Friday, January 16, 2015

LANGUAGE OF LOVE by V.L. Locey, out now!

Life was so much easier for Margarite Lancourt before she had set eyes on Petro Shevenko. Her diploma to teach hearing impaired children would be in her hand within a year. Then she would find the right man, the right neighborhood, and bear the right children. Her deafness was not going to get in the way of her aspirations. But were they her dreams or her mother`s?
Now that she has met Petro, the Wildcats sexy new acquisition who has an unquenchable thirst for the wild side of life, Margarite`s nicely mapped out life is in chaos. Can she tame this unruly Russian Wildcat? Or will his family demons drag him, and Margarite, back into the darkness the couple have struggled to break free from?

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I had to smile when I saw what had lured him from our bedroom. Breakfast. Of course. Well, at least it hadn’t been booze or some trashy bimbo. Since I had been here, he had been remarkably well behaved. He attended AA meetings weekly. He never missed a training session with Clarkie, Bernie, or Schultz. He ate well, worked hard, stayed sober, and kept his pants zipped. Aside from last night. Olaf swept us into our chairs, talking as she served bowl after bowl of her homeland’s delicacy. I thought that athletes who were training as hard as Petro was were supposed to eat chicken and pasta. Most of the Wildcats had a strict nutritional, as well as personal, schedule. Morning skate of twenty to forty minutes to loosen up, light stretch or bike, home or hotel for the biggest meal that is usually around lunch, then a nap followed by a return trip to the arena about two hours before game time. Perhaps because it wasn’t in-season he didn’t feel the need to be so strict.

I poked at the heavy foods laid out before me. Petro ate his fill and then some. I made a small sandwich out of one slice of dark rye, or “black bread” as Olaf called it, folded over to hold some scrambled eggs with a fat slice of ham and butter. I suppose the bread counted as his carbs, although ham certainly wasn’t as lean as chicken. The coffee was thick, strong, and invigorating. I stirred some sugar into my coffee as Petro and Olaf fell into a rather animated conversation. She sat down beside me with a huff. I peeked at her over my cup of coffee. The hot brew trickled over my tongue.

“So, when wedding?”

Danny Thomas would have been impressed with my spit-take. Petro shook his head then growled something at his grandmother. She waved the man off with a strong hand. I grabbed a handful of napkins to dab at my chin, my dish, and the table.

“Bad news no wedding. Back in Chatsky if couple found naked gooey together, they make vows. But.” She threw her hand into the air dramatically. My shirt was wet with spewed coffee but I could not pull my sight from Olaf. “This is America, land of free and funny TV shows. You two make me great-grandmother, you get married. End of discussion, “she spat at her grandson who must have been retaliating verbally.

I was so mortified I couldn’t move. Coffee soaked through my shirt.

“So,” the rumbling Russian tank said her steely eyes back to me, “Petro say he makes good with you. I like this match. You make good player out of him, keep him on narrow path. Walking the line, yes?”

Petro slapped the table. My stunned sight jack-knifed over to him. He was smiling widely. Olaf grinned at me, shoved a platter of potato pancakes at me then pinched my hip. I jumped in pain. This morning was just going so well.

“You need more meat. When I coached women’s team, I make players get more muscle. You too skinny, thighs too thin. Eat more.”

My mind was completely overwhelmed. Coached women’s team? What women’s team? My thighs were fine. Now my ass on the other hand…

The touch of Petro’s warm fingers on my arm startled me. My head whipped back in his direction. His fingers slid down my arm to my wrist. Far more gently than one would think, he lifted my hand to his lips then tasted my palm.

