Friday - blessed be thy name.....

I have been searching around to buy dining room chairs. Yes, how glamorous is my life? I am sure you can compete with something equally as exciting. Anyway, I saw this absolutely fabulous set of chairs that would be perfect. Problem? They are bloody expensive. I keep visiting them every day willing the price to go down. The sales assistant in the shop just nods and smiles at me as I visit the chairs. I have bargained her down as far as she will go. Will I get the chairs? I’d like to. I feel after visiting them so much they have become accustomed to me and will probably feel bad if I do not follow this infatuation through to a commitment. To be honest, I rarely use the dining room for dining. I use it for writing. If anyone comes over they know they will not be eating at the table. They accept that as one of the rules of Chez Amarinda. So why do I want new dining chairs? I just do. Will anyone sit in them? Hmmm…probably not. So what’s the point? I want them. The women in my family have a saying – “What Lola wants, Lola gets.” None of us are called Lola and maybe it’s a strange saying but we like it.


I won’t speak of work or I will swear and I am trying to retain the illusion that I am a delicate, sweet lady who wouldn’t say shit for a shilling. I did wander off at lunchtime and score a bargain though so the day wasn't a complete loss. After visiting my chairs, I came across someone selling top name perfume for cheap prices. Instantly suspicious, I checked it out and realized it was the fair dinkum stuff (real, true). I bought 4 bottles of Red Door – love it. Did it come off the back of a truck? Possibly. But again, Lola got what she wanted so what the hell. I am hardly about to be the Queen of all that's good and moral.


Why do I have a picture of George Clooney on the blog today? Does there have to be a reason to look at a sunset, appreciate a glass of wine or smile at a handsome, charming man? It’s a ‘because I can’ moment. You know, I am not a great believer in being attracted to anyone just because of superficial reasons. There has to be more. I suspect George has heaps of good qualities so in this instance I am going to give him the benefit of the doubt.


On www.kkirch.blogspot.com – Kelly left us with….

What makes you think I have it?"

"The stupid smirk on your face for one. And the fact that your reality TV entourage has a lot of reflective surfaces which show what you're holding behind your back."

"Curses!" he roared, flinging the peeler before him like a baton in a marching band.

"Give me the peeler, now, and I won't have to use Matilda's Vow on you." She laughed manically at his fierce shudder of dread

As usual I am not going down the path well trod…

Before she had a chance to put her threat into practice, a gigantic foot descended on Zoltan, crushing him into the dirt at Emmeline’s feet.

“Holy crap!” She exclaimed as she looked at the giant purple toenails before her. Emmeline tilted her head back to get a look at the owner of the foot. “Who the hell are you?” A thirty-foot woman with wild blue hair towered over her.

“I just saved your life, shorty.”

Emmeline snorted. If only it was that simple. “He’s not dead you know, Zoltan is immortal.”

“When I stand on a man they don’t get up again.” She lifted her foot to show the flattened Zoltan beneath.

Emmeline looked at him. Yep he was dead all right. There was no way he was going to be hauling his arse after her through dimensions. “Bastard!”

“What?”

“Zoltan told me I would die if he died.”

The woman shook her head in disgust. “Typical man – it’s all about them.”

“So who the hell are you?”

“I am the legendary Merle.”

“Yeah? If you’re so legendary how come I have never heard of you?”

“Cynical bitch.” Merle spat in contempt.

“Big footed cow.” Emmeline stood defiantly with her hand on her hips.

“I could kill you for that but I won’t.” The woman leered at her. “I have been given the task of taking you to Yum Cha.”

Emmeline stiffened in horror. Yum Cha was knife throwing Tibetan anarchist who had vowed to kill her for saving the life of high Chieftain. “I’m not going.”

“It’s not optional, short arse.”

What plans does Yum Cha have for our girl Emmeline? Tune in same time tomorrow on www.annycook.blogspot.com to see where Anny takes us.

You have probably noticed I have been highlighting some of the great books on offer from Cerridwen Press and Ellora’s Cave. Why? Becaue there are some bloody good writers out there. Today I bring you Force of Nature by Robin Leigh Miller. It’s available now. How do you purchase it? Why click on the cover – how simple is that? A book at your fingertips.

Force of Nature – Robin Leigh Miller

The blurb…

Markey Nevell was born with the unique gift of manipulating the air. A gift she would gladly give up for the chance at a normal life. Anger management is a concept Markey lives with every day. When her anger grows out of control her gift takes over, inflicting the source with the wrath of hell and the force of a tornado. Unable to control or understand how it works, she drifts around the country hoping to disappear in the crowd.
Trip Lindaur has his own gift, the ability to seek out and find those people trying to hide from the world. When he is hired to find the remarkable Markey, he assumes it will be just another job. He never counted on falling for her beauty and wit, or her charming innocence. After delivering her to the doctor that hired him, Trip’s world spirals out of control. He discovers he’s delivered Markey into the hands of a mad scientist that plans on dissecting her for his own twisted gain.
Saving her life is just part of the battle ahead. Will she forgive his betrayal, or will she once again disappear into the world?

The excerpt….

“What are you?” Denise asked peeking through the crack of the opened door.
“What do you mean what am I? I’m Markey Neville, your friend.”
“No. I saw you in that alley. You aren’t human. You were glowing, your eyes were like fire. My God you threw those men around like they were rag dolls. No human can do what you did. “
“Denise please, you’re confused.” If she could just convince Denise that she’d imagined the whole thing, that the trauma of the night had caused her to embellish what had really happened, then everything would fine.
“Don’t you try that psychology crap with me, I know what I saw. Now leave me and Sandy alone. We don’t ever want to see you again.” Denise kicked at Markey’s foot removing it from between the door and wall. “Freak,” she mumbled before slamming the door.
Tears streamed down Markey’s face as she left Denise’s apartment building. Freak, it always came down to that one word. It had to be the most hurtful word in the English dictionary. Nonetheless, it wasn’t the first time she heard it and it wouldn’t be the last.
Markey returned home to find her small house that she rented covered in smashed eggs with the word “freak” spray-painted in huge black letters across the front. The sound of hushed whispers came from behind her as the neighborhood gathered across the street to stare. Lying on the ground in front of her door was a newspaper with a large black and white picture of her. Over it read, “Is this woman a phenomenon?”
She stepped over it and unlocked her sticky, slimy door and proceeded inside. She knew what she had to do and without any hesitation she began packing. By the end of the day she had called her boss and quit, packed all important items and loaded her car. When nightfall came she slipped behind the wheel and began her search for her new home.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/

Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Beam me up Scotty...

I am doing the guest blogging gig on http://www.totalebound.blogspot.com/ please wander over and take a squiz, leave a comment, shoot the breeze or check out the Jones girl books.

Today…

I wanted a particular job. I went to the interview determined to get it. I charmed the pants off the interviewers. I can be disgustingly charming when I choose to be. The things that come out of my mouth astound me– “team player”- “dedicated to the job”- “sure I know how to use that program (not)” - “no, I never listen to gossip”…you know, the usual stuff....anyway, I got the job. Yay me! But guess what? The job offer got cancelled an hour later due to ‘budgetary constraints.’ Well – bugger. You have to laugh don’t you?

