Start The Week Hungry!

Prymal Hunger’s up and running at Amazon!!! Yay – Snoopy Happy Dance!!!

Save 20% by pre-ordering Prymal Hunger ! Click on the link below:


Kydd Kolton leads a charmed life. A Rogue wolf and retired UWF fighter, he parlays his toned bod and surfer good looks into a wildly successful acting career. Rich, famous, handsomer than sin, Kydd’s never had to lift more than a pinky or a perfect brow to snare a woman until he meets Helle.

Helle snares the dream job to launch her Hollywood ambitions—she’s Kydd Kolton’s new personal assistant. After her recent horrifying kidnapping by a sexual predator, the mere notion of desire repulses her. The last thing she expects is her explosive attraction to Kydd. When Kydd tells her he’s a shifter, she’s certain he’s lost his marbles.

Then he shows her his wolf.

And the secret she’s kept for her entire life unravels, tumbling Helle and Kydd into murder and mayhem. Can she trust Kydd to keep her safe?


Helle Francis Rivers froze.

Her lungs went on total shutdown and her oxygen-deprived brain reeled with an intoxicating giddiness.

She couldn’t haul her gaze away from Kydd Kolton’s mesmerizing eyes, one moment the breath taking blue of the azure California sky, the next a turquoise sparkling with emerald facets.

No human being should be so gorgeous.

Kydd Kolton was even more beautiful in person than onscreen. The straight, shoulder-length blond hair, those incredible turquoise eyes, and the way they actually twinkled when he flashed her the baddest-bad-boy grin on the planet.

A thunderstorm of déjà vu frazzled her gray matter. An overwhelming awareness of him swamped her. Helle felt like she’d known him for an eternity. She recognized his distinct scent, a mixture of leather, grass and wind, comfort, and spiraling excitement.

Why did he smell so familiar, so right? So frigging sexy.

She clenched her vaginal walls hoping to stem the creamy rivulets now tickling her panties. This could not be happening. No man had ever turned her on.

Not once had she ever experienced desire.



How many times had she Googled the symptoms? Mentally evaluated them while kissing or being caressed? Not once in her life had her sex ever creamed. Except for that hint of moisture while she’d been on the phone with Kydd Kolton first thing this morning.

No. No. No.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She did not, could not, want to jump Kydd Kolton’s bones.

All at once, an image of Kydd and her naked on a beach with foamy waves lapping at their joined bodies sucked away what was left of her rationality. The fine sand molded and sank when he drove his cock into her.


Helle stiffened to repress an all-over body shudder.

Was she actually fantasizing?

“And who’s this?”

The scratch-on-a-blackboard voice jerked Helle out of her sensual daze. The contempt-laced question came from a mouth of plumped and painted perfection. The face belonging to those luscious lips held not a hint of a flaw. The traffic-stopping body attached to Ms. Perfect’s countenance flared plumes of envy and instant dislike within Helle.


What a fool she was.

How could she imagine Kydd Kolton desired her when Ms. Perfection was draped all over him?

For a second, Helle’s gaze touched down on the blonde’s G-cup breasts. She choked back a howl of frustration. As if Kydd Kolton would deign to examine her almost non-existent A tits.

She had imagined his reaction.


For Helle knew without a morsel of doubt no man could ever want her. Not a woman with her morbid secrets. Secrets so dank, so vile it had driven Josiah to his death.


Why did she have to think of Josiah now?


Now ain’t that a great way to start the week???


Merry Monday everyone!



Tami Lund Talks Elementary School Graduation

I’m writing this blog post on a Tuesday evening. It’s been thirteen weeks since our lives took a sharp, unexpected turn off the beaten path, through a barbed wire fence, down the side of a rocky mountain, and over an uncared-for pasture full of ground hog and molehills. Oh, and fire ants. Definitely fire ants. Mounds and mounds of fire ants.

Anyway, I digress.

So I’m writing this post on a Tuesday evening. Thirteen weeks later. And my daughter had her first psychopathic, ugly cry, melt down over, you know, that thing that happened to us thirteen weeks ago.

