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Marvelous Monday Reads: Surrender Sweet Succubus
Hello, and welcome to another edition of Marvelous Monday Reads! Today I’m featuring the paranormal erotic romance Surrender Sweet Succubus by Jewel Quinlan, which stars a fertility specialist with some very interesting cross-specialization. Read on!
When Dr. Stephen Wallace, a fertility specialist from Sydney Australia, is approached by his brother and sister-in-law for help conceiving a child there is no way he can refuse. Since they have already exhausted all the possibilities modern medicine can provide, Stephen turns to his skills as a shaman for alternative solutions. His search leads him to Las Vegas, Nevada on a slim lead to capture a succubus who he hopes has the power to help. But when he meets Geneva, the exotic and passionate succubus, he finds himself being captured instead.
Story Excerpt
“I came here because I was looking for a succubus…” he began.
“Mm hm. Well, you found one.”
He lost his train of thought as she rolled a tube of lipstick over her lips. The same lips that had been wrapped around his cock last night doing the most wicked things to him.
She finished and started to walk back into the bathroom but her feet stopped short just before the door as if she had hit an invisible barrier. The look on her face was almost comical.
“What the…?” She backed up a step and then tried to move forward again but was halted once more in the same place. She reached in front of her and grabbed the doorway then tried to pull herself through but from the waist down, nothing else moved.
“What the hell is going on?!” She sounded scared now.
He stood. It was working, the binding spell was working! “Okay, I don’t want you to get upset but I put a binding spell on you.” He couldn’t help feeling bad about it. It wasn’t really in his nature to cast such spells but it had been necessary.
“You did what?” Her tone turned to acid and her eyes narrowed.“A binding spell,” he repeated, “So you can’t go more than three yards away from me. Sorry, were you trying to go to the bathroom?”
He moved closer to give her more slack so she could go in. She stumbled slightly as the perimeter of the bind shifted. She straightened, looking even more upset, and moved away from the bathroom towards the front door.
“How dare you!” she raged. “I am not to be held in bondage by any man. Release me at once!” Her hands scrabbled at the door behind her for the knob.
“I’ll remove it, I swear! It’s just, I need your help with something and I didn’t want you to disappear. I wasn’t sure how you would react when I told you I knew what you were.”
“You think I’m going to help you now!?” She looked like she would hit him if she could. Her eyes blazed emerald fire.
“I think, when you listen to what I have to say, you will.”
“And what if I don’t want to listen? You’re going to force me?”
He started to negate it but then stopped. She was right. The look in his sister-in-law’s eyes had haunted him since they’d spoken. He couldn’t let her down. Couldn’t let them both go on with the heartache of being childless. He shook his head, not knowing what to say.
“That’s it, I knew it! You men are all the same. You just take what you want and bend other people to your will.”
He held his hands out to her in pause. “Now look, I don’t even know if you can help me. I just wanted the opportunity to discuss it with you. That’s all. But before we do there’s something else I have to tell you about.” Better to come clean right away. He slowly inched forward towards her.
She yanked the door open. “I don’t care! Whatever it is, I’m not doing it you jerk!” she said, turning to go.
He quickly called out, “I just wanted to be honest and tell you…”
She took one step and then crumpled into a heap on the carpet.
“…about the sedative.”
Where to Buy
About Jewel Quinlan
From a young age, Jewel Quinlan had an abundant imagination and strong desire to write novels. She particularly enjoys writing paranormal and fantasy romance. An avid traveler, she has visited fifteen countries so far (which she enjoys using as settings in her novels) and has plans to see more of the world. She has a particular fondness for Bavaria and studies the German language as one of her hobbies. During the day, she works as a pharmaceutical sales representative and, at night, she writes romance. She currently lives in Orange County, California with her two dogs; Shimmer and Penny.
