Friday, December 14, 2012

My Favorite Things

Hey Guys! This should be fun. We are playing a game with the other SCP authors and learning about what our favorite things are. I’m going to talk about some of my favorite things here and I have games on my facebook pages for you to play.

I’m going to give you a glimpse into Sable Hunter here on my blog and then come play with me on facebook, too. On my facebook pages there are 5 games

My favorite food
My favorite holiday
My favorite vacation spot
My favorite singer
My favorite SCP book that I authored

In those games, you will guess my favorite from a list and tell me your own so we can share - and I will pick winners of each game for a copy of one of my books – I am recommending the Hill Country Heart series.

All comments here are also entered into a contest for more books – so I’ll be giving away a bunch!

Now - let me tell you more about me:

My favorite things are...
  • color is purple – I love purple.
  • gemstone is the amythest
  • Movie is THE OTHERS with Nicole Kidman - - spooky!
  • Way to relax – rocking on my front porch with the cats and drinking margaritas!
  • Car is the LEXUS GSF Sport!
  • Cookie is an oatmeal raisin
  • Song is MY SHARONA!!!
  • Book is Wild Card by Lora Leigh
  • Friend is Ryan O’Leary
  • Hobby is Ghost hunting
  • College Football Team is the Texas Longhorns
  • Professional Football Team is the Patriots
  • Television show is THE GOOD WIFE
And there are so many other things that I could share. But what I most what you to know about me is that I love my readers. I value you. You are one of my favorite things in the whole world. I try to always reach out to you and let you know how much I appreciate you. I have said it before – but I’ll say it again – there are many reasons that I love being an author of erotic romance. It’s fun. I get to fantasize. I get to travel and pick out locales and settings. I love the fact that I can make a living at what I enjoy doing – but nothing is more valuable to me than the friends that I have made – the readers and authors that I have met, I will cherish you for a life time. YOU ARE ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS!!!


Here is the SCP Blog link so you can find some more participants

And here is the SCP facebook page so you can find more contests.!/groups/256038187798868/?fref=ts

And here is where you can find me – there will be contests on both places – same contest – different threads.!/sable.hunter.3
that’s my regular page

and this is my fan page   Good luck and thanks again. 

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Wounded Warrior Project

Christmas is the season of giving gifts. Some people think that gift giving makes Christmas less meaningful because it introduces commercialism into what they consider a strictly religious holiday. And I don’t want to downplay that part of Christmas, I go to church and I know whose birthday we celebrate – although it is my contention that Christ was probably born in October – but that doesn’t really matter. We don’t have to know a specific date to celebrate a great gift.

In my home we have always done Santa Claus. Now that it’s just Jess and I, we still go all out. I am in charge. He makes me a list and I make him one, but I make sure that we have the same number of gifts, I get the paper and all that is necessary to make everything pretty. As Jess has grown older (he’s 9 years my junior – little brothers!) his tastes in gifts has changed. We went through the transformer phase and the super hero phase – although I will tell you ladies, he’s not above wearing a cape, even now. We went through the video game phase – actually – that phase is still on-going, I think I bought at least a half dozen PS3’s this year. Then we went through the clothes-horse phase, the pimp my pick-up phase and the ‘I have everything I want – let me travel!’ phase. Whew! But in the midst of keeping up with what he wants and what I want to spend my money on, I have discovered something important, that you probably already know - the most important gifts don’t cost a dime.

I have raised Jess since he was nine years old, I was eighteen at the time and probably didn’t do everything right. Most likely, I have made mistakes in my parental/sisterly role. It is highly possible that I spoiled him, and probably told him too many times how handsome and smart he was – CAUSE HE BELIEVED ME!!! Ha! But I also know I did some things right because he is kind and loving and brilliant and the best friend I have ever had. So, the most important gifts that I have given him were not toys or clothes or even a vehicle – it was security, a sense of worth and unconditional love.

Read that last phrase again – because that’s what we all need – security, a sense of worth and unconditional love.

The men and women who serve in our military give of themselves that we might have those things as a country. They give us freedom, which in turn makes us feel secure. We as a nation owe our sense of worth to the fact that there are brave people in our midst who are willing to step in between us and any enemy we might have. These same men sometimes are called upon to offer the ultimate sacrifice of life or limb for our preservation. We are blessed.

So, doesn’t it make sense that we should, in turn, be willing to offer those same gifts to our soldiers, our veterans, our wounded warriors? I am privileged to be participating in this Wounded Warrior Project and to be donating in their honor. The link is below – and I encourage you to donate also. The greatest gift we can give is to lay down our lives for our friends and some of them have done so – it is very little we do to repay them, to offer a gift like this at Christmas.

Forget Me Never -- Sable HunterI recently had a book released that featured a Marine who was a POW, the book is called FORGET ME NEVER. It was not a SCP release, but I’m sure they won’t mind, considering the theme. Patrick fights for his country, and his one greatest fear – is not bullets or roadside bombs, or even being away from home – his greatest fear is being forgotten. So many of our soldiers feel like that have been forgotten, they come home to find that living is harder after their gift of service than before. We shouldn’t let that happen – so in honor of Wounded Warriors – I post an excerpt from FORGET ME NEVER. – and it’s a tad racy!

The link is here

“Come on, Savannah.  Take a chance.  I dare you.  Go over and ask him out to lunch.” 

Savannah jumped for the second time in an hour.  She was caught.  “I didn’t know you were here, Tam.  I figured after four margaritas and three wine coolers you’d be in bed till tomorrow.”

“No, way.  Nana Fontenot said today was the day you’d meet - and I quote – ‘the warrior who will be your husband’.  And that alpha male in camouflage, my dear friend, is a warrior in anybody’s book.  If that marine isn’t your destiny, I’ll eat my Dooney and Bourke purse doused with Tobasco Sauce.”

“You’d better marinate it for a while.  I’m afraid it’s gonna be a little chewy.”  Good grief, she had forgotten about the old soothsayer’s prediction.  As much respect as Savannah had for other people’s beliefs, she didn’t give much credence to the idea she would meet her future husband today.  Although . . . if she had a choice, the man they were staring at would fulfill all of her dreams.

“I double-dog dare you.” Tammany wasn’t going to give up.    

“Double-dog?  Is that supposed to make me want to do this more?”  

“No, it’s supposed to shame you into doing it.  Now, get over there and make him want you!”    

She couldn’t believe the other woman was suggesting that she just stroll over there and proposition him.  As much as she wished she could pull it off, the whole idea was totally ridiculous.  He would say ‘no’, that was a forgone conclusion.   Even if she were a normal girl, she didn’t have what it would take to attract a man like him.  “You must believe in miracles.”

“Yes, and I also believe in magic.” 

Her friend sounded so certain.  Of course, they were just work friends.  Tammany had no idea about her past.  So far no one at the Center knew about Carville except her bosses.  Mr. Randolph had acted sort of shocked, but he had kept her confidence.  And Mr. Davis, her main boss, had said it didn’t matter one whit to him.  He had a brother with AIDS so he was sympathetic to such things and how such a devastating diagnosis could affect the family.  In many ways AIDS was the new leprosy, both were misunderstood diseases.  A little tremble of apprehension washed over Savannah, the whole idea of asking a man for his attention sent her into nervous dithers.  “You know I respect Nana Fontenot.  But in this case, she must have gotten her magical wires crossed.”

“Nana Fontenot is never wrong,” Tammany insisted as she stretched her lithe body and yawned, causing one bespeckled gentleman to stump his toe on the concrete floor as he appreciated her curvy body.  “That little hoodoo woman has predicted more marriages, births and deaths than the weather channel predicts rain storms.  Hell, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.  So, what are you waiting for?  Go get him.  He’s yours – Nana Fontenot said so.” 

Closing her eyes, Savannah took a deep breath and calmed her nerves.  Tammany only had her best interest at heart.  Glancing at her friend, she was amused to realize that she had come to town in her sleeping clothes.  The camisole and shorts were what she had worn to bed the night before.  Of course, Tammany could get away with it.  She looked sexy in anything.  After their night at Mulate’s, all three friends who had attended her birthday dinner capped off the evening with ice cream sundaes and cake on the Benoit’s houseboat.  It had turned into a slumber party, but Savannah had slipped away early because of her work schedule. 

They had all met through the Culture Center - either as volunteers, coworkers or benefactors.  Tammany Benoit, Francesca Leger, and Cato Vincent were beautiful, popular, and self-assured; everything that Savannah Doucet was not.  But that hadn’t seemed to matter to them, they always treated her as if she were one of them – and she was.  Tammany had seen to that. 

Tammany had been her first real friend.  Friends had been hard to come by for Savannah.  No matter where she had lived or what school she had gone to, it hadn’t been long before everyone would know and be talking about her stigma.  The circumstances of her birth were recorded in her medical file and the fact that she was a Carville baby would leak out.  Some teachers had even announced it in class as part of the education process, or at least that’s what they claimed.  They would always explain that Savannah didn’t have leprosy, but the look in their eye or the tone in their voice would always convey a little bit of fear.  So, it had proved impossible for Savannah to ever fully escape her past. 

But Tammany had been good to her and that kindness had been a rare commodity in Savannah’s life.  So when Tammany asked her to do something, Savannah found it almost impossible to tell her ‘no’.  “You just want to see me humiliate myself.”  She knew that wasn’t true, but Savannah felt a little grumpy – and a little hung-over.  Thank goodness her shift at the Acadian Memorial ended in fifteen minutes.  Although if the gorgeous hunk of a soldier they were eyeballing planned to be here all afternoon, it was going to be hard to tear herself away.  God!  She had never seen a more perfect man! He was big – really big.  Standing with his legs spread in a commanding stance, it was obvious he covered the ground he walked on and people trembled when he past by.  Savannah licked her lips.  What she wouldn’t do to get her hands on a guy like that!            

“It’s your birthday, Savannah.  Be good to yourself.  This man could be your soul mate.  Think of him as a gift.”  Punching her in the side, she joked.  “I’ll help you unwrap him.”

“He looks busy; I don’t want to disturb him.”  Savannah procrastinated.

“Are you kidding?  His very presence is disturbing everyone else.  I saw how those college girls were acting before you herded them outside.  Besides, you’re an expert on this stuff, Miss. Doucet.  Go over and offer your assistance.  It’s your job!  Now!”  Tammany gave her a little push. 

Apparently he was doing research on the Acadian refugees.  Why not offer her services?  And while she was helping him, she could pretend to seduce him.  She couldn’t help but laugh at herself a little.  “He does look like he needs help.”  Yea, she’d like to help him with a lot of things – like undressing, taking a shower, possibly even a back massage.

