Blue for you...

Micah Blue - review

Micah Blue of the pink hair and take no prisoners attitude is a great character. Ms. Jones has written her with a terrific sense of humor and there is humor scattered throughout the story. There are also some great sex scenes both with the demon and with Ned that are really steamy. Ned is a hot guy with a hot body and a white knight complex who is determined to have Micah for himself, demon or no demon. This couple sets the sheets on fire while discovering a deeper connection and foiling the plans of a demon. A very good paranormal read with great characters, hot sex, laughs and a happy ending.
http://www.simplyromancereviews.com/srrreviews/
micahblue.aspx

Have you checked out Winning Bess by talented author Marissa Alwin yet? If not you are missing out on a hot and romantic read. Take squiz below then click on the cover to buy…go on – treat yourself.

Winning Bess

The blurb…

1847 Ireland was a place of hardship and devastation, and Bess and her father wouldn't have been able to escape without Colm Devaney. But Bess' feelings for Colm go well beyond gratitude. Now they find themselves together in an immigrant neighborhood in New York City, sharing a cramped shack. And Bess wants to get even closer.

Three things aid Colm's survival—a small bit of savings, his ready fists and his desperate desire to have Bess... in every way possible. Every night he spends in their close quarters, trying to force himself not to peek at her luscious body as she bathes, is pure torture. The few stolen minutes of passion they finally share are heavenly, but leave them both fraught for more. More determined than ever to win Bess and take her far from their dirty, dangerous life, Colm sets his eye on another prize—an exquisite sapphire that goes to the winner of the fiercest prizefight in Five Points.

The excerpt…

Don’t look.
Don’t peek.
Just breathe.
His body burned with lust. The rough cloth of his trousers kept his stiff cock in place. He balled up his hands so he wouldn’t fondle himself. Even in the dark corner on his sleeping pallet, he didn’t want to get caught rubbing his manhood.
“Colm Devaney, are you listening ta me?” Bess asked from her side of the room. Water splashed in a bowl.
He swallowed. Sure he was listening. Sort of. It’d be easier if Bess didn’t have her top down around her waist as she washed her breasts. Big, firm, round breasts.
Breasts meant to fill a man’s hands.
A thin blanket ran between the walls as a barrier, but with the candle burning on her side, the material offered no protection at all. Hungrily, he peeked once more as her father’s snores rattled the roof of the alleyway shack.
A hand lingered over a breast before she lifted her arm and washed her side, shoulder and arm.
When his cock twitched, he bit back a moan.
Sweat broke out on his forehead. Thankfully she’d soon be asleep, giving him the privacy he needed to bring himself to release.
His balls tightened in anticipation. He hated waiting.
“I’ve made up my mind.” She rung out the rag to wash the other arm. “I’ve got no other choice…”
“What?” He sat up, only to wince. Shifting, he managed to get his cock a little more freedom. “What other choice?”
Bess turned to face his direction. “You big lug. I knew you hadn’t been listening.” In a huff, she turned away.
Damn English dogs.
No. The English may have driven him from Ireland to America, but Colm had no one but himself to blame for this situation. Still, it was nice to blame the English.
When Bess’ father had come to him for aid, Colm couldn’t say no. He hadn’t wanted to. Truth be told, he’d thanked the Lord for the opportunity to get closer to Bess. She and her father had no other relatives, just as many other immigrants found themselves alone here.
Only he hadn’t known how hard living with Bess would be. And before bed was the worst. Her bath routine seemed to be getting longer and longer.
Bess peered at him over the blanket once more. “I’m going to take O’Boyle up on his offer. It won’t make me a fortune but it will help with the cost of Da’s medicine.” There was sad resignation in her voice.
Bile of both disgust and worry churned its way up from his stomach. The mention of the thieving O’Boyle’s name alone sickened him. In a flash, he was across the room, offering her a glare of his own. “Over my dead body.” He’d be long dead before Bess would work for that scum.
She gasped.
He took another step forward. Too close, but he didn’t care. “You’ll not work for the likes of that rat bastard.” While he and countless others had needed to come to New York, far too many of them fell prey to those uncaring like O’Boyle. The city could be far crueler than death by starvation. Neither false temptation or hunger would claim Bess.
“You’re not me father.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “I’ll be making my own decisions.”
A tremble set in. Anger and desire mingled in his blood. He wanted to have a say over her choices. At least the dangerous choices.
Damn it and damn the English.
Don’t be getting any ideas, Colm. Me daughter is too good for the likes of you. She’s meant for someone special. Not an English bastard. I thank you for your protection all the same. The dying man’s words echoed once more in his head.
Colm was no fool. Bess’ father had sought aid from him because of his height and ready fists.
Standing too close to the makeshift barrier, he blinked down over the blanket at the eyeful he’d been given—or had taken.
Big lush breasts tipped with dark rosy nipples stood straight out for his view.
“Get your eyes back in your head, Colm Devaney.” She snatched her top up. “What do you take me for?”

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

Rate me...

So, I got an email this morning about Male Me doing okay and being rated in a top ten somewhere. That's nice. I appreciate the support from readers and it’s always good to hear you don’t suck completely at something. However, I’m not big on ratings in anything be it writing or life. Why? Because I have never believe in rating people on a scale of one to ten. To me, it’s wrong. It’s the old apples and oranges thing. You can’t compare people, personalties and you never, ever know what brought somewhere to where they are in their life and how can you measure one person’s struggle against another? You can’t.

The only time I cared about ratings was when I desperately wanted out of Promptel, code word for crap phone company, and I wanted a redundancy (retrenchment package). They rated you on a scale a how good an employee you were. The worse you were the more likely you would be to be retrenched. Yes, correct, I went out of my way to be an utter pain in the arse. I even convinced my manager, let’s call him Charlie, to make me sound terrible. I pointed out to him that it actually worked in his favour if I sucked as an employee. How? Because he wanted a redundancy too and if it looked like he could not control his staff then the more likely he was to go as well. Oh yeah – we got out. See where teamwork can get you?

