Posts Tagged With: Perpetual Pleasure

Look whose book is a recommended read on USA Today!

Along with other red-hot Romantica from Ellora’s Cave, but it’s my 15 minutes to 48 hours of fame and I’m still riding the new release high, so please indulge me. Check it out!

You’ve met MacCale and Lucie, but what’s Perpetual Pleasure all about again? The story begins, as these stories often do, with a boy meets girl setup. Or rather girl sees perfect one-night stand material but seduction doesn’t go as planned. What follows certainly doesn’t follow our heroine’s plan or her triple F system of survival: Find ’em, fuck ’em, forget ’em. She is an immortal, a twenty-six-year-old Savannahian going on two hundred and sixty. [Depending on your bloodlust, the bad news: not a vampire, the good news: not a vampire.]

The story came to me as Alex Rising once did, in flashes of what later became the opening scene. I saw this mysterious, magnetic woman working the room at a party. She screamed sophistication and savoir faire. And she was totally fake somehow, as if it was only an act, as if she was wearing some kind of mask. There was a man in the room thinking the exact same thing, seeing right through her, and as thoroughly mesmerized and fascinated by her as I was.

The man, our hero, is a daredevil. He’s not looking for a one-night stand, more like a one-life stand, and he isn’t sated with a quickie. But when you’re immortal like our heroine is, relationships, short-lived or long-term, aren’t really an option. Your lovers aren’t getting any younger and you’re not getting any older. How does that work? I kept thinking about how lonely Lucie had to be and really felt for her, but she laughed at my pity because she was doing just fine. She was immortal after all. And only human. That’s what MacCale will remind her of. But he doesn’t understand her motivation or how she feels until later, much later. Too late?

So what happened to Lucie? Will MacCale get through to her? The bad news: you’ll have to read the book to find out. The good news: it’s now available from Ellora’s Cave and coming soon to a third party e-tailer near you! (I’ll add links to my personal page as they go live, just click my name on the banner.)

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Stunt performer MacCale Moore knows a thing or two about seduction. And he knows all about putting on a show. The Savannahian bombshell coming on strong is tempting all right. But there’s something wrong with the picture. Seeing through her charade isn’t the problem. Convincing a flaming femme fatale to trust him with her heart and not just her body may well turn out to be the hardest stunt he’s ever had to perform.

No dating. No cuddling. No emotion. No exceptions. Lucie Marcotte’s system of survival has saved her from heartache for two hundred years and counting. Now her latest conquest is asking to be more than just another link in her endless chain of one-night stands. So what if it’s the best sex she’s ever had? Their relationship has nowhere to go. But how to convince him or stop herself from hurting them both, she has no idea. Before Lucie knows it, she is breaking all her rules. And for an immortal, that’s just flirting with disaster.

Enjoy, 69ers, and have yourself a sexcellent weekend. Muah!

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Words are all we have*

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Some things in this life you never get to experience. Because you’re a man and not a woman or vice versa. Because you’ll never travel to other galaxies or the other side of the globe. Because some things are illegal. Out of bounds, for whatever reason. Still, you’d love to know what it feels like. Enter time machine, travel agency and magic carpet number one: art. Special Mention: books.

Movie makers go on location. Theater makes use of props. Writers build worlds using words. Good actors make you forget they’re imitating life. Good writers do the same with dialogue and description. Photographers snap a shot, painters paint a picture. Writers can fit all creation into a single sentence.

Words are our tool and make believe is our trade. Still much of that make believe is based on or was inspired by actual fact. Real countries and cities, historical figures and incidents, scientific findings, visions for the future. Some draw upon personal experience and write about their field of expertise, some depend on the knowledge gathered by others and imagine the rest.

Imagining is the fun part. And it’s the tricky part. Unless you’re writing sci-fi, speculative, fantasy or paranormal, you have to get a fair amount of facts right. Geography, history and the laws of nature…mess with those too much and risk the wrath of many a disgruntled reader. I know how that feels. I’m a reader, and a viewer. There are currently two TV ads playing over here that supposedly take place in Brazil. And everyone speaks Spanish. Spanish! Brazilians speak Portuguese!! It drives me up the wall.