Where to find Jewel Quinlan
Nicola’s Sunday Shoutout: Lynn Rae and Peri Elizabeth Scott
Hello darlings! Today’s Sunday Shoutout goes to Lynn Rae and Peri Elizabeth Scott, whose new book Prohibited is now available from Evernight Publishing and other retailers of fine erotic romance.
In the early 1920’s in Lima, Ohio, John MacDonald Adair hides his speakeasy from the law, and his mixed heritage from the KKK, mingling with the rich, piling up the cash and taking his pleasure within the ranks of the flappers who patronize his speak.
Lilly Townsend is a serious, modern woman, a suffragette and temperance advocate with nothing to hide and no patience for the frivolity of the times. And she doesn’t break the rules—yet.
Such disparate souls should never meet, but Fate conspires otherwise. Powerless against overwhelming chemistry, and something far deeper, Mac and Lilly must make some difficult choices and face down societal mores—together—to attain their happily ever after.
Story Excerpt
Making her way up the wide stone steps to the porch, Lilly shifted the pie to one hand and pressed the doorbell with the other. There was a barely discernible chime through the leaded glass and walnut door but no other sound. She waited and pressed the button again. The door opened with a rattle and creak.
When she recognized the person glaring at her, all the breath left her body in a gasp. It was Mac Adair. Of course. Of all the people in Lima who could have purchased this house next to hers, it would have to be that man.
He narrowed his eyes at her and propped his arm across the door opening as if to deny her entrance. He was wearing a soft-looking red shirt with far too many buttons unfastened, and sturdy black trousers. When she realized he wasn’t wearing an undershirt and she could see the tanned muscles of his chest, her arms weakened and the pie wobbled and dropped from her useless hands.
Stifling a shriek, Lilly flailed for the pan but it was too late to catch it. Spraying its contents, the pie landed on the porch with a sickening squash and the entire pastry top cracked apart as reddish goo welled up like heart’s blood. Scarlet gobbets clung to her forearms and the front of her embroidered linen dress.
Horrified, she looked up to find Mac Adair still staring at her, although his features had smoothed away from the frown he’d worn earlier. The corners of his mouth twitched with disgust or amusement at her predicament. Lilly knew her own mouth was gaping open but she was frozen with embarrassment and powerless to close it.
****
Stricken might be too strong a word for Mac to apply in this circumstance, but it came damn close. Perhaps another might find humor in this beauty brought to her knees by some version of slapstick, but he was mortified for her.
It wasn’t lost on him, this neighborly gesture of welcome, although no doubt she’d have painted a black daub on his door to warn others had she known he lived here after the way he’d treated her in his speakeasy. Mac fumbled for his handkerchief.
“Here, let me…” He squatted to reach out and pat the worst of the spill from her wrist then thought better of it and offered the cloth to her to apply instead.
Trembling fingers snatched it from his grasp, the slight contact sparking a frission of static up his forearm. Lil patted at the sticky fruit and flakes of pastry, lips set in a thin line as she visibly regained her composure. Not that her full, bee-stung mouth could compress into a truly regimented grimace.
“Thank you.” A quiet, dignified murmur at last. She raised her coffee brown eyes to his again, the long lashes sweeping up to unveil returning self possession. His heart pounded harder, and another part of his anatomy responded as well, refusing to listen to his brain scold.
As awkward as a boy in the company of his first crush, Mac struggled to his feet, offering her the hand not occupied with the detritus of the pie as he did so. Lil reached out to take it, and their fingers met amidst the gooey residue as he helped her up. He felt his lips twitching and registered a similar movement of Lil’s. Laughter bubbled over, a welcome warmth that enveloped his senses, and he guffawed in response.
“Mac Adair.”
“Lilly Townsend.”
“My pleasure to meet you, Miss Townsend. Please come in and you can freshen up.”
“I think it will take more than a mere freshen up. And it’s Mrs. Townsend, but please call me Lilly. After our two, um, disparate meetings…”
She was married? How had he missed that fine gold band? Married to that sap.
