Funny & Fr*ee Read from Tami Lund

Here’s the skinny. I wrote another book. I know, I know, not shocking in the least. I’ve got three of them releasing in September alone. What’s special about this one, you ask?

Let me tell you.

It reads pretty much contemporary but there are some… curious elements that make it enjoyable for paranormal fans, too. It’s a friends to lovers romance with a heavy dose of funny.

The heroine, Adelle, and the hero, Ben, have been buddies for ten years, and for the last four, they’ve lived in the same house. Totally platonic, for reasons from their individual pasts:


Like her, Ben also had a fear of relationships, although for very different reasons. She’d sworn off relationships after being jilted in the most humiliating way possible; he’d sworn off them after his parents divorced, got back together, divorced again, got back together, divorced again, and the last she’d heard, his mother was shacking up with his uncle and his dad was in Vegas chasing a showgirl. Ben wasn’t entirely sure the showgirl was actually a girl.


There’s a secondary character named Vivienne who may just steal the show. Here’s a tidbit from the book. This is the first time Adelle, the heroine, meets Vivienne:


The inside of the tent was bare save for piles of silken material strewn on the floor and an elderly woman who sat in a throne-like chair, a small round table before her. A squat, grinning jack-o-lantern and a fat red candle with a bright, tall flame were perched on the table. The candle and the carved pumpkin were the only lights in the tent, but they clearly illuminated the woman who sat behind them.

The woman who, by Adelle’s judgment, looked to be approximately a thousand years old. Her face was heavily lined, her cheeks sagged, her nose was crooked. She wore a brightly colored scarf on her head, wispy gray hairs sticking out from under the silky material. Her body was covered with the same type of peasant shirt and billowing skirt that Adelle wore, except it was uncomfortably obvious she wasn’t wearing a cleavage-enhancing bra, because her breasts hung somewhere in the vicinity of her knees.

“Quit staring at me, girl. You’ll look like this someday, too, if you’re lucky.”


“Lucky,” the woman said, as if Adelle had repeated the word out loud. “You wanna know how many hunks I had in my day? There’s a reason I look so worn out.” She cackled loudly as she smacked the top of the table, shaking the jack-o-lantern and causing the candle flame to shimmer.


Vivienne, much to Adelle’s frustration, seems to think Ben and Adelle should be more than friends, although her delivery of such news is a tad… unconventional:


“You’re an even bigger idiot than I thought, if you’re sleeping in the same house night after night and not tapping that hunk o’ man.” The woman leaped out of her chair and did a creepy sort of gyration that sent her loose skin to flapping.

Adelle’s eyes widened. The last time she’d seen something this horrifying had been when Ben’s mother had climbed onto the dining room table and attempted a strip tease with the Thanksgiving turkey parked between her feet, a drunken retaliation to his father having informed her he wasn’t sure if he liked women anymore, specifically her.


Vivienne also likes to give, er, dating advice:


“It doesn’t have to be all about sex, you know.”

“Sure it does. You already have everything else with him. He’s your best friend, your roommate, and he’s hotter than the area between my thighs—what? Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. Surely you’ve gotten all hot and bothered … no, wait, you probably haven’t. Otherwise, I cannot imagine why you have not yet figured out a way to convince that man to clean out your cobwebs with his womb broom.”

“You are the most depraved woman I have ever met.”

“I’m the most right woman you have ever met,” Vivienne corrected. “I would bet you my mirror that once you finally cream that boy’s Twinkie, you won’t let him up for air for a nice long time. You’ll probably get fired from your job because you’ll still have your thighs wrapped around his waist and will be refusing to let go.”

Yeah, sounds interesting, doesn’t it? Well guess what? It’s scheduled for release on September 28, but I’ve decided this book is way too much fun to wait so long to read. So I’m giving it away free, before it releases.

Just go here: to claim your copy (epub or mobi).

And when you’re done, go here: – and let me know what you thought. That’s all there is to it.

Thank you and enjoy the read!

PS – If you enjoy this book, be sure to signup for my mailing list, so you’re the first to know when the rest of ’em release:

Tami Lund Headshot 2014

Tami Lund is a writer, wine drinker, and possesser of a rather quirky sense of humor. All of which she hopes translates into many book hangovers for her readers.

The sounds of Holley.

audiobook with headphones

I feel like I haven’t popped in in forever. It’s been one of those unexpectedly busy summers and I’ve been dropping the ball all over the place. I’ve taken trips to both coasts (one coast twice) and also hung out on a boat for about a week. I’ve also had a body-rattling cough for about two weeks—a gift from either the cruise ship or from the Uber driver with the phlegmy throat.

The kids are finally back in school, and though my house is a mess (which made for a somewhat mortifying appraisal experience a couple of days ago because apparently you can’t just turn off the lights and wish the dirt away), I’m finally settling back into a regular writing and admin schedule.