So, I was driving home from work thinking about how bloody funny life is– ha-friggin-ha - and I decided that I take it too seriously. I always aim for stuff I cannot have. It’s a genetic coding issue. I suspect my convict ancestors believed they should have Captained the convict ship over and been pardoned when they got to Australia. We’re just like that. We expect to charm and bluff our way into stuff…probably how the convict ancestors got transported. Though I personally think they were framed. Anyway, this got me thinking about living the simple life – which if you knew me is hysterical as I am not programmed for simple. I am extra difficult with a side order of bossy and ‘oh god, not her again.’ So back to the simple life…for some reason I thought of Star Trek fans…you know Trekkies. They seem to lead these amazingly happy lives dressing up as Captain Kirk or whomever and going to conventions and speaking in Klingon. I loved the original Star Trek as a child. My brothers and I used to watch repeats religiously on a Sunday arvo many moons ago.



So Trekkies, to me, seem to have a good time. They are out mingling, swapping stuff, using pretend phasers and dreaming of beaming up somewhere into the final frontier of space. Good on them. That’s their passion in life. I admire passion. Then I started thinking about other people like Elvis impersonators - sorry tribute artists - and the Kiss Army and other similar groups . These people seem to have a bloody excellent time. They follow those they admire and they hurt no one. So why am I not following some pop culture phenomena with slavish devotion? What is wrong with me? That’s rhetorical by the way. As a demented teenager I once had this obsession with the Bay City Rollers. Yes, go figure. I loved them. I realised in later life when travelling in Scotland, and falling in immediate lust with a Highland god, that it was just the accent that had me. So spill, who did you have or still have a ‘thing’ for? Is there anyone you would slavishly follow with the devotion of a Trekkie? I bet you have someone Miss Molly.



So, it was only a fifteen minute drive home, but I thought much. As I wandered into the local bottlo (liquor store) I came to the conclusion that I probably will just remain the way I am – aim for stuff, get shot down then aim again. You know why? Because it’s so good when you stop.

Anny is talking about romance on www.annycook.blogspot.com. As always she is deep, meaningful and Zen like. I suspect she did not have an erratic crush on the Bay City Rollers when she was a teenager. Kelly, who is no doubt saying – who are the bloody Bay City Rollers – has the next riveting episode of the blog serial on www.kkirch.blogspot.com. I believe she is insane. Just a personal opinion. As always, I recommend the fine blogs to your left. They are wise, odd and funny…but then aren’t we all?

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/

Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

The interview you have when you're not having an interview...

In case you are wondering, today is not the 5th December. I have actually known that all day. Why do I mention it now? Because I would normally do a Wednesday author interview today on the blog. My next one is scheduled for 5th December. It appears I cannot count and I skipped at week in the interview spreadsheet thingy. So I have no one line up to interview but myself. Thankfully I can talk underwater with a mouthful of marbles if necessary so I put these burning questions to myself.

What is your shoe size?
8
What is your weight?
Bugger off
Are you like your star sign?
If Scorpios are sweet nature people - sure




If you could eat your body weight in one thing what would it be?
Tim Tams
Can you be a lady and still write sex?
Sure – confident, dignified, smart women can do anything well.
Is there anything you will not write?
Sci-fi because I suck at it and twincest, incest – it’s disgusting.
It is your last day on Earth – do you drink a bottle of wine or think deep and meaningful thoughts about the afterlife?
Dumb question

Your house is on fire – which do you save - your ridiculously expensive shoes you can barely walk in, your framed university degree or the carton of ice-cream in your fridge?
The ice-cream as iridescent purple toe nail polish is always stylish and who knows where the Uni degree is.

You write a book a reviewer hates, loathes and despises and she tells the whole world – what do you do?
I say 'thanks for the review' – any publicity is good
You have the choice to go camping for the weekend or smack you hit continuously against a brick wall.
Brick wall – camping is just wrong
The love of your life demands you stop writing erotic romance novels. What do you do?
I say – ‘who are you again?’
If patience is a virtue, temper is –
A necessity
To err is human to forgive is –
Optional – depends on mood, circumstance and how much sucking up is employed
Favorite quote?
A warped barrel is a fool’s frustration – Maxwell Smart
Favorite movie?
The Big Easy for the lines -
-I’ve never had much luck with sex
-Chere you luck’s about to change
Any talents?
I can do the Vulcan hand salute and drink a bottle of champagne and still remain upright-ish.
Anything intensely personal you would like to share?
I cannot whistle

There can I crap on or what? Speaking of such - wise Anny has the blog serial on www.annycook.blogspot.com. She is also talking about building worlds. No, I don't think she is a megalomaniac. Speaking of such - Kelly is talking about male chauvinist pigs on www.kkirch.blogspot.com. Please...don't get me started...

Janice Bennett has an excellent book out called Cold Turkey. It's available at Cerridwen Press or you guessed it - click on the cover to buy - go on - you can never have too many books. I think Confucius said that or maybe he meant to.

Cold Turkey
Book #1 of the Events Unlimited series

When Annike McKinley returns to her Aunt Gerda’s home for Thanksgiving she finds the body of Clifford Brody, C.P.A., bleeding all over her aunt’s tax receipts. While Sheriff Owen Sarkisian and the crime team track mud through the house, the Service Club of Upper River Gulch Environs (the SCOURGEs) stick Annike with organizing the town’s Thanksgiving weekend activities. Racing around the county to make the preparations gives her the opportunity to investigate the murder on her own to clear the chief suspect—her beloved aunt. She is soon up to her neck in pancake breakfasts, pie-eating contests, community dinners—and a raffle prize that threatens to take over her life.

After ordering Annike to stop interfering, Sarkisian is forced to beg the aid of her accounting skills to help unravel the case. She keeps a tight rein on her growing enjoyment of his company, though, for as the widow of a former sheriff of the county she is determined not to get romantically involved with another law officer. Then one of the suspects is found dead, stripped to his boxers and socks in a vat of apricot brandy. Before the murderer is captured, both Annike and Sarkisian narrowly avoid adding to the body count.