“Ah—” What in hell was that man’s name she was with last night? “So, Walter is your husband.”
“Walter? Heavens, no! My husband passed four years ago.”
The rush of relief at the news made his knees weak—he was a total bastard for welcoming such news. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lilly.”
“Thank you.” She stared at him expectantly and he shuffled backwards into the foyer. Lilly gracefully followed, only to come up short.
“Do you have a powder room on the main floor?”
“There’s a newly constructed bath just off the foyer.”
Carefully disposing of the ruined pie in his sterile kitchen, he hustled back to the porch with a rag and a small basin of water. He hadn’t cleaned a floor on his knees in, well, ever, but the flies were gathering.
When Lilly emerged, the stuff of her dress sported large, spreading damp spots tinged with an unfortunate hue of pink, the same hint of blush remained on her cheeks.
“I had no idea you were my aunt and uncle’s new neighbor.” The frost was back in her tone.
“Or you wouldn’t have deigned to make me a welcome to the neighborhood pie. Let alone cross the threshold.” Damn it, he was biting back as a dog snaps at flies.
She flinched at his comment and held her head even higher. “I definitely wouldn’t have. You own a speakeasy! Your reputation—”
“My reputation? I’m a businessman, Mrs. Townsend. I serve the public, at least those who seek my services. And if memory serves, you were in my speak just last night. How might that have impugned your reputation, I wonder? Or perhaps it reflected who you are beneath the trappings.”
If he could have ripped out his tongue by its very roots he would have done. Lilly’s breasts lifted and fell rapidly in response to his set down and he tore his eyes away from that bewitching sight to meet her very hurt gaze, swiftly being hidden by outrage and disdain.
“I know who I am beneath my trappings. Mr. Adair. Who or what do you hide behind yours? My slight lapse in judgment last evening, correction, serious lapse in judgment won’t be repeated. Of that I can assure you!”
Hell’s teeth, she was lovely! All flashing eyes and high color. He couldn’t resist pushing her harder.
“I knew my first impression of you was correct.”
She sputtered. It was fascinating to observe, those succulent lips parting with fury.
“If you consider calling me priggish and straight-laced an insult, sir, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m simply fine with your assessment. At least I’m contributing to the moral compass of this world, unlike some people who undermine the very fabric of—oomph.”
It was just too much. Too much of everything. She had slipped a verbal dagger between his ribs and pierced his conscience. Coupled with her intense appeal, he felt pushed over the brink and reacted to both quiet her and soothe his abraded soul.
Her wealth of hair spilled from its gathered twist on the back of her head as he pulled her roughly into his arms, soft curves imprinting against his chest. He caught a glimpse of her wide, startled eyes before taking her mouth with his own in fierce possession, plundering the seam of her lips. Groaning with the effort of suppressing his lust—he longed to sweep her up and carry her into the parlor where a fainting couch reposed—Mac contented himself with kissing them both senseless.
Where To Buy
Where to find Lynn Rae and Peri Elizabeth Scott
Mid Week Tease: The Art of Grant Management #MWTease #MidWeekTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from “The Art of Grant Management,” which was just purchased this week by Evernight for their Executive Assistant: Manlove Edition antho, woohoo!
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
###
Peter sent the email, then started pacing his office, hoping that the (admittedly subtle) message would be received correctly.
His hopes were fulfilled as a sharp staccato knock sounded on the door. It opened and Quincy peered around it. “You bellowed?”
For a millisecond, Peter hesitated. The admin looked tired, which was hardly surprising after the day they’d all had. Then again, fortune favors the brave. The worst he’ll say is no. “Come in, please.”
The admin did, closing the door behind him. Peter very deliberately leaned past him and turned the lock.
Quincy glanced over his shoulder at the locked door. “Let me guess — you’ve snapped from the pressure and you’re going to strangle me with the tubing from a Bunsen burner,” he quipped, going for a joking tone and not quite making it. “I should warn you, three different people saw me walk in here. You’ll never get away with it.”
