Saw this on FB and wanted to share.

FYI, I checked it on out Snopes.com and it looks very legit… if you can spare a Christmas card for this little guy, I’m sure he’d love it.

_____________________

ATTENTION FACEBOOK FAMILY & FRIENDS! Diana Harrison Biorkman has a 5-yr old son in his last stages of a 2 1/2 year battle with Neuroblastoma cancer.

They are celebrating Christmas next weekend and Noah loves Christmas cards. Please take a minute to send a card to: Noah Biorkman, 1141 Fountain View Circle, South Lyon MI 48178. THANKS. PLEASE REPOST THIS MSG & EMAIL YOUR BUDDIES! this was sent to me pass it on

Shiloh

This Monday, the 9th, is my birthday. I’ll be 42, right in the prime of my life where things sort of shift from where they’ve been. It’s made me think about things, such as where I’ll be in eight years when I turn 50.

Oh, the thoughts I’ve had about that! My older DS will be 26, which means I could be a grandmother. (OMG) The younger DS will be just graduated from college, which means… we’ll have this house to ourselves.

Hmmm, what to do with a 3000 SF house and no kids? The possibilities are endless…

Then I think about where I’ll be with my writing at 50. My goal is, of course, to have quit my day job and write novels full-time. I’d like to be self-sufficient like Nora Roberts and support myself with just my writing. Wouldn’t that be just awesome?

Of course, the drawback to that plan is the economy. People just aren’t buying as many books these days, and who can blame them? Would you rather eat or buy a book?

Okay some days that question might get a different answer, but most days it would be to eat of course. LOL.

I plan on writing, and hopefully publishers keep buy my books. Writing is part of my soul, of my genetic make-up really and I refuse to stop. The voices in my head might actually take over!

Ah, birthdays. Makes us all a bit philosophical, I think. So let’s play a fun game, ok? Everyone who posts their favorite birthday memory will get a chance at a free book. Ready?

My favorite birthday memory is… in third grade my mom arranged for a surprise sleepover with my very best friend, Robin. It was a wonderful birthday!

Now your turn!

It’s FINALLY here!!! POSSESS ME AT MIDNIGHT should be available everywhere in both print and eBook format. I’m putting up one of my favorite excerpts below…along with prizes.

Doomsday Brethren Series, Book 3 — Ice’s story
Publisher: Pocket Books
ISBN-10: 1416578463
ISBN-13: 9781416578468
Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance
Release Date: October 27, 2009
Scroll down to read the first chapter!
Order: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Borders
Books-A-Million | Simon & Schuster | Indie Bound
Overstock | Target
Download eBook: Kindle | Barnes & Noble
Fictionwise | Sony |Simon & Schuster

An apocalypse approaches in the new novel from bestselling author Shayla Black’s electrifying Doomsday Brethren series, as a magical warrior and a spirited witch ignite a smoldering passion that could destroy them both.

As a mysterious dark cloud drains the life of her beloved brother, Doomsday Brethren leader Bram, Sabelle Rion can think of little else. Still, every time she meets Ice Rykard’s intense green gaze, her body aches with need for the sexy warrior. Their attraction is explosive, incredible—and forbidden. As dangerous as he is unpredictable, Ice is her brother’s sworn enemy. But as Bram weakens, a more sinister force is gaining power. Evil Mathias and his ruthless Anarki army are on a bloodthirsty hunt for the Doomsday Diary. Sabelle must guard the potent book with her life—and Ice vows to protect the beautiful witch with his. Duty demands that Sabelle deny her lover’s fiery call of possession and mate with a man who can sway the magical Council against the impending rebellion. With the fate of magickind hanging in the balance, will she forsake the burning desires she can’t ignore or turn her back on her people for the courageous man she can’t resist?

