Cover Reveal: The Lonely Drop

The M/M Romance Group at Goodreads does an amazing thing every year: they host the phenomenal Don’t Read in the Closet events, which pair authors with reader-submitted prompts. Anyone can claim a prompt and participate, and anyone can provide a prompt to be written. It’s a wellspring of creativity leading to hundreds of free  stories of varying lengths, all written in about two months time.

This is my second year participating in the event. I look forward to this event as a way to recharge my writerly batteries–to remember the joy of writing for its own sake. This year, I chose a sweet prompt asking for a contemporary romance with an HEA ending, and I wrote what I’m starting to think of as the V No Special: two guys who don’t believe they deserve true love getting it anyway.

(yeah, I just called myself V No. Let’s forget this ever happened)

The story I wrote is called The Lonely Drop, and it’s set in the home of my heart, Asheville, North Carolina. It will be published by the M/M Romance Group sometime this summer (part of the fun is that we won’t know exactly when, but the stories begin posting on the first of June).  If you’re a member of the M/M Romance Group, you can read the prompt, see the photo that inspired the story, and even check out a sexy little excerpt in this thread:—claimed-by-vanessa-north

(if you’re not a member, why the heck not? Great discussion, events like this one, you know you want to!)

As promised, here’s the cover!


Abandoned by Becca Jameson coming this Thursday!

Abandoned-Becca_Jameson-500x800Oop, yeah, well, I got behind and forgot to post! But I’m here! And my latest release is this Thursday, May 1. Abandoned is the fifth book in the Wolf Gathering series. The sixth, and final, book in that series is currently pouring out of my fingers, making them ache. 😦

Here is the blurb for Abandoned. Enjoy! Becca

Allison Watkins has been missing for a year. One of many victims captured by the mysterious Romulus, she is finally rescued by the North American Reserves in a massive sting. Tired and in need of counseling, she comes to the Spencer Ranch in Texas to reunite with her parents and work through her trauma with the other rescued women.

Daniel Spencer has been training with NAR for over a year. He knows an undefined threat is closing in on the way of life shifters have enjoyed for centuries. And he is prepared to fight on the side of good to ensure his family and friends can continue to live in peace. What he isn’t prepared for is the sexy broken blonde with deep blue eyes who arrives at his family’s ranch and stops him dead in his tracks.

Allison is his mate. Denying the connection is futile. But she has been through a lot. She needs time. Time that is not on their side.

The clock is ticking. Daniel needs to get to Seattle and join the rest of the forces gathering to prepare for a battle against evil. He doesn’t have much time to spend with the mate he’s only known for days. Her safety and the safety of every shifter on the planet is at stake. He’ll do whatever it takes to ensure she stays alive.

What does the Romulus want? And why are they preying on young female shifters? Finding them and stopping this madness before the entire world knows about the existence of shifters is a top priority.


Merry Monstrous Monday!

The National Institute of Mental Health defines stress as the brain’s response to any demand. According to this organization there’s a positive side to stress. When we’re in danger, the stress response triggers body reactions, which can be life-saving: faster pulse, increased rate of breathing, muscle tension, more oxygen to the brain, all reactions crucial for survival. Stress can even boost the immune system.

One of my responses to stress is to start a new romance. So here’s a tiny tidbit from my latest WIP, Torch the Wind:

He was so not her type.
Jersey liked her men on the lean side, almost skinny. She never went for the buzz-cut military types and preferred a tall guy with hair on his head but not too much on the body—she had a shudder thing about hairy backs—and long, sensitive fingers. A man who looked like he knew his way around a piano and a whole bunch of other musical instruments. The kind of guy who could gently strum her to a mind-blowing orgasm.
Definitely not her usual hook-up.
But from the second he’d entered the bar, she hadn’t been able to drag her eyes away from his craggy features. Not handsome, not by a long shot. A buzz cut, dark brows, glittering emerald-gold eyes, a nose with a definite bump in the middle, and a dimpled chin dusted with sexy stubble. Individual features, which should have added together in a Clyde Owen appeal, but didn’t.
Yet, he had an air of danger about him and he moved with the sleek grace of a panther on the prowl. The tight jeans he wore caressed his butt like a loving glove. He had an ass to die for and not an ounce of body fat.
Jersey sighed.
That ruled her out.
Men with hard bods liked women with hard bods. While she wasn’t overweight per se, Jersey preferred curling up with her Kindle and a good book to even the thought of a gym, and she carried the extra thirteen pounds of a sedentary lifestyle.
Forget Mr. Muscle then.
Her exile began at noon tomorrow and, damn it, she intended to have the superlative hook-up. A sexcapade wild and dangerous enough to keep her and her handy vibrator busy reliving it in the lonely days and nights to come.