The excerpt

The authorities. I had to call the sheriff. But I couldn’t bring myself to reach over the body for the phone. Instead, I sidled around to the other side of the desk. This gave me the added disadvantage of a clear view of the man’s face, with the open, staring eyes that no longer saw anything. His gray-flecked brown hair, I noted through a daze, remained impeccably styled. Clifford Brody, C.P.A., wouldn’t even be caught dead other than perfectly groomed.
Movement near the hardwood floor made me yelp. One of the cats, the calico Birgit, emboldened by my presence, slunk into the room. I shooed her out, then succumbed to a craven impulse and followed, closing the door firmly behind me. I’d call from another phone. Preferably one at the other end of the house.
I made it down the hall, through the living room, past the dining room door, and into the country kitchen redolent of herbs. Only a few steps from the royal blue wall phone my knees collapsed, dumping me onto one of the brightly painted wooden chairs set around the ancient pine table. I could use a stiff drink. Aunt Gerda would recommend strong tea, with something for nerves, like oat straw, in it. Call first, I ordered myself. Then I’d search out my aunt’s chocolate stash.
I hauled myself to the phone and punched in from memory the number for the Merit County sheriff’s office, then clutched the receiver, trying to order my mind. I couldn’t stammer out the incoherent gibberish that currently filled my head. Not if I wanted anyone to understand me. Dagmar, the gray and white tabby, wound herself around my ankles, and as the phone rang, I scooped the cat into my arm and cradled her there for comfort. Mine, not hers. She squirmed at the tightness of my hold, and I settled her more contentedly against my shoulder.
A bright, familiar woman’s voice answered with an encouraging, “Sheriff’s office.”
Deep breath. “This is Annike McKinley, at—”
“Annike? Hi, it’s Jennifer. Been a long time. You home for Thanksgiving?”
“Jennifer,” I repeated. The woman had been answering the phone twelve years ago, when I first met Tom McKinley, who already had been the county sheriff for five years. Who probably still would be if he hadn’t gotten in the way of that bullet during a drug bust seven years ago. Jennifer, who’d been at our wedding, and who’d accompanied the deputy sheriff when he’d come to break the news to me of Tom’s death.
“Are you going to stop by for a visit?” Jennifer’s voice sounded cheerfully over the line. “We’ve got a new guy here, just took over when Sheriff Guzman retired last month. Love to hear your opinion of him. He’s—”
“Jennifer,” I managed to break in. “We’ve got someone—I mean, we’ve got a body—”
“Don’t tell me, there’s a carcass in your kitchen. Someone murdered a turkey, right?”
“No, an accountant.” Except in the case of Clifford Brody, the point could be argued that he was both.
“An…” Jennifer broke off. “No, don’t tell me. Now, why,” she muttered, “would a turkey be called an accountant? No, don’t spoil it, let me guess the joke.”
“No joke. Listen, I’m serious. It’s Clifford Brody. He’s dead. And he’s here, in my aunt’s house.”
“Brody? God, Annike, are you serious? He’s dead? Really?” She exhaled in a ragged breath. “Who am I going to get to do my taxes this year?”

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Tuesday Stuff...

I rang Ethel an hour or so ago and said ‘write these names’ down. She naturally wanted to know why I was interrupting her quality time with a bottle of red and I explained she had to draw a name out of a hat for me as an unbiased, if not slightly tipsy judge, for the winner of The Ghost and The Goddess book.

- I don’t have a hat, Lucy.
- Don’t split hairs with me, Ethel. Improvise
- Oh god that means I have to get off the lounge and go look for something.
- Yes – you want this to be official don’t you?
- No, not particularly. Okay I have a saucepan
- A saucepan?
- Oh piss off
- Jeeze, chill out. I guess that will do. Put the names in it and draw one out
- You’re weird
- Tell me about it
- Okay – it’s someone called Molly. Do we like her?
- We like all blog readers Ethel – why?
- I just thought you may want to draw again
- Go back to your beloved
- Roger that
- 10 -4 Over and out

See? Can I conduct a contest under strict guidelines or what? So Molly, you have The Goddess and The Ghost copy. I’ll email it later.

Back to work tomorrow….hmmm… can hardly wait…who’s a big fat liar?

On www.kkirch.blogspot.com Kelly left us with….

"That's silly. I told that to you in confidence when I was five, before you realized I wasn't a figment of your imagination." He kicked the tire on her car. "Fine. But your vow had better come out in the open afterward. I'm only going to the haunted castle because I have to, not because of the six ghost orgy party."

"Right. Let's go," Emmeline commanded.

Yes, let’s go and change direction again…

“Stop!” Emmeline yelled out loud and stamped her dainty feet. “That is a load of crap! I am neither flat-chested nor do I have ‘oversized toes.’” She flicked her flaming red hair off her face. Her green eyes blazed with fury.

“Well, we wanted to make your memoirs a little more exciting,” Tarquin, the creative film director on “Toy with Me and Die”explained.

“So you drag my drab cousin Matilda and my scheming toe-rag of a husband Zoltan into it? Are we trying to make money or make people puke?”

Tarquin laughed nervously. “You have such a lovely lilting voice and…” he stopped when he saw the legendary pulsatingly powerful peeler pointed at his pecker. “They add colour.” Tarquin backed away from the statuesque warrior woman. She was built like Marilyn Monroe and could kick arse from here to Gamma Six if the mood struck her. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“My life has plenty of colour.” Wanker – she once had a pet goldfish called Tarquin. She had to flush him down the dunny. “What about when I saved the Kambucatan High Chieftain, Wang Chung, against the knife throwing Tibetan anarchist Yum Cha?” Emmeline could see she had peaked goldfish boy’s interest. “It all started when I was sitting in the mountains of Tibet searching for…

“… the meaning life?” Tarquin interrupted her.

“No, I had run out of film and I came cross this village.” Emmeline gazed into the distance as remembered it as if yesterday. “At the gateway of the village, an ancient curse had been painted on a rock. It said…”

Oh dear…whatever does the curse say? Well, you’ll just have to find out with Anny tomorrow on www.annycook.blogspot.com

Looking for a steamy vampire book? Well there’s a hot new one just released. Summoned by Lust by Amanda Sidhe – out now through Ellora’s Cave. Click on the cover to buy! You know you want to…go on, I’ll tell no one.

Summoned By Lust – the blurb

Karma thought she had it made. As a highly paid Summon — a human servant to a vampire clan — all she had to do was use her telepathy to anticipate the needs of the vampires she was sent to serve, while avoiding becoming lunch or undead herself. It had been a lucrative and easy gig until Razor showed up with his deadly good looks, bad boy attitude and a dose of telepathy that dwarfed hers. And this powerful vampire Kinsman has only one job for her to do — telepathically replace his overpowering blood lust with sexual hunger…for her!

The excerpt

“You like playing mind games?” Razor hooked a finger under her sunglasses and flicked them away so nothing shielded her from those metallic eyes of his. This close, she could just make out the shape of his irises behind the veil of magic and they bore into her.

“I meant no offense, Kinsman,” Karma said as naturally as she could with the tightness of his grip over her vocal cords. “I wished only to anticipate your desires.” This time she did add a hint of sexual coloring to her meaning. Better to end this risky encounter with her virtue sullied than with her vital organs displaced from her body.

She relaxed mentally to let him feel the truth in her. That was even harder than trying to force her body to relax despite the fight-or-flight response that dumped adrenaline into her bloodstream and made her bones tremble. Not knowing how powerful he was telepathically she carefully forced her mind open, like trying to unball a fist when it gripped the ledge of a cliff and the drop was deadly. It wasn’t a natural thing to do. When she thought she’d exposed her thoughts long enough for him to see her sincerity, Karma tugged experimentally on her telepathic probe to see if he’d release the connection. No dice. His mental jaws tightened, keeping her firmly inside his controlled upper layer of consciousness.

Razor’s focus lowered to his hand at her throat. Adjusting his grip, his fingertips settled over her pulse. Despite her outward attempt to project calm, her blood slammed with fear under his touch.

His other hand tugged her shirt out of her slacks in a long, slow pull that made the soft fabric of her blouse rub tantalizingly over her stomach even as panic froze Karma’s muscles. Razor slipped his hand beneath her shirt and palmed her breast, enclosing it completely, which spoke to the size of his hands because she was fairly well proportioned up top. With a squeeze that pinched her nipple between his thumb and the side of his finger the terror that had been coiling inside her shattered as a spike of desire shocked her entire body. Karma hadn’t been able to suppress her cry of pleasure. A roll of thunder cascaded first across her skin and then through her muscles and finally vibrated through her bones like the rhythmic beating of a base drum. It was as though her own natural attraction was being soaked up by Razor’s telepathic power, amplified and projected back into her a hundredfold. Instantly, her entire being softened with sexual heat. Writhing against the wall, Karma bent her knee and stroked it up the outside of Razor’s thigh. Forgetting why she had her hands at her sides, she reached up and explored the rocky terrain of his hard stomach.