“Do it, Savannah.  You’re through here for the day, and I’ll stay until tardy Tulah Belle comes.  This is your chance; you don’t want to be the oldest virgin in St. Martin’s Parish for another year!”

“Oh, all right!”  She yelled so loud everyone turned and looked at her – except sexy Rambo, of course.  Tammany wasn’t going to leave her alone until she at least tried to hook up with this guy. Savannah’s dateless state was worrying Tammany to death.  So, she had to at least make her friend think she had a date the soldier.  Yea, that’s what she would do.  She could save face and the Marine could leave unencumbered.  “I’ll still make a complete fool out of myself,” Savannah grumbled as she took one step forward.  To make matters worse, Fred March was watching her closely and he didn’t look happy.  The man scared her a little bit.  Gracious, now she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

Tammany jerked her back.  “Give me those glasses.”

“But, I need them.” 

“Only to read.”  Savannah lost the battle, Tammany confiscated her spectacles and pushed her out of her safe zone into the scary world of sexual gamesmanship.  Walking as casually as she could with her heart in her throat, she stepped close to the marine.  His height made her look up and up.  Gee, he must be well over six feet.  Of course, at five foot three she had to look up at almost everyone over the age of twelve.  Clearing her throat, she whispered.  “Excuse me, but I’m in a pickle.  I’ll give you twenty dollars if you’ll pretend we’re going out to lunch together.” 

Patrick had been trying to find the surname LaVerdure on this vast list of names for about fifteen minutes, but he wasn’t having any luck.  All of the immigrants were recorded by ship manifesto, so he had to look in several different places.  Deep in concentration, it was a second or two before he realized someone was speaking to him.  The unexpected words coming from over his left shoulder irritated him a little bit.  “I’m not the kind of man that can be bought, honey.  And if I could – twenty dollars wouldn’t touch me,” Patrick drawled. 

“Dang, it’s just my luck to pick a man with principles.  What would you say if I threw in a couple of dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies to sweeten the deal?”  She might not be much of a temptation, but she could cook.  That was one of the things Savannah missed about not having a family.  Cooking for one wasn’t fun.   

Her quick comeback amused Patrick.  If the woman was half as sexy as that husky little voice, he was in for a better treat than cookies.  Turning, slowly – he let the anticipation build. 

Oh, hell yeah!  His day just got a helluva lot brighter.

A curvy little honey wearing a demure, lacy dress stood looking up at him with hope in her eyes.  “Well, hello Miss Prim and Proper.  You look like you’re in dire need of mussing up.”

Savannah ran her palms down the sides of her dress and smiled, sheepishly.  “Don’t tell anybody, but these are the clothes I wore yesterday.  I didn’t have time to go home and change.”

“Really, did you have a good time last night?” Patrick was enjoying this.  “I bet you made some guy a happy man.” 

“No, no,” Savannah fanned her hands in denial.  “I went out with the girls.”  Knowing Tammany was taking all of this in – not to mention Fred March, she repeated her request.  “Would you consider playing along with me?  It’ll save me some embarrassment.  Should I make it twenty-five dollars?” 

Patrick didn’t have a clue what was going on.  He had no idea what kind of game the little dove was proposing, but he definitely wanted to play.  “All right, I’ll tell you what - I say forget the money.  I’ll take you to lunch, but I want a half dozen kisses plus the cookies.  Deal?”   

“Kisses?” Was he kidding?  “Are you saying you’ll go to lunch with me?” she asked in surprised.  “No, you don’t understand.  That’s not necessary.”  Holding up one finger to pause the conversation, she glanced over her shoulder to the blonde at the help desk who looked back at them and winked big.  “Lord, does she have to be so obvious?” she muttered.  Leaning toward him with a conspiratorial air, she twisted her mouth into a cute little sideways knot and whispered.  “Actually, I’m trying to bribe you.  I know you don’t really want to go out with me.  Just pretend for a bit.  Please?”

For a moment, Patrick didn’t know what to say.  Was she serious?  Why wouldn’t he want to go out with her?  “Who’s pretending?  I want food for lunch and you for dessert.”  Patrick loved to flirt and he needed it – he was in for a long dry spell in Afghanistan.  A sweetheart like this would be good fantasy material for the long hot nights ahead with only his hand for company.    

He waited to see what she would do and what happened next made the earth move under his feet.  She smiled.  Her whole face lit up with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.  Patrick lost the ability to speak.  He knew that smile.  He had fallen in love with that smile on a Halloween night seventeen long years ago.  The drawing he had made of her beautiful face and that incredible smile was in his duffle bag in his truck.  He never went anywhere without it.  Even though he had doubted the experience, for years he had looked for her everywhere he went.  Since joining the marines and seeing the horrors of war and the despair of humanity, he had laid down his dreams.  But he couldn’t seem to let go of the drawing or the memory.  And now here she was, standing in front of him like a gift from above.  His Destiny.                 

“Really?  You’d actually take a chance on me?”  For a brief moment Savannah let herself imagine what it would be like to go on a date.  A thrill rose in her chest almost making it impossible to breathe.  She had missed so much in this life because of Carville.  But there wasn’t anything she could do about it. 

“I’m not a gambling man, baby.  But I can recognize the Queen of Hearts when I see her.”  Patrick was having a hard time keeping his hands off of her.  They hadn’t even exchanged names and he felt totally proprietary about her.  It was like his heart recognized her or something.  No, chance didn’t have a damn thing to do with this.  Meeting Destiny was fate.  

“No, you misunderstood me.  All I want is a few minutes of your time.” With a hand on one hip and a thoughtful expression on his face, he seemed to be deciding if he were wasting his time with her.  “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”  She blushed, realizing how that sounded.  Lord, he looked even better up close.  From across the room he had been the total package.  Up close, he was absolutely stunning – deep dimples and the bluest eyes this side of heaven.  “What I mean is - I just noticed that you seem frustrated.  My name is Savannah Doucet and I’m something of an expert with this stuff,” she pointed at the wall.  “Is there some way I can help you?”

“I’m Patrick O’ Rourke.  And it’s very nice to meet you.”  Very nice.  Feeling playful, he chose to deliberately misunderstand her.  “So, you’re an expert at relieving frustration?  That might be interesting.”  Mouthwatering, that was what she was.   

“Oh, my goodness,” she put her hands over her warm cheeks.  “No, I’m not an expert at that.  I don’t have any feminine wiles.”  Savannah was flustered.  Taking a second to look around the Memorial, she was relieved to see they were alone except for Tammany who was on the phone and not paying them any attention at the moment.

“I beg to differ,” he flirted, blatantly.  Stepping back, he slowly took an inventory of her body from head to foot.  His love was just a little bit of a thing: small bones, lush mouth, dark hair and huge black eyes – no they weren’t black.  Are your eyes blue?”  He could lose himself in those dark, haunting eyes.  This woman was off-the-charts sexy.  

Frowning slightly, she answered him.  “Yes, they’re a drab navy blue, I guess.”

The look he was giving her was so intense; it made her feel like tiny flames of fire was dancing over her skin.  Savannah couldn’t help but stare back.        

“I don’t think they’re drab at all.  I think they’re beautiful and mysterious.”  What was an even bigger turn-on was the intelligence that shone out of them.  Patrick felt his heart pound as they engaged in a mutual eye-fuck.  Damn, he had it bad! 

Savannah didn’t know what to say.  She was in unknown territory.  This man seemed to be flirting with her.  There had to be some mistake.  Maybe she wasn’t experienced enough to tell when someone was serious or teasing her.  It would be better to get the conversation back on a safe topic.  “Are you looking for a particular name on the wall?”

She was nervous.  He could tell.  Damn, she was cute, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.  “Actually, I’m looking for the LaVerdure family. But, I’m not having any luck.”     

A surge of courage welled up in Savannah.  It was as if someone else was in charge of her body.  For once, she wanted to be normal and see how it felt to flirt with a man.  Going for broke, she decided to see if she could a reaction out of him.  “Well, today’s your lucky day.  Because I’m just what you’ve been looking for.”  She took one small finger and drug it down his bare arm from the bend of his elbow to his wrist. 

“Hot damn, baby.” Patrick hissed as closed his eyes.  His whole body went into lust mode.  She didn’t know how right she was.  It was true, she was just who he had been looking for – for what seemed like forever.  “You have my complete and utter attention.” 

“If I have your attention, then open your eyes, Patrick.  Watch me.” 

Like his heart would give him a choice?  She didn’t know it, but he was completely at her mercy.  “Yes, mam.”  He bet Savannah could get him to do most anything her heart desired.  Mesmerized, Patrick watched her every move.  She backed up about six inches, glanced around the room, and what she did next shocked the shit out of him.  First she graced him with a saucy little wink, then proceeded to let her gaze slide down his body – and swear-to-God - she got hung up on his manhood like it was a speed bump.  Little hot-stuff looked his bulge over real slow, he didn’t have to glance down to see what she could see, he could feet his dick rise as fast and hot as the temperature on a sultry Louisiana day.  There was no doubt about it; his cock enjoyed being at the center of her attention. 

She didn’t stop there.  Oh, no.  Sweet-doll checked out his thighs, his knees – hell - she even stared at his feet, probably wondering if his size twelve combat boots were any indication of the size of his cock.  (It was, by the way.)  Patrick couldn’t help but chuckle as she took the time to follow the same path back up.  The little minx stared at his package until he was fully erect and throbbing. 

“Did you get the response you were after?” He couldn’t help but laugh.  Damn, he wanted to touch her so much.  He was so happy.  Again, she smiled.  And he couldn’t help it – he grinned right back.   Patrick wanted to pick her up, twirl her around and carry her off into the sunset.  He was so glad to see her; it was like being reunited with a long lost friend.  

“Actually, I got a lot bigger response than I ever dreamed.  I’ve never done that before.  One of my girlfriends did that to a guy at Mulate’s last night.”  Leaning close to him, she whispered.  “You are a lot more well-endowed than Leon.” 

“Give Leon my sympathies.”  Patrick was enchanted.  “Are you always so bold?”  It didn’t matter if she was or not, he wanted her anyway.   

“No, I’m not bold at all.  I’m usually very shy.”  A look of guilt washed over her face.    “Gee, I guess I had better level with you.  I hate to start any friendship out with half-truths.”  She took him by the arm and turned him so they both faced the wall.  To quote an old song, the simple touch of her hand on his arm was giving him day dreams about night things right dab in the middle of the day.  She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.  “Do you see my friend over there?”

