Who rules? Drake does….

I would just like to say men are the most odd creatures…

On to other stuff that makes more sense…

Drake’s Rules – by author and good mate Barbara Huffert is out now at Cerridwen Press. This is just the sweetest, most romantic excerpt I have read in a long time and I am not one to go ‘awww’ over things. Nor do I get all warm and fuzzy about stuff…okay – I do fuzzy but that’s only when I really need to shave my legs… anyway – back to sweet, soulful romance – you want it? This book has it. Click on the cover to buy. You will not regret it. It’s a real ‘awww’ book.

Drake’s Rules – the excerpt.

“Not a chance. Now back to my question. You haven’t answered yet.”
“Hmm.” Megan stroked his shoulder as one song blended into the next. “Do I want to be seduced?”
“That’s the one. Perhaps I should be more specific. So there’s absolutely no misunderstanding. What I should have asked is do you want to be seduced now by me?”
“Now. By you. The best-looking man here who just happens to be my date. The one who looks like he stepped right out of every girl’s fantasy in that dinner jacket you’re wearing. You know, I used to think those formal white jackets made all guys look like waiters. You, however, are so handsome my knees get weak every time I look at you. Goes to show you what I know.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. You’re very flattering but you still haven’t answered my question.”
“I know. I’m stalling because I’m enjoying this part so much that I’m not ready for it to be over.”
Drake chuckled. “Neither am I. I wasn’t going to drag you straight to bed if you say yes. Think adult male seduction with extended foreplay, not teenage boy race to the finish.”
“Oh,” Megan’s breath caught at his sensual smile. “Sorry. Guess my lack of experience is showing again.”
“I can’t comment since part of me does want to rush like a greedy teenager.”
Megan kissed his cheek. “Thanks for saying that. Part of me does too.”
“Is that a roundabout way of saying yes?”
She shrugged. “Since you were so clear with the question, shouldn’t I be equally clear with the answer?”
“Please.” Drake forced himself to breathe.
“All right, Drake. Since you asked so nicely then yes, let’s seduce each other.”
“Megan,” he whispered against her lips. The song changed again as the kiss lengthened. Though it remained gentle, it was as potent as it would have been if they’d forgotten where they were and let it turn more passionate. When it ended, Drake urged her cheek to his shoulder. “Picture this. We’ll stay here until the band takes a break. Then we’ll go to my place and turn on something soft so we can dance in the moonlight.”
“On your balcony.”
“Yes. But we’ll light a few candles inside first, so we don’t have any interruptions later.”
“And we’ll kiss too?”
“Definitely. Lots of kissing. All kinds of kissing.”
“All over?”
“Everywhere. At some point we’ll move to the bedroom so we can undress each other while we continue to dance.”
“And kiss.”
“And kiss. We’ll also be caressing each other. I love your soft skin as much as I love to feel your hands on me.”
“Drake,” she sighed into another kiss. “Then what?”
“Then, when we’re both so overwhelmed with desire that we’re trembling, we’ll lie on the bed. We’ll take our time. We’ll touch and kiss until our skin is tingling with anticipation. When we’re ready, I’ll cover you with my body as you urge me between your thighs.”
“I’ll feel you pressing against me, hesitating so we both have a chance to change our minds. But I won’t. I’ll open up even more to show you how much I want you.”
“I’ll see it in your eyes. Without saying a word, you’ll arch your back so your nipples graze my chest. You’ll be so wet.”
“And you’ll be so hard.”
“Slowly, very slowly, slower than you ever thought possible I’ll slide into you.”
“Slowly, yes but you won’t stop until you’re all the way in. You’ll stretch me as you go so you fit but I’ll be so tight around you that I’ll feel every bit of your, uh, your…”
“Say it, Megan. Tell me what your beautiful pussy is going to be wrapped around,” Drake whispered harshly as he licked her ear.
Megan shivered. “Ooh.” She titled her head in invitation. “Your cock.”

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

The mysteries of life…

The Fall Girl is out sometime in November with Resplendence Publishing. It follows on from Taking the Fall. Interesting feedback on TTF - some people were upset at the ending...it was happy but it wasn't. I wasn't really surprised by this feedback. The ending was left so it would follow one of the male characters on. It's good to know people liked him enough to care what happened to him….hmmm…what does happen to James? Anyway - The Fall Girl follows the character of Jonties's best friend Tosh.

“When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious” – Edna O’Brien

It’s St Patrick’s Day and like any country with a large Irish ancestry, we’ll celebrate in Australia. I’m descended from Kennedys, Mahoneys and Hempenstalls – it’s the last name that intrigues me and one relative in particular – actually the only known relative with that name – Jane – my great maternal grandmother. She has long since passed but Jane had a story that my mother and I tried to work out when we were in Ireland. Jane came from County Wexford. She’s an interesting lady by virtue of the fact that we know nothing about her other than the story she gave everyone when she landed in Australia in the 1800’s with a baby. The trip to Ireland told us nothing. I’m not even certain that was her real surname. Oh sure, it’s on documents but anyone back then could have plucked a name out of the air to hide who they were.

Anyway Jane arrived, unmarried, with a kid in tow, yet she told this amazing story about herself and a sea captain. Nah, I’m not going to give you all the specifics – and they’re pretty wild - as I will write her story one day but let me just say this…having kissed the Blarney Stone myself in Ireland, I am pretty damn certain Jane did as well. And of course now, a young woman with a baby and a story that you could shoot holes through is just par for the course but back then it would have taken a single woman guts to sail the ocean to a pretty wild country that was months away by sea. She had nerve and I have to admire her as she never faltered or fell apart – she just made what she could of her situation. She married John Boatwright and had a slew of kids. Unfortunately, like a lot of strong, adventurous people, she died young and no one, but maybe John knew the truth.