Peter wanted to smile at the other man’s obvious nervousness. I’m right, I know I’m right. “I just wanted to talk to you in private, that’s all.”
“Oh. Talk.” Watching Quincy’s face go from casual to worried, then back to a mock casual that didn’t hide the worry very well, would have been hilarious in any other situation. The admin shoved his hands in his pants pockets, squinting up at Peter. “Uh, yeah, okay. So, uh, what do you want to talk about?”
“This.” Moving deliberately, he closed the distance between them and pulled Quincy’s hands out of his pockets. In one smooth move he raised them over the other man’s head, pinning the admin against the door. “You, John Quincy, are a brat,” he said, allowing a strict sort of fondness into his tone. “You have been a brat since you started here, and I’ve decided to do something about that.”
Quincy tensed, and for one horrible moment Peter thought he’d misjudged the situation. His brain was already frantically putting together a stammered apology when the admin’s eyes went dark and he relaxed into Peter’s grip. “Finally,” he murmured. “Jesus, doc, I was wondering if I’d have to trip and fall ass-up across your lap.”
Peter smothered a relieved sigh. “Yes, well, you can hardly blame me for my confusion. You don’t act very submissive.”
“Have you ever heard of topping from the bottom?”
“Mm.” He leaned in, pushing a knee between Quincy’s thighs. “I have a confession to make.”
#
What’s Peter’s confession? I’m afraid you’ll have to read Executive Assistant: Manlove Edition to find out! Muwahahahaha!
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Mid Week Tease: The Art of Grant Management #MWTease #MidWeekTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from my current WIP, a M/M contemporary story set in a medical research center called “The Art of Grant Management.” I always knew that those years of managing research grants would finally come in handy!
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
###
“I know Dr. Cheung may give you an extraordinary amount of leeway, but I expect you to do your job,” Dr. Peter Loeffler said, glaring down his nose at the man sitting behind the desk. “I have extra funds remaining in my NHS grant, and I wish to use them to purchase additional tissue lines.”
The administrative assistant for the Robert Kenilworth Research Center smirked back up at him. “And I’ve told you at least three times that those funds are earmarked for personnel, not supplies,” John Quincy said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “Which apparently you can’t parse. If you tell me what language they speak on your planet, I’ll try to translate it into something you’ll understand.”
“Oh, ha, ha, very humorous.”
Quincy’s smirk quirked, one side rising. “Then let me repeat it — again — in English. I am legally unable to transfer funds from one grant area to another. So the answer to your question is no. While we’re on the subject, you’re going to lose that money from next year’s grant if you don’t hire a research student toot sweet.”
Peter clenched his jaw. “I don’t need another researcher. I need fresh tissue lines.”
“Not my problem,” Quincy said dismissively. “This is what happens when you don’t budget your grants correctly. Consider it an object lesson.”
Peter ground his teeth together. “I need those funds reallocated so that I can use them as I see best,” he grated. “And since it is my burden in life to have you as an administrative assistant, I insist you do your job and administrate this transfer.”
Quincy’s answering smile was feral. “You want me to administrate something? How about I administrate my foot up your–”
“Gentlemen.”
Dr. Mai Cheung’s voice sounded mild, but there was steel under the center director’s tone. “May I remind you that voices carry? Mr. Quincy, get back to work.” Peter felt a hand on his arm. “Could I see you in my office, Dr. Loeffler?”
Grimacing, Peter let her pull him away from Quincy’s desk. The man had already turned back to his computer, whistling insouciantly.
Insouciantly. Damn him.
#
“Is there a reason why I came back from lunch and found you yelling at my administrative assistant?” Mai said. “Again?”
“I wasn’t yelling,” Peter said with a sniff. “As for your administrative assistant, he’s a boorish, obnoxious little man who has no respect whatsoever for his superiors, and he takes a particularly childish delight in being obstructive. I simply do not understand why you insist on keeping him employed.”
