Special Guest: Remmy Duchenne!

What a way to start the weekend!  Let me give a very special welcome to the incomparable Remmy Duchenne! One of the most delicious people I know...

Hey everyone! I am so happy to be here! I will try to be on my best behaviour *fingers crossed behind back* I hope your new year has been going swimmingly so far and will continue to be a delight for you throughout! 

Today I wish to speak about my newest release, SONS OF EROS 1: Savaro's Honey Buns. This series is a series of novellas, following three brothers as they find love. But they just don't want any love--they want loves that can save them, make them feel safe and secure. They want the kind of love we are all looking for.  Also, I wanted these stories to be on the lighter side of things--the flirtier, happier, hipper side--this is not to say there aren't any sad bits.

BLURB:

All his life, people have been leaving Savaro Anatolis; his parents left while he was at school never to be seen again and lovers only wants him for his money. The only people he can count on, are his brothers. After he finish his training to become a chef, he opens his own diner in the medium size town of Eros. When sexy pro-Basket ball player Jamal Kendrick walks in and demanded to try his honey cakes--Savario knows he has to keep this sexy morsel at arms length or Jamal will break his heart.

Jamal Kendrick wants out of the spotlight for a while--he want to go somewhere, where he can at least pretend to be normal. But he didn't prepare for Savaro, his two brothers and fighting demons from Savaro's past. Is love strong enough to save Savaro, or is their relationship doom from the start?

EXCERPT:

Leaving the office, Savaro closed the door behind him and walked on trembling knees down the long corridor. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. But it was for the best. It had to be for the best. A naked little girl darted by him and Antoinette, one of the Care Workers, chased after her. Normally, Savaro would stop and scoop her into his arms so Antoinette could get some clothes on her but this time, he didn't so much as look back. Antoinette bounced into him and that didn't make him look up either. Walking around a caution, wet floor sign, he climbed the stairs instead of using the elevator for he knew it would only make his day worse. The elevator was over sixteen years old and always got stuck between floors.

Finally he reached the second floor and turned down another hall. Savaro walked into the room where his brothers sat silently and fell, like a full sack, on the bed between Laird and Rajan. He clasped his hands, pressing them nervously between his knees, and hung his head. His whole body was numb to everything around him but the thudding of his heart. It was so loud he wondered if he'd ever be able to hear again.

At sixteen years old the world was on his shoulders but he knew one thing for certain: he had to be loyal to his brothers. They were the only thing, the only thing of any value he had in the whole world and he just couldn't betray that. His eyes burnt with tears but he bit down on his lower lip to focus on another pain than what throbbed in his chest.

"How'd it go?" Laird asked after an eternity of silence.

"It didn't," Savaro said simply, praying they would just let it go.

"But he was really interested in adopting you," Rajan spoke up. "He's rich--you saw the suit he was wearing. I think it was Armani."

Savaro pushed from the seat and walked to the window with the bars on it. The place was like a jail so why hadn't he taken the chance to get out? There were some kids playing outside on the monkey bars. He glanced at the sky and made a face. The clouds were dark and the sun was gone. It was going to rain.

"Come on, Sav," Laird pushed. "There's something you're not telling us."

"Just let it go!"

"Jesus, Sav," Rajan spoke up. "What's the matter with you? We just want to know why he didn't take you. He was actually interested; I could tell. He had that look about him."

"He did want me all right?" Savaro stared out until the rain began pouring from the sky and all the kids ran, screaming back into the orphanage. "He told me of all the good schools I'd go to--my life if I went with him. It was amazing."

"Then I might be a little slow because I don't understand. Why are you back in here?" Laird grabbed Savaro's shoulder and tugged. Savaro flew around and his back slammed into the wall. "Why aren't you gone?"

"I couldn't leave you guys!" Savaro snapped, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I couldn't leave you and he wouldn't take you two so I told him to find another son."

"You idiot!" Rajan screamed from where he was. "You could have gotten a home--left all of this behind you."

"Could you have walked away from Laird and me?" Savaro demanded. He then turned his eyes to Laird. "Could you?"

Laird released him and walked back to the bed. He slumped to it and buried his face into his hands. Rajan went silent and Savaro knew the answer. He turned again to the window and pressed his forehead to the bar. "You guys are my brothers… you are family and you don't split up family."