So here’s to the Kennedys, the Mahoney’s and particularly Jane Hempenstall – a woman of mystery I’m proud to be related to.

My fave comedian also happens to be Irish – check Dylan Moran out here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kUH34iqK7cI&feature=related

Winners….

Once more thank you for all the entries in the Pushing Fate contest. The winners - Maggie and Becky. Because Rowdy is released from Ellora’s Cave on Wednesday – busy, busy - I’ll have another contest – stay tuned for details.

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

Urban Goth…

Currently, I look like Morticia Adams. I couldn’t find time to go to the hairdresser to have my normal red streaks so I thought – 'bugger it – I’ll whack a packet colour through my hair until next month.' The colour I chose – copper brown. The colour result – dark-oh-my-god-what-the-hell-have-you-done-brown? Lovely. It will eventually fade of course but the looks I have been getting are priceless. I have the whole gothic deal going on at the moment. And, you know, the thing is this is probably the closest I have ever been to my natural colour – which I suspect – going by my eyebrows is dark brown. I say suspect because I can’t exactly remember as I have been dying my hair various colours since Billy was a pup (that’s a long time in Aussie speak).

The comments have been – "wow – those are nice earrings" (translation = what the hell has she done to her hair?) to “trying something new?” To which I like to look vague as if I don’t understand what they mean and then they become uncertain as to whether what they think has changed has really changed or not. One must have some fun in life. So, the moral of the story? Obvious – no matter how rushed you are do not believe the colour on the side of the box and if you wear black with dark hair then you will look more scary than normal – bonus.

Dear Friend, (PRIVATE/CONFIDENTIAL).I am Mr Peter Nouri bank manager of B.O.A Bank in Burkina faso.I would like you to indicate your interest to receive the transfer of 14,000,000 M Dollars. I will like you to stand as the next of kin to my late Descease customer Mr.Sheu Yuan-dong whose account is presently dormant for claim. urgent

The B.O.A Bank in Burkina Faso seems to be very, very busy at the moment. I get a lot of these and frankly I wasn’t aware I could be related to so many people. As far as I know, there no Shen’s in the Jones family. But we’re a dodgy lot. And is Mr Shen dead or just ill? And what’s an M dollar? Is it ‘M’ as in Monopoly dollars? Can I buy a couple of hotels in Mayfair and still have change to buy an electric company? And where the hell is Burkina Faso – yes - Africa but where? Have a burning desire to know? Click here. It states in this article they started out as hunter gatherers…seems nothing much as changed.

Contest – see wonky picture on blog below… The deal – very, very hard question…go to www.amarindajones.com and tell me the name of one the other Janet books listed there – then email me on amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au. The first 2 correct answers drawn at random will win the prize. The contest closes Monday 16th March at midnight – cause it always sounds more dramatic – EST USA time. Go for it.

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

Pushing Fate

Pushing Fate - by moi

Ainslie Croft is a dreamer. The problem is her dreams aren’t pleasant. Ghosts haunt her asking for help. When she crashes into a dream where one man is running from her and another towards her, Ainslie knows her life is about to change forever. But can she overcome the emotional and physical scars to let anyone into her life?

Ramsay Balfour is a man on a mission. He has to find an evil necromancer and destroy his power. Ramsay also plans to seduce Ainslie back into the land of the living by teaching her how to love again.

I have a book released today – Pushing Fate at Cerridwen Press. Yes, you can click on the cover to buy. What’s that you say? You’re not Janet Davies. I am too. I am both Janet and Amarinda but people tend to know me more as Amarinda. We’re one and the same. There is no difference. One of us writes mainstream romance and the other erotica. If I am in trouble I blame one or the other. It’s very handy at times. It’s not me – it’s her – she’s the bad one. You’re never alone when you have a pen name…

So - Pushing Fate – we do it everyday by taking a chance, a risk – we tempt fate to take us on and do its worst. I wrote this book based on a dream – ah, dreams – useful things those. I was going to write it as a new age spiritual thing but I discovered I don’t have a spiritual bone in my body – just the usual jaded ones I’ve had for years so I went with what I knew.

There is a contest…and I took a photo – see below - sure it’s wonky but at 4am in the morning the world is wonky. Shut up and tell you what and how you could win? Sure.

The stuff – bought on my travels in Melbourne, Australia - 1 XL T-shirt, a pop up snow globe (I love these), a boxing kangaroo pen, a kangaroo road sign to confuse people especially if you aren’t an Aussie, an Amarinda cap, a pen set that has – wait for it - souvenir nail clippers – laughed my arse off when I saw those - and a packet of Tim Tams. Why? Because you need something delicious to eat when you read the e-book copy of Pushing Fate you may win.

The contest – very, very hard question…go to www.amarindajones.com and tell me the name of one of the other Janet books listed there – then email me on amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au. The first 2 correct answers drawn at random will win the prize. The contest closes Monday 16th March at midnight – cause it always sounds more dramatic – EST USA time. Go for it.

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

Classic…

I was in a state of knackerdom last night so I decided to vege out and again watch The Brain that Wouldn’t Die AKA Jan in the pan. Never seen it? Really? Quel tragic. Forget Dances with Wolves – boring movie, the English Patient – die already will you or Out of Africa – ho hum - The Brain is a classic film. It has pathos, unintentional humor, drama, terrible photography and a dreadful script yet it’s quite awfully, wonderfully lovely (Whoa! Adverb violation – go straight to author hell do not pass go) and I can’t see it enough.

