1 Night Stand or NAUGHTY SLEEPOVER? Try my MORE THAN YOU KNOW!

He is not scrumptious?

Who is he?

The bartender at The Menger Hotel in San Antonio, Texas, Luke Hurley has the hots for one of his customers whom he sees rarely.

She kills him with her looks. And just who does she resemble?

Rita Hayworth.

This is My Main Man in my newest, out tomorrow, MORE THAN YOU KNOW from http://decadentpublishing.com .

More Than You Know by Cerise DeLand

One redhead. One bartender. Lots of laughter. A desire so tender that the sheets they burn up together could set the hotel on fire. But can he intrigue a woman who’s older? What if he never lets her out of bed? Will she still want him tomorrow?

Excerpt, Copyright 2012, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.

“Hi, Luke Hurley.” His redhead stood right in front of him, beaming at him so the world glowed suddenly more brightly in this dark crowded room.

“Hi, there,” he said to her, as she inched closer to the bar. “I’m so glad you came in.”

“Thish has got to be Rita. Right?” Teresa took a slow gander at the woman he had told her kept him awake at night.

“Rita?” asked the lady in question, looking humored. “I’m—“

“Rita Hayworth. You bet!” Teresa clamped a hand on his lady’s arm and peered at her like an X-ray machine. “Luke, you pegged her. That is who she looks like. Gee. Lucky you, huh?”

Rita questioned him with a sideways grin. “Luke, I—”

“Teresa is my friend,” he explained, trying to keep Rita here until he got her phone number and her real name.

“I’m his copyeditor!” Teresa put in. “His friend.”

“Yes, Teresa, and the lady would like to have her arm back.”

“Oh, don’t chu worry yourself none, Luke and Rita. I am leaving. I am!”

He turned back to his redhead. “I’m glad you came in tonight. I’ve been trying to find out your name. Went to the catering manager and asked about the wedding here tomorrow, but she says the mother of the groom is a platinum blonde and short.”

“She is,” Rita exclaimed, little chuckles escaping her.

Someone shouted out that he had to stop holding hands with the bombshell and take his order. Where was his assistant bartender? He looked around but tugged at Rita’s hand.

“Okay, okay!” Luke told him, but zeroed in on Rita. “I want to call you. Ask you to dinner or drinks. Coffee, anything. I need your phone number.”

“Really? Oh, Luke, please let me—”

“I’ll find a pencil and pad. And by the way, that gown is unbelievable.” He had to tame his voice so he could speak about the gold-sequined mermaid thing that made his cock twitch. “I think I just went blind. Don’t move.”

He strode toward the register, found what he needed and stepped toward her.

But her son and Blondie appeared beside her. Blondie was pouting. The son raked his hair.

“I’m sorry. Tamara,” Rita bit off the words, never looking at her future daughter-in-law as she took Luke’s pen and wrote on his paper. “But I am the one who brought up Josh. And I will sit in the first pew. If you or your parents don’t like it, too bad. And Josh, if your father or his new wife don’t like it, tough.”

Luke watched the family drama, realizing why he hadn’t been able to learn Rita’s name. She was the divorced wife of Mr. Silver-haired Banker. And judging from the close ages of stepmother and son, Rita might actually be wife numero dos.

The son cursed. “Tam, I want her to sit in the front pew. This is my mother, and she deserves to take precedence.”

Ouch. Luke couldn’t help but look at Rita, who locked her gaze on his and grinned.

Blondie stomped her foot. “I won’t do this to my daddy. He wants this to look good for his friends. You know how he is about marriages made in heaven and no divorce.”

“Well, Tam, next to golf, divorce is my father’s favorite pastime,” Josh retorted, as Blondie huffed and made a beeline toward the door. “Aw, hell. Mom, what can I do here?”

Before Rita could answer, he fled. To Luke’s dismay, Rita raised her hands in frustration, threw him an apologetic look and followed her son.

Luke pounded his fist on the bar and the pad of paper jumped with the blow. Numbers and words bounced around. He grabbed the sheet.

Room 428. Rita

“Ricardo!” Luke called out to his assistant, as he ripped off his bar apron. “Take over here.”

