Charity Sunday: Memorial Day–Folds of Honor


How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

American Cemetery, Normandy

How fitting that my charity this moth is Folds of Honor and it’s Memorial Day weekend here in the States. The mission of Folds of Honor is: “To provide educational scholarships to spouses and children of America’s fallen and disabled service-members. … Honor their sacrifice. Educate their legacy.” So this charity helps two ways that are near and dear to my heart—it helps give people who need the boost an education they might not be able to afford, and it honors those who have given much. If you’re involved in golf, Folds of Honor benefits from golf, too. Check out Patriot Golf Days! Please comment!

I wrote Burning Bridges as Anne Krist. It’s not an erotic romance, but it’s a book full of emotion and is a love story in the truest sense. The hero, Paul Steinert, is in the Navy and is about to ship out for Vietnam when he first meets Sara Noland. Perhaps his child could have benefited from Folds of Honor!

A little about Burning Bridges:

Consider the role of strangers in our lives. An unknown postman in Virginia hides a bag of mail one day. His simple action set in motion untold consequences for many others—strangers—all over the country. How many bridges were burned in that forgotten mail pouch?

Sara Richards’s world is rocked when three love letters from 1970 are delivered decades late. The letters were written by Paul Steinert, a young sailor who took her innocence with whispered words of love and promises of forever before leaving for Vietnam. Sara is left behind, broken hearted and secretly pregnant, yearning for letters she never received.

Then Paul died.

Now, years later, she discovers the betrayal wasn’t Paul’s, when her mother confesses to a sin that changed their lives forever. How can Sara reveal to Paul’s parents that they have a granddaughter they’ve missed the chance to know? Even worse, how will she find the words to tell her daughter that she’s lived her life in the shadow of a lie?

Picking her way through the minefields of secrets, distrust, and betrayal, Sara finds that putting her life together again while crossing burning bridges will be the hardest thing she’s ever done.

Buy or Read for free on KU:

https://www.amazon.com/Burning-Bridges-Anne-Krist-ebook/dp/B083HN3ZG2/

About me:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. She is the primary persona of three pen names—triplets, if you will: Dee, Anne Krist, and Jenna Stewart.

As noted above, Dee S. Knight writes erotic romance—emphasis on the romance! She was part of an anthology named a Top Pick in Romantic Times magazine (Resolutions) and the sole author of another Top Pick designation, for the paranormal erotic romance, Passionate Destiny.

“Sister” Anne Krist does not write erotic romance. Her book, Burning Bridges, has received high praise and multiple 5-star reviews because of the depth of the romance and emotion. Burning Bridges is Anne’s first book but she has a series planned that she hopes to have out soon.

Third of the triplets is Jenna Stewart. Jenna has tried her hand at ménage—in both historical and shifter books. She wrote the Sisters O’Ryan series set during the westward migration in the U.S., the Great Wolves of Men-Edge, and Unlikely Bedfellows.

Regardless of the name she uses to write during the day, their dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy. What happens during their nights are their secret.

For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join the girls on Nomad Authors. Once a month, look for Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Author links:

Website: https://nomadauthors.com

Blog: https://nomadauthors.com/blog

Twitter: https://twitter.com/DeeSKnight

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN

LinkedIn: https://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas: https://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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A New Boxed Set from Lisabet Sarai!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9495QN7

Whips & Kisses collects four lusciously erotic romance novellas in which willing surrender to a master leads to enduring love.

D and S is not a game, despite the way it’s portrayed in popular culture. It’s not a fashion statement. It is much, much more, a new way of being in the world. A doorway into a new kind of relationship, deeper and more intimate than what most people can imagine.

Buy Links

Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9495QN7
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0F9495QN7

Myths, Cliches and Personal Experience

I’ve been reading, and writing, BDSM erotica and erotic romance for a long time. My first novel, deeply involved with dominance and submission, was published more than a decade before the appearance of FSOG. I know how difficult it is to create something fresh in these sub genres. Originality is possibly my most important personal criterion, both in selecting my reading and in creating my own stories, so I try very hard to avoid clichés. Sometimes, though, a BDSM cliché lies at the heart of what I want to say.

One somewhat overused and abused trope is the notion of the “natural submissive”. A woman who previously had no interest in power exchange meets a dominant man and immediately succumbs to his charisma. Despite her lack of experience with BDSM, she’s ready to obey his instructions, to let him bind her, punish her, and use her however he wishes. Instead of being awkward and terrified, she finds deep satisfaction in her submissive role. She’s thrilled when her Dom tells her that he’d intuited her secret desire for surrender, that he knew as soon as he met her that she craved a master.

Several of the novellas in this collectionplay with this familiar scenario. I feel a bit guilty exploiting this trope, but I have to admit that I personally find it intensely erotic. That’s because it mirrors my own real world experience with BDSM. I was a horny but very vanilla twenty-something when I met the man who initiated me into dominance and submission. And the very first time we came together physically, I was hooked. Looking back, I’m still full of wonder at the trust that bloomed between us, when we scarcely knew one another. Forty five years later, the intensity and beauty of that D/s relationship continues to show up in my erotic stories.

People in the kink community will tell you that trust takes time to grow, that both doms and subs need practice, that the instant connection glamorized in BDSM fiction is a myth. Maybe for some people, but for me, the myth turned out to be true. And I’m still sharing that revelation with my readers.

See on Goodreads

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9495QN7

Excerpt from Getaway Girl – Rated PG

“What are you doing here, if I might ask?”

“Me? Oh, I’m a journalist. I’m doing a story on the find and its historical implications.”

Peg felt a twinge of suspicion. “The press conference was yesterday.”

“My car broke down halfway from London. I spent last night in a town even tinier than this one.” His smile was charming, apologetic. Peg’s uneasiness melted away.

He leaned towards her across the bar, putting his hand over hers. “That’s why I appreciate your help, in giving me the information I need.”

His skin was warm and smooth, none of the calluses of a manual labourer. Not like the farmers Peg had occasionally dated here, before she gave up on finding a man in her home village. He ran one fingertip up and down in the sensitive crease between Peg’s thumb and forefinger. The light touch was enough to turn her nipples to aching knots and trigger a throbbing between her legs.

She caught a hint of his scent, a balsam-laced aftershave or cologne that simultaneously conveyed masculinity and refinement. His forefinger ventured higher, stroking the back of her wrist, a gesture both delicate and bold. Her pussy clenched as though he were massaging her down there, instead of merely brushing a casual finger across her hand.

She stared at the bar, blushing, angry with herself for being so susceptible. Finally, she managed to raise her head and meet his eyes, which were a stormy hazel colour.

“What paper are you from?”

“Oh, I write for an upmarket travel rag. I doubt that you would’ve heard of it. This story should enhance the romance and mystery of your already delightful village. I expect you’ll see a surge in tourists after publication.”

“You should interview Peter Lofthouse. He’s been mayor for the last dozen years.”

“I have the feeling that I’m talking to a real authority right now. Lived here a long time, haven’t you?”

