Thursday, May 23, 2013

Read About A Military Hero This Memorial Day and save - two of my historical romance titles are just 99 cents each!

Memorial Day.  It began as a time for remembrance, for appreciation for service given in the line of duty, and to honor our dead heroes.  And it remains a time for all of that and more.  Most of us not only decorate and honor the soldiers, sailors, and other servicemen who have given the ultimate sacrifice for our country along with those who served in both war and peace.  We remember our loved ones, family members and friends.  We put out flags and flowers.  Many folks will gather for family reunions and share the old stories, made into near legends with the telling.  The poignant strains of Taps will waft over many cemeteries as ceremonies get underway in small graveyards and national cemeteries from Arlington across the country.

For many, since the observance became a three day holiday weekend, it's also an unofficial kickoff for summer.  People go on trips, head for the beach or their favorite lake, up into the mountains or out into the prairies.  They go to baseball games, amusement parks, barbecues, concerts, and other attractions.  They dust the cobwebs off the boat after a long winter or take the motorcycle out for a spin.  There's nothing wrong with some fun in the sun or some down time as long as we do take a moment or more to remember the true meaning of the observance.

Between visiting several cemeteries, I hope to find a little bit of down time to read.  If you, like me, have some reading in the plan, I hope you'll consider my two historical romances from Rebel Ink Press.  They're selling May 23-26 at the sharp discount of just 99 cents each, down from the usual $5.99 each at Amazon.com.  I chose these two titles because both heroes, Guy Richter and Pvt. Benjamin Levy are military men.  Guy's a former World War flying ace dealing with some major PTSD issues postwar and Benny Levy is a World War II soldier far from home.  In The Shadow of War is set in the small town where I now live, Neosho, MO, home to Camp Crowder, better known to most people as Camp Swampy from Mort Walker's well-known comic strip, Beetle BaileyGuy's Angel takes place in 1925 in my hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri. 

Here's the details, blurb, cover, etc. for both and the discount links but hurry - the sale lasts through Sunday:




Her great-granddaughter wants to know if Bette remembers World War II for a school project and her questions revive old memories….

Small town school teacher Bette Sullivan's life was interrupted when the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor on December 7th 1941 but her world changed forever when she met Private Benny Levy, a soldier from the Flatbush neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York stationed at Camp Crowder, the local Army base.

 

Their attraction is immediate and mutual but as their relationship grows their love and lives are shadowed by World War II. As the future looms uncertain the couple comes together with almost desperate need and a powerful love they hope can weather anything, including the war.

 

Excerpt:

            “I missed you, doll,” he said afterward. “God, I missed you.”

             Warmth blossomed within her chest and she smiled at him. “I missed you too, Benny. Saturday seemed so long and I didn’t know if you could come this morning. I worried you might not make it.”

            “Me, too,” he said. “I almost missed the bus anyhow because the company sergeant griped us out because the barracks weren’t neat enough to suit him.  Yesterday turned out lousy, all day.”

            “Why?” she asked. “What happened?”

            “What didn’t?” he said. “Jeez, they made us go on a long hike through the back country, for hours in the heat.  I picked up every tick and chigger in the world, I think, got mosquito bit, and worn out.  Two of the guys fell out with heat exhaustion and ended up at the post hospital.  My feet and ankles itched me like crazy. Even the darn Army boots didn’t help me from getting eaten by the insects.  I swear the buggers crawled into my boots.”

            “Aw, honey, I’m sorry,” Bette said, using the endearment for the first time. “Do the bites still itch?”

            “Not so bad,” he said. “Back in barracks, some of the guys said to soak my feet in bleach water so we begged some from the laundry.  It helped.  Then after dinner they called me over to the motor pool to fix a jeep and I got to bed late just before final lights out.  I’m beat and that’s a fact.”

            Bette paused and faced him. “Would you rather go rest or something?”

            “Naw, sugar, I’m fine.  I need some Joe and I’m hungry, too.  I just got a couple of hours so let’s go eat and spend a little time together, okay?”