A moment later I stood outside the Wolverines’ locker room, my eyes fastened to the sign barring anyone except authorized personnel. Placing my purse back on my shoulder, I turned the knob slowly. The aroma of stinky pads, sweaty skates, soap, unwashed man, and old socks hit my nose. I hurried to close the locker room door. If Petro were in there, he could stay in there. Rubbing at my affronted nose, I glanced back the way I came. Something wet hit my arm. I jumped in fright. Spinning around I saw him, leaning on the doorway of another room minus his skates and jersey. I threw a glare at the wet washcloth he had chucked at me. Then I grabbed it off the dirty floor and flung it back at him. It missed by ten feet or more. Petro laughed then stepped back into the open door behind him. Down the hall I went, my purse slapping my hip, my hair bouncing, my eyes locked on my goal.

I slammed into the training center. Massage tables, cold plunge tubs, and whirlpools greeted me, as did the Russian Romeo. Petro was shucking off his padding. The door drifted shut. He threw his shoulder pads to the floor. My mouth filled with saliva. I swallowed roughly then stood there, rooted to the spot, as he worked on divesting himself of every damn bit of gear he had on. When he got down to his compression shorts, my legs grew a little rubbery. Down they came, as did his cup. I ogled his ass. He gave me a sly look over his shoulder before he walked toward a whirlpool. He took just a moment to turn the jets on then he stepped down into the frothy water. His cock hung down the inside of his thigh, growing fatter and longer as I looked at it.

“Come,” he called over the rumble of the whirlpool. I chewed my lip with indecision. Dare I?

Dark eyes smoldering, prick now rising to the task, he called to me yet again. I ran back to lock the training room door, and then scurried past the six massage tables. This rink was bare compared to the new training facility at the Houseman, but that whirlpool seemed to be in fine shape, as was the nude man waiting for me with foam and hot water swirling around his knees. I couldn't undress quickly enough. My eyes roamed over him as I shimmied out of my panties. His hand took mine. Petro pulled me against him as soon as my feet were on the bottom of the whirlpool. My fingers took hold of his sweat-soaked hair. Down I pulled his mouth. His lips roamed over mine. His cock was pinned between us, hard yet soft. The taste of him was divine, sinspirational even. The smell of him? Gross. I broke the kiss then tried to wiggle free. He cocked an eyebrow as if to ask what was wrong. I pinched my nose shut. The man lifted up one arm to smell his pit. Oh God. Even he made a face. I was then yanked downward into the hot, bubbling water, his arm never moving from around my waist.

I slithered free once our skin was wet. He leaned back, arms on the side of the tub. His head dropped back as his eyes drifted closed. My legs were resting over his. I decided to do as he had done. My head rolled back as well. My lashes fluttered closed. There we sat, letting the hot jets work their magic. I cracked one eye open when Petro slid out of the whirlpool. His ass and legs were simply amazing. Muscles flexed and rolled with each step. Water ran between his tight buttocks. My mind filled with wicked thoughts of nipping that ass repeatedly. He unlocked the door then left. I sat up stiff as Nana’s back, my hands over my wet breasts. What kind of game was he playing? Enough time had passed that I was seriously contemplating getting out when his naked form filled the doorway. He had a bar of white soap in his hand and that erection that made my mouth water. He stopped only long enough to shut and lock the door. I was all over his fine ass when he lowered himself back into the whirlpool.

Author Bio:

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted goofy domestic fowl, and  two steers: one named after a famous N.H.L. goalie while the other carries the moniker of a 60`s pop legend.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.

I love to meet new friends and fans! You can find me at-

Secret Cravings Backlist Books and Upcoming Releases
Pink Pucks & Power Plays (Book One of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
A Most Unlikely Countess (Book Two of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
O Captain! My Captain! (Book Three of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
Reality Check (Book Four of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
Tumble Dry
Coming in 2015 only from Secret Cravings  . . . Final Shifts (Book Six of the To Love a Wildcat Series) and Clean Sweep (Book One of the Venom Series)

Torquere Press Backlist and Upcoming Releases
Two Guys Walk Into an Apocalypse (Part of the He Loves Me For My Brainssss anthology)
Two Guys Walk Into an Apocalypse 2: It Came From Birmingham
Two Guys Walk Into an Apocalypse 3" He's a Lumberjack and He`s Undead
Love of the Hunter
Goaltender`s Penalty
All I Want for Christmas
Every Sunday at One (Part of the 2013 Charity Sip Anthology)
Night of the Jackal

Coming in 2015 exclusively from Torquere Press . . . An Erie Operetta and Early to Rise - A Toms & Tabbies Tale.

