Make me laugh! #MFRWauthor

CharactersOver the years of reading, I’ve fallen in love with angsty characters (ooo-la-la, Mr. Darcy!), sweet characters (Donald in Finding Camlann), quirky characters (Don in The Rosie Project), and any number of alpha males (any of the SEALS in Suzanne Brockmann’s books). But the character that will steal my heart for real, is the one who shows humor. That goes for male or female. If a character makes me laugh, that’s most often a 5-star read for me.

I love good banter. Whether characters hate each other or feel that first Banter and humor in dialoguespark of electricity, if they also share a great back and forth in their dialogue, I consider that a winner. Sarah Ney has written a series called How to Date a Douchebag, and all of them contain great banter, Her books make me laugh—and a few have made me tear up. Spectacular interaction. In fact, while writing this post I started reading one of the books in the series again. So, if you’ll excuse me, I plan to add a little humor to my afternoon.

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee

Burning Bridges by Anne Krist
One Woman Only
Only a Good Man Will Do
Naval Maneuvers

On a planet far, far away #MFRWHooks

This is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!

The Triple S Bride by Dee S. KnightBlurb:
For most women, one husband is more than enough to handle. But Sabina Volt has three mates. Gosh, that would have been nice to know before she’d left Earth in the dust. Being a mail-order bride on a planet far, far away might be more of a challenge than she’d anticipated.

Buy links:

Amazon https://tinyurl.com/y67f948v
B&N https://tinyurl.com/y6clqmur

MFRW Book HooksExcerpt:
“Do you need help with your bags, ma’am?”

Sabina Volt looked up into the earnest young face of the transporter steward. He set her two duffel bags beside the seat, retrieved from the storage closet assigned her. Once petrified of stepping aboard a plane or shuttle, Sabina now wished she could hide in the cabin and avoid disembarking. She no longer had that option—she had to get off.

She shoved to her feet. “No thanks. These are all I have.” A glance up the aisle showed an empty cabin. Though the young man’s face didn’t show impatience, he probably wished she’d get her sorry ass in gear so he could leave.

The steward politely stood aside so she could follow the flashing green lights embedded in the floor leading to the hatch. Dragging her feet as much as possible, dread building with each step, she made her way.

How had she ended up here? It had been sheer madness, signing a contract as a mail-order bride to a man she didn’t know in order to escape a man she knew all too well. But the remaining ache from nearly-healed broken ribs proved that most any action would be better than staying on Earth as Kevin Groman’s punching bag.

“Thank you for flying with us,” said another steward at the hatch.

“Sure,” Sabina muttered. Hopefully she wouldn’t soon fly with them or anyone else. Not back to Earth at least, or anywhere near her former fiancé.

She took a deep breath, eyeing the length of insulated portable structure connecting the shuttle to the terminal. You’ve come this far. Don’t turn coward now. “It’s going to be all right,” she muttered. “Buck up.”

The lights in the terminal stung her eyes, and after the quiet of the shuttle the noise struck her like a living thing. Comm sets dotted the walls every fifty feet or so, all sending out the latest news from Earth at top decibels. Dozens of people, mostly men and shuttle crews, stood around watching the sets or holding shouted conversations over the din. She blinked and stood a moment, adjusting to the new environment.

Then she saw him. Or at least, the cowboy with crossed arms who leaned insolently against the check-in desk sure looked like Walter Sheridan. She’d stared at his hologram often enough to have his features memorized, yet the man watching her wasn’t exactly what she expected.

His face looked sculpted from stone, with a squared chin and sharp cheekbones. Wives’ tales claimed smiling caused wrinkles, but no tell-tale lines marred this man’s face. He had the coloring of someone with brown hair, but she couldn’t tell the color because a sweat-stained, dusty cowboy hat covered his head. When their gazes met, his eyes gave her pause. Green as late spring fields depicted in laser paintings, they were also penetrating and unforgiving. This man wouldn’t trust easily or give any quarter. Like Kevin.

