No, I didn't get a tattoo. I just signed a contract with Ellora's Cave for my paranormal novel The Devil's Due.
Blurb:
Who would you sell your soul to save?
For Ceara Landon, the answer to that question is easy. She would do anything for her younger brother Kevin, even if saving his life means shattering his dreams.
On first glance it seems the skyrocketing success of Kevin’s band, Pillars of Stone, is a dream come true, but Ceara sees the truth. His increasing drug use will destroy him and ruin any chance he has for lasting happiness.
Ceara traces the source of Kevin’s dubious rise to fame back to night club owner Alexander Quinn. The gorgeous, blue-eyed entrepreneur hides a terrible secret. He’s a soul broker – he buys souls for the Devil, and he purchased Kevin’s in exchange for fame and fortune. In desperation, Ceara offers her own soul in exchange for Kevin’s, and for the first time in his lonely existence, Alex risks everything to refuse. He agrees to help Kevin sober up and guide his band to true success, but the price for Ceara is high. She’ll have to bargain with her heart to save her brother along with the man who wants to possess her body as well as her soul.
The Devil's Due will be part of EC's Blush line, my first Jennifer Colgan title with EC. Stay tuned for more updates.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Friskies Buffet
Shortly after this picture was taken, Topper [green collar in front] decided he was too good to eat with the riff raff and stormed off in a huff. Ranger [middle] proceeded to eat from both his and Topper's bowl. Onyx [background] remained oblivious.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
New Release now avialable!
I’m thrilled to announce the release of my sci-fi rom-com novella, MARRIED TO THE MIB!
![]()
Handsome, blue-eyed Spencer Ward stirs feelings in Dulcie Crandall that she can’t quite explain. Spencer feels it too, but he knows why pretty, vivacious Dulcie seems so familiar. She’s his wife.
Spence is a Man in Black, a special agent dedicated to protecting Earth from temporal and extraterrestrial threats. Three years ago, he met Dulcie, an alien abductee, during a daring rescue from an Umayan organ harvest ship. His employer, the Insterstellar Security and Time Agency, had Dulcie’s memories of their whirlwind courtship and alien wedding ceremony blocked before they returned her to Earth. Now ISTA needs the memories locked in Dulcie’s subconscious, and Spence and his half-alien shapeshifter partner, Ruben “Ruby” Throckmorton, have been assigned to retrieve them.
It should be easy, but will Spence be able to remain objective when the love of his life experiences total recall of the time she spent married to a MIB?
Excerpt:
All around Dulcie, geysers of foul-smelling steam belched from dripping pipes. Unidentifiable machinery hissed, and lights flashed in macabre shades of crimson and purple. She wasn’t supposed to be here, hiding in this dank place all alone, driven by fear and some deep, desperate need to survive at all costs.
She’d come here, though, to escape someplace much worse. If only she could remember exactly what she was running from.
Just when she’d reached the point where her only option was to scream—not for help, but for the sheer, utter hopelessness of her predicament—he appeared. He swept out of the hot, churning mist, the broad-shouldered silhouette of a man backlit by a strobe of acid green. He reached for her.
Some strange instinct bade her to take the hand he offered, but rather than rise with dignity from her hiding place and let him lead her out of this neon hell, she flew into his arms, shivering and sobbing.
He murmured something soothing while she buried her sweat-dampened face in his neck. His scent curled into her lungs on her next shuddering gasp of breath, and she calmed. Strong arms lifted her from the darkness, and Duclie melted into his muscular caress. He smelled like sin, a curious mix of male sweat, danger and an intoxicating cologne.
There was something about that smell—familiar and wonderful—that told her everything from here on in was going to be just fine. She tightened her arms around him, and he scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. The steam faded then, offering a momentarily clear view of the place. This time Dulcie tried to pay attention to what she saw.
Miles of coiled wires, rusted pipes and twisted fingers of metal and smoky crystal stretched before them. In the still-shrouded distance a white light cut through the gloom.
“That’s the way out,” he said. His voice, like his scent, penetrated her weakened defenses and left her dreamy-eyed and breathless. Beneath her splayed hand the muscles of his chest, hidden under a black T-shirt, rippled as he strode toward safety. “We have to hurry.”
“Hurry.” She nodded, but for some reason all the urgency she’d felt a few moments ago had faded. She’d have stayed in his arms forever, cradled against his rapidly beating heart, cherished in his embrace.
“Hurry…” Dulcie awoke with that word on her lips. Again. This was the third time this month. She might have been more concerned about the details of the recurring nightmare, except it always ended the same way, with her daring rescue.
To read more about MARRIED TO THE MIB, you can visit:
Smashwords
All Romance eBooks
Amazon.com
Handsome, blue-eyed Spencer Ward stirs feelings in Dulcie Crandall that she can’t quite explain. Spencer feels it too, but he knows why pretty, vivacious Dulcie seems so familiar. She’s his wife.
