Tag Archives: Eden Freed

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Liquid Friday with Author Alan W. Jankowski

This week we are featuring Poetry and Short Story author Alan W. Jankowski.  Albeit Alan is known for his breathtaking 9-11 Tribute Poem, he does like to frame in words more mundane elements as well.   In fact he wrote his Dirty Martini recipe in rhyme, so lets hear in Alan’s own words:

The Dirty Martini:

The making of a dirty martini is truly an art,
Vodka and vermouth are merely a start,
But follow my advice and you can depend,
On achieving perfection in the end.

DirtyMartini_00First the martini glasses should be filled,
With a little ice to ensure they’re chilled,
Your next step as the martini maker,
Is to put some ice in the shaker.

Next pour in the vodka, a premium kind,
For the perfect martini, use the best you can find,
Just a dash of vermouth is all it should take,
For the best martini you can make.

For a drink that’s smooth and never rough,
The next step I just can’t stress enough,
Grab the olive juice and begin to pour,
And if you think it’s plenty, pour some more.

Put the lid on the shaker and give a few shakes,DirtyMartini2
Just a few seconds is really all it takes,
Now take the glasses and dump the ice,
And add a couple olives, plump and nice.

Then over those olives you can begin to pour,
And then start to savor what’s in store,
For if you follow this little rhyme,
You’ll have the perfect martini every time.

I got turned on to dirty martinis by a girl I was going out with several years back, she was a big fan…apparently she knew stuff.

Wow!  Now, we are certainly capable of making our own Dirty Martinis.  So lets grab one, kick back and relax learning more about Alan’s new book : “I Often Wonder: a collection of poetry and prose.”  It is a collection of 78  of his poems and 4 short stories.

Book Blurb:
All of the short stories and most of the poems included in this volume have been published before, mostly online, though the majority of the stories will have appeared in print in various journals and anthologies by the time you read this. When I first started i-often-wonder-93-1390224505writing stories, and poems shortly after-wards, back in 2009, the last thing on my mind was getting anything published. It was something I did for fun, and found pleasure in. I was not until late 2010 when I had over a hundred stories and poems that the idea of getting anything published even occurred to me. Since then, I’ve been published in various journals and anthologies, this is the first book of my own. I only found out about Inner Child Enterprises after entering their World Peace, World Poetry 2012 contest, but I’m grateful for the discovery, and for the support of Bill and Janet at the organization. Perhaps far more importantly than the pleasure of holding my own book in my hands is the people I’ve met on this writing journey. The people who have written me expressing how much they’ve been moved by my words. The people who have sent notes asking if it was alright to send one of my poems to their loved ones, because they could identify so closely with the words. My only hope is that this book finds you equally moved, and let my words be my gift, from me to you.    Alan W. Jankowski, June 12, 2012.
Lets listen to a wonderful poem straight from the pages of “I Often Wonder…..

We Started As Friends

We started out as a couple of friends,
Who saw each other now and then,
Two people hurt many times before,
And afraid of getting hurt once more.

Slowly we began to share long walks,
And share our thoughts in quiet talks,
And of each other we soon grew fond,
Realizing we shared a special bond.

Hearts that harbored so much pain,
They never thought they’d love again,
Secretly wishing that they would find,
Someone to give them peace of mind.

Hearts that searched so far and wide,
For the love that went missing inside,
Souls that roamed long and far,
Wishing upon most every star.

Then one day my wish came true,
I found love again and it was you,
There was a piece missing from my soul,
You were the one who made me whole.05-17-10.

Allan W. Jankowski

About the author:

Alan W. Jankowski is the award winning author of well over one alan-4-1367384557hundred short stories, plays and poems. His stories have been published online, and in various journals including Oysters & Chocolate, Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal, eFiction Magazine, Zouch, The Rusty Nail, and a few others he can’t remember at the moment. His poetry has more recently become popular, and his 9-11 Tribute poem was used extensively in ceremonies during the tenth anniversary of this tragic event…
http://www.storiesspace.com/forum/yaf_postst538_My-911-Tribute-poem-has-been-in-print-at-least-fourteen-times-in-2011.aspx When he is not writing, which is not often, his hobbies include music and camera collecting. He currently resides in New Jersey. He always appreciates feedback of any kind on his work, and can be reached by e-mail at:  Exakta66@gmail.com

We could not leave you without one more example of Alan’s genius, one that strikes close to many harts:

We Shall Never Forget (9-11 Tribute)

Let the world always remember,
That fateful day in September,
And the ones who answered duty’s call,
Should be remembered by us all.

9b97013d74e857b12fe766318712f514Who left the comfort of their home,
To face perils as yet unknown,
An embodiment of goodness on a day,
When men’s hearts had gone astray.

Sons and daughters like me and you,
Who never questioned what they had to do,
Who by example, were a source of hope,
And strength to others who could not cope.

Heroes that would not turn their back,
With determination that would not crack,
Who bound together in their ranks,
And asking not a word of thanks.

Men who bravely gave their lives,
Whose orphaned kids and widowed wives,
Can proudly look back on their dad,
Who gave this country all they had.

Actions taken without regret,
Heroisms we shall never forget,
The ones who paid the ultimate price,
Let’s never forget their sacrifice.

And never forget the ones no longer here,
Who fought for the freedoms we all hold dear,
And may their memory never wane,
Lest their sacrifices be in vain.

09-30-10a.

Liquid Friday With Author Di Storm

This week we are featuring Erotic Romance author Di Storm.  Lets hear from her directly about her favorite cocktail:

“My favorite cocktail is Long Island Ice Tea, until I  discover something new.”

