Category Archives: Promotion

Kindle Contest Day 3 = Denise Belinda McDonald

Please welcome Denise Belinda McDonald!

1. What is your favorite thing about the colder weather?

Aside from the cool crisp mornings—since I live in Texas—I love being able to wear all my sweaters, and I have MANY!

2. What kind of books do you like to curl up with on a cold day?

I like a good mystery. Something to keep me guessing what will happen next.

3. What is your favorite holiday food?

Pumpkin bread—I love bread any time, but around the holidays I love pumpkin bread.

4. What is your favorite holiday tradition?

Decorating the Christmas tree, because it is something the hubby and I do with all our kids.

5. Be honest, how much do you decorate for the holidays?

I have boxes and boxes of trinkets that I pull out for the holidays. Ribbons on all the curtains and knickknacks on every flat surface. Every room, but the kids’ rooms (we’d never see it again) gets decorated.

Scavenger Hunt Question:

Which book does Denise have a “back story” for?

The answer can be found at Denise’s blog.

Click here to submit your answer.

As a reminder, do not post your answer in the comments! Comment will be deleted and the commenter will be disqualified.

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Filed under Books and Authors, Contest!, Promotion, Samhain Publishing

Sorry guys! Winners!!!

Something very important came up and I didn’t have access to announce the winners. Oh no!

So here they are.

 

Day 13 = Lynda!

Day 14 = Rose Sophia!

Day 15 = Karin!

Contact me at terakleinfelter@gmail.com for your prize.

 

And thank you so much, everyone, for playing along. =)

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Filed under Books and Authors, Editing, Promotion

Contest Day 15 = Toni Meilleur, Utter Cupidity

590Please Welcome Toni Meilleur with her book, Utter Cupidity. Buy it here!

1. How did you get started with your writing?

After I read a fabulous book that was written by a Samhain author. It was only then did I decide to sit down and write one of my own. Something I’d been meaning to do for years.

2. What/who is your biggest muse?

I would have to say my own rampant brain.

3. Is there a character in one of your books you connect with the most?

Curiously enough the Alpha Males in my stories.

4. What do you like to do in your free time other than write?

I love to do theatre.

5. What are some of your favorite books? Any genre or author.

Servant of the Bones, by Anne Rice. I love Karen Marie Moning, Jaid Black, Katie McAllister, Christine Feehan to name a few.

6. Where is your writing sanctuary?

My bedroom. It’s the most noise-free, un-kid friendly place which is what I love about it.

7. How did you celebrate “selling” your first book?

I lit up a cigar in my garage, then decided a margarita tasted much better

8. What is your favorite thing about Samhain?

The support they give to their authors, and how the company never forget their customers are their bread and butter. There’s always something for the reader to jump in and get involved in.

9. Is there something you would like to see more of in RomanceLand?

Just in general I would like a lot more females to be the direct counterpart for the males. Instead of the man saving the woman, pursuing the woman, how about they save each other throughout the book? What if the woman was the aggressor a lot more?

 

Excerpt/Chapter One

The hotel room reeked of stale alcohol. The figure, though swift and sure-footed, doubted even he could avoid all the beer cans and empty liquor bottles strewn without care throughout the suite. The man in white tennis shoes with pure gold wings somehow embroidered into them tried with great stealth to maneuver around the obstacles. A partially clad woman with more of her body hanging off the couch than on it snored lightly. He wrinkled his nose to ward off the offending smell of old alcohol, then settled for putting his arm across his nose instead. His keen vision located the sleeping area and he headed that way. Realizing what a futile endeavor it was to avoid the beer cans, he gave in to simply kicking them out of his way—it wasn’t like the inhabitants were going to wake up from the noise. He knew it would take nothing short of a jackhammer to wake the passed out occupants.

The object of his mission lay sandwiched between two naked women. Each one had thrown a rather possessive arm around him. Even in his sleep the man seemed to have a mischievous grin on his face. The life of a scoundrel; he shook his head in disappointment. Dreading the news he had to tell him, he leaned over the bed and shook the sleeping man. Once, twice, and then in frustration, he slapped him perhaps a little harder than necessary. Blue eyes shot open in indignation, albeit a little bloodshot, but no less an incredible blue. The expression changed from anger to a roguish familiar grin.

“Herm, old friend!” He sat up, running a hand through his long, curly, sun-blond hair. “At last giving in to your more carnal side?” Somehow he managed to disengage himself from the grasp of the two women and stood without regard to his naked form in front of his best friend.

