Thursday, October 30, 2008

Cheap Halloween Thrills

Restless and unsatisfied with her life, Lacey is looking for answers. But the recurring dream that haunts her sleep delivers only more questions. When the fierce brigand of her nights seeks her out, Lacey’s tormenting dreams become reality and her past becomes her present.

Three steps onto the garden path, a metallic blink caught her eye.

A gold coin?

The surface was smooth, the ancient imprint barely visible, but the weight was solid and genuine. Four steps later, she spotted another, leading her left at a split in the path. By the time she had five coins, she was well into the garden.

“I can accompany you on your way out.”

Pivoting on her toes, Lacey came nose to nose with Mr. Vaughn.

The coins clinked in her palm. Business first, she reminded herself.

Taking leisurely steps back, she replied, “I’m not headed anywhere in particular...just enjoying the night.”

Matching her step for step, he said, “I can think of better ways to accomplish that.”

Lacey was forced to stop when freshly trimmed hedge branches scraped the back of her arms. Calling up the earlier blush, she lowered her voice to a shaky whisper. “Don’t you think we should settle business matters first?” She ran her fingertip along the edge of his black dinner jacket, feigning deep interest. “Then we can see to other matters.”

He shook his head and took her ribcage in his square hands, pulling her toward him. When he spoke there was no threat in his tone, only the confidence that millions buys. “I don’t like to wait.”

A natural smile curved across Lacey’s mouth, and she laughed. “There’s something we can agree on.”

“Excellent. That makes three of us.”

Even before she looked, she knew who’d approached.

“If you’ll excuse us, sir” he said, staring at Mr. Vaughn, “I’ve come to collect something from the lady.”

“Perhaps you could speak with her later?” He didn’t let go of her, but spoke over his shoulder. “As you can see, we’re...involved.”

The man’s gaze dropped to Lacey’s fistful of coins and then came up to connect with hers. “There’s not time to wait,” he said.

When he sensed Mr. Vaughn’s implied refusal, he strode forward and swept him aside. Without pausing, he grabbed Lacey’s arm and dragged her along.

Scrambling to right herself and tug her arm free at the same time, she trotted beside him, stumbling when he ducked around a corner. He stopped short, and she slammed into his chest.

His muscles flexed beneath the suit jacket, causing the sleeves to bunch up as he gripped her arms. Locks of black hair fell into his eyes, but he ignored them. His gaze raked across her face and his breath came in sharp puffs.

For a mad instant Lacey was sure he was going to kiss her, but it was the rush of disappointment when he didn’t that surprised her.

Struggling to get some control over the situation, she raised her fist. “If you wanted the coins, all you had to do was ask.”

She uncurled her fingers, revealing only the soft skin of her palm. “The coins...”

He took her empty hand, turned it over to kiss her knuckles. “Were only there to lead you to me.”

Monday, October 27, 2008

Halloweens Coming

Halloween is coming, with its spooks and goblins and ghosts and things that go bump in the night. I think we all have special paranormal beings that fascinate us. For me its wolves and shapeshifters.
Shape shifting is the transformation (mentally or physically) of one's self into an animal. A 'theriomorph' is a shapeshifter; a being who can assume an animal as well as a human form.
Shapeshifting is a common theme in mythology and folk lore, as well as in science fiction and fantsy. In its broadest sense, it is a change in the physical form or shape of a person or animal. In modern fantasy, more than in folklore, the extent to which the change affects the mind can be important. The werewolf can observe, for example, observe that taking on wolf-form can simplify his thoughts.
There are two types of shapeshifting; changing your light body in the astral to power animal, and changing your physical form on the earth plane into an animal. Perhaps this is where the lycanthropy legend actually began. Very adept shamans are said to be able to change their physical human forms into that of animals.
Many early civilizations revered animals as the incarnation of gods; in ancient Egypt, for example, both the cobra and the cat were objects of worship. It is not surprising that stories of humans turning into beasts, has become deeply ingrained in the popular imagination. Often such metamorphoses are associated with fear and terror.
In central and eastern Europe, for example, a belief in the bloodsucking vampire that condemns its victims to a living death has persisted into the 20th century.
In West Africa until recently, members of a secret society called the Leopard Men believed that simply wearing the leopard's distinctive spotted skin would magically imbue them with that animal's fearsome strength.
Wolves are my greatest love, so the shifter stories I write are about people who shift into wolven form. Many authors today use shape shifting as a plot device, and I think it adds a mystical, magical element to the story.
So what’s your favorite-or secret-paranormal being? Leave me a comment, and you might win a copy of my shifter story, Line of Sight.