Seeking information has never been easier than in our day and age. It’s also never been easier to be led astray, to be misinformed, if you go to the wrong source. Moral of the story: Don’t assume anything. Check the facts. Double-check them. And if you bend the truth, be prepared to be slapped for it. I love researching stuff for my books because I’m so damn curious. You never know what you may find! You learn a lot on the way, things you may need later. Then again, very little of what you dig up may end up in your book. Still, most of it helps you get in the mood, create an overall feel, and pass it on to your readers.

And what of inner sceneries? I’ve always thought writing is a lot like acting with the exception that you don’t have a role to play, you play them all. (Plus direct after writing the script, do costume and set design, dialect coach… The whole shebang, really.) Every character has a history that colors everything they do. They have individual strengths and weaknesses, their own objectives, wants and needs, and different strategies to overcome obstacles. Imagine building all those inner sceneries, keeping them at the front of your mind all the time but never letting it show. That’s good acting. And that’s good writing.

In Perpetual Pleasure, I got to imagine what it would feel like to be immortal, never changing or aging. I got to live the life of a professional stunt performer. I got to be an old gent in a magical city three hundred years in the making. And the sex I got to have…holy hell! It all took quite a bit of research and a fair amount of imagination. And putting it all together is the most fun you can have with your clothes on. Speaking of which…

Hey lady! Where’s my smut? It’s coming August 31 from Ellora’s Cave, thanks for asking! Since I now have the final copy, and since you’ve all read the official excerpt, right *hint hint wink wink*, I want to treat you to a new one, one that picks up where the first left off. But first I want to ask you something.

Readers! What sort of things kill a book for you, crash the magic carpet? Have you ever wanted to write an author and explain to them everything you believe they got wrong in a book? Did you write them? Scribes! Have you taken liberties with facts, knowingly or unaware, and been slapped for it? Do you enjoy researching your books or does it sometimes feel like a necessary evil? Inquiring minds want to know.

Sexcellent weekend, everyone!

*Samuel Beckett

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Feel like makin’ love

How goes it, 69ers? Everyone enjoying their summer, or winter, if you happen to live below Mother Earth’s waist? I’m sorry for the radio silence but I’ve been vacationing with the family now that Hubby finally has some time off.

June and July were Take Your Kids To Work Day, every day, at Casa Dita. I’ve been doing the working mom thing on steroids, so you bet I’ve been looking forward to August. I promised myself I would focus on family and friends, and family and friends only. They deserve it. I’ve earned it. And where’s my head at on this fine summer day?

On Perpetual Pleasure and release day, only three weeks away. On promo and writing and projects that have been on hold or moving at the speed of slugs on Valium for weeks. On the fact that in seven days, the kids will be back in school and I’ll be able to pick up where I left off in early June and resume my raunchy office romance. (Dad, you might want to stop reading now. Yes, I do mean with your son-in-law so put the phone down, you’re ruining this.)

I had to smile at Cassandre’s post yesterday. It was a tight smile, a forced one, because summer is quickies. Summer is stealth sex. Summer is the constant possibility of interruption. Summer is a prelude to fall, gearing up, leisurely looking through what’s new at selected adult toy stores. Build-up. A teaser trailer where all the sex you’re not having flashes through your mind, courses through your body and does it’s damage: leaves you wanting.

Summer is torture for someone who really likes their bedplay, someone who likes to take things nice and slow and thorough, someone who, when they want a little hardcore with their gentle, likes to get vocal and verbal. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I don’t even want to know what they say about abstinence. I say that in marriage at least, it’s the pits. I say it makes Dita a very restless, cranky girl. I don’t stand well on two feet, I need three: spiritual sustenance, food for thought and physical activity, and I don’t mean just sports.

So. Next week, when you’re sitting at work, taking a break and having coffee, I’m taking full advantage of a kid-free house and having my hot man from the cold, who, as fate would so happily have it, works the oddest of hours, is often home during the day, and more than happy to be my afternoon delight and steamy office affair. What? As if you wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. You would? You are? Good for you! Highly recommended, skipping coffee and other substances for something infinitely more healthy and energizing. And I’m a fitness enthusiast, but workout breaks just aren’t the same, are they?

Can’t wait for release! Day. Can’t wait for release day, which is August 31st. For instant gratification, there’s Alex Rising, and since August’s theme here at the blog is vacations, I chose the sexcerpt accordingly. Enjoy!

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By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, come back later.

