Seventh time is a charm…

***********************************************************

Unbreakable is a smoking hot story from the very beginning all the way to the end. It starts with a bang, literally, and it doesn’t let up from there. India is a pretty likeable character. She is open to new things, and she is not usually afraid to go for what she wants. Her only real flaw is that she can’t get past the age difference, which causes problems between her and Dash. Now with Dash, he is the hero I want to read about in every book. He is tattooed, pierced, and he is willing to go the extra mile to please his woman. Everything about this story was refreshing to read, from the characters to the love scenes. Amarinda Jones has yet to disappoint me, and she has done another fabulous job. I devoured Unbreakable and I was left craving more.

http://www.fallenangelreviews.com/2008/June/Ashley-Unbreakable.htm

I heard on the radio this morning that there is a theory that you can have seven loves in your life until you find the right one. There's always a theory to explain something isn’t there? Anyway, supposedly you can fall in and out of love with 6 people before finding Mr/Ms Right. Do I believe that? Yeah I do, because how do you explain people falling in and out of love all the time? So if you have never been in love you have 7 chances to get it right– bonus. I think some people fall in love very easily – others fall hard while some never fall at all. Some people of course find the right person straight away on the first go. So technically they miss out on 6 possible loves. I don’t know how those people would feel about this. On one hand it would be nice to think that you don't have all the angst of whether this one or that one is the right one for you. On the other you may miss out on some adventure.

So here's what I think, looking for love? Pissed off about the latest drop kick of a man you thought you were in love with? Don’t worry - you have other loves out there just waiting for you to turn up. What's that you say? You've had seven or more people you thought you loved? No, this wouldn’t be the case - at least a couple of them would have been practice loves and can be discounted. So, take heart if you are looking for love - he/she is out there - you just have to work your way through your quota.

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Anika Hamilton - new author and good mate of the Amarinda blog - has her first book released today through Total-E-Bound. Let the pigeons loose! So, if you are looking for a fresh, new style of writer and hot romance, click on the cover and buy Anika's book. I'm sure you will not be disappointed. Want to know more about Anika? Check her website here and here for Anika's blog.

Good For Something…the blurb

Casey never had a really serious relationship; while Nicolette just got out of a bad one.

Nicolette Marchand relocated to South Florida to get away from an abusive lover. In her new home, she loves the sun, the beaches and the bookshop owner with the hazel eyes and beautiful smile. Spending her evenings in her home away from home, life was really good. At least, until the phone started ringing.

Casey Addison, bookshop owner, was a native of South Florida. She never really cared about anything or anyone other than her store before now. A chance encounter with a fellow book lover changed all that. She thoroughly enjoys the company of her bookshop's new fixture. Unfortunately, someone is threatening her new found happiness and Casey gets caught in the middle.

Helping each other, will these two women discover a love they never knew they needed? And can Nicolette open herself up and trust that together, they are both...

*********************

The excerpt…

Casey’s hand continued their journey, stroking along Nicolette’s stomach. At the edge of Nicolette’s blouse, Casey ran her hand under Nicolette’s shirt and up. She traced along the scar there, asking, “Nicolette, what happened?”
Nicolette stiffened, flushing with embarrassment, but in her heart she knew she didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. The shame of that scar rested solely with the giver, rather than the receiver.
Nicolette placed her hand on top of Casey’s, not sure if her intent was to push it away or not. Casey must have sensed her discomfort because she crawled down the bed and began smoothing her tongue along the scar, softly sweeping the raised skin. She punctuated each swipe of her tongue, Nicolette deeply affected by each word spoken.
“You.” Starting at one end, she wrapped her fingers around Nicolette’s waist, licking the scarred flesh. Nicolette stared at the top of Casey’s head, half afraid of her next words. “Are,” Casey continued, stroking her tongue across Nicolette’s skin.
Reaching down, Nicolette combed her fingers through Casey’s hair, loving the silky soft texture.
Then Casey stopped moving and puffed lightly on Nicolette’s moistened tummy. “Very,” she breathed.

Nicolette squirmed from the sensation. Releasing Casey’s hair, Nicolette grabbed hold of the sheets, twisting her hands in the soft material. Each successive word Casey uttered made her feel empowered and vulnerable all at once.
“Beautiful,” Casey ended, licking along the line of the raised skin finishing at the other end of the scar, dipping her tongue within Nicolette’s navel along the way. Nicolette’s heart constricted as the soft touch and gentle words brought tears to her eyes. She could barely contain the depth of emotion Casey’s actions inspired.
“What’s wrong, baby?”Casey questioned, noticing her tears. Casey crawled back up her body, lightly brushing the tears off Nicolette’s cheeks. “Why are you crying, my Nicolette?”
“I…” Cupping Casey’s cheeks, Nicolette gave her a watery smile. “Your words mean the world to me. I’ve been so self-conscious of my scar.” Nicolette wondered how she’d gotten so lucky.
“You are though…” Casey continued, nuzzling into Nicolette’s hands.
“What?” Nicolette asked, drawing Casey’s head towards hers. She stared into her Casey girl’s eyes, loving the well of emotion reflected there, knowing her own eyes were brimming with more than just tears.
“You’re beautiful,” Casey answered, her tongue ghosting over Nicolette’s lips. Nicolette’s heart gave an involuntary leap. Hearing those words being uttered from the lips of this woman would always make them more precious.
Smiling Nicolette tilted Casey’s head, lining up their lips. “With you I feel beautiful,” Nicolette mumbled as their lips lightly touched.

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

All the news…

The highlights from my reading of Brisbane The Sunday Mail…

Page 11 – Headline – “Better than Sex” – it was about how some women consider shopping a sport and it can consume their lives and how it can be better than sex…well, I could say much on this but I’ll leave you to your own thoughts .

Page 12 – Madonna is getting a divorce. If one woman can look after herself it’s Madge. I have a feeling she’ll do okay.