Ingredients: Long Island Iced Tea - 1

  • ½ fluid ounce vodka
  • ½ fluid ounce rum
  • ½ fluid ounce gin
  • ½ fluid ounce tequila
  • ½ fluid ounce triple sec (orange-flavored liqueur)
  • 1 fluid ounce sweet and sour mix
  • 1 fluid ounce cola, or to taste
  • 1 lemon slice

Fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Pour vodka, rum, gin, tequila, triple longislandsec, and sour mix over ice; cover and shake. Pour cocktail into a Collins or hurricane glass; top with splash of cola for color. Garnish with a lemon slice.

 

Now that we heard from the author, lest grab a glass of this delicious sounding Long Island Ice Tea, kick back and relax while learning more about  Di Storm’s new release:  Yes Sir! available from  Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or directly from Green Ivy Publishing.

TEASER

A world of intrigue and deception. Underworld clubs with high-profile members. A powerful circle of friends, and strangers, who meet in select places where one must know the hidden path in

yessirEarly in her adult life, Jessika finds herself attracted to men who are more dominant: controlling, forceful, her superior. And somewhere down her path of exploring sensual feelings, it all falls into place—she needs a master, a man she can serve in every way. But the further she delves into the world of domination, the more she realizes a part of her is still empty.

Surprisingly, Jessika finds that missing ingredient in a man who is anything but dominant. He is a cockold—a man who finds eroticism in watching enjoy herself with others but knowing that she isn’t getting pleasure from him.

Yes, Sir is a journey of lost love, lost connections, and the struggle for self-control. Jessika finds herself experiencing drastic changes deep within. The reserved, quiet, and submissive person she once was—fading. She is becoming stronger, more vocal, and dominant, standing up for herself, and others. These changes create a roller coaster of conflict within, a transitioning woman who struggles with an ever-present and seemingly contradictory need to be controlled and mastered.

Yes, Sir is an erotic, sensual, and emotional journey, bringing you to places you did not believe truly existed—but they do!

About the Author

distormBio

Liquid Friday with author Andrew Grey

This week we are featuring M/M Contemporary Romance author Andrew Grey.  Lets hear from him directly about his favorite cocktail:

I have to admit that I’m not much of a drinker.  My favorite drink is a Cosmopolitan.  I love the tanginess of the lime and the slight sweetness from the cranberry juice.

The ladies from Dreamspinner introduced me to them when we were in New York a number of years ago for Book Expo America.  There’s a French restaurant on restaurant row that we always went to each year and they make the very best Cosmos.

800px-Cosmopolitan

 

Ingredients:

  • 1/2 oz Fresh lime juice,
  • 1 oz Cranberry juice,
  • 1/2 oz Cointreau,
  • 1 1/2 oz Vodka Citron

 

Add all ingredients into cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake well and double strain into large cocktail glass. Garnish with lime wheel.

 

Now that we heard from the author, lest grab a glass of this delicious sounding Cosmopolitan, kick back and relax while learning about Andrew’s new release, available today!

Andrew book tour

 

Fire And SnowTitle: Fire and Snow
Author: Andrew Grey
Series: Carlisle Cops #4
Genre: M/M Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Release Date: May 20 2016
Edition/Formats Available In: eBook & Print
Blurb/Synopsis:

Fisher Moreland has been cast out of his family because they can no longer deal with his issues. Fisher is bipolar and living day to day, trying to manage his condition, but he hasn’t always had much control over his life and self-medicated with whatever he could find.

JD Burnside has been cut off from his family because of a scandal back home. He moved to Carlisle, but brought his Southern charm and warmth along with him. When he sees Fisher on a park bench on a winter’s night, he invites Fisher and his friends for a late-night meal.

At first Fisher doesn’t know what to make of JD, but he slowly comes out of his shell. And when Fisher’s job is threatened because of a fire, JD’s support and care is more than Fisher ever thought he could expect.  But when people from Fisher’s past turn up in town at the center of a resurgent drug epidemic, Fisher knows they could very well sabotage his budding relationship with JD.

Book Links: Amazon, Dreamspinner Press.

Excerpt:

Fisher knew it was probably best if he walked back home. It was only going to get colder, but he wanted to sit a little while longer. He knew he was being dumb, but this was the place where he’d met JD, and he was hoping JD might want to talk again or something. He didn’t have his number. He knew he was a police officer, but that was all. They’d met here in the square, so he wanted to see if JD would walk by again.

Another police car passed the square. This one slowed, made the turn at the square, and then the turn behind the square toward the Gingerbread Man bar. Fisher followed it with his eyes, and when the car pulled to a stop, he waited to see if the officer got out. Of course, when he did it wasn’t JD, but Fisher did recognize Red. He figured this was his chance. So he got up and wandered over.

“Fisher?” Red asked as he approached.

“Hi, Red.” He flashed a smile.

“We got a report of someone soliciting. Have you seen anything?” Red asked.

“A guy came through, black kid, asked if I wanted something to make me happy. When I said I didn’t, he moved on.” Fisher spoke softly. “He was missing a front tooth but looked all right otherwise.” Fisher took a step back at Red’s stormy look. “I don’t do none of that anymore,” spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Not that I did a lot, but I was pretty messed up. I told him no, and he walked over toward the side street beside the church.”

“He isn’t going to find any business there,” Red said, then made a call in a police code of some sort. Just as he did, the guy raced out of the alley, tails of his coat flying, with JD on his heels. JD ran like the wind, strides long and fluid. Fisher couldn’t take his eyes off him even as Red got back in the car and drove away, sirens blaring. The noise bounced off the facades of the buildings, echoing from all directions and overlapping until it felt like a drill in Fisher’s head, but he didn’t look away until JD tackled the man to the ground. That was the last he saw because Red’s car pulled up, blocking the view.

