Dumb at Heart...out now...

After unceremoniously being dumped by her boyfriend, Cass Kelly has had enough of  men and the big city. She needs a change and a challenge.  On a drunken whim, she accepts a job working in a small hotel in the outback town of Mundabucka.  Men? Who needs .them? Sex? Never, ever again. 

Local cowboy Evan Bates is not one to say never and makes it only too obvious why she needs men, sex and him specifically. The redheaded Cass is in his sights and he aims to get her. But lust isn’t the only thing stirring in town.  It’s the annual Throcker Thrash where legendary gold is hunted and Cass is caught up in the race for it. Who wants it so badly they’ll kill for it?

Excerpt....

 

Two hours later, standing at the local airport at Mundabucka with a suitcase in one hand and two cackling caged chooks in the other, Cass looked around her. Behind her was a rusted-in-parts, corrugated tin shack that served as arrival and departures for the overly optimistically named Mundabucka International Airport. In front of her was dry, red dirt as far as the eye could see. And the heat? Suffocating. Unlike Cairns it was a dry heat that sucked all the moisture out of a body. Cass felt the sweat dripping down between her breasts and clinging to the short floral sundress she was wearing.

She put both the suitcase and chooks on the ground and re-scraped her hair up into a haphazard bun on top of her head. “Frig, it’s hot.” Cass looked around her. Other than the squinty-eyed airport controller, who introduced himself as Phil, there was no one. She was supposed to be met by someone called Evan. Phil smiled when she told him this.

“Evan’s a creature of whim. He gets the call of the wild and takes off just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Cass was impressed as not only was Phil missing two front teeth but also three fingers on his left hand and two on his right. He explained this as a ‘run-in with a pissed off wild pig.’

She looked down at the caged chickens. “Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a brilliant idea but it’s not my worst.” They cackled loudly. “Oh, shut up. I know what I’m doing—kinda.” Cass muttered under her breath and looked around her once more. There was loads of nothing for miles. “Where the hell is he?”

“Who?” came a voice from behind her.

Cass spun around in surprise. “Where did you come from?” She asked as she surveyed the tall, lanky man with broad shoulders that most men would kill for. She looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen and saw only amusement.  Men. Amusement. Not happening.

“You’d be the city chick here to work at McNally’s Hotel.”

City chick?  “I’m Cass Kelly and undoubtedly you’d be the creature of whim, Phil was telling me about.”

The dark haired man smiled. “That’d be me.” Evan Bates at your service.” He looked down at the caged chooks. “You brought chooks.” That made his smile wider.

Cass picked up the cage. “You’re quick.”   

Evan scratched his head. “You know, when Jo and Flo said you were bringing them I thought the old girls had lost their minds.”   

“Do you have a problem with chickens?” They were her pets. She couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves when she went bush. They were like family. Sort of. 

He shrugged. “Nope. We like chickens here—preferably deep fried.”

“You fry my chickens and I will fry your ass.”

Evan arched one eyebrow. “That could be fun.” His gaze then traveled down her body, lingering on her breasts, before moving down to her thong clad feet and back up to her eyes.  “What’re their names?”

“How do you know I named them?” She had but that wasn’t the point. Do I look that obvious?

“You brought them all the way to the middle of nowhere. They have to be important to you.”

The chooks were quiet as they watched him. Cass squared her shoulders. “Mitzi and Bert.”

“Bert?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Bert is a boy’s name. This chook is a female,” he pointed out as he reached for her bag. 

“So?” Cass knew her tone was defensive but she wasn’t in the mood to deal with a smart ass man.   

Still smiling at her, he responded, “Nothing. So, one bag only?”

“I travel light.” She had left everything she owned at Lorelle’s place. Not that ‘everything’ was much. It was an old television, a purple cane chair, a sofa bed and an oversized panda she won at the Cairns show when she was twelve and was reluctant to get rid of. 

“Most women travel with all sorts of crap.”

“I’m not most women.”

Again, he looked her up and down. “Nope, you’re different all right.”

She wanted to ask what he meant by that but decided against it. She had a feeling the answer would be complicated and right now she needed easy and simple. “How far’s McNally’s?”