Now Available at Silver Publishing
https://spsilverpublishing.com/

Thanks for having me! Please visit my links below:

http://remmyduchene.blogspot.com - The Peeping Hole Blog

www.remmyduchene.com - my website

http://pillowtalktales.blogspot.com

https://spsilverpublishing.com

v

No Need to Beg for Mercy!

Welcome to my friend, Mercy Celeste. We're having a bit of a hurricane party here, so grab yourself a nice glass of your favorite beverage and join up for a bit.

First I must thank Laura for having me on today. I just hope she knows what she’s in for, letting me loose on all of her unsuspecting fans and friends. It’s like giving to keys to the nuthouse to the head nut.

Hi, my name is Mercy and if you don’t know me then what rock have you been hiding under? Seriously, I’m a writer, and I write romance with an erotic slant. Because slanted is usually the best position, or bent, bent is always a good one too. I’m pretty flexible, I write both gay and het erotic romance. Some ménage. I do love me some all male ménage. Just wait a couple months and you’ll see why.

So far, I’m pretty new. My first book as Mercy Celeste just celebrated its first anniversary and I have four titles currently available. One het ménage, one het football, oh yeah, the ménage is football related too. And two gay or if you prefer M/M. I prefer gay but that’s just me.

Today, I’m releasing my fifth title, which was actually my second, but that’s a really long and involved story best left for another time. The 51st Thursday. In short it’s two hot men trapped together during a hurricane and all the fun they can get into in one night. Just a short story but I packed it full of heat. Dirty indoor basketball anyone?

I set the book in my current home town, and based on my extensive hurricane experience, I always wanted to write something completely different from my reality of those long hours waiting out the storm, not knowing if you’re far enough inland, or if the tree outside might stay planted through the night. That sort of thing.

I grew up in Florida and have never lived more than an hour from the Gulf of Mexico, hurricanes are a way of life down here. The price of living in paradise. Of course, I thought that was the alligators and the mosquitos but what do I know? I’ll tell you one thing, I’d much rather ride out a hurricane than open up the back door to find a full grown gator looking at me. Hurricanes don’t have teeth.

Are you still with me? Aw, aren’t you brave, remember that thing about the head nut? Waves hi.

The 51st Thursday by Mercy Celeste should, with any luck release today exclusively at Amazon and All-Romance ebooks. Check in periodically to see if I have somehow managed not to destroy my computer while formatting and uploading. And while you’re there, check out my other books.

So, Laura, it’s been nice, I had fun, I think she’s run away. Thanks for hanging out with me, I hope you didn’t run away too. And if Laura ever invites me back, until next time.

Mercy

If you’re in the mood, you’re welcome to drop in and visit me here http://mercyceleste.blogspot.com just be warned I post random blogs about the strangest things, some Torchwood fan fiction oh and did I mention the men. Lots of hot men. Fridays are especially lovely.

 Shelby Bainbridge, former championship winning quarterback and son of an Alabama Senator with presidential aspirations, lost everything one Thursday night fifty-two weeks ago. Lost, alone, battered, and broken Shelby finds comfort in the local bar called Deacon’s Place. Week after week, he finds himself drawn to Deacon’s for the beer, for the atmosphere, for the solace and for Deacon himself.

Deacon can no longer deny the desire he feels for the man he calls Thursday. When Deacon wants something Deacon is a hard man to resist. The problem is, Deacon never planned to lose his heart. Especially to a man who could be destroyed by an unexpected night of forbidden passion.

  

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Outside, the storm clouds swirled ominously against a pewter gray sky. Inside, the five flat-screen televisions mounted on various walls were tuned to each of the local stations offering nonstop coverage as Hurricane Sally loomed in the Gulf of Mexico.

A Category Four, Sally was due to make landfall sometime after midnight and Deacon’s bar in downtown Mobile was right smack-dab in the crosshairs of the predicted path. That was the bad news. The good news was it was a small, fast-moving storm and it was only five in the afternoon. Plenty of time to batten down the hatches, as they say.
 

Deacon’s Place was Joe Deacon’s now, his daddy’s before him, and his daddy’s before him. Located in a pre-World War Uno era five-story brick edifice in the old part of town, Deacon’s had survived countless storms, including the monsters Ivan, Katrina, and Frederick.

Joe—or just Deacon as he was called by friend and foe alike—enjoyed the impromptu hurricane party going on around him, though the crowd was smaller than the one for Ivan had been. Once bitten and all that jazz, most people knew enough to get the hell out of Dodge, or at least stay their asses home and hope the old girl took a jagged turn in a different direction. However, the patrons who braved the squalls already coming ashore weren’t most people, as evidenced by their choice of dress.