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Welcome V.L. Locey!

I am very pleased to feature today the latest release from fellow Secret Cravings author V.L. Locey, TUMBLE DRY. And it sure looks to be a smoking hot one! Check it out...

Roxanne Jones has one day off this weekend. She does not want to spend it carrying her unmentionables to the nearby Laundromat but Fate has different plans. When the washing machine in her apartment building dies mid-cycle, Roxanne has no choice but to finish her laundry across the street. Once inside the Tumble Dry launderette, she discovers that the dryers aren't the only hot things to watch. In walks a younger man wearing the only clean items left in his wardrobe: torn jeans, sandals, tattoos, sex appeal, and a few well-placed piercings. When the two lock gazes no amount of fabric softener can stop the sparks from flying. It doesn't take long for Donovan King, an English major at the local college, to not only woo Roxanne, he manages to begin a steamy seduction that won't end until both are well-tumbled.

Buy Links:


“So do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Have a couple of spare quarters? Since you won’t let my man things gyrate around in the water with your woman things.”
Was he saying those kinds of things on purpose? Of course he was, if the puckish grin he now wore was any indicator. Oh, I did like this man. A lot.
“Honey, I’m not sure that your man things are man enough to gyrate with my woman things,” I parried. He chortled then leaned a hip into the washer, his arms folding over his bare chest.
“I’m pretty sure that they are.” He said it with utmost confidence in the prowess of his man things. I sucked down a large gulp, the twinge behind my eye reminding me to slow down. I sipped and enjoyed looking at him, spying a small, silver navel ring glistening from the neon lights overhead. My mouth was dry even though I had just swallowed some of my drink. His steady gaze made me fidget.
“Rather sure of your man things, aren’t you?” I finally said, as I tossed my change purse to him. He caught it with one hand, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Rather,” he commented offhandedly, opened the tiny bag then extracted four quarters. My tongue toyed with the end of my straw. He laid the purse on the top of the machine next to his then arranged the coins in the slots, all four standing erect. Mmm, what a nice word that is. Erect. Makes all sorts of dirty, sweaty images appear inside a woman’s mind, doesn’t it?

“Excuse me, sir, but this cart is mine.”
“Really? And how is that, Roxanne? Clearly I was here first.” He leaned over the cart, his scruffy cheek brushing mine he whispered beside my ear. “You were engrossed with erotic thoughts about my mouth and the pleasure it could bring you.”
He drew back. My brain shut down as my mouth dropped open. That was all the time Donavon needed to commandeer the cart.
“No I wasn’t.” There. Take that. I bet that verbal spear pierced a few vitals. Not.
Damn the man for reading me like that beaten-up poetry book of his. He shrugged a shoulder, the inked one. An emerald-eyed tiger rolled it’s head at the up and down motion.
“Yeah, you totally were. Would you like me to tell you the signs of arousal that you’re wearing at the moment?” He threw several pairs of wet jeans into the cart. They landed with a slap.
“The only thing that I’m wearing at the moment is a dash of lovely,” I countered quickly.
“Yes, you are incredibly lovely, and horny. Your nostrils are flared, your eyes are wanton, your nipples are hard, and you keep licking your lips.” He paused in tossing balled-up shirts into the cart. “You also keep crossing and uncrossing your legs.”
Shit. Okay. So the man knew I was sporting a big girl-boner for him.
“Maybe I just have hives.” I tugged the cart away from him then stalked over to my washer with the buggy in tow. I heard his throaty chuckle behind me.
“Maybe you want me to take you somewhere private and read you something…Sapphic.”
He was right behind me, his breath fluttering past my left ear, his body close enough to exchange sparks with mine. Damn. Damn. Damn. My spine stiffened, as did my nipples. They were now so hard they hurt.
“You think reading me lesbian poetry will turn me on?” I inquired, trying to sound as if his smoldering nearness was having no effect. The smoky cast to my voice kind of ruined the indifferent attitude I was going for.
“I think you’re already turned on.” I heard the cart being nudged aside. I stood as still as a deer in a strange meadow, alert to every sound. My fingers gripped the lid to the machine as he stepped closer. The touch of his chest to my back was seismic. Desire didn’t just uncoil like a snake finding a warm rock, it rose up like a jungle cat, and then stretched, sharp claws of need raking open my calm exterior.