What’s it about? Okay - Jan and her scientist boyfriend Bill are in a car accident. Jan literally loses her head and the presence-of-mind Bill collects the head, as you do – why notify emergency services - and he keeps it alive in a dish of nefarious looking, dark liquid in his laboratory. Jan, when she wakes up is a tad pissed, as you are when your boyfriend shaves your hair off and gives you a weird hood. Well, hoods are not always in are they? She soon discovers Bill, who always seemed like a nice guy, is actually fucking nuts and he plans to find the perfect body to reattach Jan’s head to. Yes – correct – Bill has to kill to get it and Jan’s not real happy about any of this. I could never work out why Bill couldn’t save her body because that’s the bit with the heart that pumps. How smart can be Bill be? Anyway…while he is out checking bods, Jan discovers she is not alone in the lab. There is a monster locked behind a door. She is scared but like the headless trooper she is she trash talks with the monster and they soon become mates. The rest I’ll let you watch yourself as it’s now part of the public domain. Click here to view.

The moral of the Jan in the pan story? Well, I’m not saying don’t date a mad scientist but if you do always check your bits and pieces are intact the next morning, maybe take separate cars and it’s good to make friends with those you fear as they can help sometimes you.

My Everything by Julia Barrett is out in March at Cerridwen Press. Check it out below – and also click on the cover and read Julia’s other great work.

Ben drove to the rear of the hotel. There were no spaces available so he had to park in another lot behind a thick hedge. He stepped out of the car and waited patiently in the shadows for several minutes, simply looking and listening. There didn't appear to be another soul in the parking lot, so he grabbed two of his bags, locked the car and strode confidently to the nearest entrance. He passed under the lighted archway to the rear door, used his key card and climbed the stairs to the third floor. So far so good. Tom wouldn't have indicated this hotel if he thought Ben would be walking into an assassin's bullet. Obviously Tom felt this would be the safest place, otherwise he would have sent him to his old apartment. Evan Spencer's old apartment, he reminded himself. Even Julie had only been there once and she didn't know who lived in the apartment. She assumed he was one of Ben's coworkers. Ben always believed that what she didn't know couldn't get her killed. That's what he'd thought. Ben shook the memory off and opened the door to the third floor hallway.

The only problem with this hotel was that the hallways were long and turned several times. The rear door was the closest to room 313. Ben came around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. His room was three doors down on the right. Sticking out of the little recess where the door to his room should be were two long, very bare legs. Two long, very bare, extremely shapely legs of the female persuasion. Ben glanced quickly behind him and listened carefully but he saw and heard nothing. He turned back to the legs. They moved slightly. One long but delicate foot arched upwards and then came back to point. The other leg bent at the knee just slightly. Then both knees were drawn up and slender, naked arms wrapped around them. A tousled head of gold-brown hair fell forward to rest on delicate hands.

Ben heard a quiet whimper. He approached the girl soundlessly. He walked right up to her but she didn't acknowledge his presence. Long hair obscured her face. He perused her silently. She didn't appear to be a threat. As a matter of fact, other than a plastic bottle of Coca-Cola in one hand she held nothing. She wore so little that as far as Ben could tell she wasn't hiding a weapon unless she was sitting on it. He didn't think so. He'd seen enough bad guys that despite his innately suspicious nature all his senses were telling him she was harmless. Unless she was a decoy, a distraction. That was a possibility. She was most definitely a distraction. Ben's body and his mind were both instantly aware of that fact. He heard his brain say, "Down boy," and he almost laughed. Almost. He hadn't laughed in a very long time.

He set his bags down quietly and crouched beside her, both hands free and loose and ready to defend himself if necessary.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked softly.

"Mmmmmph," the woman mumbled.

He leaned a little closer and he heard her say, "No." Ben inhaled deeply. Checking. She didn't smell like alcohol. He was pleasantly surprised to note that the scent of vanilla drifted his way.

"Sick?" he asked quietly and he found himself automatically reaching for her forehead. He drew his hand back before he touched her.

She lifted her head slightly. Even though her eyes were half-closed, he could see that her pupils were very dilated. Ben wondered if she was on drugs.

"Mm-m-migraine," she stuttered, her voice pitched very low. He had to strain to hear.

Ben sat back on his heels and considered the situation. He didn't believe in coincidence. Why, of all the places in the world, would this strange woman be sitting on the floor in front of the door to his hotel room at one in the morning? Half naked. Her long, slim, leanly muscled runner's legs reminding him of things he believed were best left forgotten.
"Where's your room?" Ben asked.

"Can't remember," she mumbled. Then she moaned quietly, almost reluctantly it seemed to him and pressed the Coke bottle to the side of her head.

"Your room key?" he persisted.

"In the room."

He saw tears squeeze out the corners of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. Ben noticed that her teeth were beginning to chatter. It was cold in the hallway. Either she was a very good actress or she was telling the truth. He decided to believe her. He couldn't leave her in the hallway. She was a sitting duck for any unscrupulous male who decided to walk by. But he couldn't take her down to the front desk either. He didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to himself. His only reasonable option under the circumstances was to bring her into his room and put her to bed. If it was a migraine, she'd be better in the morning. Julie had suffered occasional migraines. He'd search her once he got her inside, make sure she didn't have a knife blade stashed away, maybe in the rolled-down waistband of her boxers. They sat very low on her hips and didn't cover much. He could see the margins of a tattoo on her lower back and he suddenly realized he'd like to see the rest of it. He felt himself stir at the thought and then admonished himself. If she was really sick, he'd put her to bed and get rid of her as quickly as he could in the morning. There went his good night's sleep. He'd be sleeping practically on top of her to avoid being unexpectedly gutted in the middle of the night.

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

Anytime Darlin'...

First up – does anyone know what I did with my red and white striped knee socks? Most perplexing. Some days you just need to wear certain socks - but then - that's obvious - I don't have to tell you that.