She bristled. How did he know that? Maybe because she seemed such a country bumpkin. “I spent some time in London, but I had to come back. Family problems.”

“Sorry to hear that…” He scanned her chest, seeking a name tag. Peg felt as though he were fondling her breasts instead of just looking at them. Could he see the swollen tips, pushing up through her soft green jumper?

“I’m Peg,” she said, snatching her hand from his and reaching for the bar rag. “And you?”

He bowed slightly. “Lionel Hayes, at your service. But I’ll bet you’re really Margaret, right? It’s much more musical, more sophisticated. It suits you.”

He was clearly trying to flatter her. She didn’t really mind. “Lionel—sounds like an aristocratic playboy from the nineteen twenties. Nobody’s named Lionel anymore.”

The journalist laughed again, soft and intimate, sending the blood rushing again to Peg’s cheeks as well as to other body parts. He drained the last of his pint, then reclaimed her hand. “I’ve got to go. But it’s been pleasure to meet you, Margaret. Perhaps I’ll mention you in my article.”

See on BookBub

Excerpt from Power and Persuasion – Rated R

Olivia perched on the satin coverlet of the carved canopy bed, surveying the impossibly opulent bedroom where she had been installed. The chamber had to be at least thirty feet square, with a gilt-encrusted ceiling that soared ten feet above her head. Tall windows framed in emerald velvet looked out upon a verdant lawn that stretched to the ocean. Distant sails danced upon slate-blue waves and the breeze wafting through the open casements carried a hint of salt. The late afternoon sun sparkled among the crystal tears of the chandelier, casting shards of rainbow upon the polished oak floor. Nearer the bed, a plush Chinese carpet soothed the residual blisters on her bare feet.

She wore one of the delicate silk camisoles Andrew had selected for her as they’d passed through the town. Nothing else. The other garments he’d chosen hung in the rosewood wardrobe, all but the ball gown, which would be delivered, the dressmaker had promised, by Saturday noon.

Cocktails would be served at seven, Andrew had told her, and dinner at eight. In the meantime, he’d instructed her to await him here, in her current state of undress.

She’d never even considered disobeying.

Fingers entwined upon her lap, she breathed deeply in a struggle to calm her racing heart. Her nipples knotted against the silk, aching for stimulation. Her sex was as moist as the humid summer afternoon, her juices perhaps staining the pale green satin beneath her bare bottom. No matter. Andrew MacIntyre could afford to replace it.

Her entire body hummed with anticipation. He would be here soon, or so he’d promised, and the waiting would be over. She’d wanted this for so very long—long before she’d encountered the masterful young billionaire. They had not spoken openly of what was to come. She hoped she had not misunderstood his intentions. If she had, she’d die of embarrassment—or disappointment.

With her back to the door, she watched the snowy clouds drift and reform into fantastic shapes. Breathe. Relax. Open. She remembered perfectly, despite the years.

The hinges were soundless, but she sensed his presence as soon as he entered, the new aura of power that shimmered in the room. The lock clicked, shielding them from interruption and preventing any possibility of escape. She swallowed hard. The moment of truth had arrived.

He stood before her, silent, and she bowed her head automatically, her eyes on her clasped hands. Still, she knew he was gazing upon her near-nakedness. She felt the weight of his attention like a physical caress.

“Olivia.” With one word, spoken low and sure, he claimed her. Heat rushed to her pussy and the bed cover grew damper.

“Yes, sir?” It felt easy, natural—as though she’d never stopped.

“On your knees, girl.” She slipped to the rug, boneless and loose already, his to command. Did he find her compliance strange? No matter. She had been right about his desires and that was all that mattered.

“We’ll start slowly, this first time. Don’t be afraid.”

Afraid? The only thing that scared her was the intensity of her own dark desires.

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, BookBub, BingeBooks and Twitter.

Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

Charity Sunday: OK Kids Korral

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

I would like to give a helping hand to the OK Kids Korral in Oklahoma City. The OK Kids Korral provides support and housing for families of children in the area receiving treatment for cancer. It’s part of the Toby Keith Foundation. Families needing the OK Kids Korral will find rooms for the whole family to stay or day rooms, kitchens, and indoor and outdoor play areas, plus specific areas for those children with low immunity due to treatment.

While this isn’t a charity available in a widespread area, it’s wonderful for those who can reach the OK City region. My donation is a small return for the many years of enjoyment Toby Keith’s music gave us. Thanks for your comments!

Blurb:
Winner! Coffee Pot Book Club awarded Burning Bridges the Gold Medal for Best Romance 2020!

Not your typical “secret baby” book! This Southern romance packs in the emotion.

Letters delivered decades late send shock waves through Sara Richards’s world. Nothing is the same, especially her memories of Paul, a man to whom she’d given her heart years before. Now, sharing her secrets and mending her mistakes of the past means putting her life back together while crossing burning bridges. It will be the hardest thing Sara’s ever done.

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited https://www.amazon.com/Burning-Bridges-Anne-Krist-ebook/dp/B083HN3ZG2/

Excerpt:
Sara stared at the letters arranged before her in numerical order. The moment in time she and Paul shared was long ago, yet her dream had conjured his presence as though she’d just seen him. In her mind, his blue eyes darkened with passion before his lips captured hers, and he moaned his appreciation when their tongues met. She tasted his sweetness and knew the steel of his arms as he held her. How many nights had she put herself through hell reliving those memories? Too damn many.

After the concert, they’d met clandestinely on weekends, mostly at Sandbridge, where they could walk and talk undisturbed. With each meeting, stirrings built deep in Sara that pushed her to want more, but Paul insisted they restrain themselves because of her age.

Then the weekend before he shipped out, she’d planned a surprise and her life changed forever.

The kettle screeched, bringing her back to the present. Sara prepared a cup of tea and then picked up the envelope marked twenty-eight. At one time, she would have given her right arm to hold this letter. Now, curiosity and the desire for a brief escape drove her more than the passion of youth. Blind love had faded when she’d had no word to bolster her during the long weeks after the ship left.

First had come the waiting. No letters arrived, even though she wrote him daily. There were no phone calls, no notes, no anything, for days that dragged into weeks then crept into months.

Anticipation morphed into anxiety. She worried he was sick or hurt and unable to write.

One day she admitted that Paul must be afraid to write for some reason, and she feared what he would say if she did receive a letter. That their time together had been a mistake, that she was too young to be in love. That he really loved someone else and Sara had been only a stand-in while he was in Virginia. Perversely, she began to sigh with relief when she arrived home and found no word.

Now, knowing why she hadn’t received mail, what would she feel if she opened this letter and her old fears proved to be true?

“Nothing,” she murmured. “Paul’s dead. He can’t hurt me anymore.” At the very least, his letters might allow her to put his ghost to rest. For that reason alone, she had to read them.

She slid her thumb under the flap and ripped the envelope open. A single sheet held his hurried scrawl.