How do you handle stress?



Happy Anniversary, Mr. Mancini! (Kinda)

Monday is my wedding anniversary. A whole thirteen years of marriage to the wonderful Mr. Mancini. We weren’t planning anything big this year, something simple, just a nice quiet dinner for two at the local steakhouse. Well, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, things in my life rarely go simply, quietly, or as planned. But this time, things got shaken up in an incredibly exciting way, at least for me.

Oh, where to begin…

Every now and again I have to apply myself to the day job and venture out into the world to interview people. On Thursday, one of these people was late (very late) to our appointment and as I sat getting frustrated, I opened up my phone to scroll through Facebook and distract myself from my wasted time and what do I see? A post that Bette Midler (my absolutely favoritest ever!!) Tweeted that she is giving a speech in Des Moines on Monday. MONDAY??  MONDAY???


Bette and I need to work on our communication skills so I know when she’s going to be in town and can fangurl without freaking out about possibly missing the show.

How did I not know about this? How did I miss this? Clearly I’ve been spending too much time working and not enough time stalking my favorite celebrities. How did my priorities get so messed up?

I freak out. Surely it’s sold out. I pull up Ticketmaster on my phone and…what?… There’re still tickets! So I’m sitting in the lobby of Mr. Latey-Pants’s office trying to get to the ticket purchase site…on my phone…and here he comes 45 minutes late and with the worst timing ever. I wanted to tell him to hold up, I had to get me some Bette Midler tickets. But I’m a professional, damn it, so I begrudgingly close the window and put my phone away. However, all through the interview I’m thinking, Talk faster, talk faster, talk faster, I gotta get tickets.


Sorry, Mr. Mancini. Bette wins.

So I rushed out after the interview and called my husband and said, “I know our anniversary is Monday and you wanted to go to the steakhouse, but Bette Midler is going to be in town and I don’t care what you want…we’re going! But I can’t talk because I’m still in Des Moines and I have to hurry home and get tickets because the site is too slow on my phone!”

He responded, ever so wisely, “That sounds good, babe. Whatever you want.”

And then I hung up, drove 80 mph home, ran inside(literally)—ignoring the fact that I had to pee really, really, really badly and that my phone had rung a dozen times on the way home and that my dogs were tripping me in desperate attempts at saying hello—tackled my laptop, and got online.

After all that, guess what…

I got my tickets! YES! We’re in the back and far, far from the stage, but I don’t care! I do not care. I got my tickets! I’m going to see Bette Midler give a speech. On my wedding anniversary!

Best. Gift. Ever.

Happy anniversary to me!! Oh, and to Mr. Mancini, of course!


Spring = Nesting Time

red-tulipsIt’s Spring.  Maybe.  Well, most days it is.  Spring in central Indiana depends on two things: (1) jet stream coming out of Canada and (2) how much Gulf warmth and moisture we’re getting.  Usually we get both crashing into each other about 20 minutes north of my house and then we have wind, rain, hail, lightning, and, oh joy, tornado potential.

Then some days Spring’s  just meh.

And, yes, Spring is nesting time for all the lovely little birds. Spotted a cardinal and a finch and some robins all happily building nests. My yard is a Disney movie in the making.

But I was talking about another kind of nesting.  My nesting aka urge to get my house in order.

Spring is the time I deep-clean my nest.  I get the urge to buy new things for my nest. I arrange to have all the maintenance done on my nest.

Nesting takes away from writing time.  And quite frankly, that pisses me off.  But if my nest isn’t right, I can’t write.  My Muse gets distracted by the stain on the carpet or the noise in the AC motor or the thought of all the dryer lint stuck under my kitchen getting ready to burn my house down. Yes, I obsess.