“Because he’s a god of grant management,” Mai said. “Not only does he keep track of every research grant opportunity out there, he’s also a walking calculator who can balance multiple million-dollar budgets in his head.” She shrugged. “Plus he’s also the only person who’s been able to put up with all the personalities up here.”
He folded his arms across his chest and glared. “I assume you’re referring to me?”
“I’m referring to every researcher up here, including me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s be honest. We’re a bunch of prima donna scientists who are far too undersocialized for our own good, and we’ve scared the shit out of every admin who walked in here.”
She pointed at her office door and the room beyond. “Except Quincy. He dishes it out as well as he takes it, and he keeps us funded. So I would consider it a personal favor if you’d ease off on the insults and let the man do his job before he gets fed up and goes to work for Grant Management.”
“I was trying to get him to do his job!”
“No, you were trying to get him to bend the rules for you,” she fired back. “You know full well you can’t use personnel funds for supplies, so stop asking. If you need those cell lines so badly, you’ll have to find another way to pay for them.”
Peter felt his fury subside a bit. “I — damn it. There is no other way,” he admitted. “I’ve exhausted all of my resources. My new NHS grant won’t fund for two months, and I need those cell lines before we get our site visit from Clemmons.”
Mai frowned. The Clemmons Endowment Fund provided the huge program project grant that kept the Kenilworth Center itself up and running. “Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier, Peter?”
He scuffed a toe along the carpet. “Well, it’s a bit embarrassing to admit that I, er, underbudgeted.” Quincy’s sneer loomed in his mind’s eye. “I don’t know what to do, Mai. I need those cell lines if I want to complete my current research project before the site visit.”
“Huh.” She frowned thoughtfully. “You know, if you talk to Quincy, I bet he can find a grant somewhere that will pay for your lines.”
Peter stiffened. “I would rather orally service Sarah Palin than ask John Quincy for a favor,” he snapped. “And you know both my political leanings and my sexual orientation, so that should fully indicate the depths of my repugnance.”
Mai grimaced. “Thanks for the mental image. Now I need brain bleach.” She rubbed the bracketed skin between her eyes. “I really wish you’d just ask him out already.”
“Ask who?”
“Quincy.”
Peter’s mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon?
“Oh, please. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about,” she said. “I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think nobody’s watching. And he looks at you the same way. Your little mating dance has been amusing enough, but it’s time to step up your game and do something about it.”
He’d gotten his jaw under control. “Quincy and I are not doing a mating dance,” he said. “Despite what you most mistakenly believe, I think he’s an obnoxious little troglodyte, and he obviously has no fond feelings for me. We’re not compatible in any way, shape, or form.”
One sleek eyebrow arched at him. “How would you know, seeing as the only thing you ever do is bicker with him?”
“I do not bicker,” Peter said sharply, then paused. “All right, perhaps I do. A bit. But he starts it!”
“Mating dance.” Mai sighed. “Look, there’s no rule against you dating a staff member, so why don’t you try being the bigger man for once and just ask him out?”
“It would be difficult to be the littler man to that homunculus,” Peter muttered.
Her eyes narrowed. “Let me remind you that you’re speaking about the man who can pull your metaphorical fat out of the fire, doctor. If you won’t cowboy up and ask him out, that’s your decision, but I do expect you to go ask him for some grant help, especially if it has a bearing on the site visit.”
He resisted the image to squirm under her gaze. “I’ll think about it. May I go now?”
The director waved him off. With as much dignity as he could muster, Peter stalked out of the office, into the anteroom that doubled as Quincy’s domain.
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Look what arrived in the mail today!
I stepped out to check on a storm in the distance, and found a storm on my own doorstep! The back has a blurb from The TBR Pile and the standard description of the story, and it all looks so great! Even better, I’m having lunch tomorrow with the woman who’s in the dedication so I can give her a print copy of her very own. Hmm — I’ve never autographed an erotic romance before. Better come up with something clever toot sweet.