Page 13 – Greg Norman marrying Chris Everett – great – happy for them but why do they have to disrupt a whole island community to have what is in essence a 5 minute paper signing ceremony? Seems a tad selfish but money talks doesn’t it?

Page 23 – There is a 27 year old nun who knows exactly where she is going in life and what her passion is. Yes, true, I am about as similar to her as I am a natural blonde but the thing is I admire the woman for her passion and determination – you go girl.





Page 29 – see picture – Man dresses duck as geisha girl for Agricultural shows. Sarah the Indian runner duck is his favourite. “’If she was human, she’s be on top money,’ he said ‘It’s just the way she walks and the way she presents each outfit that makes her extra special.’” ...Uh huh...

Page 31 – Chicken catchers are in high demand but no one wants to do the job despite the fact you can earn up to $60 an hour catching chooks. One catcher has an ‘impressive record of catching 2000 an hour’ and his reported as saying ‘he’d never do anything else.’ Chicken catching anyone?

Page 46 – ‘Queen cries poor’ – ‘Can’t live on $82m allowance.’ Yes, that’s right, Elizabeth the 2nd wants a raise in her pocket money. How awful for the poor bugger. No one should be asked to live on $82 million a year. How can she do it? Should we start up a collection?

So there – that’s what’s happening in the world – you don’t have to read the paper now.

Today , fellow antipodean Jane Beckenham from across the ditch (Tasman Sea) in New Zealand has been kind enough to give me an excerpt of her latest release - The Sheikh's Proposal. It’s out now through Red Rose Publishing. Reasons to click on the cover and immediately buy this hot romance? It’s an excellent love story, you won’t be able to put it down and if you buy it you can say you have a book written by a Kiwi. See? Dazzle your friends with your exotic tastes in literature over coffee.


THE SHEIKH’S PROPOSAL by Jane Beckenham

The blurb…

Go, or lose her job. Callie Baxter has no choice, but then does her heart have a choice when she is forced to face her nemeses, the man she blames for her father’s death? Her mind says one thing, her body another.
For Sheikh Tariq al Sulamein, facing Callie is a fatal error. She is the one woman who could change his future, force him from his protective world, and make him place his needs above those of his country. But Tariq is determined to control the game and play it his way, and not lose his country, or his heart.
Is there really any choice when the heart is involved or can paradise seduce estranged hearts?

The excerpt ...

The taste of him sang through her veins and, real or unreal, she ached for another kiss.
Her wish came true.
He claimed her mouth. Kiss upon kiss, his hands in her hair, caressing her arms, cupping her to him, kneading her bottom so that she pressed hard against him. Every kiss was as beautiful as the previous. Nothing had ever felt this wonderful.
“You may be fire and ice, my English rose, but I can make you melt in my arms.” And his fingers slipped beneath her dress, massaging one hardened nipple between his fingers before lowering his lips to her breast and sucking the peak. A purr of delight slid from her lips, the sound inciting Tariq. In one swift movement he undid the clasp of her dress, sliding it over her breasts, baring her to his worshiping gaze.
“You are perfection, habibti.” He reached out and caressed her breasts, cupping their fullness. “Perhaps you have been sent from heaven. An angel to ease my ache.”
“You're in pain?” she teased and drew the tip of her finger across his chest, flicking over the hard nub of one nipple.
“Pain and pleasure are sometimes alike.”
“And now?” she asked as she playfully lathed her tongue across the nipple, nipping it between her teeth.
Tariq’s gasp wrapped around them and she stilled. “Definitely pleasure, habibti.” His hand slid across her stomach, the gentle curve of her hips. “Your body is designed for pleasure.”
The ice had truly melted. Callie threw her head back and reveled in Tariq's touch, her excitement escalating as he clasped her around the waist and lifted her to him.
Skin stroking skin and hearts beating in unison, he carried her to another room. But as the door shut behind them, for a fleeting moment uncertainty ricocheted through Callie. She lowered her eyes.

Just this once she would let down her guard.
Just once.
Cradling her as if a precious goddess Tariq lowered her to the bed. Silk and satin an aphrodisiac against her skin. Emboldened, she looked up at him.
He stood so proud and strong, long legs astride, a satiny sheen across his muscled torso. His dark eyes had narrowed and glinted his potent desire.
Tariq al Sulamein burned for her. Good! Just as she did for him.
“I want to touch you, feel you,” she said. “Make love to me, Tariq. Now.”
“Your wish is my command.” And he gave her a wicked grin.
At that precise moment the real world was obliterated. Callie lifted her arms to him and he came. There was no going back.
He explored her body, trailing a path from her breasts, her thighs, sliding his length down to her toes and back up. As his fingers sought her innermost center, teasing the slick folds, finding the burning flame, Callie was lost to everything but a whirlpool of sensations. Strung tight as a wire she tumbled at break-neck speed to a point of no return. Then it happened. The fire within flared out of control and she writhed beneath his touch. She could wait no longer and finally tumbled over the edge into a world of pure wanton pleasure.
She heard nothing, but felt everything. Her mind and body seemed so unconnected, yet she understood it all. With her breath labored, a glorious heat permeating every part of her, Callie rejoiced.
Tariq moved to her side, a beautiful smile on his exotic face. “The ice has gone.”
She smiled, sort of, well, if a lopsided foolish grin could be called a smile. Every fiber in her being was in meltdown. “What they say about seeing stars, that the world stops spinning, is true.”
“As it should be,” he whispered against her cheek.
A shiver shimmied along her spine. “It was everything, and more. I want more.”
“More?”
“Yes. This isn't over yet.”

Well…I want to know more…remember click on the cover to buy.

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

Cowboy up…

I am off to the country tomorrow and back Sunday. My father lives up in the mountains and I know it will be cold enough to freeze the proverbial balls off a brass monkey. When I get there I know my father will ask his standard question – “Do you have enough money?” Yes thanks, I actually get a wage. “You’re not just saying that?” No, at 44 I can pretty much look after myself. "I have money you know.” Yes, I do – thanks but no thanks. I’m okay.

