Friday, April 18, 2014

The Evolution of a Character – The Birth of Charlie Parker

The Evolution of a Character
I rewarded myself the other day. When I finished Thunderbird and shipped it off to Ryan to read through – we coauthored it – it was his turn to check our consummation of ideas – oh that sounded dirty, I like it. Anyway, I rewarded my efforts by taking a small trip. I left East Texas and drove about five hours east to Waco. The mission I was on was the hunt for a motorhome. Sable Hunter needs a research vehicle and Beau Coup needs a traveling office to visit authors and conferences – deductible, you see. Anyway, I found one. I haven’t purchased it yet, I’m waiting to see how much more taxes I have to pay before I sign on the dotted line. But this is it – A Thor Challenger. Pretty spiffy – I am excited.
When I take trips like this, I tend to want to write them off – if I can. As I was traveling west, I passed the area where I set Breath of Heaven – the home of the King Family – El Camino Real Ranch. Actually I traveled out on the King’s Highway for part of the journey. So, my mind began to wander on how I could incorporate this trip and this area into a future book. I considered the historical western I’m putting together, but it will be set between Milam, Tx and Nacogdoches, TX – a romance about a young Texan and a Creole slave. But since this was quite a few miles west, I couldn’t see how I could effectively work it in – and then it hit me.
Justice King and Charlie Parker.
I haven’t named the book yet, but it will be the sequel to A Breath of Heaven. When I was writing that story and building the background, I wrote about Abby’s brothers – and the oldest was Justice. I liked the name. I can already see him – the tall, broad, silent type – who rarely smiles and takes life too seriously. Handsome as sin. Doesn’t expect to fall in love. And as I was writing it, I casually slipped in the name of his future love. Although at the time, I knew nothing about her – nothing. Charlie Parker. The way I did it was have one of his brothers ask Justice about her and had him overreact in a negative way – “the day I take up with Charlie Parker is the day you can have my sanity checked” or some such exclamation. His reaction was the type – “methinks thous dost protesteth too much.”
So, I didn’t know who Charlie was, but I decided she needed to have a Waco connection, so I could write off the trip – make sense?
As I drove, I got to thinking about what type of person Charlie was and who she was. And as my tires ate of the miles, she began to be born and grow and evolve – and BAM! It hit me. In Waco, one of the main tourist attractions is the TEXAS RANGER MUSEUM. And I had never been! I was fascinated by the Rangers, in fact my Ty in My Aliyah was a Ranger, but that arm of Texas law is endlessly fascinating and I wondered – I wondered – were there female rangers? I didn’t know, but I determined to make that my first stop and ascertain if I could make my heroine one of the legendary Texas Rangers.
Of course that was the first step. I had to think about what type of person she was – what she looked like, how she talked – what her background was, her personality – etc. Now, I will confess EVERY heroine I write about is me. Me. – not Sable – the real me. In order for me to immerse myself in the books, I step into them. My experiences, insecurities, hurts, dreams – hopes – humor, sex – - it’s all me, or parts of me. So, I had to dig into my past and find Charlie.
Charlie is a tomboy. Makes sense. Her mom died early in life, and her father had always wanted a boy – hence her name. And by the way – Charlie is her name, not Charlotte or Charlene – just Charlie. So, her dad raises her and she grows up on the ranch, working alongside her dad. Now, here is where I step in. My stepfather raised me. And he was like that. I never was a prissy little girl – back in Louisiana, I roamed the swamps barefoot, brandishing a peach tree switch sword as I chased alligators and let the mud squish between my toes – running rampant along the bayou and swinging from vines into the murky waters. So, when I moved to Texas – it was a scene change but not a far step to horseback and ranch life. I immersed myself with the cattle and horses. Being young, I didn’t know a lot about the facts of life. So when my stepdad would tell me to stay in the house, that he had to go ‘dig up’ a calf. I thought he was serious. Actually he was going to help a mama cow give birth, but in my small mind, I thought he was out in the pasture with a shovel hunting buried bovine treasure. And after he had proceeded to dig up that calf, he would always come get me and I would get calf sugar – my favorite part. Kissing the babies and naming them and proceeding to drive him crazy because I wouldn’t let him sell them when they were older. But what really got my stepfather’s goat was the day he caught me out in the pasture with his shovel, digging small holes all about – trying to dig up my own calf. So, I was able to relate to Charlie.
Charlie is feminine, but she hides it. No one sees her frilly bedroom or knows she wears pretty underwear. She has never been the prettiest girl. Her figure is slight and her breasts are small – but her heart is big, almost as big as her determination to be everything her stepfather wanted -  A Texas Ranger. So, she exhibits this tough exterior – s five foot six, one hundred pound ball of fire who takes no crap and always gets her man – except one. The man she loves. Justice King. You see, she’s not woman enough for Justice. He deserves a beautiful woman – and even though she loves him to distraction, anytime they’re together – and they are thrown together a lot – they fight. He is the proverbial thorn in her side, or maybe it’s the other way around.
Anytime Justice hears Charlie’s name – he bristles. Damn woman. She risks her life. She lives dangerously – when all he secretly wants to do is take care of her. But he doesn’t know how to handle Charlie. And Charlie would like nothing more than being handled by Justice  – - – and so the plot thickens. Or the plot is born or evolved. As I drove that five hours west, I began to see and hear and feel Charlie.
When I got to Waco, I went to the museum. I parked in the shade so Abby and Mojo wouldn’t get too hot and went in to see what I could do with Charlie Parker. Here is a picture of the museum and a statue out front.
When I got there, it had typical museum atmosphere. The woman at the front desk had a strange look on her face and asked me if I had heard a little child’s voice and I looked at her funny and told her there was one outside on the porch. She looked relieved and said she had been hearing ghosts all day – and then she gave me a pointed stare (obviously she didn’t know who she was talking to ) and told me the museum was haunted. Well, duh. What any self respecting museum with the belongings of long dead cowboys would not be haunted?
I proceeded to walk through – and I was fascinated. Guns, flasks, saddles – hats. Photos. You can imagine what was there. The place was set up in collections – the precious belongings of people and relatives who had loved these men down through the ages. I learned of their lives. How some of them were surveyors or bootleggers. I learned what towns they had saved – what people they had killed. How some had died in battle. Others had won medals of valor. The curator was right, the place was haunted. I could feel the spirits of the men who had conquered the west and fought for Justice and peace for Texas.
When I came to the rear, I found a wall of current photographs that depicted those who are serving in the Rangers now. And as I looked at their faces – some handsome by the way – I found what I was looking for. Three of them – just three – were woman. I stared at their faces and imagined mine there, because remember – Charlie is me. And I smiled.
I’m going to have a good time writing about Charlie Parker. She’s going to turn Justice King’s world every which way but loose.
I left the museum and me and the dogs went to get a hotel room. We travel alone for the most part – its safer that way. Sable is a dangerous traveling companion. Sable does better alone. She’s just a trouble maker. But there was some construction going on in Waco and my hotel was brim full of hunky men. As I was checking in, I was checking quite a few out.
The next day we went to look at RV’s and I found one. When I buy it, I’ll take some photographs for you as I travel the highways and byways discovering other plots and other stories that I can weave myself into.
I live in my books.
And it’s not a bad place to be.
Thank you. If you’ll comment on your favorite vacation, I’ll give away a copy of Thunderbird when it comes out in a couple of weeks. BAM!
Love, Sable.