Second – I have been listening to the news in Oz about men now being able to re-claim back child support for children that are not theirs. This has been determined after DNA tests and that the women have to pay the money back. I think that’s fair enough. Personally, paraphrasing Lady Astor - I don't care what anyone does as long as they don't frighten the horses - but in this case if you have slept with several men during the period of conception then I believe you are morally obligated to have the DNA tests before you tag a man as a father. It is not only unfair to him but think of the emotional cost to the child who thinks this man is his dad. I am all for women’s rights but if you have multiple partners think of others and not just yourself. And what about the rights of the real father?

Okay – off my soapbox….. Julia Barrett is an author you are going to hear a lot of. Why? Because her books are fantastic reads. Anytime Darlin’ – don’t you just love that title – is out now a Cerridwen Press – click on the cover to buy.

Anytime Darlin' - Julia Barrett

The blurb…

Jake McKenna is one of the first responders when a young runaway is found unconscious. She's desperately ill and has been beaten and sexually assaulted. Jake saves her life and is determined to protect her from the man who is equally determined to destroy her. Ultimately Jake realizes he must allow her to make her own decisions about her future, though it breaks his heart.

Devlin Barre survived the destruction of everything she held dear then learns she has been given into the care of the very person who stole her life. Her risky escape nearly kills her. One man brings her back, Jake. She loves him, but he has his own path to travel. Devlin refuses to become a burden. Brokenhearted, she leaves to rebuild her life.

Years later Jake and Devlin meet again. Has their connection survived? What of the monster who attempted to destroy Devlin? He's still waiting for the opportunity to finish what he started.

The Excerpt….

Jake applied the electrodes to her chest and flipped on the portable EKG machine. After a quick glance at her heart rhythm, he began a systematic head-to-toe assessment as Kyle radioed each finding back to the ER. Jake felt sick as he stripped her and ran his hand over every single bruise and abrasion, checking for broken bones and possible internal injuries, anything they might make worse by moving her carelessly. The girl had been badly beaten. Her back was scraped raw and there were thick purple wheals around both wrists. Her left side was swollen and covered with bruises. From the feel of things, Jake suspected at least a couple of broken ribs. He didn't find needle marks—her arms and legs were clean. This wasn't likely to be a drug overdose. Leanne and Lou got the IV started and Jake sighed with relief as fluids began flowing. The EKG showed a normal sinus rhythm but she was tachycardic and the woman was right, she was hot. Her axillary temp was one oh three point four. Her lungs sounded congested. Probably pneumonia. Jake suspected she'd been outdoors for several days and she'd probably been guarding her respirations because of the rib pain, which meant she was a sitting duck for pneumonia.

Mike cleared his throat. "He was wearing waffle-stompers," he said, "look at the marks on her thigh."

They stared in silence.

Then Jake broke it. "Let's move it people."

Kyle and Lou wheeled in the gurney and the four of them lifted the girl gently. As they laid her down, her eyes flew open. Jake was by her head, looking right at her. He started. Her eyes were unexpected, aquamarine with flecks of gold, wide and slightly almond-shaped and when she slowly lowered her lids, her long lashes cast faint shadows on her pale cheeks. Suddenly her eyes opened again and sought his. Jake was surprised by the intensity in her gaze. He saw confusion mingled with pain and a flat-out panic, the kind of panic one would find in a cornered animal.

Jake felt a hand wrap around his as he pushed the gurney.

"It's okay, darlin," he whispered soothingly, "it's okay. We'll take care of you. We're taking you to the hospital."

He thought her panic increased for a moment but then she nodded, almost imperceptibly and he could tell she understood him.

"You got a name, sweetheart?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "No."

"C'mon, everybody's got a name," he coaxed, "it's all right, you can tell me, sweetheart, nobody's going to hurt you."

"Dev," she said after a moment, so softly beneath the mask that he almost missed it. "Devlin." Her eyes closed.

"Devlin," Jake repeated, "I'm Jake and I won't let anything happen to you."

Suddenly the hand in his went rigid and the rapid respirations turned to gasps.

"Heart rate increasing!" called Leanne. "One sixty a minute!"

"Lou," Jake spoke with deliberate calm, "give me an ET tube now and get the ambu-bag."

Jake and Lou worked fast and had the girl intubated before Kyle could even put the vehicle in gear. Mike slammed the ambulance doors shut.

"I'm right behind you," he called.

www.amarindajones.com
www.amarindajones.blogspot.comhttp://groups.yahoo.com/group/AmarindaJonesNewsletter/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

In your face…

I got a chance to subtlety say to someone today - in your face. Is that something non-Aussies say? It means to us 'ha, frigging ha, you were wrong.' It's a good feeling. What happened? A while ago a person who had some limited power tried to make me feel inferior. This person made a determined move to smack at my self esteem and try to make me feel less about myself. I didn’t work of course because I'm not about to play that game. I'm not about to have my confidence kicked at by someone that doesn’t know me and wants to keep me under their thumb for their own reasons. The thing is I am fairly sure this person is successful at doing that to others. I have heard the stories. Anyway I got my chance to let this toe-rag know in a big, yet subtle way that they were dead wrong and why – complete with pictures. I think it’s always good to have a visual don’t you? The toe-rag’s response? None. Well what can you say when someone refuses to play your game and then turns around and proves to you what a manipulative sod you are? People like this need to learn they cannot bully others. It makes my blood boil to think other people are treated like crap by this person. Yeah, it is up to the individual to be treated with respect and not accept crap but we all know there are some people feel who feel helpless. Problem is of course, these people prey on them. It's wrong and they need an arse kicking. However it felt good to say in your face – and I may have done the happy dance afterward. Fuck with me? I think not.

