 Fireworks are going to be going off like crazy this week with the big Fourth of July celebrations. But let's celebrate our own little fireworks... kisses!
I don't always remember those first moments as clearly as I'd like to. And while I may not remember the first guy who ever kissed me, I do remember the first time my husband kissed me. He literally took my breath away. I think I forgot to breathe for a minute. I also remember those first times my children kissed me (awe!) and who could complain about all those doggie kisses! I'm hopeful that you have a better memory than me! And that you won't be embarrassed about sharing those moments! After all, this is the season of fireworks... big loud booming ones that shake you down to your toes, as well as the quieter ones that light up your face. So what was your first kiss like? 
 Accidental Love by Lacey Wolfe Hot Bods Book Three Has Jane accidentally fallen for the decoy? Sometimes there is only one thing to do when you get dumped—make the ex jealous with someone new. Which is exactly what Jane plans to do with Ben, an older, handsome man who has agreed to act as her new love interest. When Ben meets Toby, Jane's unruly dog, he offers to help her train him. But as Ben helps Jane gain control of her dog, he realizes he's lost control of his feelings, and he's beginning to fall for the much younger woman. Suddenly, Jane can't seem to remember what she ever saw in her ex. All she can focus on is the way Ben makes her feel each time he kisses her. But now the ex has decided he wants her back, and he's willing to play dirty to make it happen. Beachwalk Press buy link Excerpt Matt cleared his throat behind her. Jane's eyes widened in shock and she slowly slid her hands from Ben's neck, down his firm chest. She turned to face her ex-lover, and Ben's arm tightened around her waist, holding her close. "Hi, I'm Ben." He extended his hand toward Matt. Matt kept his arms crossed. He looked pissed, which was good, she hoped. "Well, I'm off on my lunch break," she said. "Don't be late, Jane. We have a staff meeting, so you'll need to be back to handle any gym members." Matt walked away, heavy footed. Ben took her hand and led her outside to his car. As they reached the vehicle she expected him to drop the act, but instead he opened her door for her and then closed it once she was seated. He climbed in and asked, "How long do you have?" "An hour. Fast food is fine if you want to drop me off and then pick me up." He chuckled. "I know a place where we can share a meal in under an hour." "You don't have to eat with me." "Jane, I want to." The hour went much faster than Jane would have liked. Ben was a lot of fun and took his boyfriend duties seriously. He had opened her car door and held her hand. This was something she could easily get used to. She was going to tell him he didn't have to pretend when they were away from the gym but each time he touched her she was at peace. Was it wrong to have a crush on the decoy? Perhaps it was the George Clooney look he had going on. It was every girl's fantasy. Ben parked in front of Hot Bods and quickly came around the side of the car and helped her out. Taking her hand in his again, he walked her back. She started to object and it was like he sensed it. Releasing her hand, he tugged her closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, cradling her to him. They stopped in front of the door. "I had a lovely lunch," he said. "Thank you. Me too." He stepped closer. She sensed what was coming next, and she was more than ready. He rubbed her cheek with the back of his fingers then tilted her face toward his. Leaning down, he gently brushed his lips across hers. She moaned and was almost embarrassed to be reacting this way. He kissed a small line to her neck and her mouth opened, still whimpering. She was lost in the sensation of his light kisses and forgot they were out in the open. She was so turned on that if they had been alone she would have let this man explore her entire body. Ben released her face, and she was slightly disappointed it was over. "Have a good day." He kissed her once more on the lips. He'd kissed her speechless. She didn't say a word. Instead, she simply watched as the most amazing man she'd ever met headed across the parking lot toward his car. He was good. Very good. Maybe that was why Francesca was always after older men. They really knew what they were doing. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This is Book 3 of 4 in the Hot Bods series. Here is the link and the embed code for the Hot Bods Promo Trailer Link : http://youtu.be/nTZE3wqU-b4 HTML code :
 About the Author:
Lacey Wolfe has always had a passion for words, whether it’s getting lost in a book or writing her own. From the time she was a child she would slip away to write short stories about people she knew and fantasies she wished would happen. It has always been her dream to be a published author and with her two children now of school age, she finally has the time to work on making her dream come true. Lacey lives in Georgia with her husband, son and daughter, their six cats and one black lab who rules the house. You can find Lacey at the following places: Her Site Twitter Facebook  Last week, I took a small vacation, which if you know me is a big deal. I don't often take time off to just enjoy myself. I'm always having to do something. But this vacation we relaxed in the Silver Bullet and enjoyed the view. Another motor home like ours but smaller pulled in next to us and we were like the "cool kids" on the block. We also did a little sight seeing around Cheboygan and Mackinaw City. I even got a little reading in. :) All in all, it was a wonderful way to spend a few days.
 Here is a missing scene from the life of the female main character in Protecting His Wolfe, in her own words.