Oh, God. She couldn’t breathe. For a panicky moment she thought she might pass out. Turn around! Get back on that shuttle. Make them pry you out if need be. She swung back toward the door only to find it locked. Fanning her face with her hand, she had no choice but to find someplace to hide. Coming here had been a mistake, a horrible mistake. Run! Anywhere would be better than—

“Are you okay?”

She didn’t look but knew instinctively who stood beside her and took her elbow. He firmly guided her to a chair. When she sat, he forced her head down between her knees.

“Breathe,” he ordered.

“I’m fine,” Sabina said at last, and she did feel better, though a little silly. Kevin was a long way off. It might have taken her half a year and two beatings, but she finally regained her mind, took back her life and escaped him. The method might prove cowardly and impulsive, but she didn’t care. As long as coming here didn’t mean jumping from the solar roaster into the core generator.

Please don’t let Walter be like Kevin!

With her head down she couldn’t help but notice the dust covering his boots and the hems of his worn jeans. This was the way he came to meet his new bride? The lack of care on his part didn’t bode well. She chose this planet for its distance from Earth and Kevin, thinking her former fiancé would never find her here, or think it not worth the trouble and expense to come for her. She had to stay, she had to. Yet if Walter took so little care when coming to meet his new bride, what did it say about his wanting a wife? “I’m fine,” she repeated, then added, “Thanks.”

Then she had no choice. She looked up. And up. Warm pools of emerald colored eyes stared back with a hint of worry. His shirt wasn’t in much better shape than his jeans and boots. A threadbare collar topped a dull khaki colored shirt almost completely faded. Spots of rust-red plaid marked the fabric here and there. He’d rolled up his sleeves, showing muscled, tanned forearms sprinkled with light-colored hair.

“Are you Sabina Volt?”

She nodded.

He stared a moment longer, examining her face. He must have agreed that she was better because he said, “I’d about given up on you bein’ on the transport. Everyone else who got off is long gone. Let’s get out of here.” He scooped up her bags and took a few steps away before stopping to turn around and look. His gaze softened. “You comin’, or do you need another minute?”

In that instant she knew this man was nothing like Kevin. Kevin wouldn’t have given her a moment’s thought. Sabina’s stomach stopped its loop-de-loops, and her head quit spinning. Standing, she said, “Before we go, I’d just like to be sure of who you are.”

He took in a breath and huffed it out. “We don’t have time to waste pulling out papers. You have my hologram. You should know I’m Walt Sheridan. Your future husband.” He stared and waited, as though letting that sink in. “Now hurry. My truck’s parked outside and the sooner we get going the better.”

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Sealing the deal #MFRWsteam

The Triple S Bride by Dee S. KnightThe Triple S Bride

Blurb:
Sabina Volt signs on to be a futuristic mail order bride in an effort to escape her abusive fiancé on Earth. And oh, yeah, the attempted murder charge he trumped up to bring her back from wherever she escaped. She flew off into the universe to marry rancher Walt Sheridan on C8282, but she is in for a surprise. She thinks she’s marrying Walt. Instead, she’s marrying the Sheridans: Walt and his two brothers, Charlie and Dan. C8282 holds all kinds of new dangers—versas and grenetts and more—but it also holds a whole lot a lovin’.

Buy link:
Amazon
Barnes and Noble

MFRW SteamExcerpt:
Walt nearly lost control. He found Sabrina’s lips and kissed her with all the pent up longing of a man who’d been without sex far too long. In the eight years he and his brothers had lived on C8282, he mostly worked off sexual tension on the ranch.

His trips to Harken City proved unsatisfactory and now he knew why. Being with a whore in no way compared to having Sabina touch him, or ride his cock, even through their clothes. He’d wanted her with something akin to pain since she stepped off the shuttle and now—Lord have mercy, she was his. As soon as they sealed the contract by consummating the marriage, he could have her any time he wanted. In his mind’s eye he saw nights stretching out to eternity filled with wanting Sabina.