Razor smiled wide, exposing his fangs. “I’ll make you a deal. If you do to me what you promised and keep my thoughts from roaming from sex to blood, I won’t kill you before sunrise.”

Sunrise was in less than an hour.

She didn’t have to ask what promise he referred to. Her own image echoed in his mind of her head moving in a bobbing motion over his lap. His desire flavored the memory, making her lick her lips in anticipation. Even though Razor was a big, scary vampire, his barbaric domination thrilled her. He was a man used to taking what he wanted and the fact he wanted her made her wet and ready to surrender. If only she could trust him. “And after sunrise?”

“One step at a time,” he said in a manner that seemed to indicate he didn’t think that would be an issue. That would have frightened her but Razor rolled her nipple with his thumb, rocketing a fresh surge of need through her that was already more explosive than any orgasm she’d ever had. The need was so massive that she knew he was magnifying it with his own telepathy. But her body didn’t care and she squirmed and heaved against his palm. It wasn’t merely her survival instinct that led her to agree. “As you wish, Kinsman.

“Razor.” He released her neck but kept his hand on her breast. “Say my name.” Looming tall over the top of her, he didn’t need to physically pin her to make her feel trapped and at his complete mercy. The solid heat of his body closed around her, invading her space and her body. Every breath was heavy with his masculine spice. Deadly handsome, any woman would disintegrate with longing just to be on the receiving end of his lustful attention.

Excellent line - “I’ll make you a deal. If you do to me what you promised and keep my thoughts from roaming from sex to blood, I won’t kill you before sunrise.”

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

The man with the freaky blond hair book....

I walked out of work today. Why? I am too angry to discuss it without swearing profusely - I was that angry that I was shaking as I drove home. I’ll discuss it eventually. I looked at little like the angry woman in this picture - though my hair is shoulder length and I am not as green - and I don't ever wear spots. I like to to look at clothing and think 'Would Betty Boop wear this?' Hey! Don't knock Betty. She is an icon that has been around for years. Her longevity is amazing. Anyway back to the work stuff. I'm not back at work until Wednesday as they annoyed me and my Doctor (female) and I both agree these boys need to learn a lesson and I'm the girl to do it.

On to happier things…the book with the man with the freaky blond hair is released today. No, that’s not the title but that’s my pet name for the book. It’s actually called The Goddess and The Ghost. It’s book 2 in The Goddess Grind series. What’s it about? A woman comes across a ghost that only she can see. Is this a good thing you ask? Depends who the ghost is and what his story is – and is he really dead or trapped between worlds? Hmm…who knows? Well I do but you would have to read it to find out more – or win a copy by telling me “how long it takes to get from here to there.” Yes it’s a silly question. So write me a silly answer in the comments (with name and contact details) and I’ll chuck names into a hat and that first name out – assuming someone answers - will win your own copy of the book with the man with the freaky blond hair. How can you pass that up?

The man with the freaky blond hair - okay The Goddess and The Ghost - blurb - available at Total-E-Bound - it's another click on the cover moment to buy...

Zipporah Scott is due to spend the weekend camping with her niece. Zipporah hates camping. The only thing that could make it worse is the gorgeous guy who following her and telling her he’s a ghost and only she can help him. Uh huh.

Rian Carmichael is a man that is trapped between worlds. Only Zipporah can see him. Rian knows two things for sure. He needs her help to live again and Zipporah Scott is the woman for him. He knew it at a glance.

Despite the craziness of their situation, Zipporah wants to believe that she can have a future with Rian. The touch and taste of him is real enough but can he break through the barrier between worlds and be with her forever or are they doomed to be parted?

The first book in the series - The Goddess Within does not have a freaky blond guy - but despite that it has done well. Fallen Angel Reviews kindly gave a recommended read. It's the book that had the inspirational opening line...

Mardi Keller screamed as the orgasm drove her face forward onto the floor.

The blurb...with clickable cover...

Mardi Keller cannot believe her ears when she hears an unknown man talking about how he wants her over a two-way radio. Her friends drag her to meet him and she discovers the man she has been lusting over from afar is one and the same. But can lust be love?

It only took once glance at Mardi for Stryker Reed to know she was the woman for him. He has no intention of letting the woman of his dreams get away. All he has to do now is convince her that love at first sight does exist and that he can love her like no other.

And just when you are thinking can Amarinda flog one more book tonight without offering sneak knives? Yes, I can - and no, there are no steak knives. I do have this weird melon baller thing in the kitchen drawer that I cannot seem to throw out. You never do know when you'll come across a melon with balls do you? Anyway Lust in Time - eyes right - got 5 Angels from the good folks at Fallen Angels.

The blurb - sans steak knives...cover comes with url when clicked.

When Arabella Smith from 2008 wakes up on the floor of a strange house in 1888 She is gob smacked. Is it a dream or is the book in her hands the reason why she is there? The book is from 1888. She soon meets the original owner and Arabella begins to believe it is her mission to help Amy Louisa and then get back to the mod cons of 2008 as soon as possible.

However Garrett Robillard has other plans for Arabella. He knows why she is in 1888 and it has everything to do with him. Arabella is the mystery lover he has been dreaming about for the last three weeks. She is the woman for him. Garrett just needs to convince her of that.

Arabella’s plan was not to fall in love and have hot sex with Garrett especially as she knows time is fickle and she can be thrown her back into the future without warning. But what can a girl do when she is faced with the man of her dreams and the past is really her future?

Last thing to flog tonight is a competition where you win stuff...

What do - Kelly Kirch, Sandra Cox, KZ Snow, Barbara Huffert, Anny Cook, Heather Hiestand, Jacquéline Roth, Cindy Spencer Pape, Bronwyn Green, Brynn Paulin, Lacey Thorn and me – the Jones girl - Amarinda - all have in common other then being exceptional writers? Answer -

Do you want to win some fantastic holiday reading? If so come celebrate the Twelve days of Christmas with 12 authors from Ellora’s Cave, Total-E-Bound and Cerridwen Press. Each day beginning December 8th and running through December 20th each one of the twelve authors will leave a clue as to what their “True love gave to them” on either their blog or website. Collect all twelve answers and go into the drawer to win some great books.

There will be three lucky winners. The prizes –

1st prize--6 books
2nd prize--4 books

3rd prize--2 books

All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly. For more details visit www.amarindajones.blogspot.com, www.annycook.blogspot.com or www.kkirch.blogspot.com on 6th December 2007.

Have you checked out where Kelly took the blog serial on www.kkirch.blogspot.com? Don't commit it to memory as it's going to take another screeching U-turn tomorrow. Anny is talking to herself on www.annycook.blogspot.com. No, she's not insane, just mildly crazy.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/

Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Moments in time...

A moment in Australian history…The Eureka Stockade

"We swear by the Southern Cross to stand truly by each other and fight to defend our rights and liberties."