Let’s face it — home ownership and maintenance is a time suck.  But it is a necessity.  Ever watch those house flip shows on DIY or HGTV?  Some home maintenance would’ve solved the mold problem or the termites. I don’t understand people who buy houses and then just exist.  I’m not those people.  My house is a finely tuned machine and I maintain it.

Good news is – I have a List. Yes, I am obsessed and A-type.  I am checking things off.  And with any luck (and the damn duct cleaning guys honoring their contract that I pre-paid), I might survive this period and get back on my writing schedule.

So, patience, please.  It’s Spring and I am in nesting-mode.


London Calling by Cherie Nicholls

Hello! I’m back did ya miss me?

So as you know, I am the English arm of the Love, Lust and Laptops. What you might not know is that today, in the UK at least is St George’s Day. He is the patron saint of England.

You’ve all heard of St Patrick’s day in Ireland? Well there is St David’s Day for Wales and St Andrew’s day for Scotland. Yes we’re, currently, one giant country but we do like to do things our own way too. (Scotland are going for Independence, but that’s a whole other post)

So we each have our own patron saint. What does this mean to our daily lives? Not a lot really, most people won’t even know it’s St George’s Day until they see it on Facebook or Twitter or some random place. We don’t get a day off work or exchange presents or anything like that. It’s simply a day where, if you remember, you go…”hay I’m English!”

What interests me really is, do other countries have Patron Saints Days? Do you have special celebrations? Do people even notice when the day comes around?

You may also have noticed I’ve been missing the last few Wednesdays that I was meant to post, sorry about that but we’ve has some great guests in filling that spot I’m sure you’ll agree. Apart from work life getting in the way I have had some medical stuff to take care of….two words for you.. Oral Surgery….yes I still shudder at the thought of it!

I had my wisdom teeth out and ended up looking like the loser in a boxing match. It wasn’t pretty and to be honest I’m still recovered but it’s all getting there.

Of course that had to be literally three days before my birthday….yeah “perfect” timing right.

So now it’s back to being an IT Manager by day and an Author by night……I’m kinda like batman but without the gadgets, cape or crime fighting…. heh

Side note: IF you check the coming soon page on this blog you’ll see that several of us will be at the RT Convention in New Orleans in May! Come say hi! But remember I’m also the one that doesn’t do hugging…how about a friendly high-five instead?

Until Next time….remember…..Hugging…it’s not big and it’s not clever!


Mining for emotional gold

As my readers know, I have recently embarked on a new writing project, my first contemporary romance in over a year. Yes, yes, me. The one who writes about bear shifters and Greek gods and selkies. “How could she possibly write about real people and make it credible?” you ask.

Believe me, I asked the same question of myself. When you hang around with immortals all the time, you sometimes forget the beauty of simple humanity

The trick to writing a good contemporary, I believe, is getting down and dirty. No, not in an erotic sense, although that’s helpful for certain scenes too. I mean down and dirty and emotional. Gritty is a good word. And no matter how imaginative the writer, eventually we all have to call upon our own emotions in order to do our job well. I’ve had to do that for this work in progress, tentatively called Vice.

And let me tell you, it ain’t always easy. As flawed humans, we all have bad memories, things we’ve shelved in the back part of our brains. Events, or people, we don’t like to revisit. For Vice, I forced myself to confront a painful part of my past.

I went back a long way, too. Suddenly, recollections from my childhood seemed close to the surface once again. Faces I’d purposely blurred came into uncomfortable focus. My back bristled with unease and the hairs on my arms stood on end.

Why? Why would an author do this to herself?

Because it’s impossible to fake it, for one thing. Like they say in writing school, “write from experience.” I also endured the emotional barrage because I knew it was good for the manuscript, and that it would hopefully inspire others and show them they are not alone. If I can do that with my little story, I will have accomplished what I wanted.

Yes, I will be revealing hidden pain, and to a larger audience than ever before. My emotional minefield will be exposed in this book, and you will see all the pockmarks in my surface. It’s been hard, but strangely freeing too.

It is my hope that Vice will bring a sense of freedom to someone else out there as well.

Guest Author: Ann Gimpel

It’s no secret I’m a fan of Ann Gimpel’s tales. Not only is she a dear pal, she also creates vivid worlds of magic and mystery. Fresh off a trip to Antarctica, Ann is busy with her latest release, Witch’s Bounty, which also happens to be the latest book I’m reading. If you haven’t met Bubba yet, you’re in for a treat. The heroine’s familiar is skyrocketing to the top of my fave characters list. Enjoy a sneak peek at Ann’s latest book!



