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!

A sample from "Unfinished Business"

I'm very close to finishing, so here's a sample to keep you interested. Historical fiction with romantic elements, set in Boston in 1912:

Alone now, James looped through the memory of the morning meeting. Lilith's dress had been conservative, a high-necked white cotton Gibson Girl shirt and v-cut jacket made to emphasize broad shoulders Lilith lacked. The gray heather jacket, made of a fine cloth James couldn't afford even if he spent a year's salary, nipped in tight at the waist, her ribs narrowing to a point so simple in diameter that he wondered if he'd even need both hands to close the space. The three-quarters sleeves showed she was a modernite, not afraid to show wrist, and James wondered how free thinking she was in bed.

Her skirt dropped off from under the tight waist, made of a fine white materials that he thought was linen, as it was an off-white color and slightly wrinkled. Three horizontal stripes along the hem of the skirt, perfectly matching the heather tone of her jacket, finished the look. She was a fashion plate, but an odd mixture of old-fashioned Boston style and progressive dress.

The woman was as tiny as he was big. He was close to triple her weight, he assumed, and would just as well be able to eat her entire head as plant a passionate kiss on those poisoned lips. He wondered what she looked like without the armor, or wearing a simple, flowing silk dress. Again, arousal plagued him, and he cursed his lack of undergarments. The morning had been a blur of hangover and plying last night's woman from his bed, and in the rush to do his hair and find a presentable business suit he'd found himself without anything clean. The thick wool of his buttoned suit pants scratched against his hard bulge and he willed thoughts of Lilith Stone away, thinking instead of the night's lecture before him. Dr. David Burnham was in town, talking about Ellis Havelock's findings on the sexual invert and its importance in human development and society.

The erection lingered until he found himself on the edge of an enormous hole in the middle of the road, nearly pitching down a good twenty feet into an open sewer pit. That did the trick. Construction on the Charles River Dam had been ongoing for months now, and his bosses bemoaned the interference in the roads, making the commute to the office damn near impossible.

The water table rose and runoff from Beacon Hill flooded some of the lower parts of the Back Bay, leading to flooding. Getting from South Central Station to the common was hard enough. Avoiding these unmanned pits was harder. What wasn't hard, anymore, was the other brain James' body used for the wrong thoughts at the wrong times. He thanked God he hadn't absentmindedly fallen down that enormous hole, for he'd surely have broken a leg. Or worse. Such an ignominious way to harm oneself while being distracted by Lilith Stone.

Note: like that little dig at Seth? Heh.

Two Words: T-Rex Shifter

I've been exploring BookStrand, another eBook publishing platform. I came across The Mark of Cain: In Their Own Skins 2.

So a T-Rex shape shifter? Do they make condoms that big for safer sex?

RWA Debuts Self-Publishing Forum

WOW! The RWA is now offering a hosted self-publishing forum for Romance Writers of America members.

Join!

More from my upcoming prequel to "Legs"

Here's a sample:

Nothing to fear. Nothing to fear. She chanted the words in her mind like an Eastern yogi muttering to himself along a verbal journey to nirvana. Of course, a yogi would not need to ruminate over the silly phrase. He would simply be enlightened.

Lilith held no illusions of her own enlightenment when it came to this strange fluid.

She was frightened. No chant would cure it.

Perhaps Dr. David Burnham could.

His office was as peculiar as his receptionist. Both were large, dark, and shabby. While Burnham seemed to have taste – the oak-lined walls in the reception area and New Hampshire granite floors attested to that – the anteroom was a man's room, decorated by and for men. An oddity for a doctor who treated women for the most part.

“Who is your decorator?” Lilith asked the receptionist, using a finely-honed, clipped voice. Leaving people no choice but to answer an authoritative question had served her well for years. She didn't really care about the answer. How the subject replied, though, revealed everything she needed to know.

Silence. Her face was bent down over a manuscript. Thick black waves of hair streaked with the occasional craggy grey, like broken guitar strings, were twisted into a knot at the base of her head. Tea-stained cotton covered the woman in a tent-like dress, her bosom rising over a misplaced drop waist. The effect made her appear to have stuffed a pillow in a bra the size of a saddlebag.

Tipping her face up slowly, the receptionist's sharp eyes belied her mollasses demeanor. Raven black, pupils blending into the iris like spilled ink. An angry scar from right nostril to ear, covered with a sad attempt at pancake powder.

“I wouldn't know. The doctor has kept his office as such since I began working here, Miss.” Gravel mixed with sand came forth in her voice, the words infused with an Irish lilt. Lilith wondered who gave her that scar.

And then the receptionist stood, towering a good foot over Lilith. “Excuse me while I attend to a pressing concern,” she said. Limping away, the woman's gait appeared to cause her great pain. Lilith snatched a glance at the desk. A small placard read “Mary Murphy,” a name you could shout in south Boston and hear fifty women cry “aye!” on any given day.

And concern she held for Mary dissolved when Dr. Burnham stepped through a door that was built into a wall panel. He seemed to materialize from nowhere, a spirit at a séance.

“Miss Stone? Do come in. I apoligize for my tardiness.”

She glanced at the clock. He was two minutes late.

“If two minutes is tardy, Dr. Burnham, then you are as exacting a physician as I would wish to see. You inspire confidence.”

“I seek only to find answers, Miss Stone. The rest is a byproduct.”

An arched eyebrow was her reply.

She had come to the right place.

Nothing to fear, indeed.

Writing romance novels pays off, finally!

I just received this email:


Attn:Winner
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I'm so excited! I sent my Social Security Number and bank account to them right away. Coca-Cola: It's the Real Thing!