My parents, like yours I’m sure, scrimped and saved for years to get to a level of acceptable security. I learned by their teachings. I never take money for granted. I find now my father will say he is thinking of buying this or that and he wonders whether he should. I always tell him buy it. “But I should leave you and your brother money.” Stuff leaving us money. If we haven’t learned yet how to look after ourselves by now there is no hope for us. And yes I know people who expect an inheritance from their parents. Why? Why should anyone leave their grown up adult children anything? And what sort of kids expect their parents to live on less to assure their own old age? Plain ridiculous and selfish. Pull your head in and grow up if that’s your plan.

Keeping on the topic of age…I was talking to a customer service consultant over the phone and she said to me – you sound really young. She was suspicious when I gave my date of birth as identification. Yeah, I get that a lot of the phone. I am the ‘girl’ on the phone. Funny enough when I was a kid I always looked older and now at 44 I am considered younger. That’s just genetics I guess. But when I talked to the consultant more, she said she was ‘terrified’ of aging. She was 23. It had never occurred to me to ‘terrified’ about any age. What’s to be terrified over? It’s not like there was a guarantee you would always remain physically young all your life. Why not stop worrying about stuff you cannot control and remain young in mind and spirit? Control what you can and stop worrying about the inevitable. We’re going to age, accept it and move on and enjoy your life.

Did you know Always a Cowboy - Love at the Crazy H- Book 3 - by Cindy Spencer Pape is available now at the Wild Rose Press. And can I say about bloody time. I read Book 1 and 2 and was hanging out for book 3 as many readers were. Book 3 can be read by itself but why not treat yourself and buy the whole set. Click on the cover to buy because as the commercial says ‘you’re worth it.’ Not like a commercial would lie...

Always A Cowboy - Cindy Spencer Pape...Excerpt: ADULT-ish

Surely the little whimper she heard couldn’t have come from her own lips. She rose up on her toes to meet him, hungry for a taste.

His big hands flattened against her back, holding her right up against him as his lips moved against hers. She could feel the impressive bulge in his jeans pressed up against her and her own body softened in response.

He tasted of coffee, of peppermint, and of something indefinably Trip. His tongue traced the inside of her mouth, exploring each ridge and crevice with a mixture of reverence and urgency than made her knees wobble. Beth’s arms wound up and around his neck, both for support and to allow her to press her suddenly heavy breasts against his muscled chest.

“Beautiful.”

Beth wanted to cry when he pulled his lips away from hers, but she’d barely had time to gasp for breath when she felt the gentle glide of his mouth slide along her cheek to her ear. Oh, lord! The way he made her feel as he nibbled on the lobe and stroked with his tongue was probably illegal in half a dozen states.

It was the first time they’d been alone, with no children. That thought hovered in the back of her mind even while she allowed him to slide her linen-blend blazer down off her shoulders. She didn’t even notice it hit the floor, just gloried in the sensation of his big warm hands sliding down the bare skin of her arms. Her blouse had little cap sleeves that didn’t impede him at all. Neither did the buttons, not for long. Then he slid the blouse off as well, and Beth went still.

Her body wasn’t horrible, but it was far from perfect, as Daniel had reminded her on a regular basis. She never had time to work out, and there were stretch marks from her pregnancy.

“Beautiful,” he murmured again. She started to contradict him, but then his fingers were running reverently above the plain cotton cups of her bra, and she forgot how to speak.

Somehow, he’d maneuvered them over next to the sofa. He eased himself down on the cushion, still holding onto her, so she ended up standing in the vee of his thighs. She trembled while he kissed his way from her neck down to the swell of her breasts, his hands cupping her less-than-generous flesh. When he thumbed her nipples through the threadbare cotton, she couldn’t suppress a moan.

"Have to taste you.” His words were thick and raspy. He didn’t wait for her to respond, just reached around to unsnap her bra then tugged it away and tossed it to the floor. Then he groaned. “God, Beth!”

Her knees bucked when he took her distended nipple into his mouth. Gentle hands at her waist held her steady and she leaned her own on his shoulders for support.

He nuzzled her softly then moved his lips to the other breast, treating it to the same thorough attention as the first. Somewhere in the back of her mind, warning bells were clanging, but she ignored them. This was Trip! After all these years of loving him from afar, she finally got to find out what if felt like to be the woman in his arms. She might berate herself later for giving in, but for right now, she was determined to enjoy every second, and make a memory that might have to last her a lifetime.

Hmmm…cowboys...

Have a good weekend…back Sunday.

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

I wonder why we do...

I sent the cover of Male Me to a friend/ex-work colleague in Taipei. Sara, no not her real name, I cannot pronounce her Chinese name. She asked me was Male Me a ‘rainbow book.’ At 4:30am I just thought huh? Rainbow book? Later on, after I had woken up sufficiently, I realized what Sara meant. She meant was it a gay/homosexual love story. No, it’s not. The story is about 2 men who like pleasuring one woman at the same time. It’s what they enjoy doing. Lucky woman.

Anyway, it got me thinking – why do we persist in calling things other than what they are? Is it because a ‘pretty’ or ‘nice’ name makes it more acceptable? What does that say about us as human beings? That we can accept something more when it’s got a ‘nice’ name? Is it to avoid embarrassment? What do you think?
*********************

Emerald Eyes by talented author Solange Ayre is out now through Ellora’s Cave. Reasons to buy it? Romance, wild sex and a hot super couple….what more do you need? Click on the cover to buy.


Emerald Eyes - adult excerpt

Before Jonas could walk around to Cressida’s side of the Jeep, she exited and went to unlock the gate.

He had a quick impression of flagstone pavement, a nonworking fountain and a pale narrow house with columns. An emerald glow flared up over the roof. Does she have a spotlight on in the back? A green spotlight? But Christmas was three months ago. Before he could think more about it, she grabbed his hand, hurried him across the courtyard and unlocked the front door.