“It’s in the middle of town so that’d make it about five kilometers from here.”

“Great. Let’s go.” She desperately wanted a shower. “Where’s your car?”

“Horse.”

“Horse?”

“Yeah, I rode here.”

“Well, how am I supposed to get to McNally’s?”

“On the back of my horse.”

What the? She hadn’t ridden a horse in her life and wasn’t about to now. “What about my stuff?”

“Phil will drive over later with it.”

Cass placed the chicken cage on the ground. “Fine, I’ll go into town with Phil.” 

“No worries. He goes off shift in six hours.”

Her eyes widened at that. “Six hours?”

“Yep, he’s stationed here in case of emergencies.”  

Cass looked around at the vast expanse of nothingness. “Like what? Aliens landing?”

  

 https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-dumbatheart-1490617-340.html

The Zombies Next Door...out now...

Jack Katz is a zombie hunter. Have axe and attitude, will travel. In her tropical home town of Cairns the zombies are getting restless. Someone’s stirring them up for monetary gain.  

But zombies aren’t her only problem. Her do-gooder sister is in town, her next door neighbors are weird and three men lust after her body. Then there’s her mysterious mentor Squiggly. What does he want from her?    

Excerpt...

“You killed him!” The blonde stepped back from the women with the axe, her eyes were wide open with horror at what she was witnessing.

“Almost.” The brunette held a long handle axe in her right hand as she lifted her left arm and wiped the sweat off her brow onto the fabric covering her left forearm. This humidity is a bitch.

“He’s bleeding!”

Like I need hysterics now. But that was her sister for you. Always worried about mere details. “Yes, now get out of my way.” Her sister scrambled backwards, sliding on the blood covering the floor. “I have to whack him again.” She lifted the axe high and smashed it down into the man’s head. Blood spurted, bones cracked and the sickening squelch of bursting brain filled the air. Her arms ached like the devil but whining was not going to help get the job done. She lifted up the axe and smacked it down once more. Blood and gore flew everywhere. She was pleased she was wearing her usual gothic black. It was businesslike and rarely showed bloody stains if washed correctly.

“Fuck!” her sister screamed and rammed her back against a nearby wall as if it was somehow going to anchor her to reality. “Stop it! He’s dead, for God sakes!”

“Nah, his head has to come off and I have to split his heart open.” The axe came down once more. “And there is no God. These bastards roaming the streets prove that.”

“I don’t know who you are anymore!”

She turned to her sister. “Hey, I never asked you to come and visit in Cairns.” Whack!

“Mum thought it’d be nice if we bonded—Oh jeez! The head’s come off! I’m going to puke.”

“So, go and vomit outside.” She aimed the axe at the chest cavity. At that moment the grotesquely bloodied and hacked man looked up at her, his severed head no longer attached to his body.

“Bloody hell! His eyes opened! How is that even possible?” the blonde shrieked.

The brunette rolled her eyes. “Stop screaming! I don’t have time for hysterics.” She had a job to do. Normally there was never an audience around when she did it. Explaining things to people wasted time and frankly was a pain in the ass because they never understood and always kept asking ‘why?’

 Whack! Whack! Whack! The final blow cleaved his heart in two. His eyes closed and blood spurted out like a fountain from his chest. Her sister projectile vomited onto her shoes. “Damn it! I just cleaned those!” It was hard to work when civilians were about. They always whined, questioned and threw up. 

“You already have blood on them!” Her sister was shaking and wiping her mouth.

“Blood I can hose off. Vomit requires more effort.” She wasn’t sure why. Possibly it’s an enzyme, acid thing. I should look that up. She mentally put it on her list of things to do after clean shoes and sharpen axe.

“Who are you?”

She dropped the axe head on the floor and leaned against the long, wooden shaft and grinned. “Jack Katz, licensed zombie killer.”

“Does mum know about this?” Nancy Katz’s eyes were wide with horror.  

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thezombiesnextdoor-1400101-348.html

Despite the odds, we still believe...