“You mean the blonde with the mile-long legs?”  There was no way he could have missed the looks that she and Savannah had been exchanging.  Was he attracted to the other woman?  He might have been, if there had been no Savannah.  But since laying eyes on his Destiny – there was no other woman in the world.  “And I certainly wouldn’t classify you as a bother.  I think you’re adorable.”

“You don’t have to be kind.”  She spoke so off-handedly that Patrick realized she wasn’t taking anything he said seriously.  Now why was that?  He watched her glance over at the young woman behind the desk again who winked and gave them a thumb’s up.  “Yes, that’s my friend Tammany.  She’s very beautiful.”  Damn, she was caressing his arm, petting him and Patrick didn’t think she was even aware of it.  “She wasn’t going to leave me alone until I tried to ask you out.  But I can’t be mad at her; she only wants what is best for me.” 

Teasing her was fast becoming his favorite sport.  “So, you don’t really want to help me with my research?  You just want me for my body?” 

Thanks for reading – here’s the blog hop link and the Wounded Warrior link.
Thanks for stopping by.
All comments will go into a hat for ebooks – please leave a Christmas message for our troops and I will see to it that it is posted in the proper place.     

Monday, December 3, 2012

Sable's Interview with the FABULOUS Ciara Ryan

To kick things off, this is her bio. 

Just about the only place you're sure to find Ciara, is at Churchill Downs on the first Saturday in May, a tradition she never misses.  A small town girl from Bliss, Kentucky, Ciara is a country girl with city sensibilities. With a bit of luck and some savvy investing advice from her uncle, Ciara was able to parlay the profits from years spent as a child model into a future for herself, one that included graduating a proud Wildcat and opening up her own freelance photography business. Whether she's taking pictures of the wildlife in her home state, or snapping shots of the runway in Milan, Ciara always has a story in her head that needs to be told. Her only requirements to write are a cashmere sweater, a glass of wine and your willingness to be seduced by her words.


Sable:  Tell me about the series that you have written?

Ciara: I've got three series' out right now. The first series is called But I Need This Job. I don't think I have to explain it too much with a title like that, but I'll tell you what inspired it and that should explain it. I had this crappy job at an office when I was 19. I hated it, the only reason I stayed there was because my boss was this uberhunk that made me pulsate with desire. He knew all the girls at the office wanted him but he wasn't a dick when he could have been. He was sweet and nice to everyone no matter what. Well, one day I screwed up huge. A shipment was supposed to go out and I forgot to do the paperwork or something, like I said, I didn't like the job, I only stayed because of him. Long story short, he calls me into his office at the end of the work day. Okay, this is devolving into one of my stories so I'll keep it short. Anyways, he calls me in and tells me he has to fire me and the entire time I'm thinking, "oh my God, I hate this job, but I would so offer to sleep with him to keep it", and that's where the title and concept came from. It's the first series I wrote when I was planning on self-publishing, so maybe it's not my best work, but it's sort of like my first time having sex, it might not have been that good, but it'll always be my favourite.

The second series I have is called All Access Pass. Is there a female out there who doesn't have a fantasy about bedding a rockstar? Nuff said.

The third series and my personal favourite is Classroom Confessions. This is eight steamy shorts about naughty encounters with teachers. Allow me to tweak my comment about my All Access Pass series: Is there a female out there who doesn't have a fantasy about bedding a teacher? There's the lucky girl who runs into a former teacher she had a crush on and, well, you know. There's also a pretty heated encounter between a TA and a teacher in a barn during a field trip. I won't spoil it for you, but there's a lot scorching stories in it. It's the most recent series I've written and not to pat myself on the back too much, but I think you can see how I've grown as a writer and damn if there isn't some of my absolute hottest encounters to date. As much as the But I Need This Job series is and probably will always be my favourite because it was my first, I think Classroom Confessions is how I'd like to be measured, at least so far.

Sable:  What do you have in mind for your next book?

Ciara: I actually met a new friend online the other day. She's a bartender in Vegas and very sexy to talk to. We were talking and she told me about a cute guy who came into her bar the other night and I found myself asking this question: Have you ever wanted to hookup with a customer? As you might imagine, this led to quite the animated conversation and it gave me the idea for my next series. I'm thinking about writing a series of stories about bartenders hooking up with patrons. You know. "Hey. I'm off in an hour, why don't you stick around for a drink after the bar closes?" That sentence sends my naughty brain off into a thousand different directions, but it eventually comes back to sex on the pool table. Do you play, Sable?

Sable: I can handle a cue. And I love to play with the balls.

Ciara: And now my brain is off and running again.

Sable: Which would be easier - give up internet for a month or sex for a month?

Ciara: Sex for sure. I'm a self-confessed clothes whore and as much as I love spending a day at the mall, I spend hours online shopping. I gave Andy, the UPS guy, a box of chocolates and a card for Christmas last year, that's how often he delivers to my house. Don't tell my mom this, but I love betting on the horses online. I know I shouldn't but it's one of my guilty pleasures. I'll pull up the live feeds and put down a couple bucks on the fourth race at Aqueduct or Hollywood Park. A guy I liked in high school was way into gambling online and he taught me all about it. It's such a rush. My uncle will kill me if he sees this. Do you ever go to the track? It's so thrilling to feel the ground shake when the horses rush past you. All that power makes my body tingle sometimes.

Sable: I grew up around horses, but I don't go to the track.

Ciara: That is going to change. I'm taking you and we're gonna wear fancy, ridiculously-expensive hats and have a blast.

Sable: I can't wait. Which reality show would you like to be on?

Ciara: I can tell you which show I wouldn't like to be on. America's Next Top Model. I modeled a bit when I was younger and I will I tell you something. I do NOT miss doing it. All the bitchiness, the backbiting and catty drama is not worth it. Which one would I like to be on? Hmmmmmm. I guess since there is no such thing as "reality" television, I'd choose one of those dating shows, maybe the Bachelor. No, wait. The Bachelorette would be better. That way I'm in control. What girl wouldn't want all those hunky guys fighting over her while you jet across the globe? Hot springs in Sweden with a group of six-packs, I mean, men all around you. Dinner under the Eiffel Tower, just you and Mr. Sparkly Smile. *Swoon*. A girl can dream can't she?

Sable:  What is your favorite sexual position?

Ciara: Sable! You know I'm shy about sex. HA! I almost said that with a straight face. Wow, this is a tough question to answer isn't it. What's yours?

Sable: Oh my goodness! You would ask me that, well I love missionary because I can cum quicker that way, but I also love the intense up against the wall feeling and I’ll tilt up my bottom to one particular guy anytime.

Ciara: Damn. See, now I love those, too. I guess if you had a gun to my head, I'd pick on top. Oh God, this is such a hard question to answer. I love how intense missionary can be when your eyes meet, and I must admit that I'm a girl through and through; I love it from behind, my hair being pulled. Is it getting hot in here? Maybe you should give me a minute...No, wait. Better yet. Stay...You do a lot of walking don't you?

Sable: I run regularly.

Ciara: Yeah, I could tell when you walked in. Your ass is fabulous. Sorry. Where were we? I think if I had to pick one, it'd have to be me on top. I know, I'm weird aren't I? But nothing brings me more pleasure than feeling a guys hands on my tits while he's as deep inside me as he can be. I know that from behind is best for going deep. God, I need another drink. But I love tossing my hair around while I'm grinding. I love looking down at him and seeing the pleasure on his face, his gritted teeth. Maybe I'm a secret Dom or something. You have got just the plumpest bottom lip ever, Ms. Hunter. Has anyone ever told you that? Oh, and I love that he can watch me play with myself while I'm on top, that drives me around the bend. Damnit! Is it too late to change my answer to that? I know it's not technically sex, but I like to be watched while I'm touching myself. I feel like such a pornstar when he's watching me and the thought of his cock getting harder turns me up even higher. You should not have opened up this can, Sable...Okay, on top is my final answer.

Sable: You sure?

Ciara: No. I mean, yes. We'll never get through this if I keep thinking about it. Best to move on for now. Maybe we can continue the conversation when the tape recorder is off.

Sable:  I think that could be arranged. Do you listen to music while you write?

Ciara: Nothing with words. I'd love to be able to crank up something industrial like Nine Inch Nails and just let the music fuck me while I'm writing something intense, something down and dirty, but I find the words too distracting. I can listen to instrumental when I write, but only as background noise. My favorite is the soundtrack to the movie Unfaithful, there is some soft, sexy, and absolutely beautiful music on it and every once in a while, I'll catch a note over the clatter of the keys on my laptop, or the scribble of the pen on paper and it'll transport me to a part in the movie that revs me up even more. I like to be relaxed, comfy if you will, when I write, hence the cashmere and wine. I know it sounds sort of, I don't know, pretentious, stuck-up maybe, but I honestly can't write anything except for notes and edits if I don't have on cashmere. The softness of the fabric against my skin is so erotic. Any writer who writes the kind of stuff you and I do, is a bald-faced liar if they tell you that they don't get turned on when they are writing it. And any of them that says they don't occasionally take a quite sojourn into the land of selflove when they are writing, is a God-damn, bald-faced liar. It's just us girls here, right, Sable?

Sable: Ummm.

Ciara: Good, then I can tell you this. If you've never touched yourself while wearing cashmere, you are missing out. I love my alone time.

Sable: If the truth be know, Ciara, so do I. Although, your wardrobe choice is more classy than mine. I go more for comfort – just shorts and a tee.  What does Ciara want for Christmas?

Ciara: More cashmere. I'm not sure really. I could think of a million things I'd love to buy, but I know this about myself. I don't shop so much because I want the stuff necessarily, I shop so much because I like shopping. So, I guess a black American Express card with an unlimited balance is the short answer. Oh, and someone to pay it off after of course. Or Channing Tatum.

Sable: Is there a topic that you consider too kinky for Ciara to write about?

Ciara: Hmmmmmmmm. I write what excites me, what interests me. There's a lot of I haven't tried sexually still, I still have lots to experience. I'm sort of old fashionrf I guess. I like guy/girl stuff. Don't get it wrong, I like girl/girl and any other variation, but I'm not going to write stuff like pseudo-incest. Here's how I see it. Whatever turns you on, turns you on, I'm fine with it as long as nobody is being exploited or mistreated, but some stuff just isn't for me. So as far as stuff like anal and threesomes and foursomes or whatever, that's stuff I'll write about. I write some hotass stuff, but I'm kinda old fashioned.

