Tuesday, January 31, 2017

TELL TALE TUESDAY: Captured and thrown into a steamy Jamaican prison in 1720, Anne Bonny and confederates, Calico Jack Rackham and Mary Read, are quickly convicted of piracy and sentenced to hang. WHERE ARE YOU ANNE BONNY BY DANIEL LANCE WRIGHT

Where are you, Anne Bonny?
Daniel Lance Wright
Excerpt Heat Level: 3
Book Heat Level: 3


Captured and thrown into a steamy Jamaican prison in 1720, Anne Bonny and confederates, Calico Jack Rackham and Mary Read, are quickly convicted of piracy and sentenced to hang. A clever ruse helps Anne escape but she must leave Mary and Jack behind. On the run from the law in the Caribbean and the American colonies, Anne becomes adept at disguises... of both genders. Adventure now comes in many new forms, on land and upon the seas. But how long can she maintain such well guarded anonymity?


"Had you fought like a man you’d not be set to die like a dog on the gallows," Anne Bonny whispered. The convicted lady pirate couldn’t bring herself to lift her eyes to connect with Jack Rackham’s through the black iron bars. She feared giving in to romantic leanings. Eventually she did, pulling her gaze from the rough cobble stones of this St. Jago de la Vega, Jamaica prison floor and glanced beyond the vertical bars of the cell. Jack’s silence attracted her attention faster than a scream would have.

As her eyes connected, "Stand straight, man! Don’t be cowering. Ya hear me Jack? Replace that jelly in your back with a stiff spine."

Anne attempted advancing on the cell door to get into Jack’s face with her warning but was yanked to a standstill by the leather bindings at her back.

The hulking guard holding her burst into bellowing laughter, releasing a spray of spittle into the side of her face. "The talk I’ve heard was not a’tall exaggerated. My God! You are an evil woman. This is the thanks you give Calico Jack? He’s about to have his neck snapped by the hangman’s noose, and he had the decency to offer the magistrate his life in exchange for yours. Now, he begs for your presence as his final request. How cruel can you be?" He slammed Anne’s head into the bars, her face forced between them.

"Please, don’t hurt her," Jack said. "She meant me no disrespect."

Unable to resist, hands bound, she could only stand, awkwardly leaning into the bars, face distorted.

Jack kissed her forehead then her lips. "I’m sorry, Anne."

"Me too, Jack."

"Nay to that; it’s my fault... all my fault we’re in this mess."

"Aye. That be true enough. Still, I don’t wish to see you dead." Smashed against the bars, she strained to look back at the smelly sweating source of her discomfort, wanting to spit in his face.

The guard shook her hard. "Calico Jack must be daft or the devil guides your tongue," he said, still laughing. "You talk to him as if he’s a bastard street urchin."

Finally, she was allowed to push away from the bars and stand straight. "He knows the mistake he made now that he’s sobered and thought on it." She raised her shoulder and pressed it against her cheek wiping away the guard’s disgusting salivary spray.

Angry lips relaxed. "Now, if you’d remove these leather restraints, I’d enjoy showing you how a woman can pleasure a strong man as yourself. My loins tingle each time I get the full look at you." Come a bit closer so I might clamp my teeth onto that ghastly lip and rip it from your face. She stepped closer but still at arm’s length and relaxed her jaw, tongue dancing over parted lips. She looked longingly into his eyes.

Becoming mesmerized, he pushed his face toward hers then lucidity snapped into those dulled eyes. "I think I’d have a better chance of enjoyment…and of survival, stepping into a cage with an unrestrained she-devil." Holding her arms above the elbows, he spun her around shoving her toward the jailhouse door.

For an instant she came face to face with her captor smelling the stench of his foul mouth. Twisting her face into a queasy grimace, she kept her head turned away. But, even the rancid smell of all his recent meals couldn’t erase the other disgusting aroma--unwashed human flesh within the confines of a crude tropical prison. The oily odors triggered a reflex to pull only enough air to stay conscious.

Monday, January 30, 2017

MYSTERY MONDAY: J.T. Reynolds returns from the war a broken man with one goal on his mind, protect his deceased brother’s baby. UNTIL I MET YOU BY ROSEMARY INDRA

Author: Rosemary Indra

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 4

Buy at: www.roguephoenixpress.com


J.T. Reynolds returns from the war a broken man with one goal on his mind, protect his deceased brother’s baby. When he meets the baby’s guardian, Jessica Reid, he conceals his identity in order to judge if she’s a competent caregiver. He finds peace and contentment in her arms and longs to build a loving family with her.