Friday, April 4, 2014

Guest Blogger - Katherine Rhodes

Strong Women

by Katherine Rhodes

Take a moment to look at some men’s fantasies. You don’t need to go buy a skin magazine (*blush*)- just look around on the internet, carefully. Look at some old silly ‘men’s magazines’. Ask a guy. What you’re going to find in quite a few of these is a figure they’ll call the dominatrix: a woman with whips and crops and black stiletto knee boots. She’ll probably be photographed or drawn from a low angle. She might have her foot propped up on a man’s back. She’ll be wearing black leather and may even have her little pet on a leash.
That gent at the end of her leash is a submissive. A guy who likes to give up his control to a woman.
And surprise! Men dig that fantasy! So why can’t women? …or rather, why aren’t there more stories about women who also enjoy that fantasy?
Being the submissive is a great fantasy. It is a completely legitimate desire to want to a guy to take care of everything for you in the bed, and if you’re in the larger lifestyle, take care of all the big decisions. So why not dream the other half of that? Why don’t we see more women-centered Domme or Femdom stories? Aren’t we only showing half the story?
Submissive guys are hot. Double especially if they’re hot guys. Imagine one that only goes sub in the bedroom for their women. Outside that room, they are all male. Dress um up in a nice tailored suit, polish their shoes… Delish.
Oh, ahem. Sorry.
What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. The man is still ultimately in charge of the whole situation; they are the real power in a D/s relationship with a Domme. But, think about the amazing trust that must exist for a man to trust his woman to do what needs to be done. He gives up control to her. Completely. A man must truly know himself and his Domme to be able to do that. And that is hot.

I have to admit—I’m having way too much fun writing these stories. Most of them are going to have some strong  women who are looking for perfect, hot alpha male that doesn’t try to keep them down, but helps to boost them up.  You want to know why one of my favorite movies is “Ever After?” Because Danielle (Cinderella) has a father who loves her and teaches her everything, including how to survive, how to save herself, and how to inspire Henry to be more king than his father was. ‘Strong woman’ doesn’t mean she can kick your ass- it means she can save her own, deal with the emotional crap, get to work on time, and make sure the baby’s in bed by eight. All with her man helping her along.

The best kind of relationship: she doesn’t need you there, she wants you there.  And maybe if you’re lucky, she’ll want to tie you up… 

Katherine's Amazon Best Selling book Consensual and Broken Bonds are part of Beau Coup Publishing.

Here's an excerpt from Consensual:

“SHIT!” The thunderous crash of exploding glass had been followed by the indelicate swear, then followed again by a stream of curse words which made Nathaniel balk. That was a feat in and of itself after his four years in the Air Force, but what really surprised him was the melodious voice which gave rise to the profanity. He walked over to the door and opened it quietly, stepping out of his office. He couldn’t see anything, so he stepped out further to take a better look. To the right, just in front of his brother’s office was the most delicious looking backside he’d seen in a long time. Round, firm globes just begged to be fondled. He had to clench his fists to stem the impulse to reach out and touch. Bent over at the waist, he had a clear view of the top of her stockings and the garter clips holding them up. Even more enticing was the glimpse of smooth white, lickable flesh. Lust rose in Nathaniel, heating his blood.