The day started innocent enough. Okay, no it didn’t. It’s been a shitty week (already). It’s been a shitty two weeks. You see, my daughter’s “graduation” from elementary school is this upcoming Friday. (June 17. Figured I should clarify since this will be posted on the twenty-second, and nobody wants to still be in school on June 22.)

You would think this would be an exciting, monumental event. Monumental, yes. Exciting, welllllllll… Perhaps I should explain.

My daughter has been part of this elementary school family since she was five. She is now about to turn eleven. So, for half her life, this group of teachers, administrators, parents, kids have been part of her life. An important part of her life. Her extended family. This school, this community we live in, it’s not one of those stand off-ish, everybody-do-your-own-thing kind of places to live. Nope. It’s one of those hi-I-see-you-just-moved-in-five-minutes-ago-nice-to-meet-you kind of communities.

Some people may not like that. Me? I LUV it.

This neighborhood, the one I moved into fifteen years ago with my newlywed husband, it’s… just awesome. When we moved in it was largely elderly folk, people who had lived here since they were newlyweds. Remember that Back to the Future when Marty went back in time and met his parents before they became a couple? Remember that neighborhood, outside of which the DeLorean landed, the one that was just being built? The beginning of suburban sprawl? Yeah, that’s my neighborhood.

Fifty years later, and half the homes are still owned by those same newlyweds who bought the houses while they were in the process of being built. The rest are owned by the next generation, families like mine (we bought ours from the original owners). With kids who are all roughly the same age. Parents, too. We became friends while sniffling into tissues at our kids’ kindergarten orientations, and here we are, however-many-years later. Still hanging out. Still friends. Still neighbors. Still watching out for each other’s kids.Still embracing that “it takes a village” concept.

The elementary school our kids go to has exactly the same attitude. Probably because, yeah, all our kids go there. We expect no less.

And this year, more than any other, that attitude feels like it’s been multiplied by a thousand. My neighbors, my friends, my daughter’s friends and their parents, and especially her teachers and the principal… They have all embraced us like I never in my life could have imagined. Of course, I never imagined my life would take this insane turn, but that, at the moment, is entirely beside the point. Okay, maybe not entirely. To tell the truth, it was the catalyst. The result, however, is nothing short of utterly heartfelt and wonderful.

This school my daughter attends (attendED, by the time you are reading this), it has been amazing in light of such a horrible tragedy. They have embraced my daughter like she is the precious commodity she absolutely is. They have done everything in their power—and then some—to help her deal with a horrible, horrible life event that should happen to no one, let alone a ten-year-old younger sibling. They made her feel special. They made her feel accepted. They made her feel comfortable. And loved. And… I could go on and on.

Apparently, so could she.

Tonight, for the first time since the day it happened, she broke down, cried, bawled, sobbed. She isn’t ready to leave elementary school. She isn’t ready to leave her teachers. She isn’t ready to leave her friends. Her safe place. Her security blanket. The place she shared with her brother, until he was gone.

She isn’t ready to leave the memories of her brother behind. Graduating, moving on, it feels like leaving him behind. Leaving behind those who were most effective in helping her deal with the tragedy in her life.

And as I sat and cried with her and tried to console her, the best I could do was say, “If I could stop time, I would. If I could change past events, I would. For you, I would. But I can’t. All we can do is live. We need to keep living our lives.”

We both cried some more, and I tried desperately to come up with something, anything that would make my baby feel even a smidgen better.

So I suggested writing a letter. Because I’m a writer and there is nothing more therapeutic than… writing. Much to my surprise, she liked the idea.

This is the letter she wrote to her teachers, who have been with her for the past two years:


Dear Mrs. Downs and Mrs. Rinehart,

Thank you for being my teachers this year and last year. I don’t want to graduate because graduating is for people who want to graduate.

I wish you guys could be my teachers until I go to college, then maybe be some of my professors in college.

But sadly, we all have to leave. I’m writing this letter because I want you to know I don’t want to leave. Because, like I just said some time ago, on a day that my mom laughed at, you don’t get everything you want in this world, Sunshine. I learned that the hard way.

So I just wanted to say that I don’t want to leave fourth and fifth grade and I hope we can stay in touch.

Sincerely, a fifth grade girl whose name starts with an R and ends with an N.