Fisher waited and watched the activity in the surrounding area, wondering if he could go over under the guise of seeing what was going on and maybe catch JD’s eye, but he was working, and Fisher wasn’t really interested in the drug dealer seeing him speaking with the police. No use asking for trouble. So he went back to his bench and sat down, the cold instantly seeping through his clothes. Maybe it would be best if he went home, he thought again. He could be alone in his own apartment just as well as he could here, and it was warmer too.

But Fisher stayed where he was anyway and watched the officers as they loaded the man into the back of the police car, which Red drove away. Fisher expected JD to go as well, but he saw him still standing on the sidewalk. JD looked from side to side, then crossed the street at a jog.

“Hi, Fisher,” JD said as he approached.

“Officer,” Fisher said formally, wondering what kind of stop this was. He liked JD; he was a nice guy. But he still wasn’t sure what the deal was, and he’d already learned the hard way that hope could be a dangerous thing.

“What are you doing out here?” JD asked gently. “It’s too cold to be sitting on a bench. You’ll get sick, and then where will you be?”

“I needed to get out of the house.” It sounded lame even to his ears, but he wasn’t going to say he’d been sitting out there hoping to see JD. “I saw you running after that guy. You’re fast.” JD began walking toward the street, and as if JD had a string tied to him, Fisher followed right along. “Isn’t it too cold for you to be out too? Don’t they give you a car or something?”

“Yeah, they do, but I had to catch the suspect, and Red said you could identify him. Said he tried to sell to you.”

Fisher shook his head. “He approached me, but in that way they have that can be denied. Nothing solid, just the usual wink and nudge.”

JD nodded. “He had stuff on him, so we got him for possession.”

“There’s been a lot of activity recently,” Fisher said. He sat on his bench often enough and knew what to look for, so he saw plenty of guys approaching folks, leading them away to make deals, stuff like that. “How late do you work?”

“Late,” JD said, and Fisher nodded, lowering his gaze as they headed along the sidewalk. It took him about two minutes to realize that JD was walking him home.

“You know, I’ll be okay on my own. I’m not anyone that these guys are going to bother with.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and positioned them against his body for warmth.

“Why do you say that like that?” JD asked.

Fisher stopped and shrugged. “It’s just the way it is. I’m one of those guys who sits on a bench in the square because he has nothing better to do. People walk by all day. We watch them sometimes, but they don’t see us. Not really. We’re like part of the bench itself. It’s like that to the druggies too. I’m surprised that guy you took down stopped by me today. I’ve seen him before, with his expensive leather coat and gap-toothed grin. He strides through the square like he owns it and never sees anyone. I’m sure you’ve done it too.” Fisher hazarded a glance at JD. “Not that you’ve done anything wrong. It’s not like I’m the most memorable person.”

“I saw you yesterday, twice. So I don’t think I fall into that category.” JD sounded miffed.

“Okay.” He didn’t want to argue, but Fisher knew he was right. He was forgettable and easy to write off and put away. Don’t look at Fisher and he’ll just go away. And that’s what had happened with his family and the people who had once been in his life. They’d stopped looking, and he’d in effect gone away.

Author Information:

Andrew grew up in western Michigan with a father who loved to tell stories and a mother who loved to read them. Since then he has lived throughout the country and Andrew Greytraveled throughout the world. He has a master’s degree from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and works in information systems for a large corporation.

Andrew’s hobbies include collecting antiques, gardening, and leaving his dirty dishes anywhere but in the sink (particularly when writing) He considers himself blessed with an accepting family, fantastic friends, and the world’s most supportive and loving partner. Andrew currently lives in beautiful, historic Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

 

 

Author Links

Amazon Author Page

Barnes and Noble Page

Dreamspinner Press

Facebook

Facebook Group All the Way with Andrew Grey

Goodreads

Twitter

Website

For Other Works by Andrew Grey

(Please Be Sure To Stop by His Website to See All of His Works)

The ones listed below are for the Carlisle Cops Only

Fire and Water (1)

Fire and Ice (2)

Fire and Rain (3)

Fire and Snow (4)

 

Liquid Friday with Author Jenn Nixon

This week we are featuring a Romance, Science Fiction and Fantasy  author Jenn Nixon.  Lets hear from her directly about her favorite cocktail:

My characters drink much more than I do. I’ve never really warmed up to the taste of alcohol. If it doesn’t takes like alcohol, I’m more likely to drink it. One of my favorite drinks is the Jolly Rancher-jolly rancherJenn Style. I make it with Sour Apple Schnapps, Peach Schnapps, Cranberry Juice and a splash of Orange Juice. I make mine on the light side, so they never really do anything but give me a slight buzz. LOL

Most of my characters like wine. Why? No clue. I hate it. It’s possible that someone will crack open a beer, too, and I know that Lucky likes Gin and tonic. I try to remember that other people DO like to drink when I’m creating my characters, it helps make them realistic to me. I think the next character I create will be more like me and not drink at all or very rarely at special occasions like Weddings and parties! J

Thanks for having me on your blog, Eden!

  • 1 oz. Sour Apple Pucker schnapps
  • 1 oz. peach schnapps
  • 4 oz. cranberry juice
  • splash of orange juice

Combine all ingredients in a shaker with ice, and shake until icy cold. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. You can garnish with a slice of apple, or a lemon wheel

Now that we heard from the author, lest grab a glass of this delicious sounding Jenn style- Jolly Rancher and indulge in an excerpt from her “Lucky” book series.  In particular from “Lucky’s Charm.”