Sable: Tell us about your writing process?

Ciara: Wine. Cashmere sweater and a pair of worn jeans I've had forever. There's a rip just below the back left pocket and my ass shows a bit. They're so 80's. My friends call it my "writing uniform". My girlfriends know they can borrow anything in my closet. Anything except that pair of jeans that is. Those are off limits. They know I'll smack a bitch for even looking at them. I've had those jeans since I was 16 and they are just like the jeans in the Sisterhood Of the Travelling Pants. Not in the sense that they fit everyone perfectly, but in the sense that no matter if I've gained a few pounds, or lost a few pounds, they always fit me just right. They're that one pair of jeans that we all have, that no matter what is going on in my life, I can slip them on and revel in how great my ass looks in them. I warned you I was a clothes whore. You probably wanted to know where I write, how I edit and all that technical stuff and all I want to do is talk about my jeans. I either write at the dining room table or on the couch, that's pretty much it. I can usually finish one of my short stories in a few hours if nobody calls or distracts me. I try to limit my intake to a glass and a half, two glasses of wine tops. It loosens me up a bit, helps me forget my everyday troubles. If everything in my life is pretty much chill at the moment and the scene I'm writing is steamy enough, I'll inevitably end up on the couch. God, I can't believe I'm telling you this. My process does have a somewhat quirky aspect to it. Almost everything I've ever written has started out as a scribbled sentence on a scrap piece of paper. The back of a receipt or the tab of a friends cigarette pack is where most of my stories take their first breath of air. Rarely, if ever am I in the vicinity of a notebook when an idea hits me. I have a stack of blank notebooks in my desk drawer with blank, crisp untouched pages and I have a drawer full of crumpled receipts and scrap pieces of paper with one or two lines on them. The idea for one of my All Access Pass stories literally came to me when I was at dinner with my parents one night. "I already paid for it, Honey," my dad said when I reached for the bill. "I know, Dad. Just want to write this down before I forget." I have that receipt in that messy drawer still, with, "The first time I heard Stone Carlson sing, was also the first time I ever felt wet.", scribbled on the back of it. Try having dinner with your parents with that line running through your head the whole time.

Sable: Do you enjoy connecting with your readers?

Ciara: Nobody has really reached out to me yet. I've had a couple guys email me, but as a fellow writer of erotic literature, I don't have to tell you what those emails were like.

Sable: What's the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you?

Ciara: Wow! Loaded question. Believe it or not, I'm actually kind of shy, but I'll share something with you. When I was 9, my mother caught me playing doctor with a boy. Not terribly embarrassing is it? Ohhhh,  I probably shouldn't tell you this, but the boy was my cousin. Wait! In my defence, we'd only met once in our lives and we were like 5 years old and the truth is, I didn't know he was my cousin when he was examining me. It was all sort of innocent. I mean, I kind of knew what was going on, but not really, if you know what I mean. To this day the fact that it was my cousin just mortifies me. And now I've gone and told you and your countless legions of readers, so just great. Smooth move, Ciara.

My Facebook fan page is here

The excerpt below is from and the link for that is on Amazon


From Classroom Confessions: Book 2

 Teacher Scores

“So you used to teach grade eight?” I asked when I was unable to locate yet another quote.

Wendy flipped the page on the test in her hand and looked at me. “Yes, and grade three before that.”

She told me her whole teaching history; told me that she understood how hard it was to get her foot in the door like it had been for me.

“It was part of the reason I gave you the job,” Wendy said. “I remember that feeling; getting turned away at every interview. Except I think it was a little different for you, you didn’t get hit on and then rejected when you refused to accompany your new prospective boss to dinner."

I laughed. "No. I went out with mine when she asked.”

Wendy joined in the laughter. “That’s right. You did.”

We both fell into a hysterical laughing fit and when that had passed, we talked some more. Even though we had both stopped working, it was nice to sit there and talk with her without having to worry about hiding my raging hard-on.

“I feel like a cup of coffee,” Wendy said.  She was already getting up out of her seat, heading for the door with my coffee mug in her hand.

“Sounds good.” I went back to looking things up on my laptop.

I was making progress. With any luck, we would be done before our mugs were empty and I could get my long weekend under way.

The blinds shot up and crashed against the window. I looked away from the computer screen, it had grown significantly darker outside and I could hear the faint rumble of thunder off in the distance. Now I really needed to get out of here before the rain started. I turned back to the screen and got down to work.

A minute later I heard the door open and Wendy walk in. The door slammed shut and when I turned my chair to see her, she was standing a few feet away, holding the bottom of her white shirt away from her body.

“I’m all wet,” she said, looking at me with her big blue eyes.

My eyes were still a bit out of focus from all the computer time and when they readjusted, they followed her up from the floor, tracing a path up the rain darkened thighs of her jeans, across the damp fabric of her now practically see-through white shirt; it was the first time I’d noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra and her dark nipples were rockhard, almost tearing through the fabric. I lingered there for a few more moments, unable to tear my eyes off of her tits. The words suck, lick, fondle kept flashing across my mind and when I looked up at her face finally, her hair was a sopping mess, a clump of her blonde locks stuck to the side of her face just below her cheekbone.

That not-so-hard cock from earlier was gone now, in its place was the biggest erection I had ever had. I was so hard it almost hurt and I didn’t try to hide it when I readjusted my cock.

Wendy walked over to me slowly. As her nipples got closer, my mouth started to water. She stepped in between me and the desk and hopped up onto it, her perfect ass making a loud thud as she settled in. She wiggled her ass back and forth. I heard her shoe hit the floor and her bare foot was in my lap a second later, massaging my aching hard-on.

I put my hands on the arms of my chair and leaned back. “Umm-hmmmm,” I sighed.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop

Hello everything. Martin Crosbie  invited me to participate. If you haven’t read his MY TEMPORARY LIFE, you really need to. It is a bestselling novel that amassed many 5 star reviews and brought its author much recognition. He is about to release the sequel and I, for one, can hardly wait. By the way – the book title is – MY NAME IS HARDLY.

I would like to introduce you to my newest work.

You can find it in the book section of my website.

Ten Interview Questions for The Next Big Thing:

What is the working title of your book?

The title of my new book is “I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS”.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

I’ll See You In My Dreams is the fifth installment in the Hell Yeah! series. As I write the story of the McCoy family and their friends, the individual characters begin to haunt me, I guess you could say. They each have a story to tell and Zane being blind and wanting to be loved just tugged at my heart, so he got his own book. His heroine, Presley, isn’t perfect either. But Zane sees only beauty, for he looks at her through the eyes of love. It’s a touching story and also has more on the McCoy family and lots of hot sex. Ha! 

What genre does your book fall under?

My book is an erotic romance – a full length romance with laughter and tears and plot twists, but it takes you behind the bedroom door.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition? –

Zane is gorgeous – dark hair, scruff of sexy beard and a body to die for . . . . let me see – I would ask Joe Manganiello to star as Beau and Presley would be played by Sarah Shahi of Fairly Legal fame.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Zane Saucier is a cowboy, a horse whisperer, a brilliant attorney - and he's blind. Nothing seems beyond his reach, but love. Presley has a mountain of her own to climb; she's not perfect either, but she does teach Zane one valuable lesson: no eye sees as clearly as the heart.

More than one sentence – I know – but – oh well.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

This book will be self-published. I have 7 traditionally published and 7 self-published. I like to have control.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I write fast, as long as I’m in the right frame of mind. The first draft of “I’ll See You In My Dreams” took two months to complete.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

My Hell Yeah! series is similar to Lorelei James’ books.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?

What inspired me to write this book was a young girl that I knew who had a cleft lip. I saw how reticent she was to meet anyone’s gaze and how she was always left to one side. After I had created Zane’s character, I thought how special it would be if he fell in love with someone who thought they were unlovable and then let him make her feel like the most special woman in the world.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I have included the McCoy’s of Tebow ranch and their ups and downs in this story, especially Aron’s disappearance. There is also the introduction of a group of new characters who will enrich the series. Since Zane is blind, it gave a whole different perspective to everything – I had to use his other senses, it made the sex really challenging to write.

Zane also has a guide dog and a guide horse – so I worked in the cowboy angle. He raises registered cattle and shelters abused horses. I fell in love with Zane.

Here’s an excerpt - - 

Presley dressed for Zane. She knew it didn’t make any sense, but she did. Today, she wore her version of a power suit she had purchased at a second-hand store. It was appropriate office attire, but she felt comfortable in it. The pants were linen and the top was silk. Presley preferred feminine clothes with soft lines and softer fabrics. With her coloring, she usually chose jewel tones. A short jacket completed her deep blue ensemble. As usual, she avoided looking in the mirror. Even when she put on make-up, she glanced up or concentrated on just one feature at a time. Pink lip gloss was her only choice of make-up for her mouth, anything that would draw attention to her problem was avoided – so no bright colors, just the barest hint of pink.

What would today bring? She had spent a couple of hours the night before reading everything she could find about Zane online; about his family, about the firm and the cases they had handled. She had felt respect for the man, before – but now she felt awe. Time after time he had taken on people’s problems, represented the underdog, stood between hopeless situations and lost causes. She knew there were some people who practiced law to make money – and apparently he did, but he had high standards and a big heart and Presley wanted to be a part of his life so bad she could taste it.

But she also saw photo after photo of him with beautiful women hanging on his arm. Just this past weekend he had been a part of the McCoy wedding held at Tebow Ranch. Everyone knew who the McCoys were – and everyone was beginning to know the Saucier brothers. Zane wasn’t married, but it was obvious he could have any woman he wanted. So what would he want with her?

Zane would never want her for her looks or be attracted to her – but he could need her. So as Presley prepared for her second day of work at Saucier and Barclay, she prepared to make herself indispensable to one handsome lawyer with a heart of gold.

When she arrived at the office, it was a little different than the day before. Presley didn’t wait to be shown in, nor did she linger at the front desk, rather she went right into the big boss’ inner sanctum – just like she belonged. Without hesitation, she threw herself into the task. Glancing through his calendar, she got everything ready.

Looking around the office, she checked everything out. His computer was on. His water pitcher was full. The blinds were cracked at just the angle she had noticed they were at yesterday. What else? Presley’s eyes roved the room – ah, the ivy! Yesterday she had noticed it and wondered whose responsibility it was to keep it watered. As no one had – she supposed it might be hers. It was a beautiful display and very real as she could tell from the one or two partially yellowed leaves. Finding a watering can, she pulled a chair over near the window. A shelf over the top held the spreading green vine. But it was high – and she had on high heels. So she had to be careful.