This the Eureka Flag. It is based on the Southern Cross – the constellation of stars the most Aussies and Kiwis consider their own. This flag came about during a turbulent time in Australian history. In the 1850’s gold was discovered in the Victorian goldfields. People came from all over the world to strike it rich. However, they were pissed off and when the Colonial Government of the time introduced crippling mining fees and enforced them any way they had to. In November 1854, the gold diggers formed a united front and stood up for their rights. Their guiding principle -"That is it the inalienable right of every citizen to have a voice in making the laws that he is called on to obey, that taxation without representation is tyranny."

The Southern Cross flag or Eureka Flag became a symbol of their struggle. In an act of defiance, the diggers burned their licences and, under the leadership of a young Irishman, Peter Lalor erected barricades to form what would become the Eureka Stockade.

Naturally the authorities weren’t happy that a bunch of militant nobodies decided to take them on. They had troops march on the Stockade and after a battle, the diggers lost. But the thing is they lost that battle but won their war eventually. Peter Lalor went on to parliament and to fight for the laws he believed in. The Eureka Stockade was a "short-lived revolution that became a lasting symbol of the struggle against injustice and oppression and a defining moment in the creation of the Australian spirit.”

Thanks to - http://www.eurekaballarat.com/index.php?option=content&task=view&id=22&Itemid=82

A moment in Present Day Australian history…

The Government got rolled last night. We have a new Government and a new Prime Minister called Kevin. He’s a Queenslander so naturally he will be excellent. The outgoing Prime Minister lost his seat. This is historic as no sitting Prime Minister has lost their seat since 1929. Why was there such a dramatic change of Government? Because people were pissed off. Work Choices (a brutal crackdown on workers rights) Interest rates (a government who foolishly swore blind they would not rise) and climate change (a government with 1950’s thinking when it came to change) were the reasons. People just said enough. You cannot piss people around when it comes to their lifestyles or money. The current mob had been in there for 11 years. It is my view that we had to change or stagnate. Will the current government by any better? Who knows? But they will abolish Work Choices and they will sign the Kyoto Protocol to reduce Greenhouse emissions. That’s a start.


So off politics for the moment. Trivia - did you know -

- The Guinness Books of Records holds the record for being the most stolen book from public libraries?
- The Bullfrog is the only animal that never sleeps.
- Every year the Moon moves a further 3.82cm from the Earth.
- The Mona Lisa has no eyebrows.
- On average on four year old child asks 437 questions a day
- And Elephants are the only animals that cannot jump.

See, you learn all sorts of stuff on the Amarinda Blog

Make sure to visit www.annycook.blogspot.com and www.kkirch.blogspot.com to see what Anny and Kelly are up to. I also recommend any of the blogs to left of you are looking to read smart authors with insightful views.


Elyssa Lynne www.elyssalynne.com has been kind enough to pass on a sneak peak of her new release - Servant of Magic – due November 30th from Ellora’s Cave. The guy on on the cover looks like he knows what to do with that sword of his doesn’t he ladies? Mark it down on your calendar to buy now. Until then click on the cover and check out Elyssa’s books.

Servant of Magic - The Blurb - The Five of Wands in the Torrid Tarot Series

When Cori of the island of Kethris joins in the priestesses’ ceremony to summon the fading magic, it manifests itself to her as a phantom lover. Certain this is a sign that Cori can steal back the island’s Heartstone, the source of the magic, from the conquering kingdom of Ederian, her island’s leaders send her to the mainland where the new king must soon choose his queen. But treachery lurks in the King Anders’ fortress. In order to save her island, her people, the man she has come to love—and even her own life—Cori must risk all to become a true Servant of Magic.

SERVANT OF MAGIC

Warning – this is an adult excerpt.

The reflected flickerings of the oil lamp danced in the depths of his eyes adding amber highlights to the dark brown. His fingers brushed across her cheek, along her jaw, and she lifted her head as his mouth came down to brush across her lips as lightly as a butterfly, then again with a gentle pressure that tantalized and teased. Her hand crept to the stubble on his cheek then slid around to tangle itself in the thick mane of his hair.
“What would you recommend?” Her words came out barely above a whisper.
He regarded her with the slightest of frowns, considering. “Something fresh,” he decided. “Something fun.” He checked the labels on the jars and his grin broadened. “Ever try foam?”
“What do you do with it?”
For an answer he removed the stopper from the container and dipped in one finger to scoop out a little of what looked like a white lotion. He rubbed this against his thumb and to her surprise she watched it froth and expand.
“Want to taste it?” He held it out to her.
“It’s edible?” She reached out with her finger, uncertain.
He pulled his hand back. “Not like that. With your tongue.”
He wanted her to lick his fingers? Possibly to take them into her mouth and suck on them? The image, the sensation, conjured in her mind made her knees weak with her sudden longing. She took a step closer.
He smeared the creamy froth over his nipples. “Taste it.” His deep voice took on a huskiness that sent a shiver through her. A challenge glinted in his eyes.
Just what had they done last night? She felt her tongue pushing between her parted teeth, her body responding before her mind caught up with it. To the hells with her mind. Her body had the right idea. And she’d never been one to resist a challenge. She leaned forward and allowed her tongue to slide around the outer edge of his areola. The cream melted in her mouth leaving a faint trace of strawberry.
“You can do better than that.” His voice was soft, tantalizing, encouraging.
Yes she could. She could do much better. She circled the tip with her tongue then closed her teeth over it, tugging as she sucked away the last of the strawberry froth. She did the same to his other nipple then straightened, meeting his burning gaze squarely.
“Like it?” he asked.
“Quite a taste…sensation.”
That slow devilish grin sparkled in his eyes. “It comes in various flavors.”
“Whatever you recommend.”
“I recommend,” he said softly, “we breakfast on it. And that filmy thing you’re wearing isn’t on our menu.”
“This?” She pulled the chiton over her head and tossed it aside. “I’d hate to be too formally dressed.”
His gaze roamed over her and she held her breath. Did he like what he saw? He’d barely glanced at her body yesterday when she’d stood before him naked when he chose his queen. Then he’d looked only at her eyes. Now his gaze burned her breasts, dwelled on the swell of her hips, caressed her mound. Only she wanted a more substantial touch. She wanted his hands running over her body, that stout shaft of his pounding in her hot moist depths.
He scooped more of the strawberry cream into his hands, rubbed them together then began spreading the froth over her breasts. “What are you waiting for?” He nodded toward the pot.
She drew out a small amount. It felt soft, slippery, cool. She rubbed it between her fingers and it seemed to explode into millions of tiny creamy bubbles, delighting her. As she dabbed a bit in the hollow at the base of his throat his thumbs found the tips of her nipples and rotated them. Her gasp turned into a moan as he smeared more of the light slick stuff over them. Holding her gaze he traced lines and spirals along her stomach then frothed her mound.
As he coated her clit and cleft she had to force herself to focus on her own handiwork, on the cream she spread along the muscles that defined his chest and stomach. Along the network of pale lines of old scars. This was no soft and pampered king but a warrior, a man of strength and vitality. And soon they would wage their own form of attack and counterattack and ultimately surrender.
It was getting harder and harder to think. She wanted so badly for him to fuck her she ached with it. And still she continued with the cream, lower to his bush until she was confronted with her most obvious and awe inspiring of all his target spots. Would he want her to lick it from his engorged penis? From his balls? She hoped so.
“Go ahead.” His deep voice held a resonance, a timbre of his arousal.
She smoothed it up that thick shaft, taking delight in its quivering response to her touch. This was a magic all its own that she worked. No. That they worked together. The response of her own body matched his.
She ran the tip of her creamed finger along the darkened head of his cock, wondering at it, delighting in it, longing to feel the strength and power she sensed in it unleashed inside her. Oh gods how she wanted that. She stooped and slathered his balls, spreading it across his inner thighs.
He caught her hands and brought her erect.
“What do we do now?” she whispered.
“Into the pool.” He descended the first marble step then the second.
The oval could easily hold four people. He extended a hand to her and she took it, following him. When she stood beside him on the bottom he lowered himself until he lay full length, his long legs extended.
“Come down.” The huskiness deepened his voice even more.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Lamington day…