Of course, it being the day before Halloween could account for the costumes or in one girl’s case the lack thereof, but hey, if she thought she was Lady Godiva then more power to her. As long as she kept the wig draped in the right places Deacon wouldn’t say a thing.
 

The light outside began to grow dimmer and Deacon glanced at the clock and then the open doorway where he watched rain pelt the street. Disappointment formed a deep well in his chest.

Of course, Mr. Thursday Night would be one of those people with enough sense to stay in out of the rain. Nevertheless, Deacon had hoped he would come in for a moment at the very least, but with each newcomer that hope was beginning to dwindle.

Trying to keep his mind on his business and not the door, Deacon stood mindlessly wiping the counter as he watched television. In particular, the red crawl at the bottom of the screen that issued the curfew warning. The new data streamed across the screen followed by the updated curfew of nine o’clock when all business in the greater Mobile area must close their doors.

Deacon tried to ignore the little spark of hope that twirled in the pit of his belly. Thursday could still come in. There were still three hours left until he had to close the place down. Three hours were an awful long time in which anything could happen. Realizing he was behaving like a fool, Deacon tossed the bar cloth into the sink. He was a fool. A fool waiting for someone he really didn’t even know to walk through his door.

Hell, he didn’t know Thursday’s real name. He didn’t really care, he told himself. Why should he care what Thursday’s real name was when he’d had fifty Thursdays to ask him? Why had he counted the damned days anyway, Deacon wondered, shaking his head at his own foolishness.
 
Try as he might, Deacon couldn’t help remembering that night fifty-one Thursdays ago. The night Thursday had rolled in, or rather staggered in as if he was on a weeklong drunk. Deacon hadn’t wanted to serve him anything until he proved he wasn’t drunk. Banged up and argumentative, yes; drunk, no; looking to rectify that situation, hell yeah. He was probably about the same height as Deacon, which was just an inch less than six feet. Not as broad across the shoulders but nicely made just the same. His eyes were sort of a green-brown color that defied explanation, his hair sandy brown. Incredibly pale, he looked as if the slightest breeze would knock him over. He was bruised, battered, and broken in more ways than Deacon could see from this side of the bar.

He’d asked for a beer. Deacon poured him one, he didn’t say anything else. After the third, he paid his tab and stumbled out into the dark. Deacon could see the cast on his leg as he left. A stab of something pierced Deacon’s thick skin that night, sympathy maybe.
 
He came every Thursday after that, earning him his name. Deacon was never sure what drew him, but he came at the same time, taking the same seat at the bar and ordering the same three beers before heading back out into the dark. Sometimes he came dressed in jeans, other times in business attire, but always in an oxford cloth shirt, usually white, sometimes blue. Deacon started noticing his clothes sometime in January. He didn’t usually notice his male patrons or their attire, he tried to keep his personal life as far away from the job as possible, but Thursday wore his in a way that made Deacon want to look.

Then in May, something changed and Thursday came for more than just the quiet spot at the bar and a few beers. He joined in a game of pool, which was just fine. Deacon enjoyed looking at his ass across the room as he leaned over the table to make the shot. He still didn’t say much. Then he left with one of Deacon’s waitresses.
 
The next visit, Deacon had to remove him and a couple of wannabe bikers to the parking lot. Thursday gave ‘em hell before Deacon picked him up off the pavement and put him a cab telling the driver to take him home. After that, Thursday kept his temper, except when he lost it. And when he did, it was a magnificent temper to behold. In June, Deacon noticed a pattern where Thursday was concerned. Woman, fight, brood alone in angry silence, rinse, and repeat.
 
That’s when he started wondering what made the man tick. Why just Thursdays? What was so special about Thursday? Why the reckless behavior? He was obviously well schooled and he wore expensive clothes and an air of authority when he was dressed in his Sunday go-to-meeting best. The blue tie with a discreet gold letter A tie tack. The choirboy haircut he wore at first became a thing of the past in May, and as of last Thursday, his hair just touched his collar, falling in soft waves that he constantly pushed out of his eyes.

Dark began to creep in the door, and Deacon gave up watching. He wouldn’t show. He’d gone farther inland. He would be safe, sitting in some other bar on a Thursday night. The fifty-first Thursday night. At the top of the hour, he turned up the volume on the closest television to catch the latest update on the projected path. Old Sally was hell bent and determined to take a trip straight up Mobile Bay.