Stretching up, she almost had it. Dang! If she were only a little taller, biting her lip, Presley gave it everything she had – and slipped. “Ratz!” she squealed and tumbled backwards – right into Zane Saucier’s arms.

“Gotcha!” He had walked in and after listening for a few seconds, he had known exactly what she was doing. But instead of scaring her, he had placed himself near in case she fell. Talk about something being in the right place at the right time! Now, he didn’t have to wonder what kind of body Miss Presley had, because he held it to his own – intimately. Not being able to see, he had grasped her wherever he could to ensure she hadn’t slipped to the hard floor. One hand splayed over her lower abdomen, her hips ground back into his groin. The other hand cupped one luscious breast like it was made for it – and perhaps it had been – because Zane had never known anything that had felt so right. She was soft, curvy, rounded in all the right places – Miss Presley Grace Love was the perfect armful. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Presley managed to whisper. “I’m sorry, I landed on you.”

“I’m not, I’m glad I was here to catch you.” And he wasn’t letting her go very fast. Her breathing was fast and shallow. Zane did move his hands to slightly less conspicuous spots; he had no intention of embarrassing her. But he did enjoy the feel of her in his arms. “You shouldn’t have climbed up there like that, it’s dangerous. We have people to water the plants with long wands and proper tools.”

“Sorry,” she managed to apologize. “I thought I was helping.”

“It’s okay, no harm done. I’m just glad I walked in at just the right moment.” He had to smile; she just made him happy. And he needed that. The last twenty-four hours had been full of nothing but worry. First the brucellosis scare had thrown him for a loop and then had come the run-in with the cougar. Rex was going to be okay, but the vet had insisted on keeping him for a day for stitches and antibiotics, and then he would probably need some recuperation time. There had been no life-threatening injuries, but the lab had come away with some deep scratches and a few bite marks. So for the first time in a long time, Zane was having to get around on his own with one of the despicable canes that Margaret had hated so.

“Me, too,” she conceded. Letting out a deep breath, it occurred to her that she hadn’t moved. She was still lounging in his arms like she was at home, there. Good grief! What he must be thinking! “Sorry,” she managed to begin pulling her body away from his. It was hard. She felt entirely too comfortable there. “I need to move.”

“Quit apologizing. Holding you wasn’t a hardship.”

Presley blushed. Zane couldn’t see, thank goodness.

Stepping back, she noticed Zane’s tie was crooked. “May I?” she touched his chest. “Your tie needs straightening.”

“Okay,” he readily agreed. “I thought I was all spiffed up.”

He held up his head and stood still while she rearranged and tightened it a bit. Being this close to him made her quiver. There was no doubt in her mind that her head would rest naturally against his chest. At this angle, Presley could gaze at his face – the strong jaw, the kissable cleft in his chin. “Smile for me,” she requested before thinking.

“Why?” he asked but he smiled and she had to laugh a bit.

“I knew it. You have dimples,” and she touched the one on the right side with her index finger.

“Turn-about is fair play; let me touch your face so I can ‘see’ you.”

He lifted his hands and Presley panicked. “No!” she almost shouted and backed up, catching her heel on the leg of a chair and sitting down hard.

“Presley!” Zane bent over and held out his hand, feeling for her. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said with a resigned embarrassed tone. “I just landed hard on my bottom. I’m fine.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you; I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

He sounded so contrite that Presley felt ashamed. “It wasn’t you, I’m . . .” The phone rang and she breathed a sigh of relief – saved by the bell. “Let me get that, excuse me.” She jumped up and went for the phone.

“Hello?” she asked breathlessly.

Zane was a bit confused. Her reaction to his request to touch her had been so unexpected.


I have tagged

Kameron Brook  - -

Randi Alexander - -

Friday, November 16, 2012

Dirk Tyler & Kameron Brook

Kameron and Dirk, a passionate couple in and out of the bedroom, have decided to join forces and bring their erotic imagination to life with words. Their solo stories are electric; however, the works they create together will practically sizzle off the page. Yes, they might live in a quiet suburban neighborhood, but they’re anything but tame or mundane, a fact you shall read and learn about soon enough.

Sable: It is my privilege today to interview and introduce you to Kameron Brooke. She is married to the love of her life, Dirk Tyler. And I want them to tell their story in their own words.

Sable: Tell us a little bit about yourself and Dirk. When did you start writing?

Kam: Dirk and I have been married for 14 years but together for 17. We have two wonderful children who monopolize much of our free time, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.

We didn’t start writing until a couple of years ago. He was the first one to submit and get published. “Voyeur” was an instant hit. After much thought, I took his advice and decided to submit a story of my own. “Girls’ Night Out” was picked up on the first try and has become a lesbian best seller.

After we both had one story under our belt by the same publisher, the owner asked if we’d consider collaborating on one. She said we sounded so much alike and knew it’d be a hit. We discussed it at length and said, “What the hell, let’s go for it.” We pondered ideas and “New Beginnings” was created.

S: Do you write together or separate and how does your writing styles differ?

K: For the most part, we write together now. The only exception is when a F/F story idea comes to mind.  Those usually come to me, not him. We do prefer to write as a team though. It keeps the fires burning to discuss and possibly act out certain sections.

S: Tell us about your favorite of the books you have written?

K: I loved writing them all; however, “Girls’ Night Out” will always have a soft spot in my heart. Neeka and Emily gave me my first break into the publishing world.

S: What are your writing habits? (I write from a recliner most of the time)

K: I’m usually sitting cross-legged on the sectional with Dirk’s robe on….just like now. 

S: Who has been your favorite character that you’ve created?

K: Emily is my favorite because I’m truly a fan of yoga. I try to keep my body limber with a few poses several nights a week.

S: Do you have a philosophy of life?

K: Do what you love and do it often because if you don’t, you’ll always wonder what if. When I’m on my last breath, I don’t want to think “Damn, why didn’t I do such and such.”

S: Where can we find you – blogs, links, facebook?


Facebook Author page:

(Goodreads' links):


S: My writing is mostly fantasy except for the insecurities and the humor. How much does your writing reflect your lifestyle?

K: Dirk and I incorporate real life experiences into each story. We never divulge which parts are true though. We also attempt to include some humor into each story because we feel couples who laugh together, stay together.

S: What’s your favorite thing to eat in the whole world?  How about Dirk?

K: Oh my goodness, Taco Bell all the way! I joke all the time I’m writing to earn enough money for my own franchise. Dirk, he loves pizza and a good burger with an egg on it.

S: What would your dream vacation be like?

K: I’d love to spend a month traveling Europe.

S: I intend to write a ménage someday and call it DOUBLE TROUBLE. Can you tell us your views of ménage and what you consider to be the benefits of a lifestyle that offers such luscious adventure?  Also tell us about a ménage story you’ve written.

K: Our latest story, “Welcome to the Neighborhood” was in fact a ménage. It’s about two men, Miguel and Whit, who are in a relationship together but are both eyeing their neighbor, Meaghan. We wrote the story because we are open to others being in the bedroom with us. Now ménage isn’t for everyone. A couple must have a strong relationship because jealousy can be a bitch. It can destroy a partnership. My advice to those looking to step into this lifestyle - really discuss with your partner what each is seeking, fears they might have, and lay out ground rules so no feelings/hearts are broken.

Rule examples:

No sex with the third person unless the both partners are present, condoms worn at all times, and STD screenings. 

Yes, Dirk and I believe in safety first – pleasure second.

S: Where can we find your books?

“Voyeur” – Dirk : Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Are, and Changeling Press.

“Girls Night Out- Kam: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Are, and Changeling Press.

“New Beginnings” – Dirk and Kam collaboration: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Are, and Changeling Press.

“Welcome to the Neighborhood” - Dirk and Kam collaboration: Only at Changeling Press (for now)

S: I dream of being in a submissive lifestyle. Tell us how BDSM affects your writing?

K: We haven’t written a story entailing that lifestyle yet. It’s on our writing wish list though. As for us personally, Dirk is the dominant one unless another woman is involved. Then, I’m usually the dominant one. It’s more of getting her comfortable before he joins us. 

S: What kind of music turns you on? Do you play music while you write?

K: I listen to everything from classic rock to swing. The only thing that kills my writing mood is country. Sorry to those who like it. No disrespect intended. It’s just not my cup of tea.

S: I’m an animal person. Do you have a pet? And if you do what kind is it?

K: We have one VERY fat cat, Chester. Yes, he was named after the chip. 

S: Where do you see your writing career this time next year? Do you have any plans that we should know about?

K: I hope to have a couple more stories under our belt with plans to meet fans at a couple events. What I would love to see is Dirk and I to attend an event and someone ask for our autograph. Since we don’t have print books out yet, we would gladly sign breasts or an ass. (hairless, of course)

S: Is there anything else that we need to know about Dirk and Kam?

K: We are simple, ordinary people who live a quiet life until the kiddos go to bed. Then, we unleash our naughty side in and out of the bedroom. God, our neighbors have no clue who they are living by and that just cracks us the hell up.

S: Please share with us a list of your books, covers, and an excerpt or two.

K: Sure!

Contact info:


Facebook Author page:

(Goodreads' links):



 “New Beginnings” (MF) Dirk Tyler and Kameron Brook

Eileen and Mitch have a happy marriage, but they've decided it's time to spice things up. Ashley and Travis seem like the perfect match.


(Purchase link)







While Eileen and Mitch lay together in bed, their hunger sated for the moment, Eileen thought it was time to mention a fantasy she had yet to fulfill. Her fingernail, a kaleidoscope of shimmering colors, drew lazy circles around Mitch's nipple. "Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have a threesome?"


Mitch's fingers meticulously worked through Eileen's tangled locks. The strands proved stubborn, just like his insatiable wife. "With another woman, or a man?"


Eileen smiled against Mitch's chest, both at his question and at the hardened nipple. "Either, actually."


"I've thought about it on more than one occasion. The thought of watching your mouth buried between the legs of a curvy brunette or redhead has given me several wet dreams. Hell, babe, it's almost enough to get me hard right now," Mitch said with a devilish grin.


Eileen lifted the sheet that barely covered Mitch's cock and laughed. "Almost enough? Sweetie, your cock is almost at full mast, which I'll happily take advantage of right now." Slowly drawing her leg across Mitch's midsection, she rubbed the crown of his dick against her clit, enticing her sex and preparing it to take his full bounty. "So what about adding another man into the mix? Have you dreamed of this type of ménage a trois?"