An Excerpt From: ALEX RISING
Copyright © DITA PARKER, 2010
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

Tristan and Danny had been as close as brothers, as close as Alex was with his twin sister. It figured they would love the same woman. Danny had tried to hide it. He had managed to for a while. But with time, the more Tristan talked about Lin, the less Danny commented until it seemed he wanted to be nowhere near when the subject of wives and girlfriends was brought up. Alex knew a self-defense move when he saw one.

Danny must have felt like a lucky bastard when Tristan had approached him and offered him the possibility of being with Lin. But luck hadn’t been on their side the day both men had died. And Alex didn’t think Tristan had been thinking of Lin. He had only been thinking of himself. He had won the wager and now Alex and Lin would pay the cost.

Letting Lin settle, Alex looked at the photographs sitting in their colorful frames on a dark wooden drawer by the wall. He zeroed in on one of Lin sandwiched between Tristan and Danny, Lin facing Tristan and holding on to him, Danny glued to her back and holding on to them both.

“The two of you look so much alike you could have been brothers. Is that why you chose him? To make it easier on yourself and Lin? I know you didn’t even have to twist his arm. It was the worst-kept secret in the team that he lusted after her, you know.”

“Alex…”

“Yes, Tristan?” No time like the present to let the cat out of the bag, Alex decided, even if he had to drag it out by the tail.

“If we’re going to do this, let’s at least be honest about things. She might not have known, but you guys did a terrible job pretending you didn’t notice Danny had a hard-on for her. Remember that topless picture of Lin sunbathing?”

“Tristan!” Lin gasped.

“Oh don’t worry, sweetie. He never meant to show it to anyone, but he kind of misplaced it. I found Danny jacking off with it.”

“Oh god.” Her hands flew to her ears.

“It’s okay. It’s in a safe place. In fact, you can have it back now.” He dug out his wallet and took out his favorite pinup to date.

“Alex!”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I’ve had it all this time. I threatened to tell you if he didn’t let me confiscate it. It was wrong of him to take it in the first place.”

“It was even worse of you to keep it.” Murder and mayhem sounded out in Tristan’s words.

“It’s a very nice picture.”

Lin took the picture he now offered and slapped it facedown on the coffee table without even stealing a glance. She remembered the day it had been taken. It had been their first trip abroad together and the first time they’d had sex outdoors.

The bungalow had been secluded and they had taken full advantage of its private location. She had been sunbathing topless when Tristan had turned the camera on her and asked her to strike her best pinup pose. She had done his bidding, he had taken the picture, put the camera away then asked if she’d like to take the bikini bottom off too. She had dared him to do it himself.

He had sat at the edge of the lounger and put his hand on the tiny triangle of fabric. He had massaged her mound lightly then asked her to open her legs a little wider. She had been wet and ready for him as he’d slipped his hand between bare skin and thin cloth and gone for her clit and slit with added pressure. She had tried to breathe evenly.She had meant to tease him until he dragged her indoors and took her. It had been Tristan doing all the teasing instead with his fingers on her pussy, rubbing her until she’d writhed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take these off?” he’d asked.

“Uh-huh,” had been her breathless answer, her eyes closed tight in pleasure beneath her sunglasses. Tristan had pushed a finger inside her, slow and sensuous, monitoring every breath she’d drawn. He had pulled out languidly to add another finger. He’d started driving into her pussy in long, steady strokes, gliding in the moisture that betrayed how damn hot he made her. And she’d ridden his fingers. She had countered his thrusts and fucked him back.

“They’re staying on then?” he’d asked silkily before he’d begun working harder inside her creaming cunt.

“Yes,” was all she remembered wheezing.

“Keep them on then.” His voice had turned husky, the silky tone gone. So were his fingers as the sun suddenly clouded. Tristan had climbed onto the sunbed with her, taken her under him and pushed the thong bikini aside. If she had thought his fingers had felt fine teasing her pussy, his cock pushing into her next had been absolutely fantastic.

He had fucked her wildly, driving pleasure into her as he drew cries out of her until she was coming hard and shouting even harder. She had forgotten to care they were outside. Nothing but the blue skies and the ocean to watch them, no one but Tristan to hear her, and before the trip was over she had willingly taken those bikinis or her dress off for him many more times under the sun and the moon.