Jessica has been lied to by most of the men in her life and finds it difficult to form a lasting relationship. With sole guardianship of her nephew, she struggles to find a trustworthy babysitter until a handsome man moves into the neighbourhood. Learning to trust again, Jessica finds strength and love in Tyler’s strong arms. Jessica is devastated when she learns Tyler has deceived her. Is her love resilient enough to forgive him?


J. T. Reynolds stood motionless on Jessica Reid's porch. His military training had kicked in; know your adversary before you strategize. Intent on getting to know her, he first introduced himself to her neighbors. He'd gleaned the three women on the cul-de-sac were close. Their bond extended to more than three single women living on the same street. He'd learned Jessica hadn't lived here long but she'd known both of the women for some time. Jessica and Blake had been friends since elementary school. J. T. was amazed at how much the women revealed when he talked to them.
The exterior of her home was well maintained, but J. T. knew all too well appearances were deceiving. His family always gave the pretense of a loving family until they were behind closed doors.
A porch with white columns covered the majority of the front of her house. He glanced in the large window, studying his quarry. From where he stood, he could see her sitting in a rocking chair, holding the little tike. Mesmerized, he watched the woman hold the infant in her arms and slowly rock back and forth.
Jessica had a braid of long brown hair across the opposite breast from the baby. From where he stood, her features looked plain. No—solemn. Her face drawn and shoulders slumped. Impulsively, J. T. wanted to comfort her with an embrace. For a woman he didn't know, yet, she brought out a protective instinct in him. He tried to remember what his brother had said about the woman but drew a blank. This was personal, yet after so many years in the service, he felt as if this was another mission and pushed his emotions aside.
For some reason he wondered what color her eyes were. J.T. shook his head. He wasn't here because of the woman. The baby was his reason for this task. The child didn't know it, but he was the closest person J.T. had to a family. He would do anything for his foster brother's son.
Growing up, J. T. had spent years being shuffled from one foster home to another. He never felt a connection to any of the families until he moved in with Grant Markham's family. The two of them had become best friends and referred to each other as brothers.
When Wyatt was born, Grant emailed J. T. in Afghanistan with the news. He asked him if he'd be the baby's godfather and to look out for the boy if anything should happened. At the time, J. T. joked with him about how dangerous Grant's job as a computer programmer was and he needed to watch out for paper cuts. J. T. would give anything to hear Grant's laughter again.
J. T. focused on Jessica gently swaying in the rocking chair. Listening carefully, he swore he could hear her soothing voice sing a lullaby. The scene in the house was very hypnotic and he felt a sense of peace. For the first time in years, he wanted to belong to a family. To come home to a wife and children would be a peaceful change to the world he'd witnessed lately. Putting his arms around a woman at the end of the day, sharing the good and the bad would be heaven. J. T. quickly reached out and pressed the doorbell without another thought. He wasn't here for a touchy-feely moment. The child was the only reason he stood on her porch.
The doorbell chimed, piercing the still morning. He could still see her image through the window as she walked toward the door. Her movements were lithe and gracefully. Enticing. With a moment of doubt, J. T. stepped back and started to retrace his steps down the porch when he heard the door open.
The first thing he noticed when she opened the door were her rich brown eyes. Expressive bedroom eyes. He'd seen recognition in her gaze. In a moment of silence, a sensation of desire heated his blood. It had been too long since he had sex if one look from her had him thinking in that direction.
Jessica wore jeans and a white eyelet blouse which hung low, where she held the baby, revealing the swell of her breast. Her creamy white skin had him yearning to caress her.
"You must be Tyler."
He was glad to see the corners of her mouth curve into a smile and chase the sadness away.
"Blake called and said you saw her yesterday."
He'd done his homework. Talking to her friends and neighbors helped paved the way to meet her. J. T. removed his cap and pressed the cloth between his hands. Always able to talk himself out of any situation, at the moment, he struggle for a coherent thought. "Yes, ma'am."
"Won't you come in?"
Her hospitality was genuine and sincere. J. T. speculated Jessica wouldn't be so friendly if she knew who he was and his plan to spy on her to determine if she was fit to watch over Wyatt.
Her eyes widened with surprise. She held Wyatt against her shoulder the way she had the other day in front of the window. Then she reached out her free hand to him.
"I recognized you from the other day. Nice to meet you. I'm Jessica Reid."
Her soft fingers wrapped around his hand. The warmth and tenderness created a connection to the family closeness he'd seen moments ago causing him to yearn for a better life.
"The pleasure is mine."
Startled by the serenity he felt with her, J. T. wanted more and leaned toward her. He breathed in her fresh, clean scent, a fragrance he didn't recognize. Her deep brown gaze studied him closely and he wondered who was doing the investigation, her or him.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