It was federal lamington day today…no, wait, that’s wrong. It was the federal election today. Why did I mention lamingtons? Any time there is an election on, the local schools, where you go to vote, are prepared to flog lamingtons and have a sausage sizzle to raise extra money for the school. Smart. No Aussie can pass either of these attractions without stopping to buy. So I wandered up and voted and came back carrying a six pack of lamingtons and munching a hot snag smothered with onions inside a piece of bread. I feel it’s my duty to support the local school.

Anyway – back to voting. There are two major parties in Australian. The Labour Party and the Liberal-National Coalition. There are of course the assorted ratbag parties and earnest individuals as well. Our elections are not every four years. It’s basically around three years or whenever they feel like it. The same bloody politicians can stay in for years until someone votes them out. It’s crazy - yet there it is. Voting is compulsory in Oz and I consider that a good thing. I don’t understand how people do not want to vote – especially women. The Suffrages worked their arses off for us to have the vote. We should use it. Sure, you could say your one vote doesn't matter but if every woman said that we would be doing the Suffragettes a disservice. The other thing is there are women in come countries who are not allowed to vote. Their rights are non existent as people. I think sometimes we forget how lucky we are to be free women with rights. So bloody vote. End of sermon.


I am a Socialist at heart…no, not a Communist as I like capitalism. However, I like to see everyone have a chance or has we say in Oz, a fair go. I was a union delegate at one stage until I discovered how stupid the union I was in was acting. They basically did not give a rat’s arse about their members. I quit when they were agitating for the members to walk out on an issue that was ridiculous. The members would have lost pay and most likely would have got sacked. I refused to orchestrate a walk out. No walk out ensued. The union was not happy and I said ta-ta to the union. I am sure some unions are very good. This one wasn’t. I actually found in the end I was my own union and had the strength to stand up to management to fight my own causes.

Okay, so why am I rambling? I am knackered. I spent the rest of the day in the garden on a hack, slash and dump mission. Now that I have the whiz-bang driveway, I realized that the garden looked like it was going to hell in a handbag. I did manage to scare myself and a blue tongue lizard today. I saw the head of the lizard and though “Holy crap! It’s a snake!” I screamed and I swear the blue tongue lizard almost choked on his tongue on fright. Needless to say he was mighty pissed off at me and he did this hissing thing they do. I have lots of lizards. Usually they don’t bother me – it’s live and let live at Chateau Amarinda . A year ago there was this big rogue lizard – someone told me it was a sand lizard – and it used to terrorise the neighbourhood. How? It used to just turn up when you least expected it and scare the crap out of you. Often you would hear people screaming suddenly then swearing immediately afterwards when they realized it was The Rogue. I swear you could hear The Rogue snicker as it scuttled off looking for its next victim. I have not seen the little bugger so far this year. But I am sure The


Rogue will appear when it suits him. Anyway…the garden looks lovely now but I can barely move. But that’s okay, as I worked off the lamingtons I consumed.

Who will win the election? I have a fair idea but I will wait 'til later tonight as the televisions boffins agonize over graphs, pie charts and swings. Does anyone really understand all that stuff or is that the reason they have it? So we think ‘wow, they’re knowledgeable – they have a graph' or more than likely 'bugger off with your chart, Sonny Jim and just give us the results in black and white.'

Okay so ramble over. I have no idea what Anny and Kelly are doing as they have been off being thankful with their families as they should. But as always check their blogs for up to the minute info – www.annycook.blogspot.com and www.kkirch.blogspot.com


Mad About Mirabelle – released December 19th

**Warning – adult excerpt**

“We had sex. But it had nothing to do with love and I feel nothing now.” It was a huge lie of course. She felt more in five seconds with this man than she had felt in a hour with another. He had no equal.
Flynn grabbed Mirabelle’s other arm and gently pushed her up against the nearby garden shed, his body melding to hers.
“Can you feel this?” Flynn ground his hard, hot cock against her. “I got a hard on the minute I saw you.”
Mirabelle gulped. She was both pleased and scared at Flynn’s admission. Pleased—because she had affected him so. Scared—because it was so unlike her to have wild crazy ill-thought-out sex. However those slow grinding hips against hers were making her question just how ill-thought-out it would be to give it up once more for limo man.
“You know, when Aunt Lila mentioned her neighbor Mirabelle I thought she would be some seventy-year-old spinster with a bunch of cats—not the hottie I had last night.” Flynn slid his tongue up the side of her neck. “You taste so delicious. I want you Miss Mirabelle,” he whispered against her mouth.
Oh boy. Warning. Wobbly knee alert.
“What?” Mirabelle knew “what” she just had to make sure she was completely certain that his intentions matched her ramped up expectations. They both had to be on the same page or she was going to look and feel awfully dumb.
“I want to fuck you again.” Flynn scattered light soft kisses over her face as his hips rimmed hers.
Okay, same intentions. Check.
“Yes that I got. It’s really rather obvious with your cock prodding into my stomach like that.”
Flynn chuckled at her words. He wasn’t the only one trying to keep control.
“So what’s the problem?” His hands went to her breasts softly kneading the firm covered flesh.
Oh my…
“Last night was…” Mirabelle began trying to find the right words however she was finding it difficult to concentrate with the breast fondling thing going on.
“Last night was fantastic.” Flynn had no problems with words.
“Okay yes, but it was a one off.” Though a two off seemed doable right at that moment.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not like that.”
“Hot, sexy and incredibly fuckable?” Flynn looked at her as her eyes opened wide at his words. “You’re all those things Miss Mirabelle and more.” He unzipped her shorts and started pulling them down her legs. He smiled when he saw the dark tangle of curls between her legs. “You have no panties on. Excellent.”
“I, ah…” How did she respond to that and not sound depraved, as good girls always wore undies. “We can’t do this.” Though seemingly her shorts around her ankles indicated they could and would. She gasped as his hand slid between her legs gently but insistently pushing her legs apart.
“Why not?” Flynn found her slippery clit and rubbed softly.
“Oh…ah…because some one will see us and…” And what? She was sure there was a good logical sentence that followed that. But who the hell could concentrate with limo man’s hand between her legs?

…..and stuff happens

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Beautiful Friday...