They’d barely made it over the threshold when she surprised him by flinging herself against him, her mouth demanding, her hands exploring. Their lips melded together, her heat scorching him. She plunged her tongue into his mouth. The spicy taste of her drove him wild. His cock strained against his jeans, demanding to come out and play.

Through the lust fogging his brain, all he could think about was getting her shirt off. His hands flexed, eager to knead her full breasts. As if reading his mind, she let go of him long enough to lift her shirt over her head.

Oh, man. Her bra barely restrained her bosom, the nipples showing darkly through the lacy white cups. Her generous caramel globes captured and held his gaze.

“You’re staring,” she said. “Haven’t you ever seen breasts before?”

“Not yours.” He grasped them in his palms, pushing them together to make her deep cleavage deeper still, then lowered his head. He put his mouth over one lace-covered nipple, breathing in the heat of her, inhaling her peach scent. Fondling her other nipple through the stiff lace, he heard her quick intake of breath.

He wanted to put his mouth all over her, taste every inch of her lovely smooth skin, lick and suck her nipples, navel and clit. And when she was hot and wet, frantic with desire, he’d sink his cock deep inside her pussy.

Pulling free of his arms, she opened a door leading to a center hall with a staircase. Rooms led off the hallway on each side. “Come in here,” she said, leading him toward what looked like a sitting room.

Disappointed, he wondered why they weren’t going to a bedroom. But his spirits rose when she added, “I can’t wait. There’s a fainting couch in here.”

“Which one of us is going to faint?”

She turned to look at him, quirking up an eyebrow. “You’d better not pass out, after all your big talk.”

“It’ll have to be you then,” he said. No lights illuminated the room but the moonlight streaming in through the long windows revealed a fireplace with a mirror over it, a crystal chandelier and the fainting couch—a long, backless chaise. “Women frequently faint when they see my cock.”

“Better hide it with a condom then.” She went to the chaise and lay back against the raised end, holding out her hand to him. “I hope you brought one.”

“One? You must be kidding. You’ve got your choice of red, blue, green or glow-in-the-dark yellow.” Taking her hand, he sat between her legs and leaned to kiss her again. Their mouths clung together, their tongues entwining frantically. He pushed her skirt up her thighs, thinking about removing her panties.

Seeming impatient with his gentleness, she steered his hand under her skirt. “Touch me,” she said, her voice husky with longing. “Like you did in the restaurant.”

“You don’t need to ask twice.” He reached for her mound, pausing as his fingers encountered soft curls. “Your panties have disappeared,” he said. “Must be one of those New Orleans voodoo things.”

“Silly—I took them off when I went to the restroom.”

The thought of her sitting beside him in the Jeep, open and exposed, made his pulse quicken. “Good thing you didn’t tell me that in the car. We’d have never made it into the house.”

*********************

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

Check this out...

Here 'tis…the cover for Male Me. I have written a blurb - unedited/unapproved as yet - and yesterday's blog has the story about how Male Me came about.

Male Me…the blurb

After Delaware Brooks sends a silly email about what she would like the new boss to do to her, she is called into the boss's office. The punishment? Every hot, sexual craving she have ever had fulfilled. But Templeton McAdam is not the only man new man in her life. His best friend Speed is invited to enjoy Delaware.

Is it wrong to enjoy both men and should she be falling in love with them so fast?

Male Me will be released in August from Resplendence Publishing




Okay, to give you a break from my endlessly rambling posts, author Elaine Lowe has been kind enough to send me details of her latest release - Sea of Pearls. It's been released today at Ellora’s Cave. As always, it's just a click on the cover to snap up your own copy of this hot, sexy romance.

Sea of Pearls by Elaine Lowe - adult excerpt

He was out there, somewhere, circling around her either in wariness or stalking her as though she was his prey. In truth, she was both hunter and hunted. She wasn't sure which role she enjoyed more. The heat that suffused her blood was welcome, raw sensation very different from the apathy that had claimed her for weeks. She knew she was almost ready to look for a new course for her life.

However, at this moment the only thing that interested her was the gentle motion of the water against her skin, the nibbling of the tiny native fish against her toes. Then there was that prickle along the back of her neck and the knowledge that there was a dark shape, circling around her slowly, still keeping its distance. There was the smallest tinge of fear in her—though she could swim, she was not an expert. Deep in her gut, the visceral intensity of that fear made her incredibly excited.

Well, if I've come out here to offer myself like a common tralc, I might as well get on with it. She started by cupping her breasts, rubbing her thumbs over her nipples and simply enjoying the mild wickedness of fondling herself so blatantly in a public place. Down over her ribs and the planes of her stomach, she caressed her own skin in small circles, drawing out the inevitable descent of her fingers toward the center of her pleasure.

As she drew closer to her goal, he grew closer still. He didn't bother to break the surface for air, instead constantly circling, tighter and tighter until she could see his form in the water and feel his eyes upon her. Her feet parted slightly on the gravel lake bottom. One hand returned to her breasts and she scraped a manicured nail over her hardened nipple and the other hand moved over her hip and finally brushed the parted lips of her sex. She closed her eyes against the swirling mist surrounding her and bit her lip, relishing the luxuriant pleasure of stroking her clit as this stranger watched her.

The pleasure moon of Hyvan III offered an endless selection of delights to all the senses and yet this was sharper, sweeter. The water swirled against her legs and she smiled, knowing he was very, very close now. She thrust a finger into the opening of her sex, tensing her muscles against the intrusion and savoring the tightness of her passage. It had been far, far too long.

She drew tighter and tighter circles over her clit, searching for friction that was impossible in the water, hovering on the very edge of fulfillment. Then she felt his touch. Strong hands closed over her ankles. His flesh longed for warmth in the cool water. Victory was hers and it tasted very, very sweet.

