Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Ethics and men from Mars

So, a Facebook status I posted a couple of days ago appears to have had an interesting effect on some people. Given there were no names mentioned in said update, just a general statement, it becomes very clear that once again, guilt is a strange mistress. And while Guilt is a strange mistress, her sister Karma is a downright bitch, and as many people are fond of noting, she doesn’t miss a thing. Which means your antics are making for an interesting payback somewhere along the way, doesn’t it?

For those of you who missed this on Facebook, or don’t have pages there, the post was this:

Ok, here's the deal for some of the more socially inept out there, and I suspect you'll recognize yourself when/if you take a moment to read this.

1. If you block me, you can't see me, so when you attempt to put your lying and deluded asses in my promotional groups to push your books, you can't see that I'm the admin there–which means when you post, or ask to join, I DO see you–and you really are not going to use my hard work to promote yourself after you've spread shit and lies to everyone and anyone who will listen, and betrayed my trust and those of the people I work with–so guess what? You'll be accepted for one minute, then I will remove you and your fucking book promos and ban your ignorant ass. Are you hearing me on this? I've been doing it a lot the past couple of weeks as people from one particular publishing house try to use legit groups, run by authors and other publishers, to promote themselves.

2. LOTS and lots of screen caps are circulating, so yes, many of us know what is being said, or has been said, and who is saying it–so STOP the lying bullshit, please. I haven't got time for it, and when I say leave me alone, I do mean it. I have no more time for your paranoid delusions. I am making this public so everyone can see it, and I hope the right people know that I'm well aware of not only what has been said, but who's done the dirty - now and in the past.

Thank you – end of public address.

There are 70+ comments on this post–ALL of them supportive, outraged, disgusted, and generally disdainful of the people who have been exhibiting this wholly unprofessional and shit ignorant behaviour. On Monday night, after the correct party did see this post, a message was sent to one of my best friends–a woman who has NOTHING to do with this situation at all. She is still puzzled as to what she was expected to do or say in response, since this is not her concern. So, to the person who sent that message, I have one statement – Back the fuck off, because she is not part of your shit! Since no names were mentioned here, and you’re in a panic, it’s quite obvious you know you’re guilty of doing exactly as I’ve stated.

I wrote this blog twice before this one, and I decided the angry rant I began with would really serve no purpose except to make me look as unprofessional and inane as this so-called publisher and its authors. So we’ll approach this from the stand of someone who’s been in this business awhile and observes the proper rules of business and publishing etiquette that clearly escapes you and your people entirely.

First, the rules of FB allow you to block people who are a pain in the ass to you, for whatever reason. If that reason is as simple as you not being able to get your own way, or fear of lies being exposed, then block away. But, as I stated, you then lose the ability to see the administrators of the groups you’re attempting to use to promote your books. (We’ll use that term loosely and with great indifference, believe me.) Most people in the public domain refrain from such things as blocks and tirades against individuals because the truth is, it’s bad for business. Learn that if you want to be taken seriously. A real writer embraces the public and is grateful for their interest, they do not attack, block, or generally dismiss the people who might buy their work. They also do NOT attack, misuse, and generally walk all over their more established peers.

Apart from all the basic and essential things that go with writing and publishing, little things like decent editing and proper grammatical sentences, you might also consider that readers are not total morons. New “authors” as a rule do not get 5 star ratings across the board, it makes real readers suspicious. Nor is it good form to attack anyone who does give an honest review. So, another rule to consider: learn to say thank you for ANY review, and be gracious about it, good or bad, because that will speak much louder than your rantings and ravings ever will. Readers dismiss gushing reviews, and pay attention to the ones that really do point out a story’s weaknesses or problems. Known fact. Take it or leave it.

You really are only as acceptable and professional as your actions. Which pretty much lets out the people associated with a press that engages in the activities this one does. Trying to rig polls, pushing your way into the promotional groups of established companies, and slandering and attacking anyone who won’t accept being shit all over really does show you up for the delusional asses you all are. Whining about losing readers once you’ve blocked and verbally abused them is a bit counter-productive too, isn’t it? Instead of engaging in attacks and abuse, why not actually learn the craft you think you’re part of just now? If every one of your books sold a million copies, it still wouldn’t make you a success because you have no idea how to behave like a professional anyway. Respect and success are earned - they are NOT bullied, cheated, stolen, or given on demand, no matter how much some people think otherwise.