“Get dressed, we have to go,” Hermes said grimly, well used to the antics of his friend.

“Can’t do, Herm. I promised these three ladies a weekend of debauchery, and so far we’re only into day one.” He seemed to look around for the third one then shrugged it off. He looked around in curiosity before he went to the mini-bar and grunted in dissatisfaction at its empty contents. “Want to go on a beer run with me?”

“There will be no beer runs, old pal. You have to go. I was sent to retrieve you by any means necessary.”

“Did my mother send you? I told you don’t listen to her, I’ll talk to her when I’m good and ready.” In a blink of an eye he was dressed in a form-fitting black T-shirt and jeans. “Really, since when do you do her bidding anyway?”

“It’s not her who sent me. The Council sent me.” There! Hermes said it and waited for the impact of his words. His friend squinted at him. “They were tired of their summons being ignored. You really need to come with me, I can’t leave without you.”

“What is this about? Has something happened to my mother? Or did my delightful wife find yet another way to make life miserable for the Council?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about the nature of the meeting, only…”

“Only what? This is unlike you, Hermes. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I wish I could, but I am under a strict and personal order from the Big Guy.”

“He’s just blowing a lot of hot air. He’s full of himself. Look, why don’t you and

I—” Before he could finish, Hermes locked him into a bear hug and moved faster than anything on earth could ever dream of doing.

Within moments, he found himself standing in front of a fully assembled Council. Cupid was a little dizzy and sick from the flight, because even he couldn’t move that fast. He laid his hands on his thighs and took a deep breath before he looked upon the Council again—this time Hermes was seated. Cupid acknowledged each of the eleven members with a nod. When he got to the twelfth, he bowed in demanded custom, hating every second of it.

“You may rise,” a voice boomed. When he rose from his bowed position, the Big Guy began.

“You have been found guilty of neglect of your duty. Each Council member here has agreed that drastic action must be taken to maintain the integrity of our positions as a whole. You have ignored our summonses and displayed utter disregard to your superiors. In the past this was tolerated, but it is no longer. It has gotten, as they say, ‘out of hand’. In order to maintain the benefits that your birthright has given you, you have been sentenced to a task that you have exactly one month from tomorrow to complete. If you fail this task, you will be stripped of all privileges and maintain a common life.”

A sickening feeling settled into the pit of Cupid’s stomach. Every member of the Council, including his own mother, looked upon him without pity. One month to complete a task? How hard could it be? What did Zeus mean by “maintaining a common life”? He couldn’t possibly mean…

“Yes, that’s right, I see that understanding is now upon you. If you fail to meet the challenge of this task you will be stripped of your immortality and your divine gift.”

“You would make me human?” he spat out, disgusted with the avenue the meeting was traveling on.

“Yes, without hesitation!” the Big Guy roared back, irritated at having been interrupted. Not intimidated, despite the knowledge that the Big Guy could indeed do that. Cupid warily pressed his next question.

“What is this task you demand of me?”

Zeus immediately looked smug as he settled himself a little more in his throne. Despite knowing what was about to happen, every Council member leaned forward in anticipation. His mother had a worried look upon her face that wasn’t there when the meeting first began. She began wringing her hands together; whatever was going on, she didn’t look as if she approved of it. But then again, she was never known for looking at the fine print for anything.

“I wasn’t aware of—” she started to say then was silenced by the eldest god.

“I have no tolerance for you today. You were given a full report on the proceedings here. Perhaps you should spend just a little bit more time reading than getting laid, hmm?” he challenged her. “As for you—” he directed his piercing gaze to Cupid, “—in order to maintain your position you must prove that you still have what it takes to keep it. You must get a mortal to agree to marry you within one month.”

It took him a moment to digest the words, before laughter threatened to bubble up and cascade out of his mouth at an alarming rate. Were they kidding? Perhaps these people spent much too much time with their heads in the clouds.

“I hate to break this to you, but I thought it was common knowledge that I’m already married. Not the happiest man, but married all the same.” It took great effort keep the smugness out of his voice.

“Which brings us to the other matter at hand,” Zeus stated, still looking as sly as a fox that had caught more than one hen. “Your wife has petitioned, and I have granted her, what is it they call it? Ah yes, a divorce.”

“What?” His ears rang a bit. He didn’t hear that. No god had ever gotten a divorce. It was unheard of. It was behavior like that of the common people. “She divorced me? I’m no longer married?”