So thank you to everyone who bought Male Me. That you did means more to me than a number on a scale of one to ten.

Survival….changing subjects as I do….we have a couple of magpies swooping people near work. They have nests in nearby trees and they are instinctively protecting their young. I have to admire this pair of maggies as I work in a heavily industrial area with trucks rocketing past, people wearing fluoro safety outfits and continuous motion all around and yet this pair continue to dive bomb people, cars and trucks. They never stop. To me that’s true survival at any cost.

And don’t forget – today September 19th is International Talk like a Pirate day…shiver me timbers.


Taking the Fall – released October 10th at Resplendence Publishing

Jontie Rhodes holds the fate of the future in her hands. The only problem is she doesn't know it. When she attends a friend’s wedding she has one thought in mind. She needs a man. It has been so long since anyone has touched her in passion.

Two men want Jontie. An angel and a demon both know she has a decision to make that can affect the lives of many. They each have a plan to subtly watch her and influence her to suit their own purposes. However what starts out as manipulation soon turns into love.

Jontie is caught between heaven and hell and she is enjoying every hot, sexy moment of it.

“What is it you want, angel?” The tall man with the ash blond pony tail looked at him, not surprised to see him.
“She is not for you, James.” The angel’s tone was most adamant. “You are a demon. She is too pure for you.”
“It is not for you to tell me anything, Saint Gilbert of the anally righteous. We both know I am beyond your limited powers. If I want her, I will have her.”
Gilbert’s hands curled into fists. “You cannot always take what you want.”
“And yet you are here for the same reason as me.” James assessed him with cynical amusement. “You plan to manipulate her as well. You are no better than me, angel.”
“I do not have to justify myself to you, hellhound.”
James threw back his head and laughed. “Is that the best you can do? I have been called much worse.” His eyes locked once more on the woman. “She is fascinating isn’t she?”
“Yes, most beautiful.” Gilbert swallowed hard, trying to focus on keeping control.
James reached out and snagged a glass of white wine from a waiter passing by. “And she does not have a clue of her destiny.”
“I cannot allow you to use that against her.”
“Must you angels always assume those from hell are after something?”
“Historical evidence proves that your brethren only want what is best for them.”
“As do you holier-than-thou types.” James downed his glass in two long swallows. “You cannot tell me that who she is does not interest you, Saint Gilbert.” He reached over and grabbed two more glasses, offering one to the angel at his side.
Gilbert declined his offer. “She is why I am here.”
“You knew I was coming for her.”
“Yes.” That was a fact and they both knew it. They were enemies who would do whatever they had to in order to get their own way.

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

Bloody tacky...

I heard on that radio this morning about a bar in Melbourne that is offering free drinks for women putting their knickers on the bar. What the? Click here to check it out. Oh, and if they flash their bra they can also get a free drink. My response? Tacky, tacky and bloody tacky. What women with any class or sense would do that? And no, there is no way this is even fun or cute. It’s trashy exploitation of young, probably naïve women who think free drinks are fun. It’s purely entertainment for the dumb arsed male drinkers as drunken women parade around without knickers. And it begs the question – are men going to be putting their underdaks on the bar as well?

Maybe I’m old fashioned but to me gimmicks like this and wet t-shirt contests just once again reinforce the fact that as far as we have come as women we have not come far enough if some of us are willing to drop ‘em for drinks. And yeah, you could argue the toss that erotic romance writers don’t help the cause but I think we do. How? Because we give our heroines choices of who and when. It’s up to her and she’s not about to flash her knickers at just anyone – only the hero/heroes – because she is safe to and she is in control. There is empowerment and then there is exploitation. I hope women have more sense to avoid that hotel in droves…but I’m sure some won’t.

Micah Blue review…

“Micah Blue” is a wonderful quick read. Amarinda Jones definitely can make your heart race through the power of her words. The story is definitely highly erotic. Even if the demon is a loser, he still shares some hot moments with Micah. All was not a waste for her in regards to him. The hero in the story is something more. I really enjoyed that he wasn’t just going to be a one-night stand, but also had character and depth. “Micah Blue” will definitely be enjoyed by fans of paranormal erotica!

http://www.readerviews.com/ReviewJonesMicahBlue.html

www.amarindajones.com

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

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We were so poor...

On yesterday's blog I mentioned that the opposition party in Australian politics was having a leadership challenge between one silver spooner and another. Anyway, so one of them came out the victor. He is a gazillionaire and perceived as not one of the people. That's very important to be seen as an ordinary bloke or Sheila in Australia. We like to feel that we can have a beer or a decent chat with you. It's pretty doubtful that this man is that type of person. And he knows it. His first speech was to the public. It was basically about how he grew up as any ordinary Aussie did. How he struggled, lived in rented accommodation etc, etc. He was trying too hard to be perceived as one of the masses and it showed. This then spawned a lot of 'we were so poor' jokes on the radio this morning. You know the ones –

- we were so poor we had to shear sheep in winter to use their fleece for warmth
- you were lucky - we couldn't afford the shears - we had to carry the sheep on our backs
- we were worse off than you - we had no sheep. We could only look at them in books
- Books? You were lucky to have picture books - we had to use chalk on cave walls to draw pictures
- You have chalk? We were so poor we had to open a vein and write in blood

You get the picture - it's a Monty Pythonesque sketch. And the thing is while Australia is all about the average bloke and Shelia we don’t care if you have money. Good on you - even better if you worked for it. But don't pretend to be something you’re not or we won’t back you in whatever you do. You can't pretend to understand how anyone feels unless you have been there can you?