Author Bio:

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted goofy domestic fowl, and  two steers: one named after a famous NHL goalie while the other carries the moniker of a 60s pop legend.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.

I love to meet new friends and fans! You can find me at-

Secret Cravings Backlist Books:
Pink Pucks & Power Plays (Book One of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
A Most Unlikely Countess (Book Two of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
O Captain! My Captain!(Book Three of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
Reality Check (Book Four of the To Love a Wildcat Series)

Torquere Press Backlist and Upcoming Releases
Two Guys Walk Into an Apocalypse (Part of the He Loves Me For My Brainssss anthology)
Two Guys Walk Into an Apocalypse 2: It Came From Birmingham
Two Guys Walk Into an Apocalypse 3" He's a Lumberjack and He`s Undead
Love of the Hunter
Goaltender's Penalty
All I Want for Christmas
Every Sunday at One (Part of the 2013 Charity Sip Anthology)
Night of the Jackal

And coming in 2015 exclusively from Torquere Press . . . An Erie Operetta and Early to Rise - A Toms & Tabbies Tale.

Saturday, December 6, 2014


I am very honored to participate in the Secret Cravings blog hop honoring the Wounded Warrior Project. Every author participating will be donating $30 to the WWP. Authors will also be having terrific giveaways and prizes, including a $50 Amazon gift card that Secret Cravings Publishing will be giving away. Join in the fun!! The Wounded Warrior web site is if you would like to donate this holiday season.

Please comment below to be entered in a drawing for a signed print copy of any one of my backlist books. Winner will be drawn on Monday morning!

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Welcome Flossie Benton Rogers!

I am very pleased to be hosting fellow Secret Cravings author Flossie Benton Rogers today! Her latest release is LORD OF FIRE. Here's Flossie to tell you all about it! Don't forget to enter the Rafflecopter giveaway including a $25 Amazon gift certificate, a copy of DARK GUARDIANS, and three copies of LORD OF FIRE in E-book.

Flossie Benton Rogers here. Thanks so much for showcasing LORD OF FIRE today!

Blurb: When The Hawk meets his Wytchfae, the result is spontaneous combustion.

Garnet McAnna chases the demon responsible for attacking and enslaving innocent fae familiars. She never expected to run headlong into a mesmerizing stranger known as The Hawk. Nor did she anticipate the way his masculine power kindles a womanly flame within her.

Exiled from an elite warrior's brigade, Lord of Fire Gabriel Hawk guards his heart and his solitude. He wants nothing to do with the world of men or the realm of fae. Then a beautiful Wytchfae bursts into his life, stirring desire and sparking need. Garnet is on a dangerous mission, and he can't let her face the evil alone. What else can he do but fight beside her? When she disappears, he raises hell to find her. Will he be too late? Will darkness conquer this couple or will love burn their souls into one?

First Line Teaser: She’d catch the demon tonight if it killed her.

Memorable Quote: “Garnet McAnna, you’re the hottest woman in thirteen worlds.”

