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5 star review for The Water's Kiss from Quirky-Gurl!

Quirky-Gurl Media has given The Water's Kiss a 5-star review! Check it out:

I love how the author combines historical detail (in a natural, unobtrusive ways) with feisty heroines and swoon-worthy heroes. As usual, the writing is tight and evocative, bringing the scenes (and dare I say, the waterfall?) to life for the reader.

Read more at Quirky-Gurl!

The Water's Kiss -- a Regency romance!

I've just begun uploading the first of SEVEN Regency romance novellas and novels in two joined series. The Water's Kiss is now on All Romance eBooks and Amazon and will be published on B&N and Kobo within the next 48 hours. The blurb:

Sometimes the only way to take control is to lose it...

1811, England

SUDDEN RICHES TURN A MERE LADY INTO A POTENTIAL QUEEN

For Lady Claire Hanscombe, her father’s sudden fortune from a risky investment in a South American silver mine means that marrying childhood love Evan Michaelson, a commoner, is now out of the question. Lord Christian Hanscombe, Earl of Landsdown, married off her twin sister, Sara, to a prince of a minor country and he plans to place Claire and her younger sister, Julia, in line for thrones as well.

Fearing her pending marriage to a prince from a strange land, Claire seeks refuge in a magical waterfall on the Hanscombe estate that draws women to it for special, sensual properties, qualities that no proper lady should know of, much less harness.

YET THAT WEALTH ENDS A MUCH-WANTED BETROTHAL

Evan Michaelson had known since his early teens that he would marry Claire; his wealthy solicitor father had planned the match quite carefully, lining up the poor noble with his family’s fortune to gain a title for his son. When the elder Michaelson suggested that Lord Landsdown consider a longshot investment in the Spanish colonies, he never imagined he would seal his own family’s doom and end the dream of marrying into nobility.

Evan, unable to sleep as he fitfully worries about losing his love, encounters her at the waterfall, finding her in a most compromising position – and mutual frustration yields to mutual desire. As Claire prepares to be betrothed to a prince far away, Evan schemes to find a way out of the impossible mess that keeps them apart.

A BOLD MOVE MAY RISK IT ALL – OR SECURE THEIR LOVE

Time is not on their side, but perhaps – just perhaps – Evan can convince Claire to throw all convention aside and take control of their destiny by making an irrevocable decision that would shock the ton if known. One enormous risk taken by Claire’s father has nearly ruined their love; if Evan’s own risk pays off, though, it means a lifetime together...

The Water’s Kiss is a Regency romance novella of 21,000 words, part of the Waterfall series. Included: a sample from An Inconvenient Fortune, a new novel debuting in September 2012.

Where two worlds collide

So I've written a novella, The Waterfall's Kiss, which focuses on the Hanscombe girls (Lady Claire Hanscombe, in particular), daughters of the Earl of Landsdown.

Their mother is the sister of Lady Katherine Bonham, who married Manuel de Vargas and moved with him to South America, giving birth to triplets in 1785. An Inconvenient Fortune is the first full-length novel featuring one of the triplets, Anastasia, who is now 25. Set amidst the toppling of King Ferdinand of Spain and Napoleon's installation of the imposter king, his brother Joseph, on Spain's throne, the book looks at romance during a time of revolution in the Spanish colonies.

Got all that?

But back to England, and the very proper ton as the triplets' English cousins have their own rebellions to deal with.

Here's a scene from The Waterfall's Kiss where we see the cousins and the interrelationships:

“Lady Claire!” a voice cried out. Evan jogged across the small patch of grass on the common, behind where Claire sat with Julia, her younger sister. It was half past five o'clock and the sisters had taken a stroll through Hyde Park. Papa's affairs brought him into the city and they had. With Mama's permission, come to London with him for a short visit. Their promenade complete, with plenty of ogling and pleasantries exchanged, they had just settled upon a park bench for a much-needed rest.