Made for Mischief has been released at Resplendence Publishing. It’s the hot new book from Regina Carlysle and yes just for you I have a sneak peak. As always, it’s a click on the cover and buy moment.

The blurb…

All she really wanted was one naughty night before returning to her life as a sheltered country spinster! Crawling beneath a bed in London’s most notorious brothel was beyond the pale, even for known eccentric Arabella Spencer. Little did she imagine that lust, desire, and yes, love was just within her grasp.

When Grayson St. James, Lord Mercer, newly returned from fighting Napoleon, dragged a squirming, dusty bluestocking from beneath his bed, he was…well..aghast! She wanted adventure, did she? She wanted to learn about sex, did she? He was just the man to teach her!

As a vow of vengeance and a case of mistaken identity unite Grayson and Arabella in a common goal, the dour Lord Mercer finds himself laughing for the first time in longer than he can recall but will an unknown threat bring them together or tear their world apart?

The excerpt…

“Let us to bed, love,” he whispered reaching for the sash on her dressing gown.
Arabella jerked away quickly, her eyes widening. To his great surprise, she held up a hand to ward him off. “No. You must wait, my lord. You shall ruin everything if you do not do what I say.”
Do what she says? What? Grayson narrowed his eyes at her and frowned, but before he could utter a word, she took his arm in a death grip. “You must come with me, Grayson. Do you hear? You must do everything that I say.”
Stunned speechless, he let her drag him to a straight-backed chair. “Sit, my lord. Yes, that’s it. Right here.”
She had some great surprise planned, of that he was certain. If she wanted to order him about, he was curious enough to allow it. He sprawled into the chair and looked up at her. She was frowning. Her finger pointed in the direction of his nose. “Do not move.”
He fought to hide his grin, but failed miserably. Lifting his arms out from his side, he presented himself. “I am all yours, my sweet. Do you perhaps think to entertain me? I assure you; I am breathless with anticipation. Do your worst.”
Grayson found himself facing a discreet changing screen in a darkened corner of the room. She scowled at him and rushed behind it, leaving him to stare at the oriental style painting of peacocks with full feathers extended. Had he ever looked at this thing before? Hmm. Very pretty how the painted trees and flowers provided the perfect backdrop for the strutting creatures.
A soft curse came from behind the screen. Grayson shifted in his chair. He heard the rustle of fabric, a huff of breath. “You do not have to seduce me, love. I am all yours,” he called.
Another huff! A curse. “Damnation!”
Grayson chuckled, and then silence fell. Anticipation rose, and his thighs tightened. In the fireplace a log snapped and cracked in half, sending up a shower of tiny sparks. A sudden gust of wind snatched at the sheer curtains at the window, and they flapped once, softly, before settling back in place. He gritted his teeth, watching the blasted screen, as a predatory urge sank claws into his bones. At last, she broke the silence.
“Close your eyes.”
Grayson cursed roundly then obeyed. He felt her presence. She’d moved close enough to touch. Perhaps she was checking to see whether he’d followed her orders. He could smell her, and the scent was so enchanting he started to reach out, but then she moved away. Anticipation curled through his lungs to steal every bit of air. The sound of her rapid breathing reached his ears. He was dying, thought he might expire on the spot.
Passion ripped through him. Intense desire raged. Lust pounded a pagan tempo through his loins and still, the little seductress said not a word.
“All right,” she breathed. “You may open your eyes.”
Grayson opened them and stilled.
Arabella stood splashed against the peacock backdrop wearing a diaphanous gown of white. A clasp at one shoulder was the only thing holding the garment in place. He sucked in a breath at the display. Where had she found such a costume? The Grecian affair was utterly sheer, giving him tantalizing glimpses of her bare torso. Pink nipples pressed against the white veil. One bare arm was lifted up and out to rest against the top of the screen in a dramatic fashion.
He swallowed. She was beautiful.
The other hand was positioned down the front of her body in an attempt to shield the shadowy juncture of her thighs.
Grayson muttered a curse and sat up alertly. Every pore in his body screamed out for a touch, a taste. He damn near whimpered.
“Arabella?”
“No. I am not Arabella tonight. I am Aphrodite come to you to… blast it… do not move, Grayson. A moment please.”
She made a sound of disgust, jerked the spectacles from her face and dashed across the room. He almost swallowed his tongue. Her lovely breasts quivered with every step. When she turned to place the item upon the table at the base of the flower vase, he eyed her delicious little rump. The gossamer teased the firm, pale flesh, and his cock grew hard enough to pound stone. God!
She raced back to the screen with a huff and positioned herself once again. Gray waited. Watched. What would she do next?
“Well,” she began quickly, “As I was saying. I am Aphrodite sent here to please you, my lord.”
“And you have succeeded admirably.” It occurred to him to laugh, but he caught himself just in time. Laughter and lust… what a strange combination

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

Never discuss politics or religion…

An election is coming. Universal peace is declared and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry. ~T.S. Eliot

I have been watching the hoop-la and Hollywood hype of US politics. Scary stuff. You have on one hand a bunch of right wing we-will-save-you-through-God-and-guns candidates compared to a rock star who is reminiscent of JFK and Camelot. The thing is whoever gets elected in the US effects the world. To my mind it’s not looking good either way but then compare that to Aussie politics - the opposition party, the Liberals – who are anything but - got knocked out of power last year because they lost the plot and were so out of touch with everyday Aussies, are electing a new leader. I have to say who cares? Neither contender is the average Joe Blow that has had to struggle in life. They’re silver spooners. Then look at Kevin, our Labor PM – working class boy makes good. It’s the dream isn’t it? So far he has done okay – not fabulous – but okay. So do we want okay people or do we want razzle dazzle running the world? Either way, we take a huge chance.