Reviews
Rated HOT! “The volatile emotions in this tale are truly combustible!” ~ RT Bookclub

“Captivating… POSSESS ME AT MIDNIGHT [is] a book you won’t want to miss.” ~ Romance Reviews Today

Recommended Read! “Page-turning magical suspense… Wring[s] emotion from every pore… leaves readers clamoring for more.” ~ Fallen Angels Reviews

“I could not stop reading. POSSESS ME AT MIDNIGHT is absolutely perfect.” ParaNormal Romance Reviews

“I love the angst and passion between Sabelle and Ice; it’s tangible and often breathtaking. Possess Me At Midnight is another exciting chapter in the Doomsday Brethren’s fight…” Joyfully Reviewed

“Totally rewarding and particularly satisfying.” Single Titles

“Better?” she asked.

Gingerly, he nodded. He looked white and exhausted and utterly depleted.

“Internal damage?”

“Healing.” He squeezed her hand. “I stopped the burn in time.”

A whole sentence. And now, he was breathing easier. His injuries were healing. “You’re certain?”

Again, he nodded. More a jerk of his stubbled chin than anything, but enough. “The damage stopped when you dragged me from the cellar. If you hadn’t come for me—”

“Of course I would.” Did he just assume she would leave him there to die?

“You could have run straight into danger, Sabelle.” He swallowed and fought for a breath, squeezed her hand again. “When I’m well, I’m putting you over my knee for that.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, her face flamed. “You’ll do no such thing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t take away all my fun.”

A joke? He’d nearly died ten minutes ago, and now he was telling a joke. He didn’t wish her to know the extent of his injuries, clearly.

“Amusing, indeed.”

“Infuriating,” he corrected. “No more chances with your safety. On this point, Bram and I agree. You’re into magickind’s troubles too deeply.”

“I’ll tell you what I told Bram: I won’t sit about like some helpless princess while the rest of magickind fights. It’s my cause too.”

“Your funeral as well, if you’re not careful.”

“It could be anyone’s,” she argued. “Everyone’s. That’s Mathias’s doing. Not mine. Now, stop arguing and tell me how you feel. The internal damage has stopped?”

“Yes. I fought it off in the cellar, then you took me away. Between distance and your touch, I’ve improved.”

“Anything else?”

He hesitated. “My head. When the mine hit me, the force of it thrust me back. My head hit the wall. I heard a loud thump.”

Judiciously avoiding looking at the lower half of his very naked body, she gripped his large calloused hand in hers. Closing her eyes, she gathered up her power and summoned the siren in her. To Ice, she sent waves of healing, peace, sleep.

He growled. Suddenly, a wall shot up between them, blocking her well-meaning sentiments. Sabelle gasped. Where had that come from? Ice? Did he have the energy for that? Or was the mine still working its dark magic?

Then the barricade crumbled, and she felt Ice again. But this time, he sent her a blast of something else—desire that was thick, hot, screaming with lust and sex and need.

With a gasp, she pulled back.

A tired smile creased his face, and despite his exhaustion, his arrogance shone through. “Felt that, did you? I told you, I’ve no need for your happy sunshine and rainbows.”

“I sent you peaceful healing,” she argued. “You do need it.”

“Rubbish. I let you feel what I truly need.”

That overwhelming battering ram of desires and yearning? She placed a hand to her chest and forced herself to breathe evenly. Knowing he wanted her that badly staggered her. She blinked, looked at Ice, focusing on those green eyes of his that glowed with unquestionable want. Exhaustion still etched his face, and she knew that sending her any emotion had cost precious energy he didn’t have. Why bother?

“No one has ever bombarded me with their emotions like that.”

“You tell others what to feel and they abide?”

She frowned. “I try to be helpful and soothe the troubles or worries others have. I’m hardly forcing unwanted feelings upon them.”

“I didn’t want to sleep, princess.”

Sabelle felt her face flush again. “So I gathered.”

“Glad we’re clear.”

“Ice, you hardly have the energy to be wasting on such things. My touch has given you some, I suppose. But the sleep was to help you. I meant no insult. You must concede, your energy is dangerously low. Your magical signature is nearly transparent.”

He pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“Is—is that why you sent me the sexual vibrations?” She bit her lip and felt her cheeks flame up again. What was it about Ice that made her feel so feminine? “You need…energy?”

He stared, heavy, glowing, jaw clenched. “Sabelle…”

“You do.” She swallowed, studying his increasingly sheer magical signature. Normally a bold green laced with a fiery red. Black rimmed it, and she’d always worried that was a commentary on his sanity or his soul. But now, she could see straight through it all. And that frightened her. Without recharging, he would be unable to run, flee, help her evade Mathias. Yes, her touch, because he had Called to her, provided a bit of energy. But without a full dose of power, eventually he would die.

She eased off the bed and rose to her feet. With trembling hands, she pulled off her shirt. Instantly, she felt his gaze on the slopes of her shoulder, the curve of her neck, the lacy cups of her bra. His icy-hot eyes made her shiver. She locked stares with him, unable to look away.

Sabelle reached for the button of her jeans. Instead, he reached up and clamped his hands around her wrists. “Don’t.”

“But you need energy.”

“Yes, but—”

“You Called to me, so you can touch no other. And…I have no anger in me now to try to boost you that way. You want me and—”

“You know it. But I will be damned if I’ll let you make me into your next Lucan: a patient, a duty, a burden. What passes between us will never be an act you endure merely to heal me.” He squeezed on her wrists. “I would rather die.”

“Your pride is misplaced. My opinion is neither here nor there. Your life—”

“Will mean little if I have to swallow the bitter pill of being nothing to you. I hardly expect you to Bind to me, but I won’t have your pity.”

His passionate speech had used up more energy he could ill afford. The stubborn man! Frustration built inside her, a crescendo that trumpeted into fury. Ice could die, and he wanted to debate the meaning of an act intended to save his life? He sought to force her admission that she trembled for his touch before he allowed her into his bed. The energy exchange would be clean, simple, if he would merely accept her help. Did he not understand that crowding it with words and confessions would only make matters more difficult?

She tore her wrists from his grip, stepped away, and stripped off her pants and knickers. Her bra quickly followed. Ice’s eyes clamped onto her. His nostrils flared. His entire body tensed, and though she swore she would not look down, her gaze drifted across the harsh rise and fall of his chest, the undulation of his abdomen…and fixed on the hard stalk of his cock rising between his well-muscled thighs. A sudden gush of dampness slicked her intimately, where she now ached. She swallowed against the riot of sensations, a need unlike anything she’d ever felt.

If she admitted that to Ice, he would use this desire against her mercilessly.

Sabelle wanted to believe, more than anything, that Ice was motivated strictly by his desire to possess the witch he perceived as his mate. But niggling doubt made her wonder if revenge fueled him more.

“You have my help.” Her voice trembled as she sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “You need no more than that.”

Ice raised a dark brow. “You have no idea what I need.”

Before she could argue, he grabbed her around the waist and threw her under him, until her back hugged the sheets steeped in his warmth and earthy scent. He loomed over her, his shoulders blocking out most of the room’s light. She felt surrounded, enveloped. Overwhelmed.

“Did you come for him?”

His big, hot hands gripped her hips, and slid up her torso until his palms cradled her breasts. And his touch burned her. She bit her lip to hold in a gasp, but the aftershocks of their contact reverberated, crashing wave after wave of desire through her body. She softened. Her nipples peaked. She grew wetter.

He stopped. Sniffed. Smiled. “You want me.”

“My body is ready.” She dared not admit more.

His smile slipped, and he grunted. “Bloody answer me.”

Damn it all, she’d forgotten the question. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Lucan,” he growled. “Did you want him? Did he give you pleasure? Bring you to peak?”

Very direct questions. That shouldn’t surprise her. But she couldn’t answer him. No answer would satisfy him. In either event, he’d turn this into some sort of chest-beating competition. And the truth would only cause…issues.

“It’s hardly relevant. You need me, and I am offering. Nothing more or less.”