“Yes indeed,” Zeus proclaimed. Even his mother looked happy at that news, no-brainer there. His mother had never liked his wife. “Cupid, your wife, Psyche, has divorced you. You would have known this had you answered any of the summonses sent to you in the last year or so. I had no choice but to give her her freedom. This, of course, works in nicely with your task.”

“Wait a second. I’m divorced and you want me to get married right away?”

“That’s right—to a mortal woman,” 

The hotel room reeked of stale alcohol. The figure, though swift and sure-footed, doubted even he could avoid all the beer cans and empty liquor bottles strewn without care throughout the suite. The man in white tennis shoes with pure gold wings somehow embroidered into them tried with great stealth to maneuver around the obstacles. A partially clad woman with more of her body hanging off the couch than on it snored lightly. He wrinkled his nose to ward off the offending smell of old alcohol, then settled for putting his arm across his nose instead. His keen vision located the sleeping area and he headed that way. Realizing what a futile endeavor it was to avoid the beer cans, he gave in to simply kicking them out of his way—it wasn’t like the inhabitants were going to wake up from the noise. He knew it would take nothing short of a jackhammer to wake the passed out occupants.

The object of his mission lay sandwiched between two naked women. Each one had thrown a rather possessive arm around him. Even in his sleep the man seemed to have a mischievous grin on his face. The life of a scoundrel; he shook his head in disappointment. Dreading the news he had to tell him, he leaned over the bed and shook the sleeping man. Once, twice, and then in frustration, he slapped him perhaps a little harder than necessary. Blue eyes shot open in indignation, albeit a little bloodshot, but no less an incredible blue. The expression changed from anger to a roguish familiar grin.

“Herm, old friend!” He sat up, running a hand through his long, curly, sun-blond hair. “At last giving in to your more carnal side?” Somehow he managed to disengage himself from the grasp of the two women and stood without regard to his naked form in front of his best friend.

“Get dressed, we have to go,” Hermes said grimly, well used to the antics of his friend.

“Can’t do, Herm. I promised these three ladies a weekend of debauchery, and so far we’re only into day one.” He seemed to look around for the third one then shrugged it off. He looked around in curiosity before he went to the mini-bar and grunted in dissatisfaction at its empty contents. “Want to go on a beer run with me?”

“There will be no beer runs, old pal. You have to go. I was sent to retrieve you by any means necessary.”

“Did my mother send you? I told you don’t listen to her, I’ll talk to her when I’m good and ready.” In a blink of an eye he was dressed in a form-fitting black T-shirt and jeans. “Really, since when do you do her bidding anyway?”

“It’s not her who sent me. The Council sent me.” There! Hermes said it and waited for the impact of his words. His friend squinted at him. “They were tired of their summons being ignored. You really need to come with me, I can’t leave without you.”

“What is this about? Has something happened to my mother? Or did my delightful wife find yet another way to make life miserable for the Council?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about the nature of the meeting, only…”

“Only what? This is unlike you, Hermes. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I wish I could, but I am under a strict and personal order from the Big Guy.”

“He’s just blowing a lot of hot air. He’s full of himself. Look, why don’t you and

I—” Before he could finish, Hermes locked him into a bear hug and moved faster than anything on earth could ever dream of doing.

Within moments, he found himself standing in front of a fully assembled Council. Cupid was a little dizzy and sick from the flight, because even he couldn’t move that fast. He laid his hands on his thighs and took a deep breath before he looked upon the Council again—this time Hermes was seated. Cupid acknowledged each of the eleven members with a nod. When he got to the twelfth, he bowed in demanded custom, hating every second of it.

“You may rise,” a voice boomed. When he rose from his bowed position, the Big Guy began.

“You have been found guilty of neglect of your duty. Each Council member here has agreed that drastic action must be taken to maintain the integrity of our positions as a whole. You have ignored our summonses and displayed utter disregard to your superiors. In the past this was tolerated, but it is no longer. It has gotten, as they say, ‘out of hand’. In order to maintain the benefits that your birthright has given you, you have been sentenced to a task that you have exactly one month from tomorrow to complete. If you fail this task, you will be stripped of all privileges and maintain a common life.”