Like a lot of people I studied poli-sci at Uni. It’s interesting why people vote as they do and how the voters can be swayed by words and promises and glitz. It’s a damn shame most of them will never come to fruition or if they do you have to pay through the nose for them with your taxes. Yep, I reckon it’s true – we elect who we deserve. We strive for more in out own life so why not globally? The whiz bang hype of US elections makes me wonder how whiz bang the world will be feeling this time next year.

Those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being governed by those who are dumber. ~Plato

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

Save me from Mondays......

Monday – pukeable, boring, snoring and thankfully over. Do we wish our lives away? Not me, I always want something better and Monday isn’t it.

That’s it…the day was so pukeable I have nothing to tell you. I am off to write about vampires….and yes for those who asked for it, Temperance and the gang make a return. No idea what I’m talking about? Few people do. However, click on the cover and take a squiz. ‘Course the thing is just because you write it doesn’t mean a publisher will want it. I think if you believe that with every submission you will get a contract then you need to re-think the whole writing deal. That's insane. Probably only JK Rowling doesn’t get knock backs… but I bet she had ‘em. That which does not kill me makes me strong or so insane that I no longer care....is that how the quote goes? Whatever....

Life is intrinsically, well, boring and dangerous at the same time. At any given moment the floor may open up. Of course, it almost never does; that's what makes it so boring.” -- Edward Gorey quotes

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

And the topic is - meaningless crap….

And the topic is - meaningless crap….

- I have developed arthritis in my thumb from smashing it with a hammer years ago
- No one can ever spell my name or street address correctly yet letters and parcels always get here
- I am in the midst of writing about vampires
- My younger brother wrote a play that was performed in a theatre
- My older brother hasn’t spoken to me for 8 years because I am a ‘disappointment’
- I am annoyed I don’t have a widows peak like all the other dramatic women in the family
- I didn't stay when I should have
- I have never done drugs – what’s the point? I can be just as dumb without them so why pay for them?
- I keep candles around the house but never light them – I just like the scent of them
-Everything I own is retro
- I like nothing better than fighting for a cause
- I am contemplating buying a new pair of Doc Martens
-I have a large collection of 1920’s butt ugly fairground plaster dogs and yet I don’t like dogs
- I can eat with chopsticks
- I never dot ‘i’ when I write
- I know Mondays will always be pukeable

But enough of me…world meaningless crap…

- A rat can last longer without water than a camel.
- A female ferret will die if it goes into heat and cannot find a mate.
- The 'spot' on 7UP comes from its inventor who had red eyes. He was an albino.
- On average, 12 newborns will be given to the wrong parents daily
- Leonardo da Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other at the same time.
- The very first bomb dropped by the Allies on Berlin during World War II killed the only elephant in the Berlin Zoo.
- Chewing gum while peeling onions will keep you from crying
- Bats always turn left when exiting a cave.
- You burn more calories sleeping than you do watching television.
- There are more chickens than people in the world.
- Winston Churchill was born in a ladies' room during a dance.
- A pregnant goldfish is called a twerp.
- The hole inside a CD is exactly the same size as an old Dutch 10 cent coin, called the "dubbeltje".
- A snail can sleep for three months

http://dogman0.tripod.com/useless.html

That’s a Sunday for you – meaningless crap. Please add you own.

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

Tired-arsed Saturday stuff...

bindies --n. pl. thorns in the grass (an Australian word)
You're not yet Australian until you're more scared of bindies than redback spiders.
thorns grass burrs pain hurt

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=bindies

That’s true – I killed an enormous redback spider the other day with my thong – er flip flop to non Aussies. Redbacks are nasty poisonous things and I would rather handle one of them than a patch of bindies. I have lots of them all over the lawn. I saw them today. Every year I think I have eradicated the little bastards but there they are once more. It’s the one thing that grows regardless of the drought. What are bindies? They’re burs that usually grow in patches. In the summer, they dry out and get really sharp and when you step on them they dig into your flesh and hold on – and not just one – they come in clusters. As dumb kids we used to challenge each other to run over bindi patches to prove how tough we were. Every kid or ex-kid in Oz could tell you a dreaded bindi story.

So what is the point of the above? Maybe its just about small things that can annoy you but in the end can be destroyed if you apply yourself.

What about another type of bindi? These started out as Hindu tradition and spirituality.

The area between the eyebrows (where the bindi is placed) is said to be the sixth chakra, ajna, the seat of "concealed wisdom". According to followers of Tantrism, this chakra is the exit point for kundalini energy. The bindi is said to retain energy and strengthen concentration. [1] It is also said to protect against demons or bad luck.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bindi_(decoration)

The thing that amuses with these bindis is that they are considered a fashion statement. Spirituality verses what is trendy. People will wear anything, without thinking about the significance behind it just because everyone else is. I’m not religious in any way but I do respect other people’s beliefs and while I like the shape and style of the Celtic/Gothic crosses, I would never wear them because it’s not what I believe in and all the fashion hype in the world is going to make me. Nor would I consider a bindi. So I have to wonder if women who dot a bindi on their forehead really get the meaning or are they doing it because someone like Gwen Stefani has? Are we really that shallow? My thoughts? Yes.

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

It's official…

…I have been recognized with a pretty blue certificate from work saying I exceed expectations and go the extra mile. No really - it's true. I was quite bemused when my name got called out. Me? Are you sure? It seems that they have no idea whatsoever what I do at my desk when I have my head down typing. How good is that? It means I have this writing at work lurk down to a fine art and that no one really knows what I do yet I look efficient doing it. I take pride in that. I really do. How good am I? Sure, okay, it's not something that everyone would take pride in but I do. It's a genetic thing. I blame my convict ancestors. It's not my fault really if you look at it like that. I have no choice but to be bad. Have I hung the certificate with pride in work area? No but it it in the bottom drawer at work where I keep my sneakers and they’re important to me. So I have a certificate to say I’m damn good...as best friend Ethel would say – suckers. Actually speaking of that woman, she emailed to say she will read the copy of Men of Heart I send her. Ethel doesn’t read books. She only watches DVDs. That she would read my book is high praise indeed.