The damsel was clearly in distress. He finally managed to pull his eyes away, backed up to where he couldn’t see the extremely sexy lingerie and cleared his throat. The woman stood up to look back at him as he re-approached the situation. Nathaniel prayed fervently in that second that this was not his brother’s new secretary because he had every intention of asking her out. She looked like a startled chipmunk, eyes wide and ready to bolt. Her hair was a true auburn no dye could ever imitate, with a creamy, lightly sun-kissed color to her face. Those wide eyes were hazel and bright, rimmed with luscious lashes and perfectly shaped eyebrows. While her lips weren’t plump, they were delicate and pink, slightly parted in shock. She slammed the name plate down on the desk to break the tension in the air. Nathaniel breathed a curse under his breath. Damn. Victor’s new secretary. And he’d forgotten about Jillian. Oh, hell. “Do you need some help?” he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I’m fine!” she snapped, and her voice was definitely the source of the melodic swearing. He walked over, holding up his hands in surrender, just in case she decided to lob the nameplate at him. “Let me help.” “I’m. Fine,” she repeated, this time kneeling down to gather up what was all over the floor. He could see large pieces of glass, probably a vase of some kind. He walked over and grabbed her hand to keep it away from the glass. She spun her hand out of his grip and then shoved him away hard enough for him to lose his balance. “I don’t need help.” Her unexpected move caught him totally off guard. He set back firmly on his ass. WTF? “Hey! I’m just trying to keep you from cutting your hands open.” He climbed to his feet and dusted off his pants and jacket. “Stand up. Stop groveling on the floor.” He held his hand out for her. “I don’t need help,” she said. “You’re right,” he said, stooping down and grabbing her elbow. “You need a janitor.” He hauled her to her feet. “Damn it, stop,” she said, turning around and looking at him.

She finally, really saw him. “Oh, my God. Mister Walsh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—” “I just didn’t want to have to call an ambulance because you sliced your hand open,” he said. “Honestly, leave it. I’ll get a janitor.” “Did you hear me swearing?” she asked, her cheeks pinking up. “Yes.” He smirked. “I was impressed.” He looked down at the pieces of glass. “I hope it wasn’t anything of sentimental value.” “From my… uh, ex,” she said. “I liked it, but it wasn’t sentimental.” He turned the name plate so he could see it. Interesting, just her title and last name. “Well, Ms. Westerly, you’re here awfully early for your first day.” “I wanted to get my desk set up,” she said, then added an oddly hesitant “Sir”. “You’re on the executive floor,” he said. “And in this company, we’re not big on formal protocol. Please, I’m Nathaniel.”

“Emmy,” she said, sticking her hand out. “Emmy,” he repeated, shaking her smooth, soft hand. She had a firm, no-nonsense grip for such a feminine woman. “Pleasure to meet you.” “I didn’t hurt you when I shoved you, did I?” “Just my pride,” he teased. “Sorry.”   She grimaced. “Nah, it’s all right.” He grinned. “Everyone needs a little humiliation.” Her skin instantly flamed red, and she looked away, clearing her throat. “Well, I don’t need to keep you from your work, Mis— Nathaniel. I just wanted to get my desk set up before Mister Walsh—” “Victor,” he said. “… Victor arrived for the day.” Nathaniel nodded his head. Idiot. “Victor clearly forgot his own schedule. He’s due to fly out to Germany today at noon for a conference in Munich.” Emmy was clearly appalled and embarrassed. Nathaniel sighed. “And that’s why Vic the Dingbat needs you, madam. Go on, set up your desk. My admin Gwen has been covering while he did the search for you, and I’m sure she’ll have work to hand off to you.” “When will M— Victor be back?” “Late Thursday,” Nathaniel said. “And I’m sure he’ll need you on Friday to get his scattered-brained-ass back together.” He smiled. “I can say that, he’s my brother.” Emmy laughed. It was a pleasant, high sweet sound which echoed through the hallway and unexpectedly made his cock jerk. “Are you always early, Nathaniel?” “Not always. I have a conference in Boston next week, and I have a lot I want to get done before then. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave Gwen an email and we can work everything out. I’ve got paperwork to attend to. I’ll get the janitor up here, too.” “Of course,” she said. “Thank you.” “My pleasure.” He walked back to his office to leave her alone. He couldn’t say he wasn’t tempted to peer around the corner and watch her again. Damn it, Victor. This isn’t fair. She’s a sexy woman and you won’t even be able to appreciate her. He sat at his desk, fantasizing about how he’d love to prop her foot on his chest and ease those silk stockings down her luscious legs, then kiss a path all the way… shit! What the hell! Where was this coming from? He never acted like this. He had work to do! And Emmy had her work cut out for her. Victor’s desk and office was a disaster, and how was Victor so disorganized anyway? His older brother had a degree in business planning, but he couldn’t keep a desk calendar? He straightened out the papers on his desk from where he’d tossed them and went back to work. Or at least he tried. The image of Emmy’s thigh-highs haunted him the entire day. He managed to push them out of his mind eventually. Eventually being late Wednesday afternoon when the office exploded into action from a complete disaster. A train full of products— organic corn seed and seed potatoes for several heirloom farms— was derailed just outside the yard. Not only had several cars spilled, but there were several more trains scheduled to leave in just hours. Gwen went flying out the door with her camera phone to the yard and took pictures to assess the damage. Tank and Henry went into emergency mode, checking routes for the chance to get the other trains out of the yard. And to Nathaniel’s relief, Emmy adroitly handled all the calls, reroutes and messages for him, Victor, Tank, Henry and Cecelia, who had immediately started looking for replacements for the lost seeds. An interoffice chat popped up. Emmy W.: Gwen has all the pictures uploaded to the server. Nathaniel opened the server connection and found the pictures. It was much worse than he thought. The eight cars they had lost were a twisted mess and there was no saving those, never mind the contents. But it was clear they had lost cars on either side of the derailment. At least two in front and possibly as many as four in the back. He slammed his fist down. The phone was ringing, but he ignored it. He continued flipping through the pictures, becoming more and more disgruntled. All that product, all over the ground, useless and ruined. Now the farmers might not get their crops in on time.
They’d have to refund the lost portions, or find another supplier, but this late in the season locating another supplier probably wasn’t going to happen. He really didn’t want to lose the heirlooms. The computer dinged with a new message. Emmy W.: Gwen on line three, important. Nathaniel W.: Just tell her the pictures are there. I’ll call her in a few. He needed to pay attention to the situation. This wasn’t something he wanted to rush through. He had a lot of other things he had to line up and deal with before he could bother confirming pictures. He had to make a list of suppliers who might still have stock and see if they would be able to negotiate prices down. This late in the season only the lowest quality would be left and— The door slammed open. “Mister Walsh, line three. Now.” She startled the shit out of him. So much so, the receiver was nearly at his ear before he even realized he’d moved his hand. He was so astonished at the tone and command coming out of Emmy’s mouth, he was barely able to acknowledge Gwen on the phone. “Nathaniel!” Gwen snapped through the phone. “What?” He shook his head and cleared his mind. “Gwen, yes. What’s going on?” “It’s bad,” she said. “They just found one of the yardmen under the corn.” His heart leapt into his throat. “How bad?” “He’s dead, sir,” Gwen said. “He suffocated.” A sick feeling slammed Nathaniel in his gut. The handset fell out of his hand and he stared at Emmy still standing in the door. She had a sad, apologetic look on her face. Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair, nodding at her. She pulled the door closed. He then picked up the phone and looked at the pictures. “Wasn’t the train out of the yard, Gwen?” “No, sir,” she replied. He heard her walk a few feet away from wherever she was. “No, Nathaniel. It wasn’t. From what I’ve seen here, there’s more going on than I care to say over the phone. There are some pictures you need to see. You and Vic are not going to like this.”