Excerpt:

          August 14

           Nevada

Through a small gap in the grimy motel curtains, Lucky watched Conrad Andersen pull a Screenshothooker over his lap and playfully spank her ass. The woman shook her bleached head and kicked her legs in false protest, shaking the entire bed. She slithered against his portly belly and gave him an exaggerated kiss before vanishing from the scope.

Andersen wiped his mouth, and traces of bright red lipstick smeared across his face. Frowning, he got up and moved out of view.

Two hundred yards away, Lucky shifted on the rooftop, using the free time to ease the tension built up after an hour-long stakeout. First, a stretch and twist sideways popped a few vertebrae. Flexing both hands and then rotating both ankles brought the circulation back.

Wonder if military snipers do this shit when stalking a target. Doubt any of them ever had to endure an Olympic, Viagra-induced sexcapade.

Lucky eased back into position just in time to see Andersen appear in the rifle’s scope again. Even with the obstructed view into the room, she saw him dressed in a blue pinstriped suit with a white shirt. A decent-looking older man but knowing everything he’d done made him vile enough to eliminate.

The woman reappeared and gathered her belongings off the ratty nightstand. The lights dimmed; Lucky took deep breaths to maintain a slow, steady heart rate.

Lucky directed the scope three feet to the right and targeted ten inches below the top of the motel room’s door frame: the perfect height to hit the man. Once she had a clear shot, the window of opportunity would last five seconds. She already calculated the wind factor, distance, and bullet drop. The door opened. Lucky let out one last breath and then counted in her head.

One. The hooker emerged laughing.

Andersen appeared and draped his arm around the woman’s shoulders. Two.

She glanced up at him. Three. Lucky eased the crosshairs of the scope on his head.

Four. He leaned down and kissed his escort.

The mark lifted his head to search the parking lot.

In the fifth second, the bullet penetrated his skull. His eyes popped upon exit. Pink bits of his brain spattered on the door behind him. Andersen’s body slumped against the door frame.

The hooker’s scream filled the air. Other rooms instantly sprang to life with commotion. A dog even barked in the distance.

The remnants of his face stared back into the scope, confirming the kill.

Burn in hell, bastard.

The brass catcher on the rifle trapped the bullet casing. Lucky removed the silencer and popped off the shoulder stock. Then she packed the Heckler and Koch MSG90 in the trombone-shaped case in record time.

She rolled up the blanket and surveyed the roof for noticeable evidence before slipping down the side of the house. The quiet development she found behind the motel provided excellent cover. However, the occupants and their neighbors might be home any moment, and she had to move.

Lucky pulled the worn French beatnik beret down her forehead before weaving through the backyard. She hopped over the fence of the adjoining property, emerging on Margo Drive. She walked the length of the street, listening for any sign of the police behind her.

Though her heart pumped as if she just rode a roller coaster, she felt completely at ease. Yet another sign she’d been doing this job too long. Less than a mile from the scene and she didn’t have a stitch of worry about the cops catching her.

She was getting that good at killing.

Rounding the corner, Lucky noticed a young girl crying in front of a makeshift lemonade stand that her father was tearing down. The dollar sign, forgotten on the parched grass, had drops of tears streaking through the lettering. She slowed, feeling her stomach tighten as the sobs grew louder.

“We’ll try again tomorrow, honey,” the father said, ruffling the girl’s blonde head.

“But I dinnit sell anything, Daddy,” she squeaked.

Lucky had thirty seconds, maybe less, before someone called about Andersen. Response time in Vegas, at dusk, was never routine. Even if LVPD arrived within the next two minutes, she’d be long gone. She had to walk past them. Can’t let the poor girl go to bed sad and disappointed. Lucky knew how that felt. Fishing out two dollars from her jeans, she approached the stand.

“I need something to drink,” she said, clutching the trombone case tightly, her attention on the child “Think I can have one before you close?”

“Really?” The girl’s eyes bugged wide like little swimming pools.

“Get a cup, Daisy,” the father suggested and glanced up from his work on the wooden stand. The kid filled the cup all the way to the rim and decorated the lip with two cut lemons.

“I made it myself,” she announced proudly.

Lucky took the cup, guzzled half, and smiled. “Ahh, that’s very good lemonade.” She placed the two dollars in the girl’s hand. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you,” the father and daughter said simultaneously. That fatherly tone warmed her for a moment, but she didn’t make eye contact.

“Welcome. Gotta go,” she said, swinging the trombone case. “Gonna be late. Bye.”

“Bye! Come back tomorrow.” Daisy waved.

A minute after finishing her lemonade, Lucky found her rental car on Pacyna Street. The smell of Vegas, sex, booze, and money lingered in the air. Streetlights sparkled, waiting for the last of the sunlight to vanish from the horizon.

Lucky opened the trunk, secured the case, and slipped into the car. She sighed. Her boss wanted her to get rid of the sniper rifle despite pleas to keep the weapon for sentimental value. She knew he was right; she used the execution method several times. Still, it was a great gun—one she had for years—and she hated to melt it down.

Sirens screamed in the distance, breaking into her head. Not wanting to push her luck any further by sticking around, she took off, traveled south to E. Tropicana Avenue, and picked up her cell phone when she turned onto the main drag.

“It’s done,” she said while checking the rearview mirror. “Our boy had a thing for working girls, apparently.”

“Leave the package where I told you, he’ll take care of it for us. I’ll see you when you land, okay?” the man on the other end replied.

“Sure, Phen. Tell Bet she owes me dinner.”

“She does? Why?” He huffed. “Don’t tell me you two are wagering over your jobs.”

“No, she owes me because I told her you’d make me get rid of Heckle today.”

“Don’t be sore, you still have the other rifle.”