A sickening feeling settled into the pit of Cupid’s stomach. Every member of the Council, including his own mother, looked upon him without pity. One month to complete a task? How hard could it be? What did Zeus mean by “maintaining a common life”? He couldn’t possibly mean…

“Yes, that’s right, I see that understanding is now upon you. If you fail to meet the challenge of this task you will be stripped of your immortality and your divine gift.”

“You would make me human?” he spat out, disgusted with the avenue the meeting was traveling on.

“Yes, without hesitation!” the Big Guy roared back, irritated at having been interrupted. Not intimidated, despite the knowledge that the Big Guy could indeed do that. Cupid warily pressed his next question.

“What is this task you demand of me?”

Zeus immediately looked smug as he settled himself a little more in his throne. Despite knowing what was about to happen, every Council member leaned forward in anticipation. His mother had a worried look upon her face that wasn’t there when the meeting first began. She began wringing her hands together; whatever was going on, she didn’t look as if she approved of it. But then again, she was never known for looking at the fine print for anything.

“I wasn’t aware of—” she started to say then was silenced by the eldest god.

“I have no tolerance for you today. You were given a full report on the proceedings here. Perhaps you should spend just a little bit more time reading than getting laid, hmm?” he challenged her. “As for you—” he directed his piercing gaze to Cupid, “—in order to maintain your position you must prove that you still have what it takes to keep it. You must get a mortal to agree to marry you within one month.”

It took him a moment to digest the words, before laughter threatened to bubble up and cascade out of his mouth at an alarming rate. Were they kidding? Perhaps these people spent much too much time with their heads in the clouds.

“I hate to break this to you, but I thought it was common knowledge that I’m already married. Not the happiest man, but married all the same.” It took great effort keep the smugness out of his voice.

“Which brings us to the other matter at hand,” Zeus stated, still looking as sly as a fox that had caught more than one hen. “Your wife has petitioned, and I have granted her, what is it they call it? Ah yes, a divorce.”

“What?” His ears rang a bit. He didn’t hear that. No god had ever gotten a divorce. It was unheard of. It was behavior like that of the common people. “She divorced me? I’m no longer married?”

“Yes indeed,” Zeus proclaimed. Even his mother looked happy at that news, no-brainer there. His mother had never liked his wife. “Cupid, your wife, Psyche, has divorced you. You would have known this had you answered any of the summonses sent to you in the last year or so. I had no choice but to give her her freedom. This, of course, works in nicely with your task.”

“Wait a second. I’m divorced and you want me to get married right away?”

“That’s right—to a mortal woman.”

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Contest Day 14 = Angelle Trieste, Devil Falls

883Please welcome Angelle Trieste with her novel Devil Falls. You can head out and buy it here!

1. How did you get started with your writing?

Unlike many published authors, I’d never had any burning ambition to be a
writer.  But I have always been an avid reader.  It wasn’t until I finished
college and had three years of management consulting that I decided I wanted a change in my life.  I quit my job and moved to Japan to concentrate on my writing, and it’s been one of the most challenging and fun things I’ve ever done in my life.

2. What/who is your biggest muse?

How about everything?  It’s never just one big thing, but a combination of
little things.  For example, for DEVIL FALLS, it was the recordings of
Jacqueline DuPre and Yo Yo Ma, Heather Whitestone, my trip to Belize (which BTW rocked; everyone should get to swim with sharks 😉 ), random web surfing during which I found out about albino Dobermans, etc.

3. Is there a character in one of your books you connect with the most?

It’s always the main characters from my work in progress.  All my previous
couples have a special place in my heart, but since I’m spending so much
time with my current heroine and hero, they’re the ones I’m most connected
with at this moment.

FYI — Currently, that’s Ginni and Marcus from my paranormal romance
featuring an incubus court.

4. What do you like to do in your free time other than write?

I read (of course), play with my Winter White hamsters, go out for walks
with my boyfriend, watch lots of foreign dramas and anime and try to talk
with the locals in my horrible Japanese.

5. What are some of your favorite books? Any genre or author.

Right now, I’m rereading C. S. Friedman’s IN CONQUEST BORN.  It’s a space
opera but underneath it all is the most twisted love affair between two
uber-alpha characters.  I’ve read the book three times before, but every
time I get something new out of it.

When I’m in the mood for old favorites, I reach for classic Linda Howard.  I
adore her Mackenzies.  They’re hawt.

Oh, I forgot to gush about my new discovery:  Ilona Andrews’s Kate Daniels
series.  It’s dark urban fantasy.  Very original, utterly riveting.  (And
Curran is absolutely perfect for Kate.)