He flicked his thumbs across her nipples. Slowly. Back and forth. Until she gasped.

“I plan to make certain it is much, much more.”

To celebrate this release, I’m giving away a signed copy of TEMPT ME WITH DARKNESS and SEDUCE ME IN SHADOW, plus free reads from some favorite authors including Maya Banks, Gena Showalter, Sabrina Jeffries and others. 10 books in all! To register to win, SPREAD the word about POSSESS ME AT MIDNIGHT. Mention the book, series and release day (blurb appreciated but optional) on your Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, blog, message/bulletin boards, etc OR review the book on an online bookstore or personal blog. Comment on my blog with the link and you’re registered to win. The winner will be drawn on 11/3.

Hope everyone enjoys the release!

One witch, one cat shifter. Add one wolf. Blend. Safety glasses recommended.

Renee Parcell loves her life. Her smoothie/coffee cart business is successful, and she’s deeply in love with her boyfriend, Galen. He makes her laugh, he’s gainfully employed, and he satisfies her as only a sexy cat shifter can. He even puts the toilet seat down.

Yet they both sense something in the air. An anticipation that leaves them both unsettled.

Tall, blond and gorgeous Jack Meyers, Enforcer of National Pack and one of the most beautiful men Renee and Galen have ever seen, stumbles into Renee’s life and the riddle of their expectation is solved—Renee is Jack’s mate. What surprises them all is when the three of them touch, magick creates an unexpected triple bond of witch, cat and wolf.

Even as they learn to navigate the steamy intricacies of their bond, a threat looms over Renee. First in the form of resurrected memories, then in the shape of darker magicks someone is aiming at her. Set on stealing her inherent powers—even her life.

Renee can stand to lose almost anything, except her mates. But there seems to be no talking them out of laying everything on the line for her…

Catch it at My Bookstore And More and Books On Board as well as other digital publishing outlets like the Sony store and soon, Amazon’s Kindle store.

I’ve never traveled in a starship, never lived in a castle in 12th century England, and I’ve certainly never cast a spell that turned a bunch of crushed herbs into a murder of crows, but that hasn’t stopped me from writing about them. However, meticulous research can only take me so far. There’s nothing like walking in the dirt I’m going to write about to add that touch of realism to a story.

When I wanted to write that spell-casting novel, I set it in Memphis and immediately decided to take a road trip. Memphis is only three hours down the road from me, so not a terrible jog. I spent the weekend there soaking in the atmosphere of Beale Street and walking along the edge of the Mississippi. I interviewed a police officer, took pics of his uniform and squad car, hit a few bars and a voodoo shop. I got the feel for the setting of my novel, listened to the cadence of the voices around me, smelled the air and experienced the weather—just to add that little kernel of truth at the center of my fantasy.

When I wanted to write a story about a couple of corrections officers working in a demon-infested prison, I interviewed my daughter and son-in-law who were guards at the time, but that wasn’t quite enough to help me feel grounded in the story. I applied for a job at the prison, walked past the gates under the eye of an armed guard in a tower into the administration area where I watched porters buffing floors. I didn’t get to see the housing units, but I know how the place looked from the outside and some of the inside. I saw the prisoners’ and guards’ uniforms, could smell the disinfectant and wax, felt that chill trickle down my spine when those heavy gates closed behind me—again, it was enough to ground the story in reality.

When I wanted to write a story about a search and rescue worker who specialized in cave rescues, I did the research, knew what equipment was common, what techniques are used, but I needed more. I fell back on my own experience rappelling in the Army and in college, and I spent an afternoon with a fireman who talked about his most daring rescues. Then I went to some of the public caves in the Texas Hill Country to get those sensory details I needed.

I’ve traveled most of Europe and have photos and memories to draw upon. I’ve walked through numerous ruined fortresses and castles. I know their size, where they were built, what it looks like from the top of the battlements. I’ve been to the museums to see medieval clothing, armor, weaponry and art. And now I have my books to fill in the details of the things I don’t know—like sapping techniques and how to clean out the cesspit. When I write a medieval historical novel, I have some basis of truth to begin with and I can weave the rest of the story around it.