            “It’s fine with me,” she said.

            They ate at a different cafĂ© and she introduced him to biscuits and gravy, something he vowed he’d never eaten before but said he liked.  Afterward, with time passing too fast, he suggested they walk down to Big Spring Park again but she had another idea.

            “You look so tired,” Bette said.  He did with dark smudges beneath both eyes. “If you want we can go sit in the porch swing at Aunt Virgie’s or in the front room.”

            Benny shook his head. “I’ll catch a nap later this afternoon, if I’m lucky.  I’d like a few more kisses and I doubt your parents would like us spooning out on the porch.”

            “I forgot they’re there,” she replied. “So, okay, let’s go to the park.”

            Another couple beat them to the grotto, so they wandered around the park until they found a vacant bench in the shade.  A few kids played on the teeter-totter and swings, their happy babble setting a bright mood.  Benny put his arm around her and Bette snuggled against him with a contented sigh.  For a few minutes they sat, comfortable with the pose and content with each other.  She’d already come to associate his scent with security and she inhaled it, saving it up for when she’d be alone.  As they rested in easy silence she savored the harmony and as they lingered Bette noticed their breath came in tandem, in and out with the same rhythm as if they were one, not two.

            Just as she opened her mouth to remark on it Benny took her face and turned it toward him.  With slow deliberation he kissed her, unhurried with such sweetness she forgot to breathe for a few seconds.  His lips caressed her mouth with a fine light touch, as soft as hair blown across her face with a gentle breeze.  Such tenderness evoked the same within and yet triggered desire, too.  Benny cherished her mouth with his, his lips sending shivers through her body despite the hot day, little spirals of chill strong enough to make goose pimples erupt on her flesh.

            Bette responded with her mouth, a hankering for something deeper and more intimate rising in her with the force of a rising wind.  She sensed how great it would be to lose her consciousness by drowning in her senses, by molding her body into his.  Bette, virgin as the mother of God, ached now for the pleasures of the flesh.  Every old wives tale ever heard about sex being dirty or painful or nasty evaporated faster than snow in March and for the first time in her life, she decided sex could be wonderful.  

            His kisses stirred Bette’s body even as they induced emotion, too sweet to be sinful.  Her body responded to his mouth the way a good corn crop ripened beneath the sun’s warmth.  As her limbs relaxed she leaned into him, one hand holding tight to his arm so she wouldn’t lose balance to tumble from the park bench onto the grass.  The kiss lasted forever, but not quite long enough when Benny paused so they could both breathe again.

            “Oh,” she said with wonder. “Benny, that’s nice.”

            “Nice, she says,” he responded with mock outrage. “Just nice? I call it splendid, fantastic, superb, supreme…”


Specially priced through Sunday at just 99 cents – on Amazon.com!


When a young woman really believes the sky is the limit, amazing things can happen….

 
Lorraine Ryan wants to fly airplanes so she heads for the local airstrip in 1925 to make her dream come true.  Most of the flyboys think she’s cute but a woman’s place is in the home, not the cockpit.   When Guy Richter steps up and offers to teach her to fly, she’s captivated with both Guy and flight.  He nicknames her “Angel” and takes her up into that wild blue yonder.  Before long, they’re deep in love.

Love, however, isn’t always enough……


Guy, a former World War I flying ace, is haunted by his past. His demons include his war service, the death of his only brother in an accident the previous year, and the Valkyries that he evaded in France who trail him in the hopes that they can complete his destiny.  But his dreams lie with Angel and as they grow closer and closer, he soon realizes that if anyone can save him, it’s his Angel.

Excerpt:

Angel longed for Guy.  He’d make her feel better, she thought, just by being there. If she could just inhale his masculine scent, feel the solid comfort of his arms around her then maybe she could sleep. She crushed out her smoke and with an unexpected impulse crept into the bedroom and retrieved a dress. In the darkness, she stripped out of her gown and dressed, slipping on shoes without stockings. She didn’t stop to pick up her purse and paused long enough only to tuck her pillow beneath the sheet so it might pass for her sleeping form if Mama woke.