I was doing my normal Sunday morning swim, at the lagoon on the Cairns Esplanade, when this Chinese bridal couple and their photographer came along. It was early morning and they would have been getting some photos done before the general wedding chaos of the day began. I tread water, not wanting to photo bomb the all important pictures, and watched the couple. He was in this silver grey 19^th century type frock coat and he had such a proud, happy look on his face when he looked at his bride. She, in turn, looked quite lovely yet nervous in a strapless gown with a long train that she and the photographer worried a great deal about. When the bride and groom looked at each other with such blatant love in their eyes I thought to myself, yeah, this is what people want to believe in and why despite every setback, failure and facing the odds and still daring to try, that as humans we still believe in love and soul mates and not giving up on finding ‘the one.’ That's nice.

"He’s not perfect. You aren’t either, and the two of you will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh at least once, causes you to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him and give him the most you can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, he’s not thinking about you every moment, but he will give you a part of him that he knows you could break. Don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you" ~ Bob Marley

And...and...and....

http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/relationships/dating-coach-damien-diecke-offers-words-of-advice-to-single-ladies-looking-for-a-man/story-fnet0gly-1226747756571

Well, there you go. So, let him know you’re interested and that you know what you want in a man and smile and make your intentions clear and reply to his texts and his phone calls and be engaging with him and compliment him and be seductive and fetch his pipe and slippers, have his dinner cooked and...and...and…

I don’t like the idea a woman has to revert back to 1950’s actions to attract a man. What happened to two people meeting and talking and maybe stuff happening. There’s too much pressure on women to be coupled up. I’ve been there, done that, kicked the rule book to the curb.

What I think, non-expert-guru-on-nothing-in-particular-at-all that I am, is be yourself. If something happens it’s happens. If it doesn’t then maybe it’s never going to and that, despite the advice divas, is not the end of the world. You’re with yourself a long time – longer than any partner or lover. Consider complimenting yourself.

And if  “YOU'RE pretty, smart, ambitious and all your friends say you're a catch, yet you're always the one at the wedding or dinner party who doesn't have a date…” you can and are allowed to go alone. Don’t be sucked in by stereotypical bullshit.   

A-W-K-W-A-R-D…

So, I was slumped on the sofa, watching TV, tired after doing a day of yard work and watching a repeat of some mindless, reality TV crap basically because I was too tired to flick channels to find other less mindless crap to watch. Anyway, on TV, this woman said to this man ‘I love you.’ Then there was silence. Dead, cold silence. You know the kind that is A-W-K-W-A-R-D. You could tell even though she had really wanted to say the whole ‘I love you’ thing, she said it without thinking and it just came out at the wrong time. Then she looked at him waiting for his reaction. He looked torn between stunned and oh-god-get-me-out-of-here. She then looked embarrassed and tried to take it back and he was all ‘no, it’s okay, of course I have feelings for you.’ Oh-my-god. Feelings? He used that line? What is wrong with him? No one should use that line. Ever. He should have just gnawed his leg off or feigned a heart attack or deafness to avoid having to say that to her because we all know the ‘I have feelings for you’ is the kiss of death. She then smiled, nodded, blinking back tears and trying to look all stoic with a look of ‘God, he’s an idiot if he can’t see how great I am’ and ‘how fast can I get in the car and drive to the nearest shop and buy ice-cream and wine…ooh, and maybe I’ll hire a stripper for the evening.’ It then became all deathly silent between them as if neither wanted to say anything further in case he suddenly found himself agreeing to marry her and she couldn’t trust herself not to head butt him for making her feel stupid because ‘I love you shouldn’t be a big deal, you dickhead and I have no idea why I thought I could have ever possibly loved you.’ Ah yes. A-W-K-W-A-R-D.     

Do you think this is why we’re all so interested in reading romance and watching romantic comedies because we know the characters will always say ‘yes’ and ‘I love you’ and get married because they’re supposed to and one dimension characters do not screw up as much as humans do? Is it because we want the ideal? It makes you wonder how anyone actually ever gets together.  

Tattoo...out now...