Get the rest of the story from the book Consensual by Katerine Rhodes from Beau Coup Publishing on Amazon

Friday, March 28, 2014

To Tease and Be Teased

teaseInstant gratification has its place. Sometimes you just can’t wait. You gotta have it, you want it, you need it. Lord, I’m turning myself on!
It doesn’t matter if you’re talking about sex or chili cheese fries, sometimes satisfying an appetite is just paramount – like scratching an itch. But if you can contain yourself, there are vast rewards. And I’m speaking of sexual teasing.
One of my favorite things to do is to get a guy in a public place, like a restaurant, and while we’re sitting there in front of God and everybody, I love to begin by rubbing his ankle with my foot, slipping it just under his pants leg. As soon as I see his eyes glaze over, I take my hand and caress his knee, then slowly move up his thigh – just teasing. A little higher. And higher. I know he’s hard as a rock before I ever get my hand in just the right – spot… Ha!
Another delicious way to tease him is in a crowded elevator when everyone is looking straight ahead. I love to lean back against him and grind my bottom into his groin. Ah, those ‘g’ words, reminds me I have a ‘g’ spot. My reward is the groan he whispers into my ear and the hard evidence against my bottom which tells me my teasing has paid off. Damn!
I guess you can tell I’m working on a new book here, cause I’m getting all dithery – and it causes my imagination to work overtime. A fun thing to do is when you’re at a party together, to occasionally send him a dirty text – or rather a suggestive text – get him all hot and bothered. Makes the idea of going home together almost unbearably sweet.
Let me show you some good teasing in FORGET ME NEVER. The teasing is the theme of this scene, along with the Superbowl  - seems like an appropriate time for this post. So, listen…. and don’t quit reading, I have more teasing farther down in the article. More excerpts and a chance at a prize.
The TV was on, the food was spread out and she had on as close to something sexy as she owned. Savannah had more on her mind than football. “Wow, this looks great!” Patrick was a big eater, so she had fixed plenty.
“Did you have a good conversation with your friend?”
“Yes, I did. We talked about you, mostly.” He settled down on the couch – just stretched out and left her a little spot in the corner. “Come here, I want to cuddle.”
“What did you say about me?” She sat on her legs and looked him in the eye.
“You’re a nosy little thing, aren’t you?” Patrick teased.
“A little bit.”
She fed him a bite of pizza. He took the bite, captured her hand and licked the remaining spot of sauce off her fingers. “I just told him how I felt about you. And we discussed some business, that’s all.” There was more to it than that, but he wasn’t ready to tell her everything – not yet. “Look, the game’s starting.”
Typical male, he got into the game. Savannah had a good time watching him. He yelled at the quarterback. He snarled at the referees, but mostly he looked disturbed because the first half was almost over and the Colts were ahead of the Saints. “It’s okay.”
Patrick knew it was okay. But this game had come to mean more to him than just his favorite team winning the big prize. It might be silly, but he had wound this all up with his chances of being with Savannah. “The game’s not over.”
“No, it’s not.” There were a few minutes left until halftime and then The Who were going to sing. Savannah was still hungry – but not for food.
“Come on Brees!” Patrick yelled at the Saints quarterback. “Do something!”
Savannah decided to make her own play. He was sitting about a foot away from her. He had been closer, but he was eating and getting into the game and somehow he’d moved away from her. That would never do. He wasn’t paying any attention to her at all, so when she let her hand inch his way – she waited to see what he would do.
Patrick knew Savannah thought he was oblivious to her advances. She was letting her fingers do the walking – literally. Her little hand was inching toward him, and he couldn’t wait to see what she was up to. He leaned forward just like he was engrossed in the game. Right now he was more interested in her, but he wasn’t going to let on.
She let her fingers touch his hard thigh – just barely. First, she pushed her hand under his legs just a little bit, like it was cold and she was trying to get warm. He just grunted – he wasn’t taking the hint. Next, she let her fingers walk up his leg, like a little spider – still, nothing. Damn! Getting a mite bolder, she curled her hand over the top of his leg and rubbed her thumb up and down on the strong muscle. He had the audacity to pat her hand and say, “Hey, Baby. How’s it going?”