Mitch felt his cock coming back to life. With his wife, it only took a look, a single touch, and the blood directed its course from his brain to his dick. Even though he'd emptied his cum into her a few minutes before, his body was revved and ready to go another round. Hell, if she massaged his cock any longer between her slick lips, he wouldn't last two minutes once he sank into her warm pussy. "Eileen, stop teasing my cock and ride me, already. You're killing me here."


She ground her mound against his dick, lubricating it with the juices still dripping out. "Will you answer me, then?" she retorted with a smile.


Mitch's face strained to hold in the excitement from the feeling of her arousal moistening his dick. He tried to shift his thoughts to sports, movies, work -- anything to help keep his load from spilling prematurely. He tightened his grip on her hips, attempting to push them lower. "Yes, yes, fuck yes, anything to get that hot pussy on my cock."


Rising up, she teased his cock with the opening to her pussy, then sank down hard. She continued this torturous move to let Mitch know what he'd be missing if he reneged on his promise.


Eileen worked her hips in slow, tight circles. The motion was torturing her as much as him, but she wouldn't allow herself to increase her speed until he started talking. "You better start spilling or I'll be tempted to hop off and pleasure myself in front of you as punishment for welching on our deal."


Mitch placed a firm hand behind her neck and pulled her chest to his. Holding her there, he whispered into her ear, his voice trembled as he began to disclose his oldest and most personal secret to his lover...

S: Thank you so much. I look forward to getting to know you well.

K: I had a great time answering your questions and look forward to our next chat session. Mucho love and thanks!