Shit, it was going to be a long night.

In an hour or so, he’d do last call and send the brave souls out to seek shelter elsewhere. There was still work to be done before the old girl turned the street outside into a raging river.

At seven, the weathergirl started looking nervous. She was new to the area and this was her first hurricane, or so she said. Deacon looked around the tap room noting that most of the costumed customers had gone home. Only a few die-hard drinkers were left. Maybe he’d go ahead and call it a night, he thought; close up early so that he could finish the battening down the hatches portion of the program. He glanced outside at the rain falling heavily now, while he watched a yellow cab drove slowly past, stopping just out of Deacon’s line of vision. A door slammed and Deacon felt a tug of anticipation. Maybe. Irritated, he told himself to stop being a fool; the cab was just driving slowly because of the wet streets. Thursday wouldn’t walk through the door. Not tonight.

Then Thursday stepped inside, just as he had every week at the same time for the past year. He paused in the doorway to take in the place before taking the same seat at the bar. Tonight he was dressed in a pair of faded and ripped jeans, a blue button-down collar oxford shirt, slightly wrinkled and half-buttoned to expose a white tank undershirt and a pair of beat-up Top-Siders. His hair was wet from the rain; he ran his hand through the unruly mess pushing it back from his face.

Deacon nodded just as he did every Thursday night and pulled him a glass of the only beer he had on tap. “I’m closing in an hour.”
 
“Yeah, okay, thanks.” Thursday rapped his knuckles on the bar beside the beer and looked everywhere but at Deacon.

Satisfied, Deacon walked away to put another box in the storeroom while trying to ignore the strange sensations churning in the pit of his stomach.

Buy now from All Romance eBooks

Laura here...sneaking back in to recommend two other great  books from Mercy:

See you all tomorrow with the delightfully bitable Remmy Duchene! 

Special Guest Lisa Worrall

Welcome! I have a very special guest today. My good friend and writing partner Lisa Worrall has come to call!

Thank you to Laura for inviting me on Pen Is Envy today.

I was wondering what to say to you all, past doing a promo for my new release, THIRST.  Then it dawned on me… I’m on Laura’s blog and so what better to talk about than writing with a partner?

If you’d have told me eighteen months ago that I would not only be writing, but would be published, and not only that, but people would like it!  I’d have laughed in your face and pressed speed dial for the men in white coats. 

Then, if you would have said, hang on, Lisa, you will also meet fellow writers, one of which will not only become your writing partner on a series of novels, but also one of your closest friends… I wouldn’t have even bothered ringing the men in white coats… I’d have just driven you to the loony bin myself.

Apparently all the above is actually happening… so isn’t my face red!

The lovely Laura came to me and suggested that we write something together.  I was excited and we bounced off each other really well.  So well, that we ended up with a four book series involving a cowboy detective from Phoenix and a suave, upper-class inspector from Scotland Yard. 

Writing with a partner is challenging, exciting and lots of fun.  Ironing out the plot points, throwing ideas into the pot and creating two characters who gell has been uplifting, especially when you find someone who is on the same wavelength as you, just gets the creative juices flowing—in a purely platonic fashion, obviously. 

It’s been a hell of a ride and looks to set to pick up speed and I don’t know about you, but I’m just gonna hold on for the ride and take in as much of the scenery as I can, for as long as it lasts.

And for those of you are interested in tucking yourself in with a copy of Thirst… here is a little snippet to whet your appetite…

Blurb:

Detective Max Bowman is hunting a serial killer terrorizing the city, who leaves victims drained of blood. No fingerprints, no clues, no ideas. Only a mysterious inscription carved into each body.

Frustrated with the lack of progress, Max takes a break in a local pub.  Attacked by the attractive man buying him drinks, he is left for dead in the alley behind the bar.

Waking up in Carter Gray's bed was the last thing he expected.  Who was this mysterious man?  What was his dark secret?  Why does he make Max tremble with anticipation every time their eyes meet?

It becomes apparent that Carter is the only one with the 'expertise' to help him find the killer.  But is his attraction to Carter clouding his judgment and is he refusing to acknowledge that the killer may well be Carter himself?