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Sex on the beach with Dita Parker and Lucie Marcotte

Welcome to Savannah! I’m at Smoke and Mirrors with native Savannahian Lucie Marcotte, and when I say native, I mean born the year the city became the colonial capital of Georgia. 1751. Shh, it’s a secret, and you’re not telling, right? Good. No, she’s not a vampire so she’s not after your blood. She’d rather have some… Hmm, let’s find out what.

I’m greeted warmly by a lovely woman in black pumps and pencil skirt, and a sleeveless pink blouse that makes it obvious she skipped the bra.

Dita: Looking good, Miss M! So I take it Mac is on his way.

Lucie: Nah, I just thought I’d mess with Bruno. Payback for the fun he has at the expense of the poor innocent tourists.

Bruno: Me? (A mock-insulted voice sounds from behind.) I aim to please.

Lucie: You aim to tease and that’s all there is to it.

Bruno: (raises his hands in surrender) So ladies. What’s your pleasure? (He leans well into my personal space.) How about a Screaming Orgasm?

Dita: Maybe later. What I’d really like…(I look him up and down)…is a Full Monty.

Bruno: I’m fresh out of ginseng root. Will root ginger do?

Dita: Nicely, thank you.

Bruno: (straightens, clucking his tongue at Lucie) You warned her, didn’t you?

Lucie: Oh yes.

Bruno: Spoilsport. SoCo and lime, honey?

Lucie: Oh that’s just mean. Sex on the beach, please.

Bruno: You know I’d love to, but Mac has made it quite clear it’s not in the cards, so—

Lucie: Bruno…

Bruno: (winks) Coming right up.

Lucie: Told you. Totally incorrigible. He once asked Mac if he’d be interested in a Ménage à Trois. It took Mac a total of five seconds to realize what Bruno meant. For the first three, Mac looked ready to pull Bruno on the counter and start sweeping. The first time I walked in here, he told me I looked like I needed a Long Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall. Which wasn’t that off the mark, but I didn’t know it was only a joke and a drink until he laughed at my expression and mixed me one.

Dita: What was that SoCo and lime business?

Lucie: Oh God. I really enjoyed that Screw despite the gin because I love Southern Comfort. So Bruno started fixing me all kinds of SoCo-based drinks. Found out my favorite was a simple shot. SoCo and lime, that’s all. Then I went and ruined it for all eternity.

Dita: And in your case that’s forever.

Lucie: Afraid so. I have MacCale to blame for that, but that’s another story for some other time.

Dita: Do you remember the first drink you ever had?

Lucie: (long pause) Some watered-down wine in my early teens? I remember my father brought whole casks over from Europe and that some survived the trip better than others. But the first all-American drink I ever had is a Southern staple, the mint julep, and let me tell you, the 19th century stuff was just…yuck. The gin-based ones tasted like bad medicine. *shivers* I still can’t stomach anything with jenever. Then I tasted one made with bourbon and that just made all the difference. At least for me.

Dita: I hear Boyd Ferguson is the master of Savannahian mint juleps.

Lucie: Dearest Boyd is the master of just about everything. He says the secret is in the cup. Don’t use a glass, use a chilled silver cup. Make sure the mint is fresh, the bourbon the good stuff, don’t let the ice turn to slush and for heaven’s sake don’t nurse that drink, it ruins the frosting. Have you ever witnessed a Japanese tea ceremony? That’s Boyd Ferguson preparing a mint julep for you. It’s a beautiful thing. And so tasty! But a word of warning. If you ever get invited to one of Boyd’s famous parties, beware the punch. More often than not, it’s Chatham Artillery. That’s like the Long Island Iced Tea of punches, like asking would you like some whisky with your bourbon. If you’re looking for a drink, opt for the mint juleps. If you’re looking to get drunk, you can’t go wrong with the Chatham Artillery punch.

Dita: OK, I’ll keep that in mind. So where’s Bruno? All this talk about drinking is making me thirsty!

Lucie: (cranes her neck) Oh you gotta be kidding me.

Dita: What? (turns to the bar where Bruno is horsing around and openly flirting with two young women)

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Lucie: Don’t worry, that’s just water. (shakes her head) Is it just him or do they teach that stuff in bartending schools?

Dita: He’s just…personable.

Lucie: And then some. (shakes her head again) You’re not in a hurry, are you?

Dita: Not at all.