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Sable and the Spirit

I was born in New Orleans.  To me, the supernatural is entirely normal.  I have been known to attend Mass in the morning and make a mojo bag for luck at the casino in the afternoon.  As I have written in past blogs, I ghost hunt for a hobby.  I have been in more cemeteries than a country undertaker – except I go at night – usually.  However the longer I ghost hunted the more I discovered that the time of day really had no bearing on what I could capture through the camera lens.  It was in broad open daylight when I caught a full body apparition at the battlefield at Vicksburg, MS. 
     One of my favorite places to go spelunking for spirits is the grand old plantations of Louisiana and Mississippi.   In Burning Love and its sequel, Forget Me Never, I have included a few tales of the paranormal hauntings in these houses that have stood since pre-civil war days.
    I was privileged to stay at the Myrtles plantation in St. Francisville Louisiana.  The Myrtles is reputed to be one of the most haunted places in the country.  The spirit of a mulatto servant who was killed by the other slaves for poisoning the lady of the house and her children by baking a cake laced with oleander leaves is the main spirit in residence.  The slave woman had been a trusted servant but was caught eavesdropping.  She had her ear cut off for her sin and had been banished to the field where before she had been a house slave, considerably easier work.  To get back in good graces, she intended to make the family sick and then nurse them back to health.  But her plan backfired when she used a bit too much oleander and they all died. 
     Over the years, she has been photographed by one of the outbuildings – just standing and looking down at the ground.  The children have been photographed on the roof and many guests of the B&B have reported seeing or hearing the children, sometimes even feel them bouncing on the bed where they are trying to sleep.
     Well I have to tell you, when I visited there – even though I took picture after picture – I got nothing.  Maybe a few orbs, but even those were iffy.  I did hear a few footsteps during the night, but that could have been another guest, most probably.  So, I was a bit disappointed.  But then I traveled to the Linden Plantation in Natchez, MS and it was a completely different story.  It has reported hauntings, but not the incredible story of the Myrtles.  In fact, I don’t remember what the reported hauntings were supposed to be.  But I will never forget what happened to me.
     I enjoyed the ambiance – the history – the food.  But, who was I kidding?  I was there to ghost hunt.  So when night fell, I took photos, filmed in night vision and used my digital recorder to try and preserve the whispering voices of the dead.  Picture me – I tromped around in the dark in my nightclothes, roaming around the grounds just randomly taking pictures.  I worked my way to the front door which is beautiful, an arched double door that served as the model for Gone With The Wind’s Tara.  There was a huge camellia bush in full bloom and truthfully – I wasn’t looking closely at what was in the viewfinder – I just snapped picture after picture.  I was anxious to get up to the comfort of my room to gaze at them on my computer where I could enlarge them and see what I had captured.  It always made me feel like a child hunting Easter Eggs – except I was hunting ghosts. 
     After making a complete circuit and taking hundreds of shots, I went back upstairs.  There were a few orbs – there always are – and some of them are dust and some of them aren’t.  If they give off their own light they are real.  There are some other characteristics real orbs have but I won’t bore you here.  I have a theory about orbs – what they are – I think they are spirits, but why they look the way they do – I can’t explain. 
    As I was going through the photos, I came upon one that took my breath away.  Next to that beautiful front door stood a man – a see-through, opalescent colored man.  I could see his features, his lamb chop side burns and his high collar.  I stared and stared and then I went to the next photo that I had taken only seconds later.  It showed the body of the man and it was folding up into one of those balls of light, leaving wispy trails – it was utterly magnificent.  And served as proof – to me – that these orbs that I just nonchalantly passed over were spirits in their traveling mode.  I don’t understand it, nobody does – and we won’t until we are an orb or spirit ourselves.  Frankly, I’m sorta looking forward to it.  I have no desire to sit on a cloud and play a harp for eternity (or roast), I would rather whisk around as an orb and appear to people in their camera lenses and say BOO! 
All commenters on this page will be entered into drawings for books to be given away.
Please visit me anytime – I enjoy hearing from you.
Here’s an excerpt from Forget Me Never –
.  “Harley, this is Savannah.  Do you think I could come over tonight?  I really need to talk to somebody.” 
“Of course you can, I’ll put on a pot of coffee.” 
Ever since she had been called to investigate the haunting at Willowbend Plantation, she and Harley had been fast friends.  “Ciara, let’s go.”  Shaking – literally shaking with nerves, Savannah loaded the black lab in the car and drove the few miles to Breaux Bridge.  Almost afraid to consider what was going on, she made her mind think of other things. 
Both her cottage and Harley’s refurbished plantation home set on the banks of the Teche.  And today, she needed to sit by its soothing waters more than ever.  Harley’s home was called Willowbend.  It was a showplace – and very haunted.  The spirits that resided there were left over from pre-civil war times.  A slave mistress and her children had been murdered for no reason other than being who they were.  What fascinated Savannah was that it was an intelligent haunting; the spirits actually communicated with those who attempted to reach them.  Some hauntings were just stains on a location left over from some traumatic event that forever warped the very essence of a place.  She had been lucky enough to see a residual haunting, as it was called.  When she had been trying to run from Patrick’s memory, she had taken a trip to the East Coast and found herself drawn to go to Gettysburg.  There, on a misty spring morning, she had witnessed something few ever have.  She had been alone – with no camera – so it wasn’t something she could even tout as proof, but she had seen it and it had changed her life forever.  Back in those days, grieving for Patrick had stolen her ability to sleep.  So, she had been at the park early, before any of the normal tourist traffic had begun to flow.  Meandering through the park, she had stopped at the wheat field.  The Wheatfield.  This one little spot of ground had seen one of the bloodiest battles of the war.  Gettysburg itself was a cataclysmic event where fifty thousand died in three days and the wheatfield had been changed from a plot of golden grain to a tangled bloodsoaked piece of ground that would forever bear the mark of death and agony and grief at the extinguishment of so many young lives who would never know what it was like to breathe or love or live again.  She had been standing beside her car, drinking a cup of coffee when off to her right a shout had echoed out of the silence.  From out of the woods a group of soldiers on horses had emerged.  She could see the insects that took flight out of the grass from the stomping of the horse hoofs.  Savannah could hear their voices as they made conversation, she could see their dusty uniforms of grey.  One had even looked over at her and she had half expected him to lift his hand in salute.  At first she had thought to be seeing re-enactors, it happened fairly often on special days she had been told.  Lifting her hand in greeting, she presumed she was speaking to a business executive or a lawyer or a mechanic who laid aside his everyday life to take part in a time of immersion in a day and way of life that was long gone.  Until they disappeared – right in front of her eyes.  One moment they were there, she could hear the horses snorting and see the wheat part as they rode through it – and the next moment they were gone.  Completely.  She hadn’t run or fainted or screamed in terror.  Savannah had felt a peace and assurance that death was not the end, that those who lived and loved and died survived somewhere just beyond where our eyes could see.  God, she longed to find that place.  And that was the reason she so desperately sought answers in the hunt for sprits.  Because she was hunting one in particular.  Savannah was always trying to contact Patrick.  She just wanted to tell him that she loved him – one more time.        
As she parked, she saw Beau and Harley walking hand and hand toward her from down near the bayou.  Getting out to join them, she brought in her totebag that contained her laptop and the Frank’s box.  Ciara stayed close.  If it was up to the dog, they would never leave the safety of the house.  “Savannah, it’s good to see you!”
Savannah had to smile.  They looked so happy together.  She knew they had gone through a tough time.  Harley had been the target of a madman and Beau had moved heaven and earth to protect her.  Now she had semi-retired from her EOD firm and was serving as a consultant only – this made Beau a happy man. 
Beau whistled for Ciara and the dog ran to him.  Animals loved Beau.  “I’m glad you both are outside.  Let’s sit down by the water, if you don’t mind.”  They stopped where they were and let her catch up so they could head back to a bench under a big oak near the edge of the bayou.  The dog dashed down to the edge of the water and began barking.  “Good Lord, is that an alligator?  Come back here, Girl!”
“Ciara!” Beau called, also.  “It’s just Amos Moses.  He’s as gentle as a lamb and doesn’t have a tooth in his head, but he might slap at her with his tale if she makes him mad.”
“Good gracious, Beau.  I never know what to expect from you.”
“You’re right.  Believe me,” Harley agreed.  “I’m never surprised at what creature Beau brings home.  We have baby possums in the garage!”
“A gator got their mama; I couldn’t leave the little mites to starve.”  Beau explained as Harley winked at him.  Clearly he could do no wrong in her eyes.   
“Savannah-Banana, I’ve been needing to talk to you.”
At Beau’s use of the absurd nick-name, Savannah’s heart almost stopped.  This was what Patrick had called her.  Fighting for control she forced herself not to react.  She didn’t want to make him feel bad.  “What about?” She sat her bag down, wishing she could lay her burdens down just as easy.
“Indy and I got called over to De Quincy to look at a Civil War Cannon.  I was skeptical but I went.  Original cannons in decent condition are hard to find.  When I got over there, he had it in a barn down in the woods.”  Beau laughed a little, “I don’t mind telling you that the place gave me the willies.”
Savannah was intrigued.  She knew Beau and what he did for a living.  He not only owned a top-notch weapons business, but he wrangled alligators on the side.  If something gave him the willies, then it had to be harrowing indeed.  “I can’t imagine what would unnerve you.  Tell me,” she urged.
Beau squatted down in front of the girls and seemed to enjoy regaling them with the tale.  “The barn was at least a mile down in the pine forest and even in the broad daylight, it was dark and overcast.  There was an ominous feeling in the air; honestly, I’ve never experienced this before.  The spooks in our house seem friendly enough, but whatever is down in that thicket is another story.”  Savannah wanted to tell him to get on with the tale, but she didn’t want to be rude.  “The cannon was real and worth about a quarter of a million dollars.  After we had inspected it, he looked at me funny and asked me if I believed in ghosts.  I said that I wasn’t a skeptic, but I was cautious.  So, he grabbed a sharpshooter and led me and Indy down an overgrown path.  We came to this clearing and there was a small mound that looked like it could have been an Indian burial place, but it was miniature.”  He whistled and shook his head.  “Hell, I don’t like to mess with stuff like this.  He told me that there was a legend of lost gold, a mine that the Indians had found and some of them had been killed over.  And by dern if he didn’t say – ‘watch this’ and he rammed that sharpshooter down in the dirt.  About forty-five seconds later a big black horse comes huffing out of the woods and just charged us, raring up, hoofs flashing.  I’m not going to lie to you; I didn’t linger there to greet him.  After we high-tailed it, it hit me that I hadn’t heard any hoof beats.  It had been dead, eerie quiet.”  Beau seemed to pause for effect.  “When we caught up with Glen, I asked him what the hell had happened.  And he said that anytime you stuck a shovel in that ground, that horse would show up.  What do you think about that?”            
Savannah looked at Harley who was smiling indulgently at her man.  Both of these people were exceptionally brave and that they were asking her advice sort of humbled her.  They didn’t realize it but she wasn’t nearly as confident as she let on.  “I’ll tell you what I think, based on folklore and legend.  Buried treasure requires a sacrifice to protect it.  Pirates would kill one of their men and bury the treasure under his body.  The ghost of the murdered man would protect the gold.  Animal sacrifices to protect treasure were common place.  So – I can’t be sure – but maybe that horse was killed to guard whatever treasure was buried there.  Once I heard about some loggers who were trying to cut down a big oak and every time they would set the saw to it a bobcat in chains would come fighting out of the tree, snarling and biting so fiercely that they would back off.  Supposedly there was gold buried in the hollow trunk.” 
“Dang, that gives me cold chills,” Harley rubbed her arms. 
“Do you think Glen would let us visit the spot and do an investigation?”
“After I tell him I found a buyer for that artillery of his, I’m sure he’d let us do whatever we want,” Beau rubbed Ciara’s head as the dog lounged in the grass at his side.  “I wish you’d look at Harley’s hand, she keeps shifting it around trying to let the sun reflect off that big rock she’s trying to get you to notice.”
“Beau!” Harley protested.
“Congratulations!” Savannah threw her arms around her friend’s neck.  “You’re engaged!” 
“Yes, we are,” Harley held the ring out for inspection. 
“It’s beautiful,” as Savannah held her friend’s hand to get a closer look, she couldn’t help but gaze at her own engagement ring.  She still wore it.  She never intended to take it off.  “I’m so happy for the two of you.  Have you set a date?”
“Not yet,” Beau explained.  “We’re going to Texas to Aron McCoy’s wedding to Libby Fontaine.  I plan on talking to his brother Joseph while I’m there.  Joseph is going to be my best man and I want all of the McCoys here if they can make it.  While we’re over there, we’re going to look at the calendar and see what we can come up with.”
“I don’t care when it is, just so it’s soon,” Harley sighed with happiness.  “I want you to be happy, too, Savannah.”
“How about we invite Indy over for supper one night and you join us?  He sure would like to spend some time with you.”  She couldn’t get mad at her friend.  Beau was content in Harley’s love and wanted everybody to be as happy as he was. 
“No, I appreciate what you want to do for me.  But there are a couple of things you don’t know.  I’m pregnant for one.”  Savannah dropped her bombshell.
“I knew it!” squealed Harley.  “I just knew it!”
“That don’t count,” Beau grumbled.  “You’re psychic.  You always know stuff before I do.”
“Now who is deserving of congratulations,” Harley was just about to cry with joy.  “Can I ask who the father is?”  Both of them looked at her steadily.
“It’s Patrick’s” Savannah pronounced the truth, waiting to see the same looks of disappointment that she had seen on friend’s faces.  “I had to go to court to be allowed to use his sperm deposit.  Since we weren’t married, I had to get a special ruling.  Thank goodness Patrick had left a will with his friend Revel Lee.  Without proof of our bond, I would never have gained the rights to use his sperm.”
“Well, I think it’s wonderful.”  Harley spoke right up.  “Now, you’ll always have Patrick with you.”
“Congratulations, Savannah.” Beau got up and hugged her.  “I’m so happy for you.  This area is getting a little heavy on the estrogen for me, I think I’ll leave you two alone.”  He leaned over to kiss his fiancé.  “Remember, I’m going in to the office this afternoon for a bit.  You two girls have fun.  I won’t be too late, I promise.”
“Bye, Darling.”  She returned his kiss.
“Bye, Beau.  And thanks.”  Beau kissed Savannah on the forehead.
“If you two go anywhere, make sure and call me.  Okay?”
“Worrier,” Harley fussed, but Savannah could tell she was glad he cared.
“Tell me about the baby.  I know you have to be over the moon about it.”  Harley turned sideways on the bench and took Savannah’s hands in her own.