Okay – that’s it. The house if a tip (mess) and I must make an attempt to pull it in order before someone arrives. I have an hour to throw stuff in one room and shut the door – easy.

Knock Three Times - review

So begins an illicit (but not really) affair. It quickly becomes more on both sides, but Ballantyne is keeping from Montie about who he really is. And Montie is cheating (even though they aren’t having sex) on Adam. What a tangle!

Throw in a stalker Montie doesn’t know she has, Adam’s struggle with what’s keeping him from being intimate with Montie, and all the flaming hot sex going on, and I absolutely loved this book. Knock Three Times is a truly a great escape, not just to read, but from how people would truly act in certain situations. Logic says one thing but the author, Amarinda Jones, wrote another and I personally appreciated the total lack of common sense. Great read.
http://www.simplyromancereviews.com/

srrreviews/knockthreetimes.aspx

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

Killer Curves ahead…

I am going out west again so I won’t be here Saturday. A couple of things....

- the Cover Gods at Ellora’s Cave have once again smiled on me with the cover for Rowdy. This book follows Tantalizing Tilly. What’s it about? Curses, immortal beings, zombies and greed…you know everyday stuff.
- next the winners of the contest are – Maithe and Susan. Thank you to all that entered. I was agog at the number of entries. It’s good to see so many avid readers out there.
- lastly - I am over at the Oh Get A Grip blog on Saturday – click here – talking about stuff. Take a squiz.

Most importantly, I leave you in the capable hands of Regina Carlysle. She has a brand new, hotter then hot release out now at Ellora’s Cave called Killer Curves. As always click on the cover to buy. But just for you the feisty dame from Texas was kind enough to give me a sneak preview. Enjoy.

Killer Curves by Regina Carlysle - warning - adult excerpt

After the death of her husband in a fiery crash, Carrie Martin Salem left the world of the racing circuit and retreated to Texas vowing to live a quiet and safe life. But old memories dig deep, leaving her longing for the friend she left behind. From the moment, J.T. Sims steps from the cab of his truck, Carrie knows it’s more than friendship she feels for the hottest racecar driver on Earth.

J.T. Sims never forgot the beautiful wife of his long-dead best friend. She’d had her time to grieve. She’d had years to pull herself together and now it was his turn, his time to reach out for the love he’s always wanted. His mission becomes convincing the pretty Texas lady that she’s strong enough to take what he’s offering. Nights of hot passion and days filled with love.
Her mouth felt like warm, wet silk sliding up the heavy length of his cock. What was her name? Was it Janie? Jill? Something like that? It pissed him off that he couldn’t remember. Must’ve been the liquor.