You would think that being the minister’s daughter would mean that my life was easy. Not! I was looked at and judged harshly growing up. Not by my parents but by the town around me. Innocent childhood pranks became town gossip. I wasn’t a bad kid. My parents loved and adored me. But time and time again, I got into trouble. My mom used to say that if sixteen other people did what I did, then only I was the one caught. Here’s a little taste of one adventure: Sundays were always a busy time at our house. Dad often woke up before anyone else and spent hours in his office working on the sermon of the day. He loved to pepper the scriptures with stories of his childhood and of us kids. We were the best lessons for living right he’d say. I could hear mom puttering around in the kitchen. She loved to plan a big brunch for when we got home for church which meant a lot of prep work before we left. She had laid out my dress the night before. The dress was white and made of white cotton eyelet material that made me feel like a princess even though I was just eight-years-old. Dresses were reserved for Sundays and I had to always put them on and take them off right before and after church. They weren’t for playtime! But this morning I couldn’t resist. The dress had the most beautiful purple satin sash that was silky to the touch that tied around my waist. I’d already spent twenty minutes running the ribbon sash through my hands and over my face. The feel of it tantilizing my senses. “No one will ever know,” I said as I donned the beautiful gown over my white undershirt and pink flowered underwear. Slipping on white socks and white pattened leather shoes, I stood and looked in my mirror. “Yes, Prince Charming, I would love to dance with you.” Dancing around the room, feeling the breeze on my face was a heady experience. The idea of looking so grown up enticed me to day dreaming about my future prince. “Meow.” The sound split the fantasy in my head. “Meowww.” Glancing toward my window I saw a small black cat stuck in the crook of the branches outside my window. Never one to leave an animal in need nor ever leave an animal alone, I opened my window and pushed up the screen that kept me from my heart’s desire. “Hello, little kitty. What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be up so high.” That was an understatement. My room was on the second floor so the small frightened kitten must have climbed about ten feet into the tree to find itself stuck outside my window. Leaning out the window, I couldn’t reach the kitten. He must have been too afraid to come to me, a stranger, so I did the only thing that I could think of…I climbed out the window. “Don’t worry kitty. I’m coming to get you.” I said bravely, as I carefully climbed over the window sill and out onto a strong looking branch. Slowly I made my way closer and closer to the kitten, whose nails appeared to be embedded into the tree’s bark. Finally reaching the kitten, I looked down. What a mistake that was. Now I was too far away from my bedroom window to go back and climbing down wasn’t an option. “Meow.” “Thanks kitty. Looks like we both are going to need saving.” Clinging to the branch next to wear the kitten was holding on for dear life, I was a vision in white and began praying for a miracle. I could hear the phone ringing inside the house. Turning when I heard a voice down below, my fingers slipped on the rough bark, causing me to fall to the branch on my stomach. The sharp bark scratched my leg as I twisted and pain cut into me. Gripping the branch tightly, I feared falling to my death. A trickle of what could only be blood began to slip down my right leg. “Meow. Meow.” “Oh kitty, you have surely gotten me into trouble this time.” Which is just how the town found me, wearing my once beautiful Sunday dress, my flowered panties for everyone to see, blood dripping down my leg, and holding on for dear life. There was even a picture on the front page of the newspaper of the local firemen using their ladder truck to get me down. John Stempt, the fireman, ruffled my hair as he plucked me from the tree branch. “Little Wolfe, don’t you know that wolves don’t climb trees. Leave it for the birds.” My parents were so frightened that I didn’t get punished but the public humiliation was enough. Of course Dad had to find a way to use this latest excapade in his sermon and I had to throw away the once white and beautiful dress. I don’t know what was worse…my beautiful dress being ruined or being the poster child for recklessness in the neighborhood.  A Love Stolen by Ella Jade
A Love Stolen is book one in the Steeple Town Series. This is a three book series that introduces the reader to a trio of best friends who all find love. Each book will focus on one of the women and the other two will play prominent roles throughout the story. The novellas can stand alone and can be read in any order the reader chooses. A Love Stolen features estranged lovers Lila and Trevor. Blurb Lila Crofton flees the town of Steeple when she learns of her boyfriend Trevor Matheson's betrayal. Trevor's one night stand proves to be too much for the young lovers. Lila won't stick around and watch the only man she's ever loved move on with another. She heads to the city and starts over. Six years later, recently divorced Sheriff Trevor Matheson is picking up the pieces of his life. When his high school sweetheart Lila returns to Steeple to bury her father, Trevor sees it as a sign. He's getting over a failed marriage and she's grieving the loss of her dad. They need one another. The timing couldn't be more perfect. Can the two overcome the ghosts of their past and rekindle a love lost. Is there a second chance in their future or is their stolen love gone forever? Book One in the Steeple Town Series. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ EXCERPT: "Have you decided if you're going to stay in Steeple for a bit?" Jenson asked. "We don't want you to leave." "I don't know." Lila sipped her soda. Her stomach had been unsettled since coming back. She wanted to believe it was the funeral, but she knew better. "You shouldn't be alone," Cali said. "We can help you clean out the house." When Lila moved her father in with her, she'd hoped he'd one day be able to return to Steeple, so they'd left most of his belongings in the family home. "What are you going to do with the house?" Jenson asked. "I haven't made any plans yet." Lila sighed. "I grew up in that house. All of my memories of my parents are in there." Lila's mom had passed away when Lila was ten, but she remembered everything about her. "That's why you should stay and take your time." Cali placed a bottle of water in front of Jenson. "We'll be here for you." Lila nodded. It wasn't as if she had anything to go back to the city for. She'd been laid off from her teaching job, because she hadn't earned tenure, and the new teachers were always the first to go. She'd kicked around the idea of going back to school to get her doctorate. Her father had left her more than enough money to live comfortably for quite some time. "I don't know." Lila played with the straw in her drink. "There are so many memories here." "Screw the sheriff." Cali was always so protective of Lila, especially when it came to Trevor. "Don't let Trevor run you out of this town again." "He