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-tattoo-1213509-356.html

Sian Rossiter carries the mark of her lover. A Celtic tattoo that has been given to the soul mates of Seamus McDonagher’s clan for centuries. Their bond is sexy, enduring and unbreakable.

But there is another who carries the same tattoo. As far as the dark woman is concerned, Seamus is hers. She will stop at no lengths to get him back. The other woman? Collateral damage.

And then there is the hand of fate and the power of an ancient sword. The one who wields it in the land of Twilight will win the man. Does true love have a hope of beating pure evil this time?

Excerpt

Seamus stood for a moment and watched Sian sleep. He caught his breath, as he always did, when he looked at her. They could have been parted for days, hours or even seconds yet it wouldn’t matter. Each time it was like the first time of attraction and hope. No other woman called out to his soul as she did. He was in love with her. It was simple, true, real. It was a love requiring nothing more than being close to each other and reveling in the sanctuary each provided the other. He was very tempted to go back to bed, to take her in his arms once more and drive Sian crazy with what she needed. He’d never met a woman who enjoyed being made to submit as much as Sian. It drove him on to do crazy things to please her.

“But not yet.” He had to deal with someone he had always known, one day, would become a problem. He turned from the woman he loved and walked naked to the window and looked out. That it was cool, he barely noticed. He had other things on his mind. It had been hard pretending the simple conversation Sian had with him about the woman she saw with the same tattoo as hers could have been just anyone. He knew who she was.

Seamus saw a shape move in the darkness. He knew it was her. The dark woman. Meredith. He blew out a breath. “This is so bloody complicated,” he muttered softly, hearing Sian murmur in response. He smiled quickly. That was the way with them. They were attuned to react instantly to each other. “Hush, baby. All is well.” She sighed and drifted off once more. Seamus rubbed at the pain in the back of his neck where a tattoo exactly like Sian’s was scored into his flesh. His had been done as a ritual. It was to do with family. Tradition. Honor. It always burned when there was trouble.

The tattoo was a simple design. It was his family crest dating back centuries. It was Celtic in origin and a knot made up of two individual strands that could not be broken nor could a break or a join be seen in each carefully inked line. It symbolized entwined souls destined to be forever. It was what the McDonagher house was built on. Strong partnerships with people who knew no fear. He looked over at Sian. She was fearless. She was also the one he wanted. Meredith? She was so long ago and he felt nothing for her.

“But she won’t let go.” And she had to. They both knew it. Lust and infatuation was not the material the bound souls together. Meredith was wild and exciting. Once she had fired his blood to the point of frenzy. He hadn’t been able to get enough of her. Like a great hunger he craved her to the point of madness. His great Aunt Cassiopeia had seen that and warned him.

“She’s not the one for you.”

“But I feel so alive with her.”

“Death and life are very much alike, nephew. They’re opposite signs of the same coin yet one cancels out the other and neither can sustain the other.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh but I do. Passion can drive you mad. It makes your body wild with desire, your heart pounds and you want to believe the one who drives you on is your soul mate because only she could make you feel that way. But she isn’t. Soul mates are more than just sex—and yes, nephew, I remember very well what sex is like.”

“Aunt—”

“True love comes only once to a man. And oh yes, I’m sure you’ve thought yourself to be in love with many but has one left you breathless?”

“What?”

“Has a woman stopped your breath and made you look at her like she was something you’d never seen before and scared if you let her out of your sight she’ll be gone forever and you’d perish because of it?”

“’Sounds overly dramatic to me.”

“That’s because you haven’t met her yet so you don’t understand.”

Take it to the shallow end please...

So, I’m absolutely not against public displays of affection. I think they’re cute, nice and romantic in a world where we often forget what romance is.

But – and there is always one, I was swimming after my run this morning and there was this couple kissing and in the way of everyone who was trying to swim in the lagoon. It’s lovely you love each other. It’s sweet that you’re kissing and it’s good to see the romance is alive, but for god sake, go snog in the shallow part so we can swim. There is no romance in exercise…       

Call me crazy…

 …but I don’t want to write porn with a dash of romance in it. Love is not porn. Oh sure, you can love porn in the fact that you may find it exciting but it’s still just body parts going in and out, up and down. That doesn't equate to romance. It uses another body part – the brain. That’s all about needs, feelings, strength, insecurity and belief in a kindred soul who you could probably live without but you don’t want to because you love them and being apart would be madness.