UnwrappingMrRothFinalAudioOne of the things I’m working on right now is trying to get audiobook versions produced for my Hearth Motel books. Hearth is one of my shorter series, thus far, which is why I’ve picked that one to start with.

Specifically, I’m putting the holiday novella Unwrapping Mr. Roth through the process first. I’m currently screening narrator auditions, and I think I’ve got some really good ones! Of course, I have voices in my mind of what I think Gillian and Nick sound like, but what’s most important to me is the actor nailing my particular brand of humor.

I’m excited to see what shakes out, and hopefully, I’ll have more news about that project soon. Once that’s locked in, I’ll start planning for Prince in Leather. Ideally, I’ll use the same narrator for the entire series, but we’ll see if the stars align.

Question for you audiobook listeners: do you prefer male or female narrators in romances with dual POV? Will you skip an audiobook if the narrator’s gender isn’t right?

Let me know! I’m so curious.

Shooting Bear – A Puppy Tale

KaLyn and Little Bear2 fav

We finally had success.

This past Sunday, I meticulously curled my hair and actually put on makeup for the first time in over a month.  Don’t judge me, it was Day 25, post hip replacement surgery. I felt prepared for my photo shoot….with Little Bear.

2016-08-21 13.48.54That day I changed his name to Little Bastard. He had found the only mud puddle in our yard, by creating one all by himself. He was so proud as he splashed and played “Can’t Catch Me” with Favorite (only) Son.

Once cleaned up, Macho Marine decided we should take the pictures in my favorite spot, my porch swing. That worked for me since I needed to sit due to the surgery.

SIDE BAR: I have discovered that controlling 65 pounds of muscle with the ADHD brain of an unrepentant child, is nearly impossible. Oh, you want me to sit here? Where? Here? Or over here? Shiny object! And he bolts until he reaches the end of his leash, jerking me to my core. Reminder: I’m Day 25 so my core isn’t what I consider stable and strong, yet.

So I sat down on the swing, and MM wrangled Little Bear onto it beside me.

He didn’t fit. His butt fell off.

More lifting, maneuvering, and repositioning. We put his head in my lap and decided that would have to work.

At this point I decided the black slacks were a poor choice on my part since Little Bear was shedding.

2016-08-21 15.01.31As I wiggled to get comfortable, the swing moved.

Did I mention that Little Bear gets car sick? Yep. About the time I heard his stomach gurgle, I warned MM to hurry up.

Needless to say, none of those pictures worked. It might have been operator error, though, but I learned many years ago you don’t mention such things to your spouse, who is doing you a favor.

2016-08-21 15.36.20

Little Bear not wanting to look at Macho Marine and the camera

Several Ginger Snaps later, we moved the photo shoot from hell inside. In case you didn’t know, the cookies help settle a dog’s stomach….and the sugar improved MM’s mood because he likes them too.

Seated in a century-old rocker given to MM’s grandparents as a wedding gift, in front of the fireplace MM and Favorite Son built last fall, we finally got Little Bear to cooperate for one, mind you just 1, good picture, out of more than two dozen.

The picture will be used as part of a national campaign promoting Dog Tags for Christmas. Noel’s Puppy Power is my contribution to the anthology with Lindsay McKenna and J.M. Madden.

You can pre-order Dog Tags for Christmas here:

Top 5 Reasons Everyone Has a Secret Amnesia Wish (according to Sara Daniel)

banner Bride Worth Fighting For

  1. You can forget about that douche who dumped/cheated on you. A chance to forget about your lousy ex? Heck, yeah. Sign me up now!
  1. You can forget about all those bills left over from the holidays. The new toys are broken or out of batteries. Your new sweater got put in the dryer and is too small for a Chihuahua. And you’re pretty sure the Chihuahua’s to blame for your missing left glove too. But the credit card bill refuses to give up on those regrettable must-haves. If you can’t make them go away, at least you can forget about them for a while…or forever.
  1. You can forget about that relative who totally ruined your holiday too. Speaking of the holidays, you can’t stop replaying that scene in your head where little Timmy ran around the house with your vibrator and Uncle Sicko suggested you to give a family demonstration. Pass the brain bleach, please.
  1. You can ask for help re-learning all those things you were too embarrassed to admit you didn’t know how to do. Let’s face it. You have no clue how the TV-Blu-Ray setup in your living room works. All you know is it has more cords and remote controls than a spaceship. But now you have the chance to learn how to operate it, so you can pop in While You Were Sleeping without your significant other rolling his eyes. Plus, you need to see the movie again because you don’t remember anything about the story.
  1. You get to fall in love again for the first time. There’s nothing quite like falling in love with that special someone you plan to spend the rest of your life with. But a few years into happily ever after, the relationship becomes bogged in the middle of a giant game of keep away. Dirty dishes, laundry, the day job, bills, and kids all work together to keep the spark that drew you two together away from you. But throw in some amnesia, and now you have to discover who this person is that you’ve pledged your life to. And that matters a lot more than a few mountains of laundry. Plus, the toe-curling, heart-pounding, cheek-flushing thrill of new love is an experience that will reward you every day for years to come.