ROMANCE SUNDAY: Join Jenni as the man in her dreams becomes a reality and the lusty adventure to find their way home begins.. DEEP SPACE DREAMING BY LORETTA LAIRD

Title: Deep Space Dreaming
Author: Loretta Laird
ISBN: 978-1-62420-164-6
Email: lorettalairdx@hotmail.com

Genre: Sci-Fi/Romance
Excerpt Heat Level: 4
Book Heat Level: 1


Join Jenni as the man in her dreams becomes a reality and the lusty adventure to find their way home begins..    


Humankind has spread like roaches across the universe thanks to the technology provided by a benevolent race known as the Trinz. Little did they know of the greed of humanity. A few pure souls began to dream of a paradise called Killanti, a new world where life could begin again.

Jenni dreams of a man who passes through her dreams and into her bed. Together they embark on a quest for answers that leads them across the universe and into each other’s hearts. Can their love transport them to their own utopia?


Deep Space Dreaming
Loretta Laird

By David Cairns 
4 Stars out of 5

What appeared at first to be a cheesy romance novel, the kind which I seldom read, turned out to be a really fun read. I'm more of a soft sci-fi fan than a hard one when it comes to books, so the plot of this story which involved a number of planets and species really appealed. Lead character, Jenni is a human who literally meets the man of her dreams. He happens to not only be Trinz,not human, but also devastatingly handsome and in possession of a forked tongue. (engage imagination for erotica) Deep Space Dreaming is at heart a love story, or more precisely, a red hot love story but the science fiction setting and plot which house the love story make it very interesting,more interesting than I expected. It's soft science fiction which supports the plot rather than overwhelming it, and the reader with technicalities.

I don't read a lot of erotica because I tend to find it all amusing rather than arousing, and I'm just not that into reading descriptions of love making regardless of how poetic they are, but I really enjoyed Deep Space Dreaming, and Laird's turn of phrase. This is an easy to read and entertaining novel with nicely imagined creatures from other worlds and a running commentary from them on the faults of humankind which might have upset the late, great Gene Roddenberry, Deep Space Dreaming works as entertainment. I highly recommend it.