J.T. sprawled naked in the chair and looked down at her blonde head as it moved up and down, working him. That delicious mouth swallowed his length dragging a groan from his throat. He watched his fingers clench in her hair and lay his head back as the suctioning pull of her mouth devoured him with slow strokes.
This morning when he’d finally opened his eyes, he peered at the lush, naked stranger next to him and wondered what in the hell had possessed him.
Eying the half empty bottle of scotch near his elbow, he groaned. Yep. He knew the answer to that question. Too much whiskey and too many memories had propelled him toward the woman at last night’s party. They were always around and he’d been quick to make his selection from the bevy of groupies that showed up at this kind of thing.
He felt like a shithead for not recalling her name so he improvised. “That’s it, sweetheart. Suck my cock. Just like that. Ah, yeah, that’s goooood,” he finished on a husky moan.
A low hum rose up from her throat vibrating the head then she slipped her tongue against the slit at the end and flicked rapidly. “You’ve gotta be the ‘blow job’ queen, sweet thing,” he murmured. His balls drew up tight as the blonde groped at his sac, settled a thumb just beneath and pressed the throbbing nerve hidden there. Arching into her mouth, J.T. promised himself he’d make it up to her. The forgetting her name stuff.
It was bad of him and he only had the liquor to blame.
Despite the throbbing hangover that pulsed through his brain, the blow job was superb as she drew on his cock, milked him, stroked his tight aching balls. Almost there, he thought as her hand fisted at the base and flexed. Holy shit. “I’m coming. Hell, yeah, darlin’.”
She mewled, lapping against his hard flesh. She sucked and pulled.
J.T. felt the sensation rocket through his body, curling his toes against the Berber carpet on his living room floor. Tingles danced across his spine and over his scalp. His shout of release whipped through the air, drowning out the sound of the television in the background, shutting off his barely functioning brain for just a minute, sending him into oblivion.
When she sank against his thigh, he cupped her face and got a good look at her. Pretty, in a hard sort of way. Definitely suffering from a hangover if the bleary look in her blue eyes was any kind of indicator. Gently, he stroked a hand over her cheek and smiled.
“Hell of a way to wake up, darlin’.”
She smiled contentedly, licking her lips, as she flipped her long hair back over her shoulder. Her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of the picture showing on the plasma TV hanging on the wall. “Hey! That’s you,” she said, pointing. She sighed. “God, J.T. you’re so fucking hot.”
Classic Speed was playing. J.T. flicked his gaze to the segment he’d seen a million times over the past three years. His heart thumped hard, crashing into his rib cage. He saw the familiar shot of Mark Salem and himself at the track in full gear. Smiling teammates gearing up for the time trial at the Miami 500. The ensuing chaos as Mark’s car slammed into a retaining wall at the track. The ball of flame, shouts. Carrie’s face, a mask of terror and grief as, Ted Dobbs, the crew chief held her to keep her from running toward the scene of destruction. All caught on film. Saved for posterity.
Carrie. Mark’s wife.
Jesus.
The sight of her threatened to bring him to his knees.
“I remember her,” the blonde said in a small voice. “She’s really pretty.”
“Yeah.” Pale hair, soft-looking. J.T.’s belly clenched.
“Some of the girls were talking about her the other night.”
He had to ask. “What were they saying?” He knew. Oh yeah, a guy didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure what a pack of groupies might have to say about Mark’s wife.
Naked, she stood bold as brass and shook her head. “Said she was as cold as ice in the sack and that’s why Mark took her to all the parties but always left with someone else.”
Mark had been an ass but J.T. kept it to himself. Any man who’d throw away a beautiful woman like Carrie would have to be blind and dumb as dirt. How many nights had he been witness to her embarrassment and hurt over Mark’s actions? How many nights, as the designated best friend, had he personally seen to it she’d gotten home? And every time, he’d stare into those sweet baby blues and wish she were his.
In one fluid motion, J.T. stood and reached for the jeans he’d discarded when the groupie he’d picked up the night before had sauntered naked into the room with the promise of easy sex. Suddenly, everything was just too much. The women. The booze. Trying to forget.
“Um…listen. It’s getting pretty late and I have to get some things done today,” he began, feeling like a lame ass.
“Yeah. That’s okay. I understand,” the woman said, turning toward the bedroom. “I need to be running along anyway.”
J.T. watched her go into the bedroom and spotted her purse on a chair near the foyer. Barefoot, he padded across the wide living room floor and plucked it up. Rummaging, he grunted when he found her driver’s license. He gave it a glance and tucked it away again. By the time, she came out, wearing last night’s little black dress, he felt more composed. “Last night was good, Jana. I enjoyed hanging out with you.”
Jana. Her name was Jana.
At least he was gentleman enough to address her properly after a night of wild, monkey sex and the best head he’d had in months.
She strolled up and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in. “Hey, what’s going on tonight? Want to get together? We could party.”
Hearing the sounds of racecars roaring in the background, he suddenly knew what he had to do. It was time to face that sweet little ghost from his past.
It was time to see if he still loved her more than any woman he’d ever known.
J.T. smiled and shook his head. “Can’t do it, honey. Listen, why don’t you write your number and address on that pad over there. I have to leave town and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Maybe we can hook up again when I’ve finished my business.”
Like never.
But he wasn’t going to tell her that. He’d place a call to his florist and send her something. It was the least he could do.
Two hours later, he felt a little more human. A shower, shave and a handful of aspirin could do that for a guy. He placed a call to his personal assistant. “Hey, Dor, I need a favor. I’m going to be out of town for a few weeks. Want to hang out over here? Housesit for me?”
Doreen, who’d been taking care of him for years, laughed. “It’ll be like a vacation for me staying at your place. I’d do it for free but you’ll have to pay me anyway.”
He rattled off a list of things and disconnected, anxious to get on his way now that he’d made his plans. Grabbing his duffel bag, he headed through the monstrous house wondering how in the hell a poor boy from the sticks of North Carolina deserved something so fine. It was weird what people would spend their hard-earned money on and fortunately for him, they paid big bucks to see him drive fast. Very, very fast.
Heading into the five car garage, his gaze skipped past the Aston Martin and the Porsche Carrera GT. Nope, the custom Harley wouldn’t do either. Decided, he tossed his duffel into the bed of his Dodge Ram double cab and climbed behind the wheel.
The silver bullet wasn’t built for speed but it was comfortable and inconspicuous. He didn’t want to deal with fans on this trip so it was best to keep things on the down-low. Low profile all the way.
J.T. Sims, former NexTrac Cup Rookie of the Year, former best friend of the world famous, now dead, Mark Salem didn’t want anything to distract him from his purpose. He was headed to the Texas Hill Country and a certain beautiful blue-eyed blonde.
He’d put off this confrontation far too long. It was time. Long past time he looked her straight in those gorgeous eyes and told her he loved her. She’d say it back, too. Eventually.
J.T. wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Gotta love a man like that….

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?

Thursday minutiae…

'Boring as all get out today. I was totally pissed off as I had to be in charge again. Bloody hell! What’s that about? The thing is I don’t even look responsible and I didn’t sign on to work to be responsible. ‘Just freaking annoying as I got none of my own personal work done. I just find that wrong. If I have to work, I expect to do at least 50% personal stuff in that time….sigh…I only got 5% done today and tomorrow will be no better. I emailed best friend Ethel at her office across town and she was pissed off that she could not download music on the dozens of memory sticks she acquired from the office stationary supplies because they also expected her to responsible. I suggested she send me some in the mail and that way she could get even with them. I expect an express parcel tomorrow.

So today was a complete arse of a day other than the fact it rained and I stood in a puddle and it took me a while to work out what it was. Rain? Who would have thunk it? I then had to drive home in the Brisbane traffic in the rain. What horror. What mayhem. No one in this fair city can drive when it rains - out of practice. I needed 17 glasses of wine to counteract the white knuckled trip home.

So - that’s it…other than I spotted Wayne the possum under the house again as I was hanging out washing. I explained to Wayne to stay away from the washing and that I would be mighty disappointed in him if I saw him running around with my underwear on his head. A woman can only handle just so much.

Speaking of sapphire’s…okay we weren’t but now that we are, go to Marissa’s Scheduled Procrastination – isn’t that a great title? Check out some sapphires and variation on a theme.

Not only but also….a contest…

Micah Blue has been released at Ellora’s Cave. To be in the draw to be one of two – yes two - people randomly chosen to win a copy of Micah Blue just answer this question. It’s very hard. Got your thinking caps on? What precious stone is featured in Micah Blue? Yes, difficult huh? Send you answer to amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au. Entries close midnight (EST USA) Thursday 4h September 2008. The first 2 randomly drawn names will win.