Lucie: Great. When the after-work crowd clears, that’s when the party starts.

Dita: Should we call MacCale in case we need a shoulder to lean on on the way home? What’s his favorite drink, by the way?

Lucie: Between the Sheets? (bursts out laughing) He’s not much of a drinker, but I’ve seen him down a Boilermaker on occasion. Smoke and Mirrors has some seriously fine whisky brands and hand brewed beer in stock and Bruno sure knows how to pair them.

Dita: He’s something else.

Lucie: Mac or Bruno?

Dita: Both.

Lucie: (sighs) One of a kind.

Dita: I’ll drink to that.

Lucie Marcotte is the heroine of my upcoming paranormal erotic romance Perpetual Pleasure (Ellora’s Cave Publishing). For the latest on release dates, excerpts and other tidbits, click my name on the banner, follow me on Twitter or friend me on Facebook. For the drink recipes, visit Dita’s Den.

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60 seconds with Dita Parker and MacCale Moore

69ers, I’d like to introduce you to stunt performer and coordinator MacCale Moore, the hero of my upcoming paranormal erotic romance, Perpetual Pleasure. I caught up with him at the gym, his natural habitat, doing his second favorite half-clad thing, working out.

Dita: Mac. Psst, Mac, over here.
Mac: Not now, Dita. *attempts to kill a heavy bag with his bare hands*
Dita: I need to talk to you, just for a minute. Spare me a speed date?
Mac: *jab* I don’t speed date. *jab jab jab* I slow date. *jab*
Dita: *rolls her eyes*
Mac: You’re rolling your eyes, aren’t you? *jab jab jab*
Dita: No. *more rolling of eyes* Come on. For the ladies?
Mac: Honey, there’s only one woman for me and you know it.
Dita: Do I ever. *seeing her opportunity, Dita runs with it* That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.
*hands dropping, Mac turns around very very slowly* Is Lucie OK?
*Dita turns away and wanders off at her leisure*
Mac: Dita, wait! *catches up before you can say cunnilingus*
Dita: What? Sorry, yes, she’s just peaches.
Mac: That ain’t funny.
Dita: Yeah, it is. She’s indestructible and yet you worry.
Mac: I love her.
Dita: I’m glad you do. *innocent glances up and down and all around* Now that you’re here, take a break and answer some questions for me? 60 seconds, literally. Cinemax style.
*realizing he’s been had, Mac shakes his head* You’re impossible.
Dita: Nothing’s impossible. Who said that?
Mac: I did. *shakes his head again and goes for some water* Okay. Shoot.
Dita: Lover or fighter?
Mac: There is no or, only and.
Dita: Was that supposed to be Yoda? George Lucas called, you’re fired.
Mac: Clock’s ticking, baby.
Dita: Plan it or wing it?
Mac: On set, plan it. In RL, ad-lib it.
Dita: Win a Taurus or an Oscar?
Mac: There’s no Oscar for stunt coordination.
Dita: Yeah. What’s that all about?
Mac: Since it’s voted on by my peers, the Taurus, hands down.
Dita: Fortune or fame?
Mac: You know how I feel about fame, so I’m gonna go with fortune.
Dita: Save the day or get the girl?
Mac: Save the day with the girl.
Dita: Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire?
Mac: Gene Kelly.
Dita: Grace Kelly or Jane Russell?
Mac: Jane Russell.
Dita: Superman or Ironman?
Mac: Superman.
Dita: Steven Spielberg or Martin Scorsese?
Mac: Oh man… *long pause* Spielberg, for Indiana Jones. Those movies are a stunt fest.
Dita: Go back in time or get a glimpse of the future?
Mac: The past, definitely. I’d visit Lucie in the 19th century. Or the 18th. Or both.
Dita: Indoors or outdoors?
Mac: Outdoors.
Dita: A night at the opera or the ballet?
Mac: Are you implying I wouldn’t set foot-
Dita: Clock’s ticking, baby.
Mac: The ballet. Man, that’s like running a marathon. Gracefully.
Dita: Would you rather have a good sense of fashion or a great sense of humor?
Mac: Sense of humor, definitely. I would just laugh at my clothes along with everyone else.
Dita: Destiny or serendipity?
Mac: Serendipity.
Dita: Tell her I love you or show her I love you?
Mac: Let her feel the love, not just hear the words.
Dita: Kids. One and done or the more the merrier?
Mac: The more the merrier.
Dita: Uh, does Lucie know?
Mac: Oh yes.
Dita: Quickie or marathon?
Mac: Yes, please.
Dita: Butt or breasts?
Mac: No body part left behind.
Dita: Barely legal or cougar?
Mac: *gives Dita a stare down* Seriously? I think I’d have much more fun with a… Do I have to say it? It’s such a predatory label. You know what they call men who date women half their age? Lucky bastards. So ladies, listen up. *pretends he’s talking to a camera* If a young stud tells you you’re hot and that they’d love to fuck you, take the compliment and the cock and-
Dita: *slapping him in the arm* Will…you…just…shush!
Mac: I tell it like it is. You asked.
Dita: Oh look! Sixty seconds is up.
Mac: Yeah, like three times over at least.
Dita: Could I ask for one more thing?
Mac: What is it, Dita?
Dita: A photo for the 69ers? All you have to do is keep that pose, it’s perfect.
Mac: Okay…
Dita: Stupid phone. *grumbling and fumbling* Lemme zoom in just a bit…