Shameless Promotion

 I have a release date! October 5, 2012!

Temptress of Time Blurb

Swept away into past lives she does not remember, erotic romance author Diane de Bourgh is thrown together with two men—her masters, her jailers…her lovers.

Compassion. Compromise. Control…and letting go. These are the lessons Diane must learn before she can find contentment. Two noblemen, Walker Mornay and Adrian de Vesay, are swept into Diane’s journeys through the Medieval, Tudor and Regency eras and their own passionate past lives. Masters of Time, they see themselves as Diane’s tutors and resent the fact that she has an agenda of her own—to control them and, perhaps, to control time itself.

They, too, must learn lessons of the heart, especially those of relinquishing control to win a woman—body, mind and soul.

Excerpt—Temptress of Time

San Francisco, California

Present day

Diane de Bourgh stared at the cover art for her next medieval romance and felt her heartbeat double. The artist must have invaded her dreams, drawing not only two physically perfect, warrior-like specimens, but their faces too. The dark-haired man had the face of a fallen angel—cynical and weary. The blond looked like the kid-next-door—open to any adventure that might come his way. Devil and angel in the bodies of sculpted gods, hewn not by chisels but by long hours of training with sword and mace and shield and by even longer hours on the battlefield.

What made her heart race like a horse hitched to an old-fashioned fire engine was the certainty that she knew them both. She could have met them at a release party her publisher had hosted, but since she made it a point to arrive late and leave early on those occasions, she doubted they’d met there. She despised promotional conferences, attending solely because they increased sales. Besides, the way she reacted to the men was so intense, so visceral, that were they to appear in her home office she wouldn’t know which one to throw herself at first. Given that they both looked accustomed to doing the ravishing, she doubted they’d have any problems in the sex department.

She was the problem. She had difficulty making choices and when she did…she usually made the wrong one. On the other hand, if she met up with one or both of them, she might learn more about true passion and real love—emotions she found it difficult to write about with any degree of honesty. She did feel aroused—on occasion—but it felt more like an itch that needed scratching than a precursor to undying commitment.

With these two, however, she’d bet her last dollar they’d make the choice for her— just like her medieval hero tried to do with her spirited heroine. While her heroine had to live within the morés and conventions of the time period, Diane always imbued the young women in her books with spunk or wile or feminine charms that made the hero realize his chosen mate wasn’t a carpet upon which he could tread with muddy boots.

She glanced at the cover art again. The pair seemed so much like her chauvinist heroes, she vowed that if she ever met them in their own milieu, she’d teach them a thing or two about how to treat a woman.

Reaching out to shut off her computer, a wave of dizziness caught her off-guard. Nausea roiled in her belly and bile bubbled in her throat. The room spun as if an earthquake had struck, but it didn’t stop. It spun until she blacked out, lost in blessed darkness.

Available October 5, 2012

Ellora’s Cave

Amazon, Barnes and Noble, All Romance e-books

ISBN: 9781419935619

Thoughts for a Summer Monday

 

Some of you may already know how I became a published erotic romance author. For those of you who don’t know or remember, it all began at the RWA national conference in Reno, NV in 2005. There I hooked up with former Sacramento chapter member Lynn LaFleur. She insisted—in that very Texas Belle way of hers—that I attend a spotlight on her publisher, Ellora’s Cave.

Of course I attended. One does not ignore an invitation from a Texas woman, belle or not. Some of them are armed and all of them seem more than a little dangerous under all that sweetness.

Inspired after the spotlight, I came home and wrote like crazy in a way I’d never written before: in scenes. Only after I finished did I collate the story—Passion’s Four Towers—and send it into the Ethernet. EC bought it and the rest is history. My twentieth novel—Temptress of Time—is targeted for release this year.

Needless to say I become an advocate for e-publishing.

This year at RWA in Anaheim, CA a young woman saw my badge and said, “This is all your fault!” And thanked me for suggesting she submit to e-publishers.

Keri Gregg… You are most welcome.