She moaned into his mouth and he took charge, slipping his tongue between her lips and past her teeth into the hot, wet recess of her mouth. His brain ran through all the reasons why they should wait. They didn’t know each other, didn’t know if things would work. She was vulnerable and alone in a strange place.

And then there was the small matter of her arrest warrant on Earth. Quickly, he rejected every objection. On C8282, folks lived life by different standards than on Earth. He had no proof, but he thought there was more to the attempted murder claim than had been portrayed on the Comm.

Right now he couldn’t concentrate on that. With her hot twat mere inches from his dick, he didn’t give a flying fuck about what some guy light years away said about his bride.

Yeah, oh God, yeah. He thrust his tongue and pulled out, thrust and pulled back, which seemed to please her. She rubbed his cock harder, sending shockwaves through his body. In moments he’d be mindless with need. He kneaded her firm, round ass through her jeans, then pushed up her bra and palmed her nipple, already beaded and hard. If he could press his finger against her clit and into her pussy, he knew he’d find her wet and ready. She was all woman. All for him. God, he wanted her.

“I thought you were dead,” she blurted.

Her hands roamed over him, alternately rubbing and caressing. Which pleased him more he couldn’t say, the almost innocent brushing of her fingers or the bold grip as she traveled up and down his length. His close call with the versa didn’t even rank in the top ten things on his mind.

“Versa,” he managed to say. “Dead.” God, her breast felt good. So heavy in his hand. He stroked her nipple with his thumb. She arched her back, pressing into him. More than anything he wanted to lose himself in her. He pushed her away far enough to pull her blouse over her head, still buttoned. “Get you out of those clothes,” he mumbled, seeing her breast at last. He cupped it, testing its weight, admiring its full roundness, softer than a grenett’s coat. She trembled at his touch and he about lost it.

“What’s a versa?”

Her fingers furrowed through his hair sending shivers down his back. He lifted her, fitting his mouth over her nipple and sucking. A fragrance struck his nostrils. Lilacs. She must have dabbed perfume in the deep dip between her breasts. For me? He liked the possibility.

The scent knocked him off kilter, throwing him into memories of Earth, where he’d grown up. Sweet God, making love to Sabina would be like—

He almost thought heaven on Earth, but long ago he’d left the notion of both places behind. A sense of rightness, of wholeness settled over him.

“What’s a versa?” she repeated.

“What?” Walt fought the haze of lust to focus on her question. “Oh. They roam wild here. Mostly at night.” He dropped kisses along her jawline. “Very dangerous. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

“I believe you.”

She said the words softly, but her tone showed she meant it. A place deep inside warmed with something other than lust, other than want and need. C8282 was dangerous in a way Earth wasn’t. He knew that a stranger to the planet would need his care, expertise and experience, and he’d been prepared to provide it to Sabina as he would to any newcomer. This was far greater. His overwhelming desire to protect her surprised him.

He’d pulled the versa carcass to the side of the road, and others would be coming to investigate, following the scent of blood. Instead of fucking, he should be keeping watch and making sure Sabina stayed safe inside the truck.

Too bad about that. Making her truly his sealed his role, made her part of his family. He wanted that more than he imagined he would.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “nothing will hurt you.”

“I wasn’t worried.” She ran her thumb across his bottom lip. “Not now.”

He took her thumb inside his mouth and sucked, all the while fumbling to unzip her slacks.

Staring at his mouth she licked her lips. “Let me,” she said, eyes glazed. She slipped off his lap.

Walt heard a zipper and the rustle of clothes coming off while he ripped off his T-shirt and pushed his jeans to his knees. His cock pulsed, aching for relief.

Seconds later, Sabina straddled him again. Immediately she guided his throbbing cock to her pussy and sank onto it.

