politely, I repeated, “Yes. I hope that you don’t mind but since you leave your clothes in the machines all day long, I find myself having to remove them in order to do my laundry.”

Judy, who later became my best friend on base, finally spoke. “Maggie, we own our machines, but you are more than welcome to use them.”
“Yes,” they all agreed. “Use them whenever and for as long as you need.”

Those were the most embarrassing 2 seconds of my life, sitting on the sofa with all eyes on me…the fool who, for two whole months, had been using their washers and dryers, taking their clothes out to use the machines, and on top of that having the nerve to complain to them that they were taking too long to do laundry!

Needless to say, the very next day, my mortified husband and I paid a visit to the appliance department at Sears! My three years at Quantico were one of the most enjoyable of my life. I met so many friends and to this date, I keep in contact with them. We laugh recalling the many zany episodes I shared with them as a Marine Corps. wife. Lucille Ball could have taken pointers!

I remember the night when I was taking a writing class on base and I got snowed in and had to abandon my car at the school. I slid down a huge hill, and, to my husband’s horror, four hours later came home with the military police! And the day when I went to visit a friend (next door) and while watching a movie, there was an ice storm. Living in Florida, I had no idea how to handle the Quantico weather. It was 11 o’clock at night and I couldn’t get home because I kept slipping on the pavement. Kneeling on all fours, I crawled back to my neighbor’s house and I called my husband and told him that I had to stay at my neighbor’s for the night because I had tried and tried, but there was no way I could make it home. I didn’t want to fall and crack my scull. Ten minutes later, my husband (dressed in a coat that hid his pajamas) had to come drag me home…by taking my hand and simply walking me from the pavement on to the grass…which was right there! There was also the time when instead of walking to the Officers’ Club three buildings away, I forced my husband to take me in our car because there was also a lot of ice. After he parked the car, it slid down the hill! And there was the time….

Maggie Dove
www.maggiedove.net