Friday…how I love thee…let me count the ways
- hope springs eternal on a Friday. Everything seems possible at the end of a working week
- You weight less. How’s that? The weight of the working week has lifted from your shoulders. Medically speaking everyday should be Friday as we would have no health concerns about weight.
- The numbness that I live on during the week disappears and I can begin to feel again.
- I can appreciate men as human beings and not automated wind up toys that run on testosterone and immaturity
- I cease being a total bitch and become just a partial bitch. It’s genetically impossible for me to give it up completely

Dumb things I did today

- I bought a pair of sunglasses. I tried them on again when I got home and I realized they make me look like bug woman. Forehead slap. Those suckers are going back.
- Forgot to check with best mate Ethel what lie I was telling on her behalf and nearly slipped up when someone rang me up for a reference check. Thankfully I can lie my arse off (God, if only that was possible.) On a positive job Ethel got the job.


Smart things I did today

- I saw the world’s most boring ex-work acquaintance at the local garden centre on the way home from work. I managed to dash into another aisle to escape. This is a woman you have to gnaw your own leg off to be free of her.
- ‘Saw the most beautiful mahogany dining room chairs – hugely expensive - and walked away without pulling out the credit card to buy. I still want them but I am smart enough to know in the end a chair is a chair.

Good things I did today
- N/A

Bad things I did today

- where to start without looking like a trouble making shrew? Hmmm…not possible


On www.kkirch.blogspot.com Kelly left us with….

"Well, what did you think I meant when I said, "I'm Your Destiny"?"

"Some bit of karma crap. Oh!" Sudden insight dawned on her. She laughed, making no effort to disguise her glee. "That's your name? Your Destiny? Wow, your mom really hated you."

"Middle school was hell."

"I can imagine."

Your Destiny leveled her with a steely stare, not muted through the reflective glass of the rearview mirror. "Now, Matilda. The vow."

Hmm…I am going with…

There was no way in hell Matilda was going to tell this Red Destiny nerd the truth about her vow. There was only one person she could tell and the thought of doing that scared her down to her toenails. No one must ever know. Sometimes the truth did not set you free.

"My vow is to eat Tims Tams only on every alternate day." Like she would stick to that.

"Liar"

"Dipstick."

"That hurt my feelings."

"Get over it. I do not have time for this crap.” Matilda told him. "Besides super heroes do not whine about feelings."

"You're nasty."

"Tell me about it." Matilda needed to get rid of him. Whining men gave her the irrits. "Get out of the car."

"But I am supposed to stay with you until your vow is revealed."

"Sunshine, I am not revealing anything to you." She reached into her glovebox and pulled out at a long silver wand. As a white witch she could only use it in extreme emergencies. Boredom by nerd was close enough. She turned around and gave him her best pissed off hormonal look. "Get out or I turn you into a frog."

His eyes opened wide with fright as he stared past her. "Ah, you have another problem bigger than me."

"What?" The fear in his eyes was too real to be faked. Matilda felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. Only one person gave her that feeling. It couldn't be him surely? Valerio was still in jail. Wasn't he? Matilda turned and saw the face she knew only too well. Holy crap! She knew her vow was no longer safe.

Who is Valerio and just what does he mean to Matilda the white witch? Maybe, possibly, perhaps Anny will answer this tomorrow on www.annycook.blogspot.com

The book with the guy with the freaky blond hair is released Monday I believe at Total-E-Bound. Wanna’ know why he has freaky blond hair? Well, you going to have to read the book.

The Goddess and The Ghost

Exceprt – a modern woman out of her natural element…

“I have not got a bloody clue what any of these are,” Zipporah murmured as she looked at the pile of leaves she and Evie had collected. She studied the Identifying Australian Flora handout sheet she had been given. All the campers had been assigned the task of classifying the local flora—for what reason Zipporah did not know. As far as she was concerned leaves were either brown or green, big or small and really what was the point of the exercise? Other than to confuse a woman who had declined baked beans on toast for lunch? Though Zipporah grudgingly had to admit wandering through the beauty of the Australian bush was worthwhile. The tall gum trees, spindly wildflowers and the clean, fresh smell was like nothing else on earth. The only thing that ruined it was the camp organiser from hell, Gwen, and the bloody whistle she liked to use to rally the troops.

“I really wish she would shove that up her arse,” Zipporah muttered in irritation as once again the demented Gwen blew out some sort of demonic tune designed to either catch their attention or create a stampede of elephants in Africa.

“We still haven’t caught any bugs.” Evie looked around her for something that jumped or flew.

“And nor are we going to catch bugs.”

“Why not, Auntie Zipp?”

”Because bugs are just minding their own business and have every right to be free.” Added to that Zipporah did not want to be touching anything of a creepy-crawly nature.

“You tell ‘em, Auntie Zipp,” Rian chuckled lightly at her words.

Rian had followed them quietly around all day. Although ever aware of his presence, Zipporah was grateful that he had kept a respectful distance in the time she spent with Evie as if he knew how important that was to both of them.

“I never thought about bugs like that,” Evie answered with a solemn nod of her head as if she could see the logic in it.

Gwen Morrow came up and inspected their leaves.

“What type are they?”

“Auntie Zipp says some are green and some are brown.”

“And this one is big and I am calling this one small.” Zipporah held the two leaves up for inspection.

….and then stuff happens with the Ghost.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

One step closer to the weekend...

Quote of the Day…

‘I’m not doing that - it will break my nails.” – Best friend Ethel when advised she needed to learn how to break into a house, in an emergency, as part of her job. (Long story)

I have to say that anyone who waitresses or works in the food services industry has one of the hardest jobs in the world. It involves long hours, crap pay and you are on your feet all damn day. Not to mention the customers who whine about everything. I know, I have done the waitressing gig. It sucked. I got offered a waitress job the other day. As much as dealing with drunken six year old men in an office pisses me off, waitressing is not a job I would jump at taking on again.

Thankfully the last time I waited on tables was when I was traveling overseas. I worked at a resort on Scotland. I was an extremely average waitress as I was only there to get enough money to move onto somewhere else. Yep, it was a means to an end as all jobs are. There was your standard cranky chef, an arrogant prick of a head waiter and ratbag kitchen hands who were always running some scam or another. The restaurant was this ridiculous long shape that meant if your tables were way down the end you had to spend the whole night hauling four plates of food, balanced delicately in your hands and on your arms without dropping them. I never dropped anything but a single chip (French fry). I dropped it an ill-mannered customer’s lap. Was it on purpose? Who knows how the subconscious works. He was so offended that he yelled out loud at the chip hitting his lap.

“You dropped a chip on me!”
“Yes, correct.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Tomato sauce?”
“I want you sacked.”
“I’ll pass that comment on.”

Wanker. Not like the chip was on fire and it burnt his flesh. Besides I suspect it was probably the most exciting thing he had had in his lap for a while anyway. However there were good customers like the Canadian guy that I and the three other waitresses fought over. Was he good looking? Not sure. But he tipped big. I made sure when he walked in I dashed over to him and directed him straight to my table. “It’s not fair,” one slow waitress whined. “You’ll share the tip though won’t you A?” That’s what good waitresses in theory are supposed to do. My answer – “Does a chicken have lips?” Bad waitress Amarinda.