“Oh, dear,” Julia exclaimed, then giggled in Claire's ear. “Here he comes,” she whispered. “Two yards of muscle topped by China-blue marbles.”

Claire just rolled her eyes and worked to steady her heart, which chose to dance a quadrille within her chest at the sound of Evan's voice. She stared at her sister as a method for calming down, taking deep breaths, like a child struggling to manage a tantrum. Julia took after their mother, with honey-brown hair and eyes that matched, wide cheekbones and a peasant's strong build. She would be married off to some Eastern European prince, like Claire, and despaired of it. She had more time, as the youngest, though not much more. Papa was working furiously fast.

“Mr. Michaelson,” Claire replied. He nodded his head to Julia, who nodded back. When had they all become so formal?

“Evan! Whatever are you doing in London?” Julia shouted, jumping up to greet him, then halting, offering her hand. The shift from child to young woman had been a rapid one, advancing during Evan's time in battle, and Claire wished that time would move more slowly, for her mind seemed too delayed to process all she needed to understand and experience.

He took Julia's hand and grinned, lips pressing against her glove, his words muted as he said, “My father sent me.” Julia pursed her lips and then bit the lower, a coquettish affect that led to a slow crawl of territoriality in Claire. Do not even think it, sister, she thought to herself, covering her mouth with one hand to stop the words from making their way to air, the other hand curling into a cat's claw.

“Might I have a word alone with you?” he asked Claire, those eyes so intense, his gaze melting the rest of the world away. “Within view of your chaperone, of course,” he said, smiling at Julia. “We wouldn't want any rumors to float about that might cause a stream of discomfort,” he added, winking at Claire and pointedly making eye contact with the minor audience who now gaped openly at the trio.

What? What? She fairly screamed in horror. Float? Stream? Detestable man. To think she ever wanted to marry him! Was he trifling with her, making innuendos about what he might have seen the other day at the waterfall? His eyes twinkled with the merriment of torturing her with a secret, yet she could only grit her teeth and act as composed as possible.

“No, Mr. Michaelson,” she finally replied, steely eyes boring into his, Julia perking up with the preternatural sense that something was amiss – and worth watching. “Whatever you say to me must be said to my sister, as well.”

“Did you know that one of our cousins from South America is coming to live in England!” Julia declared, taking Evan's arm. He seemed unbalanced by the gesture, so certain a moment ago and now a bit befuddled. Good, thought Claire. Julia was a wicked gossip and would find some way to keep them all talking with poisoned tongues in a few moments. She needed to discuss anything other than that day with him.

“Really?” he inquired politely, walking with Julia and Claire around a small shrubbery. “And which cousin is this?”

“The triplets!” Julia cried out, as if Evan offended her with his failed memory.

“Ah, yes. The triplet daughters from your aunt.” His face closed off, and she realized he was unsure how to proceed. Their aunt Katherine had died seven years past, likely of some horrid disease caught in the filthy jungles of Venezuela. Claire's mother always said Aunt Katherine had been too adventurous, and it had killed her in the end. Her father claimed Uncle Manuel told him it was a slow-moving disease of the belly that took five years to creep through her. Mama wouldn't hear of it; she would always blame her uncle for luring Katherine off to that dangerous land.

“Yes! Our cousin, Anastasia, has married an earl!” Julia said breathlessly. Of all the Hanscombe girls, Julia wore the most distinguished bosom, which now heaved with the excitement of a juicy bit of information she clearly needed to express. Her brown eyes widened and narrowed with intrigue and importance. Claire, of course, knew what she was about to say, but did not spoil it for her sister. The climax was, for Julia, the fun of whispering scandalous things about town.

Evan seemed to know exactly what to say next, and winked at Claire. She flushed, heat pooling in that same place where the water had excited her. “And which earl?” he inquired.

Julia looked hurriedly to the left and right, as if worried about spies. “The Earl of Framingshire!”