Like a fugitive she crept down Poulin, crossing each block with furtive speed all the way down to North Second. She turned the corner and moved toward Mamie Stafford’s house where Guy, along with other young men, rented the spare rooms.  Angel moved with haste but kept to the darkest of the shadows although she saw no one but a stray cat. When it emerged out of the night, she bit down on a scream and moved on.  She really didn’t know what she might do when she got there although she knew which window belonged to Guy. Some half-baked idea she might toss a pebble if she could find one, at the glass was in her mind but when she came closer, she noticed the fiery glow of someone’s cigarette on the deep porch. Long before she could see the person’s face she knew it was Guy and she moved toward it, like a river turtle moving back to the water.

Angel said nothing.  She came to a halt in front of the house and stood, her light colored dress visible out in the night. Guy drew on his cigarette and she saw his tired face, ravaged in the dimness. He smoked it down as far as he could and moved forward to pitch it. She knew the moment he spotted her because he stiffened, startled, before his face lit up with recognition.

She couldn’t remember moving but one moment she stood on the cracked sidewalk and the next Guy held her in his arms.  He didn’t kiss her at first but stood and gazed into her eyes.  Guy took one finger and ran it down the curve of her cheek then outlined her lips.

“You came,” he whispered. “I was thinking about you, Angel, wishing you were here and you came.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answered. “I got so lonesome and blue, Guy, so I left the house to come here.  I needed you.”

 “Still scared about what happened today, baby?”

 She nodded.  “I am but that’s not the only reason why I beat it over here.  I just missed you and I wanted to be with you.”

 “That’s how I felt, standing out here smoking,” he said, stroking strands of hair back from her face. “I needed you like I need air to breathe and then I looked up to see you standing there, like an answer to prayer.”

Guy kissed her, his mouth soft and sweet against her lips but urgent too, his need fueling his passion.  Without discussion they moved onto the porch proper, a wide veranda with some older wicker furniture.  They settled onto a wicker bench with a high back and he kissed her with such yearning her insides turned into mush.  His hand crept up her bare leg, tickling and yet moving into what most girls would call forbidden territory but Angel didn’t complain. She liked it too much.

When he passed her knee and moved up her thigh, Guy forged ahead and fingered her bare muff. When she dressed, Angel hadn’t bothered to put on any undergarments and so he touched flesh.  Against her other leg, she could feel his male hardness and when he shifted her so half sprawled on the settee, Angel adjusted her bottom to allow him to enter with ease.

With quiet purpose, Guy settled onto her and slid into her inner sanctum. The sensation sent ripples of pleasure through her and to keep from making any outcry, Angel put her fist into her mouth.  He snaked in and out of her body, each time building the pressure to a new level until very soon, their bodies bucked together in a dance dating back to the Garden of Eden.

She adored the look on his face, the intent concentration and the flush of pleasure visible even in the shadowed recesses of the porch. He made no sound but she felt the rush of his orgasm and the slight shudder as he finished. Guy lay against her, spent but satisfied as she basked with the still pulsating culmination of their love.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Urban Renewal: A Little Memorial Day, A Lot Coming Home


                        From the desk of Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

“This book is for anyone who has experienced that intense first love and still holds a small piece of it in their heart….This story is about "going home" and finding yourself again….. This was a heartwarming love story, and I will definitely read more by this author.”

Urban Renewal review from Amazon.com


 

Somehow Memorial Day – and the three day holiday weekend attached to the observance – has become the unofficial kick off for the summer season in the US.  The ads in my Sunday paper yesterday were chock full of barbecue grills and patio furniture, swimwear and picnic goods, swimming pools and movie stars.  Oh, wait.  Swimming pools, yes.  Movie stars, no.  The movie star connection comes from my March release from Champagne Books, Urban Renewal.   It’s earning some rave reviews and selling copies at all the major online retail sites.  Since it has a scene centered around Memorial Day, I thought I’d focus on it the first part of this week and share the scene.  I’ll also add a shorter snippet with some heat between Marie and Joe just for fun!