Here’s what Sensual Ecataromance had to say about Line of Sight:
Desiree Holt’s Line of Sight is a must read novel with a lot to offer. There is passion and intensity plus hot and steamy sex. From beginning to end, the fire that flares between them is combustible. As a reader I can not wait for the next novel from this gifted author. Line of Sight has only whetted my appetite for this brilliant writer.
Shapeshifter Alexa Morgan fled her home in the north when her relationship with a human ended in disaster and the clan alpha shunned her. Now living in Florida, against all her better judgment she finds herself in a hot relationship with Jesse Farrell, the cop next door. Despite her knowledge that the relationship is doomed, she cannot stay away from him. When Jesse, a gang task force member, is hurt one night on the job, Alexa begins to spend her nights tracking him, keeping him in her line of sight, determined to protect him. But she’s terrified of his reaction when he discovers her true nature. Will he accept her or bolt as her other lover did, leaving her destroyed once more?

Friday, October 24, 2008

A topic, a topic, my kingdom for a topic

A topic, a topic, etc. with apologies to Richard III who wanted a horse but in the modern version he wanted a vehicle and got a Jeep. It was a fabulous film. I also like the play. As with all Shakespeare's plays, there are memorable lines. "This is the winter of my discontent ..."

It is 2:39 out here on the Pacific Northwest coast. The weather has suddenly changes\d from balmy to very chilly. The ghosties and goblins will come knocking at our door on October 31, one week from to-day. I love seeing the little kids with their eyes wide and not sure what is going on but it looks good. I will carve my pumpkin on the week-end and light it with a long lasting candle. I hope the weather is okay.

And back to news of the day. My book, Isabelle's Diary, will be featured in the January RT ad sponsored by All Romance E-Books along with eleven other book covers. Then out of the blue, their marketing manager informed me that my book had been drawn in a random drawing for a review in RT. I was absolutely thrilled. Here's the cover of Isabelle's Diary and the cover of A Very Difficult Man which is scheduled for release in print next month. I love those covers. Now I must leave the goddesses and go to my personal blog. It's about dreams again!


Monday, October 20, 2008

Orgy or Menage?

Recently on one of my loops there was a discussion about what makes a menage and what makes an orgy. Is it just the number of people? Is it the relationship? Is it both? I decided to check out the difference myself, and I want to thank all the peole—who shall definitely be namesless—who contributed to my information, if not, necessarily my experience! So here we go.
An orgy in ancient times was a secet, nighttime ritual in an ancient Greek religion, connected wuith Dionysus and Baccanalia. There are two sorts of orgies, the kind where couples gather to couple with other couples, and free-for-alls. Either kind works, depending on who’s involved and particular sexual preferences. The only rule is it must include both sexes. So, if you plan to have an orgy, guest list is key.
An orgy is like any party, except with ample fresh towels, lubricants, and nowadays bowls of condoms every six square feet. The liquor should flow freely, the food should not be especially gas-producing (save the Three Bean Salad for the church picnic), and the music should be cosmopolitan, exotic, and daring. Set a mood with music and lighting, something that encourages people to shed their everyday skins.
Expect on at least one awkward scene at your orgy-the wife/husband who got talked into it and then changed his/her mind. The man/woman who dies sin from the platform of excitement, then can’t control his/her embarrassment. Set aside space for these people to recover, opportunities for them to leave gracefully, whatever will work to keep the orgy flowing.
But the basic thing to remember is that in an orgy, which can be any number from three on up, the people are not emotionally involved. The exception is people who participate as couples and are involved with each other but not anyone else. The sex is purely physical and people are not there looking for wedding veils. They want off-the-wall sex with multiple partners, usually at the same time.
Ménage à trois is the French term describing a relationship or domestic arrangement in which three people share a sexual relationship. It literally translates as "household of three." Simply put, it’s a romantic relationship in which three people, maybe a married couple and a lover, live together and have sexual relations always involving all three of them. This can expand to include four or even five people. But there’s one big difference between a menage a any number and an orgy-ROMANCE!
There is an emotional link between the members of the menage on which the relationshipmis founded. This link is not necessary for an orgy, nor does it exist.
So what do you tbhink—orgy or menage? What floats your boat? Which one do you like to read about?
Whichever one you choose, be sure and pick up my Ellora's Cave Exotika anthology, HOT, WICKED AND WILD, on October 31. It’s got both!
And be sure to visit me at and