As her eyes opened and the early rays of the simulated daylight bombarded her senses, a cry of disappointment escaped Jenni's rosy, swollen lips. She reached up a hand and touched the tender flesh, feeling where the pressure of rough lips had assaulted them with desperate fervor as she bid a passionate farewell only moments prior. It seemed so real, her head throbbed where it struck a rock and her fingers gently explored the spot. Gasping Jenni felt the tender swell of the lump and recalled how she lost her footing on the rock. Her dream returned as it did each and every night. Yet this time it changed; this time he had been there. He revealed himself, no longer content to linger in the shadows of her mind.
It was a dream that haunted Jenni's every waking moment, pulling her back to blessed slumber each night. Her days were spent moving from task to task in a kind of trance, her mind elsewhere, thinking of the vivid dreams that were becoming more and more real.
Jenni's colleagues noticed a change in her in recent weeks. They commented on the way her pallid skin contrasted with the dark circles that rimmed her pale blue eyes. Their concern was touching to a girl who had no remaining family. Jenni, at the tender age of twenty three, was the youngest navigational pilot assigned to a seeker vessel. Her grades at the University of Holborn 4 had been exemplary. At her post on Chicago 3, Jenni was in charge of navigation. Her role was to patrol and seek out rebels who may be harbored among the, thus far unchartered, planets of the Romeo Zone.
She was content with her lot. She loved to charter the planets and stars, marveling at the beauties of the universe. Jenni loathed the created atmospheres of the planetary domes. She longed for the freedom to explore a planet such as the one in her dreams where fresh air prevailed and greenery surrounded her. The feel of her bare feet on the soft, damp grass appeared to her as real as the constant presence that eluded her until last night. For last night, the bare chested man sought her out and made himself known to her.
The dreams started shortly after the tragic death of her parents. Jenni was eighteen. She had just begun her space pilot training and was awaiting her first leave. She planned to spend time with her parents on their home world of Texas 9, in the Lima Zone, when news of their demise reached her. Jenni's grief had been raw. Her tears fell relentlessly and none of her classmates could rouse her from her mourning. Sleep brought her only comfort as it blocked out the pain that ripped through her heart. At first, Jenni dreamed of a world cloaked in mist that swirled and moved in mysterious patterns around her. She sensed mountain ranges looming through the vapor, but no concrete images would form in her mind. Each wakening, she would try in vain to recreate the land she conjured in her dreaming. After many nights, hills and valleys had taken shape and Jenni felt a calmness that aided her sleep and refreshed her tired mind. Each night she would long for slumber to engulf her so she could escape from the metal world in which she resided to the landscapes of her dreams.
Time passed and the dream did not fade; rather the world grew around her. New life sprung up as flowers and streams appeared. Jenni was soon among the fragrant growth, strolling through gardens that seemed to be hers alone. Small flying creatures buzzed softly in her ear as gentle breezes caressed her face. The grass beneath her feet was as soft as the covers on her bed and she reveled in the sensation of sinking her toes into its lush pile.
The man appeared one night at the edges of her consciousness as if watching her wonder and contentment. She tried to turn her head and observe him fully, but he remained elusive and distant. Jenni could feel it was a male presence. She didn't know how but she just knew. Each waking, Jenni would try to recapture her dream; try to piece together the puzzle of his identity. As he continued to observe her, Jenni felt a sense of peace settle upon her. His presence somehow brought comfort to her pain and loneliness. She tried to engage him, tried to draw him into her dream more fully. She sensed a deep reluctance, a wave of regret that left her breathless. In the dawn, Jenni would awaken, her face wet with tears as she mourned for her own loss as well as a loss she could not explain.
With time, Jenni began to learn how to move freely within her dream. No longer was she an observer of her own actions but in control of them. Each night she would seek out new wonders, new glens and pools in which she would frolic. Each night, the same benevolent force regarded her conduct with silent appraisal.
One night, not long after she had been assigned to Chicago 3, Jenni's dreams changed. She drifted off to sleep as usual, eager to return to the land where she roamed free. Finding herself beside her favorite pool, Jenni shed her loose white shift and stepped naked into the crystal blue water. The edge of the pool was shelved, allowing her to stand waist high in the water. Beyond the rocky ledge the pool opened into a deep clear lagoon. The motion of her body in the still pool caused gentle ripples that lapped against her silky skin. Enjoying the sensation, Jenni threw back her head and laughed with unbounded joy. She paused as an unfamiliar sound reached her ears. It was a low rumble as if an animal growled in the dense trees beyond. Waiting to hear if anything was approaching, Jenni held her breath. When no further sound shattered the peaceful glade, she continued with her bathing. Dipping herself under the water then submerging, she repeated the pattern, finally emerging breathlessly at the surface. Flicking her long strawberry blond hair so it cascaded down the sun kissed flesh on her back, Jenni shivered. Chilled by the depth of the water, she decided to exit the pool and restore her body temperature. The large, smooth rocks that circled the pool provided a place to lay and feel the warmth of the sun on her bare flesh, and she eagerly climbed upon them, stretching out and basking in the glow of the fiery orb. As usual the perpetual presence lingered out of her reach, just at the edge of her vision, elusive yet constant.
The sun quickly did its work, and Jenni was soon aching for the feel of the cool water once again. She stood up, this time with the thought of diving from the rocks into depth of the pool. Smooth and slippery, the rocks proved to be a hazard for the adventurous diver as her foot slipped and she fell into the water, striking her head on the rock as she tumbled.
As water rushed into her body, quickly filling her lungs, Jenni sensed a blackness overwhelm her. Her eyes closed as she lost consciousness. Unsure if she were still dreaming, Jenni felt two strong hands pull her from the water across the hard surface of the rocks and onto the soft blanket of the grassy bank. Unable to open her eyes yet fully aware, she coughed as a deluge of water travelled through her body, anxious to make its escape. The same two hands turned her on her side as water spewed unceremoniously from her mouth. Gasping for air, Jenni forced her eyes open against the glare of the sun. Two dark eyes looked back at her from under a scowling set of eyebrows.

Saturday, January 28, 2017

SCI/FI FANTASY SATURDAY: The Dolus invasion rolled over the unassuming Kingdom of Larista leaving ghost towns in its wake. It brought death and destruction in abundance and left the people of Larista without their king or his heirs. DESERT BLOOD BY BRIAN YOUNG

Title: Desert Blood
Author: Brain Young
Email: byoung0201@aol.com

Genre: Sci Fi/Fantasy
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1


Book Whiz

This was a very fun, action-packed read. Desert Blood has very well-paced POV switches. Also, I love the fact that there are POVs for the villains; it helps us gain an insight into their world and how they think, which is a very good idea. There’s a massive character development arc in just one book! The characters in this book have dimension and their own backstories. I love how throughout the book, each character has a specific subplot and in the end, all these subplots just tie together wonderfully. I like the fact that you feel sympathy for every character — even the villains! I caught myself rooting for them a lot. The author’s writing style is eye-capturing, descriptive and full of action. He has more of a show – don’t tell – style, which I love in books. This book has so many cliffhangers; they kept me up all night reading! Overall, this book is an engaging, tension-filled read with beautiful descriptions and an amazing writing style.