One of only three remaining demon-stalking witches, Colleen is almost the last of her kind. Along with her familiar, a changeling spirit, she was hoping for a few months of quiet, running a small magicians’ supply store in Fairbanks, Alaska. Peace isn’t in the cards, though. Demons are raising hell in Seattle. She’s on her way out the door to help, when a Sidhe shows up and demands she accompany him to northern England to quell a demon uprising there.

Duncan swallowed uneasy feelings when the Sidhe foisted demon containment off onto the witches two hundred years before. He’s annoyed when the Sidhe leader sends him to haul a witch across the Atlantic to bail them out. Until he sees the witch in question. Colleen is unquestionably the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. Strong and gutsy, too. When she refuses to come with him, because she’s needed in Seattle, he immediately offers his assistance. Anything to remain in her presence.

Colleen can’t believe how gorgeous the Sidhe is, but she doesn’t have time for such nonsense. She, Jenna, and Roz are the only hedge Earth has against being overrun by Hell’s minions. Even with help from a powerful magic wielder like Duncan, the odds aren’t good and the demons know it. Sensing victory is within their grasp, they close in for the kill.


…The bells around the shop door clanged a discordant riot of notes. “Crap!” Jenna shot to her feet. “I should have locked the damned door.”

“Back to cat form.” Colleen flicked her fingers at Bubba, who shrank obligingly and slithered out of clothing, which puddled around him. She snatched up his shirt and pants and dropped them back into the canister.

“I say,” a strongly accented male voice called out. “Is anyone here?”

“I’ll take care of the Brit,” Colleen mouthed. “Take Bubba to the basement and practice.”

She got to her feet and stepped past the curtain. “Yes?” She gazed around the dimly lit store for their customer.

A tall, powerfully built man, wearing dark slacks and a dark turtleneck, strode toward her, a woolen greatcoat slung over one arm. His white-blond hair was drawn back into a queue. Arresting facial bones—sculpted cheeks, strong jaw, high forehead—captured her attention and stole her breath. He was quite possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Discerning green eyes zeroed in on her face, caught her gaze, and held it. Magic danced around him in a numinous shroud. Strong magic.

What was he?

And then she knew. Daoine Sidhe. The man had to be Sidhe royalty. No wonder he was so stunning it almost hurt to look at him.

Colleen held her ground. She placed her feet shoulder width apart and crossed her arms over her chest. “What can I help you with?”

“Colleen Kelly?”

Okay, so he knows who I am. Doesn’t mean a thing. He’s Sidhe. Could have plucked my name right out of my head. “That would be me. How can I help you?” she repeated, burying a desire to lick nervously at her lips.

“Time is short. I’ve been hunting you for a while now. Come closer, witch. We need to talk.”


Duncan Regis eyed the grim-faced woman standing in front of him. She was quite striking with such stunning bone structure—high cheekbones, square jaw—she could have been a runway model. Her unwavering pale blue eyes held his gaze. Dressed in brown wool slacks, a multicolored sweater, and scuffed leather boots, she had auburn curls that cascaded to waist level. A scattering of freckles coated her upturned nose. Her lips would have been full if they weren’t pursed into a hard line.

He knew he was staring, but couldn’t help himself. Colleen was tall for a woman, close to six feet, with well-defined shoulders, generous breasts, and a slender waist that flared to trim hips. He smelled her apprehension and was pleased she was able to cloak it so well with the defiant angle of her chin and the challenge in her icy stare.

Despite his earlier command, she didn’t move. Annoyance coiled in his gut. He could summon magic and force her, but he wanted—no, make that needed—her cooperation. Compulsion spells had a way of engendering lingering resentments. He smiled, but it felt fake so he gave it up. “I like women with spirit, but I’m used to being obeyed.”

She frowned and tilted her chin another notch. “I’ll just bet you are. I’m not coming one angstrom closer until you tell me why a Sidhe is hunting for me.”

Surprise registered. He tried to mask it, just like he’d attempted to disguise himself in a human glamour. Duncan tamped down a wry grin, wondering if his second ploy had worked any better than his first.