“Yeah, yeah. Talk to ya.” Lucky clicked off the phone. Annoyed and physically high from the adrenaline rush, she went to drop off her weapon at the butcher’s lock box, hoping to find a way to work through the pending madness that followed her jobs.

* * * *

Two days later, Lucky Fascino sat at the back of the plane, flipping through the complimentary magazine. She smiled up at the male flight attendant when he stopped the beverage cart.

“Drinks?” he asked.

“Gin and tonic, thanks,” she said.

“Make it two,” her neighbor added.

Her row mate, a pink-skinned, gray-haired man, had curiosity etched on his face. Next to Lucky, any Caucasian looked pale so she understood their interest. Being naturally bronzed, due in part to an unknown, mixed heredity, gave her an all-year color most women would kill to have. As part of her normally disguised travels, she hid her curly, honey-brown hair and slight almond-shaped, amber eyes—now considered exotic instead of strange—behind a jet-black wig and brown contacts.

Talking to a stranger was the last thing she wanted to do. Getting far away from the job was the only thing on her mind. She’d been in Vegas for nine days, watching the target, learning his habits, hangouts, and daily rituals. During the last five, she’d seen him with three women in two different motels.

Gotta love Vegas.

Afterward, she had worked off the adrenaline high from the job in the hotel gym, while waiting for news of the target’s death. It came in the form of a small article in the local newspaper. The city had well over a hundred murders so far this year. One more, under seedy circumstances, didn’t get much attention.

The man beside her tried to make conversation while she nursed her drink. Mundane chitchat mostly. I really don’t care where you live. It was natural for normal people to want some type of contact to ease the boring flight. Thanks to her second cocktail, she felt more social. Besides, she didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t shut up.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Frank asked after the exchange of names and destinations.

Kill people like you. Well, she didn’t really kill people like him, unless he had some sordid history of crime. Unlike Andersen, who used his corporate success to embezzle, commit fraud, and murder, Frank seemed like just another guy.

“I’m the Comptroller for an international furniture company.” Lucky watched the man’s eyes glaze over when she described what she did for “work.” Accountant types never impressed anyone. During long jobs, she made up a personal history and itinerary to go along with whichever fake ID she used for cases like this. Today she played Lucille Summers from Baltimore, Maryland. It was one part of the job she still enjoyed.

“Sounds lucrative.” He rubbed the side of his gin-reddened face and covertly tried to ogle her legs. “In Vegas for business or pleasure?” The way he enunciated the latter made her skin crawl. She wouldn’t give him the time of day if he were the last man on the planet able to donate sperm to keep the species alive.

“Business meetings, you know how it goes, have to get those fiscal reports in order for the CFO,” she said, smiling, mostly to suppress the gag reflex.

He laughed, continually eyeballing her and gabbing about his trip. The trite, one-sided conversation continued until the plane began its descent.

*****

About Lucky’s Charm:

To protect her family and find a killer, Felicia “Lucky” Fascino assumed her adoptive father’s identity and joined the network of moral assassins to finish the job he began. Eliminating the man responsible for murdering her mother has consumed her for the last five yearsIMG_6680. Completing the job is the only way Lucky and her family can return to a safe and normal life. Lucky’s uncle, Stephen Chambers, hasn’t come close to tracking the killer. He announces he’s stepping down as her handler to concentrate on the investigation and names Elizabeth, his daughter, as successor.

Keeping secrets is a family trait, and Elizabeth’s addition to the business tests Lucky’s ability to maintain the pretense that the job doesn’t affect her despite the fact that all network hits are hardened criminals. While keeping her family at arm’s length, Lucky begins to feel the weight of her career choice and reclusive lifestyle. Then a chance encounter with an enigmatic hit man during one of her jobs turns into a provocative and dangerous affair. Distracted by the secret trysts with Kenji Zinn and mounting tension within her family, Lucky starts to make mistakes that threaten her livelihood and almost claim her life. When her family is targeted, Lucky must make several rash decisions she believes can save them and preserve her own sanity.

Author’s Bio:

21EsXZZnr+L__UX250_Jenn often adds a thriller and suspense element to anything she writes be it Romance, Science Fiction, or Fantasy. When not writing, she spends her time reading, observing pop culture, playing with her two dogs, and working on various charitable projects in her home state of New Jersey.dogs

You can learn more here.  You can also follow Jenn on Facebook and on Twitter @JennNixon

 

 

Lucky’s Charm Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B008RG8V4Q

Author website: http://www.jennnixon.com

Author contact email: jenn@jennnixon.com

Twitter: @JennNixon

http://www.facebook.com/JennNixonAuthor

 

 

 

Liquid Friday with author Damon Suede

Today we will feature a new recipe from Damon Suede, author of homoerotic romance.

Here is a word from Damon:

Hey y’all! Thanks so much for coming to hang out today. The drink I named for today’s post is a dirty whiskey.

Now normally I don’t go for mixed drinks. My family always taught me you should be able to see the bottom of the glass before you drink anything, but dirty whiskeys are something special.

The first dirty whiskey I ever had was made for me by Heidi Cullinan at RT in Chicago several years back. It was Saturday night and it had been a crazy-great week and we were about to cut loose at the big Harlequin party. She mixed up about a half-gallon of dirty whiskeys and the next thing I knew I was dancing an acrobatic samba with a professional ballroom dancer in the middle of about 1500 people. I met so many great friends that night. And there are pictures from that party where I’m dropped back into a bridge with my head aimed at the floor.  