Lost in her thoughts, Garnet ran up against something hard and springy, and a sharp point pricked the soft flesh of her thumb. She squeezed off the pain with her other hand.
Damned barbed wire.
She had already made it to the fence line and hadn’t even realized it. Sucking in a deep breath, she cleared her mind to concentrate on the task at hand. She had to edge around the boundary to the north side of this large piece of private property to gain access to the portal. Then she’d hunker down in the bushes and wait on the demon Borros.
Moving swiftly again, she cut a wide swath away from the metal fence. Snorting sounds came from within one of the corrals she had noted early this morning when she skirted the property. Horses and a few cattle had grazed within.
Bearing around the corner to head north toward the portal, a splash of incandescent green appeared and then disappeared in front of her. Startled, she blinked and reached into her coat pocket for the revolver. The weapon lay cold and substantial in her hand. She stilled her body to a midnight silence.
The eerie green reappeared and dashed around her body without spotlighting her in any way. It formed a mysterious elongated glow. She clamped down harder on the gun handle to stop her hand from trembling, while shifting positions to keep the phenomenon in front of her.
Her mind tumbled over possibilities. The light couldn’t be swamp gas, as it seemed to proceed purposefully. Its movement created a slight whirring sound. A will ’o the wisp? Somehow she thought not, but what was it?
The presence darted behind her.
Before she could turn, a warm, corporeal hand covered her own and relieved her of the weapon. Whirling around, she came face to face with—a man.
A gasp escaped her lips. With his substantial height, he towered over her. A faint greenish residue of light illuminated him enough so that the fierce scowl on his face caused her heart to thump into overdrive.
She swallowed, fingering the sheath of one of the knives in her pocket. Damn it, next time she’d bring a backup piece. She forced herself to speak, but despite her efforts, her voice rasped. “Give me back my weapon.”
His sonorous growl reminded her of a feral animal. “Not so fast. What the hell are you doing sneaking around my property with a firearm in the middle of the night?”

Amazon Buy Link:
Secret Cravings Publishing:

Author Bio:
Flossie Benton Rogers is the author of the Wytchfae paranormal romance series. She is Sagittarius with a Libra ascendant and Taurus moon, or a 5th generation Floridian and freedom loving mystic. She pursues her passion for mythology by writing romances with fairies, goddesses, ghosts, angels, demons, and other magical beings. The Wytchfae world brims with dimensions parallel to our own. Some are welcoming, others dangerous and forbidding. Through the darkest night and the fright of unchained chaos, love will always shine.

Connect with Flossie:

Thanks again, Laurie! You’re a wonderful host.

And here is the link to enter the amazing giveaway!

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Welcome Misty Matthews!

Please join me in welcoming new Secret Cravings Publishing author Misty Matthews to my blog today! Misty has a hot new release, COMING HOME.


Home is where the heart is.

Motorcycle riding attorney Alana Stewart is a far cry from the shy teenager who left Chance determined never to look back. Family obligations force her to return to the town that only holds bad memories for her. A stop at her former sanctuary brings an unexpected surprise...the new manager just might be what she needs to get her through the holidays.
When sexy, leather-clad Alana walks into the bookstore, Connor Tate has a feeling he may be in for the ride of his life. Despite the fact that their lives are headed in different directions, they are drawn to one another. Connor is determined to prove to Alana that Chance isn’t the place she remembers, but will his efforts fail when she discovers he hasn’t told her the whole truth about himself?

Can they trust each other enough to take a chance on love?