Some authors do quite well just hitting the books, but I like to get a “feel” for my setting and my characters’ occupations as much as I need to fill in the blanks of my knowledge with some Internet surfing. When I went to a roller derby match with friends last Saturday, no amount of movie-watching or online research could fill in the pictures that strobed through my mind. I know the size of the arena, who attends the matches, how the women dress, how they sound when they play and especially when they fall. I watched how their bodies moved, smelled them up close after they’d been at it a while. I could write that roller derby queen now. Just have to hit the internet to figure out the rules of the game.

I’m heading out on a cruise to the Caribbean with Sasha White in December and I expect to come back with fodder for many stories. I’d never attempt a cruise ship story without actually experiencing it. Some things I have to live first before I can write them.

If you’d like to see some of the places I’ve gone recently in search of truths central to my stories, check out my blog travelogue: Delilah’s Travelogue

I’m helping to raise funds to #beatcancer, by blogging, tweeting and posting Facebook status updates. Click here to join me!

#beatcancer

Want an excerpt?  of course, if you just want to buy… *G*

Blurb:

So you think you know fairy tales? Guess again.

Grimm’s Circle, Book 1

Greta didn’t get her happy ending her first time around. And now that she’s a Grimm—special kind of guardian angel and official ass-kicker in the paranormal world—romance is hard to find. Besides, there’s only ever been one man who made her heart race, and the fact that he did scared her right out of his arms. Now Rip is back. And just in time too, because Greta needs his help.

On a mission he knows is going to test all of his strengths and skills, the last person Rip expected to see is the one woman who broke his heart. Working together seems to be their only hope. But, when faced with a danger neither of them anticipated, the question is, how will they face the danger to their hearts—assuming they survive, of course.

_______________________________________

It came at me, a silent rush of death. At the very last second, I spun out of the way and felt the blast of air as it swiped out at where I’d stood only a heartbeat earlier. The thing’s hands ended in claws that measured close to three inches long.

The skin along the back of my neck prickled as I once more started to circle away from the bocan, weaving around it in nonsensical patterns. It made another rush and this time, instead of moving aside, I went down and sliced upward. Black, bitter blood covered me as I managed to break skin. It shuddered, but I figured out very quickly that while I’d hurt the demon, I hadn’t slowed it down. It slashed out as I scrambled away. Those claws got closer that time.

And then again. This time it caught me. I bit my lip to keep from screaming as the claws managed to get me in the belly, slicing me open. Blood flowed.

Shit—

A hand came out of nowhere and grabbed me, hauling me aside.

Dazed, I fell against the crumbled rock wall at my back and watched. I was in a state of shock, I think. I didn’t recognize the man at first…well, not consciously. My body probably would have, if I hadn’t been losing huge quantities of blood through the gashes in my belly. I whimpered and shrugged out of the blood-soaked jacket I wore and balled it up, pressing it to my wounded stomach.

The flesh was already knitting back together. I could literally feel it, deep, deep inside. It was a bad injury. If I was still wholly human, I’d be dead already. As it was, I was losing a lot of blood. Even us pseudo-immortals get weak when we lose too much blood.

Sinking to the ground, I watched as the man fought the bocan.

He was a lot more equipped to handle the thing than I was, that was for sure. The bocan tried to gut him with those lethal claws but the man moved away, quick as a wish. I saw one hand disappear inside the long coat he wore—something about that coat, the way it stretched over his shoulders, tickled a memory. I wouldn’t look at his face. Thinking about it now, I know why I wouldn’t look, because I knew in my heart who he was, and I needed to prepare myself a little bit more before I actually looked at him.

Instead, I focused on his hands…and on the very awesome weapon he’d drawn from inside that long, black coat. It was a black cylinder, maybe two, two and a half feet long. Yeah, I know, that doesn’t sound too flashy. It would do some serious damage to a human, probably even a number of manifested demons.