Tracie Hill began the erotic adventure of her life when her new boss, Pete Montgomery, caught her stripping in her office. But the ride didn’t reach its satisfying conclusion until he took her to a house party in the Caribbean where there were “no boundaries.”
She looked at him helplessly.
Then he burst out laughing.
“I’m glad you think this is so funny,” she spat at him.
“It’s priceless, is what it is.” He took off his blue blazer and dropped it and his tie on an armchair. “Do you know how many men would love to be marooned like this with a gorgeous female?”
Gorgeous? He thought she was gorgeous?
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” He moved closer to her.
She backed up until the desk hit her ass. “W-What do you have in mind?”
He flashed his wicked grin at her. “Well, let’s see. It appears we’re liable to be here for a while so we need to do something to pass the time.”
“Pass the time?” She sounded like a parrot.
“Mm-hmm. I’m not much of a card player. Chess, maybe but only an idiot would waste time alone with a beautiful woman playing chess.” He rubbed his jaw. “There’s always word games.”
She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You want to play word games?”
“Nope. I want to do this.” He was right up against her, his obviously swollen cock pressing into her belly, his face not more than an inch from hers. Then his arms came around her, pulling her tight against him and his mouth came down on hers.
Too shocked to even move, she opened her mouth to protest and his tongue swept in like a marauding bandit, tasting, touching stroking the lining of her mouth. His hands slid down to her ass, gripping it and pulling her closer. She couldn’t believe her own hands actually crept around his neck and her fingers threaded through his hair. This was a kiss beyond belief. He tasted of mint and fresh air and smelled of something delightfully spicy.
I’m kissing a man and I don’t even know who he is. My god! Well, wasn’t this her fantasy? Hadn’t she dreamed of this after the last fiasco with Rex? Meeting a gorgeous, sexy man, totally unknown and having wild, uncontrollable sex with him?
She pulled her head away a fraction. He hadn’t given her much room to maneuver.
“I don’t even know your name,” she gasped.
He flashed his magic grin. “Pete. Just call me Pete.”
“Tracie.” She was surprised she could even get out the word.
“What?” He stared at her with those hot emerald eyes, his face co close she could count his eyelashes. “What did you say?”
“Tracie,” she gasped. “My name is Tracie.”
“Oh. Well. Hi, Tracie, nice to meet you.”
Then his mouth came down on hers again, his tongue invading the inside of her mouth like a candle lighting the sensitive tissues and she felt herself melting again. What was left of her brain kicked in and she found the strength to pull back from him. She tried to push him away but he held her too close for any movement. His hands moved up and down her back, creating friction under the cloth of her dress.
“We can’t do this.” Her breath fell in uneven pants as she pushed at his chest again.
“I don’t know why not. Here we are, trapped in these offices, no idea when we’ll get out of this place. I’ve had a hard-on since the minute I laid eyes on you. And if the way you returned that kiss is any indication, you don’t exactly find me unappealing.”
“B-But we don’t even know each other.”
“Sure we do,” he grinned. “We just introduced ourselves. And we’re about to get to know each other a whole lot better. Right?”
While they were talking, he slid one hand down over her hip and ever so lightly eased up her skirt until his palm touched bare flesh.
Tracie jerked. What the hell does he think he’s doing?
“Touching that ass that looked so appealing when you were doing your mini-strip tease before.” He grinned at her.
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud and her face flooded with embarrassment. But she couldn’t make herself move away from him. His hand was like a burning coal on her ass, leaving traces of fire wherever he touched. Her mind shrieked Stop! but her body said, Don’t stop, you damn fool.
Pete dropped his mouth to her shoulders and began biting gently at the place where her neck and shoulder met. She felt liquid begin to seep from her body and wished she had panties on to absorb the moisture. This was nuts! She was creaming over a man she’d known for five minutes and letting him feel her bare ass.
And loving it! His presence somehow surrounded her and his male essence drugged her, put her off guard. All she had to do was look at him and she was wet, soaking, dripping.
“I… We… That is…” She couldn’t figure out what to say. He made her mind foggy with just the lightest of touches.
“Look at it this way.” He was still nipping her shoulder, sending feathers of sensation skittering along her spine. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to have hot, sweaty sex with a stranger? Someone you didn’t even know but who made you hotter than a burning log? Someone you could do anything with because you didn’t think you’d ever have to face them again?”