In other news, Breaker Zone and “The Art of Grant Management” continue apace — I’m hoping to have the short story finished and submitted to the Executive Assistant antho by Monday, and I’m really pleased with the way I’m revamping Breaker Zone. In a way, having to take such a detour on it has been a good thing because it’s made me look at the three leads more closely and adjust their personalities in a more realistic fashion.
Luckily that won’t be necessary for Book Three (tentatively titled Deep Water), since the main characters in that one will be Poseidon (yes, the big man gets his own book), his consort Amphitrite, and someone who is going to turn out to have a very interesting past relationship with both of them. I hope people don’t mind that 1) I’m changing lead characters with each book, although Ian, Aphros, and Bythos will play a major role in each book, and 2) not all of the books will be M/M/M. Only the first two will be M/M/M — Book Three will be M/M/F, Book Four M/M/M/F/F (yeah, that’s gonna be interesting), Book Five M/M/F, and Book Six M/F. It’s just the way the story is working out in my head.
Mid Week Tease: The Art of Grant Management #MWTease #MidWeekTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from my current WIP, a M/M contemporary story set in a medical research center that I will hopefully be submitting to Evernight’s Executive Assistant antho call sometime this week. I always knew that those years of managing research grants would finally come in handy!
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
###
Peter pushed the Men’s Room door open, ready to argue. “I do not appreciate being ignored when you’re the one–” he started.
Then stopped. Quincy stood topless at one of the sinks, angrily scrubbing at a large red stain on his shirt. Half-naked, the short man was disconcertingly muscular, with broad shoulders and lean, well-defined arms.
But it was his torso that was truly a thing of beauty. Peter’s mouth abruptly went dry as he studied the delineation of muscle, ligament, and bone that made up John Quincy’s midsection. Oh, damn me. That’s just not fair.
The administrative assistant looked up and spotted him. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he grumbled. “Ursula ran right into me and splashed this shit all over my shirt. And it reeks.”
“Oh.” Peter took a tentative sniff, and winced. “Fixative, I believe. You won’t be able to get it out of a white shirt.”
Quincy scowled, holding up the soaking shirt. A pale pink stain was still very obvious across the chest. “Goddamn it. I liked this shirt, too.”
He started wringing out the fabric, muttering under his breath. The motion did wonderful things to his obliques, and Peter had a sudden vision of stepping closer and pressing his lips to one pale shoulder, tasting smooth skin and salt. Trailing down across the firm curve of a pectoral muscle, listening to Quincy’s soft, questioning moan as he mouthed a nipple, then moving to the low valley between pectorals, a fine line of dark hair prickling against his lips as he kissed his way down–
He realized Quincy had stopped wringing and was staring at him. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“Uh, no. But you’re, um … you’re looking at me.” Quincy glanced down at his chest, then at his reflection in the mirrors over the sinks. “Did I miss some of that crap?
“No. It’s just … I wasn’t expecting you to be so…”
The other man raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting one of Peter’s usual insults. “Pale?” he snarked. “Freckled? You already knew I was a runt, so that can’t come as a surprise.”
“Muscular. You’re muscular,” Peter managed. Christ, you’re gorgeous. Bernini would have been reaching for a hammer and chisel by this point.
“Oh.” Quincy’s brows lowered in surprise, and for a moment Peter panicked that he’d said it out loud. “Uh. Yeah, well, when you’re 5’6” and mouthy, you learn to hit the gym if you don’t want to get the shit kicked out of you.”
“I see.” Peter let his gaze trail down, to the lovely V-shaped crease of the inguinal ligaments. It was one of his favorite spots on the male body, and Quincy’s ligaments were beautifully defined. Unable to resist, he studied how they disappeared under the man’s waistband, a natural pathway to the groin and– Oh.