But a nine-foot-tall bocan?

Nope. Right up until he twisted it, I wasn’t impressed. But then he twisted it. I heard the whisper of metal as two edged blades appeared, one out either end of the metal cylinder.

Now it was five feet long, and bladed on both ends.

He used it like an artist. He moved like a dancer of death. The silver flashed through the air. His body barely seemed to touch the ground before he was moving off again. Eerie, deadly and oh so lovely to look at. In a rather morbid way, of course.

Black blood stained the metal as he sliced through the bocan’s scales.

The bocan hissed.

The man just laughed. That laugh. I knew that laugh.

Rip…

Just before I passed out, I finally let myself look at him. I found myself staring at his familiar profile. An ache settled in my heart and it followed me as I went under.

*

Rip had problems.

He had all sorts of problems. He had one dead demon on his hands. He had one unconscious, young adult female on his hands. He had one unconscious, not-so-young adult female on his hands—and she was injured.

His body screamed at him as he crouched beside Greta. Along his left arm, he had a series of gashes, three of them, each one of them a good seven inches long and deep. Very deep, because they weren’t healing fast. The bocan had managed to tear into his muscle, and the muscles had to knit together before the skin could. So he was still bleeding.

But not as bad as Greta.

She was pale, even paler than normal. That milky, fair complexion was ghostly and even though he knew she couldn’t die from the injury she’d taken, his heart skipped a few beats and then took up residence in his throat. To reassure himself, he laid a hand on her neck, felt the warmth and the life of her.

It didn’t help much.

He was going to relive the night’s events a thousand times over in the years to come—the nightmare of seeing the bocan come this close to gutting her, and he had been too far away to do a damn thing.

What were you thinking?

She had faced down a bocan with pretty much her bare hands. She’d had a knife. A paltry blade in her right fist as she’d circled around the demon. Bocans were too fucking big, too fucking strong, and that hide of theirs was like armor. Knives just didn’t cut it.

He shot the dead creature a nasty look and wondered where in the hell it had come from. Bocans were uncommon in the world because they didn’t have the abilities a lot of other demons had—they couldn’t manifest, couldn’t possess. They just killed.

A bocan. The paraisei he’d faced earlier. Something weird was going on. Demonkind didn’t ever gather together in one place for long—it attracted too much attention, the sort of attention that ended up them being sent back to the netherplains.

What in the hell was going on?

Greta shifted under his hands. Under her breath, she whimpered quietly and Rip, without even thinking about it, bent over her and pressed his lips to her brow. “Hush, angel. You’re safe now…you’re safe. Sleep…heal.”

His heart broke a little as she burrowed close to him.

buy (looks like it’s live at Samhain’s store front now)

If you have an Amazon kindle, you can preorder now.

I’m pleased as punch to announce Devils on Horseback: Zeke is now available in print! Wahoo!

Zeke is the third book in the series and he was by far the hardest devil to tackle. I think it’s because he’s the most self-controlled, the cool-eyed blond with a spine of steel who never lets himself lose control… or does he? *evil grin* Part of the fun in writing such an alpha hero is the satisfaction of making him lose control.

He’s stubborn, bossy and suffering. I had to find a tough heroine, one who had been through her own private hell, to be Zeke’s mate. Naomi is a woman who’d survived by her wit and instincts. She knows there’s something different about the new sheriff of Tanger but she won’t simply give in because he pushes her. Oh, no, she makes him work for it y’all.

I am including an excerpt below, this is the first time Zeke allows Naomi to see beneath his shell. It’s sweet, sexy and tender. Enjoy!

***

A cool man, a fiery woman, a love destined to ignite.

Book 3 of the Devils on Horseback series

Intense, reserved and known for his strategic thinking, Zeke Blackwood has struggled to find his place in the post-war world. After the violent death of the first woman to capture his heart, Zeke retreats into a whisky bottle—until he’s handed the position of town sheriff.