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Mac: Dita? *gets caught staring* May I put my hands down? Anything else I can do for you?
Dita: Yes and no. Except tell Lucie I said hi.
Mac: Will do. When’s the book coming out?
Dita: I’ll keep you posted. Sorry for the interruption, and thanks.
Mac: My pleasure. See you around, honey. *gives a quick peck on the cheek and turns to leave* You’re staring at my ass, aren’t you?
*busted*

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Meet Dita Parker

First things first, please join me in wishing the warmest of birthdays to my partner in smut, Em Petrova! Happy Birthday, Em, you don’t look a day over absolutely fabulous!! Still drunk on your hunk-junk, btw. That was brilliant.

So. I feel like such a rookie in this crowd, but you don’t have to go gently on me, I promise I can take a pounding. But when I looked at those backlists and imagined the giveaways we’d be doing, I realized this was going to get really embarrassing really fast.

It’s Memorial Day weekend in the States, so allow me to roam down memory lane a bit. I published my first erotic romance, Alex Rising, in the spring of 2010. It was the first Romantica I had ever submitted anywhere, so you bet I was absolutely blown away when Ellora’s Cave picked it up pronto. But the Universe likes her balance. My career victory coincided with personal catastrophe. I lost two loved ones that very same year. It messed me up. It messed up my writing. My next submission tanked and for the longest time I feared I had lost that loving feeling you need to write romance, as well. But I never stopped writing. I couldn’t.

The best way to get over rejection, or brace yourself for it, is to move on to the next book. That’s what I did, so it didn’t sting as badly as I thought it would. I was already waist-deep in my next manuscript and jotting down ideas for other stories. I had no time to dwell on the past. The people I lost are gone forever. I hurt and I long, but life goes on, and if there’s one thing that prompted me to write romance in the first place is how life-affirming love and lust are.

Love makes the world go round. All you need is love. Love lifts us up where we belong. Everything I do (I do it for you), love. I really do. Silly love songs. Sappy movies. Romance novels. Why do we love them so much? Because no matter what, we still believe. What else is there worth fighting for and believing in? Your dreams and aspirations.

I’d like to sign off by flaunting fresh-off-the-press cover art for my next release, a paranormal erotic romance titled Perpetual Pleasure. The pocket Venus is Lucie, the best-kept secret in Savannah. Not born yesterday, that one. In 1751, to be exact. That girl needed to let her hair down. As you can see, the hair has come down. Who is he? Swing by June 8th! Let’s interrogate him a bit, see how he likes that. That man takes no bull from anyone, and I developed a bit of a crush on him while writing the story. *sigh* You’ll see.

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I live at Four Seasons, aka Scandinavia, where it’s the most magical time of the year, the threshold between spring and summer. When I’m not making mischief with the 69ers, I blog at Dita’s Den and some of you may have come across my Frisky Friday posts. My latest is all about physical and emotional self-love and the health benefits of masturbation. No, I don’t shy away from any topic related to sex and sexuality. So there.

Leave a comment after the beep and win one of fourteen red-hot reads given away by our authors! Every comment you leave before midnight PST, June 2 equals an entry into the contest. If your name is chosen, you’ll get your choice of an ebook from from one author’s book list! BEEP.

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