Claire and Julia shuddered simultaneously. Evan came to a halt and openly gaped, all composure and courtly manner discarded. “The Earl of Framingshire? No!” Then he laughed, great belly laughs that made Claire want him even more, his relaxed and open state tipping a keen yearning in her from simple want to open desire. The Evan she had known all these years was right before her, eyes filled with shock and mirth, shaking his head, casual and free.

“Yes!” Julia clapped, clearly thrilled by her execution of what would prove to be the talk of the ton for the season. “Someone's father actually agreed to marry him. And that someone is our cousin from the savage land!”

“Didn't the earl make an offer to your father, Claire?” Evan asked, one hand suddenly clenching into a fist. She swore that he had, imperceptibly, almost reached out to touch her. Oh, how she wished he had.

She closed her eyes and bristled. “Yes,” she sighed. “Apparently, the earl's man made an overture to every wealthy father within a two-week voyage of his estate. Fortunately, like all other good fathers, Papa said no. Can you imagine being married to, to that?” She swallowed and shuddered again.

“He is quite pleasing to the eye,” Julia replied, moving her head and eyes about as if conjuring his physical memory.

“But his reputation,” Evan said, “is...far too perverted for any decent woman.”

“Are you calling my cousin 'indecent,'” Claire asked archly. Oh, good. A reason to be angry with him. Now she could work with this, could get her mind off that mouth, those hands, and her mind's torment of imagining them on her body here, and there, and oh, yes, here.

“Oh, no, that is not what I...” Julia and Claire glared him down. “But ladies, I did not mean to imply...”

“No. You did not imply. You stated it outright, Sir,” Claire retorted. She was enjoying her anger now. Something tangible, with fangs, a feeling she could control with reins and a bridle of fury. It was so much easier to be his nemesis and not his object of desire, to view him with contempt instead of passion.

“But he has been with three women! At once! What sort of father would accept that in a man? And what sort of woman...” He fumbled for words and she lit into him.

“Women have no choice in the men they marry, Mr. Michaelson. You, of all people, should be quite well acquainted with that fact!” she nearly shouted. Passersby began to slow their walking to a slug's pace, ears turned to catch as much of the scene as possible, fuel for gossip sessions at tomorrow's tea. Julia arched her eyebrows, shrewd eyes picking out all of the undertones as she watched them, Claire now two feet from Evan, facing him directly, so aroused with anger and passion that she'd as likely slap him as kiss him.

He arched his eyebrows, the expression making him more attractive, her stomach tightening with the pain of rejection. “And you, Lady Claire, should know that the same holds true for many men.”

“What do you mean?” asked Julia. Evan let out a sound of disbelief. Julia looked at him quizzically, then at Claire, and then her mouth opened slightly, as if to acknowledge the deeper implications.

“Men cannot choose their wives? You are equating the role of women and men in courtship, Mr. Michaelson? Are you certain you did not injure more than your leg at war? Your thinking seems impaired,” Claire blurted. She was breathing hard, her clothing oppressive, her body angry and smothered by so many layers.

So many rules.

He reached for her gloved hand and startled her, bending slightly, his lips pressing against the cloth, murmurs creating small vibrations that seemed centered on the tender flesh of her belly. “Forgive me. I have clearly offended you.”

Anything but this. Claire could handle being angry with him. Could manage any condescension he might inflict. Could even muddle through watching him dance with another.

But right this very moment, his apology and the view of his lips on her hand made her light up with passion and pain, the blend so flurried she needed an escape.

“And furthermore!” Claire added. “If you are going to besmirch my family's reputation, my sweet cousin's honor, please kindly do it in the manner of polite company – with whispers behind fans at soirees and in salons, hisses and moans in a lover's ear on country visits – and not in the middle of Hyde Park in broad daylight.” And with that she hooked her arm in Julia's and the two women stormed off, her sister now joining her in the art of angry offense, leaving Evan to stand there sputtering apologies that were a balm for Claire's aggrieved heart and body. The buzzing faded as she stepped further from him, though the abatement was temporary.