So, no thanks – I don’t want to change my style to write porn and fit in with those ‘romance writers’ who are nor do I want to fit a demographic of ‘edgy women’. And yes, personally, I’m edgy as all get out but demographically I fit me and my thoughts and if someone wants to read that – great. If not, I’ll still be edgy and me and writing what I want. To be successful in life you have to be yourself.   

Call me crazy but I like romance with my sex. 

Tokens....

So, I was talking to a friend about lots of stuff but one of the subject was lovers and the tokens people sometimes take to remember the person…actually, I initially started  talking about Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton – and no, that wasn’t love but the conversation actually started with Hillary, who I admire and it came around to the errant intern and the randy President. Anyway, I said what sort of a woman would have kept ‘that dress’ and then we went on from there with tokens that people might take to remember a lover. There’s lots of stuff and most of it wasn’t wrong and in many ways in was quite sweet and romantic. Me?  I take nothing but the memory of a bloody good time….less chance of getting in trouble that way. 

Romantic? Seriously?

I don’t understand the whole rose petals on the bed thing. How is that romantic? Who cleans it up? Who came up with the concept? A demented florist? A frenzied lover? I’m pretty sure I don’t want to go to bed with someone who rips roses to pieces. If it's about romance, then wouldn’t it be easier if you didn’t have petals stuck to your skin and having to consider vacuuming said petals up afterwards? I don’t find that romantic. And why rip a rose apart? And if you do, is your lover really worth it? Can’t you just love without all the drama? Please explain. 

An early Sunday morning thought...

I’ve been thinking about stuff writers think about – love, romance, finding the one – all that stuff and in theory I believe is most likely correct yet when I look around me at the people in relationships who aren’t happy – and no, I don’t expect everyone to be deliriously happy - I wonder, after talking to them, how many are at least content and not just staying together through habit? This makes me wonder if romance books are modelled on real life or are they made to be a ideal of what people want to feel they need so women read them thinking  ‘if only’ or 'I will hunt me down a man and I will be happy damn it.'  Are writers then perpetuating an unrealistic myth and does romance really exist or if it something that can be bought for $3.99 and is used in lieu of taking happy pills?

 

Just a thought...

Cosmic Voo Doo...

I got an email from a radio show asking that I consider spending X amount of money for X amount of time on air to discuss my tips on romance, dating and finding love. Yes, I’m sure many writers got the same email. While I wish that radio show luck, being a writer has nothing to do with being an expert on romance. 99% of the time we’re not. We’re no smarter with love than any other bugger on the planet. Yes, we may use our imagination more but in my opinion love is just a weird emotion that plays with your mind and to be successful at love is something that comes from within you and that speaks to another person and some other cosmic voo doo that no one can work out.

Some people never fall in love. Some people fall so madly into it that they stay with the one person forever. Others fall in love with someone they can never have. As I writer can I tell you why that happens? Nope. It just does. There is no advice I can give someone on romance other than to be yourself and do what feels right for you and if it never happens then get on with your life. 

Again, love is weird. Genuinely like who you are first – you’re with yourself a long time - and worry about the rest later.

New Release....Swerve...

The Blurb...

Mary Dalton is an average woman, working in an average job. When her workplace is taken over by a large company, Mary knows her days of employment there are numbered. When she is called on to pick up the CEO of the company who has taken them over, she can’t find him. Simon Mayhew is a no show. However another man crosses her pass. His name is Swerve.  

Swerve is out to catch a Time Lord who is hell bent on greed and destruction.  As for Simon Mayhew? He knows all about Mary. It’s one of the reasons he’s in town. The lady is his soul mate. Mary doesn’t know it yet but her life is about to change forever.

The Excerpt...

