Shameless Plug Friday….

Knock Three Times – the cover – isn’t it purty? I love it…ok, yes, I love him. Thanks Ellora’s Cave Cover Gods, I lay Tim Tams at your feet in worship.

The blurb – not official so don’t commit it to memory

In a case of mistaken identity, Montgomery French thinks security expert Ballantyne Teague is the local bad boy. He turns her boring life upside down and she likes it.

Ballantyne has every intention of confessing the truth to Montie when the time is right. He has two objectives. The first is to make Montie fall hopelessly in love with him. The second is to catch the real burglar Montie thinks he is.

But Ballantyne is not the only one caught up in Montie’s life. Her ex-boyfriend has a secret that will shock her and a real bad boy lusts after her for revenge.

So…

What do you reckon makes a good writer? I just finished reading three books – three different authors, genres and styles. All three were excellent but they couldn’t have been more different. So what is it about one writer that makes them stand out from another? Is it their style or their voice? Have the slotted neatly into a niche market? Do you think it’s all to do with heart and passion? Are they a good observer who is able to record the times so people can smile and say ‘yes, that happened to me.’ Is it controversy that makes someone recognized or is it the ability to write thigh sweating sex? I’m not really sure. I read books and I think there is no way I could ever write as good as that - or my god, that was a boring book. What is it that touches one reader deeply but turns another cold?

Romance writing is hard. You have to get it right as you can’t just put crap out there as readers deserve better. Love and romance is a fundamental part of who we are as human beings. People want love or to be in love. They know in their mind how love should be or how it should read. Do readers determine who is a good or bad writer then? Maybe but every reader has a different opinion on what’s good or bad so who's right or wrong? Is it editors and publishers that determine quality? To a large degree yes because they know what the market is but then they’re individuals too that have values, likes and dislikes. Think of all the great writers that never get published.

Why am I rabbiting on about this? Because people’s opinions – good, bad or ugly interest me. So, go ahead give an opinion…what makes a good writer? Or are you an expert on what makes a bad writer? You can respond anonymously if you like. There are no rules on this blog.


Shameless plugging…because I can…

Time For Love by Kelly Kirch (Cerridwen Press) – at the end of this book I went ‘awww, that’s so sweet’ – yes completely unlike me but good romance books give me that reaction. Time For Love is true romance with a time travel twist. It’s an excellent story about wanting to be with someone and knowing that maybe it can never be.

Silverhills – by Sandra Cox (Cerridwen Press) – I finished this book and I thought ‘I wish I could write like that.’ This is rollicking adventure with two strong people who need each other but they’re not about to admit that. I flat out loved it – I can see it as a mini series.

Honeysuckle – by Anny Cook (Ellora's Cave) – I was alternatively laughing and gobsmacked throughout this book. The characters are wild, the dialogue is priceless and the sex was eye opening. Yep it’s gobsmackable...my new word.

Click on any of these covers to buy these books. You will not be disappointed.

I will leave you with an excerpt from Anny’s book - guaranteed to give you the thigh sweats but before I do – two bits of general business

1. Tomorrow, Friday, between 7 – 10pm on http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ellorascavechat/ authors from Ellora’s Cave and Cerridwen Press will be talking about their books. Please come and stick your head in and say hello or whatever you like - we’ll talk about anything so don’t be shy to have an opinion.

2. Check out Anny on www.annycook.blogspot.com and Kelly on www.kirch.blogspot.com to be dazzled, amused and shocked...they're never boring

Honeysuckle by Anny Cook – excerpt – warning adult excerpt.