“Not really.” She tapped one booted toe. “I read minds. You’ll have to do a better job warding yours, if you want to keep me out.” Colleen exhaled briskly. “Look. Maybe it would be easier if you just told me why you’re here. I’m sort of busy just now and I don’t have a bunch of time to spar with you.”

“You don’t have any choice.”

“Oh yes I do.” Anger wafted from her in thick clouds. Along with it a spicy, rose scent, tinged with jasmine, tickled his nostrils and did disconcerting things to his nether regions. He resisted an urge to rearrange his suddenly erect cock. Colleen unfolded her arms, extended one, and pointed toward the door. “Out. Now.”

“You’re making a terrible mistake—”

“Maybe so, but this is my turf. If you force me with your magic, you’ll have broken the rules that bind your kind—and the covenant amongst magic-wielders.”

Duncan’s temper kindled, but it didn’t dampen the lust seeping along his nerve endings. Rules be damned. He could flatten this persnickety witch, or better yet, weave a love spell and bind her to him that way. Maybe he should do just that and have done with things. He clasped his hands behind him to quash the temptation to call magic. The movement stretched his trousers across his erection, making it obvious if she chose to look down.

Something dark streaked from the back of the shop and planted itself in front of him, hissing and spitting. Gaia’s tits. A cat. He stared at it. Hmph. Maybe not a cat after all. Duncan reached outward with a tendril of magic. Before it reached the creature, Colleen bent and scooped it into her arms. The not-a-cat wriggled and hissed, but she held fast.

“Leave him alone,” she said through clenched teeth. “He’s mine.”

Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Damn if it isn’t a changeling. How’d he end up with you?”

Her foot tapped the scarred wooden floor again, its beat so regular it could have been a metronome. “I asked you a whole lot of questions.” She took a step backward. “But the only one I want to know the answer to is—”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jenna wavered into view, having teleported in from somewhere. Her gaze landed on the cat. “Thank Christ! For a minute there I thought the little bastard got away from me.”

“Jenna,” Colleen snapped. “The Sidhe have deigned to call.”

The other woman whipped around and stared at Duncan. He stared back. What was it with these witches? Had they taken some sort of potion to supersize themselves? She made Colleen look positively petite. Jenna sidled closer to Colleen; part of her height came from high heels, but she was still an imposing woman. “What does he want?” she growled.

Duncan cleared his throat. “I’m right here. You can ask me.”

“Fine.” Jenna put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

“How do you know I want anything?” he countered, trying to buy time to figure out what to do now. He hadn’t counted on two witches, and a changeling.

“Because if you didn’t, Colleen would have shooed you out of here by now. You really do need to leave. We’re busy.”

He snorted. “Yes. Colleen made that abundantly clear.” He looked from one witch to the other. At least his erection was fading a bit. Crowds always had a dampening effect on his libido. Many other Sidhe thrived on group sex, but he’d never appreciated its appeal.

“Either tell us what you want right now,” Colleen moved toward him, cat still in her arms, “or leave. I’m going to count to three—”

“Maeve’s teeth, witch! We’re on the same side.”

“Generally speaking,” Jenna joined Colleen about three feet away from him, “that’s probably true, but the Sidhe have never helped us.”

Colleen quirked a brow. “No, they haven’t.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I have this prescient feeling that Sidhe-boy here is about to ask for a pretty big favor.”

“Sidhe-boy?” The dregs of his lust scattered; he crimped his hands into fists. “Show some respect.”

“You’re not respecting me,” Colleen said. “I’ve asked you to leave—twice. No, make that three times.” The not-a-cat finally twisted free. He skimmed over the distance to Duncan and buried his claws in his leg.

“Why you changeling bastard!” Duncan shook his leg. The thing didn’t even budge. He bent, curled his hands around the furred body, and tugged. The thing bit him. Anger flashed. Magic followed. The changeling howled and fell into a heap on the floor.

“Goddammit!” Colleen shrieked. “He was just trying to protect me. If you’ve killed him…”

“I didn’t. He’s only stunned.” Duncan rubbed his ankle, glanced at the puncture wounds on his hand, and directed healing magic to both places.