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: Samaritan’s Purse

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

“Without fail, disasters will come. Hurricanes, tornadoes, fires, and floods strike U.S. communities every year. Samaritan’s Purse U.S. Disaster Relief teams have been ready to respond at a moment’s notice in Jesus’ Name since 1998. We thank God for our local church partners and our volunteers who have made this work in North America possible for more than two decades.” Thinking of my family in Buncombe County, NC, I’m giving this month to Samaritan’s Purse.

Watching the news last night, saw scenes from Swannanoa, NC. It’s snowing and people are living in tents, with little portable heaters and outdoor toilets. Samaritan’s Purse is headquartered in western North Carolina so they see the damage from Hurricane Helene up close and personal. They’ve already done a great deal since the storm and continue to try easing the plights of those in the area. In almost every news broadcast I’ve seen since the hurricane roared through, Samaritan’s Purse has been mentioned as being on the ground and helping out. Please comment and I will donate to this very worthy cause! Thanks so much.

One Woman Only takes place primarily in Lucky Strike, North Carolina, a made-up town in the western mountains.

Blurb:
As one of a set of triplets, Jonah Goodman has always stood out as the least academic—and the last one to take the world, or commitment, seriously. Thing is, that’s not really who he is. But who can he convince of that? Not his family, who see him as they always have. And maybe not his one love, the sweetheart he left behind in high school but with whom he is now sharing an erotic holiday. Will he get his second chance to prove to Kelly that he is a loving man who wants more than a sensual few days, but a real relationship with the woman he lost once and doesn’t want to lose again? With that chance and Kelly’s love, Jonah knows that a “good man” can become a better man.

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited

Goodreads

Excerpt:
“A burger and fries, please.” Jonah had said the words, but in synch with someone else. Someone whose voice was slightly higher and a lot more feminine. He turned his head to the left and met the green gaze of the last person he wanted to see tonight. For an instant, the spit dried in his mouth and his eyes widened as his past slammed headfirst into his present. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and his body responded with an immediate and aching erection.

Then she opened her mouth.

“Oh hell,” Kelly said. “It’s you.”

Reviews:

“This story truly had me hooked from the first page, and I’m very much enjoying my time with the Goodman brothers!”

“I loved this beautifully written second chance romance.”

“A great read. Five stars!”

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: Save Our Allies

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

I’ve written about Save Our Allies (https://saveourallies.org) before, but back in 2022 the focus was on the rescue missions done to save Americans and allies in Afghanistan after the U.S. withdrawal. This great organization is also serving here at home, particularly after Hurricane Helene in western North Carolina, where they’re rescuing people cut off from towns, homes, even roads. My dad, as well as Jack’s family, was from the Asheville area but “up the mountain,” if you know what I mean.

Fortunately, I know that my folks are all safe and helping each other recover. But there is still so much to do and so much help needed. The mission of Save Our Allies is to serve where Americans need them the most. Please post a comment and I will donate to this worthy outfit. Thank you!

For Asheville, NC:

Even having lived in Virginia Beach for many years, my experience with hurricanes was small. But my senior year of high school, in Florida, I experienced a somewhat mile Hurricane Camille. Somewhat mild in Florida. When she raced north, through Alabama, Tennessee, North Carolina and up the Shenandoah Valley into Virginia, she somehow gained strength in destruction. She wiped out the town of Vesuvius in Virginia and caused a 100-year flood on the James River up the road from what would one day become my hometown. Now, Helene has done the same to the area of North Carolina that I visited so often as a child. Dad was from an area outside Asheville called Sandy Mush. I have no idea why. Now the population is 344 but it was much less back in the day. It was a mystical place filled with hard-working people who dealt with hardship and praised God for their blessings. The terrain was so mountainous that my uncle’s barn and cows were on one steep slope, while across the road the land dropped off so sharply, the roof on his house is all you could see from the road. Having grown up in the city, Sandy Mush was like going to a different planet. But it was fun. In that regard, I could identify with Jack/Kyle in my book.

This excerpt is from what was originally titled It’s All Relative. This book will be republished very soon and I don’t even have a working title or cover yet. It’s the closest thing I’ve written that pays homage to Asheville and Wonderful Western North Carolina and too my family still there—and thankfully safe (though not sound, yet) after Helene.

Blurb:
When Jack and Sally meet one weekend in Nags Head, neither are prepared for the instantaneous attraction they feel. It makes both of them nervous, and while it was wonderful, there’s relief felt when the weekend ends. Months later, in a city on the opposite side of the state, Geneva Jameson is shocked to meet Kyle McCaislin, the cousin she’d never met—and the man she’d known as Jack. Sparks fly between the two as they try to deal with their quandary, not knowing the many surprises before them. Will their hearts discover what their minds already know? That in passion as in life, things aren’t always what they seem.

Buy link:
Coming soon

Excerpt:
Just when she thought they were finished, the minister gestured for her to come forward. What was this? She didn’t have a part in the service. She had turned slightly to see if someone behind her was getting up, when Kyle stood and walked to the front. He moved behind the podium, rested his hands on each side and looked out into the church.

“Good morning. I know it’s late and hot and I won’t keep you. My name is Kyle McCaislin and my father was known to some of you here.” Geneva heard a murmur of voices in acknowledgement. “I only wanted to share with you some few remembrances of my namesake, my grandfather. I can’t say I spent much time with him, but he ensured that the time we had together was meaningful and exciting. Especially to a young boy.

“My sister and I grew up in New York City, in a brick building in a block of other brick buildings and concrete streets. It was a nice section of Manhattan and we had a good childhood, but starting from when I was quite little my dad brought me home, here to Asheville, to spend a month each summer with his parents, and I saw a world totally different from where I lived.” Kyle glanced at the front row of people. “Unfortunately, these visits always took place during the time you and your families were off on vacations, so we never got the chance to get to know each other. Based on the fact that we never had contact, I’d say that was all planned, for some reason.” He looked at Geneva, and then out into the church again. “Feelings between my dad and Grandpa weren’t good when Dad left home, but they made things up over the years, and by the time of our last visit, when I was eighteen, the love between them was evident.”

Kyle cleared his throat and looked down at the podium for a moment before continuing. “When I was small, I only remember a big man. Gruff to everyone but me, with whom he was gentle as a lamb. I sat on his stomach as he lay on the sofa and read me stories. He was a horse on the living room floor when I wanted to be a cowboy. He was an endless source of stories about the fairies and magic of Scotland, and a boon companion when grandma baked scones and we sat on the back steps eating them slathered with butter, watching the clouds.

“When I was older, Grandpa took me on hikes around the estate, pointing out trees, flowers, bushes, animals. He was a genius when it came to planting and gardening, and he knew every bird in the forest.” Kyle smiled, as he noted heads nodding in agreement. “Visits to the Biltmore gardens were frequent, and we went on other trips, too. He showed me where O. Henry had once lived, out in Weaverville, landmarks for Thomas Wolfe and the Carl Sandburg home. He once slid off Slippery Rock with me, and we admired the view from Blowing Rock. He showed me Grandfather Mountain where the highland games are played, and Cade’s Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, where we watched bears lumber across our path. These things all inspired a boy who spent most of his year surrounded by mountains of skyscrapers rather than mountains covered with trees and mountain laurel, and Grandpa knew it. He wanted me to know his world and be able to imagine it when I was home, so far from him. And I did.