When they arrived at last at the Flying Fuck Inn, they were too tired to care about eating the cold skimpy meal, though Florian warned them that the early start the next morning would probably preclude more than a hasty breakfast. Daffodil, still mourning for Raulf and Chrysanthemum, irritated and impatient with her younger sister’s never ending tears tromped up the narrow stairs to the room they shared and crawled into the cold lumpy bed after hasty, sketchy sponge baths.
Honeysuckle chose to sacrifice a little sleep and take a bath. The bathroom was freezing with gray-green mold in the corners but the water was hot and plentiful. She scrubbed out the tub and filled it with steaming water before scanning the skimpy selection of soaps, salts, and oils the inn provided. Finally making her choice she dropped in most of a jar of rose scented bath salts and climbed in. In five ecstatic minutes she was as limp as a noodle and whimpering with relief as her stiff muscles slowly relaxed from riding all day on a jerky vibrating power bike.
Once the girls were settled, Florian stumbled down the steep stairs to the tap room for a comforting flagon or two of ale to bury his growing suspicions that he was in far more trouble that he had anticipated. The girls were not going to fit into his plans as neatly as he hoped. Of course, he hadn’t seen his girls since he had shaken the dust of his crumbling estate from his aching feet and traveled to the capitol at Came-a-lot seeking work. As he sat swigging his ale he realized that the last time he’d seen the girls Daffodil had only been six. And the last memory he had of Honeysuckle was her standing forlornly in the driveway, crying as if her heart was broken while he walked away. Edgily, he pushed that uncomfortable memory away and gulped another healthy swallow.
Preoccupied with dark plans of how best to rid himself of the responsibility of three marriageable daughters, he was so busy drowning his sorrows that he failed to notice the two distinctive men lounging in a dimly lit corner over a desultory game of cards. If he had not been so distracted by his frantic scramble to rescue his ruined plans, things might have turned out differently.
As Florian perched on the high stool at the bar drinking, the young men speculated about the women upstairs who had arrived with him. As members of the royal family, they instantly recognized Florian when he shoved the wide inn door open and entered, trailed by the three weary young women. Most of the royal household was aware of Florian’s intentions to arrange marriages for his daughters as soon as possible so the young men studied the girls with idle interest. They instantly rejected the tall dark haired one who had whipped out her horn-rimmed spectacles to consult the heavy book she carried. Nor did the young blonde with the endless supply of tears attract them. But the goddess with the flaming red-gold hair brought their cocks to immediate rigid attention.
That was rare enough that they took a second—and then a third—look. She was breathtaking. From the time they were old enough to understand the differences between women and men, their futures as husbands of a shared wife was simply something they accepted. Finding her had proved to be an entirely different matter. But finally what their bodies and minds were screaming in unison told them she was the one.
Mine! Mine! Mine!
She was the one they determined to claim for their own. She was the one who would bear their children. Eventually they finished their own drinks and silently stalked up the narrow stairs in search of the curvy little lady who moved like sin and gave them insistent uncomfortable hard-ons that bulged the fronts of their tight dark zipsuits.
On the second floor, they found themselves facing six blank doors with no hint of their goddess’s location. Short of knocking on each door they saw no easy way to find their lady. Then they heard feminine whimpering and groaning behind door number five. With a sharp nod at each other, they softly paced down the hall and tried the door, pleased to discover that she had neglected to lock it in her rush to take her bath.
Dick eased the door open far enough for them to peek inside and to their delight they found their fiery haired nymph moaning and sighing through a bout of bathtub pleasure. It seemed to them that it would be rude to leave her lonely and unfulfilled when they were so ready and available so they quietly went inside to join her, shutting and silently locking the door securely behind them.
With her eyes squeezed shut, Honeysuckle squirmed in frustration in the slippery tub. She didn’t have enough fingers to touch all the places she needed to be touched and her toys were packed away in her bag in the bedroom. She had two fingers stuffed in her slick pussy while her thumb slithered around her clit but try as she might she couldn’t quite reach the sensitive little entrance to her ass. With her other hand she frantically strummed and pinched her tight nipples. As another little moan escaped, a hard warm male body with an exceedingly rigid cock slid into the tub between her legs. She let out a shriek which was cut off abruptly by a firm set of lips covering her mouth and a possessive tongue filling her mouth.
Behind her, another hard body gently shifted her forward and slipped into the tub, dragging his equally stiff cock down her back. Her eyes flew open and she stared into the intent dark glittering eyes of the man exploring her mouth with devastating thoroughness. Whoa, was he a god or what? Sharp high cheekbones and slightly tilted almond shaped eyes gave him a decidedly exotic look. A wealth of silky black hair tumbled down past his wide shoulders and smooth dusky cinnamon skin covered a muscled chest and strong arms.
With a last lingering taste, he sat back on his heels, holding her glance with compelling eyes as his hand slipped down over her mound gently nudging her fingers away from the red-gold curls until he found her swollen pussy. Two thick fingers plunged inside, firm and deep.
Her head fell back on the warm shoulder of the man behind her and she moaned as her pussy clutched those hard fingers steadily moving in and out. The man behind her embraced her, cupping her breasts in his huge hands. He firmly pinched her nipples between his long fingers and tugged rhythmically in time to the fingers working her pussy. With a gasp and a short cry, her climax arrived as a searing sharp wave. Her lovers rode it out with her until at last she relaxed in a slack bundle of satisfied woman.
Her breasts still trembling with her struggle for air she opened her eyes and demanded, “Who are you? And why are you in my bath?”
The man in front of her smiled tenderly as he slid his hand beneath her hips and pulled her forward until his thick cock was seated at the entrance of her still pulsing pussy. “I am Peter,” he replied as he thrust his cock inside her, “and he is my brother, Dick. We are here to claim you as our woman.”
Instinctively, she tried to wriggle away but he held her close in his strong arms, filling her until she didn’t know where he ended and she began as he whispered close to her ear, “You’re exactly the woman we’ve been searching for our entire lives. Don’t worry about a thing. We will spend our lives making you a happy, happy woman.”

Hmm….you can never be too happy….

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