I was on my morning walk this morning and I saw this sticker of a near naked woman on the back window of a car. She was in profile, her arms behind her back supporting her body with her ridiculously perky boobs thrust out…actually they looked like they could take an eye out. Her legs were wide apart and her pelvis was off the ground. Hmmm…now come on…what woman can do that for any length of time? Have you tried it? Go on do it…I’ll wait while you do……..see how hard it is? What grown man in his right mind with some basic knowledge of anatomy could expect a woman to keep up that pose without helping her? Of course the car must have belonged to a rev-head twenty something dipstick who probably thought women were all bendable like Barbie. The thing that amuses me is that when this boy finally meets a woman and expects her to do that pose she will laugh her arse off. In some ways I always feel sorry for these boys as it’s gonna’ be a bloody hard lesson for them.

From author Madison Blake….

I'm running a contest in celebration of my upcoming release Love in Mysterious Ways on October 1 from Ellora’s Cave.
Prize: One download of Love In Mysterious Ways

Mechanics: A drawing will be held at midnight on October 1, 2008 and the winner will be announced on October 2 at the Ellora's Cave Chat yahoogroup (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ellorascavechat) and my newsletter in October 2008.

What you need to do: Just join my yahoogroup (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thelovechronicle/ ) between now and midnight of October 1. Easy, right? All members--existing and new--stand a chance to win. So, spread the word and get your friends to join!

The group is a very low volume mailing list--quarterly newsletters--and I'm hoping to be able to hold a different contest with each newsletter. So, see you there!

Thanks and good luck!

I will have a book to give away myself tomorrow – Micah Blue. It will be a really hard question….not. Check in tomorrow to have a chance to win

Rose Perfect by moi…woman with a broken toe meets a time traveler and tries to stop her best friend ruining the future with her revolting boyfriend…after that, why wouldn’t you want to read on? Click on the cover…isn’t it the prettiest cover…to buy


Rosanna Harlow was drunk. Not falling down, gut spewing drunk though. More like happy, glowing, in love with the world tipsy. The sort of tipsy that made her cheeks glow red and her green eyes dance with happy enthusiasm. Tomorrow, of course, her face would be pale and her eyes red but that was okay. It was New Years Eve 2005. Rosanna had a lot to celebrate. She had no job and no man in her life. Add to that a broken big toe, from her latest renovating disaster and the fact that she was in debt up to her eyeballs and she was doing just swell, thank you very much. Rosanna Harlow’s life was just one big celebration of madness. She was glad to farewell 2005. As far as Rosanna was concerned, 2005 had been crap. She could not wait to see the back end of the year. Queen Elizabeth, the second, had had her annas horribilus. Rosanna Harlow, the first, was happy to drown 2005 in alcohol.
“Woo hoo!” Rosanna howled at the moon as she staggered around the backyard pool with a glass of champagne in one hand and a ridiculous shiny green party hat perched jauntily on her head. No one at the crowded party noticed her specifically. Everyone else was in varying shades of alcoholic happiness and having just as good a time at the party. It was the second one she and her best friend Prue had attended that night. They would go home soon and collapse. But for the moment Rosanna felt invincible, broken toe and all. She laughed out loud as Prue echoed her call.
Rosanna heard beeping and reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her mobile phone. She squinted down at the display. “I have a message.” She announced out loud just because she could. Prue cheered drunkenly. Rosanna smiled as she accessed her message with uncoordinated fingers. “Archer? Who the hell is Archer?”
“William Tell was an archer.” Prue informed her in a drunken slur as she barely missed stumbling into the pool she was drunkenly trying to navigate her way around.
“William Tell left me a message?”
“Actually, I think he’s dead.”
Rosanna looked at Prue. “Why would a dead man send me a message?”
“Maybe he’s lonely.” Prue laughed out loud at her own inane comment.
“You’re drunk.”
“As a skunk.” Prue slumped down on a nearby deck chair.

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

Quel surprise...

Swift of Heart – Book one – Men of Heart

When Stephanie Hart opens her front door to find long-lost love Mackinley Swift on her doorstep, thoughts of anger, love and an overwhelming urge to slap him and then eat a chocolate bar rush through her mind. Here is the man who taught her to love, to want and to need—then he walked out on her without a word. Now Mac's back telling her he's been away fighting a war in another dimension. Yeah, right, whatever. Stephanie is simply not that stupid.

Mac knows he has the fight of his life on his hands to convince the woman he loves that he had no choice. He did not want to go. Duty to his country called him home but love has brought him back. How hard could it be to convince her that they are meant to be together?

An old enemy is watching the lovers' reunion. He hates Mackinley Swift for killing his brother. He has every intention of making him suffer. The woman Swift loves is the means to do it. Hurt the woman, hurt the man.

I got a nice surprise this morning – well I would have got it a week ago if I had not been a slack arse and checked the other email address I have but I didn’t – anyway I’m in print…well a book is. Amazing Grace. It made me laugh. Yes, that’s right laugh. Why? Because it seems so bizarre to have a book out in print now that I have gotten used to the whole e-book thing. E-books are not big in Australia. But they will be. Anyway…what’s it called? Men of Heart. Why? Long frigging story – I’ll give you the condensed version that does not have me banging my head on the desk trying to think up a title until I had a headache and wondering how did I ever come up with other titles without all the angst. Maybe because those books were planned. This one wasn’t. 'Sort of like the immaculate conception of books if you like.

Men of Heart is a duet book comprising of Swift of Heart and Last Man Standing. I got word that it and another two Ellora’s Cave books – Shades of Gray and Marlow’s Curse (Vampire) would go into print and can I think up a name to call the books? Oh hard…so after much agonizing – which included badgering other people for titles – as a last minute thing I came up with Men of Heart based on the fact that the two stories within were about Stephanie Hart and Amy Hart and well - men. Yes, rocket scientist logic in use there. I had not seen the cover until today so I am pleased as always with what the cover gods at Cerridwen Press created. The title for the vampire one? Yeah, I have given one that has been accepted but until it goes into print, I’ll be schtumm (quiet) on that one.
Reading this blog for the first time and totally confused? I do that to a lot of people. I write under two names – Janet Davies and Amarinda Jones. Janet is mainstream romance and Amarinda is erotica. So two names, two genres – one confusing person and yet I like me…who ever I am. And yes, you can click on the covers to buy.