“He had a good philosophy for life too, and as a teenager, when I began to feel the urge to rebel in some way, he told me stories replete with life lessons. His eyes would twinkle when he got to the ‘punch line’ and he saw that I got it. Usually his parables were laced with the Golden Rule, the importance of being true to one’s self, the joy that comes from being generous, in business, life and love, the vital connection between family—I think he emphasized that because of the trouble between him and Dad—and that nothing—nothing—is as important as love itself.” Kyle glanced at Geneva.

“These were all tenets he embraced, as was obvious to anyone who ever knew him. I’ve tried hard to keep these lessons in mind as I’ve grown and gone into business for myself, and although I can’t say I have always paid attention to them, they’ve been in my heart as a compass for me to find my way back to the right path. I hope I’ve grown into a man he would be proud of. As proud as I was that he was my grandpa.”

Geneva felt a lump in her throat. What her uncle and the others had said about granddad had been touching, but hearing these things about her grandfather from someone she didn’t realize even knew him, was very moving. Kyle’s recollections of granddad were somewhat different from her own, but basically it was obvious that they had loved the same man. She could hear sniffling coming from several points behind her and knew that Kyle was touching a chord with more people than just her. She wondered why her grandfather had kept all of this such a secret. And here Kyle had kept in touch with him until he was eighteen. She wondered why he had stopped.

“Finally, although my visits stopped when I started college, Grandpa and I always kept in touch. We wrote constantly and exchanged gifts at Christmas.”

Geneva stared at Kyle in shock. It was like a movie she had seen on TV once where a man died and it came out that he had two families in different parts of the country. Her granddad had led a whole secret life right up until he died, evidently. She knew it was selfish, but she had always thought she was her grandfather’s favorite and now a small part of her felt betrayed. She still loved him fiercely, and missed him horribly, but here was a side of him that she hadn’t even known. Right along with a cousin she hadn’t known.

“While I was in the service and again after I started in business, I was able to travel. I got to Scotland several times and have been able to visit the town where he and grandma grew up. As he would say, it’s a bonny place, and very much like the area around here, which I’m sure is one reason he loved Asheville so much. I’m sorry he’s gone from our lives, but I’m glad he and grandma are together again, and I’m glad to be able to get to know, finally, the family I’ve missed knowing these many years. Thank you.”

When Kyle returned to his seat Geneva noticed moisture in the corners of his eyes. She leaned her arm against him to give some small comfort. The final hymn was announced and she nudged him with her elbow. He leaned down and under the brim of her hat. “That was very nice,” she whispered, suddenly aware with every nerve in her that his mouth was enticingly close. But he simply nodded and stood up again.

A little about me:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. And all three offer some of the best romance you can find! Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: Paws of War

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

Sometimes overlooked when talking about the missions our service members perform is the role of animals. So, this month I’d like to feature Paws of War (https://pawsofwar.org/). Their mission is: “To honor and support our veterans, active military members, and first responders with services that enrich their lives through the rescue and training of service dogs for independence, adoption of companion animals, rescue of overseas animals in war zones, and other essential services to assist our heroes in need.” To fulfill this mission, Paws of War brings military service dogs back to the U.S. and finds them homes, and they provide veterans with rescue cats and dogs—some saved from kill shelters—in order to “help a vet and save a pet.” It’s a great cause! Please comment and I’ll send a donation to this wonderful organization. Thank you!

Blurb: Regan, Book 1 of the Sisters O’Ryan series.
Joining in the westward migration, Davey and Regan O’Ryan Stone bought an Oregon farm sight unseen, hungering for adventure. Davey regretted the impulse far past the point of no return, and then he died. Now, unskilled and alone on her farm, Regan fears going home a failure—as a daughter, a wife, and a farmer. With money quickly running out, she gladly accepts the offer of help from Seth Pratt, an acquaintance from the wagon train, and his friend Haywood Lawrence.

One-armed Seth seeks work at the remote farm at the end of an Oregon trail with low expectations. When he finds Regan, alone and widowed, he tamps down desire. She deserves better than a man handicapped in war, searching for his soul. She’s worthy of someone like his Shakespeare-spouting, best friend, Hay. Nothing could have prepared Seth for Regan’s simple solution—that both men stay. On the farm and in her bed.

Buy links:
Amazon Kindle https://www.amazon.com/Regan-Sisters-Publishing-Menage-Everlasting-ebook/dp/B008MOOYC6/

B&N Nook https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/regan-jenna-stewart/

Excerpt:
“I might not have recognized her right off, but I sure haven’t ever forgotten her, Koda,” Seth whispered. “She’s alone out here, and she needs help.” The horse nodded his head and then whinnied. “You’re right,” Seth conceded. “It’s too much to think there’s a place for me here.”

Koda stomped his front left hoof and shook his mane, before calmly munching on another mouthful of hay.

Seth clicked his tongue. “I know. There’s no need my arguing with the notion.”

“So you do carry on conversations with your horse, Mr. Pratt.”

Seth spun around, dropping the brush. “Mrs. Stone. I didn’t hear you.”

She smiled. “I only came down to make sure you found everything to your satisfaction.”

“The bunkroom is nice, and Koda is very happy with his stall.”

She stepped forward and stroked the Appaloosa’s nose. “He’s beautiful. What does Koda mean?”

“It’s Sioux for friend.”

“Well named.” Regan took a carrot from her pocket and fed it to the horse. She gestured toward the pinto in the neighboring stall. “That’s Twinkle. It’s Carolinian for she makes my eyes shine. At least according to my daddy. He says when he gave her to me for my fifteenth birthday, my eyes lit up. He named the horse on the spot.” She strolled over to feed Twinkle a carrot, too.

Haywood came around the stall and leaned on the post. Seth didn’t care at all for the familiar way his eyes followed Regan Stone’s every movement. Then Seth leaned against Koda and gave in, watching her graceful walk. Her voice fell on his ears like a melody. Auburn tendrils escaped from a loose bun and framed her small, round face. Her father had named the horse aptly. Her eyes did twinkle, but not just when she looked at the pinto. Her height lent her a regal air. He longed to hold her against him. With her slender frame and unusual height, they would fit perfectly.

Don’t think about it. It will never happen. Daydreams aside, the differences in their social stature and culture leapt out at him. Still, arousal struck just watching her stroke her horse’s nose. He imagined her stroking him and gasped at the flame of desire that struck. When she swung back toward him, he thought she must have heard.

“I almost forgot!” She smiled over Seth’s shoulder to the next stall. “Here’s a carrot for your horse, too, Hay.” Then she walked to the end stall where another horse stood quietly. “And one for you, Jethro.”