“Jim, I’m going to—” Swerve stiffened suddenly and nearly dropped the phone.  It was like a bolt of lightning had charged up his spine and set his whole being alight. He closed his eyes and savored the rush. It was her. He could feel it. “I have to go. Yeah man, I’ll call you back when I’ve had more time to think about it.” He smiled. “Come on, Jim, me do something stupid?”  Swerve was not surprised by his colleague’s words. He had done some rash things in the past. But that was then. Now, he had the future to deal with and it was walking towards him on size eight Doc Martens. “Talk to the others and let me know what they think.” Swerve snapped off the phone and turned to face the woman he knew was walking towards him unaware that they were each going to change the other’s life.

He smiled as he watched Mary Dalton move with a purposefulness he saw in few people. He suspected if anyone got in her way she would have coolly told them to get out of it. He knew all about Mary and what he knew he liked. A lot. From the top of her mid brown hair to the non-office approved Doc Marten boots that stopped her boring blue plaid work shirt and navy pants from looking too frumpy, she was the woman he wanted. “I cannot wait to get to know her better.” His gaze roamed her face taking in the thin sheen of sweat on her upper lip and the clever brown eyes that he suspected saw everything but revealed little. He liked that in a woman. Unraveling a mystery was fun. And this one? If the keenness of her mind matched the enticing curves of her voluptuous body, Swerve knew he would never let this woman go. It would be beyond his will to do so.

He waited until she was level with him and smiled. Her eyes narrowed then opened wide as if she was remembering something, He felt her gaze on his hair and shoulders. Yeah. She remembers me.

“Hey, beautiful lady. I’m a wayward traveler on the crooked path of life and I’m looking for a woman to share my riches with me.” His airhead, dopey sounding alter-ego came naturally to his lips. He used that to disarm and confuse people. It was better than a cloak and it threw people off the real reason he was with them.   

She stopped and looked at him coolly. “Bollocks.”

Yeah, Socia was right. This one is mine.

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-swerve-857451-340.html

Love or degradation? Hmmm?

So, I was wandering through Big W( like Kmart) at lunchtime when I saw Fifty Shades Darker, the follow up to the very successful Fifty Shades of Gray, book on sale. Apparently, speaking to one of the staff members there, they have restocked this book several times.  I walked away thinking to myself  “What does this say about women?” that they would buy such a sado-masochistic book that’s all about extreme sex that is saturated with degradation, submission, obsession and pain? Sure, there would be a small percentage of women who want to be shocked, outraged or titillated so they buy the book for that. But the rest? It could be argued that it’s because secretly a large percentage of women want to be controlled or dominated or treated like crap by a man or maybe the diatribe that are we more sexually liberated so we read stuff like this because we can. Either way I can’t help but feel it must be getting harder and harder for a man to work out what a woman wants. Force? Pain? Love? Romance? Denial? Bondage? Humiliation? Submission? Forever? I can’t help but think fondly of the good old Mills and Boon days where no one but the bad guy got hurt and the heroine slapped the hero occasionally. 

Nice...

I was working on a story at work in work time basically because I could. Anyway, I was writing about these characters and their feelings and the first time and I thought back to my first time. I was a pathetic, nervous wreck because I’m not good at doing up close and personal things. The lovely man who was with me was sweet, patient and bossy. I still smile when I think about it. I think that’s a good enough reason to do stuff in work time don't you?

Four pages...

So I’m working on a story that has a plot and no sex until at least page 21. Yeah, I know. That’s crazy talk in ebook land. It’s a well known fact that there has to be sex every four pages to sell erotica. And it has to be strange, submissive sex. Hardcore sex. Anal sex. Multiple men sex. In a weird place sex. This story has none of that. It has two people, love, romance and sex that involves feelings of lust and love without having a second, third and fourth man waiting to climb onto the heroine and have his go.

Do you think women want crazy, painful, multiple partner sex? I don’t think so. I do think they want to read about illicit sex. However, in the end, I believe most women just want one partner who understands them like no other. Not having to explain yourself is huge. It’s sexy to have someone who looks at you and knows where you’re coming from and who you are. It’s total freedom to throw away inhibitions and just be with him without wondering if four pages have passed and you can have sex again. Counting is so boring.