When she would have risen to her knees, Walt gripped her hips. It was keep her from moving or shooting off like an inexperienced kid with his first girl. Instead, he took a moment to appreciate what he held. Her blue eyes shone with desire. Back arched, her firm, round tits offered themselves to him and he took a sweet lick. Her body was perfect, absolutely perfect.

“It’s a little late, but are you sure? This binds us, you know. If you’ve changed your mind, I’ll put this moment aside.” He had to say it just in case, but he hoped like hell she wanted this as much as he did.

She didn’t speak with words. She rolled her hips over his, seating his cock and scraping her sex across his thatch of hair. Nothing she could have said would have made him any happier.

I love humidity…NOT! #MFRWauthor

Summer in VirginiaFor most of my adult life I lived in the South. That is, Virginia (mostly), North and South Carolina. While the winters in those places can be described as mild—not too much snow, but ice instead (yikes!)—even winter has its problems. When it does turn cold and the wind blows, the humidity in the air causes it to to cut right through you. Still, it’s better than having feet of snow to dig through. When we do have ice and snow, it doesn’t usually last too long.

Summers, however, can be downright awful. The temperatures climb well into the 90s F (nto the 30s for you Celsius people 😉) for a good part of July and August. Heat can be hard to take, but heat merged with humidity can drain you of all energy. You sweat more and can easily get dehydrated. Honestly, some days, it’s like breathing water. Humidity + heat is an all-around awful thing!

As I write this, in Greenwood, SC (one place we used to live) it’s 91 degrees FCardinal in the snow (32 C) with a humidity (the amount of moisture in the air) of 57%. That means that the heat index (the temperature it feels like) is 100 degrees (38 C). In Orlando, FL (another place I used to live), the temperature is 93 F (34 C) with humidity of 54%. The heat index is 103 F (40 C). Glad I’m not there today!

Now, Jack and I live in lovely Idaho, and a very dry climate. When we were trucking, we used to say that in Arizona, at 115 F, dry heat doesn’t matter—hot is hot. But we have a dry climate here, too. Some days in August the temperature might get above 100 F for a few days, but the humidity is so low it doesn’t feel too bad. Right now our temperature is 80 F (26.8 C) but the humidity is 32%. The heat index is right at 79 F (36 C). Since we also almost always have a breeze, this is a great climate. Another thing about where we live now, in the evening, as the sun goes down, our temperatures will drop 20-30 degrees. In Virginia, I can’t tell you the number of nights the temperature dropped only 15 degrees until well into the late night/early morning, meaning we slept in uncomfortable conditions.

In the winter, our temperatures can plummet below freezing, but they don’t as a rule, stay that low for very long. The only place we have enjoyed temperatures so much was in San Francisco. Even when the days were hot, the fog would literally roll down the streets from the ocean (like in a scary movie) and the temperatures would drop immediately.

We love where we live now, and a lot of that has to do with the lovely climate!

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee

Burning Bridges by Anne Krist

One Woman Only

Only a Good Man Will Do

Naval Maneuvers

NSW Climate—Jan Selbourne #MFRWauthor

What do you like/dislike about the climate where you live?

Winter in AustraliaThe official version of the climate in the Hunter Valley, New South Wales, is mild and characterised by four very distinct seasons. The tourism people say much the same when advertising the coastal areas and wineries. They are diplomatically referring to three of the four seasons.

My favourite season is autumn, mainly because it’s a welcome relief after summer. We don’t have the lovely autumnal colours of the norther hemisphere, but the pleasant days and cool nights are, for me, the best.
Winter begins in June but it’s not until July and August that we begin to shiver. However, snow occasionally falls on the Barrington Tops and I’m convinced the icy winds aim straight for my house.

