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Coming October 27: Flames of Fate

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A ghost with a proposition. An exile with orders from the Oracle. Fate never plays fair. Two of my Ellora’s Cave paranormals are back, together in one volume for the first time. Flames of Fate releases Tuesday, October 27, and it is up for preorder now. Brigand Flames Unfulfilled in her relationship and beset by disturbing dreams, Lacey encounters a stranger on a business trip who is as mysterious as he is familiar. He stirs her memories as well as her lust. He wants her. Wants her body. Wants her help. Two lost lovers from a distant past ask Lacey for help of the most intimate kind, and by giving them what they want, she might find what she needs. Fate Unbound Exiled from ancient Greece, Taryn searches modern-day Los Angeles for the one man who can tame her wild heart. The Oracle’s decree: submit to every man who approaches, until she finds the single man who desires submission to her. Then, and only then, may she return to her beloved home. Adrian, the unrecognized son of Ze...
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She propositioned the wrong man. Finally Right, 99 cents through September 17.

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Jaya Vinar teaches other people how to chase their dreams. She’s not taking her own advice. She’s the star of her company’s motivational speaking tour. Sold-out presentations, record book sales, she is on top. But her past lingers nearby like a black cloud. When her boss saddles her with a “personal consultant” to keep her focused, Jaya does her best to scare the man off. Over-the-top, undone-buttons, spank-me-please style. Small problem. The man she propositioned isn’t the consultant. The consultant is three stools down, and he’s not scared off. He’s intrigued, and he’s about to guide her through three private sessions teaching her focus in ways that never appeared in any company handbook. Strawberries. A canoe. A whole lot of whispered instructions. Actually, Conrad Dunn isn’t a consultant. He’s a therapist standing in for his identical twin and he’s sinking fast. Every hour with Jaya makes the lie harder to keep and harder to give up. At night, after the lessons, Jaya pour...
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the bar you swim to, and a big drink for small problems

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You left your hot pink Stanley — the one covered with stickers you collected at a book conference in New York — at the trailhead. There's sand all over the backseat that will still be there at Christmas. You have a tan line shaped like exactly one sandal strap, somebody said "pumpkin spice" out loud on August 12th, and the pool closes Labor Day whether you've used it or not. Enter the Painkiller, a drink that takes your small complaints seriously. This tasty number was invented in the 1970s at a bar in the British Virgin Islands that had no dock. No dock, you ask? Right. To get a drink you swam ashore, which meant your money arrived wet, hence the name: the Soggy Dollar Bar . That may be the highest standard a beach bar can set. You have to actually want it. The official Painkiller calls for Pusser's, a dark navy-style rum made the way the British Royal Navy issued it to sailors right up until 1970. Nutmeg, clove, caramel, a little leather taste. Swap in a light r...
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Build Your Getaway Day...the quiz

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It’s still hot, pumpkin spice season may be on the horizon, but you have summer weekends left. Let’s craft one properly. Lets' do this quiz and make it happen. Pick your answer in each set and add up the points  You arrive at: 7 a.m., before another soul 11, like a civilized person 4 p.m., for the good light After dark You set up: Up by the dunes or in the middle of some trees, away from everyone Right at the water or wherever the best view is Wherever the umbrella or camp chair already is Wherever you can see everything that’s happening In the bag: Your laptop, which you swear you won’t open A paperback you’ll actually finish Three magazines you won’t Sunscreen, cash, and nothing else In your glass: A cold beer, no ceremony A thermos nobody gets to ask about Something frozen and ridiculous Whatever gets handed to you Your company: No one, gloriously One person who doesn’t need entertaining The whole loud crowd Someone you met an hour ago At sunset you’re: Asleep under a towel or b...
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Salvage, American Gigolo with a HEA, pre-order now for August 25 release

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Daniel McKenzie walked away from the glittering underground world when he enlisted. Military service would give him purpose. Discipline. Control. Or so he thought. Back in his canyon farmhouse overlooking the LA coast, he's restless. After his best friend drags him to Tigers, one of the city's exclusive clubs and one of his old haunts, he finds himself back in the life he thought he'd left behind. A connection takes him deeper in and soon he is delivering intimate experiences people can't find anywhere else. Helping couples and singles discover new styles of physical intimacy. A husband who hasn't felt anything since the war. A wife who never confessed her desires. A woman who fled her hometown and the shaming memories there. All encounters contracted, consented to, and finished before the sheets are cold. He's skilled. He's needed. He's burned out. Months of shapeshifting for others leave him empty. When he retreats to the isolated Northern California m...
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Twenty years, eighty-three labels, and four old friends

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I spent a chunk of July doing something I'd been avoiding, reading my own blog. Not all of it. But enough. I'd been meaning to assess things and tidy the place up for over a year, and cleaning means going back through, and going back through means thinking, considering, and making decisions. I’ve been keeping this blog for over twenty years, so, yeah, a lot to think about and go through. I got to work. I deleted posts that no longer serve anyone: contests that closed a decade ago, giveaways for books that have since gone out of print, announcements about events that came and went while some of you were off living your best life elsewhere. Nobody needs a link to enter a drawing that ended in 2009. Or do they… No, they don’t. Next up, the labels. If you'd clicked one before, or looked at them, you might have found a mess. I had eighty-three of them. There were labels used once. There were three different ways of saying the same thing. I got them down to twenty-three, so n...
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Zombies in a Boston blizzard, humor in horror

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A character I named Belmont showed up in my book, Servant of the Undead, due to necessity. He's lumpy and easily over-looked but with time he grew on me. He's been to, lived in , and escaped, the place where Hayden, the poor struggling main character, is just now arriving. This section below was one of my favorites to write. It gave me the opportunity to consider how humor can function in horror. The laughs make the terribleness even more terrible.  Excerpt from  Mistress of the Undead Belmont pushed himself off the floor, shuffled to the bathroom, not bothering to flush the toilet after he pissed. Still naked, he made his way to the kitchen, set the kettle on, grabbed his French press. He reached into the cabinet over the sink for the bag of coffee beans but all he found was an empty space. Rolling onto the balls of his feet, he reached further back, felt around the vacant space, smacking the bottom of the cabinet. “Don’t bother looking. I drank it all.” Hayden froze. Waited ...
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