Spence is a Man in Black, a special agent dedicated to protecting Earth from temporal and extraterrestrial threats. Three years ago, he met Dulcie, an alien abductee, during a daring rescue from an Umayan organ harvest ship. His employer, the Insterstellar Security and Time Agency, had Dulcie’s memories of their whirlwind courtship and alien wedding ceremony blocked before they returned her to Earth. Now ISTA needs the memories locked in Dulcie’s subconscious, and Spence and his half-alien shapeshifter partner, Ruben “Ruby” Throckmorton, have been assigned to retrieve them.
It should be easy, but will Spence be able to remain objective when the love of his life experiences total recall of the time she spent married to a MIB?
Excerpt:
All around Dulcie, geysers of foul-smelling steam belched from dripping pipes. Unidentifiable machinery hissed, and lights flashed in macabre shades of crimson and purple. She wasn’t supposed to be here, hiding in this dank place all alone, driven by fear and some deep, desperate need to survive at all costs.
She’d come here, though, to escape someplace much worse. If only she could remember exactly what she was running from.
Just when she’d reached the point where her only option was to scream—not for help, but for the sheer, utter hopelessness of her predicament—he appeared. He swept out of the hot, churning mist, the broad-shouldered silhouette of a man backlit by a strobe of acid green. He reached for her.
Some strange instinct bade her to take the hand he offered, but rather than rise with dignity from her hiding place and let him lead her out of this neon hell, she flew into his arms, shivering and sobbing.
He murmured something soothing while she buried her sweat-dampened face in his neck. His scent curled into her lungs on her next shuddering gasp of breath, and she calmed. Strong arms lifted her from the darkness, and Duclie melted into his muscular caress. He smelled like sin, a curious mix of male sweat, danger and an intoxicating cologne.
There was something about that smell—familiar and wonderful—that told her everything from here on in was going to be just fine. She tightened her arms around him, and he scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. The steam faded then, offering a momentarily clear view of the place. This time Dulcie tried to pay attention to what she saw.
Miles of coiled wires, rusted pipes and twisted fingers of metal and smoky crystal stretched before them. In the still-shrouded distance a white light cut through the gloom.
“That’s the way out,” he said. His voice, like his scent, penetrated her weakened defenses and left her dreamy-eyed and breathless. Beneath her splayed hand the muscles of his chest, hidden under a black T-shirt, rippled as he strode toward safety. “We have to hurry.”
“Hurry.” She nodded, but for some reason all the urgency she’d felt a few moments ago had faded. She’d have stayed in his arms forever, cradled against his rapidly beating heart, cherished in his embrace.
“Hurry…” Dulcie awoke with that word on her lips. Again. This was the third time this month. She might have been more concerned about the details of the recurring nightmare, except it always ended the same way, with her daring rescue.
To read more about MARRIED TO THE MIB, you can visit:
Smashwords
All Romance eBooks
Amazon.com
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
All Romance eBooks
I spent Sunday uploading my self-pubbed titles over at All Romance eBooks - so if you're looking for formats you might not get elsewhere, or you're a fan of ARe, go check out my pages:
Jennifer Colgan
Bernadette Gardner
You might just find a hidden gem if you go looking. :)
Jennifer Colgan
Bernadette Gardner
You might just find a hidden gem if you go looking. :)
Monday, June 13, 2011
Happy Release Day, JB Lynn!
Today my good friend and fellow Killer Chick, JB Lynn is launching her first Carina Press release. Her book is scary, smart and full of suspense - if you want an exciting read that'll leave you afraid to sleep with the lights off, check out...
The First Victim by JB Lynn
Fifteen years ago, Emily Wright barely escaped from a serial killer dubbed the Baby Doll Strangler. She wants nothing to do with the small town she grew up in, but when her father is hospitalized she reluctantly returns home to care for her teenage sister.
When a friend of her sister is killed and left in front of Emily’s house, Emily begins to relive the nightmare she endured long ago. Soon she realizes that her sister too is in danger from the killer – and the only person who can help is the man Emily left behind: Deputy Bailey O’Neil. Together, Emily and Bailey must discover the killer’s identity before he claims his next victim…
“Does your palm itch? Emily?”
Engrossed in paperwork, it took Emily Wright a moment to realize that her assistant, Ruth, was talking to her. She looked up at the older woman as Ruth placed a cup of coffee beside Emily’s telephone. It was only then she realized that she’d been rubbing her left thumb across her right hand.
“Does your palm itch?”
Emily nodded. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Ruth beamed. “That’s good news. It means you’re going to come into money.” Her unspoken message was that it boded well for the presentation Marisol, Emily’s business partner, was probably making at this very moment. All nine of the advertising firm’s employees were eagerly waiting to hear whether they’d landed their biggest client ever.