didn't run me out the first time," Lila said. "I wanted to go." There was no way she could stay and watch him marry another and raise a child. "Bullshit." Cali wiped down the bar. "You switched schools and never looked back. You never came back to us." "What was I supposed to do?" Lila asked. "Stay and watch him marry her? Congratulate them when the baby came?" "You could have fought harder for him, if you really wanted to. Not that I think the pig was ever worth you." Cali had never forgiven Trevor for getting Mary Grace pregnant. "Cali," Jenson said, "none of that matters anymore. Lila is over it." "Sure she is." Cali knew Lila well. As much as Lila tried to forget Trevor, she'd never gotten over the love she'd lost. First love really did die hard. "Okay, guys," Lila said. "It's been a long week and I have a headache." She couldn't deal with any more today. "I'm sorry." Cali grabbed her hand. "You know I love you. I don't want you to run back to Boston because you're afraid to face him. I miss you, and I want you to stay. This is your home." "Me too," Jenson said. "Stay with us." "I'll think about it, but right now I want to head home and take a hot bath." Lila picked her bag off the bar and slipped off the stool. "Thanks for being there for me this week. I couldn't have planned everything and made it through the funeral without either of you." "We'll always be here for you." Jenson hugged her. "I'll call you later and see if you want me to bring you dinner." "Thanks, but I'm going to crawl into bed and sleep all night. I'm beat. I'll stop by the book store tomorrow." Lila leaned across the bar and kissed Cali's cheek. "I'll be fine." "I know what you're capable of." Cali smiled. "You'll bounce back. You always do." "Talk to you tomorrow." As Lila walked toward the door, she dug into her bag for her car keys. She wasn't watching where she was going as she stepped into the entryway of the restaurant. She slammed into a hard, muscular body, dropping the keys to the floor. "I'm so sorry." She kneeled down to pick them up, feeling like an idiot for bumping into someone. When she stood up, she was met by a warm smile and those beautiful green eyes. He could still take her breath away. "Hey, Lila." Buy Link - https://www.nobleromance.com/ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author Bio:Ella Jade has been writing for as long as she can remember. As a child, she often had a notebook and pen with her and now as an adult, the laptop is never far. The plots and dialog have always played out in her head, but she never knew what to do with them. That all changed when she discovered the eBooks industry. She started penning novels at a rapid pace and now she can't be stopped. Ella resides in New Jersey with her husband and two young boys. When she's not chasing after her kids, she's busy writing, attending PTO meetings, kickboxing and scrapbooking. She hope's you'll get lost in her words. You can connect with her at http://ellajadeauthor.blogspot.com/ As an elementary teacher, I am always facinated by other people's memories of school. What made a good teacher and what do you remember after so many years. I can't wait to hear about Patricia's memories. Patricia will award a $25 Amazon GC to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour and to the host with the most comments. Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2012/04/virtual-book-tour-moon-over-alcatraz-by.html 
When asked what my favorite school memory is, I wondered whether it’s possible to have “one” favorite memory during so many, many years attending school. The answer is definitely not. Why? What part of school would I write about? Kindergarten, when I was five years old? Grammar school from grade 1 through grade 12? Or how about my four years of college for my Bachelor’s degree then two years at university for my Master’s? So I will try to wheedle this down to one memory per school time period and hopefully it will give an overview of what I found memorable during my life as a student. In kindergarten my mother forced my older sister Kathy to take me all the way to the door of the classroom and wait until I entered. Need I say how very much she hated doing that? I was such a mommy’s girl, I hated being away from my mother at all. I’d cry and cry and my sister said she was so humiliated she wanted to die. Thanks, Kathy, for doing that under duress! Throughout my grammar school days I was absolutely and unequivocally intrigued with the nuns who taught me for twelve years. I recall we all wondered if they were “normal” people like the rest of us. Can you imagine? They were covered in layers upon layers of thick black fabric, along with the white (I think they call them) wimples that dug into their foreheads and the sides of their faces, keeping their hair hidden. But did they have hair, we wondered? Did they actually go #1 and #2 like the rest of us? And did they eat the same food as we did? I kid you not, we saw them as direct messengers from God and we placed them so high on a pedestal, it’s no wonder they ultimately feel off somewhere during my high school days. My junior year abroad at the University of Madrid was an indescribable experience for someone so young. I was in the Courses for Foreigners Program and there were people from all over the world who attended these classes - the same classes that the Spanish students were in, taught by Spanish teachers who knew not a bit of English. It was total immersion. During that time I lived in the dorms and ate with the other Spanish students as well as those from different countries, and we only spoke Spanish, since that was the language that tied us together. I made best friends with a Canadian girl whose parents came over at the end of the school year and took us in a car throughout Eastern Europe - something I would never have had the opportunity to experience if it weren’t for them. We went to Bulgaria, Romania, Yugoslavia, and Austria and saw so much of the countryside and churches and buildings and people. It was amazing. I ended my school days at Oregon State University and hated the rain so much, I was horribly homesick for California. But I made a best friend from Southern California with whom I am still friends, and got my Master’s degree which opened quite a few doors for me in the working world afterward. Did I have a favorite school experience? I’d have to say that traveling around Europe and learning about cultures made me more open-minded than I already was, having grown up in the San Francisco Bay Area. I learned that the United States isn’t “the world” and that most Americans are horribly ignorant of other cultures and religions. I’m so glad I had my eyes ripped open which made me more understanding of our world’s brothers and sisters. __________________________________________________________________________________  Moon Over Alcatraz by Patricia Yager Delagrange ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ BLURB: Following the death of their baby during a difficult birth, Brandy and Weston Chambers are grief-stricken and withdraw from each other, both seeking solace outside of their marriage; however, they vow to work through their painful disloyalty. But when the man Brandy slept with moves back to their hometown, three lives are forever changed by his return.. EXCERPT: “What are you doing? Where are you going? Please, let’s talk about this.” “I work my ass off in New York while you’re at home screwing other dudes?” I pulled the sheet around me, ran over and grabbed his arm. “I wasn’t screwing other dudes.” He ripped his arm out of my grasp. “I was the one who was all screwed up. Then you went to New York and all we ever did was argue on the phone. You don’t tell your secretary you’re married and she treats me like crap on the phone...” By now, he was fully dressed, shoes and jacket on, wallet grabbed off the bureau. His hand hovered above the door knob. His face looked void of emotion, wiped clean of all expression. “I can’t do this,” he mumbled. I sobbed, knowing I’d hurt him and betrayed his trust. I felt like a slut. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. But I love you.” He stood near the door, shaking his head, tears dripping from his chin. My legs shook. My stomach cramped. I had to make him understand. “I know I’ve hurt you and that wasn’t my intention, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I’ll regret it forever. You don’t deserve this but I’m asking you to forgive me.” His eyes swam with tears and his chin quivered. His Adam’s apple twitched up and down as he swallowed. “I had sex with Carol Smith.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, I attended St. Mary’s College, studied my junior year at the University of Madrid, received my B.A. in Spanish at UC Santa Barbara then went on to get my Master’s degree in Education at Oregon State University.
I live with my husband and two teenage children in Alameda, across the bay from San Francisco, along with our two very large chocolate labs, Annabella and her son Jack. My horse lives in the Oakland hills in a stall with a million dollar view. http://www.patriciayagerdelagrange.com/ https://www.facebook.com/pages/Patricia-Yager-Delagrange/204510679568596 http://twitter.com/#!/PattiYager Don't forget that Patricia will award a $25 Amazon GC to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour and to the host with the most comments. Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2012/04/virtual-book-tour-moon-over-alcatraz-by.html  “You’re your mother’s daughter” were words my dad wrote to me in response to an essay I wrote about food and the generational quality of it. His words were meant as a compliment pointing out how much I am like my mother. It made me happy to think of being so much like her but it also hurt. “The pen is mightier than the sword” was never truer. What we say in writing can wound and at two am I was worried that in some way, my essay had hurt my father with those words. However these four words sent me on a journey down memory lane during the wee darkness of the morning…because if I am my mother’s daughter, I am also my father’s daughter.
Hard working is my strongest memory of my father. Not only was his job incredibly physical, as a foreman at the local steel plant, but it was a mentally demanding job. He worked the swing shift which meant that he would often work strange hours and sleep strange hours. “Don’t wake your father” were words to live by! His schedule could and often did change daily. To drive your body to that point takes not only physical but mental acuity. But more than the hard work he did on the job, my father worked around the house and at many of my other family members’ homes too, fixing roofs, building decks, or helping to paint the house! At no time did I hear my father complain about the work or refuse to help. Maybe that is a part of the code he was raised by but he set a powerful standard that I have always attempted to reach. Personal responsibility was also an important part of my dad. I remember when I was a teenager with a new car. He told me that in order to be able to drive that car, I needed to know how to take care of it. Two days I labored trying to figure out how to open the hood and check the oil. At any time, I could have asked for help but I wanted to prove that I was able to do this. I wanted to earn his respect. His modeling of personal responsibility taught me to take my knocks for the things that I did wrong. How absolutely frightening were the words “Wait till your father gets home!” My mom could utter those in a whisper and we would sit with fear because we knew we had done something bad…something that we may face a consequence for but face it we would, you could count on that! Today, so many parents let their children off easy for fear of harming their child’s self esteem but I am glad that my father taught me to take the good with the bad and own up for what I did. No point in running from consequences, God or Karma has a way of catching you and making you face the music and no excuse will change that fact. While hard work and personal responsibility were vital to my father, emotions were a tough one. He grew up in a time when men didn’t show their emotions. Yet God felt the need to saddle this man with five daughters (yes, I did say five). The emotional roller coasters he dealt with were staggering. Honestly, that man must have earned sainthood as we went through teenage hormones! There are photos of him holding each new baby with a look of awe on his face. And the laughter that could be heard as he chased us around the house as a snarling monster was music for angel’s ears! One story that he likes to share of my childhood is the burning desire I had for a puppy. We had other pets, gerbils, hamsters and many cats growing up. One day one of these kittens had climbed into my dad’s wheel well of his car (only a kitten knows why they do this). On this day, my father had to work and the car quickly became a killing machine. Horrified about how to break this information to his young daughter, my father must have agonized over telling me. (Having children of my own- I know how heartbreaking it is to share bad news with them.) Knowing my dad, the worry about the emotional toll it would have on me, fearing that I was scarred for life, he shared it in the kindest most sympathetic way. Only to get a response from me, “Okay, now we can get a puppy?” I have seen this man marry off his daughters, hold his grandchildren in his arms, and bury his loved ones with out shedding a tear but his emotions were there on his face for all to witness. A few quiet words or a small gesture from my father conveys a whole conversation of emotion. Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino has nothing on my father! So back to those four simple words- “You’re your mother’s daughter.” I am proud to say that I am also my father’s daughter. We are all a product of the millions of people and connections that we make during our lifetimes. But our parents become the heroes of childhood, the dreams of what success means, and the sculptors of our personality. During a time of crisis at the steel plant, one of my father’s employees told me that “my father was the best manager and he wouldn’t do anything to harm him if he had to cross the picket line." What respect! So I hope to be my father’s daughter, with a strong work ethic, personal responsibility and the compassion to do what is right. Thank you Dad!  Today a group of Rebel Ink authors are over at the Goddess Fish Party Pavilion celebrating summer, our fathers, and our wonderful stories.