6. Where is your writing sanctuary?

My home office in the kitchen.  I can see my hamsters from my desk, and I
get a lot of sun in the morning.  🙂

7. How did you celebrate “selling” your first book?

Uhh…I updated the bio section of my standard query letter template.

Just kidding!

My boyfriend and I went out for a very nice meal.

8. What is your favorite thing about Samhain?

I like it that the people there are business-minded and courteous.

9. Is there something you would like to see more of in RomanceLandia?

I’d like to see more people talking about the books they like.  With
publishers reducing their marketing budgets, etc. it’s harder to get
noticed, esp. if you’re a new / midlist writer.  When readers talk about
books they’re excited about, it can create buzz and make a difference.  I’ve
discovered a lot of great new-to-me authors through word of mouth.

10. Tell us about your editor.

She is, of course, utterly sublime.  🙂  No, she is easy to work with and
really wants to make each story better.  She made some very good suggestions for DEVIL FALLS.

 

Excerpt/Chapter One

The big sign by the dock should have read “Welcome to Purgatory” rather than “Welcome to St. Cecilia”. Victoria stepped over the row of old tires that kept the ferry from banging into the dock. Blazing heat enveloped her as she stood on the rough boards of the pier. She blotted the sweat on her face with a cheap blue handkerchief and sighed at skin-toned smudges on it. Melted makeup wasn’t going to help her win over a recalcitrant subject.

Her thin cotton blouse clung to her like Saran Wrap. Cringing with distaste, she peeled the material away from her back. The seagulls that had followed the boat for the last half hour wheeled overhead, screeching at each other, and an odor of rich, damp soil mingled with the salty ocean scent. The air was so humid she might as well grow gills.

Two old taxis waited at the end of the dock. She got into the least beat-up one and told the driver where she wanted to go, using the Spanish phrases she’d been practicing for the last few days. He nodded and started off.

They traveled up into dense green hills. As they rose higher, Victoria watched the island unfolding behind her, a patchwork quilt of tans and greens that eventually dropped into the ultramarine sea. After about ten minutes they came out onto a plateau of sorts. They passed a small plaza that had four or five stores with tin roofs. Other than that, fields stretched away in every direction.

The driver continued for a couple of miles before turning off the main road and going down a dirt track that started out bumpy and rapidly got worse. Twice Victoria had to put a hand on the ceiling to keep from hitting her head. Finally, the driver stopped and pointed. Victoria saw it, not more than five hundred yards away at the most. Greyhaven, in all its glory.

She paid the driver and got out with her bags. The heat immediately assaulted her again. Sighing, she started down the path, her suitcase bumping along behind her.

As she walked, the mansion grew before her like a cruel, dark monster. Set flush against a high cliff to its right and with a river curling around the front like a moat, it was situated like a fortress, all large blocks and turreted corners. A dense mangrove forest lay at the back of the manor and off to its left, extending past the other side of the river. Steam rose from it, as though witches were brewing something in its depths. Despite the heat a little shiver went down Victoria’s back.

The muted sound of water grew louder as Victoria approached the gates. It was Devil Falls, the waterfall she’d read about. Although the manor’s name was Greyhaven, the estate itself took its name from the falls, which plummeted over the cliff that marked the edge of the island on this side. Local legend had it that several people had been caught in its waters and plunged to their deaths.

A tall wrought-iron fence encircled the estate, and purple-green vines twined around the black rods as tightly as lovers. Victoria looked for a buzzer or bell but found none. She pushed at one gate, then the other. Neither budged.

Putting her hands on her hips, she took a step back and looked through the gate and down the path lined with tall palm trees. She could call out, but she doubted Damien Kirk could hear her even without the waterfall. She had her cell phone, but she didn’t know his number. Actually, she wasn’t even sure her phone would work here. The service seemed patchy at best in the Caribbean, and St. Cecilia, a small island off the coast of Belize, wasn’t exactly a place multinational telecoms were hustling to cover.

Maybe there was a caretaker? As she looked around, she noticed large patches of shadow sliding over the landscape. She looked up at the sky again and sighed. Her day just couldn’t get any better. A storm was coming and she didn’t have an umbrella. The travel agent had advised her to take one, but she’d forgotten the night before when she’d packed.

Thank God her laptop bag was waterproof. Still, she made a mental note to get an umbrella as soon as possible.