Late July into August we see the first wattle which means spring isn’t far Wattle floweraway, and it is nice. This year the change from winter to spring happened virtually overnight. Last week we were shivering from awful cold August winds and today, 2nd September, it’s a lovely 23 degrees and a warm breeze. After the drought breaking rains fell last February, and continued through autumn and winter, the spring countryside is looking fabulous. Green everywhere, daisies popping up all over and my climbing rose is covered in yellow blooms.

I left summer until last because it’s my dislike. The climate and tourism people tell us the Hunter Valley average maximum temperatures between December and February range from about 27 degrees C (81F) along the coastline to 30 degrees C inland (86F) The climate and tourism people were sitting inside a fridge when they penned those figures. December’s temperatures, between high 20s and mid 30s are just warm-ups for what’s to come in January and February. Humid 30s to 40’s without much relief.

Last summer, during the worst fires in living memory, the Hunter Valley turned on a few 45 degrees days, just to remind us who was boss. The sun might have gone down at night, but I don’t think the temperature followed. You can see why autumn is my favourite season.

I’m three likes and one dislike, so I guess I am very fortunate – as long as I get can through summer.

What do you think?

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Jan Selbourne

Perilous Love
The Proposition
The Woman Behind the Mirror
Lies of Gold—Silver Historical for 2019: Coffee Pot Book Club

No time like the present #MFRWauthor

Writing romanceWhile I have dipped my toe into the future and the past with my writing, I feel most comfortable writing in present, contemporary time. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy? I don’t know. But writing historical fiction takes a fair amount of research if your books come out sounding true. And there’s a lot to keep up with if you build future worlds. (Same is true if you create series in contemporary time, I’ve discovered!) But because of our trucking years, we traveled over a lot of the country and I feel pretty happy drawing on our experiences to write about all kinds of locations.

And it is important to write truthfully about locations—unless you make up your city or town. I know someone who couldn’t get beyond the first few pages of Fifty Shades of Gray because she said it was so obvious the author knew nothing about Seattle! A reader recently pointed out that I had a horse eating straw instead of hay. Oops! Those kinds of mistakes are always on the author, and whatever time period you write, it’s vital to get details correct.

The biggest thing to remember about writing, no matter the time period,How to write is that we are telling a story. Make it a good one. Show, don’t tell, Engage the reader’s emotions. Have a great beginning, middle, and end. Mind your craft (grammar, punctuation, POV, etc.). Pay attention to details. If you do these things, you will be read (which is what we all want) regardless of the time period you choose.

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee

Burning Bridges by Anne Krist
One Woman Only
Only a Good Man Will Do
Naval Maneuvers

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Writing time—Jan Selbourne #MFRWauthor

Week 35: Plots: what period in history and why

Historical romance authorEvery period in history is fascinating. The Greeks, the Romans, Genghis Khan, William the Conqueror, Robin Hood, they all have stories to tell. However, I believe the Tudor period and the Regency period are the most popular for authors and readers.

The Tudor period was dominated by Henry VIII creating the Church of England, divorcing wife number one and removing the heads of wives two and five as the years went on. Bloody Mary lit fires under the heretics, and her sister Elizabeth brought peace and power to England, although Elizabeth did remove the head of her plotting Scottish cousin. Those larger than life Tudors and William Shakespeare have given inspiration to authors and playwrights around the world.

The Regency period was more romantic and prettier. It was a renaissanceRegency romance couple of art, literature, architecture, fashion and music – and stiff class distinctions. We’d be lost without Jane Austen’s window into the times in which she lived, and Georgette Heyer’s wealth of historical detail in her books. Of Heyer’s fifty-five novels published during her lifetime, twenty-six are set specifically within the English Regency period and, incredibly, no one took their clothes off. I’m no prude, far from it, I am in awe this brilliant author, whose books are still in print, can still capture millions of readers and take them back to that romantic period.

World War One changed our history and our world in ways that nobody could have imagined. Empires crumbled, royal dynasties wiped out, massive social change – and women got the vote. I’ll sneak in my “Good on ya Kiwis,” to New Zealand, the first country to give women the vote.