She knew she would not rest for as long as she lived if she could not be with Evan. Yet why, oh why, had he not fought for her? Papa's words stung.

But thank goodness Papa had not paired her with the Earl of Framingshire. However, a worse thought invaded – she truly had no choice. Papa could pick someone far worse than Framingshire, and she, like her cousin Ana, could be judged for the pairing.

Ah, her heart hurt.

First sentence: The Waterfall's Kiss

Lady Claire Hanscombe hated cocks, but she was most tired of those that woke her with their demands for attention – and this morning the one she glared at through one eye seemed larger than usual, with a pressing need that made her sigh.

Legs hit #53 on Amazon's free list!

Legs is sitting at #53 on the overall Free list! Get your copy today -- last chance!

A new Regency novella

First draft of my blurb:

1810, northern England

For Lady Claire Hanscombe, her father's sudden fortune from a risky investment in a South American silver mine means that marrying childhood love Evan Michaelson, a commoner, is now out of the question. Lord Christian Hanscombe, Earl of Landsdown, married off her twin sister, Sara, to a prince of a minor country and he plans to place Claire and her younger sister, Julia, in line for thrones as well.

Evan Michaelson had known since his early teens that he would marry Claire; his wealthy solicitor father had planned the match quite carefully, lining up the poor noble with his family's fortune to gain a title for his son. When the elder Michaelson suggested that Lord Hanscombe consider a longshot investment in the Spanish colonies, he never imagined he would seal his own family's doom and end the dream of marrying into nobility.

Fearing her pending marriage to a prince from a strange land, Claire seeks refuge in a magical waterfall on the Hanscombe estate that draws women to it for special, sensual properties, qualities that no proper lady should know of, much less harness. Evan, unable to sleep as he fitfully worries about losing his love, encounters her there, finding her in a most compromising position – and mutual frustration yields to mutual desire. As Claire prepares to be betrothed to a prince far away, Evan schemes to find a way out of the impossible mess that keeps them apart.

Time is not on their side, but perhaps – just perhaps – Evan can convince Claire to throw all convention aside and take control of their destiny by making an irrevocable decision that would shock the ton if known. One enormous risk taken by Claire's father has nearly ruined their love; if Evan's own risk pays off, though, it means a lifetime together...

And a sample:

Lady Claire Hanscombe had just turned twenty and was very, very tired of ever so many things. Tired of being proper. Tired of listening to her father suggest ideal matches for her. Tired of the endless whispers behind delicate fans at soirees. But most of all, she was tired from all the balls she was now forced to attend; what had once been a mad, enjoyable blur of fresh silks and men in formal attire, new refreshments and a mix of accents and pleasant conversation had quickly become a chore, a duty to suffer through as so many eligible men, most of them rakish, greedy cads, fought for her hand in a dance or, as they both knew, her dowry and her maidenhead.

As one of the daughters of the Earl of Landsdown she was already a catch. That her father had also become rich three years ago from a highly speculative investment in the Spanish colonies made her and her other unattached sister, Julia, THE young women to marry this season. Her father had taken an enormous risk with a highly-speculative investment in a silver mine the year before, in 1809. By the skin of his teeth, the shipment of precious metal had made it out of South America before revolution rippled through the land, causing problems for investors. Without father's silver windfall, a financial risk Mama had given him great tongue lashings over but that now she claimed to have supported, she and Julia, a year younger, would have just been middling in the marriage field.

Instead, she was at the top of the future brides of the ton.

And she hated every minute of it.

It was bright morning, that moment when the roosters pronounced their manlihood, the birds stretched their beaks wide with a tweeting yawn, and when Claire was most able to escape to her new activity. She craved a long walk on the family estate, needed desperately to forget all about Evan Michaelson, the solicitor's son she had been told, since she was fifteen, she would likely wed. He was quite pleasing to the eye, with thick, dark hair and paradoxically bright, keen blue eyes. "Black Irish" Papa had sniffed, but Mama had hushed him.