Most people like to have a party at a hall, but Goddess Fish has a party PAVILION! Think bigger and better! I grew up having parties at the local picnic pavilions. From family reunions to birthday parties, we would all go to the local park to enjoy a day of fun in the sunshine. The pavilion would be decorated with streamers and balloons. The wafting smells of hotdogs, hamburgers and ribs coming off the grills made your mouth water. Hearing the children splashing in the local river, lake or pond, parents would sit by the tables and enjoy a cold beverage, knowing that the children were safe. Games would be played later and the marshmellows would come out at dark. There was nothing in the world like a day spent with your family at the pavilion. I hope that today you will join me and my Rebel Ink family there for some fun and exciting excerpts. http://goddessfishparty.blogspot.com/ Just let us know what drink to hand you and what food to pass and we'll all enjoy this beautiful summer day!  Thank you to all the readers who stopped by to check out my blog with the missing excerpt from my upcoming release "Protecting His Wolfe". After writing the names of the people who commented down and throwing them into the dryer and then picking one, the winner is......
Krystal Shannan. Congrats to Krystal and thank you to all the people who left comments. We have another blog hop coming up in July and then I will be giving away a copy of another of my books. Keep your eyes peeled on Facebook and my blog for more information! 
Tempting the Manny by Lacy Wolfe When Olivia hires a sitter for her children she gets an unexpected surprise. Olivia’s world is torn to pieces when her boyfriend leaves her for a younger woman. But she has no time to dwell on it, she must pick-up the pieces for her children. And the first thing on her list is hiring a sitter. In return though, she gets a very unexpected surprise. Jamie loves children. He comes from a big family and can’t wait to start his own one day. From the moment he meets Olivia and her children, he feels like this is where he’s suppose to be. But he mustn’t act on how he feels and does his best to stay professional, even with Olivia making it very difficult for him. As Olivia and Jamie try their best to fight the way they’re feeling and figure out of it can work, her ex-boyfriend shows back up to complicate things. After a string of her own lies, can Olivia figure out what it is she really wants?  Excerpt: Jamie’s gaze followed Olivia’s ass as she walked toward the fridge. She bent slightly over reaching for the ketchup, and he was worried his erection was going to burst out of his pants. The way she looked at him as she headed back to her plate of food, he wasn’t sure if she was hungry for those fries or him. He had never met a woman with so much sexual desire, it was almost pouring from her veins. He wasn’t sure about the story with the ex, but that man had to be crazy for leaving. Ketchup was on the corner of her mouth. Instinctively, he grabbed the towel, leaned forward, and wiped her mouth. Her eyes locked on his and, before he could even think twice, his hand wrapped around the back of her neck and pulled her to him. Her mouth met his just as fiercely and opened, letting his tongue slide in. The taste of ketchup met his taste buds and the need to taste more of her sprung through his body. Olivia gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer. His free hand took hold of her waist. His erection shoved into her stomach. The kiss was like fire and even though he knew he should be resisting, he had to keep playing. Turning his head to the side, he deepened the kiss. She tasted so good and felt even better in his arms. Pushing her back slightly against the counter, he nudged her legs apart with his knee, pressing his thigh tightly between. His dick was so hard now, it hurt. Her mouth left his and for a moment he almost had time to stop and think about how wrong this was, but then her tongue swirled around his ear lobe and he was gone again. His aching hands found her breasts, full and large. He cupped them, but imagined his face pressed between them instead. Licking his lips, he couldn’t wait to taste them. “Mr. Jamie.” A little girl’s voice called from the living room. Frozen, he took a step back from Olivia. “Just a minute,” he called back. Olivia’s eyes were full of passion. She bit her lip and he could tell she was nervous, but not for a second did she regret what happened. He knew this had been very wrong and he hated what he had to say.“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you.” A smile crossed her face when he had expected something different. “I don’t think you are.” Her hand reached down, touching his erection. He sucked in, now biting his lip to try a push away the urge to grind into it. Letting her hand drop, she strutted past him to go to her daughter. His gaze once again followed her round little ass in her pencil skirt. She was right. If Morgan hadn’t interrupted them, he would have been finding out what it was like under that skirt. Buy Link: Secret Cravings ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  About the Author:
Lacey Wolfe has always had a passion for words, whether it’s getting lost in a book or writing her own. From the time she was a child she would slip away to write short stories about people she knew and fantasies she wished would happen. It has always been her dream to be a published author and with her two children now of school age, she finally has the time to work on making her dream come true. Lacey lives in Georgia with her husband, son and daughter, their six cats and one black lab who rules the house. You can find Lacey at the following places: Her Site Twitter Facebook  Welcome to my blog. Thank you for being a part of the Rebel Ink Blog Hop. Here is a missing scene from Protecting His Wolfe which releases this month from Rebel Ink Press. One random commentor will win a copy of my book "Second Time's the Charm".  Jonah Pigg ran into the house and slammed the door shut. The window on the front door shook from the force of his anger. Jonah was determined not to cry. Squeezing his face tight and his eyes shut, he bounded up the stairs to his room. Whacking the door shut with his foot, Jonah surveyed his sanctuary—his “man-cave”, his “safe-house”. “This was the worst day of my life,” he screamed as the tears began to fall. “I’m not a baby but it hurts so much.” Throwing himself down on his bed, Jonah let the tears come. He was tired of being strong. As the oldest of the three boys, he watched out for his brothers and shouldered his fair share of chores for a twelve-year-old. It made him feel older and responsible. But now he felt beaten and abused, whipped by the words of Steve Vincent. “What does he know. Steve is such a little prick.” Jonah choaked out among the tears. Wiping his nose with his arm, he sat up as a knock sounded on the door to his room. “Yeah?” Jonah’s dad peeked his head into Jonah’s bedroom. “Is it safe to come in?” he asked with a smile on his face. “I guess, but it’s been a bad day.” “I could tell. The doors must have done something to upset you. They were sure taking a beating. Do you want to talk about it?” “Not really…but Steve is such a jerk. Do you know what he did today? At lunch he stood up and recited the story of the Three Little Pigs in the cafeteria and when he got to the part about the pig who made his house out of straw, he said that the pig’s name was Jonah. Everyone was laughing at me. He even started chanting ‘This little piggy went wee-wee-wee all the way home’. I was so mad that I wanted to hit, punch or even kick him. I knew that I shouldn’t use my fists, so I dumped my lasagna on his head. Of course, I got in trouble with the principal, Mr. Stevens. You would think that he would have understood. Steve is such a idiot that he didn’t even get in trouble.” Jonah shared his day with the passion of a prize-fighter after a winning battle. He never seemed to take a breath. “I see. Steve sounds like a real loser. I’m sorry that you were teased. I’ve taught you to let it bounce off your back but this sounds like more than ordinary teasing. It sounds like Steve has targeted you. Maybe we can go to the basement later and practice throwing some punches. It might help you feel better. But I want to share a story with you about your Great-Grandpa Pigg. It will give you a different perspective on things.” Jonah sat up and listened intently to his dad. He was interested in hearing more about his family. His dad didn’t really share much about his great-grandfather except that he had served in Vietnam and was a decorated veteran. “You knew you were named after your great-grandpa. His name was Jonah too. When you were born, we saw something in your face that reminded us of his strength and compassion. Great-Grandpa Jonah was serving in Vietnam. This was not a popular war. Many people didn’t believe that the United States should have gotten involved. But you couldn’t tell Great-Grandpa that. He wanted to do anything he could to keep the world safe. He was overseas and met this Vietnamese family who lived in the jungle near the US base. The family was trying to hide from the enemy and thought that by living nearby the Americans, they would be safer. The father of the family would sometimes interpret for your great-grandfather’s unit. In turn he used to sneak them his extra rations or would sometimes give them extra blankets, money, or whatever he could get. Your great-grandpa became one of their family. One day when he was out on a recon mission, the enemy came in and slaughtered the family, right down to the sixteen-month old baby. In blood on the people’s hut was the words ‘Evil American Pig’. When your great-grandfather found out, he set out to track down those responsible.” “Did he kill the bad guys who killed the family?” “Yes, your great-grandfather did find those responsible. He refused to speak about what he did when he found them. But the whole incident changed him. When the war was over and he came home, he once explained the whole story to me. He said that seeing the word Pig in a derogatory way, made him ashamed of his name until he settled the score. When he made those men pay for what they did to that family, he celebrated in his name. He was a Pigg but a proud one.” “And I was named after him?” Jonah asked with awe in his voice. “Yes, but while your great-grandpa was recognized for his time in Vietnam and the work he did there. He never forgot the family who paid the ultimate price for being a friend to him. When people looked down on his name or teased him about it…he’d remember Vietnam. Soon he developed a sarcastic tone that kept other people away from teasing him about his name. His tongue was as sharp as a tack and no one wanted to feel its sting. Using humor to throw the other person off, was his way of coping with the teasing. He never felt that his name was a bad one again.” “I want to be like him. What can I do to not let the teasing bother me?” Wiping his face with his hands, Jonah looked up at his dad with red and tired eyes. However, a smile was beginning to show on his lips. That look of determination was there in his gaze as well. “I will teach you how to use humor and sarcasm to put Steve on the offensive. And I want you to always remember your great-grandfather. His name wasn’t derogatory. It was the name of a hero. Now, come on and let’s get some punches in before mom calls us to dinner.” Grabbing his son by the shoulders and giving him a hug, Mr. Pigg knew that this was only the beginning of a rough road for Jonah but hopefully he had given him a push in the right direction. After all, family and honor are always the most important to the Piggs. Don't forget to stop by other blogs on the hop for more chances to win fabulous prizes.