Sex. Just because you can sell it doesn’t mean it’s good and repetition isn't sexy. Let's face it, few working girls are millionaires...

Lost Loves...

“Megan.”

She didn’t jump when she heard her name called out. It was a voice she knew only too well. She turned and looked at him. Woodrow Hogue. Tall. Solid. Real. Her gaze went to the stray lock of sandy blond hair that sat unruly against his forehead. It made him look boyish and vulnerable. Like the first day I met him. It was a crazy thought to have. Two days ago she would have thought she was losing her mind mooning over a man she barely knew. But it was more than that. I know him. Somehow.

“I remember that as much as you and I have craved no less from you either.”

That startled Megan. That a stranger had feelings for her was exciting and unnerving. Rarely did a man elicit that response from her. She wanted to ask a million questions. She needed explanations and validation for how she felt. What did Woodrow feel? Was he as mixed up as she was? “Reading another’s mind isn’t polite.” Her eyes were hungry to take in every aspect of him from the tip of his sandy blond had down the fine cut of his old fashioned suit to the strong thighs she longed to touch. Megan once more played with her piercing as her mind flashed back to a time of naked limbs and hot bodies straining to get closer.

He smiled. “But when you know someone so well it’s instinctual.”

Yes. It was. And that smile. It made her catch her breath in wonder. She wanted to smile in kind but there were so many unanswered questions. “Where have you been?”

“So many places. Fate has a habit of toying with me.”

“Why?” What were they caught up in? Two days ago she was worried about paying the rent. Now she needed to know why she was drawn to him and what he wanted from her.

His gaze was direct. “You know why.”

“You talk in riddles. I met you two days ago. I have no idea how your mind works.”

“Don’t you?”

To admit she did would indicate that there was more to what she was feeling than she wanted to acknowledge. She wasn’t scared of feeling. She just liked to know what was going on and not flounder as she was now. That wasn’t like her. She was strong, capable and independent. Her outlook on life matched her Gothic lifestyle. She believed deeply in the dark, sensual side of life. She chose to live boldly without fear or favor. Yet now, an edge of alarm had pushed into her neat, ordered world and Megan wasn’t sure how to deal with it. “Woodrow—”

He came over to where she sat and held out his hand to her. “You said yes to me before I left.”

She had. Though what she had been saying yes to Megan hadn’t been sure. All she knew was to have denied him would have been denying herself. Megan looked at the long, slim fingers before her. She longed to feel them once more against her skin. “I was—” Megan stopped and looked at him. What am I? Who am I?

“What? Dazzled? Confused? Unsure?” Woodrow supplied the words she couldn’t. “That’s not the woman I know.”

The eyes she looked into where soft with understanding. She felt at home with him. “Do you know me?” How was that possible when she suddenly felt like a stranger to herself? Maybe I always have. Megan realized that now more than ever. It wasn’t just the clothes she wore. She had always felt herself different to others. Until now. This man gave her a sense of belonging she never wanted to admit to needing.

“I know you as well as I know myself.” Woodrow sat down beside her on the bed. He rested one hand on her fishnet thigh.

The sensation from his touch made Megan gasp in recognition that he had done so before and much more intimately. And I had welcomed it. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

Megan didn’t know how to explain it. She was at home but not at home with him. “I can’t. Not yet. I have too many questions.”

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Soul mates...

She jumped at the intensity in his gaze. The word ‘yes’ came instantly to mind. Megan had no idea what she would have been saying yes to, knowing only that it was the right thing to say to this man. Megan lifted her hand from his arm. Normally she never had problems dealing with anyone. But this man? Everything about him affected her senses. Touching him made it both better and worse. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Death is just a door to another world just as interesting as the one we left.”

That was true. Megan wasn’t religious in any way but she believed there was more than just the world she knew. “Death interests you?”

“As I believe it does you,” Woodrow responded. “You’re a Goth. You understand the dark and the needs of one soul to commune with another, be it here or in the afterlife.”

Megan’s mouth dropped open. Yes, she did believe that but no one had summed it up quite like that. “You’re a very unusual man, Woodrow.” She liked the sound of his name on her lips. And the flash of vulnerability she saw in his eyes when she called him by name? It made her long to hold him close to her and ease whatever pain he was feeling.