Patrick bit back a smile when she huffed and muttered under her breath. It was the same little voice she’d used the day they met in the memorial when her friend had been embarrassing the heck out of her.
Before Patrick, she would never have attempted something like this. But he had given her confidence in her attraction that no one ever had. So, she let her hand – slide upward – upward toward his crotch, until she bumped into something rather large and hard.
“Uh-Oh,” She looked up at Patrick.
“I’m kinda trying to watch the game here, Baby,” he said with a smirk, trying not to laugh.
The feel of Patrick’s bulge had caused a stir in her sex which made her feel naughty. She fixed Patrick with a vexed glare, but he ignored her eyes. She huffed, and withdrew her hand from the firm bulge that she’d wanted to explore further and folded her arms defensively across her chest. Her first attempt at seduction, and Patrick had rejected her; this didn’t sit well with Savannah.
Savannah sat on the couch as halftime drew closer and the Saints marched down the field. Beside her, Patrick watched her out of the corner of his eye. The brazen way she’d grabbed for his package had turned him on, but he wanted to see how she would handle his rejection, see if she wanted him bad enough to make another move.
Savannah was doing a horrible job of masking her displeasure and when she innocently moved her hands up over her head for a stretch, something in the way her head tilted to the side filled Patrick with a need to kiss her neck.
Patrick shimmied a few inches closer to his Savannah and now it was her turn to pretend she didn’t notice what he was doing.
When Patrick shimmied a few more inches, Savannah picked up a magazine from the end table beside her; she wasn’t going to make this easy on him.
A few more inches and Patrick was close enough that his essence made her legs squirm.
“Hey,” Patrick said.
He was right beside her now, his thickly muscled arm pressed against hers, their thighs touching.
Savannah ignored him.
“Whatcha readin’?” He inquired, snatching the magazine from her hands.
Patrick held the magazine just out of Savannah’s reach. She made one grab for it, but gave up, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
Savannah looked away from him. Not her best move if she hoped to remain cross with Patrick. That small patch of bare skin on Savannahs neck that had caused the tightness in Patrick’s jeans was now fully exposed and with Savannah looking the other way, he seized the opportunity and leaned in to kiss it softly.
Savannah flinched when she felt Patrick’s gentle lips on her neck, then her shoulder. “Pa…trick,” she said, forgetting almost all of the annoyance he’d inspired in her so recently. “Stop,” she offered weakly, but tilted her neck further to the side to grant him even greater access.
“Stop?” Patrick kissed her neck. “Stop what?”
He licked up to Savannah’s ear, nibbling on the lobe lightly before moving back down to her collarbone.
Savannah whimpered with appreciation. Gone now was any semblance of the frustration and rejection she’d felt, in its place was nothing but bliss. The skin on her neck was dimpled with goosebumps; her chest beginning to flush.
“You want me to go?” Patrick asked between kisses.
His hand had found its way around to the front of her shirt, undoing first the top button of her blouse and then the next one.
Savannah placed her hand behind Patrick’s head as he kissed her collarbone and shoulder. “I thought you wanted to watch the game?” The words barely came out of her mouth in an audible tone.
“I’d rather watch you,” Patrick whispered in her ear.
Savannah’s round bottom levitated from the couch when Patrick hit that magic spot just behind her ear. “I have to tell you, this is one of my favorite fantasies in the whole world.”
Patrick’s hand stilled. “What’s that, Baby?” If she had a fantasy, he would do his damnedest to fulfill it.
Here’s the buy link if you’re so inclined:
I loved the teasing in that scene. But right now, I want to share more teasing thoughts.
When I really want to stir things up with my guy, I like to do something provocative and then pretend it was accidental, like bending over in a short skirt when I have sexy underwear on OR leave the bathroom door cracked open to invite a bit of voyeurism as I sashay around in my underwear or towel off after a shower.

Thank you for letting me tease you – - now give me some inspiration for this book!