I salute anyone that waits on tables, works in kitchens and slings hash. It’s a bloody hard job. The next time you want to whine at a restaurant think about it. Could you do that job? So what is the worst job you have ever had?

How times change…I was exercising – puke, spew – this morning. Yes, I am so healthy I will have to drink a bottle of plonk soon to counteract it all. Anyway, it was one of those early morning black and white 1940’s movies. A female character was agonizing about her weight and she said, “I would be so happy if I could get back to 12 stone" 12 Stone – which is what? 170 pounds or so? Bloody hell? See how stupid and obsessed we have all become about weight if 12 stone was considered the ideal back then? No, not advocating eating your body weight in Tim Tams (hmmm…that’s a thought) but honesty we need to pull our collective heads in and aim to be healthy and not stick thin because it’s fashionable. Fashion sucks – create your own.

Dynamic author duo Cindy Spencer Pape and Lacey Thorn have a brand new release out now from Ellora’s Cave. Click on the cover to buy the book.

One Good Man

Blurb:
One of the most enduring of all urban legends is the story of the phantom hitchhiker. Young or old, male or female, in need of help or just needing a ride, the legends vary. A helpful driver offers a ride and the passenger gives directions. When they arrive at the destination however, the driver discovers the passenger has vanished, sometimes leaving behind a piece of clothing or some other memento to mark his or her passing. A stormy night, a deserted country road, a blown tire, and a woman on the run from a killer. Is the handsome young Marine here to save her? Or is he just a figment of her imagination?
Casey is caught between a murderer, a ghost and the wounded soldier who could either save her life or break her heart. Grant can deal with Thanksgiving snowstorms and determined killers but not his brother’s ghost, and not a woman who makes him start thinking about the future. Can Grant let go of the past to embrace the explosive passion he finds with Casey? He’s willing to risk his life for hers, but what about his heart?

Excerpt:
“Miss, can you tell me how badly you’re hurt?”

“Not bad.” She started to shake her head but winced and gave a little moan instead. “Was going pretty slow by the time we hit the tree.”

“We? Was there someone else in the car?” He shined the flashlight around the back seat, found no signs of another occupant.

“Umm-hmm.” She straightened slowly as if testing each movement. The dome light and his flashlight provided enough illumination to tell she was fairly young, with a cascade of long brown curls, a heart shaped face and big green eyes. “I picked him up a few miles back after he helped me change a tire. Said the bus dropped him off at the highway and he was trying to get home for Thanksgiving.”

“Well, once we get you inside, I’ll come back out and look.” He wasn’t sure if she was delusional or if her hitchhiker had fled before the cops could be called, but either way he didn’t figure he’d find any tracks. With no working phone lines he couldn’t call an ambulance or the cops anyway, but if there had been a rider, he was gone now.

“Do you think you can stand?” God he hoped so. He didn’t think his body was up to carrying her all the way up the hill.
…
“Let’s get you up to the cabin then.”

“Okay.” She leaned into the Jeep and pulled out a big leather shoulder bag. She staggered a little as she straightened but caught herself on the door. “One ankle’s a little sore, but it will hold.”

“Good.” He leaned past her and swung the door shut. “Cause the phone’s out, so it would be kind of tough to call an ambulance.”

“I’ll make it. And I’d sell my left arm for a cup of coffee.”

“That I can manage.” He’d dug out the old metal percolator before the power went out. He took her arm again, helped her climb over the tree, and started guiding her slowly up the hill. “The cabin’s a good ways up the road. Let me know if you need to stop and catch your breath for a second.”

“I’m good. I’m going to have a nice collection of bruises, a puffy ankle and a knot on my forehead, but nothing major.”

“If you say so.” The head injury would be the one to watch. She kept up pretty well, so he wasn’t too concerned. Of course with his leg and the ice that wasn’t necessarily saying much. The rain had started up again by the time they made it up the hill, making the trip even tougher. When they reached the cabin she stopped on the porch and kicked the snow off her sneakers before following him inside.

“Power’s out,” he told her as he unzipped his coat and stuffed his gloves in the pockets. “But there’s plenty of firewood and the stove’s propane, so we should be all right.”

She looked around and gave him a smile that went straight to his gut—and lower. Jesus—in the firelight she was even prettier than he’d realized—all long hair, long legs and the most kissable damned mouth he’d ever seen.

“Nice place.”

“I like it.” He shrugged and turned away to hang his coat on a peg beside the door. He held out a hand for her coat carefully avoiding any contact with her skin when he took it, then hung it beside his own.

She followed him over to the fire, held out her bare hands to warm in front of the flames.

“Thanks for the rescue.” He dragged a couple chairs over to the fireside, and with a sigh she sank down into one. As soon as he sat down beside her, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Casey, Casey Shields.”

He shook her hand then leaned his elbows on his thighs to hide his body’s instant reaction to even that most casual touch. He hadn’t had a waking erection in months. Why the hell had the equipment picked today to go back into working order? He managed to nod an acknowledgement and return her introduction. “Pleased to meet you, Casey Shields. My name’s Grant Kincaid.”

Her forest-green eyes widened and sparkled, “Oh you are Grant. Good! Now where is Lee? I assumed he’d come up to the cabin to get help.”

Every hair on Grant’s body stood on end and his guts clenched in a knot. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“Lee. Your brother.” She tilted her head to the side in a damn good imitation of confusion. “Oh that’s right—he said it was a surprise—you didn’t know he was coming. But you have to go out and look for him. He could be hurt!”

“Lady, I don’t know what kind of scam you think you’re running, but unless you want to walk back to town it ends right now.”

She blinked up at him with those big green eyes—those big green lying eyes. “What’s wrong with you? Your brother could be lost out there somewhere, or hurt. Don’t you even care?”

Rage burned in his belly. He wouldn’t have been nearly this pissed if she’d shoved a gun in Grant’s face. There wasn’t much left that he gave a damn about, but Lee’s name, Lee’s memory—those were still sacred. Maybe the only things left that were. “You’ve got about two seconds to tell me what the hell is going on before I open that door and throw you out into the ice.”

“I have no idea.” She threw up her hands. “All I did was offer a ride to a nice young Marine who helped me out when I got a flat tire. And in return I got a smashed up Jeep, a sore ankle and a bitch of a headache.”

He started to speak but she shook her head and kept on going. “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, and frankly I don’t much care. All I really wanted to do was to get to my own cabin and get some sleep since I’ve been driving all night. You on the other hand, might want to go find your baby brother—who seems for some reason to idolize you even though you are obviously a freaking lunatic.”

Grant stood and leaned over her, pinning her into her chair by leaning one hand on each armrest.

“Listen, lady. I don’t know what your game is, but mention my brother one more time and I will toss you out into the freezing rain. But just in case you hit your head harder than I thought and you’ve got amnesia, I’m going to say this nice and clear. My little brother Lee is dead. I watched him get blown to pieces right in front of my face, so there’s no mistaking it. Lee Sherman Kincaid died January fourteenth at five thirty six pm in a fucking tent in Iraq.”

I am sure you have visited Kelly on www.kkirch.blogspot.com and checked out the latest with Matilda versus the Red Ranger. Where can we go with this next? Who knows? Anny on www.annycook.blogspot.com gives her reasons she is thankful and none rely on material stuff. Fancy. So much to read…so little time to do it…

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/

Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?