Since I don’t recommending knocking yourself over in the head in hopes of sampling the rewards of amnesia, go for the vicarious experience, courtesy of Gwen Fairfax in A Bride Worth Fighting For.

ABrideWorthFightingForFinal_200x300If she remembers the past, they won’t have a future.

Gwen Fairfax awakens in a hospital, deluged by stabbing head pain and unable to remember anything about her past, especially the man who claims to be her fiancé. A trip to the Wiccan Haus is her only hope to discover the woman she used to be, understand her mysterious dreams about a resort, and fall in love with the man she’s supposed to marry.

To stop his stepmother’s land development schemes from ruining the natural habitat he’s dedicated his life to preserving, Tucker Wilde is willing to do anything, even pretend to be engaged to the woman his brother left at the altar. But he isn’t prepared for the sweet, vulnerable woman to tempt him at every turn until he longs to give in to the temptation.

The more Gwen gets to know Tucker, the more she’s certain he’s a man worth remembering. But if the Wiccan Haus heals her memory, he’ll have to fight to keep his bride.



“This week is for you, Gwen, not me.”

She shook her head as they stepped into the elevator. “It’s for both of us. Just because you’re helping me get my memory back doesn’t mean you should have any less of a vacation.”

If he wasn’t enjoying himself, why would he want to share his life with her? Up until dinner, his complete focus had been on her, but his eyes didn’t shine when he looked at her the way they did when he talked about his conservation efforts.

Just because they were engaged didn’t mean their relationship had been perfect before she’d lost her memory. By paying attention to what he loved, she could strengthen their bond or discover if they were right for each other at all.

As the elevator crawled upward, she glanced at him, unable to believe he wasn’t right for her. Not only was she comfortable with him, their chemistry compounded with every passing moment. The real question was if she fit with him, but she didn’t know herself well enough to answer.

The elevator doors opened, and Tucker placed his palm against her back as they exited. A few steps later, they stopped in front of her room. “This is you,” he said.

“Yeah.” Now what? She had no idea how to wrap up the evening and no past experience to fall back on. “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a euphemism for something else?”

Oh gosh. She might not have a memory, but she understood what she’d implied. She forced a laugh to cover her embarrassment and deflect the sex offer she definitely wasn’t ready for him to take her up on. “Apparently, you’ve gotten engaged to a clichéd and trite woman. I fell asleep so fast earlier, I didn’t notice if the room had a coffee pot.”

His lips twitched. “I would never get engaged to a cliché. Don’t sell yourself short.”

She rubbed her temples. If he’d been attracted to something unique and special about her, she’d like a clue what that thing might be. She enjoyed getting reacquainted with him, but getting to know herself proved far more unsettling. “Okay, no coffee and no euphemistic coffee. Uh, good night?”

“A goodnight kiss?” he suggested.

She dropped her gaze to his full pink lips. How many times had those lips kissed hers before? She wanted to remember, but she couldn’t handle the intimacy of a full, deep kiss when who she was remained elusive.

Rising on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips over his cheek, scratchy with his customary beard stubble. The touch warmed her, inviting her to linger and explore his face. Instead, she pulled away.

A Bride Worth Fighting For

Wiccan Haus Series
ISBN: 978-1-61333-888-9
Length: 32,000 words

Amazon | All Romance eBooks | Google Play | iBooks | Kobo

all 3 from DominiqueSara Daniel writes what she loves to read—irresistible romance, from sweet to steamy and everything in between. She grew up in a small town and was once a landlord of two uninvited squirrels. She loses her car keys three times a day, occasionally loses her husband, but never, ever loses her laptop.  Subscribe to Sara’s newsletter: Visit her website:
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Sinner Free at Amazon! Manhandled on Sale for $.99!

Now’s the time to pick up Sinner FREE at Amazon for a limited time only! And Manhandled is just $.99!!!

Here are the purchase links and remember Sinner is FREE:

Excerpt from Manhandled:

Rolan Anthony Paxton’s dawn fantasy had him in a state of rapture.Manhandled-Jianne_Carlo-200x320

“Rolan, sweetie?”

Stifling an automatic wince, he lifted one eyelid and looked at the blonde servicing him. Cindy-something, great boobs and a god-awful, high-pitched, nails-on-the-blackboard voice. He should have picked the other one.