He was considerably healthier and far more distinguished in body than any other known suitor, standing a head above every other man, including Papa. Once, last summer, she had seen him shirtless as he boxed an old friend from Eton at a summer gathering at his parents' estate. The party had wound down to the evening, more whiskey than lemonade in the men's (and, if truth be told, women's) bodies and brains, driving out all common sense. Someone had suggested a boxing match, and a crowd formed.

Claire had caught a ringside seat, then been pushed back two or three layers behind the bodies, the rough shoves an affront, though more an ego bruise than anything else. Evan had stripped off his shirt and she had inhaled sharply. This was a chest like a Greek God's, like the marble statues she had seen in Sir Percival Tetley's private art collection. Her eyes had soaked in everything she saw, amazed by Evan's tan skin, the small scars that dotted him everywhere but seemed to have largely spared his face when the pox had stuck him as a child; Mama always said that having the pox as a child nearly killed the parents, but if the child survived at least the scars were less. Evan's face was taut with muscle and focus, though an easy, casual friendliness stretched across his face when he smiled, and his hair fell across his forehead in a handsome manner.

During the boxing match she had measured him with her eyes, not caring about his competency in the fight but instead reveling in the opportunity to watch a man's body in action. When he twisted, muscles stretched from his waist into his ribs. As he jutted a sharp blow his shoulders ripped with power and release. He huffed with exertion, the deep breaths expanding his rib cage and abdomen, the little clusters of small, tight mounds of muscle like little mice under the skin. When he stretched his arms up he looked like a viper from Sir Percival's nature collection of curiosities, and then her eyes trailed down to the increasingly furry trail of hair that seemed to continue under his waistband, without suspenders his pants hung quite low, revealing underclothes that were wrinkled with wear and then a bulge that had --

But she would not marry him. No matter how pleasing his body was, nor how polite he was, nor what a good dancer he was, she would not, could not, marry him.

Her sister, Sara, had told her once that Evan was a rake. A true cad who slept with women and who drank himself into a stupor. "He had two women at once, I have been told!" Sara had exclaimed, her blonde hair fringing a flushed face, those expressive green eyes both horrified and fascinated. Claire and Sara were twins, and Sara had whispered more to her that day, telling her everything she had heard about Evan's proclivities. And if Sara meant to dissuade Claire, she had quite the opposite effect.

That had been last year, before Sara had been married off to a prince in a small country in Europe. She would, long live the king, become Queen one day.

And so, you see, Claire could not marry Evan, for Papa had determined that if he could marry one daughter off to a royal prince, then he could, of course, marry off her identical twin to another. “It's a shame about Celia,” he could be found muttering, for the eldest of his daughters had been married off before he was rich. “I had no choice but to give her to the elder Duke of Leyden.”

“She hates him, Papa,” Claire sighed. Her freshness normally would have elicited a frown from her father, but he merely sighed. Everyone knew Celia detested her husband, who was four and thirty years her senior.

“He has a sound income, and makes a good match for her.” But he gives her no heirs, thought Claire. For her sister had told her the bedroom ways the Duke preferred, acts that produce no children but do, indeed, cause pain for the wife.

Claire had no desire to be a Queen, not in England and not far away. For that matter, when she thought of Celia's life now, she was not quite certain she wished to be married at all!

What she desired today, though, what had plagued her all night, and what motivated her to get up so early was something Sara had whispered to her, in an entirely different conversation, but one no less salacious. As she slipped on her yellow cotton frock and left the buttons she could not reach undone, then added a warm, blue pelisse, she paused.

Should she go? Would it be too cold? What if someone saw her? She caught her worried face in the hand mirror on her side table. That face! She wore it too often, the look of indecision and of restraint, of wanting something desperately but stopping oneself for no good reason other than propriety.

Propriety be damned. She quietly, silently slipped out of the house, the rooster boasting of his manhood the backdrop for her secret journey.