BVS sale: Perilous Love Jan SelbourneIn Perilous Love, Adrian and Gabrielle Bryce are thrown head-first into this huge upheaval when the Germans invade Belgium, sparking World War One. Their privileged lives disappear when they are betrayed, forcing them to run for their lives, suffering injury and witnessing death and atrocities. They reach safety as two very different people, to face charges of treason and a woman who’ll stop at nothing to see Adrian dead.

What do you think?

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Jan

Perilous Love
The Proposition
The Woman Behind the Mirror
Lies of Gold—Silver Historical for 2019: Coffee Pot Book Club

The story behind the woman #MFRWHooks

This is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!

The Woman Behind the Mirror by Jan SelbourneThe Woman Behind the Mirror

Blurb:
Betrothed by her father to a man twice her age, Sarah Forsythe runs away with the son of a Methodist minister. Not to Gretna Green, to colonial America—the New World. For Sarah, a new world of broken promises poverty and shame. Around her, the American Revolution is simmering, and the siege of Boston worsens by the day. As British soldiers seek out traitors and treason, a desperate Sarah breaks open a safe looking for cash. Instead, she finds a box holding Bank of England documents. Through willpower, bitter determination, and lying through her teeth, Sarah manages to make her way home to England. What she doesn’t know is that two men follow, and they will do anything to claim those documents.

Bank investigator Neil McAlister faces an almost impossible task—to determine the true owner of the documents by deciding who is lying. Most of all, as danger creeps ever closer, he needs to know who wants the secretive, beautiful Sarah dead.

Buy Links

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon AU

Available in Kindle Unlimited

MFRW Book HooksExcerpt:
Sarah watched the door open and her heart almost stopped beating when Neil McAlister and a tall muscular man with a trim goatee beard walked into the room.

Frozen with shock she could only stare at Samuel Fenton. But it wasn’t Samuel Fenton.

Her strangled, “You aren’t,” was cut off when Neil began his introductions and Robert stepped in front of her to shake the man’s hand. She heard her brother’s hearty, “Mr Westfield, I am delighted to meet you. May I introduce my wife Hannah?”

The man put his handkerchief to his mouth and coughed. “Forgive my frog like voice. This wretched cold will not leave me.” He bowed to Hannah. “I am honoured to meet you, Mrs Forsythe.”

Robert took Sarah’s hand and drew her forward “And my sister, Sarah Langford.”

A low bow. “Mrs Langford, I understand you endured much hardship before returning to England. To be told you found and brought my personal papers with you left me speechless. It’s nothing short of a miracle and I cannot adequately express my gratitude.”

Sarah murmured a greeting and lowered her eyes.

Robert cleared his throat. “Mr Westfield, before we begin, allow me to thank you for your generous hospitality.”

“My dear, Mr Forsythe,” the man responded before coughing again into his handkerchief. “It was the very least I could do after such trial and distress.”

Robert picked up the decanter again. “I was about to enjoy your hospitality, sir. May I pour us a glass of wine or perhaps whisky?

“Thank you, a small whisky would be most welcome.” the man replied.

“Neil?”

Neil inclined his head. “I cannot say no. Then if you don’t mind, we will finalise the transaction as discussed.”

“Of course.” No one spoke while Robert poured whisky and handed glasses of wine to Hannah and Sarah. He then held up his glass to the room. “I am very relieved this has been settled amicably.”

“I am extremely relieved.” The man lifted his glass to Sarah. “My compliments.”

Sarah felt the blood pounding through her veins but did not move. Her stomach churned when polite conversation began on London’s expanding population, the dangerous highwaymen robbing innocent travelers, and the sudden sad death of a minor royal.

When the glasses were emptied, Robert stood up and handed the leather folder to the man called Westfield. “A very satisfactory conclusion. My sister has signed the necessary agreement.”