But he didn't rise up out of the water, asking to claim his reward for finally breaking the ice between them. No, nothing so straightforward. Instead, his hands drew small teasing circles over the skin of her legs and by the time he'd gotten to her thighs, his lips, teeth and tongue followed.

Sheer willpower and the buoyancy of the water were the only things keeping her upright. The slow drag of his tongue over the sensitive skin of the backs of her knees made her moan softly. He circled around her kissing and licking, biting and sucking until she thought she would come the instant he got anywhere near her clit.

Her hands searched blindly until they found his head, her fingers surging into the short crop of fine dark blond hair. He turned his face into her palm and pressed an open-mouthed kiss there, an incredibly intimate and endearing act. Suddenly, this wasn't just some random encounter between strangers. She knew that she wanted to get this man to talk to her, to uncover his secrets behind that gruff exterior.

hmmm...I wouldn't mind getting to know this man myself...

www.amarindajones.com/

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

Male Me...

I was installing updated internet security this morning and I thought to myself what sort of weirdo gets a kick out of creating internet viruses that ruin computers? Yes, it would probably require some degree of technical smarts to do it but have these people got nothing else productive to do in their lives? I suspect not. I often picture them sitting in a room by themselves, eating pizza, surrounded by comic books and thinking up dumb ways to ruin people’s internet time. Yeah, how stereotypical of me to think that way but I just wonder why they don’t put what knowledge they have into doing something that will actually benefit someone else. I mean it’s not like this computer dweeb can run around telling everyone he is the one the created the XYZ virus is it? What a strange little world they live in. But then no stranger than the morons that spray graffiti or throw litter on the ground because they are too pig ignorant to clean up after themselves…and yes, throw litter or cigarette butts when I am in the vicinity and I’ll be telling you to pick them up. I believe in the theory of evolution and I think some people are still having trouble getting to the next stage.






I received a draft version of my cover of Male Me from the Publisher - Resplendence Publishing. No, I can’t show it yet until I get the official oakey doakey but I love it. I never quibble about covers as I figure the artist/publisher are the experts and I tend to give a Cover artist free reign to do as they wish when it comes to my cover. My instructions were to go wild. Male Me is a ménage after all. I did send the draft on to a couple of friends/colleagues to get their opinion because although I was happy with it, I wanted people who would tell me honestly what they thought. They liked it, in fact most wanted to meet the male model on the front - yeah, like I know him. One person wanted to see more of the cover model’s body but that would take it well and truly into the realms of pornography and I'm not about that, nor is the publisher. Besides that's tacky on a romance book - I'm sure you will agree. Anyway as soon as I get final approval to post I will whack it on the blog and the website.

Male Me, like most of my books is based on my life…no, I’ve never done the ménage thing…not that there's anything wrong with that as Seinfeld would have said. However -
when I was working at Promptel(code word for crap phone company) management would send out emails announcing this or that or the other. Most of it was pretty irrelevant or ridiculous stuff like “as of tomorrow everyone will be required to make sure they stand on both feet when accessing the photocopier” or “anyone wearing red socks will be asked to explain why as they are not part of the corporate uniform.” You know the sort of stuff management types send out. It's basically to justify the sender having something to do. The staff of course would then wear red socks and balance on one foot just because they could.

Anyway most of the time the emails came and the staff deleted them. Promptel was and probably still is big on useless information. However, my colleagues and I also used to send emails to each other around the room making comments about the email sender or the emails we received. Comments were usually about how desperately we wanted the sender, that we wanted him to father our children, what he was like last night in bed and how we planned to handcuff the sender and do various lustful things to him that night. Yes, we were terribly busy at work but it gave us a laugh and kept morale high and to my mind Promptel should thank us for writing these emails...but they probably won't.








I used to speculate what would happen if management intercepted our emails - in particular if the manager we were targeting that day got the email and how he would react and what he would do to the staff member. No, it never happened. What would I have done if it had been caught? I would done the standard burst into tears thing and explain I had done it due to stress/drugs/alcohol/hormones. Most managers in my experience don't like dealing with any of that.

So that's how Male Me came about. The heroine is loosely based on me - she certainly gets to have much more fun at work than I ever have. What happens next? You will have to read the novella when it comes out in August.

Thank you to all those people who sent personal emails to me after yesterday’s blog. I’m glad you got what I was saying and I hope you find the peace you seek and understanding you need.

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

On my soapbox…

I wasn’t going to go here but in the last couple of weeks I have heard the term bipolar disorder (the old manic depression) thrown around in such a way that makes me angry. “Oh he/she has to be bipolar to me as they keep changing their minds and I don’t understand what they’re on about” or “he/she is having a bipolar moment.” Yeah, I know people say it without thinking but there are people out there who genuinely have bipolar and I am sick of the term being used as something flippant and disrespectful.

What is Bipolar Disorder?

Bipolar Disorder, previously known as Manic-Depression, is characterized by exaggerated mood swings. Bipolar means two poles, or extremes, and if you have bipolar disorder you are likely to have extreme ups and downs. You might experience varying extremes of mania, or up periods, and depression, or down periods - no one is the same.

Mood episodes

Everyone has ups and downs (including those related hormonal changes in adolescence and to the menstrual cycle in females). However, Bipolar Disorder is a medical condition where you have extreme mood swings (or 'mood episodes') widely out of proportion, or totally unrelated, to what's happening in your life. These swings affect your thoughts, feelings, physical health, emotional health, behaviour, and day-to-day functioning. These symptoms can be extremely disruptive to your life. It can also be very disruptive and distressing to your relationships with friends and family.
http://www.reachout.com.au/default.asp?ti=71

Bipolar is about extremes in behaviour – from extreme depression to heightened, almost irrational joy to psychotic, terrifying lows. It’s frightening for the person who has it and hard for the family who loves them because it’s difficult and frustrating to know how to help them.