The Blurb

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.

As a friend of mine says…peace and mung beans to you…no, he’s not always stoned.

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?

Micah Blue

Micah Blue is released today at Ellora’s Cave. Click on the cover to buy.

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.

Contest – for my newsletter readers feel free to enter but as you know there is always the random contest on the newsletter you are automatically entered into each month anyway. Want to join the newsletter? Click here. So, to be in the draw to be one of two – yes two people randomly chosen to win a copy of Micah Blue just answer this question. It’s very hard. Got your thinking caps on? What precious stone is featured in Micah Blue? Yes, difficult huh? Send you answer to amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au. Entries close midnight (EST USA) Thursday 4h September 2008. The first 2 randomly drawn names will win.

I have a thing about demons at the moment…demons and tattoos. Tattoos are pretty obvious. While I would not get one myself, I think they look great on men. Demons – well I kinda like the whole anti-hero thing – not that the demon in Micah Blue is friendly. But in upcoming books – Penned Again and Taking the Fall the demons are the anti-hero. There’s the edginess about someone deemed bad but in reality is not. Like any one with life experience I certainly have my share of demons but I have not met one yet. Do they exist? I reckon they do. I like to think they hang out with the vamps and werewolves and look at humans and wonder what the hell we’re doing.

On my morning ramble….

…… I came across a penis on a letterbox. Yes, I was surprised because it’s not something you see everyday. I work in an industrial area. The letter boxes are sturdy bloody things used to trucks running into them. Anyway, there it was - a penis. Not something I expected to see. It wasn’t there on yesterday’s walk. I am sure I would have remembered that. Oh yes, should mention it was spray painted on – quite lifelike and impressive. So, my question to you is why? Why do people persist in drawing body parts on things as graffiti? Not like we can be shocked any more is it? What do you think the spray painter gets out of painting a penis on a letter box? Is it art? Is it a statement of the times? Is it a case of the penis representing man’s inhumanity to man in the societal, economic world of cruel reality for the working class? Or does this person know dick about anything? Thoughts?

I had a review the other day from a person who did not like Knock Three Times – which I respect – and today I got this…it’s all swings and roundabouts in the writing business. At least you’re never bored…thanks Indy and thanks Joyfully Reviewed.

Truth is truth and the biggest truth of all is that I’m horribly addicted to the work of Amarinda Jones. Knock Three Times is just another addition to a project of works that make you smile and keep you chuckling all while sending the body into overdrive. I’m not sure how Ms. Jones comes up with her delightfully wicked heroines but again she’s hit the jackpot. A heroine who is a little self-conscious, with a few curves and a sex pot in the bedroom who’s not shy at all about taking the pleasure offered. Montie is the kind of woman you either love or ignore, quirky with a touch of innocence she’s still a woman to be reckoned with.
Partnering her with a kind, caring devastatingly handsome and understanding man whose sex drive surpasses her own makes for a match made in romance heaven. This story gave me a phenomenal couple, back breaking sex, a cute plot and plenty of smile inducing situations. All this and more makes it easy to Joyfully Recommend Knock Three Times for the month of September.

http://www.joyfullyreviewed.com/reviews/RRs/Sep08RR/KnockThreeTimes.AJ.html

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?

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?

Monday mumblings...

So I got this review today from this person. They classified Knock Three Times as a ‘c’ because the romance happened too quickly and there was too much sex. See yesterday’s blog observation on erotic romance. Was I upset at the ‘c’? Nah. Any publicity is good publicity. How is that? Well because people read the review and think – who is this Amarinda Jones chick who allows romance to happen straight away and lets her characters have sex on pool tables? What is that about? Let me go to her half-arsed website and see what other ‘c’ books she has. Okay, so maybe they do, maybe they don’t. The thing is getting your name out there one way or the other is a good thing and words only wound if you allow them to and bullets bounce off me, sunshine.

And while I don’t agree with the person’s words, I admire that she had the honesty to give her opinion. Too few people do that any more. As much as a writer wants every person to love their book, it doesn’t happen. That’s rule number one in writing. Develop a thick skin and take nothing personally. No one is going to continuously rate your books as a 5 out of 5 or even an A. If they did I would begin to wonder. Why? Because no one is continuously perfect. No one is not flawed. I would start to wonder if they were actually reading the book or just seeing a particular name and slapping a 5/5 on the review because everyone else was. I used to review books years ago. I know it happens. And we all know there is a huge compulsion for people to fit in and follow the herd. It’s completely understandable. Most people don’t want to stand alone. So yeah, a ‘C’ review? Sure, why not? It’s that person’s opinion and it cannot be dismissed. However, it doesn’t mean that I believe them.

Twenty years ago…

Author Barbara Huffert sent me a photo of herself 20 years ago. It was in relation to do with her blog. Click here to read her blog and see the photo. I sent her one of me 20 years ago – eyes left and then below right. I figure everyone is on holidays so it’s a good time to post them. I also sent her a vague, fuzzy one of me today. My father took it it’s a terrible picture. I don’t have a face as I am squinting into the sun and I am saying ‘I’m not bloody ready yet.’ Picture a blurry Mrs Potato head . Ah yes, those Kodak moments. Anyway, I was looking at the kid in the photo and I thought, I haven’t change much. Oh sure, there are wrinkles and things are dropping and spreading but essentially it’s the same face, same thighs, arse and attitude. My thoughts, the things that make me who I am remain. So why, if we remain the same people, do we worry about aging? I was not and am still not a beauty queen yet I like me a lot. Twenty years later the kid with the cheesy grin still lives. Would I have cared about getting a ‘c’ book review then? No, because I would have laughed at you. Me? Write books? Get real? Mind you 20 years ago I had no idea what I was going to do with my life…nothing changes.