Buy links:
Barnes & Noble


Gone was the shy, skinny girl in glasses the other kids teased and the town folks ignored. If she had been recognized, no doubt one of the concerned citizens was on the phone right now setting her mother straight. Mom probably wouldn’t be impressed she’d made a familiar stop on the way home, but what else was new?
Alana smiled wryly. Well, they may not have noticed me then, but it looks like they’re seeing me now.
Those on the street craned their necks, and she felt their gazes following her as she sauntered over to Tate’s Bookstore, helmet hanging casually from her hand the way another woman’s purse might. Someone inside the bookstore looked out the front window, probably as curious as the others were, but they quickly pulled back as she approached.
Alana stood on the sidewalk admiring her old hangout, letting the past claim her before pushing the brass handle to open the door. The antique bell tinkled, announcing her arrival just as it had years ago. Memories of the hours spent in this place washed over her. The familiar aroma of old books, a scent she loved, surrounded her. Eagerly, she stepped forward, anxious to see Mr. Tate again. They’d spent hours together discussing her favorite books.
Sadness filled her. Things had changed. No matter what he’d been doing, Mr. Tate had always come at the sound of the bell. Another thought struck her. Perhaps he didn’t own the bookstore anymore. It was common practice for new owners to keep a business’s original name. Goodwill was a marketable commodity these days.
“Hello, is anyone here?” Her voice echoed in the emptiness of the shop.
A touch nervous—the insecurity of the past catching up with her—she moved deeper into the store, and started when a man cleared his throat. Looking in the direction of the sound, she was pleasantly surprised when a stranger stepped out from between two rows of shelves. The man was most definitely not the one she’d expected.
Dressed in jeans that hugged him in all the right places, a white T-shirt, and a gray and black striped sweater vest, he took her breath away. Clean shaven with striking green eyes peering at her from behind large black framed glasses, he was gorgeous.  His look was totally geek-chic and it drew her as no other did. Even though she never acted on the yearning guys like that sometimes evoked in her, she could appreciate a masterpiece when she saw it. His expensive, spicy, tantalizing cologne aroused a sudden desire that pulsed through her.
Usually shy around males, a holdover from her teen years, she stared at him openly. The man was pure eye candy, and she loved candy! From the way he stood, she could tell there was a toned and fit body hidden under his clothes. Finding herself wishing she could see more of it, she felt her cheeks grow hot at the implication of her thoughts.
The man seemed vaguely familiar, and she rattled her brain trying to place him, but try as she might, she couldn’t imagine anyone she knew back then looking like this today. Had she seen this god before, she’d certainly have remembered him.
“Can I help you?” His bold gaze took in every inch of her. The look on his face said he liked what he saw.
“I was looking for Mr. Tate. Is he around?” she asked, amazed her voice sounded normal when her heart was beating so fast he must surely hear it.
“I’m sorry. Dad isn’t here right now. Is there something I can do for you?”
Lots! Her brain screamed as her raging hormones threatened to take over and destroy what little common sense she had left. Peering at him closely, she tried to zone in on the familiarity she’d sensed. Dad? It hit her.
Holy crap! Connor Tate.
He’d changed so much she hadn’t recognized him, which was crazy since she’d had a huge crush on him in high school. While she’d never been the girl who ogled the captain of the football team, she’d liked the smart guy—the one who carried books around and wanted to learn things the way she did. Mesmerized, her eyes searched his face for a sign of recognition. Gone was his acne and hundred-pound weakling scrawny frame. Instead, she stared at perfection. Her brain screamed at her to say something—anything.
“It’s Connor, right?” she asked as if seeing him again wasn’t flooding her with memories, not all of them pleasant. “I’m sorry I missed him. Where is he?”
“My parents are visiting my sister in Florida. They travel a lot these days.”
“That’s wonderful. I’ll bet he’s having a grand time. He always wanted to travel.”
Mr. Tate had spoken about all the places in the world he’d like to visit, and since she’d assumed she’d never get out of Chance, she’d traveled in her books while the shop had kept her friend’s feet firmly planted in Chance.
“You know my father?” His voice was tinged with curiosity and confusion.
“I do.” Alana smiled. “We were really good friends when I was growing up in Chance. This place was like my second home.”
“Alana Stewart?”
Surprised he knew her name, she nodded. “Guilty as charged, your honor.”
“I heard through the rumor mill you were coming home; you’re a lawyer now, right?” Connor looked her up and down again.
“Corporate, specializing in litigation,” she added. “Nothing gets by the small-town gossips, does it?” Her voice was laced with sarcasm, and she was unable to keep her disdain from coming through clearly. She was sure he noticed her tone, but to his credit, he didn’t comment.
“Did you want something? Or did you stop by just to see my father?”
“Well, I did, but I might as well pick up a new novel or two to read while I’m home. I feel naked without a book on the go.”