“Thank you, and if I may, I’d like to say a few words.” The man turned to Sarah. “It is indeed a small world, Mrs Langford. I did not think we would meet again after such a tumultuous time in Boston.”

Robert’s brow creased. “Pardon?”

“Mrs Langford and I were acquainted at Griffins club,” the man said smoothly.

Look him directly in the face and do not quail. “I am afraid you are mistaken sir. I do not know you,” Sarah said evenly.

The man inclined his head. “We do look very different in the light of day, but I remember you well in those crowded smoky rooms.”

“What are you talking about?” Robert said sharply.

“I was part owner of Griffins gentlemen’s club. Mrs Langford, known there as Adele, worked as a”—he gestured eloquently—“for want of a better word, hostess.”

Hannah had risen and was staring at her. All of them were staring at her. “Mr Westfield, I am afraid you have me confused with someone else.”

The man’s hard hazel eyes glittered into hers. “No, I’m not confused. Your husband David Langford disappeared leaving a mountain of debts and you destitute. I was with Fenton when he paid the turnkey a shilling to release you from the cells. It was work for him or die on the streets. You were one of three women employed to pour drinks and keep our clients gambling and satisfied in the clubrooms and”—he paused—“upstairs.”

A pin dropping would have sounded like gunpowder exploding.

Sarah did not move. “Mr McAlister, I am appalled you willingly brought this man here to insult me.”

As if snapping out of a trance Neil stepped forward. “I am at a loss, Westfield. Not once in our discussions at the bank did you say you knew Mrs Langford.”

Claude’s eyes never left Sarah’s. “You didn’t ask, and the purpose of this meeting was for me to collect my personal papers.” He sighed. “While it pains me to reward a whore for stealing, I will honour the agreement.”

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Ménage a many #MFRWHooks

Bride of the Pryde by Dee S. KnightThis is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!

Blurb:
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.

This is a futuristic space romp!

Buy link:

Kindle
Barnes & Noble
Kobo

MFRW Book HooksExcerpt:

The smell hit Susan McAllister first. The sharp scent of iron, immediately recognizable, stung her nostrils and madeher 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.

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Working with character disabilities #MFRWauthor

We all write characters with all kinds of characteristics. But have you written characters with disabilities?

I’ve been thinking back, and I don’t think I’ve written any characters with disabilities except for Frank in Awards night (in Your Desire). I don’t know why that is. I have a disability myself, so you’d think I would lean into that topic with my characters, but I haven’t. Maybe that’s because my mom pounded into me that I didn’t have a disability—that I could and should strive to do whatever I wanted. Good mom! I love her. Think I’ll keep her. 😉

There’s no formula for writing characters. No magic equation that helps us come up with believable heroes or heroines. In my novella Awards Night, Allison comes home to find a car crashed through her fence and plowed into a tree. The man who’d been driving is not injured much—except he’s blinded by damage to his head. Allison doesn’t know the man. He says his name is Frank, and as you might guess, he’s pretty cranky. Some might even say nasty. But really, he’s scared half to death. In reality, though he doesn’t share this with Allison, Frank is the CEO and founder of a major international electronics firm. He’s not used to taking orders or feeling helpless. But now he does (to a certain extent) and he is. How he adjusts is quite interesting (I hope!).

Frank’s wound in Awards Night was not due to a war but to an accident. However, in the years since 9/11, we’ve all had too much exposure to the damage war can do to our warriors. And the internal wounds, the ones no one sees, are as bad as the missing limbs. Maybe worse, since they’re hidden from sight. We have a whole generation who have seen the ravages of war. It’s up to us as a nation, as humans, to respect those who have suffered in our service, and to help as best we can.

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee

Burning Bridges by Anne Krist: old letters put the lie to Sara’s life. Now, mending her past mistakes while crossing burning bridges will be the hardest thing she’s ever done.

One Woman Only
Only a Good Man Will Do
Naval Maneuvers

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