Colleen sprang forward and gathered the creature into her arms. Duncan felt her magic quest into its small body. She blew out an audible breath. Cradled against her, shrouded by her long hair, the changeling mewled softly.

Duncan shook his head. He’d hoped to be subtle, accommodating, encouraging, so the witch would at least hear him out with an open mind. The time for that was long past. “All right.” He spread his hands in front of him. The flesh wounds on the one were already nearly closed. “I’m here because we’ve had problems with Irichna demons—”

“Christ on a fucking crutch,” Jenna cut in. “Seems like they’re on everyone’s mind these days. We were just—”

Colleen rounded on her. “Shut up!”

“Oops. Sorry.” Jenna held out her arms for the changeling. “I’ll just take him and—”

“No.” Colleen’s voice was more like a growl. “You’ll stay right here.” She placed the changeling in the other witch’s arms and turned to face Duncan. “I know you’re Sidhe, but who are you?”

“Duncan Regis.” He held out a hand. She ignored it, so he let it drop to his side.

“Regis, Regis,” she mumbled, her eyes narrowed in thought. “Ruling class from somewhere in Scotland.”

He nodded, impressed. “Northern England, at the moment, but the border has moved around a bit over the years. I do lay claim to Scottish roots. I didn’t know witches studied our family lines.”

“Witches don’t, but I did.”

“Any particular reason?” He was almost sorry he’d asked. She had strong feelings about the Sidhe, and he was about to find out why.

The changeling yowled, obviously recovered from his semi-comatose state. Jenna cursed and set him down. “Damn it! He scratched me.”

Duncan thought about saying something cheery, like welcome to the club, but bit back the words.

Colleen rolled her eyes. “He wants to talk. There’ll be no peace until he shifts.” She flicked magic toward the creature winding itself between her booted feet. The air shimmered and a rather large gnome took form.

He rocked toward Duncan with a bow-legged gait that made him look like a drunken sailor; his open mouth displayed squared off teeth. “I’ll tell you why she knows about you.” The changeling drew himself to his full height of about three-and-a-half feet. “She came to the Old Country looking for help during the last demon war. You Sidhe were too high and mighty to get your hands dirty, so she had to settle for me.”

Colleen snickered. “Not exactly the way I might have described it, but close enough. Hey, Bubba! Get some clothes on.”

“Later,” the changeling snapped without looking at her.

“Which of us did you approach?” Duncan made the question casual. Whoever turned Colleen down had broken the covenant binding magic-wielders to come to one another’s aid in times of need. He wondered if she knew.

“Of course I do.” She sneered. “Your thoughts are as transparent as a child’s. Even Bubba here,” she pointed to the changeling, “does a better job masking his feelings when he puts his mind to it.”

“Thanks.” The changeling glowered at her before transferring his attention back to Duncan.

“What kind of name is Bubba?” Duncan linked to the changeling, and was surprised by the complexity of his thoughts. Maybe the witches had been a good influence.

“You didn’t have to just push your way in.” The changeling screwed up his seamed face in disgust, but didn’t draw back. “My true name is Niall Eoghan.”

“Clothes,” Colleen reminded him.

Bubba made a face at her, turned, and walked behind one of the display cases. When he emerged, he wore wide-bottomed green trousers and a black shirt.

“Irish.” Puzzle pieces clicked into place and Duncan transferred his attention back to Colleen. “You never did tell me who you’d asked for help. It appears they not only turned you down, but chased you across the Irish Sea.”

“We left voluntarily,” Jenna said.

Colleen’s lips twisted in distaste. Whatever she remembered apparently didn’t sit well. “We spoke with two Sidhe at Inverlochy Castle outside Inverness. They refused to give us their names, but said they were princes over your people. They heard us out and sent us packing. Gave us twenty-four hours to leave Scottish soil.”

“I was all for staying,” Jenna chimed in. “After all, we had passports.”

“Was it just the two of you?” Duncan asked.

“Roz was with us,” Colleen said.

Understanding washed through him. “Three. You brought three to maximize your power.”

Colleen’s full mouth split into a chilly smile. “We were under attack by the Irichna. Would you have done any less?”

“Probably not. So after we, that is, the Sidhe—”

We worked fine,” Bubba said flatly. “Unless you’ve decided to renounce your heritage.”