JL Oiler Bethany Cross DonnaSteele Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy Blair McDowell Sarah Bella Virginia Nelson Nora Snowdon E Jaime Lila Munro Nancy LaPonzina Cassandre Dayne DH Black Patricia Logan Dakotah Black Janelle Lee Kate Roth KT Bishop Kharisma Rhayne Elicia Seawell Kiki Howell Ursula Whistler Eden Glenn Siobhan Kinkade Michel Prince Sarabeth Gordon Valerie Muller Britni Hill Wendy Smith Suzzana C Ryan  One of the questions that I get asked a lot is where do I write? I would love to explain that I have this beautiful desk with a tiffany style lamp and a comfy chair. I would love to tell you that my view is a vista view of gardens and that on sunny days the scent wafts through the open windows. But all that would be a lie.
I don't actually have a desk at all. I do have a laptop that travels with me back and forth to the school where I work. It has files on there from older writings as well as copies of my recently released stories. Usually when I come home from work, I sit at the kitchen island because if I have to get up (and I do) than the dogs can't climb up and mess with my things or eat my food. I used to sit more at the kitchen dining table but after too many times that the dogs grabbed my plate, I decided to move. However, the dogs do like to entice me to write with them while they lay on the couch next to me. The photo from above is of me sitting on the couch with my labtop on my lap and a dog trying to get closer to me. My two dogs are small in size but big in needing attention. They both know how to beg and love to get my attention but will quickly settle down and sleep as long as I don't get back up. It does get to be quite comfy together and is a wonderful place to write. I couldn't ask for better critique partners or maybe foot warmers! Where do you enjoy writing? What things must be in place for you to write? Thank you N. Gemini Sasson for stopping by today. I always love hearing about where people travel. Scotland is a dream destination of mine and I can't wait to hear about your trip. N. Gemini Sasson will be awarding a $25 Amazon GC to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour. To increase your chances of winning, follow the tour:http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2012/04/virtual-book-tour-king-must-die-by-n.html 
My Favorite Vacation Destination by N. Gemini Sasson When it comes to a dream vacation, I want adventure, culture, breathtaking scenery and most of all the lure of being able to slip back in time, to stand on the very ground where others have walked centuries before. The place that calls to my heart is Scotland. Although I’ve been there twice before, I’d go again in a blink given the opportunity. Once the kids are out of college and we don’t have tuition payments to make, I’m taking my husband there for a second honeymoon. I’ll even let him go golfing at St. Andrews for being such a good sport, but he’ll have to put up with my castle touring and Highland hikes. So many castles to choose from! One in particular has captured my attention, though – Tantallon Castle near North Berwick. Perched on a rocky headland on the Firth of Forth, it overlooks Bass Island, where sea birds throng in their tens of thousands. Built in the mid 14thcentury by William Douglas, 1st Earl of Douglas and nephew to my historical hero James Douglas, Tantallon is a ruins now. Great chunks of the curtain wall have long since tumbled over the cliffs and been swallowed by the sea. If you close your eyes and listen, you can hear the footsteps of the ghosts of past inhabitants as they lurk behind mossy stones. Castles aren’t all there is to Scotland, though, or the only reason I want to go back. Traveling through the Highlands is unforgettably picturesque. The wind is so constant and the soil so rocky that trees don’t grow on the mountainsides. Instead, heather and lichens paint the rugged peaks in hues of purple and gold beneath cloud-laden skies. If the Highlands are too remote, there are always green forested glens cut through by rushing rivers or seaside towns where you can go pony trekking on the beach. In Scotland, you won’t see endless billboards along the highways or megamalls situated close to sprawling suburbs. Architectural preservation is of prime importance, so every village and major city maintains a very historical feel to it and boutique shops are abundant. My favorite shops are the ones in Edinburgh along Royal Mile that carry the swords (I want one of my own!). A quartet of watercolors from the Orkney Islands the last time I was there adorns my living room wall. And if the weather turns a wee bit nippy, you can always retreat to a cozy little tavern for some fish and chips, chased down by a whiskey, while the local talent sings one of those tragic Scottish ballads to the accompaniment of fiddles and tin whistles. Best of all is when the keening of bagpipes joins in. Then you really do know you’re in Scotland. I can’t wait to go back to Scotland, to walk the same ground my ancestors did, to stand in the very places where the characters in some of my stories lived, fought and even died. The more I write about Scotland, the more imperative it becomes – I must take a research trip...um, I mean a vacation to Scotland! Thanks a million for having me, Melissa. It was fun to daydream. Now I feel compelled to make plans.  THE KING MUST DIE by N. Gemini Sasson ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ BLURB: What is done cannot be undone. England, 1326. Edward II has been dethroned. Queen Isabella and her lover, Sir Roger Mortimer, are at the pinnacle of their power. Fated to rule, Isabella’s son becomes King Edward III at the callow age of fourteen. Young Edward, however, must bide his time as the loyal son until he can break the shackles of his minority and dissolve the regency council which dictates his every action. When the former king is found mysteriously dead in his cell, the truth becomes obscured and Isabella can no longer trust her own memory . . . or confide in those closest to her. Meanwhile, she struggles to keep her beloved Mortimer at her side and gain yet another crown—France’s—for the son who no longer trusts her. Amidst a maelstrom of shifting loyalties, accusations of murder propel England to the brink of civil war. In the sequel to Isabeau, secrecy and treason, conspiracy and revenge once again overtake England. The future rests in the hands of a mother and son whose bonds have reached a breaking point. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ EXCERPT: The Wedding of Edward III and Philippa of Hainault Edward III – York, January 1328 While a howling wind lashed the snow into knee-high drifts, we proceeded to the castle. Philippa and I rode abreast of one another, our horses caparisoned in heraldic silks, the silver bells attached to their bridles and reins tinkling gaily amid the clamor. It may well have been the coldest and snowiest day in years, but it did nothing to dampen the spirits of England’s people. We dismounted before the steps to the great hall, the bells of York’s churches pealing in celebration. She slipped her hand from beneath the warmth of her miniver-edged cloak. I grasped her fingers and pulled her closer. “I regret to say,” I whispered rapidly, before anyone could close in and overhear,“that my mother has raised objection to our wedding night being so close to Lent. She thinks we should forego, ah, a certain ‘rite’ in the hopes of receiving God’s blessing upon our union.” Philippa clasped her other hand over my forearm. “I had not thought of that. Will we not ...?” Casting a glance around, I guided her up the steps. A pair of porters opened the great doors before us. I shrugged. “Do youwant to?” “I do.” Lowering her chin, she shrank inside her hood to conceal her blushing.“That is, if it would not trouble your conscience.” “Mine? No.” I scoffed. “Christ himself could not keep me from you tonight.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  N. Gemini Sasson is also the author of The Crown in the Heather (The Bruce Trilogy: Book I), Worth Dying For (The Bruce Trilogy: Book II), The Honor Due a King (The Bruce Trilogy: Book III) and Isabeau, A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer (2011 IPPY Silver Medalist for Historical Fiction). She holds a M.S. in Biology from Wright State University where she ran cross country on athletic scholarship. She has
worked as an aquatic toxicologist, an environmental engineer, a teacher and a track and cross country coach. A longtime breeder and judge of Australian Shepherds, her articles on bobtail genetics have been translated into seven languages. Links: Web site: http://www.ngeminisasson.com Blog: http://ngeminisasson.blogspot.com Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/NGeminiSasson Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/NGeminiSasson Don't forget that N. Gemini Sasson will be awarding a $25 Amazon GC to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour. To increase your chances of winning, follow the tour:http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2012/04/virtual-book-tour-king-must-die-by-n.html  Have you ever read the children's book "Caps for Sale"? This picture always makes me think about how many hats we really wear and how crazy life can be. We always talk about the many different jobs we have. I'm an author but I also have other jobs. I'm proudest about my job as a parent of two young adult children and two teenage step-sons. They keep me plenty busy! Although I'm not being a taxi driver anymore, I am still the chief cook, maid and bottle washer. I'm also a mom to my adorable little doggies who like to leave me presents and can be demanding in their own rights. But add to those hats, a hat for book reviewer, publishing house editor, and full time elementary school teacher and you will find a tower of hats. 
My work day usually begins very early, before six am and doesn't often end until eleven o'clock. Those hours are crammed full of lessons on fractions, opening juice boxes and snack bars, loads of laundry, emptying the dishwasher, reading through a book and writing my opinion, writing blogs and report cards, cooking dinner, gradding papers, and even sometimes some cuddle time. But I'm fortunate that it is also filled with hugs, I love you's, doggie kisses, great converstations, and love. Being a teacher is much like being a parent, only now I have 40 children instead of just two...and although they don't all come home with me, you'd be surprised by how much nose blowing and shoe tying I get done during the school hours!
Right now I'm really looking forward to some "me" time as the school year comes to a close. I am ready to let go of a few of my hats. Maybe I will let my husband cook a little more, sit back and enjoy a book I won't have to write a review on, and even sleep in past seven am. Most importantly the voices of the characters in my head have been clamoring for their tales to be told. They want a chance at a book and a romance. So I'm looking forward to sharing their stories with you. |
Melissa KeirMusings from Michigan Archives
November 2019
|
RSS Feed
Photos used under Creative Commons from emilyonasunday, imagesbyk2 Photography, Beverly & Pack, thisreidwrites, jDevaun, Ken Wilcox., jan_krutisch, wiesiek_kr, ginnerobot, Tim RT, erasergirl, wheatfieldbrown, fivehanks, Ⅿeagan, theilr, symphony of love, Abhishek Singh Bailoo, Max Braun, Daniel Leininger, EliJerma, sean_reay, DafneCholet, Pablo Tocagni, kevin dooley, CarbonNYC, Loren Javier, marco monetti, shannonkringen, Peter Werkman (www.peterwerkman.nl), tekkbabe, Aditya Rakhman, MilitaryHealth, almarWho, raganmd, snowkei, Amal Hathaway, augustineisnotmyname, digitizedchaos, photologue_np, -stamina-, Jessica_Branstetter, I woz ere, Erháld, Tostie14, kdinuraj, feline_dacat, RobBixbyPhotography, glaciernps, aussiegall, Pink Sherbet Photography, Poul-Werner, Loren Javier, Diamond Farah, AForestFrolic, williamcho, shannonkringen, gagilas, ben.fitzgerald, Tony Fischer Photography, rufusowliebat, emilianohorcada, George Deputee, LadyDragonflyCC - >;< - Spring in Michigan!, brick red, citymaus, Emery Co Photo, midiman, Thragor, jdegrazia, dane brian, sibikos, nan palmero, r.nial.bradshaw, US Army Africa, bambe1964