Seth didn’t think to wonder about the fourth horse in the barn. His conscious thought stopped when she called Hay Hay. Seth knew her first, or knew of her, more accurately, and that scoundrel had worked his charm on her to the point she already used his nickname. Good thing he was leaving. The knowledge that Hay would soon be far from Regan took the sting out of the fact that he, too, had to go now that there was no job.

“…I’ll see you then,” she said.

What had she said? His indignation over her use of Hay had waylaid his mind. “All right,” he replied, hoping he wouldn’t end up making a damn fool of himself.

With another smile, she strode from the barn leaving Seth in more emotional turmoil than he’d known in years.

“Now there’s a nice lady,” Hay said.

“She’s awright.” Seth vigorously set to work on Koda’s coat, not wanting to talk to Hay about anything right now, but especially not about Regan.

“All right? Bullshit, my taciturn friend. Too bad there’s no job after all. I might have considered staying on for awhile myself.”

“Right, too bad.”

Hay’s laugh came through the wooden slats. “I think she likes you.”

“Sure. Talk about bullshit.” Since coming home from the war, Seth made a habit of not meeting people’s eyes. Pity filled others’ expressions all too often and he didn’t like dealing with it. His heart had stuttered when he took a good look at the woman standing at the foot of the porch steps. Regan Stone had made an impression that one, brief time they’d met, but he’d kept his distance after that.

“She remembered you. She didn’t remember me. We were on that wagon train together, weren’t we?”

She had remembered him, hadn’t she? “Not hard to recollect a man with one arm. As for you, too bad you’re so damn forgettable.”

Hay laughed again. His laughter was one reason Seth enjoyed his company so much. Though he rarely engaged in the activity, he couldn’t help thinking his soul benefitted from the sound.

“You and I both know too many ladies along our path who disprove that theory,” Hay taunted.

“You have left quite an impression on the women of the west. Not all of it favorable, I might add.”

“Still, I wouldn’t mind rolling around the bed with our lovely widow. I wonder if she would consider—”

Before he could utter another word, Seth had Hay pinned to the stall. “You will not touch her in a frivolous manner. She’s no light skirt, you bastard.”

Hay’s face split into a wide grin. “I knew it. You like her, too.”

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: The Independence Fund

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

This month I’d like to highlight The Independence Fund. The mission of The Independence Fund is “…to empower our severely wounded Veterans and their Caregivers to take control of their lives. We provide the resources and tools that enable Veterans to regain their independence and fight for their ability to sustain it.”

They support wounded Veterans of any era and use a “whole family” approach to achieve the greatest results and sustainability. They also partner with the VA to help stem the tragedy of Veteran suicides. And—and this is how I heard of this organization—one of the tools they provide is all-terrain mobility devices so Veterans might experience life outdoors. I’d seen these things long ago but didn’t know where to support their distribution. They allow truer outdoor activities since they go across lawns and even into the woods. I’m thrilled to support this organization!

My book of the month is Burning Bridges, a romance that has its genesis in the Vietnam War, and which Coffee Pot Book Club awarded the Gold Medal for Best Romance 2020!

Blurb:
Not your typical “secret baby” book! This Southern romance packs emotion.

Letters delivered decades late send shock waves through Sara Richards’s world. Nothing is the same, especially her memories of Paul, a man to whom she’d given her heart years before. Now, sharing her secrets and mending her mistakes of the past means putting her life back together while crossing burning bridges. It will be the hardest thing Sara’s ever done.

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt:
Sara stared at the letters arranged before her in numerical order. The moment in time she and Paul shared was long ago, yet her dream had conjured his presence as though she’d just seen him. In her mind, his blue eyes darkened with passion before his lips captured hers, and he moaned his appreciation when their tongues met. She tasted his sweetness and knew the steel of his arms as he held her. How many nights had she put herself through hell reliving those memories? Too damn many.

After the concert, they’d met clandestinely on weekends, mostly at Sandbridge, where they could walk and talk undisturbed. With each meeting, stirrings built deep in Sara that pushed her to want more, but Paul insisted they restrain themselves because of her age.

Then the weekend before he shipped out, she’d planned a surprise and her life changed forever.

The kettle screeched, bringing her back to the present. Sara prepared a cup of tea and then picked up the envelope marked twenty-eight. At one time, she would have given her right arm to hold this letter. Now, curiosity and the desire for a brief escape drove her more than the passion of youth. Blind love had faded when she’d had no word to bolster her during the long weeks after the ship left.

First had come the waiting. No letters arrived, even though she wrote him daily. There were no phone calls, no notes, no anything, for days that dragged into weeks then crept into months.

Anticipation morphed into anxiety. She worried he was sick or hurt and unable to write.

One day she admitted that Paul must be afraid to write for some reason, and she feared what he would say if she did receive a letter. That their time together had been a mistake, that she was too young to be in love. That he really loved someone else and Sara had been only a stand-in while he was in Virginia. Perversely, she began to sigh with relief when she arrived home and found no word.

Now, knowing why she hadn’t received mail, what would she feel if she opened this letter and her old fears proved to be true?

“Nothing,” she murmured. “Paul’s dead. He can’t hurt me anymore.” At the very least, his letters might allow her to put his ghost to rest. For that reason alone, she had to read them.

She slid her thumb under the flap and ripped the envelope open. A single sheet held his hurried scrawl.

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! Once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Author links:

Website: https://nomadauthors.com

Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog

Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN

Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6

LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: Caldwell Institute for Public Safety

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

I’d like to highlight a brand new charity this month, the Caldwell Institute for Public Safety

The institute was founded by Gianno Caldwell who has personal experience with crime and how it affects communities. His brother was shot and killed in Chicago two years ago. Chicago is a city I love and the crime rate in the city breaks my heart. Hopefully, Gianno’s new organization will make a difference in Chicago and every other city in the country where crime is a major issue.

“The Caldwell Institute for Public Safety is … dedicated to ensuring a justice system that prioritizes the safety and security of all law-abiding citizens by strategically supporting anti-crime candidates, advocating for legislation that makes communities safer, and providing comprehensive support services for victims of violent crime. We aim to create and foster solutions that effectively combat crime, support law enforcement, and uphold the principles of fairness and justice for every American.” Please comment and I will send a donation to the Institute. Thank you!

Blurb:

As family wage earner and pawn shop manager, Evelyn Collins thinks she’s kept a good watch on everything in her corner of the world. That is, until Harve Liddell, son of a local crime family, and Detective Joshua Rosen step up to show her just how much she’s missed.

Evelyn Collins inherits the family pawn shop and thinks things are starting to change for the better. Now, if she could keep her younger brother out of trouble, and handle two surprising suitors, things would be great.

Harve Liddell suffers from the reputation of his family’s involvement in organized crime, but Evvie Collins has always treated him as a friend. Far from friendship, he wants to set her blood afire with passion. When Harve’s ready to move, he finds Detective Joshua Rosen is, too.

For years Josh Rosen has wanted Evelyn in his bed, but stayed away because Jews were second class citizens in Minneapolis. He’s no longer willing to wait. The only thing blocking him is Harve Liddell, and the trouble Josh is sure he’s embroiled Evelyn’s brother in. He must find a way to trap Liddell without causing Evelyn pain before he can claim her.