The moral is: if you can’t see the bottom of the glass, make sure your friends mixed it and the dance floor is big enough to hold all the people you want to meet. 🙂

Dirty Whiskey Recipe:

  • 1 Part Bailey’s Irish creamwhiskey
  • 1 Part Irish Whiskey

Mix in a mixing cup by shaking with ice, pour through a strainer… oh yeah,  then enjoy while we look at Damon Suede’s  latest book PENT UP.

 

A word about   PENT UP:

Ruben Oso moves to Manhattan to start his life over as a low-rent bodyguard and stumbles into a gig in a swanky Park Avenue penthouse. What begins as executive protection turns pentuppersonal working for a debonair zillionaire who makes Ruben question everything about himself.

Watching over financial hotshot Andy Bauer puts Ruben in an impossible position. He knows zero about shady trading and his cocky boss lives barricaded in a glass tower with wall-to-wall secrets and hot-and-cold running paranoia. Can the danger be real? Is Andy for real?

What’s a bulletcatcher to do? Ruben knows his emotions are out of control even as he races to untangle a high-priced conspiracy and his crazy feelings before somebody gets dead. If his suspicions are right, Andy will pay a price neither can afford and Ruben may discover there’s no way to guard a heart.

Lets read a little excerpt taken from Chapter 5:

Ruben laced his fingers together in his lap, conscious of Andy’s splayed legs bumping against his as the car curved through the dark trees.

How could it only have been a week? Joking and bickering like this, smiling and snapping at each other, they sounded like… something else.

I like this guy way too much.

Central Park watched them through the tinted glass.

“Suit looks great, Señor Oso.” Andy coughed. “Me parece increíblemente guapo.”

Whatever that meant, it sounded positive. Ruben blinked and turned, drunk on the attention. Greedy for it. “Yeah, okay. I don’t habla español.”

Andy checked out Ruben’s shoulder, the legs, the glossy loosened tie. “Means handsome.” It came out a whisper and Andy looked away out the windows.

Uh. “Thanks.” His heart thumped blindly in his chest. Any second it would stumble and knock something breakable over and smash it to pieces. “You got good taste, Bauer.” Too fast, too fast.

Andy closed his eyes. The rhythm of the car rocked his skull against the leather upholstery. “You ought to learn, one of these days.”

“To dress?”

“Spanish. Might come in handsome.” He snorted in slow motion and looked back. “Handy. That is.”

“Sure. Right after I finish medical school and my MBA, before I start my talk show on the space station.”

Andy smiled and sighed, square jaw clamped. “It’s not that hard. Beautiful language besides. Claro.”

Clearly. He’s teaching me.

The town car veered to the left and Ruben had to grip the door to keep from being shifted against his boss’s strong legs. They passed under some kind of bridge and then slowed to a stop. They inched along in the Park’s crosstown traffic.

He could imagine himself on Andy’s terrace staring down at Central Park. He looked out the window at the passing trees: nature boxed in so a few penthouses had something to look at.

Andy rolled his head to watch Ruben watching him.

Buddies. Yeah, right.

Andy pushed himself back, shifting his weight. His hand scraped Ruben’s and… remained on the seat, separated by a millimeter or two. The light hair on his wrist brush-brushed the wisps on Ruben’s, rocked by the car’s motion.

Ruben swallowed. He wanted to slide the hand away from the delicious feathery scrape, and at the same time wondered how long Andy would leave it there. He wondered what would happen if he closed his dark square paw over Andy’s, laced their fingers and squeezed. He could imagine the way their knuckles would intersect and the exact pressure of Andy’s smooth palm against his. That skin.

Occasionally the car jostled them as it navigated potholes and pedestrians, gently rocking their shoulders, but their two hands stayed nailed to the firm, soft leather, barely touching, but touching nonetheless. That warm strip of Andy’s hand made it hard to breathe.

Why didn’t Andy move his arm back? Then again, why wouldn’t he? As the car glided under the black trees, Ruben’s whole being, all his attention, tightened around the half-inch of faint contact between their skin. Ruben imagined he could feel Andy’s pulse, then realized he was hearing his own as it jarred his skull.

If the brushing contact wasn’t an accident, removing his hand first would send a clear message. Easier to leave it there in case.

In case of what?

In case he was a queer? In case his boss was another? In case they needed to go out together to spend another fifty thousand American dollars to buy nothing in particular in a room full of strangers? The money and the man had gotten all jumbled in his head.

Maybe that was it. Ruben had gotten sucked in by all the sloppy luxury and forgotten whose it was. He wasn’t gay, just broke, sober, and lonely. Even if Andy was some kind of closeted homo, he had no interest in playing house with some middle-aged macho he’d known for a few days and rescued from a couch. Ruben had clocked the predator in him. If Andy wanted a dude, he’d lease some Calvin Klein model with a trust fund and a degree in corporate espionage.

And still, and still…. The butterfly stroke of Andy’s wrist hairs dried his mouth and pricked his eyes, and Andy had no clue. I want him.

All too suddenly, the car sliced out of the trees across Fifth, headed east.

I’ll quit in the morning.

You can find all the purchase links by clicking here.

For more of Damon Suede’s books click here.

About the Author:

Damon Suede grew up out-n-proud deep in the anus of right-wing America, and escaped as soon as it was legal. He has lived all over: DamonSuede-crop200Houston, New York, London, Prague. Along the way, he’s earned his crust as a model, a messenger, a promoter, a programmer, a sculptor, a singer, a stripper, a bookkeeper, a bartender, a techie, a teacher, a director… but writing has ever been his bread and butter. He has been happily partnered for over a decade with the most loving, handsome, shrewd, hilarious, noble man to walk this planet.