Duncan traded pointed looks with the changeling. “Speaking of magic, you’re stronger than any changeling I’ve ever come across.”

“That’s because you’re used to our feeble Scottish cousins. They were stronger before you stripped their magic and diverted it for your own purposes.”

“Enough.” Colleen snapped her fingers. “Or I’ll change you back into a cat. We don’t need a history lesson just now.” She shook her hair back over her shoulders. The movement strained her sweater tighter across her breasts. Duncan dragged his gaze elsewhere.

“About the Irichna—” he began.

“We can’t help you,” Colleen said flatly.

“Why not? We’d pay you well.”

“It’s not a matter of money, although I’m not sure you could afford us.”

“We have an, um, previous engagement,” Jenna offered.

“Whoever it is, we need you more than they do.” He looked from one witch to the other.

Colleen dropped her gaze and rubbed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index fingers. When she looked up, the skin around her eyes was pinched with worry. “I’m not sure it’s a matter of who needs whom more.” She speared him with her pale blue gaze. “Do the Sidhe know why the demons are so much more active here of late?”

He debated how much to tell her. Given her ability to burrow inside his head, it was unlikely he’d be able to hide much. If he told her everything, though, it might piss her off. Hell’s bells, it annoyed the crap out of him. “Not exactly.”

Her nostrils flared. “You can do better than that. If you can’t, the door is behind you.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Talk now or leave now. It’s all the same to me.”

@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)


In Too Deep by Christy Gissendaner

On my last post, I was too intrigued by #cockinasock to brag that I had a new release. Yep, a brand spanking new paranormal romance. And check out my fantastic cover. Can we say HOT? If you haven’t checked out IN TOO DEEP, here’s your chance. Enjoy!



He’ll risk everything for the love of one human.

Agreeing to be her good friend’s bridesmaid, Emma Anderson jets off to Tybee Island for the wedding. Her dress is perfect and her shoes are adorable, but her friend’s elegant beachside home hides an ancient secret…one that threatens to expose a secret society of werewolves.

Drake Randolph has watched his sister’s friend grow into a ravishing woman, but he’s always kept his distance. As the heir to the Randolph fortune and the alpha of the Secret Society of Savannah Lycanthropes, Drake cannot afford to draw the innocent little brunette into the dangerous lycan world.

Passion between them soon blazes hotter than the Georgia summer. But when the wrong woman is kidnapped to prevent the wedding of a lycan to a mortal, Drake must risk everything to save Emma from the ones who will see the downfall of all he holds dear.


She felt him before she saw him. A shift in the air, a prickle of sensation along her spine, and she just knew. His presence always caused a physical reaction inside her. She didn’t need to hear or see him to know.

She dropped her arms to her sides. Should she turn toward him or wait for him to speak? A light wind blew; even though the air was balmy her nipples puckered and pressed against the Lycra covering her breasts.

What had possessed her to come for a swim, dressed in one of Alyssa’s bikinis? Perhaps she’d known he would find her. Didn’t he always? Drake drew her like the water. Both of them were inescapable, a current tugging at her heart no matter where she was. The quiet ocean soothed her like a lullaby.

A whisper of movement near her nape, and the soft rush of breath across her bare shoulder teased her a moment before he spoke. “Going for a swim?”

She continued to face forward. It was exciting to not be able to see his countenance, to only guess at the emotions he displayed. “I’m thinking about it.”

Something had changed between them since the ride back from Macon. She’d sensed a crack in his exterior, a subtle shift in the way he treated her.

Goosebumps prickled her skin, more skin than she’d ever displayed in public. The red bikini bottom held together by strings at the hips. The top tied behind her back and neck. Alyssa was more top heavy than her, but the tiny triangles of fabric just barely covered Emma’s own modest breasts.

She stepped forward until water swirled about her calves. The warmth of the ocean calmed her, made her bold, much bolder than she’d ever been before. She turned to face him, seduction clear in the purposefully slow pivot. All seductive tactics deserted her when she caught sight of him.

Drake stood where she’d been just moments before. The cuffs of his jeans were damp. A white t-shirt covered his broad shoulders and chest. Despite the tempting body before her, his face that drew her attention. Hooded eyes, turned down lips, and a tightly constricted jaw let her know he battled demons. Could one of those demons be desire?