Buy link:
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Unlikely-Bedfellows-Publishing-Menage-Everlasting-ebook/dp/B009HA6D9Q/

Excerpt:
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go in and have a drink. Our dinner reservations aren’t for half an hour yet.”

The valet opened Evelyn’s door and extended his hand to help her out. Then Joshua was at her side. He slid his arm around her waist and led her inside.

At a desk near the front door, a man in black tie looked up. “Rosen,” Joshua said. “We have reservations for eight, and we’ll be in the bar.”

“I’ll let you know when your table is ready.”

“Thank you.” Joshua guided her to the right, into a room lighted with candles and low illumination from wall sconces. The only point in the room with decent lighting was behind the bar, where two men busily mixed drinks for the many people seated at the oak bar and tables scattered across the floor. Joshua pointed out an empty booth against the far wall. “If you’ll wait there, I’ll order for us. What will you have?”

Evelyn rarely drank, but this evening’s adventure called for something celebratory. Her dad drank whiskey, but that was too strong for her. “A screwdriver, please.”

He nodded and turned to the bar.

The walls were a mosaic of the cities’ skylines, done in silver against black—sleek but comfortable somehow. A stage and dance floor were at the far end of the room. She didn’t realize Harve offered dancing, too, and live performances. In all the time she’d known him, she’d never come to his restaurant. It was far too pricey for her, but now that she saw the place, she realized that it said a great deal about him. Sleek and modern. Relaxed and comfortable. Efficient yet personalized. So many contrasts all rolled into one establishment, into one man.

She looked around. People were having a good time, laughing, talking. Drinks and cigarettes were in handy supply. She almost wished she smoked so she’d have something to do with her hands. Then Joshua came and slid in beside her. Taking one of her hands and thus ending her dilemma, he rested their hands on her thigh.

“The waitress will be here in a minute with our drinks.” He looked around, too. “What do you think of the place?”

“I like it. It’s relaxed and yet modern. I’m not sure how Harve pulled it off.”

“Yeah, old Harve is a real wunderkind.”

The thick sarcasm threw her for a minute, and then she laughed. “You two are like oil and water. Is there anything you agree on?”

He faced her. His black eyes glittered like polished onyx. She blushed under the intensity of his stare, but she couldn’t turn away. His hand tightened over hers, and he rubbed the backs of his knuckles on her dress, at her thigh.

“I’m pretty sure there’s one thing.”

“Your drinks, sir.” The waitress bent low, showing off a generous cleavage. To Evelyn’s surprise, Joshua seemed not to notice. He tipped the woman, handed Evelyn her drink, and focused on her once again.

“To many more evenings,” he said.

“I’ll go along with that,” she replied. The vodka burned on the way down, but the orange juice sweetened the sip. Her second taste was smoother, and the third, downright refreshing.

“What happened to that pin you had in the case yesterday?” Joshua asked.

The alcohol spun through her system, made her settle into the soft leather banquette seat and feel warm all over. “What pin?”

“The one in the front display case. The circular one with the stones set into it. It wasn’t there when I stopped by earlier today, and I just wondered if the owner came back for it.”

Evelyn took another sip and then examined her glass. It was nearly empty. How had that happened? She blinked and focused on Joshua. “Circular stones pinned in my display case?”

Joshua smiled and removed her glass. “You don’t drink very often, do you?”

She plopped her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. “Nope. Maybe if I had a friend to drink with.”

“I’ll be your friend, Evelyn,” Joshua said quietly.

She swiveled her chin in her palm and squinted at him. “I like that, Joshmea.”

He brushed a tendril of hair from the corner of her mouth to behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful, Evelyn.”

She started to giggle. Good God! When had she ever giggled? No one with brass balls giggles. And she giggled again.“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Oh, Joshea, I’m just avmerage. You are handsome, though. You and Harve both, just damned handsome.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops! I said damn.”

Joshua started laughing. “Wow. You’re in trouble. Shall I go and find some soap?” He looked over her shoulder and then nodded at someone. “Our table’s ready. Are you able to walk, Evelyn?”

She sat up straight and waved her hand. “Oh sure. I learned how to walk a long time ago.” He laughed again. What had she said that was so funny?

She scooted to the edge of the banquette, but somehow her legs didn’t obey the command to stand. Joshua held out his hand, the sweetheart, and she grabbed hold. Rising to her feet, she wobbled in her heels for a second or two and then steadied herself. How far was it to their table? She’d stay on her feet if it killed her. With great confidence, she stepped off.

And fell flat on her ass.

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: Navy SEAL Foundation

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

The Navy SEAL Foundation provides for some of our most elite military forces through the Five Pillars: Strength (Building capabilities and reducing stressors), Resilience (Addressing tragedy and aiding recovery), Health (Enhancing physical and mental wellness), Education (Providing scholarships and developmental opportunities), and Community (Empowering connections and preserving legacy). Charity Navigator gives the Navy SEAL Foundation a 4-star rating, with $.94 of every dollar going directly to their funds or is reserved for future missions.

“America remains safe and secure thanks in large part to the Naval Special Warfare (NSW) community. But this is not without significant sacrifice from these warriors and their families. The Navy SEAL Foundation is here to address the unique needs that arise as a result of these sacrifices, with over thirty programs under five Pillars of Support.”

Please comment and I will donate to this very worthy organization!

Naval Maneuvers by Dee S. Knight

Blurb:
Men and women of the armed forces experience lust and love pretty much like everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist attraction of “duty, honor, service” as a man might apply them to a woman’s pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty sexy, compelling force for which you’d better be armed, whether weighing anchor and moving forward into desire, dropping anchor and staying put for passion, or setting a course for renewed love with anchor home. Explore the world of love and the military and see just how hot Naval Maneuvers can be.

For my dad, who proudly sailed the seas for 24 years, for my second father, who believed “once a Marine always a Marine,” and who demonstrated the finest qualities of the Corps in love of his family, for my own hero who has always shown the best military traits in living life and loving his woman. And to all the men and women who serve daily, and to their families: thank you!

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited https://www.amazon.com/Naval-Maneuvers-Dee-S-Knight-ebook/dp/B079V62PT3/

Excerpt:
“And what is your name, pretty?” Mel Crandall addressed the dinosaur bones in an undertone, bending nearly to face level. The skeleton displayed an open mouth and rows of fierce, sharp teeth.

“Roger,” a man standing next to her said in a low voice. Startled, she looked up. Up being the operative word. She stood a decent five feet ten inches, and he beat her by a good half foot. She studied him. He ignored her.

The guy had a solid profile, strong chin, chiseled cheekbones, and a straight back with muscular shoulders. Short brown hair. He wore glasses and stared straight ahead, but glasses couldn’t disguise the laugh lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes. His posture was near perfect and he was not overweight, as evidenced by the trim fit of his jeans and red polo shirt that clung enough to give evidence of a low body/mass index number.