Addictions: sweetness that isn’t sentimental, wit that isn’t bitter, strength that isn’t cruel. Allergies: professional victims, half-assery, clichés. Damon is a proud member of the Romance Writers of America and served as the 2013 president for the Rainbow Romance Writers, RWA’s LGBT romance chapter.

Though new to gay romance, Damon has been writing for print, stage, and screen for two decades, which is both more and less glamorous than you might imagine. He’s won some awards, but his blessings are more numerous: his amazing friends, his demented family, his beautiful husband, his loyal fans, and his silly, stern, seductive Muse who keeps whispering in his ear, year after year.

Liquid Friday with the host Eden Freed

All right my dear friends, it looks like this is the time to feature myself.  Kind’ a  strange I did not do it before.  So here it goes:

 

My favorite drink is the Zombie:Zombiecocktail

Ingredients:

  • 1 part white rum
  • 1 part golden rum
  • 1 part dark rum
  • 1 part apricot brandy
  • 1 part pineapple juice
  • 1/2 part 151-proof rum
  • 1 part lime juice

Zombie cocktail 2Mix all except 151-proof rum in a shaker with ice.  Pour into a glass and add 151-proof rum.

Simple right?  Believe me you will be a Zombie after one or two of these babies.

 

While enjoying this cocktail, lets talk about Violet Blooms:

A young aspiring actress, majoring in Theater Arts in her last semester of school, must overcome mediocrity and learn to take direction in time to be discovered by a talent scout VioletBloomsActingThePart1during her final performance. Her new acting coach decides to teach her direction through a non-conventional method: introduction to BDSM. Will Violet have what it takes to learn the art of role playing or will she end up on the “casting couch?”
Here are a few excerpts from our book:

From Chapter 1:
“Frankly, you frustrate me Violet. I could teach you,” he said and I felt Chase hand grip my wrist and pull it towards him. Something in his face changed from excitement to concern and he let go of me and straightened out his shirt. He sat back in his seat and blew out through pursed lips before he said, “There are rules.”

From Chapter 2:
Without even hiking my jeans and underwear back up, I sat bare assed on the cool leather couch and awaited my punishment. My lower lip was trembling with nervous anticipation. I could feel my breaths coming in short gasps keeping time with Blythe’s quick footsteps as he returned

From Chapter 4:
I loved each sub for who they were, but I wasn’t in love with them. Detaching myself from IMG_5560my subs a little made me a better master. I was more objective and able to exact obedience from them. One look at Violet pushed all of my reservation aside. I wanted to possess her completely and utterly.

From Chapter 13:
Love isn’t easy. It takes courage. There are days when you just want to walk away and call it quits because you feel as raw inside as you do outside, but you don’t go because it would hurt even more,” she said and sighed. I felt the same way. Georgette looked at me for a moment and asked, “Did you want me to make a collar for her?”

 

To learn more about Eden just click here.

 

Chapter 1.3

“Vasyli, we have eh, a little situation. Sergey was here with that girl. Adriana,” the large man began speaking into his phone as he walked back towards the mansion.

A series of gunshots sounded amidst terrified screams as the guests were searched and eliminated. The few party-goers that took off running from the front of the mansion were gunned down and dragged back inside. It was just a matter of time before someone came for Adriana’s body and discovered us. I had to get Joy out of here, fast. We were too far off the private road for the sound of shots to be heard by anyone not already at the party. My guts tightened as I shoved the gun in my pocket and tried to formulate a plan. Everything seemed reasonable until I got to the expanse of land between the house and the road. If they looked out the front door during our flight, we’d be nailed.

“Joy,” I whispered. “We’re going to duck behind the cars and move towards the last one. The valets left the keys in the vehicle. Hold on, where are the valets?” I asked, getting down on my stomach to look under the cars. The cloudy night sky hid the moon, but was still light enough to make out the figures on the ground by the red Alpha Romeo I passed on the way in. I remembered how they laughed as the cab pulled up and I got out, looking like a beggar among thieves. Ironic, isn’t it? The one year I decide to attend this happens.

She looked frail. Her limbs involuntarily shaking. It wasn’t from the cold, but she must have been going into shock. I righted myself enough to remove my jacket and place it over her arms. Joy’s skin was as soft as roe petals in my hands. “We’re heading towards the black Lexus. Stay down and move as silently as you can.”

“How do you know its bl-black?” she asked with her teeth chattering.

“I saw it when I entered. The guy was handing his keys to one of the valets and making a snippy remark that stopped them from laughing.” She gave me a confused look and I said, “I’ll explain later. We need to get out of here, now.”

Twice she stopped, hesitating nervously as we got closer to the car. The odd shot rang out inside the mansion and the noise shifted from people screaming to people shouting. We didn’t have much time. I made the unchivalrous gesture of giving her a little push on the posterior. “Don’t stop,” I whispered.

Her eyes were tearing. “They’re going to kill me.”

“No, I have you and I won’t let anyone hurt you. Keep going.” Joy lost it and started babbling, frantically. She went to scream and I put my mouth over hers. A kiss, nothing more, but it was enough to stop her. “Shh.”

Just before we reached the car a downpour started. Lightning flashed, lighting up the grounds. Joy saw the valets laying on the ground a few feet from the car and I wasn’t fast enough quieting her. She let out a yelp as I opened the passenger door and shoved her inside. Climbing over her, I reached the driver’s seat and started the engine and pulled out from the spot and down the driveway. The sound of gunshots behind me made me crouch down until I was clear. Joy was half sprawled, half curled up on herself between the floor and seat on the passenger’s side.

When we reached the main road, I sat up and looked. Shit! Grand theft auto. At least I didn’t take the Alpha Romeo, probably get the chair for that. A bright set of high-beams behind us told me we were not out of trouble. “Stop the car!” she screamed as I sped up and headed down Merritt Parkway. “They’re behind us! Go faster!”