To his shock, he saw Quincy was slightly tumescent, the outline of what looked like a very respectable cock just pressing against the twill fabric. With an effort, he dragged his attention away from the mouthwatering bulge, back to Quincy’s face. It was flushed, and the man’s dark green irises had shrunk to a thin line, almost disappearing next to the wide-open pupil. A faint blue line in his throat pulsed to an accelerated beat, and his chest rose and fell more rapidly now, pale nipples tightening and turning into tiny rivets.
Pupillary dilation. Flushed skin, increased respiration and heartbeat. Erectile response. The unconscious reflexes of physical attraction. Peter felt a rush of elation sizzle through him. He wants me. Oh, God. He actually wants me.
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Cut-ting and pa-sting, cut-ting and pa-sting…
Want to know the easiest way to drive a creative person crazy? Make them do a dull, repetitive activity for hours. They’ll be gibbering in no time. I remember how my ex-boss at the major telecommunications company talked me into coming back for a short-term contract back in 2012 — I got to the office, and was handed PowerPoint docs to fill with cutting and pasting from other docs, the exact same thing that drove me utterly crazy about the job in the first place. Came home, burst into tears, called him that night and told him I couldn’t come back. Luckily he understood.
That being said, two more hours and I have my hotel for my upcoming Baltimore trip all paid for, so I suppose I’ll just shut up, cut and paste. Crap. I still have to do the taxes tonight, too. Hello, darkness, my old friend…
That being said, there is good news on the way. Once I have confirmation, I’ll post it here, promise. And I started work on Breaker Zone again, and frankly I’m glad I took the break I did because hoo boy, I’d say a good 50% of the 27K I already have written has got to go. I’ve completely redone Nick’s and Aidan’s characterization in my head and that’s going to require a different (and better, hopefully) approach to the story. Which is fine, live and learn, yadda yadda, but it always kind hurts to cut wordage. Needs must, however, and while my goal is to have it finished by the end of April, I also know what happens when I announce goals, so — sometime this spring? I’ll get started immediately on Book Three in the series after that.
And yes, I’m working concurrently on Behind the Iron Cross, because I’m insane that way. This is the one I’m sending off to an agent (it seems like all my friends are getting one, so I figure why not), so it’s got to be polished until it shines like the top of the Chrysler Building. And I just outed my age with that comment, didn’t I? Oh, well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Gramma has to take her Geritol and get back to work.
(On a completely separate tangent, apropos of nothing, I wonder if Charlie Day knows how much slash is being written about Newton and Hermann from Pacific Rim? Burn Gorman is probably used to it by now from Torchwood, but I think this may be a new thing for Mr. Day.)
Reviews are coming in for Trickster
It seems to be scoring mainly 4 stars from the big review sites, which is heartening. The general upshot seems to be, “We like it, the whole ‘fated mates’ thing is getting a little thin but it works here, Delaney and Mark are fun, why the hell is it so short?”
Yeah, upon reflection I probably could have extended it by at least another 10K (I do gloss over two weeks’ worth of character development and possible humpa humpa, bad writer, no new laptop). The problem was, it started life as a short story, and when I couldn’t finish it in time for Evernight’s alpha shifter antho call I tried to turn it into a Romance on the Go™ story. Then it got too big for that, and I knew it was going to be a standalone.
While I was working on it, however, I had put Two to Tango on the back burner, and I knew I had Breaker Zone and Behind the Iron Cross backed up even further, so yeah, I may have given Trickster a bit more short shrift than I should have, and I apologize for that. If it’s of any consolation, I want to do two more stories in that universe, and those will be much longer. Of course, the stories I want to do center around the CEO Scott and his mate Carmen, and Aimee the receptionist, and I don’t have the best track record with M/F stories.