As a doctor, she immediately noticed body characteristics before actual looks. But with this guy, examination in lieu of admiration was hard. Dates started with mini examinations before she relaxed enough to enjoy personalities, but that’s just the way she was. Men had to take it or leave it. Sadly, most left it. Which was why she talked to dinosaurs at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History all on her own.

Mel moved on to the next exhibit, a shorter built specimen but still tall and with a nasty spiked tail. “I wonder what you looked like,” she murmured. “What color were you, what did you eat, and what’s your name?” She bent to read the exhibit information.

“Gray. Grass.” That same guy had followed her. Rather than having a strong profile, she was beginning to think he was a weirdo. “Annnd, roger.”

Quickly, Mel moved to the next exhibit. “And you are–”

“Roger.”

He stood beside her again! Mel started to look for a museum guard but saw none. Great. Planting her hands on her hips, she turned to him. “Stop following me,” she said loudly enough that people in the general area turned to see what was happening.

The guy said, “Hold it.”

Hold it? Hold it, as in “Wait a minute, little lady?” She opened her mouth to lay into him when he turned and removed his glasses, showing her the richest, most chocolatey brown eyes she’d ever seen. The words stuck in her mouth.

“I’m sorry, what?”

In a lower voice she said, “You’re following me from exhibit to exhibit and talking to me. I want you to stop.”

“I didn’t realize…” He wiggled the glasses at her. “I’m working here and I’m afraid I didn’t notice you.”

Well. What was worse, that he was a pervert following her place to place, or that he wasn’t a perv and hadn’t even noticed her?

His brow furrowed while he studied her. “Yes. Yes.” Then he shook his head. “Roger.”

Again with that Roger.

“Gotta go. Later.” Then he smiled at her. “Just a minute, okay?” He folded the glasses and put them first in a protective case. Squatting, he placed a briefcase on the floor and opened it. He stored the glass case inside a pocket. Then he removed something from his right ear—an earbud?—protected it and also put it in the case.

Mel watched all of this with curiosity. He expected her to wait for him? What arrogance. And yet, wait she did. When he stood, holding the case in his left hand and smiled once more, her heart stuttered. The guy was drop dead gorgeous—at least to her understanding of the word. Normally, she appreciated the male form, mostly from a medical viewpoint. This man she enjoyed with pure pleasure.

And Good God. He hadn’t been talking to her, he’d been talking to whoever was on the other end of that earbud. Embarrassment flooded her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you were…” She slid her hand between the two of them and then to the exhibits.

“No,” he said. “I apologize. I shouldn’t be testing this stuff around people. The last time I did it a kid thought I was calling him Roger.” His voice had a soft drawl to it. Western Virginia or North Carolina, maybe? Somewhere in the mountains. It felt like a cool stream as it ran over a body hot and tired from hiking: refreshing and invigorating, at the same time soothing and relaxing. She wanted him to talk more.

Stop that! She laughed. “I thought you were naming each dinosaur.” He smiled and dimples indented his cheeks. His eyes crinkled and Mel’s breath caught. This guy should come with a warning label. Approach with caution. Could bring on lustful intentions and ultimately, broken hearts. Take only in small doses and in public places.

He held out his hand. “David Stimson.”

She took it gingerly, half expecting lightning to bolt between them. Nope. Nothing. So much for romance novels. He had a nice hand, large and warm with healthy pink nails, and she grasped it firmly. “Melissa Crandall.”

“Nice to meet you. Do you mind if I wander along with you?” He deftly moved to the left of her.

“No, please. It’s a free country.” She walked to the next dinosaur re-creation. “And this one is…” She half waited for his pronouncement.

“Not Roger,” he said, stopping her heart with that killer smile again. He leaned over to read the information. “Torosaurus latus. It says here that these bones were dug up in North Dakota, but that the Torosaurus roamed from Canada to Texas, and that he had the biggest head of any land mammal.”

“Well, I guess that’s something to be proud of,” Mel responded. David laughed and she found herself smiling back. When she moved to the next exhibit, he strolled along with her.

He pointed to the next specimen. “Poor guy. Starved to death.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you know?”

“Can’t you tell? He’s all bones.”

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: United Through Reading

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

United Through Reading is a unique charity that should be near and dear to every author’s heart because it seeks to instill the love of books and reading in children of all ages through reading time with their military parent. Their mission: “United Through Reading strengthens military families’ literacy, emotional bonds, and well-being through the power of reading together at every age, no matter the distance.”

Because of parent deployments, over a quarter million children are left at home, meaning lots of story times are missed—for both the child and parent. Story time is typically at the end of the day when quiet and comfort take priority and parent and child have a moment for closeness. With United Through Reading, prerecorded videos can be watched by the child (along with their own copy of the recorded book) whenever they want that special closeness to their deployed parent. “Being read to by a parent helps military children feel like their parents are closer to home, reducing stress and anxiety levels and making it easier to cope while their parents are away.”

Charity Navigator gives United Through Reading a top rating. I think this is a great charity. Please comment!

Blurb:
Bride of the Pryde (Jenna Stewart)

DAT agent Susan McAllister escapes Earth with killers in hot pursuit. She normally runs toward danger not away, and she likes controlling her own fate, not relying on three strange men and an irreverent cyberbot. Skilled and experienced, she doesn’t believe there’s any way the three crewmen of the cargo ship Erik’s Pryde can help her.

Captain John Erik thinks the sexy, headstrong passenger is nothing but trouble, but he also knows she needs help. And not being men to shrink from adventure, he’s convinced that he and his crew are the ones to provide it. When they’re infected by an illegal drug that releases inhibitions, the crew of the Pryde shows they are men who not only can fight, but can satisfy a woman’s every fantasy.

It’s no surprise when Susan discovers that being a member of the Pryde’s crew has unexpected, lasting benefits.

Buy link:
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Bride-Pryde-Siren-Publishing-Menage-ebook/dp/B007NIR4HO/

Barnes and Noble https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bride-of-the-pryde-dee-s-knight/1109689352

Excerpt:
The smell hit Susan McAllister first. The sharp scent of iron, immediately recognizable, stung her nostrils and made her gag. Then she noticed the door, normally locked at all times, hung open a crack.

She’d been ready to call out that she’d brought back French pastries from the restaurant where she enjoyed an early lunch but instead dropped the white bakery bag on the back steps. Removing her Renthaur X-89 laser pistol from her oversized shoulder bag, she inched forward and released the safety. She eased open the door and stepped inside and then pushed it nearly closed. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from sunlight to the dim interior.

The office fronted as a real estate agency but actually served as Centre District’s Domestic Anti-Terrorism headquarters. Susan had arrived that morning from the global headquarters in Mt. Saussat. In fact, if not for the fact that she never ate while flying and wanted an early lunch upon arrival, she would have been here for whatever shit had gone down.

Hugging the wall, she edged toward the workroom where her close friend and office manager, Lisle Hamilton, had set up the hologram generator, coffeepot, and storage shelving that helped form their cover of handling real estate. Behind an encrypted-lock vault door and out of sight, secure phones and code-deciphering, sub-particle computers were used for the real business of the storefront.