Friday, October 17, 2008

Interview and other bits and pieces of this and that

Friday, and my turn to blog with the Goddesses. I have just been interviewed and photographed by three women studying communications at Royal Roads University here in Victoria. They are interviewing women and men, age fifty and over, to determine their living style, shopping patterns, etc. Fran Embry, one of the women, is a friend, that's how I was chosen.

I'm taking a class given by E.CSheedy. It's called Romancing the Villain. I am reminded again how important it is to take some time and review the various books on writing I have. I'll note some of them on my next blog. Self-editing for Writers. Scene and Structure. The Writer's Journey. I am downstairs and my library is not within easy reach. So Goddesses - what books on writing do you have? How often do you study them?
I blogged on my own blog, about breaking a dream. An idea I had never heard of until I lived in Wales. I did break a dream and am waiting the good luck that is supposed to follow. Will the print copy of A Very Difficult Man appear as scheduled October/November? I sure hope so. I have plans for a launch at The Fairmont Empress Hotel with a cocktail party.
Time for a cup of tea and a think about why I am stuck in the middle of a historical romance I'm writing. Those books on writing will help. So back to work.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Why I bang my head on my computer desk

It happens to all of us, sooner rather than later and much more often than any of us would like. The computer—our lifeline, our connection to the world, the instrument of our creation—bites the big one. It happened to me last Monday morning.
I’m sitting at my desk with my mug of tea, minding my own business, with three documents and a few others things open and minimized on my computer, I download my email, but then, before reading it, I decide to check something in my bank account. But the…darned…page…won’t…open. Aargh!!!
I then say to myself, Self, close everything, reboot and try again. So I dutifully try to close everything that’s open. Nothing…will…close. Nothing! Not one program. Aargh!!!
So, taking a deep breath, I punch the button to manually shut off the computer. That works out just fine. But when I punch the same button to turn it on again, it gets just so far. Then it gives me the message that haunts all of our nightmares: Windows cannot load because it is missing a file. Reboot from the CD.
Okay, okay, okay. I can do that. I slip the CD into the drive and up comes six different messages. One of them is Do you want to repair the problem?
Well, of course I do, you stupid computer. Why do you think I’m sitting here pulling my hair out? Sooo, I select that option and the computer cycles through the instructions, reboots…and asks me the same stupid question!!!!!!! So once again I go through the process. And again. And again. And again!!!
By now I can tell you tea is not strong enough but I can’t bring myself to pour Jack Daniel’s at seven thirty in the morning.
My last chance to win-reinstall Windows XP from the CD. Of course…ha ha ha…we all know THAT WILL WIPE OUT EVERYTHING ON THE HARD DRIVE!!!!! But, smart me, I have an external hard drive that backs everything up on my computer every single night. No problem.
Sooo, here we go, reinstalling Windows XP. Voila! We are now in business!
Because I can no longer access the PC Backup files TO RETRIEVE MY THREE WIPS!! Well, &*(*&*(*&
NOW I’m banging my head on my desk.
By an accident of luck (not braisn, I can assure you) I had two of them saved to my flash drive. Actually, all three but, of course (bangs head) one of the files is corrupted and only gives me four pages out for almost forty.
Banging head again.
Next step: calling son-in-law sobbing madly and throwing self on mercy.
By Tuesday I really was back in business, sort of. Everything was up and running except…I still can’t access the backup files, so I am buying new software. And I am manually backing up to the external hard drive every document I work on, as well as to two flash drives. And I spent the week pounding away at my computer doing my best to recreate my lost manuscript. (Much, much, much banging of head.)
By Tuesday night I was ready to drink the Jack Daniel’s straight from the bottle, but by Sunday night when I finally sent off my finished manuscript to my editor I decided one drink should be limit. Next time I’ll give the rest to my computer.
Sooo. What horror stories do y’all have? Tell me about them. I just know everyone’s computer has been bad at least once.
And while you’re here, let me tell you about my latest release from Ellora’s Cave, ONCE BURNED.