I dunno, maybe I’ll do another Delaney and Mark story first to establish the universe a bit more. I have to admit, I really, REALLY want to do a straight up bantering romcom with those two, maybe send them off to an IT convention in Vegas where an old shifter fling of Delaney’s tries to muscle in him and Mark. As for Mark, I’m thinking something appropriately fan-oriented. Maybe there’s a Creation Con going on in the same hotel and his geek heart is torn between snarling at Delaney’s ex-girlfriend and finally, FINALLY getting an autograph from his all time favorite actor. Must muse on this a bit.
A little late for resolutions, but what the hey
Starting today, I’m going to try and post something here everyday, because if y’all are checking in on a regular basis, I really owe it to you to get on my stick and give you something to read.
So, info nugget number one: after turning into the WIP That Would Not Die, Two to Tango is finished, polished, done de done done done, and off to Evernight as of a few hours ago. When I started the story, I thought it would top out at maybe 40K or so. Final word count was 66K. This is what happens when you decide to add not one but two batches of family drama as a subplot. It doesn’t help what when I was grousing to a writer buddy of mine about the fact that the damn story just kept growing, she tweeted to me:
(giggling & pointing) “First book of series, first book of series…you’re in for it now!”
I told her not to take it the wrong way, but I hated her. I already HAVE an ongoing series that I need to work on, plus people have been asking for a full-length A Boon by Moonlight sequel, PLUS the other erotic romance novels I want to do, plus the SF and urban fantasy novels I want to do. I actually have a list of 20 books already in my To Be Written/Finished queue (and yes, in case anyone’s interested, that includes the two Trickster sequels I have planned). That’s twenty full-length, 60-100K novels. To quote the hangman in Blazing Saddles, darling, I’m swamped.
I think a lot depends on 1) if it gets accepted, and 2) how well it does. There’s certainly more than enough material for additional books (in addition to the family drama, I created a nifty little device call the Puppet Wars that explains why nanite arrays and bioaugmentation was outlawed in this universe, and there’s a pissed off law enforcement officer who’s pretty much screaming for revenge). It’s up to Evernight now.
In the meantime, nugget two: now that TtT is off, I’m getting back to work on Breaker Zone and Behind the Iron Cross (I’m writing them in parallel because there’s so little crossover between the two I don’t have to worry about plot contamination). Have no idea when those will be done, and I’ve learned not to give ETAs — we’ll just have to see how fast I can get them finished. At least the nice thing about this delay is that I’ve solidified the characterization in BZ, which means I’m going to have to rewrite at least the first three chapters. But hell, if it’s good enough for Tiffany Reisz, it’s good enough for me.
So yeah, that’s where I stand this Monday night. Stay tuned!
Happy Valentine’s Day/Trickster Release Day/Giveaway!
Let’s start off with the first section of that title — happy Valentine’s Day! No matter how you’re spending the day, remember that you — yes, YOU right there, and wipe that smear of chocolate off your lip, sweetie — are my Valentine.
Section the second — it’s Trickster release day! (Which was actually yesterday, but I had to delay this post in order to take receipt of an item for section three) Yes, my new M/M shifter erotic romance Trickster is now loose in the wild and available from Evernight, Amazon, All Romance eBooks and Bookstrand, to name but a few purveyors of fine erotica. It already has a Bestseller Silver Star on All Romance eBooks and cracked the Top 100 Genre Bestsellers on Amazon less than 24 hours after release, so I am one happy writer!
And because I’m a happy writer, I want to give something back in return. From now until midnight on Sunday, I’m running a special Trickster release day giveaway. Belaurient Arts has been kind enough to create a custom bracelet for me, shown below; it combines polished river rock, natural mother of pearl, tiger’s eye and garnet beads into a tawny combination reminiscent of a coyote’s pelt. Finished with a solid bronze toggle clasp, it will go with anything from work outfits to a little black dress.
For a chance to win the bracelet, all you have to do is leave a comment in the Comments section below with your email address and I’ll choose the winner on Sunday. Good luck!
Nicola Cameron Writes 