First things first, though. How to get in? Maybe she could climb over the gates…although technically that would be trespassing. But since Damien knew she was coming—his agent had assured her of this—he might forgive her once she explained that she couldn’t reach him from the outside. It was either that or wait until someone in the mansion noticed her.

All right. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.

She approached the gates, hiked her conservative cotton skirt up a bit, put a foot down on the bottom horizontal bar and gripped the top bar to pull herself up.

Sudden vicious barking startled her, and she jumped backward, almost twisting her ankle in the process. Her skirt caught on a leaf in the gates’ elaborate ironwork and ripped a quarter of the way to her upper thigh. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and her heart raced as if she’d completed a hundred-meter dash.

Two large dogs, one white and one black, charged down the road, small puffs of dirt exploding from under their paws. In no time they were at the fence, snarling and snapping their jaws. If it hadn’t been for the gates…

Doberman. She stared at the white dog. She’d never seen a white Doberman before. Its eerie red eyes focused on her as it stuck its snout between the rods. Its teeth gleamed, sharp and ready.

The dogs pushed against the gates, their weight causing them to sway and creak in protest. Victoria took another step back. Fear, lumpy and cold, lodged in her throat. The shock combined with the heat and humidity made her feel faint. Darkness swam before her eyes, and she gasped.

Breathe, Victoria, breathe. You’re not going to faint, not before an important interview.

“Easy, boys,” she said, keeping her tone low and soothing.

She cringed at the underlying tension in her voice and the louder volume of the dogs’ barking. She knew enough about them to know that they were attuned to their prey’s fear.

Recovering a bit, she crossed her arms and watched the dogs from a safe distance. They couldn’t bark forever, but they made a loud noise that rang in the air better than she could. Maybe that would attract the attention of someone inside.

“Amadeus, Ludwig, sit!” came a sharp command.

Victoria looked up and to her relief saw a man trotting toward her. An umbrella dangled from his hand, and casual but expensive clothes wrapped his long, lean frame. He was gloriously golden, with a face that rivaled Lucifer’s in the moment of his fall from grace.

Damien Kirk. A cellist celebrated the world over.

The magazine photos didn’t do him justice. They had failed to capture the magnetic vividness of his blue eyes and the electrifying vitality of his presence. She could feel it through the gates, even over the ferocity of the dogs, and she had no doubt he had dominated the vast concert halls, driving the crowds wild. Her heartbeat picked up the pace, and it wasn’t all from relief.

His keen gaze skewered her and pinned her to the spot. She’d chosen one of her best outfits, but what was the point now that her shoes were dusty and her skirt ruined? Looking at him, she felt as small and insignificant as a poor, grubby child standing next to her rich and popular classmate.

“Who are you?” Damien’s voice was impatient and hostile. Yet even the hostility couldn’t hide a rich baritone that sent a frisson of thrill down her spine despite the growling dogs and oppressive heat.

Victoria ignored his tone and came toward the gates. “Mr. Kirk, my name is Victoria Benedict.” She extended her hand toward the bars with a smile. “I believe you’ve received—”

She snatched her hand back as the dogs lunged at it and crashed against the gates.

“Amadeus, Ludwig, stop it!”

They reluctantly obeyed, their resentful eyes still on her.

Damien’s gaze zoomed back to her.

“You’re that meddling writer.” His eyes looked her up and down, a flicker of dismissal. “I thought you’d be older and uglier.”

Delivered with hauteur not even the queen of England could match, the appraisal irked her, but she maintained her professional demeanor. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. You’re rather old and ugly, just not so much as I’d imagined.”

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Contest Day 12 Winner!

Shy Amy! Step on up!

 

Contact me at terakleinfelter@gmail.com for your prize!

Leave a comment

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Contest Day 13 = Lexi Adair, Rockstar

rockstarPlease welcome Lexi Adair to the stage with her novel, Rockstar. =) You can buy here!

1.  How did you get started with your writing?

I’ve always been a writer, ever since I was a little girl. It’s the one thing that’s always stayed with me through the years.

2.  What/what is your biggest muse?

My inspiration comes from everywhere. I’m usually inspired by something I’ve read, seen or heard and it can be a varied as something a friend says or a newscast on T.V It doesn’t always lead to a finished book but I try to always write whenever the muse is smiling down upon me.