“Do you really believe in those old superstitions, Ruth?”
“They can’t hurt. Can I get you anything else?”
“No. This is great. Thanks.” Watching her newest employee, a woman old enough to be her mother, leave her office, Emily secretly hoped she was right.
She looked down at her palm. The scar that stretched across it had faded over time and was now nothing more than a thin raised line. No doubt there were a hundred doctors in Manhattan who could remove the physical reminder of what she’d suffered, but to her the scar tissue was a talisman of sorts, proof that hope could triumph over evil.
She’d learned an invaluable lesson the day she’d earned this scar. She’d learned that she was capable of more than she’d ever imagined, that help came from the most unexpected places and to never give up. Those lessons had served her well, which was how she found herself a co-owner of a Manhattan ad agency, waiting to hear whether they’d landed their first national account.
Feeling the distant rumblings of a tension headache, she rubbed at her temples, and then made a grab for her coffee cup. She needed caffeine!
Her cell phone buzzed. Hoping that it was Marisol calling with good news, she snatched it out of her purse. An icy tingle of fear ran down her spine when she recognized the area code. Home.
It rang three more times before she took a deep breath and answered.
“Hello?”
“You’ve got to come home, Em.” Bailey O’Neil, her childhood friend and teenage crush who still made semi-regular appearances in her dreams, didn’t offer a greeting, ask how she was or even identify himself. Not that he needed to. Even though it had been close to fifteen years since they’d had regular conversations, she’d recognized Bailey’s voice immediately.
It transported her from behind her desk to a dock on a lake’s shore. In that instant it was easier to believe she was a confused fourteen-year-old girl rather than a driven, thirty-one-year-old businesswoman.
“There’s been an accident.”
He’d called and said the same exact thing two years earlier, but that had been a lie. Her mother had overdosed, and no one would ever convince Emily it had been an accident.
With Marisol, who was not only her business partner but her best friend, in tow for moral support, Emily had returned to Lakeside Acres, Pennsylvania for the funeral, choosing to stay at The Garden Gate Bed and Breakfast rather than the house she’d called home as a child. She hadn’t been back since, not even to see Laurie.
“Em?” Bailey still used the shortened version of her name, just like he had when they were kids. It almost sounded too familiar, since it suggested that they knew each other well. That was another lie. “Em? Did you hear me? I said you’ve got to come home.”
“I heard you. How’d you get this number?”
Ignoring her question, Bailey told her, “There’s been an accident. Your father’s been hurt. It’s pretty bad. They’re not sure he’s going to make it.”
“So?”
She heard Bailey’s sharp intake of breath. He probably thought she was a stone-cold bitch. So be it. She’d decided long ago that she didn’t have to explain or justify her relationship, or lack of relationship, with her dear old dad. If Bailey O’Neil didn’t approve of her reaction, that was his problem.
Bailey, though, didn’t miss a beat. “Laurie needs you.”
Try as she might, Emily didn’t hear any judgment or condemnation in his tone, only a genuine concern for her younger sister. Doing her best to ignore the twinge of guilt she felt for not immediately inquiring about her only sibling, Emily asked, “Is she hurt? What happened?”
“Your father was out on his boat. I don’t have the details yet. Laurie wasn’t involved, but she’s scared, Em. She needs someone. She needs you.”
Emily’s gaze settled on two tiny framed photographs perched on the corner of her desk. They’d been taken more than two years earlier when Laurie was thirteen. She and her sister had crammed into one of those tiny booths at a mall, made a bunch of silly faces and ended up with a strip of four, slightly grainy, black-and-white photographs. They’d torn the strip in half, each taking two of the pictures. Besides the funeral, it was the last time she’d seen her sister. Their father had seen to that.
“Em?”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“Swear?”
An image of Bailey solemnly staring at her popped into her mind, not this adult version of Bailey who was just doing his job, but the boy she’d played freeze tag with.
“Em? Swear?”
“I swear.” She severed the connection.
You can learn more about JB and her books at:
Killer Chicks
Website
Follow her on Twitter
The First Victim by JB Lynn
Fifteen years ago, Emily Wright barely escaped from a serial killer dubbed the Baby Doll Strangler. She wants nothing to do with the small town she grew up in, but when her father is hospitalized she reluctantly returns home to care for her teenage sister.
When a friend of her sister is killed and left in front of Emily’s house, Emily begins to relive the nightmare she endured long ago. Soon she realizes that her sister too is in danger from the killer – and the only person who can help is the man Emily left behind: Deputy Bailey O’Neil. Together, Emily and Bailey must discover the killer’s identity before he claims his next victim…
“Does your palm itch? Emily?”
Engrossed in paperwork, it took Emily Wright a moment to realize that her assistant, Ruth, was talking to her. She looked up at the older woman as Ruth placed a cup of coffee beside Emily’s telephone. It was only then she realized that she’d been rubbing her left thumb across her right hand.