Friday, March 14, 2014

Sable Outside

Sleeping Under the Stars – Some Memories of My Dad
I live in the south, just about an hour north of the Gulf of Mexico. Warm weather predominates our climate. We’ve had a cold winter, but I’m anticipating spring. I love to be outside – on the beach, in the Hill country or the Piney woods of East Texas. Several times I’ve gone on the Sable version of a walkabout. I tend to get fed up with situations and just walk off – literally. I know its sorta foolish for a woman to go gallivanting on foot alone – but I’ve done it. I’ve spent days just walking, camping out under the stars, not really having a destination in mind. The only explanation I have is that I felt like I could escape my problems if I put time and distance between me and them. Why not drive? I don’t know – walking is just more therapeutic sometimes.
I have experience sleeping out under the stars. When I was young, prepubescent, my real dad would take us to the beach near Galveston Island – Crystal Beach or Gilchrist usually, and we would camp out right by the wave line. The only problem was, we didn’t have a tent. He thought sleeping on the ground in backpacks or in the truck seat or the back of the truck was sufficient. I guess you could say he was a minimalist. Back then, I just thought it was great fun. It’s odd how you’ll accept things like that as a child. And boy did we have some adventures.
There’s really nothing like sleeping right on the beach. The ebb and flow of the tide can still lull me to sleep like nothing else can. The only problem I can remember is my mattress. I didn’t have one. Dad always put me in the back of the truck with my thin Hello Kitty sleeping bag. He thought nothing of it – but the bed of his truck was ridged. It was like sleeping on a rock hard ruffles potato chip. I’d wake up with red stripes on my body from the pressure points. Many nights I would gravitate to the hood of the truck and just drape myself over it like a cat on a rock.
But one of the most memorable camping trips was the night I heard the scream. Yea, it still sends chills down my back. We had come north from New Orleans and was staying near my mom’s family in East Texas. We still have a lake house and a deer camp there, and truthfully, I spend a lot of time in the piney woods. It’s a spot that appeals to me because I’m near the border with Louisiana and can venture between my two favorite states easily. North of the deer camp is a wilderness area that is rich in history. The King’s Highway, the El Camno Real, runs through it. And if you could see the footprints of the ages there would be conquistadors, pioneers, friars and soldiers – all marching into this territory that witnessed so much in our country’s past. There is one small waterway that meanders through the land called Paulo Gaucho Creek. Obviously, this is a Spanish word, but my Dad and so many other country people of the area roughed the pronunciation down to something like “Polly Gotch”. I was grown before I realized how badly we were misspeaking the words. I’d never really seen them written.
Anyway, we camped out at Polly Gotch. Not much fancier equipment, I think this time I actually lay on the ground. Nothing really bothers me but snakes, I have little fear of wild animals. During my youth, I had a pet wolf, a coyote, a wild boar, multiple deer, a possum and an armadillo. Ellie Mae Clampett had nothing on me. But that night, I learned to experience a bit of fear. The allure of Polly Gotch was the crystal clear water, the moss covered banks, the dense canopy of trees and the plentiful perch and catfish that populated its waters. We fished and waded and cooked over a campfire. All of this was prior to Jess’s birth and my Dad’s early demise – good times. I was the only child, the center of attention and I ran wild like Huck Finn. But when night fell…things started happening.
I can still remember it like it was yesterday. One minute we were sitting around the fire, laughing and talking and the next – the most horrendous, blood-curdling scream you could ever image rent the air. I must have jumped four feet straight up. I grabbed my heart, looked at my dad – who was rather wild-eyed himself. He was a New Orleans native, not reared in the woods like my Mom. So, we both turned to her. Was this a banshee? A Jurassic creature of unknown species? An escaped mental patient? It had sounded like a woman. A woman in deep distress carrying razor sharp knives. She looked at us calmly and said one word – “panther”.
Now, the authorities will tell you that there is no such thing as a black panther in North America. They say East Texas has samller bobcats, maybe a jacarundi or two – but my family and many others steadfastly insist that we have bigger cats and some of them are as black as coal. We saw one cross the highway once near San Augustine, TX and my mom’s folks have had more than one sighting. But this wasn’t a sighting, this was a CLOSE ENCOUNTER. We sat there frozen for a few seconds and the dang thing screamed again and I couldn’t be still. I jumped up and headed for the car and my dad started gathering up pots and pans and sleeping bags – and my mother – the nut, she went to the cooler and took out a slab of uncooked steak about the size of a big man’s hand and slung it out toward the darkness.
“What the hell did you do that for?” My dad asked.
“Giving him something to chew on besides us.” She shrugged.
“You just sent him an engraved invitation to dinner.” My dad had a cautious streak that my mother did not have. Needless to say, we piled into the car and waited for dawn to break, sleeping sporadically. I rolled my window down a bit – and listened. That big cat came closer to camp. He stayed in the shadows, but we could clearly hear it breathing. I wasn’t really afraid, I was fascinated. What I wouldn’t have given for a pair of night-vision goggles to really see what was so close – and so scary.
Right now, we’re redoing I’ll See You In My Dreams  for the sweeter version – and I thought of this scene. It’s from the erotic version and has a little sex and a little bit of the story above – which actually inspired me to write this. I wanted to share it
Here’s the link. Comment and I’ll pick two for this book – or your choice if you’ve read it.
Kneeling down he unfastened Rex’s halter. “Let’s go to the kitchen and I’ll get you a snack. This has been a rough day.” Carefully, he felt on the coffee table for the tray. He liked to leave the house fairly straight for Rachel. Picking it up, he moved through his familiar home with slow, even steps. He could hear Rex’s toenails clicking on the tile floor behind him.
With practiced moves, he counted the steps into his kitchen. Funny – he couldn’t be sure of what it really looked like. He had it redecorated along with everything else when Margaret had walked out of his life. Oh, he knew there was Mexican tile on the floor and the cabinets were made of oak – but the vision of the room he had in his mind might not be close to the reality. What difference did it make?