In conclusion, because I am bored with this now, I’d like to make a suggestion, which of course will be labeled an attack and lead to more insanity, I’m aware. First, grow-the-fuck-up and get your deluded asses out of the haze of bullshit you’re enveloped in. The truth is, no one gives a damn. Secondly, stop using the work of other authors and their publishers to try to take the fast track to respectability. Your actions will determine how respectable you are–which pretty much means you’re fucked now, doesn’t it? Lastly, and this is the one you really need to pay attention to–stay away from me, and out of my business, because I can and will begin posting lists, and screen-capped conversations for the world to see. I will also name the names in my possession–believe me those lists are extensive. Push me and I will push back–as you witnessed a year ago.

You panicked because you know I don’t make idle statements or declarations, I can and will back-up what I say. If you weren’t relying on deceit and fear to walk all over people, you’d have nothing to be afraid of, but like anything else that involves ethical behaviour or real integrity–that’s a concept more alien than little green men from Mars.

Friday, February 22, 2013

Scavenger Hunt!! Come and play!!

It will run through 11:59 p.m. EST on February 25th. PRIZE packages and fun, so jump in and start hunting!!

Friday, February 8, 2013

Guest: Donna Michaels

Welcome to the 10th stop in Donna Michael’s Book Tour for Captive Hero. She has two great prizes she’s offering up on this blog tour. After you read about her book, stop by the bottom of this tour stop to find out how you can win a free download of any of Donna’s backlist, plus a $15 Amazon Gift Card!

Test flying an invisible plane—unreal
Time-shifting to WWII—unbelievable
Capturing a hero—unavoidable.

When Marine Corps test pilot, Captain Samantha Sheppard accidentally flies back in time and inadvertently saves the life of a WWII VMF Black Sheep pilot, she changes history and makes a crack decision to abduct him back to the present. With the timeline in jeopardy, she hides the handsome pilot at her secluded cabin in the Colorado wilderness.
But convincing her sexy, stubborn captive that he is now in another century proves harder than she anticipated—and soon it becomes difficult to tell who is captor and who is captive when the more he learns about the future, the more Sam discovers about the past, and the soul-deep connection between them.
As their flames of desire burn into overdrive, her flying Ace makes a historical discovery that threatens her family’s very existence. Sam’s fears are taken to new heights when she realizes the only way to fix the time-line is to sacrifice her captive hero...or is it?
Can love truly survive the test of time?