3.  Is there are character in one of your books you connect with the most?

I think I probably connect with Julia from my yet to be published Callaghan girls cause she’s a writer. I also love the fact that she’s kind klutzy and always seems to be getting herself into weird messes, because that’s so me. lol

4.  What do you like to do in your free time other than write?

What free time? Lol With two kids and a husband and a full-time writing career there isn’t much time for anything else. But I suppose when I’m goofing off and not tending to kids, hubby or my writing I like to read, watch movies, go out with friends and of course shop.

5.  What are some of your favorite books? Any genre or author.

I’ll read anything paranormal romance… and it has to have a big splash of romance. Otherwise I’m pretty partial to romance in general although my all time favorite books are WHITE OLEANDER by Janet Finch, FIVE QUARTERS OF THE ORANGE by Joanne Harris, Ann Rice’s VAMPIRE CHRONICLES and I’ve recently read the TWILIGHT series which I thought was pretty decent.

6.  Where is your writing sancutary?

Wherever my kids aren’t. LOL I mostly write in my office although every afternoon I write in the car while I’m waiting to pick up the kids from school. The car isn’t really my sanctuary, but at least it’s quite (until they get in that is). 

7.  How did you celebrate “selling” your first book?

I didn’t. Isn’t that sad. I just immediately got started writing the next one.

8.  What is your favorite this about Samhain?

Samhain has a great group of very talented authors and hard working staff. Everything is pretty author-friendly and that’s a welcome change from some of the other publishers who treat their authors like stud horses.

9.  Is there something you’d like to see more of in RomanceLandia?

I’m always up for more paranormals.

10.  Tell us about your editor.

Oh my God, she is the biggest bitch! LOL So totally just kidding! Tera is very bright and very supportive of her authors. She’s got a great sense of humor which I think is really important in this business. She knows how to crack the whip when needed but also knows how to give you a pat on the back when it’s deserved. She really cares about the books she works on and it really makes the whole experience a team effort. I hope every author is as lucky to have such a great editor!

 

Excerpt/Chapter One

“You came a damn long way just to see me.”

His words were harsh, terribly uncaring and might have made a lesser woman cry.

Perhaps if she had been some lovesick fan his reaction might have brought tears to her eyes. But Summer wasn’t a fan and she was more than capable of dealing with his type without losing her head. She couldn’t have cared less about his pretty face, celebrity status, gold records or millions of dollars. There was only one thing she wanted from Anthony Phoenix and it wasn’t an autograph. “Let’s make it worth the trip then.”

She didn’t bother to wait for an invitation as she took a seat beside him in the adjoining armchair.

In the shadowed corner of the dimly lit café a half-drawn velvet curtain shielded him from public view. It created a deceptive sense of privacy and solitude amidst the chaos. It muffled the chatter of other patrons, the hiss of the espresso machine, even the clatter of dishes. The curtain created a barrier between their world and his.

Rumor had it that this was his favorite hangout whenever he was back in his hometown. Her sources, damn secretive sources that had been almost impossible to crack, had told her he always made it a point to stop in for a cup of coffee.

Though he’d managed to escape the notice of the other patrons in the quiet Seattle café, he hadn’t escaped Summer, and he certainly wasn’t happy to see her.

“You want an interview you’ll have to contact my agent. I don’t get friendly with the media and I don’t like reporters.”

“So they tell me.” That was just fine by her. She sure as hell wasn’t looking to get friendly with him either—his reputation as a womanizer had made him as famous as his chart-topping records.

Despite her repugnance for celebrity womanizers Summer forced a smile. She might not have been interested in seducing the man, but she had every intention of putting his story to bed. The story they told her was impossible to get. The story that would make her career and prove once and for all to her prick of a boss that Summer Staite was worthy of her own byline. “This isn’t your typical interview, darling.”

“Really? What is it then?”

“A bedtime story.” A hint of a smile curved her ruby-painted lips. “I don’t do celebrity weddings. I don’t do dirty gossip. I don’t give a damn where you grew up, who you’re dating or when your next album is dropping. Stripped Magazine is all about the sex. We’re the best magazine to expose it all without ever exposing a thing.”

It was a spiel she had given countless times before. A smirk, a smile, sometimes laughter, that was the standard response. But Anthony stared blankly. Her words, fraught with danger and sensuality hadn’t cracked even the tiniest layer in his stone-cold façade.

“What’s your name?”

She reached across the table and offered her hand. “Summer Staite, Stripped Magazine.”