Lowering the tray to the counter, he felt around and cleared an area for it, scooting over what felt like a loaf of bread and a roll of paper towels. Next, he opened a drawer and located the can opener and moved over to the pantry and found what he hoped was a can of dog food. As long as Rachel put the items in their designated places, he was okay. “I hope this is your food and not a can of baked beans,” he teased the hungry animal. Finding Rex’s bowl with his foot, he picked it up and dumped the contents of the can in it. “Stinks about right.” Setting it down, he patted the big Lab. “You eat; I’m going to take a shower. You can join me in the bedroom when you’re through.”
Living in a world of perpetual night, he constantly relied on his other senses to make up the difference. Right now, he could feel the downward draft of the air-conditioner; he could smell fresh grapefruit on the counter. Their odor vied with the aroma of Rex’s pungent meal. Standing still, he listened for sounds beyond the kitchen. A faint low of a cow and a bark of a coyote was all he could discern. Zane knew he was fortunate in many things, but sometimes he was so lonely, it was almost unbearable. What he wouldn’t give for someone to just be with him – to share, to back him up. Fuck! He needed someone to hold tight.
With sure movements, he left the kitchen and let his hand slide down the hall wall. How much different it would be if a woman waited for him in his bed. He could imagine her lying there, anxious. “I’m coming, honey. Warm up my side of the bed and I’ll warm you up as soon as I get there,” he spoke to no one. What he wanted and what he felt he should have were two different things. The truth was he was hesitant to ask a woman to share his life. But the image of Miss Presley was haunting his thoughts. Chuckling, he remembered she has said her hair was the color of dirt. Now what other woman would give an answer like that? She was sweet and unassuming and he bet she was as pretty as a picture.
Long silky hair, green eyes – his mind couldn’t help but strive for an image to go with that husky little voice with the tiny hint of a lisp. Most seeing people didn’t realize that blind people who had their sight at one time can still see – in a way. They hear a sound first, like the rush of the water as he turned on the shower faucet. The haunting vision will come from the side and then quickly rush into the mind’s eye. Scientific studies have suggested that the brain rewires itself to create visions from sound rather than sight. So, he couldn’t help but begin imagining how Presley Love looked. As he featured a curvy body, long legs, a face looking up at him with lust glazed eyes, Zane got hard.
Stripping off his clothes, he ran a hand down his abdomen and over his cock to cup his balls. “Miss Presley, I bet you’re fine.” Just the thought of tangling his hand in those long strands of hair, wrapping it around his fist and anchoring her still for a kiss had his flaccid cock stiffening with lust. How long had it been? Too long.
With practiced strokes he massaged his cock, using a little soap as a lubricant, he worked it till it was hard and throbbing. “God, I’m so fuckin’ hard,” he moaned as he rubbed the tender skin up and over the head of his prick in a smooth circular motion. His cock knew what was coming – it was heat, erotic expectation at its best. Zane enjoyed his body, and he had no qualms about giving himself pleasure.
Wrapping his hand around his cock, he slowly jerked it – long smooth strokes, sometimes over the head and sometimes stopping at the base. What would Presley’s breasts look like? He had no way of knowing, unless he asked. She could be flat-chested for all he knew – but probably not. With a sexy name like Presley coupled with a bedroom voice like she had, Zane suspected she had a rack to match. As he conjured up images of round, firm, soft tits he felt the pleasure begin rising from the base of his dick. God, how he’d like to suck on her tits, there was nothing like taking a woman’s nipple in his mouth and nursing. As he fantasized, he could feel his shaft thicken and the head swell. Damn, it felt good. He could have cum right then – but he wanted the feeling to last – so he backed off, tracing the veins and wondering what color Presley’s nipples were. How would they be shaped?
Women’s breasts fascinated him. Now that he couldn’t see – touch would be paramount. What he would like to do was pull the woman back against him and run his hands up from her waist to cup her tits. He would weigh them in his palms – run his hands over and around them – lifting them, cupping them, learning their shape. Just the thought of fondling Presley’s tits, taking her nipples in his fingers and pulling them, tweaking them – milking them – “GOD!” had him back to full strokes. With his other hand he rubbed on his balls, letting his hips pump, feeling his ass tighten. Lord, he needed a woman. He loved to sink his cock into warm, wet pussy – feeling her tight little sheathe stretch to accommodate him.
Zane needed that sensation – that gliding of his glans into a hot, grasping haven. Making a small ring with his thumb and forefinger, he pushed it over the head of his cock, massaging the tip end. “Hmmmm,” he gasped, that felt good. He wondered if she liked sex, some women didn’t. But when a man found a woman that loved to be loved – God, he had found a treasure.
Presley would lay down for him – offer herself – open her legs and let him see the place that would take him to paradise. His daydream made him smile – yeah, he still thought of himself as ‘seeing’. He’d rub the head of his cock up and down her slit, make her moan and beg to be taken. Using both hands, he doubled his pleasure, let the water sluice over his back and shoulders. Still, he toyed with the head, giving himself the illusion of fucking in and out of a snug little pussy and upped the ante by pumping himself, furiously, letting his hips roll with the rhythm. His climax hit him hard – the pleasure and the cum jetting out in long, creamy sprays. Zane groaned, still fisting his cock as it pumped endlessly.
“Presley,” he whispered.
Nights spent in total blackness were endless. Even though he kept his curtains open, he never saw a shaft of light. If he slept in, he would feel the change in the temperature as the sun rose, but most of the time he had to rely on an alarm clock. This morning, however, he just couldn’t stay in the bed. He had a clock that announced the time at the touch of a button – “five-twelve a.m.” Ignoring his morning wood, he promised his Johnson a repeat of last night’s performance later, jerked on a pair of jeans and a shirt and went out to greet the day.
Rex didn’t need any encouragement, he loved these pre-dawn jaunts. Cheyenne knew what was up too, as Zane entered the barn, he was met with several greetings, but his appaloosa had a distinctive, rumbly neigh. It was a welcoming sound. “You ready to go?” With practiced moves, he put on a saddle and bridle, grabbed his whip and led the animal out into the misty morning.