Last Man Standing – Book 2 Men of Heart

Six months ago, when battle-scarred warrior Alex Navarro jumped into Amy Hart's car, he said he was doing it to save her life. He said a madman from another dimension was after her. But how exactly is trying to seduce her saving her life? Shouldn't Alex be after the bad guy? And why on earth did she give her heart to a man who only wants her for the moment?

Six months later Amy Hart is pregnant, and the father-to-be publicly denies paternity. That's just fine with Amy. She hates Alex Navarro with a passion anyway. And there is no way she is going to change her mind. As for Alex, his deliberate plan for Amy to hate him is backfiring. And that's not his only problem. The threat of an old prophecy hangs over his head. He loves Amy but he will not endanger her. But what choice does he have? Can Alex win back the love of his life and beat the curse that has haunted him for years? Or will greed and jealously win?

Wow what a lot of question marks huh?

The step man cometh back tomorrow. The plan had been to have the front steps finished on Friday but like all good plans that fell to crap so he is here tomorrow morning… at 8am…on a Sunday…when I am traditionally still in my pj’s looking feral. Yes, I will change into something more sedate so as not to tempt the man in wild, lustful temptation with my glamorous pink flannelette bedecked self….it’s the least I can do.

May your Saturday be pleasant and peaceful. For all the latest in romance book news go check out the authors listed in the link below.

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

Flaming heck…

Flaming heck it was cold in the mountains on the weekend….it’s just wrong for winter.

Freedom is just Chaos, with better lighting.” –Alan Dean Foster

I came home to a messy house. No one to blame but myself. I am a messy person. A friend of mine said what happens when you die and someone has to sort through your assorted junk? Well, I’ll be dead…it won’t be my problem will it?

The other day I got this email from someone I had not spoken to in ages. It came out of the blue and I still don’t know what this person was on about. The email rambled on about nothing that meant anything to me because I had cut ties with this person ages ago. So why the email? Yes – it was one of those WTF moments. I was pissed off at first because I thought who is this person to be disturbing my peace with their childish ramblings about nothing? Why do I have to try and waste my time and decode it? Maybe they were having a cathartic moment. Maybe they were just having a hissy fit. Maybe their undies were too tight. Whatever….next time I am just hitting the delete button because life is too short to deal with people who disturb your peace.

However, a rational friend pointed out that the person who emailed could be venting. Okay – venting I understand. Venting is good. I love a good vent. The thing with a good vent is that it does not have to mean anything to anyone but the ventor. A vent can be about something that happened today or three years ago. A vent doesn’t have to make sense. It’s just about getting all the aggro out by kicking and screaming and swearing and shouting your frustration. My mother used to hold anger in. Sometimes all of a sudden she would just lose the plot and vent angrily about a bunch of things. I would then say to her – ‘how long have you been holding that in?’ I love a good vent but I will do it then and there. I am not one to hold in anger. So, yeah, this email person was probably spitting the dummy about something that has been on her mind and now she decided to have the urge to purge. I just wished she chosen someone who knew what the hell she was talking about because it was lost on me.

“There is nothing more galling to angry people than the coolness of those on whom they wish to vent their spleen” Alexandre Dumas Père

Flames…are more flames better than one? What am I talking about? The other night I got this email asking was I happy with one flame or two? Yes – it has been a confusing couple of days for me. I eventually worked out that I was not being asked if I was a pyromaniac – it was about sex. Yes, tricky huh? Flames equal sex. Remember in the old soap operas when the camera used to pan to a burning candle in the bedroom of the lovers and you knew from that they were having sex? Sort of similar.

My Cerridwen Press books – under the name Janet Davies – where released at All Romance e-books. Click here if you want to see the flame thing. They have one flame. That indicates heat level – as in sex – not as in my toes are cold and I am cranky. One flame means pretty tame. Well, yes – my Cerridwen Press books have tame sex. For more sex see the Amarinda books. Interestingly enough, I get feedback from readers who say that they have read my Cerridwen books after the Ellora’s Cave books and apart from the level of sex, they have the same feel as the Amarinda books. Well – yes – I am the same person but I recognize some people want different things in books. So, I give you a choice between genres.

Back to the flame thingy. I said I was okay with the one flame. Some authors are not though. I asked some writers why they felt they needed the extra couple of flames. One author pointed out that some of her books, although tamer sex than an erotic novel, needed to be changed in heat level to stop unsuspecting readers picking up a one flame book and getting a two flame book. In essence not getting what they paid for. Fair enough. Another author emailed me privately and said it was all about sales and that the more flames they had the more the book they would sell because people wanted to buy books with sex in them. O-kay. At least that is in-your-face-honesty. She wants to make money so she wants more flames on her book to induce people to buy. I can’t fault that logic. And yes, writers write for money. You all know that. I hope that her readers aren’t too pissed when they get a 1 flame book expecting 3.

So what’s in a flame? Any opinions? Are you a one flamer like me or do you demand the whole match box be lit up?

“One thing I don't understand is sex is legal and selling things is legal but selling sex is illegal.”
-- George Carlin quotes

I mentioned I was going to the Australian Romance Readers Convention in Feb 09 in Melbourne, Australia. Click here to find out more. I just have been speaking to a bunch of Aussie Authors on a Yahoo loop. It good to see so many Aussies writing romance and doing bloody well at it.

That’s it. I am going out now to get the washing off the clothes line – no - please do not get too excited at the glamour of my life.

Sunday – may yours be peaceful and housework free.

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

Friday....