The yacht’s engines hummed to life, and the boat vibrated and rocked. An open porthole let Mediterranean brine into the room, along with an unexpected morning chill. Monte Carlo’s perpetual traffic buzzed in the background.

At least she hadn’t stopped using those wonderful hands, but that happy thought evaporated with the dig of a nail.

“Ouch,” he winced and glanced down. “Watch the nails, babe.”

“Oops, sorry.” She cupped a hand over her mouth to suppress a nervous giggle.

A barrage of firm knocks hit the cabin door, and he cut to the sound, mood souring and lips curling.

Figured—it took him longer and longer these days, and the slightest mishap turned him off. Age, it had to be, since he was thirty-one and tired of the same old, same old.

Money, fame, success—he had it all and nothing counted anymore.

He knew he should be grateful. How many athletes made it to the championship, not once, not twice, but three times?

Startled out of his brooding by a repeat of rapping on the burnished mahogany door, he shot a look at the blonde and ordered, “Cover up.”

In a louder tone, he called, “Come in.”

Without looking up, he snagged the cover sheet and began drawing it over his calves. He stopped when an audibly gasped “Oh, no” penetrated the silence.

His head snapped up, and a stunned paralysis claimed his limbs.

He’d never forgotten those eyes, the color of liquid caramel, that wild hair, every shade of a fiery sunset, and a bottom lip so plump, so inviting that one night he hadn’t been able to resist nibbling on it for hours.

Sarita Khan, the nose-in-a-book classmate he’d been forced to serve four Saturdays of detention with during his last year in high school. The girl whose virginity he’d taken on prom night after breaking up with the captain of the cheerleading team. Those sweet elfin features haunted his dreams intermittently over the last twelve years. Adrenalin surged in his veins, and his heartbeat accelerated.

Sarita, his Sarita.

That bronze-dusted complexion paled beneath his scrutiny and she swayed. The breakfast tray balanced on her forearms listed back and forth. She swallowed, slapped a palm onto the table cemented to the left, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Are you okay?” He hopped out of the bed, oblivious to his nudity, and stalked forward. “Here, let me take that.”

For a few seconds she gripped the tray tighter, but she didn’t lift her lids. Then her hold slackened.

He tugged the tray away and set it on the table. Eyes Krazy Glued to her delicate, heart-shaped face, raking a quick assessment of the changes over the last twelve years, he forgot Cindy, the boat, the injuries plaguing his career—everything save Sarita and sweet memories. The compulsion to trace the soft curve of her cheek, cup her face, and suck that lower lip was defeated only by a nervous giggle in the background. Rolan stifled an internal groan, and he fisted his hands.

Excerpt from Sinner:

The first kitchen cabinet she opened yielded ten packs of candles. By the time Lincoln Sinner-Jianne_Carlo-200x320returned, Destiny had finished her list, and a dozen flickering candles imbued a soft golden glow to the main cabin.

Surveying the room, she sighed.

Wasn’t this every woman’s fantasy?

Stuck in a warm cabin in the mountains with a hunk who looked like he knew more about sex than Antonio Banderas. So he thought she was easy. It wasn’t as if they’d ever meet again in real life. And he didn’t seem to have any problem with her being ten pounds overweight. Okay, okay, maybe fifteen. But who would know? In four months she turned twenty-seven, and she’d never had torrid sex, never had a hot affair.

The wind howled and lifted the top of a snowdrift into the air when Lincoln, carrying a bundle of logs, kicked the door open. An icy finger sailed on the gust, trailing a chill around Destiny’s neck. She wished she’d packed a scarf, and tugged the blanket over one ear.

Lincoln used his boot to slam the door shut.

“Why didn’t you start a fire?”

“With what?” She’d held a dozen lit matches to one log, and the wood didn’t even catch a spark.

He looked to the ceiling.

“The normal tools—paper, logs.”

“Bite me,” Destiny snapped. All dreams of a romantic snowed-in couple of days went poof. What a bully.

He stacked the logs on the other side of the fireplace and, in less time than it took her to inhale, or so it seemed, had a blazing fire crackling and spewing sparks. The scent of pine infused the air.

“I will.” He stood and unzipped his parka. “You like it rough, I take it?”

Lincoln shrugged out of his jacket, stowed the garment on the three-hook wooden coat stand to the right of the door, turned to face her, and smiled.

She shivered. The man had a bone-melting, devil-may-care grin.

“What?” He couldn’t mean….

“You like to be bitten?” A forefinger stroked the cleft of his chin.

“None of your business. What are you? Into kink?”

“Depends on the kink. I’m not into pain, but I’m not averse to a love bite here and there. Or a few spanks.”

Spanks? She was in over her head. Cripes, she’d always wondered about that. Pervasive guilt from Sunday school lessons and spending three hours in a porn superstore made her blurt, “Look, let’s get a few points cleared up. Those toys and DVDs weren’t for me. I don’t do that kind of stuff.” She paused, trying to erase the image from her pupils of her over his knees.