Don’t get me wrong. E-Publishers are just as difficult to sell to as traditional print publishers. And despite the number of e-pubs, the competition is still pretty stiff. You still have to write a good story and make sure your manuscript is the cleanest you can make it. If you can’t spell, don’t rely on your spell-check—it won’t correct those pesky little homophones like to, too and two. If you can’t punctuate to save your soul, find a critique partner who can, but only after you’ve made all the corrections you can. Having recently threatened my DH with bodily harm if he didn’t learn how to punctuate, I know the fastest way to lose a partner or an editor is a poorly spelled, horribly punctuated manuscript.

You may be the best storyteller on the planet, but if you can’t make it clear with proper spelling and punctuation, nobody will read it.

Lecture over! Have a super day. It Takes a Thief is available now.

Dee Brice

Erotic Fantasies Where Nothing is Forbidden

In Limbo

Last weekend, DH and I flew to Denver to “boot” #1 Grandson off to boot camp. He’s enlisted in the US Air Force and will report at the end of July. Next week, DH and I will fly to Anaheim for the RWA conference. This week…I’m feeling in limbo.

Want to pack, but can’t because everything will need ironing when I get there if I do. Want to work on a new story, but typing eight chapters of handwritten and almost illegible scribbles seems like too much work. Two new dictation systems are giving me fits, so I’m setting them aside until I no long feel furious about they’re lack of cooperation. It has to be them, not me.

Am waiting for edits on my latest book. Those will probably arrive the day before I leave for conference. And if that isn’t enough, I have a dental appointment at 7:00 am.

Oh well, oh dear. Hope your day is going better than mine is. I’m taking comfort in knowing things will change—one way or another.

Dee Brice

Erotic Fantasies Where Nothing is Forbidden

Corsets of yesteryear: BDSM for every woman.

French, late 17th century

Two weeks ago, my buddy and Sassy 7 gal, Nicole Austin, sent me an invitation to join Pinterest. I accepted, saying to self, another way to promote, and asking self, How Much Time will this one cost me?

But I am here to wave and shout and declare I am a convert!

Why? Cuz wow, I love being able to declare my interests by clicking.

Sounds weird, but I like it! And to my delight, I have folks who follow me!

1864-, American

1880, European. Silk.

Aside from astonishingly lovely pix of MEN (alleluia!) and couples in a clinch, I have a great time with finding vintage or museum quality attire that I crave to put into my historicals.

Looks painful!

1910

Approx. 1775, French.

I have found items at the Metropolitan Museum in New York (one of my favorite museums especially for their medieval armor collection but also these) and at local museums which have been so kind as to post their priceless treasures.

Do join me on Pinterest, or as they say, FOLLOW ME! Here:

http://pinterest.com/frenchcherryred/

Log Lines

With the RWA National conference staring us in the face, I volunteered to act as an editor/agent so chapter members could practice their pitches. Having been the pitcher so many times I’ve lost count, I’m always glad to help others overcome their nervousness. I know I still get butterflies when I lose my mind and pitch to an editor I don’t know. And I’ve yet to brave the mysterious world of agents. I’d likely faint or—like I did when I acted in my very first play—lose my voice on my only line.

Anyway, one thing I stressed to the pitchers was a tight log line (no more than twenty-five words—shorter even better).

Why?

• It tells the pitchee you know your story. In my mind a polished log line equals a polished story. Not that my stories don’t need editing—just saying a good log line may gain you a reading you might not get if you ramble.

• No good log line goes to waste. You can use it in your query letters and on your website and promotion materials. There’s even a blog site dedicated to these polished kernels that, hopefully, will intrigue readers to take a look at your book and buy it.

So while you’re writing, manuscript or query letter or promo stuff, keep working toward that perfected log line. You’ll be glad you made the effort.

Here’s mine for the book with the hot cover:

Sometimes a woman has to take a flying leap of faith—even if it’s into the arms of a man hell-bent on her destruction.

Available now at Ellora's Cave, Amazon and ARe

http://tinyurl.com/7v9lrpu 

Oops. Guess I need to get this jewel posted.

Almost There

Not much to say this beautiful Sunday morning, except I'm doing edits for It Takes a Thief. Should have a release date by next month. Wheee!!!!

I'd upload my cover, but can't seem to do it. Maybe next time.

Happy Sunday,
Dee Brice
Erotic Fantasies Where Nothing is Forbidden