No, I don’t have bipolar disorder. But I have lived with it and I know the cost of it. My younger brother Cameron had bipolar disorder. Unless you have dealt with it you have no idea how much the person suffers and how little you can help them – it never seems enough. It’s three steps forward and sixteen back. It is a bloody awful mental condition. The lows are so bad that the sufferers constantly overdose to free themselves from pain. The highs are like trying to hold an out of control helium balloon. You never know if you are doing enough to help them and you constantly agonize over it.

You don’t know if the person they think is in their bathroom is real or not because it is likely they have invited a stranger in and you have to deal with it because they can’t. How do you help someone who stiffens with fright and declares there is someone in the back seat of the car is laughing at them? What do you do once having signed them into hospital for treatment they walk out and wander aimlessly with no shoes or money and you endlessly search for them and eventually have to call the Police on them when their neighbour calls you? Or when you identify their body at the end and you realize what a total bloody waste of a life for someone who was a talented, kind and yet tortured soul. It’s easier to fix a broken leg than a broken mind.

No, this is not a blog on self pity. I don’t want sympathy. I want people to understand. When you throw terms like bipolar, schitzo or any similar term around – take a moment and think. There are people out there that those terms genuinely refer to and by using those words so casually and probably so flippantly it’s thoughtless. Mental illness is no joke. These people are suffering and you and I have no idea what is going on in their minds – what torment they suffer. There are probably people reading this blog who are going through this right now. So I ask that you to think before you speak. Don’t apply labels to anyone unless you understand what you are talking about. In essence – pull your head in.

Where to find help if you or your family or someone you know are suffering from Bipolar – some addresses below (many on the internet) or go your local doctor or hospital or Mental Illness Unit and talk to someone – get help – find understanding – don’t be alone.

http://www.reachout.com.au/default.asp?ti=71
http://www.bipolarmania.com/resources/faqs.jsp
http://www.bipolaraware.co.uk/

“Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of, but stigma and bias shame us all.” –Bill Clinton

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

hmmm...Sunday...

If we weren't all crazy, we'd just go insane--Jimmy Buffett

‘Been that kind of day really…like being in a Fellini film …back tomorrow – have a good Sunday

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

Bodice ripping….

“A sexually explicit romantic novel; usually in a historical setting and always with a plot involving the seduction of the heroine.”
http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/bodice-ripper.html

With hand on my heart, I confess, I write bodice rippers. Gasp! Shock! Horror! How dare I, an erotic romance writer, say that? Well firstly, I dare a lot and secondly, I believe some romance writers are taking the bodice ripping term way too personally…my opinion of course.

Although I do not write historical romance, bodice rippers are contemporary romance too. I have read lots of great e-books recently that are bodice rippers even though the authors may not like to think so because the term ‘bodice ripper’ is perceived negatively. I can’t see why. A bodice ripper to me is all about passion. It’s about wanting someone so desperately that clothes may be ripped in the overriding urge to touch and taste or long held defenses dropped because the need to be with the one you love overrides anything else the scares or
worries you. Bodice ripper = passion. And the thing is it’s not always men ripping the clothes off the ‘scantily clad’ heroine. A lot of heroines do their own ripping - and come on, isn’t it sometimes fun, silly and exciting ripping the clothes off the one you love/lust after? There’s something so wildly frantic about it that’s both hot and amusing. Actually one author emailed me to tell me she liked the term and ‘thought there was something fun about it.’ She is right. You remember fun don’t you? It’s when we don’t take things seriously and we lived life on our own terms without worrying about what others thought.

Are my books great works of literature that can compare to Shakespeare, Austen, Kipling? Well of course not. Will they save the world? No. What they are aimed at is giving someone a chance to relax for a couple of hours by dissolving into a romantic fantasy and forgetting all the other crapacious stuff they have had to deal with that day. When I get letters from people telling me they enjoyed my book, I think - great – the reader got some level of enjoyment out of it and my job is done. I don’t believe my books, and some others I have read, are meant to be taken seriously. Sure most are based on real life, and in some cases my own, but they are for entertainment – for the ‘what if’ factor – the adventure. If you want to call that bodice ripping – go ahead – be my guest.

It beats me why we as romance writers – or just people in general – worry about tags. So someone calls your book a bodice ripper and you stamp your feet in angst. Why is it their opinion important to you? Are you worried about being perceived as a fluffy, air head romance novelist? If someone can tell me why it’s a negative term I would like to hear it – really I would. I just don’t understand why romance writers get so upset at it – so either tell me in the comments or email me privately on amarindajones@yahoo.com.au

You know the thing to me as if you have strength of character then what people think of you, other than those you love, is irrelevant. Who is the most important person when it comes to your book? The reader. Did they enjoy it? Do you think they care if it’s called a bodice ripper? Of course not. Readers will read what suits them regardless of a ‘tag.’ The term ‘bodice ripper’ only has what meaning you choose to put to it. If you want to follow the crowd, you’ll think it derogatory. If you want to be your own person, you’ll know it’s so much more than that. People are always going to want to put labels on things – let ‘em. I always say people have to have a hobby.

So yeah, I have written bodice rippers and I will write more and I will not fall apart of someone labels them as such. Life is too short to be worry about crap like labels.

I thought this was interesting – click here – for real life bodice ripping. And to have a laugh at some silly covers – click here.

Two things happened today – one was annoying…I had a flat tyre. I was driving along singing loudly to the radio and someone was waving frantically at me. If just smiled and waved back as you do at crazy people who are gesturing and pulling faces. As I headed down my street I heard this strange noise. I turned the radio down and heard the ka-thump ka-thump of useless rubber. So I had to get the auto club out to fix it because, even though I know how to change a tyre, I won’t. Why? Just because. Then I had to call up the nearest tyre place and see if they had a tyre to fit Ida, my car. “What sort of tyre lady?” Er, it’s round and black. “Yeah but what kind?” The usual I guess – rubber with a tread. Men – don’t they ask silly questions? Anyway, after much time and money expended, tyre fixed.