“And here I was hoping that deep throat was your specialty.” He started unbuttoning his shirt. “Do we have food?”


Hope this starts your Magic Monday!




Tami Lund Asks: Bearded or Unbearded

Bearded or unbearded?

This was a teasing comment from a post that—initially—had nothing to do with exactly what you are thinking right now. But I couldn’t help it—I started to think—exactly what you are thinking right now.

Bearded or unbearded?

I’m old enough to know that once upon a time, sexy pics didn’t necessarily equate non-bearded pics.

I’m not even talking about girls, either. Let’s focus on the guys for a minute.


Oops, sorry, I was distracted. Thinking about guys. First, the obvious beard: facial hair. Me? I’m all for it. My husband is a high school football official. It’s his side gig, something he does for fun, yet he takes as seriously (or more so) as his day job. Last fall, in an effort to prove how badly they wanted to work the finals (the gold medal of football officiating, if you will), his crew all went clean shaven for the season.

I’m not sure who was more obnoxious about our displeasure—me or my daughter. He’s had an extended goatee since she was a baby, and she’s eleven now. She was probably unhappy due to the change. Me, I just like the facial hair.


Pic Courtesy of “Men’s Guide to 16 Beards” –

Now, let’s travel south. Naked torsos. Yeah, let’s stop there for a while.

Chiseled muscles. Six-pack abs. That V… Me, I could care less if it’s bearded or not. Actually, that’s not true. I kinda want a little beard. It feels more… real. Less porn.

Now, let’s head even farther south… Still with me? I figured you were. I’m not the only one who’s dying to find out what that V is pointing at.

Beard or no beard? That’s a legitimate question. Let’s face it; most guys probably have an abundance of…beard. I mean, guys are hairy creatures. They just are. Often more so on points south of their shiny bald heads.

There are places I’d rather not see a beard. Like on a guy’s back. So I suppose that means I don’t want one everywhere.

I’m okay if it’s a bit thick down… there. I was born in the seventies. Started having sex in the nineties. Fell in love with my first rock star back when Jon Bon Jovi still had a hairy chest. A really hairy chest.

So I suppose I’d say I’m kinda used to it. But times change. People grow. And shave. And wax. And laser. And I’m a flexible kind of girl. I go wih the flow. I’ve adapted to this new, bearded, yet often beardless society. I think I’m happy either way-or with the best of both worlds.

How about you? Beard or no beard? Or all of the above?

Tami Lund Headshot 2014

Tami Lund is a writer and wine drinker who ponders the strangest things. Head on over to her website for more interesting reads….

The Problem with Puppies

Noel's Puppy PowerAs I write Noel’s Puppy Power, the antics of my own 7-month-old puppy, Little Bear, continue to appear.

2016-04-12 12.18.19

When Little Bear was about three months old, he and I visited the Granddoll and Favorite (only) Daughter. He destroyed the carpet in the guest bedroom.

2016-07-01 21.21.44We needed to go to Florida when Little Bear was six months old  so I discussed his carsickness problem with the vet. He gave us magic pills.  Or, maybe it was the fact we took the motorhome. I don’t care, he didn’t get sick and rode like a champ.

I personally love the weather in East Tennessee. It’s been in the 90’s lately so Bear prefers to spend his days inside with me while I write, face over top the register enjoying the air conditioning. The other day I heard a clunk. Then a clink. Followed by Little Bear’s clanking dog tags…but the sound wasn’t quite right. I found him in the bathroom, pawing at the floor register which was stuck on his dog tags, hanging around his neck like a huge prize.

Now that I’ve shared some of my dog stories, please COMMENT below with your puppy stories. 

>>Someone will be selected at Random to WIN a COPY of Noel’s Puppy Power!!!

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Dog Tags for Christmas

Pre-order TODAY!!

Noel’s Puppy Power by KaLyn Cooper

Tanner Hill is better at communicating with animals than women. That might be why he hasn’t had a second date in over two years. He’s also been extremely busy with his kennel that has become the premier training facility, specializing in supplying dogs to veterans suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Then again, there is this psychologist he can’t get out of his head, or his heart.

Dr. Bailey Conrad would never allow the loss of half her right leg to an IED in Iraq to stop her. Every day at the VA hospital, she sees patients who have lost so much more to the war effort. It’s her goal in life to help as many vets as possible to find a ‘new normal’, because she knows firsthand, it’s the internal scars that can be the most difficult to heal.

SEAL’s Christmas Dream by J.M. Madden

When Veterinarian Willow James’ office is broken into, it’s natural that she turn to her soul mate, former Navy SEAL K9 handler Joe Flynn, to track down the culprits. The trail leads to a notorious Pit-Bull fighting ring. It may take a Christmas miracle and a helpful nudge from an old partner to get everyone home safely.