What the hell was he holding? A slingshot?
A very expensive, sexy slingshot. No, Mitch’s mind insisted. It was underwear. Samantha had a matching top. His gaze shot to the purple bra. The skimpy scrap of satin had to be underwear. Fuck me. His mind instantly conjured up a vision of the temptress wearing the decadent scraps. His groin dutifully hardened.
Damn, sexy spy.
His gaze sought the purple satin in his hand again. Son-of-a-bitch! Maybe it was both. Underwear which doubled as a weapon. A small shaft of admiration broke through his haze. Ingenious.
“Um, if you’re done inventorying my bag, I’d like my clothes now.”
He dropped the slingshot at the same time his gaze ricocheted to the towel-wrapped agent dripping in the bathroom doorway.
Holy mother of God.
She was naked. Thanks to him.
In a towel. Thanks to him.
Dripping in the doorway. Thanks to him.
Try as he might, Mitch couldn’t get his mind past those facts. The same thoughts shot through his head over and over again. Probably because the sight of the sexy vixen sent all the blood rushing to his groin—where it now throbbed with painful precision.
Damn. She was pin-up worthy. The fierce urge to nibble, stroke, and lick had him squirming in his seat. That…and his zipper bit unmercifully into his swollen dick.
“Well, Captain?”
He blinked and attempted to focus on her face. Nothing doing. What a pair of gams. His gaze stayed glued to the legs he had known would be a sin to cover. Long and lean, curvy and supple, they gleamed under the glow of the fire since the sun had set. I should be the only thing allowed to cover those beauties.
Shit. Where the hell had that thought come from?
“Yo? Captain? Earth to captain? My eyes are up here.”
He heard her words, followed by a clicking noise. Mitch blinked again, and realized the woman was not only snapping her fingers, she was smiling.
“That’s better,” she said. “So, can I have my clothes back?”
Hah! That wiped the smile from her smug face. Shit. Wait. Now she was striding closer, green gaze glistening like twin emeralds, a bounce rippling through gorgeous, full breasts, despite the tightly wrapped towel.
Heaven help him, she grabbed the edge of the table and leaned closer. His mind went blank. What a view! Her delectable cleavage and all that silky skin filled his horizon. She was flawless, supple and he wanted desperately to explore.
“What do you mean, no?”
He jumped, and reluctantly ripped his gaze from her mind-drugging curves. “What?”
“I want my clothes. Now.”
She reached for a pile. But he was quicker. He grabbed her wrist, and a damn fission shot through his body again. What the hell? She yanked free and stepped back.
Ignoring the pounding in his veins—and both heads—he slowly rose to his feet, positioning himself between her and the table. Hell if he’d allow her to take anything until he knew it was safe.
“I’m not done yet.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” She groaned. “It’s just my clothes.”
His brows shot up. “Really?” He reached behind him for the strange little packet of pills he’d found. “Then where the hell do you wear these?”
A small smile tugged at her lips, and son-of-a-bitch, a spot of color seeped into her cheeks. She was blushing. Why was she blushing? Spies don’t blush. Do they?
“You don’t wear them. Y-you take them.”
He waved the packet. “No shit.” What did she think, he was an idiot? His heart hammered and he wondered just what she’d planned on doing with the pills. He stared hard at his blushing abductor, but spoke soft. “You plan on drugging me, Samantha?”
Amusement flittered through her remarkable eyes. “No. Not unless you’ve grown a pair of ovaries.”
There wasn’t anything funny about…Wait? Ovaries? He glanced at the pills.
“They’re my birth control pills, Mitch. Give me them.” She stepped closer and reached for the packet.
Birth control what? He held the pills out of her reach and frowned down. “Control birth?” Shit. “Are you pregnant?” Cripes, he hoped not. Not after the way he manhandled her today.
“No!” She shook her head, her shoulders rounding in exasperation. “I’m not pregnant. The pills prevent pregnancy.”
Was that even possible? Maybe. He wouldn’t put anything past the Germans.
He folded his arms across his chest, his body heating before he even got the words out. “So, you are planning to seduce me.”
“What? Oh for the love of…” Her mouth clamped shut, eyes glittered and body stiffened. “If you must know, I need the hormone therapy to help with cysts. I have to take one pill a day at the same time every day, and I’ll need one first thing in the morning. Now, give me my damn pills!”
Before he could react, she lunged for the packet and gripped the bottom edge. Damn, she was fast. He pulled while she tugged, and he tried desperately to ignore the soft curves brushing his body or the mouthful of wet hair tickling his face.  God, she smells great. More vanilla. He inhaled and a layer of warmth increased the heat already throbbing inside. Touching her was out of the question. He’d just have to keep twisting and lifting.
Several more seconds of sweet torture and he finally got the upper hand. Success. He ripped the pills from her grasp.
“Dammit, Captain,” she growled, her warm breath hitting his chin.
Didn’t the woman know how to give up? Apparently not. She continued her delicious assault, pressing against him, reaching, trying to crawl up his body for the damn packet. Fuck. She was potent.
And naked.
All the struggling loosened the towel which softly thudded on to his right foot.
“Shit!” She released him and bent down to grab the wayward towel, brushing his throbbing body along the way.
He went still. Very still. He didn’t even dare to breathe. But he did look. Oh, hell yeah, he looked.
The whole right side of her was in his line of vision. Her smooth back and fantastic ass mesmerized, drew him in until he became dizzy from not breathing. He closed his eyes and gulped in air. Damn, the things he wanted to do to her. Eyes opening, he stared at the naked beauty clutching the towel in front of her in a feeble attempt to cover up.
Too late. He saw every last glorious inch of the front of her body. God, she was mouthwatering.
And hairless…
How? His racing pulse stopped for two beats, then tripped into hyper speed. She was unhindered. No hair. Nothing. Just smooth, soft, silky…
His gaze lingered in the barely concealed section where her hand now held the towel in place. Was it a German thing? Hell, it didn’t matter. A strong urge to touch her and taste her, to sink deep inside tore through his body with unrelenting force. He fought back a groan. Fuck. He was hard enough to pound spikes into concrete.
“P-please, Mitch,” her soft plea rattled him.
Make that railroad ties. His dick was hard enough to pound railroad ties. With one swing. And no hands. He dragged more air into his lungs, praying it would unfog his brain as he slowly lifted his gaze to her face.