The Dolus invasion rolled over the unassuming Kingdom of Larista leaving ghost towns in its wake. It brought death and destruction in abundance and left the people of Larista without their king or his heirs. It left the kingdom reeling with the realization that they weren’t alone on their isolated side of the Maker’s Mountain but instead part of a world that desperately wanted and needed the life giving water they took for granted.

One of the king’s sons, the Prisoner Prince Alexander, is still alive but held captive on the unexplored eastern side of the Maker’s Mountain known as the Wasteland. The man that holds him is the Emperor of the Free Cities, Jameson. His quest for vengeance and conquest has stirred up the other nations of the Wasteland and made them aware of the riches of Larista.

Alexander’s lifelong friends, Percival and Maximus must set out on individual journeys to find their friend, their king and themselves. But they will face a litany of foes along their paths. A horde of Beleick soldiers led by the Dictact threaten to sweep over the land sending everything into chaos while the Sisters of Gnaritas and the Death Stalker assassins weave their own intricate schemes for control of the Wasteland and the water that might flow from  Larista.

Amongst so many people blood thirsty for power can Alexander find his way to the Maker’s Path or will he succumb to his own demons and find the Wraith’s Den in Oblivion…


Gravel bit at his face and the palms of his hands; it tore at his light shirt as well, causing pain to sear across his chest and elbows and mixing his blood with the grit and dirt of the road. Being thrown from a moving vehicle wasn’t something Maximus had ever intended to experience. Until a couple of months ago, I hadn't even seen one in working condition. The thoughts managed to penetrate the turmoil of his current circumstances.
The frayed ropes that had bound his hands together snapped from the impact of his fall. Once he skidded to a stop, Maximus tore the rough sack off his head. Light from a high and hot, late day sun forced his eyes half shut, and he started to cough as the corrosive grit swirling in the air invaded his lungs. He forced himself to suck in more of the dreadful stuff along with the oxygen mixed with it and painfully made his way to his feet.
The choppers, as the locals affectionately called them, circled around him. Their riders hooted and jeered over the rattling engine noise that provided the bikes with their name. They were makeshift versions of the motorcycles high-priced couriers possessed and cobbled together from whatever spare parts their riders could scrounge up. Tires spit more sand at him and added to the growing cloud of dust. He turned circles, in vain, attempting to follow the dancing mob and make an accurate head count. After a moment, he realized it was pointless as not only was the sun hampering his vision, but his sight was slightly blurry as well. He didn’t remember hitting his head when he was thrown from the chopper, but it throbbed nonetheless.
He did notice an abandoned building that loomed in the distance beyond the motorcycles; it was distorted from the dust swirling in the air and heat waves radiating from the ground. Its broken windows and sagging roof weren’t very promising, but it would be better than standing out in the open. The only problem was getting to it. He doubted he’d get more than a few steps in any direction before being run down by one of the gangers. And that was definitely all they were. Despite his foreign status, Maximus had spent enough time in the military to tell the difference between a professional unit and a bunch of testosterone teeming punks.
It’s worth a try. He sprinted towards it and made it all the way to the ring of riders before realizing he would never get through them. The idea of trying to dive past them and hope his luck held out crossed his mind, but his instincts took over. He skidded to a stop and one of the passing riders gave him a boot to the chest. The rider’s momentum was jarring and Maximus fell on his back hard enough to send the wind rushing from his lungs.
He looked up to see the rider who had kicked him wobble out of line before his bike tipped over and spilled him to the ground. A howl of laughter loud enough to be heard over the other riders was aimed at their fallen brethren. He responded with muttered cursing and a show of rude gestures. Maximus pulled himself to his feet for the second time in as many minutes.
Motion caught his attention and Maximus tried to focus his gaze on one of the riders who broke from the pack. The man sped to mere feet in front of Maximus before slipping his rear wheel to the side and coming to a skidding stop, spraying more sand into the air. Maximus didn’t flinch from the display of showmanship; he only closed his eyes and tilted his head aside to avoid the worst of the grit.look at his greeter, he allowed himself to slump against the relatively cold stone wall.