He took her hand in his. As his thumb grazed the back of her knuckles it ignited a trail of heat that flamed across her skin. “You’re not exactly playing by the rules, Summer Staite.”

She watched him slip a single cigarette out of the pack of Camels sitting on table. The pack was rumbled, no doubt having been shoved into the pocket of his jeans one time too many. She stared longingly at it. It had been two years since she’d quit but she couldn’t deny the subtle and thankfully fleeting urge to light up. “Well, you know what they say about rules.”

“They’re meant to be broken.” He put the tip between his lips and touched the lighter’s flame to it.

“There’s no smoking in here.” Summer nodded to the signs posted near the back door.

“Yeah well, they make an exception for me.” His words were cool and confident giving her the impression that he really wouldn’t have given a damn if they didn’t. If she had to wager a bet she’d say the exception was made simply because he was the Anthony Phoenix. Apparently that afforded him a complete lack of manners.

Even as he puffed away on the cigarette, Anthony’s gaze drew up to her mouth. Whether he was measuring her up or admiring the curve of her lips she couldn’t be sure. As a journalist Summer had prided herself on being able to read people, but Anthony’s expression revealed no insight into his character. He remained hard, dark and unyielding. It had her wondering if anything, or anyone, had ever managed to slip beneath that rock-hard exterior.

He blew out a breath laced with smoke that fanned across the table between them and made her wince in response. Her reaction sent the hint of smile to toy on his lips. A crack in the wall he had built around him. She wasn’t sure what that said about him, after all she couldn’t seem to read him and that, more than the second-hand smoke, unnerved her. It made her feel ill-prepared and out of control. Those were two things Summer never was.

“What does Stripped want with me?”

Summer bit down on her lower lip. How was she supposed to answer that? She could have told him plain and simple that Stripped was after a story. But she doubted very much that simple truth would make an impression on him. She needed some way to get past that barrier, to slip beyond the wall he’d built around himself and invoke a reaction. Any reaction at that point would have done. Laugh in her face, spit on the floor, hell, call her a nosey-bitch and walk away. Anything would have been better than his dark, silent stare.

“A lyrical lay.” The words dripped off her tongue like melted chocolate. Dark, sweet and terribly sinful. It was her favorite play on words and one that often worked so well in her particular line of work. The words painted a sensual, almost poetic picture in the mind and that was exactly what Summer did. She conjured fantasies on paper for the masses. In fact, if that asshole Spencer ever gave her her own column that was exactly what she intended to title it.

There was another crack in the wall as Anthony’s lips curved into a sexy, half-cocked smile—fleeting but genuine. He wasn’t known for being generous with his smiles and perhaps that was something Summer should have kept in mind. That dark, brooding gaze of his had become rather like an unwitting trademark.

He shifted uncomfortably, as though he hadn’t intended for that momentary lapse in character. “What exactly is that?”

“Sex,” she murmured breathlessly, as though the word itself was enough to ignite her inner passions. And in truth, she found that her hidden desires were strangely alive and wired. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise, for there was no other man more adept at making a woman ache with a single, unintentional glance, but ache she did.

She wasn’t the type of girl to be so easily enchanted by anyone. She dealt with celebrities all the time. Handsome, charming men who were accustomed to getting exactly what they desired—men just like Anthony.

But something about him had captivated her. It wasn’t his name or his striking face. Certainly not his record sales or celebrity status. Perhaps it was his inhibited manner. This coupled with her inability to read exactly what was on his mind intrigued her as much as it unnerved her. Perhaps it was that old adage, opposites attract. As clichéd as that was, Summer couldn’t deny there was some truth behind it. It felt as though he was always holding back from saying what he was really thinking when she, a polar opposite, too often blurted out whatever happened to be on her mind.

She shifted, crossing her legs toward him. She was suddenly much too aware of the heat building between her thighs. Business, she reminded herself, she was here on business. She didn’t have time for men. Her career saw to that on more than one occasion. But if she had the time and was so inclined, she certainly couldn’t afford for it to be this man. Not when he unknowingly held her career in his hands. “Stripped readers want to know what Anthony Phoenix yearns for. What you desire. You provide the image, we provide the fantasy.”

“But you don’t want an interview.”

“What Stripped wants is foreplay.”

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Contest Day 11 Winner

Amy S.! Come on down.

 

Contact me at terakleinfelter@gmail.com for your prize. =)

 

Thanks, everyone. And remember, there are only a few days left!!!

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