Captive Hero --Book One in my Time-shift Heroes Series: is available now at Amazon. The second book –Future Hero will release this summer.
I also currently have a novella out through The Wild Rose Press. Cowboy-Sexy is part of their Honky Tonk Hearts Series, and is now available in several eBook formats. And on Amazon for KINDLE 

A little bit about Donna…
Multi-published in eBook and print, I write from short to epic, sweet to hot across several romance genres through The Wild Rose Press, Whimsical Publications, and this book--Captive Hero marks my first foray into self publishing.
I’m married to a military man for over twenty-six years. We have four children, several rescued cats, and live in Northeastern Pennsylvania, where we enjoy all four seasons…although, I’d love to enjoy summer a bit longer and winter a bit less.


To be eligible for a free download of any of my backlist plus a $15 Amazon Gift Card, simply sign up for my newsletter at the bottom of my Home page then email me with the address you used to sign up so I can verify and then add your name to the ‘pot’. At the end of the tour, one name will be randomly drawn and I will email the winner.
Thank you, and good luck!

Learn more about me and my titles:

Wednesday, February 6, 2013


Saffron Nights
by Liz Everly



Wherever they travel, there’s an aphrodisiac waiting to whet their appetites…

BrazilHawaiiIndia….As a food writer, Maeve has just been handed the hottest opportunity of her career. She’s being sent on an international research tour for an aphrodisiac cookbook. The downside is that she has to travel with rock star photographer and womanizer Jackson Dodds. And the upside is that she has to travel with Jackson Dodds. Because once they meet, Maeve understands why he’s been named “America’s Most Eligible Bachelor”—and despite her best intentions, all she can think about is putting their arousing recipes to the test…

Sexy and talented, Jackson can have any woman he desires. But lately, the thrill is gone—until he lays eyes on Maeve, who exudes sensuality like no one else. She’s determined to keep things professional, but he knows the attraction is mutual. And as they travel the world, sampling warming saffron, juicy papaya, silky avocado, rare herbs and teas—and a mushroom whose very aroma sends women to heights of ecstasy—both discover a hunger they’ve never known, and don’t want to resist, even amid unexpected danger…



“Here’s something interesting.  In late Hellenistic Egypt, Cleopatra used saffron in her baths so lovemaking would be more pleasurable,” Maeve interrupted the quiet.

The word lovemaking caught his attention, swirled around in his mind for a moment. They had called a truce of a sort. But he couldn’t help but remember—it was just a few nights ago and she was sitting right next to him. Her lips parted, her head tilted, deep in thought. What was she thinking?

“Hmmm,” he said, though lovemaking was really the only word his ears picked up on.

She opened Chef’s book and leafed through its now even more ragged pages. “Part of saffron’s magical property is the enhancement of “lust.” Given that the medical findings show saffron as a substance capable of affecting the neurotransmitters, perhaps saffron may in fact be an aphrodisiac. Its ingestion is found to be a soothing relaxant capable of lowering blood pressure and stimulating the respiration. Perhaps, it could also contain properties that stimulate the libido and the erogenous zones. Some attest to its sexual properties that they believe is most effective when used by women. SB’s favorite. I assume SB was a woman.”