#82 in the Free Kindle book list!

#82 -- keep spreading the word! I'd love to break into the top 50! Click here to download your freebie copy of Legs.

Kindle Nation Daily post on Legs!

Legs is featured in Kindle Nation Daily freebie post.

#102 in the free store on Amazon -- let's push it into the top 50! Spread the word! Free copy -- click here.

#2 in Historical Fantasy on Kindle!

Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #285 Free in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Free in Kindle Store)

#2 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Fiction > Fantasy > Historical

We are 14 hours into the first FREE day for Legs on Kindle, and so far, so good!

Get your copy while you can -- the free promo is today and tomorrow.

"Legs" is FREE TODAY and tomorrow (3/20 and 3/21). Spread the news!

Go and get your free copy of Legs!

A Sample from "Unfinished"

Bribing his way into John Stone's five-story Beacon Hill mansion had not been easy, but he knew too many people who knew a cousin who worked on Beacon Hill who knew a servant in the Stone family home for it to be impossible. A promise to help a friend's aunt's daughter's husband with an application for a clerk's position with his law firm was enough to get back door entry. Access was the grease that lubricated where money could not.

Here he stood, skulking about the servants' stairwell, squeezing into passages that threatened to cut off the blood supply to his arms. It was Thursday night, and he stood outside her door and tried to find a way to ask her if he could come inside and talk to her. He'd read the final letter and realized that this was what she did. She used a bitter, caustic sarcasm and wit to express her anger, then she'd cool down later. Right now he was as concerned with talking to her as he was with controlling his raging arousal. The angrier she got the more it excited him, and he wanted to strip off her clothes and take her right there on the hallway floor.

Moonlight poured into the hall through a warbled window, the light rippling and distorted, showcasing the glassmaker's imperfections. He looked outside and up, noting the cloudless sky. Stars appeared so close and their light diminished in comparison to the smiling moon.

Rap, rap rap. Thick knuckles made muffled sounds on the heavy oak door. Padded footsteps made their way and he felt the doorknob slide counter-clockwise in his hand. He held loosely, hoping to keep her quiet and calm lest he be revealed and subject him – and her – to the inevitable scandal that his discovery would provoke.

“James!” she hissed, surprise blasting from those glittering eyes, proper shock emanating from her pores. She stood straighter and leaned into his chest, looking up. “What on earth do you think you're doing here?”

Wisps of light cotton floated under a thick flannel gown lined with silk. So this is what that beautiful body looked like in simple form. She wore no undergarments and the hallway chill tightened her nipples enough so that he could see them, practically feel their texture in his mouth, a nub that –

Stronger than she looked, the force of her hand clenching his upper arm pulled him into her bedroom. She shut the door slowly, softly, behind her, then stood before him and crossed her arms over those arched nipples that possessed him.

“Are you mad? Breaking into my father's home?”

“You once asked whether I have a healthy fear of billionaire fathers,” he began.

She smirked and tipped her head to the left, like a wife evaluating her husband after a night out drinking with work friends. Her hair was mussed and the overall effect of her nightdress, the bed behind her, and his mad dash up the stairs as an intruder made him cross the simple feet between them and grasp her shoulders.

“My answer is 'no.'” And with that he leaned in and kissed her, pinning her arms to her chest for a few seconds before she wiggled and slid them around his waist, his hand cupping her jaw and bringing her lips to his. They were breaking so many rules in one embrace, here in her father's home, in her bedroom, his hands roaming down her back, pulling her and bringing her in to him, hips pressing against him as she stood on tip-toe.

Unfinished, available now on Kindle.

"Unfinished" now available on Kindle!

"Unfinished" is now available on Kindle:

IF LOVE NEVER DIES...then where does it go?

A fraudulent psychic. A soulless declaration. A father determined to disinherit her. Can love overcome all -- or will it need another generation?