Zeke sobers up and tries his damnedest to be the best lawman he can be. He hadn’t counted on the tempting new saloon girl to jeopardize his cold, unhappy existence.

Naomi Tucker is a survivor, a woman who made it through the war on her own wit and strength. She hoped moving to Tanger, Texas would bring her the peace and stability she yearns to find. Instead she runs head-on into a cool-eyed sheriff who welcomes her to his bed, only to push her away.

The wildness of the West is far from tamed. It threatens the town’s efforts to rebuild, Zeke’s bond with the Devils—and his fragile relationship with Naomi. As Zeke’s hold on sobriety slips, he and Naomi must choose between settling for half a life apart, or embracing all they could be. Together.

***

<strong>Excerpt:</strong>

Zeke sat on the edge of the bed and held his face in his hands. A dull throb in his head was joined by an ache in his ribs. Those boys had lit into him good. Normally he’d be able to hold his own against two men, but with the small space in the cell, he’d had no room to maneuver. Bastards.

He was more angry than anything and fully intended on charging them with assault. A judge came into town every month, should be easy enough to request he come sooner.

He stretched, wincing as a sharp pain gripped his back. With a groan, he lay on the bed and closed his eyes. Doc Barham had given him a little bottle of laudanum, but Zeke hated to take it since it made him lose control. With his behavior of late, losing control had become a problem. It certainly got him in trouble with the two drunks.

When a small knock sounded at the door, Zeke clenched his jaw.

“What?” he snapped, unwilling to talk to Lee about what happened.

“Zeke?”

Naomi’s quiet voice made him sit up too fast. He gasped against the rush of blood through his head. She must’ve heard him because she opened the door and peeked in.

“Zeke?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Zeke didn’t want to admit to himself how glad he was to see her. The petite woman had gotten under his skin in the last two weeks, to the point her very presence actually made him feel better. Damn, he was supposed to be avoiding saloon women, not consorting with them every chance he got.

“Can I come in?”

She shouldn’t be alone with him in his bedroom though, no matter if she worked at the saloon or not. He was the sheriff and no doubt the old cronies on the town council would fire him if they knew. Zeke was well aware of all of it, yet it didn’t stop him from inviting her in.

“Please.”

Not only had he thrown caution under her little feet, but he’d said “please” too. Zeke knew then his plan to keep his distance from Naomi had failed miserably, and he started to shake. The urge to sling back a shot of whiskey roared through him.

“I met Gideon and he told me what happened. I was, well, I was worried.” Her confession dropped into the silence of the room.

Zeke, for the first time in his life, was overwhelmed by a woman. The sincerity of her tone and the fact she’d been worried about him made his throat close. Soft comfort and words from women hadn’t been prevalent in his life. His mother had been weak and dependent on his father, then him, for everything. Naomi had taken a lifetime’s worth of experience and reduced it to dust.

She stepped into the room and closed the door, her rose scent washing over him. He clenched his teeth and swallowed, trying to dislodge the words stuck there.

“Are you okay?”

He sucked in a shaky breath and swung his legs around the side of the bed, then patted the spot next to him. His thirst, pain, embarrassment and discomfort forgotten, he could only see her. In the moonlight, she looked ethereal, like an angel come to visit him. It seemed the preacher had been right in his description of her.

Naomi sat down gently, almost as if she was afraid, and peered at him in the dim light. “Zeke, I—”

He put his hand against her lips, their softness making his fingers tremble. “You shouldn’t be here alone with me.”

She smiled beneath his hand. “I want to be.”

Zeke cupped her face and tried to read what lurked in the hazel depths of her eyes. All he saw were shadows and uncertainties, a common theme in his life the last five years. He knew he shouldn’t be with her, but for once he was going to do what his heart told him.

God help him. He was listening to his heart.

“You didn’t get hurt in the brawl, did you?” He tried to find a topic to keep his mind, and his body, from focusing on kissing her.