“I’m seeing a theme here, are you?” Jackson said.

“Yes, Chef was mostly interested in what the substances do to women,” she said and smiled.

“It does seem that way,” he managed to say, then went back to his computer screen. “Whoa,” he said. “Now this is interesting. The most a man paid to have Sasha for evening? Two and a half million dollars.”

“You are kidding!”

Jackson whistled. “I wonder what makes her worth that.”

“She is beautiful,” Maeve said.

“Not as beautiful as y—”

“Maybe she has a special trick,” she said, placing finger quote in the air around “special trick.”

“More likely she fulfills a strange fetish or fantasy,” he said.

Maeve’s eyes caught his; she lifted her eyebrows. “What could that be? S & M? The world’s best blow job? What?”

Did she just say blow job? He had to concentrate not to cough up the water he just drank. He felt the heat rise to his face—and other parts of him.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“I, ah, don’t want to talk about um, you know, blow jobs with you.”

She laughed. “Should I be insulted?”


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Liz Everly is a passionate cook, writer, and traveler. Exploring food and romance in Saffron Nights, Liz ombines her lifelong love of action-packed romance with her culinary expertise. She loves to interact with readers. Please follow her on Twitter @Lizeverly1, check out her website You can also find her on Facebook and blogging at

Friday, February 1, 2013


Find it HERE

Blurb:  A haunted and abandoned hotel on Halloween is the setting for a very private party between two lovers, one of them a world-class, sophisticated intelligence operative who’s trying to teach his young and innocent lady that curiosity can sometimes take you places you’d be better not to go. Amid elaborate trappings meant to scare and entice, Rick’s seduction takes some unexpected but wickedly wonderful twists. But, Rick also has a lesson to learn, when his past collides with his present, and almost destroys everything he cherishes most.

Reckless Assignation
A Romantica® erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

The old hotel was eerie in the approaching darkness and she was finding it difficult to hold on to her resolve to do this without calling Rick. There’d been a weird message on the machine when she got home—something about discovering a secret she needed to know. The voice had sounded slightly familiar, although she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. There’d also been just enough mystery in the vague words to arouse her interest. The entire situation—the call and her coming here to this deserted hotel—reminded her of something she’d heard of once, but her efforts to pull it from memory hadn’t been remotely successful.

She should know better than this.

She couldn’t escape the twinge of conscience that reminded her how often she played out of her league. When her father had retired from the Agency and started his own private investigation business, he’d thought his daughter would be safe from the ghosts of his violent past. More than once, though, Cinthya had paid for the deeds and decisions of Joshua Bradley’s previous career. This could well be another such setup, and here she was walking right into it. All she had in the way of consolation that she wasn’t about to get herself killed, kidnapped or worse was the deeply rooted intuition that this wasn’t what it appeared. The vague sense of familiarity she felt gave a small sense of security.

Her relationship with Rick wasn’t a point of reassurance either in the creaking  darkness of the forsaken hotel. There were people who knew him and his reputation, and often it was a point of protection, but here that was irrelevant. It was with Joshua’s very reluctant blessing that his twenty-year-old daughter had stepped into a loving relationship with his business partner, the shadowy, sophisticated and lethal Rick Leighton. The ten-year age difference was only the first objection her father had voiced when Cinthya had been forced by her own conscience to open up to him—conscience and the undeniable need to share her happiness with the other important person in her life.

Rick’s recent decision to leave Bradley’s Private Investigations and reenter the life of an active Company operative set up an entirely new array of potential dangers for Cinthya. It was a risk she was more than willing to take, but not something that lessened the worry from her father and Rick.

Cinthya couldn’t help but wonder what Rick or her dad would have to say about her accepting a cryptic message to meet an unspecified contact—alone—in an abandoned building. Was she being deliberately stupid or was she actually safe? Damn! She couldn’t decide. Instinct and good sense were at war here.