I asked the Cover Gods in the cover department of Ellora's Cave for my cover for Micah Blue. It's one of the jewel books - a sapphire - for September. The head cover god is a good bloke and he sent it to me. As always I am very pleased with their efforts. What's Micah Blue about?

Micah Blue …coming September 3rd through Ellora’s Cave

A demon has been waiting one hundred and twenty years for the next chosen one who commands the power of the sapphire. He will stop at nothing to make that woman his own. He needs her power to survive.

Ever since a fortune teller gave Micah Blue a lump of blue rock the drought in her sex life came to a screaming halt. Dark, erotic dreams of a stranger haunt her nights and a tattooed builder drives her wild with lust during the day. Both men are wicked. One wants to enslave her and one just wants to love her.

Ned Langford, builder and part-time garbage collector isn’t about to the let the love of his life be taken from him. He will do whatever it costs to thwart a demon and keep Micah at his side.
*********************

I am off west to the country this weekend so I leave you with two excerpts from a writer I admire greatly. These two excerpts are completely different and they shows the depth of talent author Sandra Cox possesses. Black Opal is part of a series. But it can also be read as a stand alone book. I have read the first two books and they are excellent. I have yet to settle down and read Black Opal but I know it is of the same high calibre.You can click on the cover and buy. I recommend when buying Black Opal buy the whole set to so save making two purchases. Now, the Cat book, Akasha…I am not into cats. Sandra laughed when I asked for the excerpt. But hey - I know many of you love cats. So, if you do and you want an excellent read from an author who understands all things four legged and furry - click on the cover and buy

Back Sunday - have a good weekend.

Black Opal, Third in the Amulets Series by Sandra Cox

They raced down the mountain at a perilous pace. The trees whizzed by as they traveled a narrow two lane road. A noise like a distant train grew, gaining in volume, grating against Sabina’s nerves like chalk on a board. What was it?
She looked to her left and saw it. “Oh my gods. Hit the brakes, Adam!”
But he’d already seen the rocks and boulders tumbling down on the road ahead. His brakes screamed and the hot smell of burning rubber filled the car.
After that everything happened in slow motion. She raised her arm to stop the large boulder heading at a runaway pace directly toward the car. She could hardly see for the small pebbles and dirt. With a wild wave of her arm, she halted stones in mid fall. Sabina stumbled out of the car so she could see to aim the amulet. Boulders and rocks were everywhere.
“Sabina,” Adam called jumping out of the car and racing toward her.
She saw a rock the size of an aerobic-abs ball hurling toward him and shot her arm out. It splintered in a thousand pieces.
“Merda!” Another hurtled straight toward her. She made no move to save herself. Her arm trembling, she held it straight out in Adam’s direction to cover him from the falling rocks as he raced toward her, his feet slipping in the gravel. In that moment, she knew she loved him.
Pain engulfed her as the large rocks pummeled her. Above the roar of the rockslide she heard the agony in his voice as he called her name. He does love me was her last conscious thought.

Akasha - The Cats of Catarau - by Sandra Cox

Akasha cleared her throat and straightened. Though Ramses was kind, the great Council Cat wore authority like a cloak clothing a king. He intimidated her just a bit. “Where is Cairo?” she asked.
His whiskers twitched and compassion shone out of his ageless amber eyes. “She is still mortal.”
Akasha took a step toward him. “How do you know?” Her green eyes stared into his gold ones. Fear for her child overcame her intimidation of the great cat. When he did not respond, she asked again, “How do you know?”
He looked at her, assessing.
She returned his look without blinking, waiting.
With a sigh, he swept out his paw. As one, the council turned their heads to look into the mist. Akasha stared through the clouds below to see her poor baby-sitting on a tackle box under the seat, the water inside the boat rising. “Mamma, Mamma, Mamma,” Cairo called.
For one brief moment Akasha thought she would die all over again. She could feel her heart pound against her breast and that surprised her. There was so much pain in it. Surely, it had shattered into tiny pieces too small to beat. Resolute, she shoved back the grievous ache. She had no time for it. Her baby needed her. Somehow she must get to her kit.
Forcing herself to breathe, she pushed the words out of her throat. “How do I get back?”
“You don’t,” Ramses said, his tone gentle. He sat down and wrapped his tail around his body.
Several of the other cats did the same.
Akasha tucked in her chin and swished her tail, her expression stubborn, fighting the ache in her chest. “Shardai went back. More than once, if legend is correct.”
“Shardai received special dispensation.”
She notched up her chin and spoke like a queen. “Then so shall I.”
Her pulse pounded in her paws as he stared down at her but she refused to be intimidated.
Finally he asked, “How can you hope to save her? She’s in a boat, in the middle of a raging storm.”
Past all reason, she ran to him and beat her paws against his chest. “Listen to her,” she cried. “And don’t tell me I can’t go back.”
“Mamma. Mamma. Mamma. Where are you?” The poor pitiful sound carried through the winds of earth and rushed to Catarau.
She could see indecision flicker in the great cat’s eyes.
He pointed with his chin at Cubbie and Cosmo. “What about these little ones?”
They stared at her, wide-eyed. “You aren’t going to leave us are you, Mamma?”
Her chest tightened. Great Bast. It was so hard. She didn’t want to be separated from her babies.

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

Day 4 at work - hope returns....

“Our Vision for the future to build a nice society” -- M, my sponsored child in Bangladesh talking about what her village youth group hopes to achieve in her letter today.
** If a15 year old young woman can see the obvious why can’t we?