The Centre City office took a lot of ribbing in the Agency because of their cover. The joke was, what’s more boring than a DAT agent on desk duty? A realtor. What’s deadly boring? A DAT gent on desk duty posing as a realtor.

Deadly boring?The overwhelming scent of blood seemed to prove it. Criminy. What in hell happened?

Susan dropped to a crouch at the corner where the back hall entered the workroom. Pistol aimed up and grasped with two hands in classic shooter pose, she slowly leaned forward and peeked into the workroom.

Blood had begun to congeal where it covered the floor. Mark Nichols, who she’d just met that morning, lay on his back, his right hand inside his jacket pocket as though reaching for his weapon. Anne Barnewell lay face down. The size of the hole in the back of her head indicated a Succher 380, the weapon of choice for big-time drug dealers.

Also for cops’ personal weapons. The thought ran quickly through her mind and left just as fast.

The workroom connected to the main office by a swinging door of louvered wood, reminiscent of mid-twentieth-century architecture. From under the door she saw the body of Kyle Angustino, the son of one of Lisle’s friends and an actual real estate intern who had nothing to do with the DAT. Six people worked in the office, including Kyle, five of whom were DAT agents. Susan had no hope any of them were alive unless, like her, they’d been out of the office when hell struck.

The place appeared to be empty, but Susan didn’t change her position. Instead, she examined everything in her line of sight and listened with an intensity that had her shoulders tight with tension. Peering along the wall to the left she scrunched her brows in worry. The vault door stood ajar.

The only person in the office who had the combination was Lisle. A woman’s foot extended out the door, her burgundy shoe half-off. Lisle!

Her friend had bragged about the “killer burgundy pumps with little gold bows” when Susan had called to make arrangements to use one of the office cubicles for the week she would be in Centre City. They’d gone through Agency training together, and their paths crossed regularly. Later she would grieve for Lisle, but right now she needed to keep her wits about her and her emotions in check.

The bell over the front door tinkled, indicating someone entering from the street. A woman said, “Here’s a box for—Oh, dear God, what is this? What’s going on here?” There was no answer. Then, “No, please, no! Oh—”

Susan heard the unmistakable sound of the Succher firing and then a loud noise as something fell to the floor.

“What the hell?” A man pushed the vault door farther open. All that showed was a cuff-linked, white-shirted arm and a hand with long fingers. “What’s going on out there?”

“Nothing,” came a male voice from the front. “I didn’t have the keys to lock the door. I thought pulling the blinds would be enough to make people think we were closed. Forgot about delivery people.”

“Goddamn it. Go through Hamilton’s purse, for Christ’s sake, and find the keys.”

“Okay,” the guy in the front grumbled.

“Jesus, I have to do everything,” Vault Man said.

Susan pulled back. The lead guy knew Lisle’s name. Because he knew her or because of information gleaned while there? And how did he know about the vault room? Had he come to the office because of it, or had he and his buddy happened into the office and thought the heavy door hid more than it did? She dismissed that idea right away because really, who in the world robbed a realtor’s office? So, assuming they already knew about the vault and Lisle, the conclusion was ominous—the murderers were associated with DAT.

Quiet footsteps alerted Susan to the emergence of the man from the vault. He carried her suitcase to the table, holding the hologram generator. Lisle had suggested she leave the suitcase in the vault and out of traffic areas when she arrived earlier. She hadn’t given a second thought to the security of her things when she dashed out to eat. Now, unceremoniously, Vault Man pulled out the contents and dumped them on the floor.

“Any hints on where McAllister is staying?” the second man asked.

They’re looking for me?How could that be? Only a few people knew she was there.

“Nothing yet. Lisle wouldn’t say. Or maybe she didn’t know. I thought I might find a hint in here.”

Susan edged forward, trying to identify either man. She could see Vault Man from the back. He’d put on a dark suit jacket, wore black shoes and a fedora over short brown hair. He looked to be about five feet ten or eleven. The second man leaned just inside the doorway separating the two rooms, but Vault Man hid him from view. His shoes were shiny and his pants were light gray. That was all she could see—which was as good as nothing.

She pulled back from the wall’s edge. At most, the men stood ten feet away. If either of them looked her way at the wrong time or decided to check the back parking area, she’d be caught like a virgin between two punks on Pheron.

Pheron, the newest designer street drug—and the latest form of domestic terrorism just hitting Earth cities—had brought her to Centre City, where the crime rate soared right along with the supply of the drug that released a person’s deepest desires and washed away their inhibitions. The effects of the drug sickened her. So did her prospects, if the two murderers in the other room found her.

Rising to her feet, she continued straining to hear everything the men said. Vault Man asked if Succher Guy had checked the hotel where she usually stayed in Centre City. The answer was affirmative but that she hadn’t arrived yet. And she hadn’t because that morning Lisle had invited Susan to stay with her instead. The two had a lot to catch up on, and not all of it business. Lisle had finally met Mr. Right, and they were talking marriage. Susan simply hadn’t called to cancel her hotel reservation yet.

Vault Man ordered Succher Guy to stake out the hotel and to call when he had Susan in sight. Succher Guy grumbled a reply, sounding not too happy to be relegated to the hotel lobby. The bell chimed again with the opening and closing of the street door, and then silence descended on the office.

Susan slowly sidestepped along the wall toward the back door. So intense was her focus that she jumped when her suitcase flew through the air and crashed into the flavored-water dispenser before hitting the floor.

“Goddamn it, McAllister, where the fuck are you?” Vault Man grumbled.

From her right, the back door opened. “Hey, Susan,” Buddy Knowlton called out with a smile. He held out the white bag from the steps. “Did you drop something?”

Two things happened at once. Footsteps pounded from the workroom toward the short hallway where Susan froze momentarily in shock, and she then leapt toward Buddy. Knocking him back out the door, she yelled, “Get out, Buddy! Move, move, move!”

They tripped down the steps. Buddy, looking confused and shocked at first, gathered his wits and withdrew his weapon from his suit jacket. She ran, hell-bent, for the street, assuming he was hot on her heels. The back door to the office slammed open. A laser bullet whizzed past her ear, missing her by an ando-width.

Ffttt! Another laser shot just missed her head. A grunt came from behind. She slowed enough to turn. Continuing with back steps, she saw Buddy on the ground. Had he tripped? Was he hit? Hesitating could kill her, but could she leave a fellow DAT agent behind?

He waved his arms, signaling her to go on. “Go!” he yelled. She didn’t like it, but she spun toward the street and kept on, not looking, not thinking, running on instinct alone. Around the corner of the building, she sprinted for the intersection and the hotel across the street. Cabs lined up in front, particularly at lunchtime.

“She’s headed for The Centre!” Vault Man shouted. “Converge there.”

Reviews:

“…desires are fulfilled and emotions are awakened. BRIDE OF THE PRYDEis an imaginative futuristic adventure overflowing with limitless fiery heat.”

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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