Savannah sighed and took a deep breath.  “I am very happy about it.  I already love the baby so much.  But – you know -,” she looked up into Harley’s face, “I expected the excitement over the baby to quell some of the grief and loneliness I feel over Patrick.  It didn’t.”  Unbidden, tears began to flow.  Pulling one hand from Harley’s she laid it over her own stomach.  “All I can think about is how much I wish I could see his face when I tell him I’m pregnant.  And how much this baby is going to miss never knowing his daddy.”  Breaking down into sobs, Savannah laid her head in Harley’s lap and cried.  Harley and Beau had found out about her past and Carville after Patrick’s funeral and they had never let it make a bit of difference in the world. 
Harley soothed Savannah’s hair.  “Oh, Sweetie.  I think those are absolutely normal feelings.  It’ll get better, with time, I promise.”
Savannah sat up.  “That’s not all.  I have to show you something.”  Digging in her bag, she took out her laptop.  “Does your wi-fi reach out this far?”
“I have no idea,” Harley admitted, but she scooted over nearer to Savannah to see what she was doing.                
“This is the reason I came over.  I need help processing this.”  She was able to get online and pull up her email.  “Look,” she handed Harley the laptop.
Harley read and blinked and reread.  “My God!  Savannah!  What does this mean?”  Harley ran her fingers over the email as if she were trying to absorb the information through her fingers.
“I don’t know.  I don’t know what to think.  Is it a hoax?  It’s his account, it’s not a different one, I checked.”
“How is this possible?” Harley breathed in wonder. 
“I thought about the possibility of it being one of those services you sign up for and leave messages to your friends and family to be sent after death, but I don’t think this is the case.  It doesn’t sound like a goodbye message and Patrick wouldn’t leave me something like this to just torture me.”
“What are the other possibilities?” Harley spoke slowly and carefully.
“Considering what I do – the ghost hunting – you know I have to consider that this is something paranormal.  In fact, it wasn’t long ago that I read two news articles about this very thing.  A woman received an email from her husband and it turned out to be one of those programs that I told you about a second ago.  Actually, I think it’s a silly idea.  But the other article was even wilder.  It was about a family who began to receive emails from their father and he told them that he was in the attic and it needed cleaning.”  Savannah couldn’t help but hiccup a laugh.  “I thought that was sort of funny.”
“Have you considered. . . .”  Harley let her voice trail off. 
“That he’s still alive?  God, yes.  But I’m afraid to hope.”  Then, as if remembering who she was talking to - -“Do you feel anything?  Like Beau said, you’re psychic.  Tell me, please.” 
Harley hung her head and pursed her mouth as if deep in thought.  “I can’t be sure, Savannah.  This isn’t the way I’m used to working. There’s nothing here for me to touch, but a machine.  But I will tell you this.  I sense that it’s not a trick.  This email originated from Patrick – one way or the other.  And I feel like it’s recent.  I don’t know if he’s dead or alive – but he is trying to communicate with you.”  
“Wow,” Savannah let a harsh breath.  “I was hoping you’d say that.  My instincts told me the same thing, but I’m not sensitive like you.  And wishful thinking will only take me so far.” 
“Jesus, Savannah, I am so sorry that this has all happened to you.  Beau and I will support you.  I want you to know that.  You are not alone.  If you ever need to talk – or if we can do anything for you – all you have to do is ask.”
“Thank you, Harley.  I appreciate that, so much.” 
“What will you do?  Do you have any plans to check this email out?”
Savannah got up and walked closer to the water.  Bayou Teche moved slowly.  Its waters were deep, dark and full of secrets.  “Believe me; I’ve racked my brain to come up with some way to solve this mystery.  Contacting someone in Congress or the military is an option, but I don’t really know where to start.”
“Is there anyone who would have had knowledge of Patrick’s last mission?  Anyone you trust?  It’s been three years, maybe the information isn’t as classified as it once was.  What about the freedom of information act?  Would that apply?”  Harley was talking fast and Savannah was listening. 
“All good ideas, thank you.  I’ll get in touch with Revel tomorrow. He’ll know how to contact Jayco and Hawke.  If anyone knows anything – it’s them.”  Whirling around to face her friend, she confessed.  “I should have talked to them long ago, but it just hurt so badly.”                 
Seeing that her friend needed a break, Harley rose. “Are you ready for that coffee, now?”
“I sure am.”  The two women walked arm in arm to the kitchen door.  Big pots of mums made bright spots of color on the patio.  “Have you had any more excitement with your resident ghosts?”  Sometimes it bothered Savannah to speak so lightly of the dead.  She had heard other ghost hunters refer to them in such generic and impersonal terms.  What she always wanted to remember was that they were all real people who had been important to someone at some time.  Each of them deserved respect.  Since losing Patrick, everything had changed for Savannah, even how she viewed death and dying. 
“Actually, I have.”
Harley opened the screen door and allowed Savannah to enter first.  The aroma of homemade banana bread and freshly brewed coffee filled the air.  “Heck, it smells good in here.”  She didn’t even wait to be invited.  Savannah walked right up to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup.  “I want a big slice of that yummy concoction.  Beau must love your cooking.  So what’s been going on?”
“It’s been fun spoiling Beau.”  Harley sliced them both thick pieces and laid out some creamy butter to spread over them.  “Nothing scary has happened.  In fact, Beau is convinced that the spirits were trying to warn us that Fox Crocker was hanging around the house.  He thinks that was the whole reason the vanity chair moved and we picked up that voice telling me that I was in danger.  We believe the spirits of Willowbend are nice.  After what happened yesterday, we’re convinced they are.”
Savannah’s mood brightened a bit.  “Tell me.  I can’t wait to hear this.”
“It was silly, really.  Beau and I locked ourselves out of the house.  We had gone into town for dinner and he left his set of house keys in his other pants and I had decided not to carry a purse.  The security alarm was set and every window in the place was locked.  Usually, I can crawl through the bathroom window; I keep it cracked for that express purpose.  All my life I have been notorious for locking myself out.  We literally checked every window that we could reach.  Beau was about to break a window, which would have set off the alarm.  It was going to be a hassle.  While he was debating the best way to go about it, I stood at the front door and appealed to my spectral roommates to let us in.  Now, we had checked that door at least three times – you know how it is – you just keep wishing it would open.  I leaned my face against the glass and said, ‘Come on guys, let us in.  I know you can do it.  I’ll bake more chocolate chip cookies!’ and I swear to God, I tried the door knob one more time and – it opened.” 
Savannah laughed at Harley’s incredulity.  “Ask and ye shall receive.  Did you pee your pants?”
“No, but I sure did look around really good when I walked in.  I kept expecting one of them to tap me on the shoulder.”  Harley stopped smiling and grew serious.  “Savannah, I know you have been longing to receive a word from Patrick.  I remember what you told me the day we met – how that his voice was the one voice you listened for – but it never came.  Now that you may have heard from him, how do you feel about it?”
Sipping her coffee, Savannah sought how to answer.  “I feel absolutely torn.  If I had heard from him via EVP on my digital recorder, I would have been ecstatic.  Let me explain something to you.  When one begins to ghost hunt, at first the results you get will be very limited.  It’s like someone who opens a store.  Publicity about your business has to get around.  The longer you ghost hunt, the more attention you gain from the spirit world.  It’s like the word gets around beyond the pale.  I went on a ghost hunting trip in Kansas.  There was a cemetery there that I just had to visit.  A preacher’s daughter had been killed in a car wreck and her ultra-religious father was convinced that she had missed heaven.  He didn’t live long; I suppose he died of grief.”  Savannah could understand how that would happen.  There had been days when she had thought death would be very preferable over facing another day alone.  “Several trustworthy witnesses have heard him crying, “Doreen is lost!  She’s lost!”  One group who reported the haunting was a surveying crew and the other was all the attendees at a funeral.  So, I just had to go.” 
Harley was getting into the tale.  “Did you hear the voice?  I have to admit, that would creep me out.  At least my little spectral family seems to be happy.”
“No, I didn’t hear anything.  I saw no orbs, no apparition – nothing.  However, it got interesting that night.”  Savannah got amused when Harley actually wiggled in her seat as if settling in for a good story.  “I was staying in a motel a short distance away and was anxious to get into the cool and out of the heat.  For a few hours, I just did some research on the laptop and ordered a hamburger from room service.  When I finally lay down to sleep, I was a bit restless.  I turned out the lights and TV and shut my eyes to try and settle my brain.  After only a few moments in bed, out of nowhere, something or someone slapped the crap out of my foot.  It wasn’t a vicious slap, it was more like a – ‘Hey you! Look at me! slap.’  Of course my first instinct was to think that someone was in the room.  So I jumped up and looked under the bed, in the closet and in the bathroom.  There was no one there.”
“Did you run screaming out into the night with just your pajamas on?  That’s what I would have done.”  Harley’s eyes were big.
“No, I didn’t run.  Actually, I sat down and talked to myself and to the spirit.  After all, I hunt ghosts.  Why should I be surprised when I actually find one?”  That was one thing that always confused Savannah.  She loved to watch the paranormal documentaries but was always frustrated with the investigators when they were shocked to actually find some type of evidence.
“Did you find out anything about who whacked you on the foot?”
“No, I didn’t.”  Savannah admitted.  “Early that morning I got a phone call that I had permission to have Patrick’s sperm implanted, so I left.  One thing did surprise me though.”
“What was that?”
“When I was packing the car to leave, I noticed that my motel was right next to a funeral home.”  At Harley’s confused expression, Savannah went on to explain.  “My whole point is that ghost hunters attract spirits who want to communicate.”
“So, what about Patrick?” 
Savannah sighed.  “I suppose I said all of that to say that it’s possible the email is supernatural in origin and that Patrick isn’t alive.  As much as I pray I’m wrong, I can’t forget that they sent him home in a casket.”
“It was a closed casket,” Harley interjected. 
“Yes, it was,” Savannah admitted.  “But if Patrick were alive, he’d move heaven and earth to come back to me.”
“I still think you ought to check this out.”
Savannah laughed, “You don’t have to convince me.  I’m still totally, completely, irrevocably in love with him.  Of course, I’ll check it out.  Monday will see me turning over every rock to see if I can unearth any news of him anywhere.  But tonight, I want you to help me eliminate the possibility that I can contact him with this new gizmo I have.”
“Of course.  You know I’ll do whatever you need me to.”  There was so much concern on Harley’s face that Savannah almost broke down – again.
“All right,” Savannah threw up her hands in surrender, “I’ll admit it.  I’m scared to death.  I want Patrick to be alive so much that I’m going crazy trying to make sure I don’t get my hopes up too high.  Harley, I don’t think I can stand to lose him twice.” 
With that Harley rose and put her arms around Savannah.  “I know, Honey.  I know.”  They finished their coffee and cake, Harley called Beau and they gathered flashlights before they set off for the cemetery. Night was falling fast.  “Tell me about your new toy.”            
“It’s the newest thing in ghost hunting.  Created by Frank Sumption, it’s called a Frank’s Box or a ghost box.  By using white noise and radio waves, it actually gives the spirits a voice.  You can ask questions and the device scans the band.  The entities can manipulate the audio remnants to create words and even entire sentences.”
“My Lord!  I can’t wait to see what tonight brings!  I just wish we had brought my large, macho, hunky husband along.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  
“We’ll be okay.”  They parked underneath a weeping willow and walked carefully to the ornate wrought iron gates.  Saint Michael’s in St Martinville was a typical South Louisiana cemetery – spooky at night.  Ciara set out through the maze of mausoleums as if on a scavenger hunt for squirrel and mice.  Not once had she ever shown any interest where Patrick was laid to rest.  Savannah had often wondered about that.  Down through the ages, there were true accounts of dogs who had guarded the graves of their masters for years.  Yet, Ciara stared down the driveway for hours a day just like she expected him to drive back up at any moment. 
Savannah could have made the trek in the black dark.  She had walked it often enough. 
“This is beautiful, Savannah.  I love the bench and the flowers.  How did you get these Forget Me Not’s to bloom so late in the year?”
“I grow them from seed in the green house and I keep new plants coming in all during the year.  There are only a few months in the dead of winter that we don’t have green plants.”  For just a moment she stood there and stared at the ornate sarcophagus with the carved lettering that broke her heart every time she saw it.
Patrick Heath O’Rourke
Beloved Fiancé and Grandson
You Will Never Be Forgotten
Paddy was with him now; the old man had died in his sleep a few months after she had lost Patrick. 
Savannah sank to the bench and Harley joined her.  “How are we going to do this?” she whispered.
“You can talk in your normal voice,” Savannah teased. 
“Yea, but – uh – they are listening to us.  Aren’t they?”
“I hope so.  To tell you the truth, I’m nervous.”
“Why are you nervous?”  Harley rubbed Savannah’s shoulder.
“I’ve done this before, but so much hinges on what happens tonight.”  She was so close to crying.  Desperately, Savannah tried to hold it together.  “Before, I just wanted to hear his voice.  I wanted to know he still existed somewhere.  Now, I’m hoping I won’t hear his voice, because I hope he’s still alive out there.”
Harley looked around nervously.  “It’s getting dark, Savannah.  Don’t you think we ought to get started?”
“Yea, okay.”  She turned on the Frank’s box and walked to the edge of Patrick’s grave.  Ciara wandered up and flopped down at her feet, hassling happily.  “Patrick, Darling, I love you.  Did you send me an email?  Are you here?”
Static from the box caused them to both jump.  Then silence.  They waited a few more minutes until, finally – a one word response broke through the silence like an explosion.  “Stephanie!”
“Dang!”  Harley grabbed her arm. “I almost jumped out of my skin!”  Her friend bent over at the waist and tried to breathe.  “Who’s Stephanie?  Should you be jealous?”
Before she could react or comment, a whole phrase sounded out, one that shook Savannah to her very core.  “There is no Patrick here.”
“O, my God, Savannah!”  Harley clutched her arm.  “I didn’t know if this would work or not, but I’m convinced now.  What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” tears were welling in Savannah’s eyes.  “Let’s get out of here.  I’m not in the right frame of mind to continue this.”  But before she left, Savannah didn’t ignore her protocol.  “Thank you for telling me.  If your name is Stephanie, it’s nice to meet you.  I will come back and talk to you again, I promise.”  Turning off the box, she put it back in her bag.   
Harley handed her a flashlight.  For just a moment they stood and looked at Patrick’s grave.  “What about Patrick?  Does this mean he’s alive?”
Savannah had to give Harley credit, she didn’t hold back.  She forced Savannah to think.  “Maybe – I’ve also considered that his spirit stayed where he died.  There’s so much we don’t know about life after death and what’s possible.  Actually, it’s just a guessing game.  Let’s go.”
Carefully they made their way through the cemetery, letting the narrow beams of light illuminate the way.  Abruptly Harley stopped walking, “Damn, look at that.” She aimed her light at the name plate on a grave just two down from Patrick’s.  The name on it read Stephanie Corley and she had only been dead for a few months.
Savannah walked up and placed her hand on the side of the mausoleum.  “Stephanie, I’ll be back and if there’s a message you need to give someone, I’ll help you, I promise.”