I finished the follow on to Tantalizing Tilly and sent it to my editor warning her that she will probably need copious amounts of alcohol to wade through all the typos. I am considering starting up my own language based on typos. I was forced to do Linguistic Analysis and the Evolution of Language at Uni as part of my degree. I know that language can be created very simply and that no one can justifiably challenge it if it is part of your natural vernacular for it is inherent and natural to you. What am I going to call the language of typos? I was thinking Typolish. It will be for people who are quick thinkers but lousy typists. No one would have to worry about explaining what they were saying as all the other Typolians will instantly understand them. Does nerfel fankle werg mean anything to you? Is pukeable part of your daily sperk...I mean speak? If so, consider a degree in Typolish.

Speaking of my editor, I was telling her that the most drop dead gorgeous man came into the office to fix the photocopier. I swear the temperature in the room increased due to female hormones suddenly ramped up to fever pitch as tongues hung out and eyes followed the blond guy. There was an instant rush to the fax machine to send useless information as the fax is next to the copier. I must say that I did look at the man maybe once or eleven times. He was just that sort of guy - though I will admit he was not exciting enough to stay beyond knock off time. Only George Clooney with a bottle of champagne and hundred dollar note in his hand could induce me to work overtime. Ahh…some men are just terribly nice to look at aren’t they? Sigh...

Taste of Liberty by Nancy Hunter is out right now from Cerridwen Press. You will not want to miss this book. It is a fantastic read. Click and buy and don’t miss out!

The blurb....

In a time of war and hope, loss and redemption, death and rebirth, tragedy unites two enemies who seek vengeance and find love, only to learn that it was never their destiny to be together…
Liberty MacRae, daughter of an American Revolutionary, and Sebastian Cole, a British soldier, share a vendetta against the brutal British commander who killed their loved ones. Each brings a special gift to their quest – Liberty has a second sight that allows her to predict death, and Sebastian is a Fated One, a man who died before he could kill his enemy and has been sent back by the spirits to complete the task. When they fall in love, they have to find a way to defeat not only the murderer, but destiny as well - a destiny that demands that Sebastian either forfeit his life to defeat his enemy or forfeit his soul. Can they find a way to change their destiny before Liberty’s most harrowing premonition - that of her lover’s death - comes true?

The excerpt….

Sebastian was silent.
Libbie couldn’t tolerate the distance between them. She needed him to hold her and look into her eyes the way he had at the inn, to make her feel as safe now as she had then.
“At the inn, you were going to tell me something about the night we met,” she said.
He leaned toward the mantel for support but winced when his shoulder brushed against it.
“You can tell me while I check that.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“I’m in a better position to judge that than you are. My skills saved your life in that cave. You trusted me then,” she told him as she stood and stepped in front of him. “Trust me now.”
Her hands trembled as she reached for his tunic and lifted it over his head.
She noticed bruises on his neck and gently touched one.
“A souvenir from Norton,” he answered her unasked question. “No damage done.”
He didn’t pull his gaze from her as she reached toward his shoulder but he lifted his hand in the air to protest. She slowly pressed her fingertips against his. Sparks danced between them as she pressed the length of her fingers to his, then flattened her hand until they stood palm to palm.
Sebastian pressed his free hand against the small of her back and pulled her body against his. He moved his face slowly, carefully, toward hers. She stopped breathing as their lips touched, then pressed more firmly together. His mouth was strong and demanding. She responded in kind, blocking out everything in the world except the warm feel of him.
He moved his mouth over her cheek and chin, planted gentle kisses along her jaw, ran his tongue down the length of her throat. With one last lingering kiss he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.
“You made me feel alive that night. I can’t explain to you what that meant, what it means to me to be near you, to touch you, taste you.”
She reached up to wipe a tear from his cheek. He caught her hand and kissed it, then closed his eyes, pressing out more tears.
“But knowing me put you in danger. I had to get away from there, from you, to protect you, to keep you safe. God, I wanted to give you that but I couldn’t.”
“No one could.” She leaned against him. “I know how fragile life can be. I know that no one can keep me safe every minute of every day. But there are things you can give me. Important things.”
His lips nuzzled her ear. “Tell me,” he whispered.
She swallowed hard. “This heat. This passion.”
He ran his fingers down the length of her spine. “Is that what you want from me?”
She nodded. “Since the moment I met you.”
“Libbie, I know I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve these feelings you bring to me. But I was so afraid I’d lost you tonight. I prayed I could hold you just one more time, even though I know it’s wrong of me…”
“No, Sebastian, this is right. So right.”
Their lips met again in a deep kiss that left her quivering. She pulled away from him just long enough to let him lift her shift over her head and drop it to the floor. His gaze roamed over her, leaving a heated blush in its wake. He pressed his bare chest against hers as he gently kissed her eyes, then nipped at her earlobe. He ran his tongue over the pulse in her throat.
Libbie gasped at the small, scintillating touches.
Sebastian stroked her back, her buttocks, her thighs, pausing only to pull off his own breeches. Then he bent lower until he was kneeling in front of her. With his upturned mouth, he kissed one breast, then the other, flicking his tongue teasingly over her throbbing nipples.
Libbie moaned as he pulled her down to kneel with him, his hands caressing every inch of her. Her unpracticed touches were less gentle as she rubbed his dark chest hair and small, smooth nipples, which rose to hard points under her fingertips. She lingered over his rippled stomach and slowly traced the soft line of hair that began under his belly button.
With one hand supporting her back and the other wrapped in her hair, he crushed his mouth against hers. His erection pressed insistently against her belly. She leaned back, pulling him toward her. Her desire for him had turned into a feral, instinctive need to feel him deep inside her.
He stopped, suspending her just above the blankets. “Are you sure? There will be no turning back.”
“I don’t want to turn back. The past is full of pain. I just want this time, this place. This moment with you.”
“I’ll be gentle, love.”
She dug her nails into his back. “No! Not gentle. I want your passion. Make me feel it. Make me burn!”

Yes! The Amarinda and Anny contest starts Friday - race back here for more details tomorrow!

www.amarindajones.com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/AmarindaJonesNewsletter/
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?