Trying to keep my wits, I took a jug-handle off and onto route 104. I spun the car around, dousing the headlights in mud before I parked behind the Lakeside Diner, waiting to see if they would pass us. As the car continued on route 104, Joy found the gun in the coat pocket and pointed it directly at my face.

TBC next Week

Chapter 1.2

A faint blush on Joy’s silken skin spoke volumes of her interest. I made a mental note to proceed cautiously. Her eyes drifted towards the purse laying on the ground and I bent to retrieve it. Maybe it was because she was a woman with a mind to tame me or maybe it just was the awareness that my heart felt strangely lighter, but I decided to take up the challenge of wooing her no matter what the reason.

She walked towards the parked cars and I followed. Leaning up against the side of a shiny new black Rolls Royce, Joy’s alabaster fingers reached into her purse and retrieved a cellular phone. “My brother’s inside. I’m just going to let him know where I am. He’s such a worrier.” The faint sound of the text being sent prompted her to put the phone away. She held the purse behind her. The change in position of her arms straightened her back and lifted her breasts. My first thought was that she was a military brat, too. The itching of my palms to cup those breasts removed anything other than basic cerebral function in me. It was with torturous restraint that I kept a proper distance between us.

An irresistible ‘come hither’ look, shook my resolve. My hand slipped in between hers and the small of her back. I crushed her between me and the car and found her lips as wanton and plump as a ripe passion fruit. My other hand cupped the back of her neck, careful not to disturb her hair. The kiss was meant to be chaste, but one taste of those lips made me a greedy thief. With great delight and more than a little fascination, I slipped my knee in between her legs and felt her moan into my mouth. It was as perfect a moment as could be had in a lifetime. A sound like fireworks came from the direction of the mansion and it took me a moment to realize that it was not in celebration of our first sacred moment together.

A piercing scream broke the sanctity of our soul’s dual confession. The sound of music coming from the party was suddenly replaced with a noisy ruckus inside the mansion. My eyes opened in the nick of time to see Adriana slip something into Joy’s purse and past us. Another set of popping sounds flew after her. Realizing what it was, I shoved Joy down to the ground and covered her with my body. “Stay down. Don’t make a sound.”

With my heart beating in my ears like a hammer on an anvil, I crouched down and scuttled after Adriana. A sound like popcorn popping loudly came from inside the Waveny Mansion as I reached out for her. As I dragged her down to the ground, Adriana reached up her dress and pulled out a 9mm handgun and squeezed off two rounds. Shit! I pushed her head down lower. “Son of a bitch!” she yelled, and I saw the blood leaking out of a graze on her right side. “I was going to wear this dress again. Shit!” she yelled, and climbed over me to fire another round. “He’s down. I got him,” she said with a triumphant grin and stood back up.

She reached a hand down to me. Just as I reached out to take it and breathed a quick sigh of relief, Adriana toppled over me and landed with a thud on the ground. Blood quickly spilled out of her head. “Adriana!” I cried, seeing the bullet hole between her eyes. She was gone and there was nothing I could do. I grabbed the 9mm out of her hand and scrambled towards Joy.

I motioned with my hand for her to stay down and be quiet. Footsteps sounded on the patio and a large man in a black tux with a red cummerbund and tie called out, “She’s over there by the Audi.” As he neared her body, my heart sank. I had kissed those lips and entertained notions of a future with her. Even though we weren’t together, the pain of Adriana’s loss cut into me like a hot knife. Slowly, I got into position to fire off a shot at him. Another set of footsteps stopped me. “Does she have it?” a slender man with crooked glasses asked as he approached him.

“No, it’s not here. Go one by one and search the guests. She must have handed it off. Don’t let anyone leave,” the bigger guy said.

“I’m not cleaning this up. This was your mistake, in the first place. You’re dealing with…” the slender man he fell forwards to the floor and twitched for a moment as his blood spilled out around him.

“Hot tempered little prick. That’ll be the last time you threaten to snitch on me,” the large man gloated over the fallen body of his associate.

TBC next week….

Chapter 1.1

Intro:

One of the best things I learned as a child was that stories were adventures you could take on even the bleakest of days, days when the last petals of the rose fell away and there was nothing more than a grey day. As I matured, that beautiful escape became something of a passion. I began to weave stories to chase away even the most aggressive tempest, protecting that delicate bloom inside. Yet, a beautiful flower longs to be admired in all its stages.

Today, I’d like to share this story with you. I have no idea where it will take us and what the adventure will be like. The characters will tell us who they are and what they care to do one page at a time. The blossom will grow and change from the tiny seed I leave you with today, until it grows to fruition. We will get to know its fragrance and charm. Maybe, just maybe, we will even learn its nature.

I invite you to pick my brain with your feedback and messages. Tell me what you love or hate and why. I make no promises about revisions, but I’m as attentive a reader as I am a writer and your words will stay with me as I hope mine will with you. We will begin with a light flirtation and let the story unfold. Since everything flowers in my garden, story may end up anywhere from a light sweet romance to a dark BDSM. Adult readers only, please.

Enjoy! Continue reading Chapter 1.1

Happy International Women’s Day!

Perfect Gift!Happy #InternationalWomensDay Take this special day to #celebrate the important #women in your life and do something they’d appreciate most. It’s easy to forget about the #struggle and challenges women face everyday. Sometimes the hardships women face are heartbreaking, so go ahead and thank the women in your life for everything they do and who they are. It’s #roses #chocolate & a new #book for me. I’m a #bookworm and the mister knows it. #confession #bookaddict