Snowflake’s Gift by Lindsay McKenna

Two veterans—one human,one canine—have returned to Montana to recover from the traumas of war. FormerArmy Ranger Nick Conway depended on his WMD dog Snowflake to help him navigateIEDs on the battlefield. Now he needs his best friend to help him cope with hisPTSD and acclimate to civilian life. When he meets Holly McGuire and agrees to help her deliver meals to the elderly, her inner light calls to him, but his demons hold him back from giving in to his attraction. But Snowflake takes an immediate shine to the kindhearted Holly—and he has never led Nick down the wrong path.

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Locke and Blade – Lynn’s New Release!

LockeandBlade_WD Here’s the latest release from me. It’s really a re-release, and not much has changed. It’s been edited a bit, so if you already have it, skip it, unless you love the new cover. I want to thank MLR Press for letting me republish this novella. It’s one of my favorites.

Blurb – When Locke and Blade must work together to solve crimes, but will dislike turn to attraction in the heat of fighting their enemies?

Christopher Locke is a man with a tarnished reputation. When he’s transferred to Waterford Station to serve as inspector, he meets Jonathan Blade, his new partner. Jonathan thinks Christopher is a brute. Chris thinks Jonathan is a snob. Both think the other is more than attractive, which might be more dangerous than the enemies they must face.

Except – Jonathan Blade slammed the door of his office, crossed to his desk, and fell into his chair.
“The God be damned!” He ran a hand over his face and then leaned back and closed his eyes.

What had Wilson been thinking, bringing that big brute here to Waterford? They were two men short, true, but Locke? He looked a ruffian, every inch of him, never mind the way the man’s muscles strained at his uniform, or the way the scar on his chin piqued Blade’s interest. Why hadn’t the healers removed the jagged line? Why leave it to mar the man’s rugged good looks?

Was it a symbol of something? A reminder? A vanity?

A man such as Locke would, no doubt, try to take charge; perhaps try to win Blade’s spot as second-in-command. He might try to test his skills against Blade’s, but Blade knew he’d win in that contest. No man or woman had bested him during their station’s competitions, or in actual battle.

Blade always got his man. Always.

Locke’s dismissal—well, not a true dismissal from the force, but a transfer—had been all the talk around the mess tables. Gossip moved fast through the small patroller community; some bloke at Locke’s old station knew someone here, or perhaps the addler’s network carried the information, but no matter how, theories buzzed around like flies on a dead rat, and none of them good.

Blade had heard the man had beaten a suspect to death with those huge hands of his. The thought of that sent a shudder down Blade’s spine. Physical violence was nearly unheard of in their world, unlike the world they’d separated from two hundred years ago. That world had been vicious, brutal, and terrified of majik . Still was, for all they knew. Not many had crossed the portals and lived to tell the tale. Their best majikians had banded together to split the world apart, majik and non-majik, created the portals and fled that world for this one, where majik and civility ruled.

Had Locke come from off-world, crossed one of the hidden portals and managed to inveigle himself into their society? Perhaps that explained the scar.
Blade sat up and pulled open one of his drawers. There had been a missive from headquarters a few months ago about a new training program, one that incorporated physical means with majik.

In the back of the drawer, behind his notebooks, he found the crumpled bit of parchment. He pulled it out and smoothed it down on his desk blotter.
He’d dismissed it at the time, but now, with the arrival of Locke, he began to wonder if Wilson had brought the man here to train them all in the new fighting techniques. Surely Wilson would have told him, his second, about those plans?

An uneasy feeling crept over Blade as he read.

The letter described how they leaped and rolled, firing wands at will, and teleporting in and out of the field of battle to gain strategic advantage. How they’d learned physical combat methods also. It went on to say the Avalon Patrol Station had trained all their patrollers and inspectors in this new form of combat and it had been highly successful in fighting Lord Blackmoor’s men.

Blade didn’t like it when he’d read about it then and he didn’t like it now. Majik was subtle, beautiful in its use, and elegant in form. The wand was a gentleman’s weapon, and only the most skilled inspector could wield it with deadly effect. He’d killed men before in the line of duty, cleanly, with his wand, without using a blood weapon or his soiling his hands. He could imagine that great brute Locke using his fists to beat some poor farmer into submission, and Blade refused to be reduced to the same low element.

If Wilson thought they’d all become hooligans, bravos, and villains in order to fight the new crime wave, he’d have to do it without Inspector Jonathan Blade. And to be saddled with the man as his partner? Wilson had surely lost his mind.

And yet…there was something intensely attractive about Christopher Locke. Something drew Blade to him, like a bee to clover, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it might be. Something in his eyes, something painful and filled with sorrow, a hunger, perhaps.

Blade snorted.

More likely the sheer size of the man. Although Locke was only a few inches taller than Blade, the man weighed more, and by the size of the muscles in his arms and thighs, he would be more powerful.

But only physically. Blade was unwavering in his belief that in terms of majik skill and power, he would win.

Would Locke’s speed and strength win over Blade’s majik?

Not bloody likely.

Well, whatever this new method was, he wasn’t interested in using his fists. The very idea was beneath him and the rank of inspector of the patrol.
A voice niggled in the back of his mind. You’re attracted to him…admit it.

Bloody hell, he couldn’t think that way. First, the patrol frowned on fraternization among staff and secondly, their society did not approve of men desiring men. It wasn’t outlawed, but it certainly wasn’t the norm. Still, he’d heard rumors of some stations where inspectors were more than friends.


That word raised the hair on his arms and the back of his neck.

Men couldn’t be lovers, could they? They could share their bodies, he’d heard whispers, but what of their hearts? He’d never seen it, not in his thirty years, and as a man who desired men he’d come to accept he’d have to keep to himself, squelch those needs, keep them buried for the rest of his life.

That longing had been there ever since the first time he’d noticed one of the young grooms on his father’s estate. and fFelt that first hardening of his cock at the sight of the lad’s half-naked body as he jumped into the small creek running through their lands.

The boy’s hair had dripped wet and dark down sun-tanned skin, his teeth showed white as he laughed, and Blade had felt that first throbbing pull of attraction. He’d promptly shoved it down inside his very soul, terrified to admit it to himself or let anyone else know about it.

Luckily, his older brother would be the one to create the next heir, and Blade had been left to pursue his dreams of being in the patrol service.
Now his life was the patrol, the One God, this station, and he’d do nothing to jeopardize it. Not even for the pleasures of the flesh or the hope of a lifelong companion.

The One God had no written commandments forbidding men to lie together and he knew it happened in some corners of their society. There were whispers that among the holy fathers, friendships deepened into more.

Blade knew his own body’s urges and he sated them alone, in his room, picturing vague male bodies entwined, as if seen through a veil of gauze, imagining everything from touching to rubbing, even kissing. What more could men share?

Certainly not what men shared with women. His father and older brother had told him of that…his father to educate; his brother to brag.

Just thinking of that young man of his youth made his cock grow stiff. He adjusted it in his trousers, shifting in his chair. The touch of his hand sent a wave of pleasure through him.

A knock sounded on his door and he jerked his hand away.

“Enter!” he called out, snatching up his quill pen.

The door opened and Christopher Locke stood there.

To win a copy of the ebook, comment here. I’ll wait until Wednesday to pick a winner.

Here are some of the buy links –
MLR Press

Wait, This is an Interview?

Q: What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?

TL: This year, it’s that I’m 25. Next year, it’ll be that I’m 25, except it’ll be an even bigger lie.


Q: Do you have any gray hairs?

TL: What the hell kind of question is that? And frankly, I don’t even know. You’d have to ask my hairdresser, and if she tells you, I’ll write you into a book and kill you. Just sayin’.


Q: Do the sex scenes in your books represent real life?

TL: If the sex scenes in any book represented real life, would you be reading, or would you be in the bedroom/kitchen/shower/on a motorcycle/in the woods/on the beach/in an airplane right now?

Lovely Woman Posing With a Wolf

Q: Which of your heroes in your favorite?

TL: How fair is that question? I’d never insult my guys by choosing one over the other. It’s just plain mean. And just because Brandon Sarantos (from my book, Candy Crush) is my perfect book boyfriend means nothing, I swear, Quinn/Tanner/Finn/James/Jesse/Anton/Matt/Josh/Gavin/Matteo/all future heroes yet to be written…


Q: Which trait do you like least in a heroine?

TL: Hm. I could get myself in trouble with this one, so I think I’ll pass.


Q: Seriously?

TL: Yep.


Q: Do you like reading billionaire romance?

TL: I like reading romance in which the money isn’t remotely a contributing factor to the love between the hero and heroine. Okay, maybe I should have answered that heroine one and skipped this one. Damn it.


Q: How about “I’m going to marry her and force her to have my baby” romance?

TL: That’s romance?


Q: Okay, fine. What’s your favorite romance trope?

TL: Give me a great best friends-to-lovers or second chance love or a well done love triangle, and you have a fan for life.


Q: Do you love animals?

TL: Does an author write?


Q: Do you write animals into your books?
TL: Does an author write? Also, I write shifter romance, so, duh.

Boys in Blue Cover_Updated

Q: Red wine or white wine?

TL: Wine.


Q: McDonald’s or Burger King?
TL: Do they have wine?


Q: Favorite place to write?

TL: These questions are boring.