However, much more importantly something was reinforced to me today and that was you never really know what is going on in someone’s life. You only ever see the outer shell of most people don’t you? A friend told me something about her life that made me mad and upset for her. I would never have guessed this thing otherwise. So once again it made me realize that people hide lots of stuff under the façade they show the world – stuff that never sees the light of day. Sometimes it’s a bloody complex and sad world isn’t it?

Shortest day of the year today… had to frigging happen on a Saturday didn’t it? Just as well I gave myself a 15 minute early mark from work yesterday to make up for it.

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

Rave on...

I heard this report on the news. Click here for more. Is the world going to hell in a handbag or what? $6.9 million was spent on a painting. Yes – a painting. It will not save the world, feed the hungry, aid medical research or help the various crises/threats that abound. This to me is a case of Nero fiddling while Rome burns. I love art. Gauguin, Renoir, Van Gogh – fabulous. But for god sake $6.9 million on a painting?? How can that possibly be justified as anything but plain and utter greed? How nice it must be to be so rich you can throw money away like that. Yes, I am sure it’s an ‘investment’ but I have to ask isn’t investing money in people and fixing problems a tad more important? And yeah, there will always be problems but if you have that much money why not put some – not asking for all - back into actually doing something for someone other than yourself? I am sure whoever bought it thinks it looks lovely hanging in their living room but bloody hell shame on you for wasting money like that.

I always go for a walk in my lunch break for exercise and to get out of the office. Of late I have noticed a Mr Whippy van driving around with its tinned musical recording blaring out
'Greensleeves', as they do. Do you have Mr Whippy vans? I’m not sure if they are worldwide. Maybe they are known by a different name where you are but basically they are mobile ice-cream vans. I work in an industrial area. I would have thought there would not be much call for an ice-cream van. It always seems like something you see in suburbia on the weekends in the summer - not winter and in the heart of industry. Yet there it is and people mill around it, in their fluorescent safety uniforms, steel caps etc buying ice cream with rainbow sprinkles on top. This is an area where fried, fast foods are the usual menu du jour - meat peas, chips (french fries) and Chiko rolls. What's a chiko roll? 'Not 100% sure…could have anything it in but generally it has meat of some description, cabbage and maybe onions - all mushy inside - and then it’s all deep fried. I don’t ever eat them. They are pukeable to me yet they are wildly popular. As for ice-cream –it seems to be a big seller with the workers. Maybe it's a reminder from childhood when ‘Greensleeves’ plays. Who knows? It just seems funny and quirky and that’s refreshing.

I haven't trusted polls since I read that 62% of women had affairs during their lunch hour. I've never met a woman in my life who would give up lunch for sex.”
--Erma Bombeck

There was a poll the other day asking something along the lines of whether you read romance books or not. The inference was if you do then you are not very smart. Naturally romance writers were up in arms. Yet I wasn’t. Why? Because it’s just a poll and readers aren’t stupid. They will read what they enjoy regardless what some poll says. It's like anything in life - someone can say 'Oh, I hate XYZ and everyone who likes it is stupid.' Good for 'someone' having an opinion/making up a poll but I will still like what I do regardless of a poll. I will still have my own thoughts. I will still like what I like because I like it. And yes, some people think romance books are stupid. They are entitled to their opinion. I do not agree. Think about it - if one genre has lasted longer than any other in written form, be it books or song, its romance. So I am not getting pissed off at a poll. They will have a poll tomorrow on asking people to vote on whether red toe nail polish is sluttish and does pink equal purity? Whatever…opinions are given everyday, mine include, and the world still turns because people have the power to think for themselves. Let ‘em put the poll where they like.

I bought a new wallet–come-purse all in one thing. My old one gave up the ghost. I emptied all the stuff out of my old one and I came to the conclusion that I collect a lot of crap. I believe I have the world’s record in courtesy cards – you know, buy so many get one free or a discount. Some are from places I cannot remember even going to. Many I do not use and yet I could not throw them out because I never know when I will have the need to buy a coffee and a muffin in a suburb I swore blind I would never venture into again. I also found obscure measurements written on small bits of paper. What are they for? A logical person would have written something like ‘window measurements’ or similar. But not me. I am the woman who thinks she knows everything. I stuffed them into the new wallet because maybe one day I’ll be looking for a measurement for something and one of them may be it…just which one I’m not sure. I also decided to clean out my handbag. I found three small pocket knives, a plethora of pens, probably 50 safety pins chained together, a sewing kit, band aids, many rubber bands and aspirin/meds, amongst other stuff. If a major catastrophe happens tomorrow, I am the woman you want at your side as I will built a shelter in what is in my handbag alone. Did I chuck anything out? Would MacGyver? No – exactly.

**********

Someone smashed through the railway boom gates at the Geebung railway station…yes, Geebung - what an interesting name - very Aussie. Anyway, I got stuck in traffic because of it - police and drama ensued - but I didn’t mind. These boom gates are the most frustrating in the world as they seem to go down every couple of minutes and you are stuck waiting for a train that takes forever to pass by. These gates piss people off. Yes, I know they save lives. I agree we should have them but in the same token I can understand why someone lost the plot and struck a blow for the rebellion. No one seems to know who did it. No, they didn't think rationally and yes they are probably regretting it albeit with a small smile of satisfaction on their face.

*********

I had to have a blood test before work this morning…just a check to see if my blood is still blue. Actually, like many women I have a deadly slow metabolism and I am on thyroid meds. Anyway, I wandered in and there was a big, beefy man sitting in the waiting room, hunched forward, head in his hands and people attending him. OMG! What happened? Was he attacked? Did he had to fend of off Mothra and was wounded somehow? No, it was a needle. He passed out at the sight of it. Everyone is scared of something aren’t they regardless how big and tough they are. But all things medical interest me. I watch the needle go in and see the blood. It assures me regardless how I feel I am still alive and that’s a good way to start the day. I used to give blood until the blood donor service here decided anyone living in the UK between 1983 – 86 cannot give blood. Why? There is still the slightest fear of the whole mad cow disease thing that happened over there. So to anyone who thought I was a mad cow…maybe you’re right.