One hot summer Cassie Fitzgerald gave her virginity and her heart to Griffin Hunter. When he married her sister, Diane, she fled Stoneham and for six years nothing could make her return. Not her sister’s murder, for which Griffin was and continues to be the only suspect. Not her father’s suicide, which the police chief wants to sweep under the rug. But now her mother is dead and she has legal obligations she can’t avoid. Nor, it seems, can she avoid Griffin, who wants her more than ever and makes no bones about it and to whom she finds herself just as susceptible. Will Cassie be able to control her own hot need for this man or will she be pulled back into the same sensual vortex? Can she uncovers the secret Stoneham’s hiding, the riddle of Diane’s murder and the answer to her relationship with Griff without destroying herself in the process?

Her breath was frozen in her chest. Swallowing hard, she made her feet move, one in front of the other, doing her best to ignore him, her eyes still drawn to him. This was a different Griff from the daredevil who lived in her darkest dreams. He was not only older but harder, less yielding. His hair was still sun bleached and too long, his body fuller but still tanned and muscular. Aviator sunglasses hid the remembered blue of his eyes but his mouth that had pressed such passionate kisses on every part of her body was set in an expression of bitterness. There was something almost lethal about him now. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have been afraid of him.
And something else defined his posture. Anger? Sadness? She didn’t want to know. She especially didn’t want to feel the quickening of her heartbeat, the tightening of her breasts, the instant hardening of her nipples and the primal beat that began throbbing between her legs. The heat had burned her once—scorched her—and she wasn’t about to play with fire again.
But her brain apparently had taken a vacation, along with her ability to make a sensible decision and stick to it. All these years, all that pain and it took only seconds for her body to leap to life in the once familiar response.
She detoured to the trunk of the rental car, her keys in her hand that trembled despite her best efforts.
Griff reached out one arm and pressed down against the lid of the trunk so she couldn’t open it. “I heard you were in town. I came to see for myself.”
“Please let me open my trunk.” She tried to make her voice as flat as his.
“We have things to talk about, Cassie.”
“You’re wrong. We have nothing to say to each other.”
“Oh but we do.” He moved until he was standing right next to her, crowding her space. “We have a lot to say. We have unfinished business between us.”

Friday, October 10, 2008

Food for the soul

Not "soul food." I'm thinking of a meal that you remember vividly because of where you were and how it tasted. I remember two in particular. On our first visit to Glastonbuy the magnificent ruins were wide open to the public to wander through. But when the so-called New Age folks moved in with their tents and caravans the powers-that-be decided to protect the ruins by surrounding it with fencing and charging a fee to get in. Very sensible. Glastonbuy is a very special place with a special feel to it.

On our first visit the weather was cold and rainy with lowering gray clouds. My rain resistant clothing didn't keep the damp out. Bill was chilled as well. We wandered up the main street and found a Tea Shop, its windows steamed up. We went in to the blessed warmth and found a table. We had tea and raisin stuffed warm bread pudding served with cream. I will forever remember the taste of the bread pudding never to be replicated. I close my eyes and step into the shop and breathe in the life giving scent of bread pudding washing it down with cups of tea.

Next memory. I was on a hiking trip with the Skyline Hikers of the Canadian Rockies. We were hiking high, not mountain climbing, nothing that difficult. We were below the tree line. A drift of rain showers spattered through the trees. As it was time to eat our lunch we scattered to find dry spots. I chose to sit under a rock overhang on the side of the mountain out of the rain. I got my thermos of hot coffee and sandwiches from my backpack. Peacefully eating, I gazed into the trees and their dripping leaves. My clothes were warm. I was cozy. It was like being in another world. Almost an out of body experience.

I turn back the clock to relive those special moments when life handed me the bliss of savoring food to feed my soul.

Thanks for dropping by.