LSB Cover Art Template for PhotoShop

Q: Um, okay, uh… Do you think of your husband when you write?

TL: Do you think of your husband when you read?


Q: Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

TL: Still claiming I’m 25.

Delicious Deception

Q: Huh. Well, that was certainly one of the most… interesting author interviews I’ve ever experienced.

TL: That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?

Tami Lund Headshot 2014

Tami Lund writes, drinks wine, and is occasionally featured in author interviews. Her weird sense of humor often comes out in her books, and definitely can be enjoyed over in her Facebook group, Come Wine with Tami.

150 Authors (including Sara Daniel) Celebrate Strong Women

Friends, this giveaway is so massive and so awesome that I swapped out the post I had planned for today so I could tell you all about it! Check it out:strong women - tempting mr forever

Strong Women Giveaway

Who: 150 authors across multiple genres and heat levels

Why: Because strong women need to be celebrated and read!

How: Click here and enter to win!

Prize: Chance at 2 $1,000.00 gift cards or weekly $100.00 gift cards, and many, many subscriber gifts!

When: The whole month of August! Winners announced Sept. 1

Tempting Mr Forever-72dpi-1500x2000Tempting Mr. Forever

Love is his enemy…and her answer.

A nationally televised bombshell revealing a secret son turns marriage therapist Caleb Paden’s life upside down. While others focus on the public relations disaster for his company, he can only think of rescuing his baby and providing the stable home dictated by his marriage theories—one devoid of love and emotions.

Olivia Wells might not be the baby’s biological mother, but she loves him as much as any parent could. Letting him go will break her heart. Letting him go to a man who doesn’t believe in love will tear her apart.

As she helps Caleb bond with his child, Olivia finds herself falling for the man behind the stuffy therapist persona. However, he wants nothing to do with her love and emotions, and those are the only things she has to give. If she can’t convince him love is the answer, not the enemy, she will lose both the baby she loves and her heart.

Buy Links:
Barnes & Noble

Awesome right? Okay, now go enter:

group 2b

Come on. What are you waiting for? Someone’s got to win, and I’m not eligible, so I want it to be you. After all, you’ll share with the person who told you about it, right? Right??

Chainsaw Chad!

Wolf_Raider-Jianne_Carlo-200x320One of the coolest aspects of being an author is creating your characters. I love, love giving my heroes and heroines traits that I can only dream about – like being tall. I’m short, as in almost midget short. So, I love to give my gals mile high Rockette legs. And I’ve got boobs, as in humongous breasts. Let’s just say that men talk to my mounds constantly.  So, for the heroine of my latest romance, Lizzie, she’s an amalgam-mile high legs and big boobs. But, she’s a cut-throat lawyer  who knees men in the balls on a regular basis.

Here’s a quick peek at Wolf Raider, book #4 in my White Wolf Pack Series:


Chad sought to allay Lizzie’s anxiety. “I followed you to Decadence.”

“What?” Brows yanking in surprise, she gaped at him. Squinched her eyes closed and mumbled, “No. No.”

Dismay lanced her fervent plea.

His lips twitched, but he knew her temper would explode if she caught him smiling.

“Strange. You thought nothing of going to a BDSM club with the rest of the team. Yet, me being there at the same time makes you blush.”

Before that moment, he would’ve sworn that an entire body couldn’t blush.

“I don’t blush.” She tossed her head and strands of silky hair slid like quicksilver over his forearm somehow igniting his groin.

“True. If I’m not around. But, when I’m with you, you blush like a teenager.” He grinned when the color in her cheeks deepened. Unable to resist the siren temptation of her tousled blue-black curls, he played with the ringlets arranging a few thick strands around the undersides of her breast.

She hissed, her stare fixed to his fingers playing with her tits and hair. “How…how did you find out? That we were going to Decadence?”

He chuckled. “Come on. You know better than that. I know everything that happens with my team. I installed keyboard trackers on your laptops. You were absolutely correct to yell at Dave for emailing the directions to the club to your work address.”

“Keyboard trackers?” she barked, lobbing death-blow daggers at him.

“I protect mine own. You’re mine, Lizzie.” He plucked her rosy nipples, smiling in pure alpha satisfaction when the buds engorged into stiff peaks.

She wriggled her hips and thrust her chest upward.

“You were riveted to that Shibari scene with the Dom. But, you didn’t like it when he blindfolded the female.”

Her eyes had gone so wide all the corner crinkles stretched out. He followed the rapid rise and fall of her ribs and breathed in the musk threading through her fragrance pleased by her swift, passionate arousal.

“Oh.” The one breathy word filled with dawning comprehension.

“Exactly. You’re at my mercy, which is where you’ve always yearned to be. Isn’t that right? Have you fantasized about us together like this?”


Hopefully that excerpt drop-kicked you into next week!

Have a merry Monday!