Here’s the cover and the blurb:
 
 

Movie star Mercedes Montague has it all – the fame, the fortune, and the glittering celebrity lifestyle.  But she lost herself somewhere along the way. On a publicity tour for her next movie she realizes she’s just fifty miles from her hometown.  Mercedes – real name Marie Dillard – decides to bolt and go home to see if she can find what’s left of herself.   Hiding away in her grandparents’ old home in a working class neighborhood she’s haunted by memories and reminders of her first and only love, Joe Shelby.

 Marie’s stunned when Joe shows up at her door.  Passion kindles between them from the first moment their eyes meet but she won’t let it consume her unless it’s going to include a lasting love. As they renew their relationship, Marie and Joe face many struggles.

Can a movie star return to reality or is love just a distant dream?

 

Memorial Day themed excerpt:

 

 

“I’ll clean up my mess and get dressed.”

So, the star of the new movie, Tempest, filled up the old deep sink with water and did the dishes. Marie wiped down the table and stove. She dressed in simple jeans and a comfortable aquamarine scoop-necked blouse. She brushed back her long hair and left it down although she secured it with a pair of barrettes. By the time Joe walked out of the bathroom wearing nothing at all, she’d done her minimal make-up and was ready to go. Clean shaved, he exuded man energy and she wanted him with a rush of desire. But Marie could wait, she decided, until after they made their rounds. Then they would enjoy a leisurely lovemaking session together.

At the small discount chain up on the north end of St. Joe Avenue, Marie selected silk wreaths for her grandparents and smaller bouquets for other relatives. Joe grabbed a couple for his deceased family members and they headed out.

“Where do you want to go first?”

“Mount Mora,” Marie said. “That’s where Ma and Pop are buried.”

“I remember,” Joe said. So did she. Pop’s funeral on a bitter February day still hurt to think about but Joe, wearing a heavy old sheepskin style coat, had never left her side. Marie recalled the ankle deep snow, cold and heavy as it seeped into her shoes. Joe carried her back to the funeral home limo, something she would never forget. When she came home to lay Ma to rest, on a beautiful autumn day with yellow leaves drifting down from the maple tree nearby, she looked for Joe but of course he hadn’t come. He would have still been in the Army, then.

At the old cemetery he entered through the gates and wound past Mausoleum Row where some of the city’s earliest rich folks took their eternal rest. Joe parked near where her grandparents were buried, about three rows up from the road beneath a pair of huge cedar trees. She placed the red and white wreath on Ma’s side of the double upright marker and Joe helped set the festive yellow one for Pop. Marie stuck the small American flag she’d bought for her grandfather into the ground. Then they walked over to where her Uncle Neal rested. She placed a second flag for him and a bouquet of blue roses.

Although memories flooded her mind, Marie wasn’t sad, just reflective and when Joe put his arm around her, she smiled.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Joe. No tears.”

“That’s good. Where are we headed next?”

“Ashland, I suppose.” Marie named the other cemetery with a sigh. Most of her mom’s family rested there and so did her parents. So they drove out to Ashland Avenue, to another cemetery, this one much larger than Mount Mora. She directed Joe to her parents’ graves, out in the center of a triangular section separated from the rest of the cemetery by the drive. Although she didn’t remember her parents at all since they died when she was not quite one, Marie could recall when this section was mostly grass. Even as a small child, Marie could recall their pink granite headstone set apart but now rows of graves surrounded it. They walked through the grass and she placed two bouquets. The white daisies and yellow daffodils contrasted against the bright green grass.

“I wish I’d met them,” Joe remarked.

Marie smiled. “I just wish I remembered them. I don’t, not at all. I don’t remember going to live with Ma and Pop either. Ma told me they took care of me while my mother worked anyway so I guess it didn’t seem so strange to me.”

“What happened to them anyway?”

“Ma said they were heading down to Starlight to see a concert but they crashed. Some eighteen wheelers jackknifed and I guess they couldn’t stop in time to avoid them. I don’t even know who was driving but I think it happened on I-35.”