Friday, October 3, 2008

LOST (and a story idea)

This should not happen to a Goddess nor to a very ordinary woman (me). I had an appointment to have an eye exam downtown and parked in a parking garage in which I have never parked before. It was connected to the main library. Easy. Ha! It is one of those underground places. Very confusing. I parked my car and couldn't see an elevator so walked up three flights of stairs. That is were I made my mistake. The stairs cannot be accessed from the street. Doors open from the inside not the outside.

Of course, at the end of my eye exam I had to take the elevator down to the parkade. No familiar staircase. I could not find my car. I walked and walked and walked for over 30 minutes until by the grace of God I found my vehicle. By that time I was in tears. Trapped in a parking garage. My cell phone was in the car.

I decided to go straight home and have a good cry on Bill's shoulders. Then I thought, if I don't buy the week-end groceries I will have to do it on Saturday and I didn't want to do that. So, bravely I grocery shopped and came home teary eyed.

This has absolutely nothing to do with writing - or is it? Can I create a story around a woman lost in a parking garage who pushes open a door, steps through and almost falls into a pit filled with writhing hissing snakes. She has to creep around the edges of the pit to the far side where there's another door. She touches the handle. It's warm. She has to open it or fall into the snake pit. Behind the door is ...

Goddessess take a few minutes and add a line or two to my story. Pass it on to another Goddess and let's see what happens. Hells bells, I have to get something out of my LOST experience.

I'm putting up the covers of my two Isabelle books to encourage eager buyers to lay down their credit cards and make me happy with a few sales.

Thanks for listening to my tale of woe.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Nectar of the Gods, Greek Gods Anthology

My first book with Total-E-Bound just came out! I'm excited because now I'm international - how cool is that?

My story, "Fate Unbound" is included in this hot collection of stories featuring Greek gods.

Here's the official blurb:

Forced to leave her homeland of ancient Greece, Taryn must search modern day LA for the one man who will tame her wild heart. The Oracle has dictated that she must submit to all men who approach her. In doing so, she will find the single man who desires submission to her, then, and only then, may she return to her beloved home.

Adrian, frustrated by being forced live as an unrecognized son of Zeus, seeks his fate from The Oracle. The Oracle has a dictate for him as well, he must be patient, accept what comes to him, and never act on his own desires--especially those of the flesh. In doing so, he will, when the time is right, receive the recognition as Zeus’s son.

And an excerpt:

“I’d remember you if I’d seen you here before.”

The man, not much more than a boy really, was swaying as he leaned back, trying to get a look at her ass. Brown hair hung across his face, hiding one of his bright blue eyes. His jaw was pleasantly square, his skin nicely tanned and contrasting well with the casual, soft brown sweater clinging to his lean muscles. Denim pants hung low on his hips, showing off a small slice of his strong midsection.

He certainly wasn’t puny, or unattractive, but he wasn’t up to Taryn’s usual standards either.

He had no sword or markings of battle, and his face was fresh with the enthusiasm of youth.

She preferred her men strong and experienced. Vigorous. Capable. In Kate’s words–edgy.

But, she reflected ruefully, always getting what she wanted was the problem.

Or had been.

The newcomer set his hand on her waist, gripping it firmly, and leaned in. The bristled shadow of his facial hair brushed across her cheek as he spoke, his hot breath blowing across her neck. “I come here all the time. Want me to show you around?”

She shook her head, easily meeting his gaze because he wasn’t more than a few inches taller than she. “I’m meeting someone.”

Still holding her waist, he angled back, his gaze darting across the mass of people before coming back to her. “Another girl?”


Did she look like an unripe, inexperienced girl?

Taryn straightened, looking down her nose at him, but because his attention had dropped to the swells of her breasts, her distain went unnoticed.

She set her hand on his to pull it away, but he gripped hers tightly and smiled, his vivid gaze coming back to her face. His grin was sweet, his azure eyes glowing brightly under the shaggy locks falling across his forehead.

A mature man would’ve been subtle and realised the importance of anticipation. This boy’s inexperience was well balanced by drunken confidence. “We can wait for her,” he replied, stretching to the bar to discard his empty beer bottle, intentionally letting his arm brush across the side of her breast. “Then I’ll show you both around.” Moving his gaze to the dusting of glitter she had skimmed between her breasts, he added, “This is a big place. You need to know where to go to get what you want.”

He seemed harmless enough, but Taryn wanted to end things quickly, before he made the offer she was forbidden to refuse.