Need a tissue? Yeah, me too.

Tami Lund Headshot 2014

Tami Lund is an author, wine drinker, and mother. Her daughter usually makes her laugh, almost uncontrollably. Today, however, she made her cry. Mostly because she is so F’ing proud.

When you’re done with the tissues, check out Tami’s website,

Sara Daniel Explains the Allure of the Bad Boy

Confession time: When I’m checking out a new book for my TBR pile, the words “bad boy” suck me in every time. I know that a bad boy character is going to be interesting, not always play by the rules, maybe come from the wrong side of the tracks, and definitely have a colorful past. Don’t get me wrong. I like good guys perfectly fine, especially in real life. But in fiction, I want a guy who’s going to take action, make the wrong choice, cause a stir, and—above all—melt my panties.

Want a bad boy 2

When I started planning The Bad Boys of Regret Hollow series, I had a chance to consider all the ways a guy could get a “bad boy” reputation and whether he deserved the label. In my elementary school, boys who caused fights and talked during class got earmarked as “bad.” When I was in high school, a guy who wore a denim or leather jacket and had long hair earned the “burnout” label, especially if he smelled like cigarette smoke or hung out at the cafeteria table with other guys who dressed like him.

What's better than a bad boy from Regret Hollow

Beyond stereotyping based on looks, sometimes a guy would get marked with the bad boy label based on the actions of a friend or family member, even if he’d had no part any “bad” activities. Zane, the hero of The Bad Boy’s Gift, got his bad boy reputation as a kid, because of his father’s bad reputation. Although he didn’t earn it by doing anything bad, it shaped who he was, how he saw himself and how everyone else treated him. So, when he finally did fight with someone, the blame landed squarely on him.

Of course, a guy could legitimately earn his bad boy reputation from the start with “bad” deed, but even then it is interesting to dig deeper to determine if the incident stemmed from a desire to cause trouble or a desire to do the right thing that somehow went wrong. On the flip side, sometimes a man with a “good guy” reputation is anything but good. Or, he’s mostly good but majorly screws up in one area, making him a bad boy in the eyes of the heroine or maybe even himself, as he struggles with his guilt and regrets.

Get Ready toReturn to Regret Hollow

Writing a series of bad boy heroes has given me a chance to delve into these different aspects of what it means to be a bad boy. Because these guys are heroes, they are intriguing, take-charge, panty-melting men with hearts of gold. Give me more bad boys, please!

Books in The Bad Boys of Regret Hollow series:

  1. The Bad Boy’s Gift
  2. The Bad Boy’s Guilt
  3. The Bad Boy’s Guarantee
  4. The Bad Boy’s Goodness

Special guest Janis Lane

Welcome special guest Janis Lane!


Some of you know my day job deals with plants in all sorts of ways from wedding flowers to church bouquets to perennials and annuals. I call it playing in the greenhouses. Mostly I have not given any of my characters, either historical or contemporary, permission to dialog about gardening.

With the release of Whispers of Danger and Love, I am exposing my love of plants through the personality of Cheryl Esterbrook, a landscape designer. She has other things to think besides the hunky detective who lives next door. Cheryl is stuck with a mobster who hired her to design a complete landscape in two weeks and a creepy former boyfriend who will not stop annoying her.

This new book is a romance, an adventure, a mystery, and a glimpse into the world of plants. Did I love writing it? You bet I did! Hope you enjoy reading. My favorite plant? Crocosmia. For more info on this lovely plant, please click here. If you like humming birds crocosmia, also known as falling stars and coppertips, is a plus for your perennial garden.

Here’s a little more from my new release. I hope you enjoy it.

When Cheryl realizes her new next-door neighbor is someone she loved as a young girl, she immediately puts the brakes on her emotions. Never again would she allow the gorgeous hunk of a man to break her heart.

Ruggedly handsome Detective David Larkin isn’t used to pretty ladies giving him a firm no. He persists, even as Cheryl fights her own temptations. The two struggle to appreciate each other as adults, even as they admit to deep feelings from their childhood.


Read more about the cozy mysteries by Janis Lane on Amazon.

Janis Lane is the pen-name for gifted author Emma Lane who writes cozy mysteries as Janis, Regency as Emma, and spice as Sunny Lane.