Billionaire's daughter Lilith Stone never imagined she'd (almost) lose her virginity in her father's Beacon Hill garden, right under his watchful eye. Poor Southie boy James Hillman never intended to fall in love; ambition and wealth meant too much to him.

When this unlikely duo meets for the first time as Lilith's father tries to have her committed to the mental ward for a repeat performance, both find that "never" means nothing when it comes to love. As James prepares to find his fortune in the mines in Chile, Lilith struggles with the demons of her own past and a sexual proclivity that shatters known medical science assumptions.

With a cast of characters that range from a cuckolded billionaire to a beribboned chihuahua, this Edwardian tale of 1910s love -- and loss -- asks the question: If love never dies, then where does it go?

Fans of "Dead Again," "Somewhere in Time" and Possession may enjoy the story of these two souls destined to make history together.

**Note: Unfinished is a work of historical fiction with romantic elements, but it is not a "romance." Its sequel is Legs, which IS a traditional "romance." Read the books in this series in any order!**

Buy "Unfinished" now!

New cover for Unfinished!

With overwhelming support for the "corset cover," your suggestions really helped! Some folks didn't like the tagline placement, and others wanted a splash of color. My editor pointed out that Lilith is a blond, not a brunette.

So here we go!

I need opinions on the cover for "Unfinished"!

Chime in via comment -- please give your opinion! Which one is better?

Legs, Unfinished, and Kindle only (for 90 days)

I've decided to enroll both Legs and Unfinished in the Amazon.com "Select" program for Kindle. For readers who don't know how this works, enrolling both books means that they will *only* be available for Kindle, for sale on Amazon.com, for 90 days.

No Nook, no PDF -- just .mobi through Kindle.

90 days after I enroll them, though, I'll add them back to Nook and on other sites. For those who use a Kindle, the *great* news is that enrolling the books in Select means I can have FREE days, days when you can get the books completely free as a promotion.

Unfinished and Legs are both in the formatting stage right now (Legs has been massively revamped). Watch for more details.

RWI's More Than Magic Contest is banning same-sex romance entries

So time goes backwards (and not in a good way) for some romance contests! Who knew?

Romance Writers Ink, a Tulsa, Oklahoma-based RWA chapter, is holding its Magic 2012 contest. Check out the first rule:

ENTRY DEADLINE: March 2, 2012 – Books must be received by March 7, 2012

RULES:

1. All entries must be book-length romance fiction.
Includes novellas of at least 15,000 words.

– Note: MTM will no longer accept same-sex entries in any category.

Heidi Cullinan brought it to everyone's attention. Courtney Milan is calling for a boycott. Kari Gregg talks about the RWA's definition of "romance" (hint: it's not discriminatory). Sarah at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books takes on the subject as well.

Kari Gregg emailed RWI and asked why same-sex romance was banned. Here's how she tells it:

So…I emailed the contest organizer to ask why this change was enacted. The contest organizer replied that RWI chapter members were “uncomfortable” with accepting same-sex contest entries. “Same-sex was just too much.”

Your judges may be "uncomfortable" with reading same-sex romance, but so what?

Plenty of folks are "uncomfortable" with your bigotry.

I'm an RWA member. You're an RWA chapter.

Act like one.

And, because outrage always inspires an internet petition, here it is. 616 signatures so far.

Sign up for my New Releases email list -- get the prequel!

I have a new email list -- I'm so 2002! You can sign up with one simple step here: CLICK ME! CLICK ME!

I'll ONLY announce new releases, which means you'll get 2 emails from me this year if I write fast! "Unfinished" is the name of the prequel to "Legs," so it will be the first notice you'll get. Learn when it goes live on Kindle and how to get it right away!

I'll never spam you or share your information with others.

"Unfinished" is finished!

::happy dance::

I just finished the draft for "Unfinished," Lilith and James' story. It's in the hands of my editor now!

Readers can look forward to a very revised version of Legs, plus the new Unfinished eBook, coming out on Amazon within the next 4-6 weeks. Watch here for more!