“And you’re an unusual woman, Megan. I believe we are well matched.”

Soul mates. Megan jumped at that thought. Snap out of it, woman! The old world atmosphere and the soft soulfulness of the man had caught her. It was nothing more than atmosphere she was reacting to. “So, er—your life story.” It was time to get back on track.

“Yes.”

Megan looked around. “Where’s your computer?” She saw him smile. Megan was not surprised. She knew what the grin meant. “You don’t have one do you?” Modern technology would seem out of place in this room.

“The written word should be just that. Pen to paper and a person’s thoughts.” Woodrow motioned her to a desk. The surface was neatly ordered with paper, a quill pen and ink.

“You are really living your world. The clothes, the décor and the ink.” Megan picked up the fine cut glass ink well. It was beautiful and meant to be as was everything else in his home.

“You dress as a Goth. You like that lifestyle.”

Megan smiled at what Woodrow was implying. “Yes but I check my email and answer my cell phone.”

“But in your heart Megan, you still crave a simple life.”

She opened her mouth to say no, but realized yes, she did. “You’re very spooky.”

Woodrow laughed out loud at that. “And you’re perfectly charming.” He pulled out a chair at the desk.

Megan sat down. When Woodrow sat beside her it felt right. She picked up one of the pages. The writing was like the note, old fashioned and spidery. One paragraph caught her eye.

After my beloved died I felt I could not go on. I wanted to lie down in the grave beside her, press my body to hers and gasp my last against her sweet, still body.

The words made her want to cry and Megan was not the emotional sort. “You were married?”

“I still am. Marriage is more than just a joining of lives. It’s a melding of soul mates.”

Her heart beat furiously. It was everything Megan believed and wanted. “I’m sorry for your loss.” To hear a man to admitting to loving his wife so deeply and continuously was beautiful.

“Why?”

“You must miss her.”

Woodrow’s mouth curved into a soft smile. “I know I will be with her one day.”

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As much as I like sex....

…of late I have been backing away from it…er, the writing of it. Why? Well, strangely enough I’ve been more interested in writing a story rather then sex with a bit of a story that explains why the couple/trio/wolf pack/space cowboys/tin man/Toto/Bob’s Big Boy-come-to-life are having rampant, bone shaking, she-ain’t-never-gonna-walk-straight-again-sex. Will the stories I write have sex in them? Yes. Sex is as natural as eating chocolate but I want to actually develop the story and explain the hero and heroine’s history and why they at the point of the story where they are and what they’re going to do to be together before they shag each other senseless. I want to see and read and believe in the romance first. Is it madness to write like this in a market where more sex, weird sex and multiple sexual partners makes money? Probably. Colour me weird…

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The Bachelor...

It’s Sunday in Oz and that means at around 4:30pm-ish I down tools and slump in front of the TV and watch The Bachelor. Those of you who have no idea what that is probably means you have way more brain cells than me. Basically, it’s a Yankee show that features one man – ipso facto the Bachelor – and then a bunch of highly made up and generally silicon city women – meow – who all vie for his attentions supposedly in the name of true love and or a contract on Dancing with the Stars or something similar when they fall out of TV-land reality love. So from 20-something women they dwindle down to the last 4 who all proclaim love for this man they have spent maybe a hour with on a ‘one-on-one’ date while all being ‘very close’ to their fellow competitors in the race to TV love.

Why do I watch it? I think I like the schlock value of it most. I like the dramatic angst ridden ‘I love him the most’ moments, the crying, the catty looks and the carefully hidden behind a thin layer of snide remarks they make to each other. The one I’m watching at the moment is from 2009 and it features a bloke called Jason. I already Googled to see who he ended up with and the cliff hanger-gasp-shock-horror-he did-what-to-her-moment-we-all-hate-him-oh-wait-maybe-he-does-love-the-runner-up-isn’t-that-sweet-do-you-think-her-boobs-are-fake drama of it all. Love as defined by television – ain’t it gloriously plastic?