Misty Matthews is a newly formed writing partnership between Susanne Matthews and Misty Cail. These authors have never met and the book was created by grace and virtue of email and Internet chats. It's a true twenty-first century miracle.

Misty and Susanne met in an online Facebook chat group back in December, 2012 and have become fast friends and partners. Misty, the plot genius, had the idea for the book, but found it hard to do the research and polishing necessary for the story. Susanne loved the premise of the story and offered to handle that aspect of it in partnership with her. The name seemed a natural choice. The rest as they say is history.

Never Say Never

Most people who grow up in small towns dream of leaving them for the excitement and glamor of the big city. When she was a teenager, part of Misty Matthews felt the same way. She desperately wanted to leave her hometown, and find love and adventure somewhere else. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with her hometown, and she loved her family, but she craved something more.
She got her chance to escape the confines of her birth place when she moved away from home to go to school. She went to Ottawa, Canada’s national capital, and attended Carleton University. What a wonderful adventure that was. She earned her degree in English and history, but more importantly, she met the love of her life. She and her husband have been married 43 years and have three children and five grandchildren. Their adventure isn’t over yet.
In Coming Home, the first book in the Taking a Chance on Love series, written by Misty Matthews, as a teenager Alana’s hopes and dreams were similar. Growing up in Chance, Arizona, a small town where everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business, and where she felt as if she didn’t fit in, she couldn’t wait to escape from the narrow confines of small town America. Like part of Misty, she left home to go to school in Austin, Texas and was determined to stay there. Now, a high-powered attorney, she’s on the fast track to promotion. Although there isn’t love in her life, she’s proud of the career and lifestyle she’s created for herself. There isn’t anything she’d rather do in her spare time than ride her motorcycle or read a good book, especially on written by J.T. Connor. The last thing she wants to do is go back to Chance, even for a visit, but family obligations have a habit of forcing you to do the things you’d rather not. Never say never!
Connor, like the other part of Misty, on the other hand, never aspired to leave his home town, but he did. He moved to New York City for school, and then to Los Angeles to work for a publishing house. Unlike Alana, he hated the big city and when the opportunity presented himself to move back to Chance, he jumped at it. There’s nothing he likes better than riding his motorcycle into the desert and helping out with the Chance Volunteer Fire Department. His secret career as an author gives him the financial freedom to visit anywhere he likes, but Chance always draws him back. The only thing missing in his life is love.
Time has a habit of changing your perspective. Like Alana, part of Misty swore she’d never return to Cornwall, and then ten years later, she did just that. Small cities have a charm of their own. Although Cornwall is considerably larger than the imaginary town of Chance, it’s located near enough to the big cities around it to provide some excitement. When Alana returns to Chance, some things are the same, but through the lens of time, she realizes that things may not have been exactly the way she remembers them. The other part of Misty grew up in the big city and still dreams of returning home, yet she’s made a good life for herself in a distant part of the country where she too had found love. Sometimes we don’t realize that where we are is exactly where we’re meant to be.

You can follow Misty Matthews and the Taking a Chance on Love series.
To learn more about them, visit:

Saturday, July 12, 2014


My publisher is having a Backlist Blog Hop this weekend! Please join in the fun by going to and visiting all the participating authors' blogs by clicking on their links in the Blog Hop post. Lots of prizes and giveaways to be had!!

I, for one, will be giving away an e-copy of my first SCP book, DESERT HEAT, to one commenter. To be entered in this random drawing, just post a comment telling me where your favorite reading location is. 

Friday, May 2, 2014


Happy May Day, everyone! My publisher, Secret Cravings Publishing, is having a Contemporary Romance Blog Hop this weekend. Please see for all the participating authors and more info on the Hop. To celebrate this event, I will give away an e-copy of my latest release, WITHOUT A TRACE, or any of my backlist, to one commenter. I will draw randomly on Sunday evening.