Excerpt:

Pain, lots of pain. Max tried to force his eyes open, but only one would comply; the other already swollen shut from the impact of a closed fist. He wasn't sure how long he'd been lying in the alley behind the bar. He dimly remembered a tall blond man with piercing blue eyes who introduced himself as Tony, or it might have been Tommy, buying him a beer, followed by way too many shots, he'd stopped counting after the fourth; remembered laughing and joking with him, flirting and being flirted with in return. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing that was until the man suggested they go somewhere quieter.

Instead of heading out into the brightly lit street, Max had found himself being jostled from both sides into the alley behind the bar. The blond held onto him on his left and from nowhere a dark haired man grabbed his right arm. Too late Max realized that everything was out of place, just as the blond man's fist connected with his face and his knee with Max's groin.

The two of them punched and kicked him, and all he could do was curl in on himself on the ground and hope he could minimize the damage. He didn't want to think too much about the sharp snap he heard when a hard boot connected with his ribs, nor the meaty sounds of flesh upon flesh. Max was assaulted by a wave of dizziness and he felt darkness reach out to engulf him in its warm embrace, but he mentally shook his head and stubbornly refused to let it claim him. He felt hands grabbing at his keys and his wallet and then more pain as a boot connected with the muscle in the left cheek of his ass. His head was pulled back by a vicious hand twisting in his chestnut-colored hair, his glassy brown gaze locking onto piercing blue as the word "Fag" was spat at him and his head was slammed back down on the dirt.

Max heard their retreating footsteps and he tried to lift his head, the pain in his side causing a cry to fall from his lips at the movement. He coughed and cringed as he saw dark splatters of blood hit the ground. Wiping the back of a shaky hand across his lips, he stared at the stain of red on his skin. He stumbled to his knees, trying to use the wall beside him to pull himself up. His legs buckled, and he crashed back to the ground, a deep groan wrenched from him as he fell. Suddenly, he felt two strong arms, one around his shoulders and one under his knees, lifting him as if he weighed no more than a small child. His head lolled to the side, coming to rest on a firm shoulder and he had a glimpse of jade green eyes looking down into his as the dark claimed him once more.

* * * *

Carter pulled open the door of his black 1968 Ford Mustang and eased his ward carefully into shotgun, slowly reclining the seat to make the position more comfortable. Taking off his heavy woolen coat, he rolled it and slipped it behind the man's head to prop up the semi-conscious man. He gazed down at the battered face he had been watching all night from his dark corner of the bar, aware how beautiful it was underneath the swelling and bruising. The man's name was Max that much he knew, because he had heard him introduce himself to his assailant. He frowned, furious with himself that he had realized too late the blond twink and his accomplice's plans for the young man. If he hadn't been distracted, if he hadn't been so thirsty…

Carter slid behind the wheel, his green eyes glittering in the muted glow from the dome light as he closed the door behind him. A small smile lifted his lips as he headed his car toward home. The two men who had robbed and beaten Max and left him for dead had already paid for what they'd done. Glancing into his rear-view mirror, he parted his lips and ran his tongue down his elongated incisors.

They wouldn't be hurting anyone ever again, and he wasn't thirsty anymore.

https://spsilverpublishing.com/product_book_info/thirst-ebook-p-718

BIO:

I was born in Romford, Essex, but am now living in Leigh on Sea, ten minutes away from the seaside town of Southend on Sea, which boasts the longest pier in the world.  My claim to fame!  I am having a total ball creating stories for the characters clamoring in my head for attention. And I am totally amazed by the support they've received and hope to give them voice for as long as people want to hear what they have to say.

On a personal note, I am the single mother of two children, aged eight and six, which makes for some interesting conversations, which sometimes end up in my stories!  As if that wasn't enough to make me prematurely gray, we also have acquired a puppy called Winnie, named after my biggest vice... the Winchester brothers in Supernatural.

Blog: http://lworrall@blogspot.com

Facebook:  Lisa Worrall Author

Twitter:  Lisa_Worrall

Email: lisaworrall69@gmail.com

Boys Just Wanna Have Fun! (NSFW/MM)

A special thank you to DSW Photography for sharing the photos this week and for ALL the photos on this blog.

 

DWS Photography: Every Picture Tells a Story (NSFW, MM)

As Rod Stewart would say, every picture tells a story. With DWS, the stories unfold far beyond the initial "first look." The nuance of expression, the line of body against body, the shadows and light, all come together to tell of intimacy and passion. These photographs pulled me in, told me a story...took me from the first "Whatcha gonna do about?" moment to the good-bye that said this was so much more than either expected.