She lives in Western New York where winter is snowy, spring arrives with rave reviews, summer days are long and velvet, and fall leaves are riotous in color. At long last she enjoys the perfect bow window for her desk where she is treated to a year-round panoramic view of nature. Her computer opens up a fourth fascinating window to the world. Her patient husband is always available to help with a plot twist and encourage Emma to never quit. Her day job is working with flowers at Herbtique and Plant Nursery, the nursery she and her son own.

Look for information about writing and plants on Emma’s new website. Leave a comment or a gardening question and put a smile on Emma’s face.

Stay connected to Emma on Facebook and Twitter.

A new Reedsville story from Holley Trent

I just couldn’t resist, so here’s another broke minor league baseball player for you. (You’re welcome!) You may have met Gary in my previous Reedsville Roosters story Designated Hitter. I brought him back in his own novel, because a novella just wouldn’t do for his trio. Gary’s got more issues than Sports Illustrated Magazine, and his lovers aren’t doing much better.

I love when romances have messy people. 🙂

Out of Bounds mmf romance Holley Trent

Gary Morstad has had more than his fair share of intimate encounters with married women, but he thought he’d left that promiscuous lifestyle behind when he hightailed it out of the Miami manservant scene. He wants love, not more meaningless encounters. So, it’s just his luck that a greasy mechanic with the charm of a turnip has hooked the only woman Gary has ever wanted to behave himself for.

When the taciturn mechanic—Dean Yeats—vengefully volunteers to chaperone Gary during his mortifying return to his former minor league team, their antagonistic exchanges segue to a smoldering two-way attraction…and then a three-way one.

Gary’s over-the-top antics and larger-than-life personality get Dean loose and laughing in the way Dean’s wife Lorena craves seeing, however Lorena worries their ménage arrangement won’t outlast the season. Gary is endearing and unforgettable, but he’s also reckless. Men like him rarely play by the rules, and she’s not so sure she and Dean can help him make the new ones Gary so desperately needs.

Get Out of Bounds now at Amazon:

Amazon US
Amazon CA
Amazon UK
Amazon AU

Recent Events by Lynn Lorenz

It’s my turn to blog. Just a few days ago, the unthinkable happened. A Muslim man, armed with several weapons, entered a gay nightclub filled with Hispanic gay men and killed over 50, wounding another 50, at least. The total death toll could be higher.

From all accounts, it was both domestic terrorism and a hate crime against LGBT people.

Everyone is shaken to their cores, horrified by this event, and the loss of so many lives and the wounding of many, many more. I’ll say everyone, because if this mass murder doesn’t sicken you, there is something very wrong with you. I’m guessing there are people who relish this act, but I’m not talking to those people. They are lost.

There is much to say about how and why this happened, and from what I can tell, only two reasons. One we can’t fight and the other we can.

We can not fight ideas. There is no bomb, no weapon, that can slay ideas, especially those ideas that tell people to hate other people who are not like them. We can’t find every person who believes in these ideas, and kill them. It’s impossible.

But we can fight how these people kill so many people and that’s by enacting major changes in gun control. By making it impossible for anyone to purchase automatic weapons built solely to kill people, like the AR-15, the most used weapon in the many assaults on people here in the US.

How we do that is by electing officials who also believe these laws need to be changed, loop holes closed, ID checks for every gun sale, and others. No the laws won’t stop the ideas, but they will stop the carnage.

This November, let’s clean house and the senate. Please take the time to learn what the opposing and sitting officials’ records are against and for gun control. It might not be a Democrat, it might be a third party candidate. The trick about voting for change is there have to be people, men and women, who are willing to run to affect that change. Be informed.

Just cleaning house and replacing current leaders with new leaders who don’t believe in enacting that change just puts us in the same boat as before. I don’t hold out much hope with the current government who refuse to do what’s necessary to protect it’s citizens, even from themselves, because after Sandy Hook, where an armed man slaughtered school children – children – and these same legislators did nothing about it, I don’t believe they will do anything about a nightclub full of gay men being slaughtered or wounded.

