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!
If you’ve been watching the news at all, you’ve probably heard about dozens of charities set up to help people get out of Ukraine and/or Afghanistan. The charity I’ve chosen this month is one I heard about on a news show and it sounded good to me. It’s Save Our Allies. Their mission: “Our Mission is to rescue American Citizens, Permanent Residents, SIV Holders, and other special populations from conflict zones and contested areas. For those brought to the United States we help them navigate the many challenges of being a Refugee in order to form a successful and productive life here at home.” Their current mission is to help evacuate civilians from Ukraine to a safe location. I heard about this group through a trusted source, so I feel comfortable donating to them. Please leave a comment on this blog post and I will send a donation to Save Our Allies. Thank you!
Passionate Destiny is a book with its roots in another war—the War Between the States. It takes place in Virginia near where I used to live. It’s fiction but might it be based in fact? Well, maybe…
Blurb:
When Margaret Amis-Hollings inherits an old house in Virginia, she never suspects she’ll be sharing it with a very loving ghost. Or that her interest will be divided between her spirit lover and the very live man who’s renovating the place. Suddenly her life is intertwined with a soldier from a previous century and with his descendant, Aaron Belton, who has a secret concerning her home. Is it coincidence or the power of a past love that makes her want to share her life—as well as her destiny—with Aaron?
Excerpt: “What do you mean I’m being cut?” Dr. Margaret Amis-Hollings, professor of women’s studies in the sociology department at Hardis College, shot out of her chair and stared at the dean, Sally Smith, who remained seated.
“Calm down, Margaret.”
“Calm down? Calm down? You just told me that I’ve lost my job.” Pacing, she raked her hand through the tangle of auburn hair that never seemed to stay contained in barrettes. A million things went through her mind, not the least of which was how she would make her rent, her car payment, buy food.
“Oh my God, how am I going to live?” Collapsing in the chair she’d just vaulted out of, she turned to face her friend and boss. Her expression was half despair, half anger, all shock.
“I’m so sorry, Margaret. The board has ordered more budget cuts. It hasn’t been easy. You know how we’ve had to scrimp for the past few years. Now we even have to cull courses we think aren’t serving the full interests of the students.”
“But—but…” Tears choking her throat, she couldn’t at first finish her sentence. “But the women’s studies classes? They’re vital.”
In fact, she had thought the reason for meeting with Sally was to discuss the addition of a new offering: Women Villains. She’d been so proud of the catchy and intriguing title and even had the hook for the course description. “What makes ‘Jane the Ripper,’ and how do her contributing factors differ from Jack’s?” She’d anticipated sharing the materials she’d already prepared, and hearing Sally’s happy response when she revealed the number of students who’d already indicated an interest.
She’d planned for questions of course, but anticipated support and excitement from Sally. The last thing she imagined was being let go.
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.
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!
With all of the bad news in the world, I wanted to select a charity that had a wide-reaching effort. I found Center for Disaster Philanthropy and selected the segment focusing on Ukraine relief. The mission of the CDP is to “Leverage the power of philanthropy to mobilize a full range of resources that strengthen the ability of communities to withstand disasters and recover equitably when they occur.” Their vision is “A world where the impact of disasters is minimized by thoughtful, equitable and responsible recovery for all.” They have a phenomenal rating on Charity Navigator of 96.8% of donations going toward their projects. Please comment and I will donate! Thank you!!
I wrote Naval Maneuvers as a kind of homage to Navy men and women, and in the book I talk about the difficulties placed on families with members in the service. Thanks to all those who serve their country and to those who serve their service member!
Naval Maneuvers
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 in anchor home, setting a course for renewed love. Explore the world of love and the military and see just how hot Naval Maneuvers can be.
Carie made her way around the side of the building and nearly ran into Todd, who lounged against the weathered wood siding. He looked better than good in a pale blue polo shirt and jeans. Top-Sider boat shoes with no socks gave him that naturally casual look that no model could successfully carry out.
“I was hoping you’d come,” he said.
“You were pretty obvious,” she said dryly.
“I knew you were smart enough to catch the hint. I just didn’t know if you’d follow it.”
How could she not? The moment she noticed him she’d remembered the feel of his being deep inside her. But that didn’t change a damn thing. They shouldn’t be here, not together.
She held her head high and tried to look down her nose at him—nearly impossible since he was taller than she, but she had perfected the attitude long before meeting Todd Baxter. Senior Chief Todd Baxter. “I wanted to walk the beach while I was here, that’s all.” Todd grinned and Carie melted inside.
“Lucky for me, I wanted to walk the beach, too,” he said. “Quite a coincidence, huh?”
She snorted in disbelief and slipped off her sandals. Brushing by him, she was glad he didn’t try to kiss her or hold her. But then she frowned. Why didn’t he try to kiss her? She’d wanted to jump his bones right there in that Norfolk hallway. They had to maintain propriety then, but here, no one would see them. What held him back? She knew an unfamiliar sense of self-doubt. Had she mistaken his feelings before?
Nonsense. Carie knew what they’d had was more than mere lust. It had been lust of stupendous proportions, far beyond a few days of burning out. Then what held him back? Knowing the military regulations preventing officers and enlisted personnel from having a relationship, you idiot.
Damn. She finally found someone she clicked with, and he had to be an enlisted man in the Navy.
The sand felt good between her toes, cool and squishy. Gulls screeched overhead and on the sand, where they snatched up sand crabs and poked around for scraps sunbathers might have left. Surf pounded to the shore and then surged forward, the sharp white of its foam sharp against the dark, wet sand before the water was absorbed. The sun beat down, making her wish she’d worn her bathing suit under her jeans and tank top so she could take a quick dip, and remembered to bring a floppy hat to shield her face.
Suddenly, something was plopped on her head. She dragged it off to look at it. SFC Baxter was stamped on the inside of a white sailor hat, brim folded down.
“I kept it for sentimental purposes when I made chief,” Todd said. When she raised her brows, he continued. “I brought it in case you came without a cover. I remember you were sensitive to the sun when we went to pick up your clothes.” He smiled. “And I know you’re quick to freckle. Not that I don’t like your freckles a great deal. Ma’am.”
She cringed at his use of “Ma’am,” though it was the proper term for him to use when a superior officer was a woman. But she smiled inside that he’d remembered such a small thing like the sensitivity to the sun suffered by all redheads. Chagrined, she put the hat on and pulled it forward, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“After all that time in North Carolina, how in hell did we never mention what we did for a living?” She couldn’t believe her stupidity. Martha had nothing on her for not asking the right questions.
“In Carolina we had lots of other things on our minds. I knew you’re a lawyer. When I thought of you, I never wondered how you spent your time at work. I just thought of how you spent your time with me.”
“That’s pretty shallow.”
Todd laughed. “Not to a man.”
Stupid answer. But it had been his very maleness that captivated her. Well, and orgasms. Who’s shallow now?
“Look,” he said, his hand out in a request for understanding. “It isn’t as though I didn’t want to get to know you better. I did. I do. But when we’re together I can’t keep my hands off you. I can’t stop thinking how I want to touch you, kiss you, do other things to–”
“When were you going to tell me you were in the Navy?” she asked.
He sighed loud enough that she heard it over the sound of the waves. “I don’t know. I guess when we slowed down enough to talk. There wasn’t much time.”
There hadn’t been. In Asheville, if they hadn’t been eating or sleeping, they busy in other ways. And there hadn’t been much eating or sleeping going on.
“I think they should put a plaque on the outside of that room for the fewest number of times the occupants left in four days. I couldn’t get enough of you.” Carrying his shoes in his left hand, he stuck his right hand in his pocket and strolled along beside her, barefoot. “I still can’t.”
“You didn’t exactly write and tell me that.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to assume too much, not knowing if you wanted me again as much as I wanted you. Call me shy.” He grinned, and she burst into laughter. “Besides,” he continued, “you’re the one who left saying, ‘It’s been fun.'”
She dipped her head, acknowledging the fact. “And you agreed.”
“Carie, I was scared.”
He sounded sincere, but really? He stopped and stared out across the breakers. She stared along with him, wondering what he saw out there. “I’m pretty set in my ways,” he said, and she had to strain to hear him, he spoke so low. “I’ll be honest, I haven’t been a monk, but sex with you was different. You made me think of things I’d never considered before.” He studied her face. “Do you understand?”
“I think so,” she said softly. “I wanted you more than anything. I’ve never had time or energy for a relationship. I’ve given all I have to my career. But I think I want more now.”
Todd reached to cup her cheek but then dropped his hand. “Like I said, I’m not a monk but there’s been no one since you.”
She wanted him. More, she needed him. “Nor for me. It wouldn’t have been the same. Nothing before you was ever that intense. Nothing else has ever touched me.” Pain struck her heart. “I want to kiss you so damn much.”
Before he could say anything, she turned and began walking again, sticking her hand in her pocket so she wouldn’t be tempted to reach for his hand. She’d had to hold herself back from stepping into his arms in the hallway on base. Here, on a near-empty beach, she had to exert even more will power. “That was then, and this is now. Vacation and real life seldom mix.”
“Funny,” he said. “Given the chance, I’d mix vacation and real life in a New York minute”
“Me, too,” she admitted. “But we can’t now. You’ve ruined everything.”
She felt him stiffen beside her. Idiot! You make a living saying the right thing to sway people’s opinion and you screw up like that?
“This is my fault how?” he asked quietly. She hadn’t seen him angry, but she had an idea this quiet voice was the prelude.
“You’re in the Navy but you’re not an officer.” It might sound petty, but regs were regs. “Why aren’t you an officer?” Okay, and that sounded whiny. But damn it, she felt whiny. “That attorney friend of yours said you were a mechanical engineer. Weren’t you offered OCS?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. After I received my BS and again after I earned my Masters. I didn’t accept because I didn’t want to be an officer.”
“Why not?” She spun to face him, the arm holding her sandals outstretched in confusion. She’d never met anyone who would turn down the chance to make more money and have more prestige.
“I like working, using my hands, being with my men—on the job and off.”
She started walking again. “Well, too bad you like sleeping with me. Or you seemed to. God knows, I loved being with you. And now it’s all over.”
“I’m surprised at you, counselor. The regulation obviously was written for two people who work together. It’s to keep one from having undue power over the other. We don’t work together.”
“It’s military regulations. You don’t mess with them. I don’t mess with them. I work to uphold them, not bend them to suit my desires.”
“I love your desires.” He pulled her hand from her pocket. Linking their fingers, he stepped closer and they continued their stroll across the sand as though the world hadn’t just turned on its axis. “Right here, right now, it feels like we never left Asheville. The view is different but we’re the same.”
Carie opened her mouth for air, suddenly needing more than she had a moment ago. But she couldn’t gather the strength needed to take back her hand. “The view isn’t the only thing different.”
He frowned. “Was I the friend you had planned to surprise this weekend?”
“Yes.” She sighed.
He laughed out loud. “You succeeded wildly.”
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. 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.