Observation for today…

A man glassed his girlfriend in the face. Glassing, if you don’t know, is when someone attacks your face with a broken bottle or drinking glass. It’s a vicious crime. I just heard on the radio that the couple are ‘madly in love’ and want to be together after the whole police charges thing is cleared up. What the? Huh? What the hell is this woman on? I would make sure his arse was slammed behind bars. No one who attacks you loves you.

Want a good laugh and some jaw dropping sex? No, I don’t have the man for you but I do have the book for you - Traveller’s Refuge by Anny Cook is hot, hot and scorching hot. Wanna’ buy it? Click on the cover and while you are their check out the rest of the series. Why deny yourself any longer? What’s a credit card for anyway?

Two weeks after Traveller’s narrow escape from Vietnam he checked the nearly invisible threads along the apartment door jamb. As far as he could tell everything was as it should be, so he unlocked the door and gun in hand, went in fast and low. Nothing. Softly he retrieved his bag and shut the door, locking it securely before padding down the short hall to the living room of one of several apartments he and Dancer had rented under other names. All were shabby studio or one bedroom apartments located in shabby run down neighborhoods in shabby medium sized towns. No big cities. No small villages. Anonymity was easiest in middle town America. Since Dancer’s face had become too recognizable, Trav was mostly the one who rented them, casually mentioning that he was an independent trucker, on the road a lot.
He moved silently from room to room, checking out the kitchen and bedroom before slipping into the bathroom to take a quick leak. There was nothing more embarrassing than getting caught by the bad guys with your dick hanging out. He shook off, tucked in and zipped back up without ever putting the gun down. Some creeping premonition had the short hairs on his neck bristling. His pursuers weren’t far away. They’d been on his tail for the last two weeks, just inches from catching him at least twice that he knew of.
Returning to the living room, he slowly slumped down on the dusty, sagging couch and studied the violin and guitar cases resting on the battered trunk that did double-duty as a coffee table. Marco had mentioned that Dancer walked away with his guitar and violin, so clearly Dancer had made a stop at this apartment. Trav sighed and then ran his fingernail along the outside seam on the guitar case until he found the hidden latch for the secret compartment. There was a tiny snick before the back popped up about an inch. Sliding his fingers into the opening, he retrieved a sheaf of papers and flipped through them carefully. Will, portfolio, bank papers, a map, several keys and an envelope with his name on it. Setting all but the envelope aside, he opened it and slipped a single sheet out, unfolding it with mixed feelings—hope and relief.

Trav—
If you’re reading this, then I’ll have to assume that my plans were at least partially successful. Enclosed are keys for some spare vehicles, a map, the key to another place in case you need it and personal papers, (will, portfolio, banking stuff, etc.)
Knowing exactly what an ass Free is, I’m going to guess that he will eventually make you part of his vendetta. On the enclosed CD you’ll also find the evidence I’ve accumulated so far that points to him as the man behind our family’s murders. It wouldn’t stand up in court but then I don’t plan to take him to court!
Don’t go off half-cocked and try to get him. I want to know WHY they were murdered and he can’t tell us if he’s dead. If you decide to follow me, be very careful. I don’t plan ever to return to work for him. Know now that I’ll die first. In case I don’t see you again, I release you from your vow not to cut your hair. You may need to cut it short to change your appearance. A floor safe is located under the dresser in the back room. It has a few things you might need if Free’s declared open season. Feel free to use any of it (no pun intended!)
I love you. Until we meet again—
Dance
So. There it was in black and white. He examined the map carefully. Actually, it wasn’t so much a map as a series of symbols and letters. There wasn’t a single landmark on it that anyone outside of his family would recognize. Written and drawn in their private language, it revealed Dancer’s target destination and a list of supplies that Trav needed to bring with him. The location was just one of several they had set up since the death of their parents.
Dancer had gone to the cave on Bright Shadows Mountain—which meant that he was pursuing his long-term goal to find the woman who communicated with him telepathically. Trav shrugged. If that was what would make Dance happy, then he was all for it.
Setting the papers down on the trunk, he went to locate the safe. Its contents convinced him as nothing else would have that Dancer had spent considerable time and thought planning his escape. He whistled softly through his teeth as he counted the money, stacked tidily in mixed bricks of $1000. Thirty five bricks. No bills bigger than a twenty. No new bills. No sequential bills. That required a lot of patience and planning.
Arranged neatly next to the money were a variety of weapons, with ample ammunition, blank passports waiting for pictures and a lone key to an anonymous storage unit. As he sat on his heels, contemplating the contents of the safe, the itchy feeling that warned him of danger dramatically increased. Without further thought, he retrieved a battered brown leather pack from the closet and emptied the safe before closing it and pushing the dresser back into place.
Moving swiftly, he gathered Dance’s papers except for the map, shoved them back into the hidden compartment in the guitar case and locked it. Then, pocketing the map and keys, he silently raised the bedroom window, stepped on the fire escape with his packs and the instrument cases and quietly mounted the stairs to the roof.
From there, he patiently checked his back trail and observed the neighborhood. Within moments he had pinpointed the strangers working their way from cover to cover and building to building. Flowing quietly across the roofs, he moved down the block until he reached a building containing a dry cleaner. He flipped up the trapdoor to the attic and dropped lightly inside with his baggage. Very softly, he closed and latched the door before settling down to wait for his host.
In a country very far away on a nasty, rainy night in a muddy alley, he had saved Chuin’s daughter’s life and prevented her rape. He was safer in Chuin’s attic than anywhere in the world. Stuffing his backpack beneath his head for a pillow, he stretched out for a long overdue nap before he worked out the details of his plan. That would be after he actually thought of a plan. So far, he’d been winging it and clearly, that wasn’t going to get the job done.

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