“Does your palm itch?”
Emily nodded. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Ruth beamed. “That’s good news. It means you’re going to come into money.” Her unspoken message was that it boded well for the presentation Marisol, Emily’s business partner, was probably making at this very moment. All nine of the advertising firm’s employees were eagerly waiting to hear whether they’d landed their biggest client ever.
“Do you really believe in those old superstitions, Ruth?”
“They can’t hurt. Can I get you anything else?”
“No. This is great. Thanks.” Watching her newest employee, a woman old enough to be her mother, leave her office, Emily secretly hoped she was right.
She looked down at her palm. The scar that stretched across it had faded over time and was now nothing more than a thin raised line. No doubt there were a hundred doctors in Manhattan who could remove the physical reminder of what she’d suffered, but to her the scar tissue was a talisman of sorts, proof that hope could triumph over evil.
She’d learned an invaluable lesson the day she’d earned this scar. She’d learned that she was capable of more than she’d ever imagined, that help came from the most unexpected places and to never give up. Those lessons had served her well, which was how she found herself a co-owner of a Manhattan ad agency, waiting to hear whether they’d landed their first national account.
Feeling the distant rumblings of a tension headache, she rubbed at her temples, and then made a grab for her coffee cup. She needed caffeine!
Her cell phone buzzed. Hoping that it was Marisol calling with good news, she snatched it out of her purse. An icy tingle of fear ran down her spine when she recognized the area code. Home.
It rang three more times before she took a deep breath and answered.
“Hello?”
“You’ve got to come home, Em.” Bailey O’Neil, her childhood friend and teenage crush who still made semi-regular appearances in her dreams, didn’t offer a greeting, ask how she was or even identify himself. Not that he needed to. Even though it had been close to fifteen years since they’d had regular conversations, she’d recognized Bailey’s voice immediately.
It transported her from behind her desk to a dock on a lake’s shore. In that instant it was easier to believe she was a confused fourteen-year-old girl rather than a driven, thirty-one-year-old businesswoman.
“There’s been an accident.”
He’d called and said the same exact thing two years earlier, but that had been a lie. Her mother had overdosed, and no one would ever convince Emily it had been an accident.
With Marisol, who was not only her business partner but her best friend, in tow for moral support, Emily had returned to Lakeside Acres, Pennsylvania for the funeral, choosing to stay at The Garden Gate Bed and Breakfast rather than the house she’d called home as a child. She hadn’t been back since, not even to see Laurie.
“Em?” Bailey still used the shortened version of her name, just like he had when they were kids. It almost sounded too familiar, since it suggested that they knew each other well. That was another lie. “Em? Did you hear me? I said you’ve got to come home.”
“I heard you. How’d you get this number?”
Ignoring her question, Bailey told her, “There’s been an accident. Your father’s been hurt. It’s pretty bad. They’re not sure he’s going to make it.”
“So?”
She heard Bailey’s sharp intake of breath. He probably thought she was a stone-cold bitch. So be it. She’d decided long ago that she didn’t have to explain or justify her relationship, or lack of relationship, with her dear old dad. If Bailey O’Neil didn’t approve of her reaction, that was his problem.
Bailey, though, didn’t miss a beat. “Laurie needs you.”
Try as she might, Emily didn’t hear any judgment or condemnation in his tone, only a genuine concern for her younger sister. Doing her best to ignore the twinge of guilt she felt for not immediately inquiring about her only sibling, Emily asked, “Is she hurt? What happened?”
“Your father was out on his boat. I don’t have the details yet. Laurie wasn’t involved, but she’s scared, Em. She needs someone. She needs you.”
Emily’s gaze settled on two tiny framed photographs perched on the corner of her desk. They’d been taken more than two years earlier when Laurie was thirteen. She and her sister had crammed into one of those tiny booths at a mall, made a bunch of silly faces and ended up with a strip of four, slightly grainy, black-and-white photographs. They’d torn the strip in half, each taking two of the pictures. Besides the funeral, it was the last time she’d seen her sister. Their father had seen to that.
“Em?”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“Swear?”
An image of Bailey solemnly staring at her popped into her mind, not this adult version of Bailey who was just doing his job, but the boy she’d played freeze tag with.
“Em? Swear?”
“I swear.” She severed the connection.
You can learn more about JB and her books at:
Killer Chicks
Website
Follow her on Twitter
Wednesday, June 08, 2011
Here comes trouble!
Right now his name is Rio, but he'll be getting a new name once he comes to live with us. My good friend "R", the troublemaker, has a mess of kittens and she offered us one...well, actually two, but this little guy won me over the minute I saw him. He's got one black ear and one white ear and he looks like a Dalmatian.
How could I say no?
Thursday, June 02, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)