She leapt back in fright when something clingy and featherlight brushed against her face. With a cry of disgust, she batted away the filmy cobwebs and peered into the shadowy stairwell. She was on the second floor, which mean she only had one more flight to climb. Then she’d have to find room 313.

Against her will, some of the things she’d heard about this old wreck of a building began to pop into her head. Some people claimed the Mayfair Hotel was haunted, and those who lived in the area could tell endless stories about “sightings” and other mysterious events in the ancient edifice.

Another shudder ran the length of her spine when she heard skittering near her feet. Rats! The place had to be infested with rats. She glanced around, her  breath still as she searched the growing darkness for the beady red eyes she was sure she’d find watching her. There was nothing staring at her from the blackness of the corners, and she sagged against the wall as she gasped for air.

God! Rick was right, I should never have stayed up all night watching horror movies.

He’d consented to sit through the original version of The Phantom of the Opera—he deemed that particular film “a classic”—but Cinthya had been on her own after that. It had been nearing daybreak when she’d finally crawled into bed—and about another thirty seconds before she flew out again, tripping in the sheets and falling flat on her face. Rick had almost fallen out of bed himself from laughing at her. His unexpected grab had gotten a much better reaction than he’d hoped for. He was still laughing when he’d left the apartment earlier this afternoon.

Cinthya dismissed from her mind the monsters and ghouls of the previous night and concentrated on locating the room where she was supposed to find her mystery caller. A sag in the weathered wood of the floor creaked in the hollow corridor. She bit her bottom lip to prevent any sound from escaping. Her hammering heartbeat gradually subsided and she felt some of the fear-induced dizziness pass. A chill rippled through her though, when she realized she was staring up at the shadowy ceiling, her gaze drawn to the vast network of cobwebs that had been woven over the years. It looked like wisps of cotton, stretched to the point of breaking, except that this thready cloak was dulled with years of dust and grime.

A distinct thud at the other end of the long hallway had her heading in that direction without taking the time to consider her actions.

She was several doors away from the room she was supposed to be looking for when she was grabbed from behind. A firm hand over her mouth cut off her scream. There was no chance to fight off her attacker and she cursed herself as she was dragged into a room and flung into a chair. She had a sense of movement, whoever had grabbed her was little more than a shadowy presence in the near-total darkness. Her hands were tied securely behind the high chair back and her feet were bound to the legs of the seat.

The room grew blacker as her panic escalated, and she tried to force her eyes to adjust by keeping them closed. She let out a gasp of protest when a blindfold was tied around her head. For a split second, the sensation of silk distracted her thoughts; the smooth feel of the material against her skin was actually soothing. Her captor chose not to gag her, but Cinthya knew it would be futile to yell anyway. She’d be considered one of the hotel ghosts, if anyone heard her at all—not much of a chance in this neighborhood.

“What’s going on? Who are you?” That was brilliant! she chided herself.

There was no reply and she strained to identify the sound as she caught the distinct rasp of a match being struck. She could smell the hint of burning wood, then the stronger odor of lamp oil. Oh shit! Some nut was setting fire to the crumbling hotel and she was going to go down with it! She opened her mouth to speak then decided against it when she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Pleading with whoever was doing this wouldn’t get her very far.

Visions of flames running through the old building, devouring it, began to fill her mind with genuine fear.

She felt movement more than she actually heard it, and her heartbeat threatened to deafen her when she sensed someone standing over her.

“What do you want?” She winced at the unmistakable quaver in her voice then jumped when she felt hands on the back of the chair, close to her shoulders. She opened her mouth again but never uttered a sound as her lips were covered with a warm, gentle kiss.

Recognition left her weak and shaking as she answered the thrust of her lover’s tongue. The caress was sensual and provocative, leaving Cinthya breathless and excited when it finally ended minutes later.

“What took you so long, honey?” Rick whispered, his breath soft against Cinthya’s lips.

“Take the blindfold off and untie me,” she said, a tiny flare of irritation working into her tone when she realized she’d walked blithely into an elaborate joke. Rick wasn’t going to let her live this one down for some time, of that much she was certain.