“No, we hid behind the bar.” She smiled. “Thank you for coming to stop it again. You seem to be quite good at being a sheriff, for a new one, I mean.”

He chuckled at her teasing. “I suppose. It ain’t hard, well I guess it is sometimes.” He pressed a hand to his aching ribs.

“Are you all right? Gideon told me you were hurt.” She covered his hand with hers.

“I’ll live.” He pulled her hand up and kissed the palm. Zeke felt a shiver snake through her at the touch of his lips.

“I’m not sure what’s happening, Zeke.” She gazed at the palm of her hand. “Why did I come here?” she sounded as confused as he was.

“Probably for the same reason I came to your bed.” Zeke’s body began to react to being closer to hers. It wasn’t just a sexual reaction, it was something else too. That something else was unidentifiable, and it scared him.

Yet he didn’t ask her to leave.

She nodded, her blonde hair sliding over the dress with a soft sound. “I’ve been fighting for survival for three years, and now it seems I have to fight for something else.”

“What’s that?”

She met his gaze. “My heart. You knocked me sideways, Sheriff, and I find myself liking it.”

Zeke knew exactly what she meant. “I don’t want to be responsible for your heart, for anyone’s heart. The last year has brought me nothing but misery, and I can’t seem to get myself out of the hole I dug for myself. I don’t want to subject you to the same hell.” His voice had descended into a hoarse whisper full of emotion.

She took his hand, her little fingers wrapping around his in comfort, bringing a lump to his throat.

“I understand. Lucy told me about Allison. I’m so sorry.”

The mention of Allison made his stomach clench. Once upon a time, she might have been his wife. Now she was just another ghost in his heart.

“She’s gone, and I’m still here. Now you’re here too.” He squeezed her hand. “I just want to be sure you understand I ain’t looking for anything from you.”

Zeke sensed she didn’t believe a word he said, yet she remained silent. He hadn’t wanted a woman getting under his skin, but it was too late for that.

“Kiss me.” Her husky command sent a shiver down his skin.

“Are you sure?” He knew she should leave, get away before their sexual relationship continued, but he couldn’t seem to let go of her hand.

“Kiss me.” This time her voice was firmer, and he obeyed.

He lowered his head and kissed her, capturing her breath into his mouth, inhaling her essence. It began slowly, but the heat between them flared to life.

Their previous encounters had been fierce matings, full of passion and animal instinct. This time it was gentle—for the first time they were making love.

I’m in Washington state, in a wonderful lake house, surrounded by my fellow writers in a retreat. I can’t even begin to describe how fun it is to wake up to the sound of book plotting.

It’s my first writer’s retreat even though I’ve been published for four years. I don’t think I knew quite what to expect before I came, but I am so glad I did. We talk about plotting, characters, book deals, editors, agents and all the stuff I can’t talk about with the rest of the people in my life.

These wonderful ladies are my peers, the people who know exactly the angst, troubles and disappointments I suffer as a writer. Then there’s our hostess who is gracious, funny as hell, and knows the writing business inside and out.

The amazing thing is being able to set aside all the daily things, the schedule, keeping track of all the little things in my life. I’ve focused on writing, discussing writing, and getting so much done. I killed myself finishing my first Emma Lang book before I came, then when I got here, it was like I went into the writing zone. I finished rewrites on Devils on Horseback: Lee and sent it off to my beta reader, and begun the galley proofs of The Stranger’s Secrets.

The best thing is, I’ve recently signed a one book deal with Berkley Heat (yay!) for a contemporary erotic romance to be released in July 2010.  Unfortunately the book is due October 16 (eep) so I have six weeks to write it. I’ve already gotten 6K written! I’m excited to be able to pound out the pages, read them aloud to my fellow peeps, and then write more.

Not only that, but the lake house is lovely. I mean, look at the view! I’ll be back in NC on Sunday and my batteries completely recharged. I miss DH terribly, but talk to him twice a day. Even better, when I return we can show each other just how much we missed each other.

The view from the cabin