She held her hands out to her side, her fingers splayed open and her palms facing him. Water tickled her wrists, even though the waves barely crested over her knees. “Why are you here?”

Emotion flared to life in his gaze. “Why are you?”

She had no real answer. None that she would give him. Lust overruled her thoughts. No way could she let him leave without knowing the taste of his kiss. Just once. A brief moment in time to feel wanted by him before they returned the sanity of a world where they could never be together. “I came to swim.”

He stepped forward, heedless of the water soaking the denim of his jeans. “So did I.”

She cast a glance downward. “You’re not dressed for swimming.”

“I can be,” he rejoined.

He moved his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulled it oh-so-slowly over his head. Her mouth watered at the sight of his ridged abdomen, tapering to a wonderful V shape between his hips. He pulled the shirt free of his arms and tossed it onto the sand. Muscles bunched in his shoulders as he lifted a hand and ran it over his short, ruffled hair.

God, he was too beautiful to be real.

His gaze locked on her face, carefully gauging her reaction before proceeding. She stood still, not batting an eyelid or betraying herself by trembling. She wanted this. She wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him. Her desire went beyond mere need and crossed over into the supernatural zone. Nothing short of dying could stop her from her chosen path.

He moved to unbutton his jeans and drag down the zipper. She didn’t lower her eyes when he pulled off the pants, didn’t trust her reaction to that part of him yet.

A dark eyebrow cocked upward. “Still want that swim?”


The Great Author Hunt!

AuthorHuntAnnouncementIt’s almost time for the RT Booklovers Convention in New Orleans. I’m excited on so many levels. Not only is this my first RT convention, but I’ve also been asked to play in The Great Author Hunt with some amazing authors!

I’ll admit to being somewhat of a “fan girl.” I’m a writer, yes … but I’m also an avid reader. Being included with a group of authors I’ve admired and loved for years, well, there just aren’t words for how grateful I am to have been asked to play along.

What is The Great Author Hunt, you ask?


It’s a scavenger hunt: find a minimum of twenty-five (25) authors from the list, and enter to win some great prizes!!

Here’s how it works:

Author Badge Button1RT Booklovers Convention attendees will receive a Great Author Hunt Player card, along with a button that reads “I’m playing the Great Author Hunt”, in your registration packet. Put that button on your name badge. Easy right?

All of the participating authors are listed on the playing card. Please note: Delilah Devlin will NOT be at RT, so please cross her off your card. Once you have your button firmly secured to your name badge, start looking for the authors on your card. These authors should also be wearing a big Great Author Hunt button. If you spot one, ask them for a sticker for your card. Once you’ve collected a minimum of 25 author stickers, fill out the information on the back of the card. Once that’s all done, put the card in the Great Author Hunt Entry Box, located in Club RT.

The game starts as soon as you receive a Player’s Card (with your registration packet). Registration opens at noon on Wednesday, May 14th. Game ends at 4:00 p.m. on Friday, May 16th when Club RT closes. NO ENTRIES WILL BE TAKEN AFTER THIS TIME. Winners will be drawn on Saturday morning and will be contacted via the information provided on the back of the card.

So, what’s up for grabs? We have three fantastic prizes, which will be given at RT. The prizes are:

– iPad Mini

– Kindle Fire HD 8.9”

– Kindle Fire HD 7”

Finally, who’s participating? Here are the authors you’ll be looking for:

Cherry Adair

Randi Alexander

Jennifer L. Armentrout

Anne Marie Becker

Meg Benjamin

Jennifer Bernard

Brinda Berry

Leah Braemel

Jaci Burton

Robin Covington

Christine D’Abo

Cynthia D’Alba

Lauren Dane

HelenKay Dimon

Nikki Duncan

Avery Flynn

Eliza Gayle

Mandy Harbin

Lynn Raye Harris

Kimberly Kincaid

Parker Kincade

Ciara Knight

Elle James

Cat Johnson

Darynda Jones

Laura Kaye

Kim Law

Angi Morgan

Liz Talley

Check the RT Convention Agenda ( or author websites for more information on schedules!

As for finding me, be sure to follow me on Twitter: @parkerkincade! I’ll be tweeting my location throughout the convention so you can find me! I’m looking forward to seeing you all there!

Until next time … when I’ll be revealing some super exciting news! 🙂