This November, vote for change. Make one of your platform issues gun control. Vote those who refused to change the laws to protect our children, because, believe me, every one of those people in the Pulse club were someone’s children, out of office.

Vote for change. Vote for our future. Vote for our children.

Tami Lund Talks (Real) Guardian Angels

I have been awfully quiet about this incident since it happened, at my mother-in-law’s bequest. I think she wanted to know everything would be okay before she let people know what was going on in our lives.

Six weeks ago, my father-in-law had a heart attack. A pretty severe one. The doctors called it a “suicide attack” or something insanely scary like that. And yes, he’s still with us. Not only still with us, but is expected to make a full recovery.

To say we are relieved is an understatement. A drastic understatement.

Here’s what happened: He and my mother-in-law went to the movies. In the middle of the climactic, pivotal scene, my father-in-law’s heart stopped. Just gave up the ghost. As we have learned since, one of his heart muscles wore out. Picture a wind sock, flitting about in the breeze. That was my father-in-law’s arteries for a few moments there.

A Good Samaritan named Kim leaped from her seat and immediately began performing CPR, while my mother-in-law powered up her phone to call 9-1-1 (yeah, she’s one of those people who actually follows the movie theater’s rules).

Kim saved my father-in-law’s life. Literally. The plethora of doctors who worked on him in the emergency room all said the same thing. “The fact that someone administered CPR so quickly is why he is still with us.”

And we don’t even know her last name.

Yep. She gave him CPR until the paramedics arrived and took over, and then she followed my mother-in-law to the hospital. She walked into the waiting room and gave all of us hugs and played down her very important role in all of this, and then she quietly left. All we know is her name is Kim and she is our family’s Guardian Angel.

We needed Kim that day, more than she will ever, ever realize. My father-in-law’s heart attack happened seven weeks after my son’s death, almost to the day. It happened as I was driving home from my day job, just like with my son. I walked in the door and my husband said, “My dad had a heart attack. Reagan (my daughter) is with the neighbors. We have to go to the hospital.”

Just like with my son.

We drove the same route. The same time of day. The same car. I was driving, both times, which is unusual when my husband and I are together. I hate driving, and I spend two hours every day commuting back and forth to my day job. Normally, I immediately hand over the keys. But in both cases, it seemed more prudent to just jump in the car and drive.

I spent that seven minute drive trying not to think anything at all. Not positive, not negative, not about my son, not about the future. During the ride to the hospital on the day my son died, I spent the entire seven minutes convincing myself he was going to be fine. I was afraid to do the same thing with my father-in-law, afraid I would jinx the situation.

When we arrived at the hospital, I am pretty sure I parked in the exact same spot in the parking structure. When we walked into the emergency room, we were greeted by the exact same security guard, who sent us to the exact same private waiting room.

It was not a good day, although, gratefully, it ended up that way.

You see, I know he has to die sometimes. Everybody does, right? It’s the circle of life, and it’s supposed to last, you know, seventy or eighty, or if we’re really lucky, ninety years or so. He’s seventy-five years old. That isn’t “too young” by any means, and he’s had his fair share of health issues over the years. Everyone dies, and when you’re in your seventies, it’s not exactly unexpected.

But I am selfishly so very glad that day was not his day. I don’t think my family could have handled it. For the last three months, we have been praised for how well we have managed to handle my son’s death, but here’s the cold, hard truth: we simply survived. We did whatever made sense based on the fact that we were still alive and we still have a ten-year-old daughter to raise and none of our lives are remotely over. I suppose there are a million other ways we could have carried ourselves, different decisions we could have made, but we didn’t spend time pondering what made sense. We have simply chosen… to live.

But I am not entirely convinced we could have been so “strong” had we lost my father-in-law so very quickly after losing my son. I am so grateful we did not have to find out.

And I’m so very grateful for our Guardian Angel, Kim. So much so, that I’ve decided to dedicate my sixth Lightbearer book to her. It’s about a selfless healer who has a hard time stepping back from her job and focusing on her own life, and the man who loves her. Seems appropriate, doesn’t it?

Tami Lund Headshot 2014

Tami Lund likes to write and drink wine while pondering the fact that real life sometimes reads like a book.

If you want to, check out her website. There might be a free read or two: