Monday, November 29, 2010

Jimmy Thomas... all year long....

Well, ladies - so many of you have asked that Jimmy's decided to do the calendar so many wanted... 12 totally stunning, heart-stopping shots of our favourite cover model.... and he's offered to sign the early orders so you'll have them for the Holidays.

Check it out and get that order in! ;)

Here it is "Jimmy Thomas 2011 Calendar" for sale now! :)

Order your calendar(s) by November 30th, 2010 to have your calendar personally autographed by me at no additional cost, and to guarantee Christmas delivery, otherwise chance the busy holiday mailing and... additional charge for personalized autographing ;)

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Guest: Christian McKee

Today my guest is author Christian McKee - and as you can see by these stunning covers, Christian writes beautifully diverse fantasy and erotic tales... So, let's get to know this very talented author - and if you want to see these stunning covers in detail, click on the images and see them full-size!

Christian McKee Interview:

1. How long have you been writing?

I have been writing short stories and dark poetry for a few years now, but only for my personal collection. I have only started writing professionally in the last year.

2. How long have you been a published author?

I will have my debut book coming soon to XoXo Publishing. I have several books coming out with them actually. I may consider publishing my dark poetry one day, haven’t decided yet.

3. What titles do you have available?

I don’t have anything available yet, but I do have one book available for pre-order at the moment. It is called “The Woodlands.”

4. Do you have any new titles coming soon?

I have several paranormal books coming soon:

The Woodlands – The beauty and scenery of the woods, is picture perfect, until the woods get dark. Fear and panic are your new-found friends, so you think…

From The Shadows – They say spirits can become attached to many things, but how attached can a spirit be to one house?

Erotic Para-Normal? – A Collection of short stories. These stories are a Comedic take on thoughts and dreams that people have about sexual encounters with ghosts and spirits. Expect a lot of laughs with this one. I am co-writing this one with several other authors.

From Beyond: The Afterlife – A novel about feelings and emotions about those left behind when someone passes on, but also those surviving, wondering what their loved ones are doing in the ever-after.

5. What is your favourite genre and why?

My favourite genre would have to be the Paranormal, but a close second would be thriller/mystery. I love a good book that will make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and makes me guess out loud what is going to happen next. Books that make me think, yet scare me at the same time is fascinating!

6. What, to you, is the most exciting part of the writing process?

I would have to say that would be the moment I start to get ideas rolling around in my brain for scenes in any of my books. I could be writing on one book, and suddenly ideas for another come into play, so I write them down on a sheet of paper, but if I can work it into the current novel I am working on, I fit it in somewhere.

7. If you could co-author a book with anyone, who would you choose and why?

If I could co-write a book with anyone, I would love to do that with Dean Koontz. I am a big fan of his work, and I like to think of him as my “thriller” inspiration. If I could pick his brain to find out how he does what he does, I would be more than happy to do so.

8. Where can readers find you on the web?

I can be found here:

Here is a small blurb about my up-coming book The Woodlands.

: The story begins in the woods of Northern Ontario. Over the years, many have traveled to the hidden locale, mostly to get away from the monotony of everyday life, only to find that being in the woods, is not always a good idea. The mystery surrounding a particular cabin, hidden well away from the rest of civilization, holds many secrets. Nobody left the cabin alive, not one person to tell the frightening story of what really happens. 20 years later, an avid researcher, interested in myths and scary stories, decides to take it upon herself to find out for real, the true secrets of “The Woodland's". Will she live to tell the scary tale?

Thanks so much for being my guest.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

GUEST: Bronwyn Storm

Why Am I a Writer? Because It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time – Bronwyn Storm

People always ask me why I decided to be a writer. I usually tell them it’s because I love stories and take pleasure in words. While this is all true (and sounds so lovely and artsy), there is a reason that stands above all others: I shouldn’t be allowed out of my house.

It’s true.

Strange things happen to me when I’m in public, and the most innocent errand becomes the stuff of legend (or more precisely, the punch line in any story my friends/family tell). Like the time I went to the store to pick up paper and almost broke into the wrong car (I forgot where I parked and mistook someone else’s car for my own…eek…no wonder my key wouldn’t work). Then there was the time I went to the sub store and ordered a turkey club (forgetting I’m allergic to the stuff).

I know what you’re thinking (well, other than, “How do you forget you’re allergic to turkey and try to break into a car?”): “Bronwyn, this is your own fault for being forgetful.”

Yes, but not always…the truth is, these things seem to start with me and an idea that “seemed like a good idea at the time”…like the time I went out for lunch with a bunch of friends, didn’t realize the buttons on my shirt had popped, and ended up flashing everyone in creation…or the time I met a friend for dinner and had a police chase and arrest happen at the table next to us…

Let’s be honest. When it comes to me, it’s just safer—for everyone—when I stay at home.

To prove this, I submit for your approval, a journey into the Bronwyn Zone.

Location: Edmonton, Alberta
Time: winter

So, there my husband and I are, heading home after a walk with our dogs. I, of course, use the term "walk" in its loosest possible definition. Let's remember, people, I am talking about my dogs and winter-ridden Edmonton.

Yesterday was a balmy -745 degree Celsius, with a wind chill of -8757.

I exaggerate, of course.

It was more like -687.

After bundling up in long johns, snow pants, down jacket, ear muffs, mittens, and scarf, I was ready—well, actually, after bundling up, I realized I had to use the bathroom. So, an hour of undressing, a quick visit to the bathroom, another two hours to get dressed (the kittens had to help). Once I had assured myself that the apparel (all in various shades of purple) did, in fact, make me look like the love child of the Michelin man and a grape, we headed out to the off-leash area.

This doesn't mean that we walked. Of course not.

Next came twenty minutes of negotiations with the dogs. After a firm promise to give them copious amounts of treats, let them have the majority of bed space, and my cup of chai, they got out of the truck. The walk was brisk...ish. Still, they did their business and made some friends, while I managed not to freeze into a lavender fudge-sicle.

So, now we're heading home. We're in various stages of defrosting and some of us (yes, once again) have to pee. Three blocks from the house, I see a little dog jauntily heading down the sidewalk. I look left. I look right. No owner.

“Honey, I think that dog is lost.” Translation: STOP THE CAR.

“Really?” asks my husband in that, I-Kind-Of-Hear-You-But-I'm-Really-Not-Paying-Attention kind of way.

So I try again. “It's awfully cold for a little dog to be out.” Translation: STOP THE CAR!!!!

“Yeah, it is.”

I sigh. I wonder why it is that men are so hard of hearing—any woman could have translated my words. Since I'm in a pinch, I opt to talk Man Language.

“Stop the car. We need to go back and get him.” Y’know, because it seems like a good idea…

He frowns at me, in a “Did I hear you right?” way and says, “I'm sure someone will stop for him.”

I retort with the withering, “Oh. Right. Someone. Let's go and bury the dog right now.” look, which, since I'm giving it, looks less withering and more like “Please, please, don't ask me to leave this dog” pleading.

And my husband, God bless him, who goes along with all my hair-brained schemes and rolls with my “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time” ideas, smiles, capitulates and turns the truck around.

Now, I want you to imagine this. We are on a busy road. It's rush hour and now, NOW, my darling husband decides to give me directions—me, who can get lost in her own basement.

He says, “I'll drive around.”

I, of course, have no flippin clue what he's talking about, but I nod like “sure, no prob,” namely because I don't want any vehicles to smuck into us. So he pulls away, and I head down the side path, bag of dog treats in hand, looking for this dog.

I find him and he seems friendly, if a little wary. I'm not sure if he's a food-whore like my animals, so I go with the soft-voice, shake the bag of treats, and approach slowly.

The dog backpedals, his eyes wide, and I'm sure he's thinking, “Why is this crazy, over-stuffed grape shaking a bag at me!?”

Since I'm not a total idiot, I stop shaking the bag. I keep up with the slow-movement and blither like an idiot plan of action, which seems to work. He must have decided that anyone who's nutty enough to make kissy noises and coo at him, saying, “Oh, why's the little baby-waby out in the coldy-woldy” must be harmless. It's a proven fact, and I'm sure all living creatures know this, that anyone who rhymes in baby-talk isn't really a danger to anyone but themselves (as in, when those who are forced to listen to them, finally snap and suffocate them with the nearest available pillow).

I walk, he backs away to mark a step or bush, then stops and waits for me. He lets me come near, but just as I reach down, he bolts. And he doesn't just bolt.

He. Bloody. Runs.

So, now I'm chasing a stray dog (say it with me: "It seemed like a good idea at the time") and trying to corral him before he runs out into the road. And all I can say is thank God he couldn't deny his doggy nature. A passing bush was just too tempting and he had to leave his scent. And I, having learned that slow and steady is for turtles, channel the rabbit and grab him.

Now, I have the dog, but no truck. And I have to figure out what the who-ha "go around and I'll meet you" means. Having been lost numerous times in my life, I figure I can't go wrong with the “stay as close as possible to the original location where you got lost.” So I do. I head down the sidewalk, guessing that my husband meant that he would be around the side of the road.

As I'm walking, I'm realizing that this dog may have felt light, but walking with him in the freezing cold, weighed down by enough goose-down to make my own flock, he's not so light anymore. I'm also supremely conscious of the fact that I'm holding on to a dog that isn't mine and all I can do is pray that if his owners happen along, they're not going to arrest me for dog-napping.

I get to the end of the road.

Dog feels more like twenty-pounds than ten.

No husband.

Hang a right and walk an extra block.

Dog now feeling like thirty pounds.

Still no husband.

Walk back to corner of road, holding fifty-pound dog and hoping husband will drive by.

No husband.

The brittle cold that is numbing my ears (ahhh, frostbite, my old friend—why didn't I put up my hood? Oh, right, because I thought this would be a quick, easy rescue. Meanwhile, I'm so afraid of this dog bolting, I don't DARE put him down) is not cold enough to numb the sharp thoughts of hindsight.

Thoughts like: Why do I pick the worst times to forget my cell-phone? Man, I have to pee; where is my husband? Why does he give me directions when he knows I'm incapable of following them? My God, I think this dog is gaining weight with every breath I take.

However, there is a brief, shining, piercing moment of clarity when I realize that my husband must have meant for me to walk to the edge of the pathway, and that's where he'd find me.

So I trudge the three blocks back to the path. Dog now a furry, hundred pound albatross in my arms.

We head down the path, and just where it veers left, I see my husband. Of course (of course) I'm too bloody far away from him to yell and have him hear me, too far away to run and catch up. So all I can do is speed-walk after him, my breath coming in painful, burning gasps and pray, “please, please for the love of my biceps, turn around and look back.”

Does he?


By the time I get to the edge of the path, he's long gone. And I'm so tired, cold and exhausted, all I can do is flop down on some stranger's lawn and catch my breath. I have no idea what to do. And all I can do is what I’ve always done when lost: go back to the last place I saw the loved one and wait.

So, now I'm limping, half-crying-just-want-to-see-my-husband because I'm freezing and my ear is burning. And I'm hanging on to this dog, though, because it's cold and dark and I'd rather lose an ear than let him be hurt, afraid, or alone. He's shivering because he's cold and unsure of why this crazy brown girl is carting him around, and all I can do is mutter that he'll be home soon.

We almost to the corner of the road and I see my husband pull up to the 4-way stop. And because I'm almost crawling now, all I can do is this limp hand flap and whisper in a hoarse-I-think-I'm-going-to-die way, “I'm over here!”

He turns away from me, but I don't care. I know he's looping a route, and all I have to do is stand still at that corner and he'll get to me. My hero, my savior, he whom I will love beyond death and time, is looking for me.

He does a U-turn, and I go from thrilled to elated. HE SAW ME!! HE WAS JUST TURNING AROUND!!!

As soon as he's close enough for me to see his face, I can also see his expression and it's a cross between, “Thank God I found you” and “I'm going to throttle you, I've been so scared.” And I know this look because I know it's the same expression on my face.

He opens the door for me and the first thing he says is, “DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN! I WAS SO SCARED!”

And I say, “You know I have no sense of direction and I can't find my way out of a plastic bag. Why did you leave?”

And he laughs because he knows it's true and because he loves me despite myself, and he says, “Still. You scared me to death. I had visions of this dog being part of a serial-killer's plans, that you'd been hit on the head and were being carted away to some torture chamber.”

To which I reply, “You should be a writer.”

In the end, it all worked out…the dog was returned to his owner, safe and sound (which was worth all the frostbite in the world).

But this crazy episode is one of the many, many reasons why I’m a writer. Because when I’m in my study and writing, and thinking “hmm, this seems like a good idea” nothing can really go wrong…except in my head…

There was only one thing Bronwyn wanted to be when she grew up: a superhero. Sadly, this goal was made moot when she realized that being a klutz was not, in fact, a super power, and her super-weakness for anything bright and shiny meant that a magpie with self-control could easily defeat her in a battle of wills. So, she turned to writing as a way to unleash her inner superhero. She doesn’t get to live on a secret space station orbiting the earth (and thank goodness because she gets motion sick on a merry-go-round), but she still get to wear leotards, a cape and say things like, “STAND ASIDE! THIS IS A JOB FOR WRITING-GIRL!”

Bronwyn’s latest book is Ethan’s Chase.
You can visit her website at

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Things sensual and romantic…

We all define these two terms in ways as diverse and unique as our personalities. For me, one place embodies all of the elements I think of as traditionally romantic: Italy… Sensuality… Food… Romance – if you think about it, they’re all the same in many respects, aren’t they? Each resonates within us on some level…. They appear to go together. And, in truth, I suppose they do. You seldom have one without the other close to the heart. But, what is sensual, and what isn’t? That depends on where you are in this world and what you’re doing.

So, I thought maybe we’d chat about what people term “sensual foods” and see where that takes us! Hey, we all eat, don’t we? So, is it the food that is the magic, or is it the company we share while we go through this necessary to life exercise every day? Repeatedly. It’s as essential to life as the air we breathe.

A lot of foods are labelled as being “aphrodisiac” in nature. How can foods be “love potions” some people wonder? And why do they have such potent response in some, while others feel nothing when these exotic delights are consumed? Perhaps it’s the company and the psychological excitement that might make them wildly exciting for some and totally empty of reaction in others?

In countries like Italy, food is not just something to be eaten so we can get on with life. It’s an art, a social occasion, and an experience to be shared. It’s a well-accepted fact that the people of this amazing country have a zest for life that many of us envy, and their passion for “la dolce vita” is something we can probably all learn from. But, food and festival in Italy is a way of life – if you have any doubts, just look around and see the number of feast and festival days in any year!

We associate this country, in fact all things Italian, with romance. So much of the attitude is sensual and passionate, and very romantic. An entire culture that is built on the foundation that life is to be embraced and enjoyed, that romance and love are the most important things in the world, and the richness of life is to be shared by all. I don’t know about you, but I find that very sexy, very compelling, and very, very alluring…

If your dinner is one on one, chances are it’s a special occasion. Do you actually notice what you eat, or are you feeding off the company you’re in, and sawdust would taste good at that moment? Is it the music, always beautiful and classically romantic, is it the gorgeous countryside, or is it really the food that makes the whole thing such a sensory delight?

And why is this “passion” so different for all of us? It’s not hard to see where my heart lies in all this, but what do YOU find sensual in the foods you eat the dreams you keep close to your heart? I’d love to know!! I write in more genres than I can count, and my books reflect eclectic tastes in all things, so if you’re interested in finding out more, please drop by my website and check out some titles….

My current release is related to Italy, inspired by a fairytale... rewritten for a more adult taste, I hope you'll enjoy it... here’s a peek:

Re-telling a fairytale for an adult audience
Publisher: XoXo Publishing™
Available HERE

Genre: EROTIC romance/fairytale
Book Trailer


In the town of Favola, a prince and a lovely girl imprisoned by her mother's jealousy find passion and love... but will it be enough to outsmart the machinations and fury that their devotion inspires in the beautiful Bella Venezia? An Italian fairytale is re-told for an adult audience....


Late in the night, Francesco rose from the pallet of straw that was his bed at the inn, and he stared out the window at the tower a short distance away. A dim, golden light filtered from a window high in the tower, and he knew she was there. Drawn, he took his traveling cloak and began to make his through the inn to the tower.

Long minutes later, Francesco stepped into the cool night air and walked toward the tower, sheltered by the darkness, unseen even by the glowing moon. There was a door hidden at the very back of the tower, and he tested it. Locked, naturally. He knocked softly, and was surprised to hear a soft voice from the other side moments later.

“Who is there?”

“I am a guest at the Inn, I would like to speak with you, lovely Capricia.”

“You would be wiser to leave me alone, signore.”

“Wisdom and passion are seldom in agreement, cara mia,” Francesco all but purred, trying to lure her trust with only his voice as enticement.

“I have no key to permit you to enter here,” she told him.

“Where will I find the key?”

“I don’t know, my mother keeps it close to her.”

“I will find it.”

Francesco sat, and leaned against the door. “Let us talk, tesoro, I wish to know you.”

And so his quest began. Each day he tried to charm the hard-hearted Bella, but she no longer trusted his motive. Each night he would slip from the Inn and go to the tower’s door where he would woo Capricia with his words.

Almost a week passed before he found his prize and slipped into the night, the key to the tower clutched in his hand. When he opened the door and raced up the stairs, he found Capricia sitting in front of a fire. Her hands rose to cover her mouth as she stared in shock at his sudden appearance. When she was able to speak, her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

“Do you know what you risk by coming to me this way?”

It was hardly the welcome he wanted after a week of sleepless nights. She turned away and he went to sit in the chair that faced the fire.

“You should not have come.”

Francesco glared at her. She was seated before him, and the light of the fire caressed her face, softened the already delicate features to angelic sweetness. She was dressed as she had been in the market, a light cotton skirt and peasant blouse. As she prodded the fire, he could clearly see the enticing roundness of her breasts outlined beneath the white shirt. The ache in his loins, an increasingly familiar discomfort, grew to become real pain.

“I risk nothing! Your mother’s greed is nothing to me,” he finally answered her first question. As he watched her, he did become convinced that his presence was a mistake, but not for the reasons she feared. He had recognized her innocence, and was now fighting with himself, hoped his tone would stop what he himself had started, before he tossed aside his control and simply took what he wanted so badly.

For a moment the challenge hung between them. To his shock, Capricia thought seriously on the casual words. He saw the change in her expression, but was not prepared when she looked up into his eyes and nodded solemnly, her dark eyes bright with yearning.

“She will never allow me to leave here, Francesco,” she whispered in a voice husky with tears. “If she does, it will be to sell me to the highest bidder. If I am ruined by your hands, I will be left alone. I would prefer that to being owned by anyone of her choosing.”

“You would sell yourself to me instead?” He was angry, but couldn’t begin to decipher why. He was further disconcerted when she shook her head and gathered his hands in hers.

“I would give myself to you, Francesco,” she promised.


“Because you make me want you as I’ve never wanted any man,” she confessed. “You have made me love you.”

“You’re a fool, girl!”

“Do you not want me?”

Francesco’s vivid blue eyes glittered ominously in the flickering light of the fire’s bright blaze.

“Do not toy with me, Capricia.” Faced with her, and the power of his own emotions, he was angry, not pleased, trapped in his own seduction.

His surprise turned to astonishment when she rose and he watched in stunned silence as she slowly removed every item of clothing she wore. When she stood before him, naked in the glow of the firelight, he thought he’d go quietly mad if he didn’t possess her...

Blessings to all!
Viva la dolce vita!!

Friday, November 12, 2010

Cindy Jacks: LEAP

By Cindy Jacks
Publisher: Ellora's Cave


Just when Lila has resigned herself to the fact the most exciting chapters of her life are over, a blast from the past walks into her bakery. Six feet of gorgeousness named Gavin drops by as she’s closing up shop. They were once high-school sweethearts and it’s been more than twenty-five years since they’ve seen each other, but time hasn’t diminished the sweet heat between them. Soon enough the sparks—and the frosting—begin to fly.

As they rediscover each other’s bodies, it’s clear Gavin’s no longer a boy as he shows Lila the man and skillful lover he’s become. Though Lila knows this whirlwind romp could be an act of insanity, his touch unleashes the sensual woman she’s forgotten she could be. And she thinks—maybe—she has one more leap in her.


Most of you know by now that I've become a rather vocal Cindy Jacks fan, so it won't surprise anyone to discover that her latest book is another one that I think is a 5-star winner. This story is short, but has plenty of emotional backbone to carry it. The heroine is not only very likeable, she's accessible to all women, something they see in themselves, or in their lives somewhere. The hero – he's equal parts charming boy-next-door and larger-than-life male... but it works beautifully. Their passion is intense, and sensual – but most of all, it's honest. You believe these people are real, and their future is something you care about.

Cindy's writing is sharp, focused, and flowing... if you like a hot, passionate quickie, uncluttered by excess, this is one you most definitely will love. All in all, a sexy, savvy love story with a lot of heat and happy... Take the LEAP, and check it out! You can get your copy here:


Tuesday, November 02, 2010

GUEST: Jacqueline Paige

Today my guest is the very talented Jacqueline Paige. First a quick interview with the lovely author, then you can check out her wonderful book, Salvation:

How long have you been writing?

I have only been seriously writing since 2005. By seriously I mean when I first decided I should try to get something published.

How long have you been a published author?

My first book was published by Amira Press in August of 2009. Since then it has been a world of non-stop editing and writing.

What titles do you have available?

Presently I have three available at Amira Press; Behind the Mask, In Our Dream and From a Dream. I also have Mystic Perceptions at Class Act Books and Salvation at Eternal Press.

Do you have any new titles coming soon?

I’ve just survived the whirlwind of having two books come out in the last two months, so I’m looking forward to a short break before my next one comes out in February. Whiskey Creek Press will be releasing Twice Cursed.

What is your favourite genre and why?

Paranormal is my most favourite. It doesn’t matter if it’s Romance, suspense, dark, fantasy – I just love to step into a world filled with paranormal aspects and to be able to leave the realities of not being able to shift, transform and all the other cool things behind for a few hundred pages at a time.

What, to you, is the most exciting part of the writing process?

For me it’s when the characters that started as names and descriptions come to life. When they start to disagree with my plot and find their own voice, it’s very exciting for me. I never know where they are going to take me.

If you could co-author a book with anyone, who would you choose and why?

Oh, that’s a hard one to narrow down. I would definitely like to work with something that was better in areas of writing then I am. I don’t do long descriptive passages very well, I’m too impatient. I can think of several NYT authors that do that amazingly, Nora Roberts, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Christine Feehan. Although what I could contribute with those writers I have no idea, their creativity is several notches above my own. J

Where can readers find you on the web?

SALVATION: Two centuries of not existing is about to change...


Lost in a place between living and dying, confined to roam endlessly over the same grounds for all eternity and cursed to never be seen again, Jareth wanders through time alone and longing for the sea once more. When he realizes there is one thing he yearns for more than he ever did the sea, he is tossed into a world he is unfamiliar with.

Stuck with a life that never goes her way, Miranda is determined to get at least one thing she wants. When that one thing turns out to be a sexy pirate that lived over two hundred years ago, she finds herself faced with more than one challenge to have him.

Can they break the curse and be together?


He walked with a heavy foot, wishing his boot were real enough to pound on the floor. He was on the other side of the room before he looked back at her. “I have gone on alone and completely adrift for so many years at a time...the loneliness consumed me, leaving me wanting to howl as a wounded beast does.” He waved a hand in frustration. “Now, after all I have suffered through, I find I am able to be heard when I speak, to be seen by other eyes, and I have to fight every breath with the way I burn for you.” He walked in large strides closer to her. “I take notice of your every movement, your every breath, and I cannot even touch you one time!”

Miranda stood there, her eyes huge and locked to his. “I’m...I...I feel the same way, Jareth.” She motioned to the monitor. “I’m trying, really I am.”

He hissed out a breath. “I did not imply otherwise.” He looked down into her brown eyes and wished again he had the strength to turn from them. He could tell untruths to himself for the reasons he was here with her, but he could not tell them to her. “I am sorry, little one. I am not of much assistance when I spend all my moments with you looking and...” He sighed.

“And?” she whispered.

His eyes searched hers. “Longing, wanting, craving...” He looked down her body before moving back to her eyes. “The clothes you wear show me how you are shaped beneath, and yet I am still disturbed to absolute distraction with the images inside of my own head that your appealing shape gives to me.”

She tilted her head and looked up at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes soft. “Would you like to see more?”

“Yes,” he hissed as his mind screamed no. How could he put himself through the torment of seeing what he desired more than life and yet not touch, not taste?

Salvation buy link:
Eternal Press :