Not many blind men rode horses by themselves, but not many blind men had a horse like Cheyenne. Cheyenne was a seeing-eye horse. Oh, Zane had bought him and rode him before the accident. And he had given a lot of things up, but not his horse. Kane had found a place in South Carolina that trained horses for the blind. True enough, they usually worked with miniature horses or Shetlands, but Kane and Zane had met with them and shown them how special Cheyenne was and just like they had anticipated, the appaloosa had taken to the life-style like a duck to water.
Horses can see phenomenally well in almost total darkness and Cheyenne’s memory was incredible. He already loved Zane and being trained to be on the look-out for danger and avoid obstacles was not a giant leap. At the ranch, Zane had no qualms about taking off with Cheyenne and Rex – he knew he was safe in their hands. Four eyes out of six weren’t bad odds.  “Let’s head down toward the creek,” Zane led Cheyenne past the gates, shut them behind him and climbed on. With a gentle pull to the reins they were off. He tipped his hat back, and took a deep breath, enjoying being in the saddle again.
“Woof!” Rex raced ahead, knowing that he was free to be adventurous while the service horse was on the job. A cool north breeze hit Zane in the face and he could smell wood smoke from a nearby chimney. His body moved naturally with the horse, the dip and sways as much a part of him as the rhythm of lovemaking. From the left he could hear the lowing and shuffling of the royalty that awaited the registered auction that would commence at the end of the week. “Narrow miss,” he grinned, relieved that none of his animals were infectious with the dreaded disease.
Leaving the pavilion area, he could tell the ground dipped down. He was headed downhill through a thick growth of white clover. The smell was sweet, but the memory it invoked was bitter. The last time he had made love to Margaret was in this field of clover. A choking sensation of wasted dreams clogged his throat. Five years had passed, five years – by this time he had planned on having children. A harsh laugh erupted from his throat and the horse raised his head as if asking for directions. “Easy, boy, everything’s okay.” Everything was okay. He had a good life. It wasn’t a perfect life, but it was all he had.
The lapping and trickling of water told him they were nearing Piney Creek. Cheyenne’s hooves clopped over the small rocks that littered the ground on the bank incline. He was just about to get down and stretch his legs and let the horse drink when he heard Rex growl. It wasn’t a playful growl. Cheyenne stopped dead still. Even when Zane nudged his knee to move him forward, the Appaloosa stalled. And then he knew why – an eerie, unearthly scream shattered the night. Every hair on Zane’s neck stood up. For a split second, he thought he had run into a banshee – but then he heard the snarling, guttural growl of a large pissed-off feline.
Hell! He heard Rex lunge. He heard a splash. The horse reared, but he managed to hang on. “Rex! Rex!” Cheyenne backed up. The big horse was shivering, frantically trying to do what he was trained to do when every reflex he had was telling him to flee. “Rex!” Without hesitation he unwound the whip from where it was attached to the saddle. “Heel, Rex! Come!”
Zane pulled back on the reins, but Cheyenne was adamant. He didn’t turn. The service animal could see what the man could not. With powerful moves of his hind legs, the animal lunged backwards. “Rex!” Zane could hear the bodies of the canine colliding with the cougar.
Sounds bombarded his mind – the hard panting of the horse, the frenzied barking and growling of his dog and the hissing, spitting angry snarls of the cougar. “Rex – here!” Cheyenne whirled and almost unseated Zane. Zane pulled him back. “Rex!” A wounded yelp from the dog made cold chills run up and down his spine. Damn! He had done this. He had put them all in danger. How utterly stupid – what was he doing? Two animals who would die for him were the only thing between him and a killer cat. And one of his animals might die. “Rex!” he cried one more time. And then he heard him – an answering bark.
“Heel!” He demanded. Finally, he heard the breathing of the dog near the dancing hooves of the horse. Focusing with everything in him, he listened for any evidence of where the big predator was crouching. It seemed as if an eternity past – and then a sound – a snarl. He drew back his arm, flashed the whip in the air and let it go. “Raarrrr!” The sharp, slash of the leather had connected with cat hide. Immediately he repeated his motion, moving the black snake a few feet to the right and he heard the same zing and the same snarl, and then – silence.
Climbing down from off the horse, he searched for his dog. After a few seconds, Zane found Rex laying a few feet away. “Oh God boy, are you hurt?” Feeling over the lab’s body, he felt the slick wetness of blood. There were deep scratches and several bite marks. “Damn” Picking the heavy dog up, he managed to get him across the saddle and climb up with him. “Let’s go, Cheyenne.”
Cheyenne set off at a lope and Zane prayed that Rex would be all right. Every step of the way, he half expected shredding claws and piercing teeth to tear into his flesh. But it didn’t. In a few minutes, he was back at the gate. Cheyenne slowed to a walk and Zane reined him in. “Frank! Frank! Anybody! My dog is hurt!” Rex was more than his eyes, Rex was his friend.
“Boss!” Running footsteps announced that several of his employees had heard him. “What happened?”
“Cougar. Call the vet.”
Zane sighed. He’d be going to the office without his companion today. He’d be lost.
Thanks for reading.

Saturday, February 1, 2014

Now Available for Valentine's Day

Now on Amazon
Hell Yeah! Book 12
While vacationing at a cabin in the Ozarks, Scott Walker - Austin neurobiologist, gets snowed-in and has to be rescued by local, Lia Houston. She brings him food, helps him fix his heat and tries to get his car on the road. A monster storm has paralyzed the mountain and as she’s trying to chain his car to her truck, a huge ice-covered limb falls, crushing the front of her pick-up and almost flattening Scott. If she hadn’t moved fast, he’d be a memory – but the brave action on her part comes with a price, she’s injured and stuck with Mr. Know-It-All until the weather abates. Scott doesn’t believe in love, much less love at First Sight. So when he meets Lia, he welcomes the attraction, but fights the tenderness with every breath in his body. Join Sable Hunter as she chronicles their journey from lust to love with a lot of fireworks in between. They meet at the dawn of the New Year, and by Valentine’s Day the fires of True Love are burning bright. 

**Content Warning: Contains explicit scenes, details and language. Intended for 18+ Audience