.

 

 

Come back tomorrow, because boys just wanna have fun...

DWS Photography: Simply the Best! (NSFW/Manlove)

New Year - Old Year and Everything in Between

Yesterday, when LRC announced the nominees for the 2011 Awards, I thought I was prepared, because the moderator had sent a note earlier in the week, informing me that Ty Hard was included. I'd had several days to put on my game face, plus I was traveling, so I wasn't able to see the announcements live, as they were posted. 

Then I saw the lists:

2011 Best GBLT Book Nominees

Damon Suede - Hot Head

Laura Harner - Ty Hard
SJD Peterson- Quinn's Need

Margie Church - Hard as Teak
Amber Kell-Trials of Tam
TJ Klune-Bear, Otter & The Kid

Patricia Logan-Captive Lover

Brannan Black-Wolfman 4: Salvation
Laura Tolomei-Re-Scue
RJ Scott-Texas Winter
DC Juris-Orion's Way
LA Witt-Ex Equals
Cat Grant- Once a Marine

Best Cover of 2011 Nominees

Damon Suede-Hot Head
Laura Harner-Ty Hard
Andrew Grey: Work Me Out
Cherise Sinclair: Club Shadowlands 6: To Command and Collar
SJD Peterson-Quinn's Need

Silvia Violet-Paws on Me (Serve & Protect)
Serena Yates-Convincing Landon
Carol Lynne-Sunset Ridge
Desiree Holt-Bite the bullet
Johnny Miles-Learning to Samba
GA Hauser-Down and Dirty
Sandy Sullivan-Two for the price of one
Cari Quinn-Unwrapped
Lee Brazil-Loving Jacob
Sherrilyn Kenyon-No Mercy
JD Robb-New York to Dallas
Lacey Alexander-Hot for Santa
Ally Blue-Convergence
Damon Suede-Grown Men

This qualifies right up there with the other holy shit moments of my life!

I certainly wasn't very articulate about my name on the list with some of my own favorite authors - mostly because seeing my name there leaves feeling an intense need to apologize. (You know...like when you walk into the wrong bathroom. Awkward.) So please, let me take a moment to rectify my deplorable manners.

Thank you Dawn Roberto, Love Romances Cafe, and all the LRC loop members. The nominations for GLBT Book of the Year and Cover of the Year are the perfect final cap on a banner year. These are two more milestones on the road to becoming an author. I am honored and humbled to be considered and included with this list of authors and artists. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

 ~~**~~

2011 was a truly amazing year for me. I started the year with two published books through Cobblestone Press, and a New Year's resolution or goal of finding an agent or publisher for Highland Shift before the end of the year.

I ended up on a  very different path. I formed my own publishing company, fought to get paid for the books I sold through my former publisher, and formed lasting friendships and partnerships with some amazing writers and one very special artist and writer.

My world is a better place because of knowing so very many of you, but especially Dan Skinner, Lisa Worrall, Mercy Celeste, and Liz Crowe. I look forward to growing our relationships in 2012.

So here's the 2011 published list:

Forbidden Love

Highland Shift

Honey House

Rescued

Salvation

Ty Hard

Whiteout

The 2012 list includes a mix of LE Harner and Laura Harner books, including MMF, MM, and MF, plus a new MM vampire series and a MM Gothic novel. There are also plenty of your old favorites:

• Highland Pull, Book 2 in the Highland Destiny Series (March, 2012)
• Highland Push, Book 3 in the Highland Destiny Series(October, 2012)

• Redemption, Book 4 in the Three's Allowed Series (February, 2012)
• Book 5 in the Three's Allowed Series (September, 2012)

• Hold Tight, Book 2 in the Willow Springs Ranch Series
• Taking Chance, Book 3 in the Willow Springs Ranch Series

• Shades of Blue, Book Two in the KC Carmichael Series (May, 2012)

And a couple completely new series that I will blog about this week:

• Continental Divide, a MM international detective series with the fabulous Lisa Worrall (February, 2012)
• Deep Blues Goodbye, a MM series about a reluctant vampire (January, 2012)

And one more- an epic project, that promises to be like nothing you've ever seen before.

There will be a few more surprises along the way, too. 

I look forward to spending 2012 with you, and I thank each and everyone of you for reading, for chatting, and most of all, for being my friend. 

Laura

PS- this year's goal is to make writing my full time job. I'll let you know as soon as that happens!