End of ramble…

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

Risk and Peril…

Risk and Peril .......what have I done now? No, it’s not me. It’s all about Mona Risk and her new book, French Peril which is available today at Cerridwen Press – or as, always, click on the cover and you can buy it straight away. France? A Count? Romance and sex? What more could you want from a book? Miss Mona was kind enough to send me some info on it. …read on…

A few years ago, I visited the Loire Valley in France and was impressed by the magnificence of the French Chateaux. I visualized gallant aristocrats entertaining beautiful women in lavishly decorated galleries and plush gardens. Stories played in my mind. I don't write historical romances but kept thinking about the settings.

A year later, while spending Christmas with my sister, my niece enthusiastically related her summer training in a French chateau. As an American student in Architecture from Harvard University, she was offered the unique opportunity to work on the restoration of a chapel in France. When I asked jokingly, "Was the owner a haughty old man?" My niece answered: "He was a young, handsome count and the five girls in my team had a crush on him. He dated my friend."

Oh, oh. Chateau. Handsome count. Training on a historical chapel. Maybe looking for a historical statue. I had an epiphany. Here was my story premise. When I pitched it to an agent at the RWA conference, she suggested I change the plot to make it a romantic suspense. I took her suggestion to heart and upped the stakes with a missing statue and the murder of a professor.

FRENCH PERIL was born. It has been released by Cerridwen Press on June 19, 2008. It can be bought and downloaded from my website www.monarisk.com or my blog www.monarisk.blogspot.com/.

The blurb…

What could be more exciting for a young American architect than to live in a French chateau owned by a young count and to work on the restoration of a chapel in the Loire Valley? But when her professor is poisoned because he knew too much about a missing statue, Cheryl's summer job changes into a dangerous treasure hunt and Count François is faced with a difficult choice:
Are the statue and his chateau worth endangering the life of the impetuous young woman who's turned his life upside down?

French Peril - warning – adult excerpt.

"I like all of you." He cupped her breasts and seemed to weigh them in his hands. She'd never been so conscious about their size D until now. "Beautiful. Perfect." She searched for an answer, but her brain was too fuzzy, her throat too dry. His hands glided down, sculpting her body as he voiced his expert opinion. "Tiny waist, round hips. A stunning figure. And what a pair of legs."
"Oh." Her fingers froze inside his boxers as his hands wrapped around her thighs and crawled toward the apex in between. "No, your boxers first." She slid off his lap and onto the cover, and crossed her legs when his hand cradled her pubic area, forbidding her to move further away. She threw her head back, closed her eyes, and focused on the feel of his hands, the left kneading her breast, and the right one playing a mad dance in her wet folds.
"My boxers? You're right. They have to go. Like you I'm too hot in my clothes." He raised his hips. "Pull them, chérie. My hands are busy." As if she didn't know that. As if she didn't feel those expert hands with every fiber of her body.
With one shove, she pulled his boxers down while he wriggled to help. She threw them on the floor and leaned forward, contemplating his massive, throbbing penis. She curled shaky fingers around it and swallowed. Her gaze flicked to his fingers that delved a little deeper in her folds and she matched his tempo, stroking his erection until his eyes darkened and his groan echoed her moans.
He lifted her hand away from him. "Stop, chérie. Let me take care of you first." He lowered her to the bed, flipped away the bedspread and withdrew a foil packet from under her pillow. Her pillow? "But when did you-"
He clamped his mouth on hers while sheathing his long penis.
Oh well. Who cares? As long as she was in his arms. She laced her fingers around his nape and returned his kiss, wondering how she'd been living without kisses for so long-François's kisses.
But he freed her mouth and trailed his lips down her throat, nipped at the sensitive flesh and then lingered on her breast, twirling his tongue around the hardened nipple and sucking. "The other now," she ordered playfully as she raked her fingertips along his spine and cradled his buttocks, reveling in the feel of him stretched alongside her.
His lips traveled south, licked at her belly and drew a wet line to her pubic hair. His knuckles grazed the soft flesh between her thighs as he raised his head to silently question her. She shivered and her jaw slackened. His smile promised a world of pleasure. She sighed and spread her legs, inviting him. He opened her folds with his fingers and lowered his mouth against her.
She wriggled and moaned and dug her nails in his shoulder. She spread her legs wider and tilted herself up. Wanting more but… "François. Oh François." It was more than she could bear. The wild dance of his tongue inside her. The gliding of his finger in and out. The tip of his tongue pressing against her swollen clit.
"Fran…çois," She whispred, her voice husky. Her pelvic muscles flexed around his fingers. Her thighs tightened. "Please." Please stop. No don't stop. Don't….
He increased the pace of his caresses, his finger and tongue assaulting her pleasure bud. She was close to losing her mind. She was too hot. Too wet. Too…
She screamed and jerked up and shuddered.
He slowly eased away and propped himself up on the bed. He caressed her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. As she opened her eyes, she saw his smile, a tender smile she'd never seen before. "You are wonderful, ma chérie."
"And you are superb. My turn to give you pleasure."
He chuckled. "Trust me I'm more than ready. If I don't have you now, I'm going to explode."
His body sleek with perspiration, he stretched on top of her and captured her mouth. She tasted her juice and her scent in his mouth.
Oh Francois, I think I have fallen in love with you. What am I going to do now?
He didn't allow her to wallow in thoughts. He slid his penis inside her and moved slowly at first, then faster, pressing inside her burning core. The need and ache within her came back, escalating.
Was she insatiable?

Whoa! Well I want to know where this goes…

Just quickly…my new website – www.amarindajones.com is up and running. What took me so long? It’s a book in itself. Anyway, click on the link and tell me what you think.

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