“I’m sorry, Marie.”

“Me, too, Joe.”

They walked around and put flowers at her maternal grandparents’ grave, at an aunt’s she did remember, and a few other ancestors. As they headed back to Joe’s truck, Marie asked, “Where’s your dad buried, Joe?”

“He’s out at Memorial Park. I thought we’d head out there next. Most of my folks are there, except the ones buried up at Fillmore. I go up there every five years or so but I’m not planning to go today.”

They headed out to Frederick Avenue and on east to Memorial Park. The pastoral lake still featured swans, Marie noticed, as they turned into the entrance. None of her family rested here but she’d been to several funerals. Joe headed around the curve of the hill to the Garden of the Last Supper. After he came to a stop and they got out, he led her down a sidewalk dividing the section. Mr. Shelby’s grave was just a few paces to the left.

“Here’s Dad,” Joe said as he knelt. Marie watched as he worked a permanent vase out of the ground and stood it up, ready for use. They put their red silk geraniums into it, and stepped back. She caught a glimpse of Joe’s face, naked with grief, and she rubbed his left arm.

“Hey, sweetheart?”

He blinked and dashed a few tears out of his eyes. “I’m all right. I still miss him, though. He’d be glad you’re here with me today.”

“I hope so.”

Joe caught her in his arms and held her tight for a long moment. “I know so,” he said. “Let’s take the last of the flowers to my grandparents’ and get the hell out of here.”

“Sure,” Marie said. Curious, she asked, “Where’s Riley’s mom buried?”

“She’s out here but I don’t take her flowers. It seems pretty hypocritical to me so I don’t.”

At his grandparents’ marker, Marie noticed how humid the day seemed. “Isn’t it hot for May?” she asked Joe.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is. I think it’ll storm later. I’ve been watching a storm system on the weather for several days now and it looks like it could be a nasty one. It’s almost become a tradition around here to get severe weather over Memorial Day. We could use the rain but I hope we miss out on the storms. Mom wants us to come over for a cookout Sunday evening so I hope the weather’s good.”

Although he talked about the weather with calm, quiet anxiety prickled the back of her neck. A normal thunderstorm was one thing; major severe weather could be another. California had earthquakes but tornadoes were rare out on the west coast.

By the time they headed toward the exit, more people were walking the rows of flat stones to place their floral tributes. With all the bright blooming colors, Memorial Park seemed somehow festive, not the somber final resting place for many. Deep in thought, she didn’t notice which direction Joe took or where he headed until he pulled into the vast parking lot of the regional medical center where he worked.

“We were this close so I thought I’d drive you by,” he explained. “I imagine Heartland’s grown since you last saw the place.”

“Yes, it has.” Marie marveled at the increased size of the facility and the larger number of buildings surrounding the main campus. “Where you do work?”

“The ER entrance is on the southeast corner. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Curious to see where he worked, at least an outsiders’ view, Marie nodded. Inside the huge hospital he led her to the emergency wing. Most of the staff they passed greeted him and after Joe gave her the basic tour, he walked her down to the main entrance and back. He pointed out the chapel, the cafeteria, the gift shop, and more.

“Now you can come out and spend my break with me sometime,” he said.

Marie gawked around the place. “I’ll probably lose my way since I’m not familiar with the place,” she said.

“You won’t get lost for long.”

Something wistful in his voice made her believe he really wanted her to come so she nodded. “All right, I’ll come.”

“Good.”

 

Now a sexy snippet:

Shifting shadows cast by the streetlights and passing vehicles danced on the wall of Marie’s bedroom as Joe undressed her with slow hands. He took his time, unhurried, and his fingers lingered to caress her skin. Her skin became ultra-sensitive, responsive to the slightest stroke. Anticipation rippled across her flesh with delicious delight and a wild sense of intoxication swept over her. Marie hadn’t had anything to drink but she experienced the same high rush, drunk on Joe’s physical presence.

She raked her fingers across his bare back and adored the sound he made, not quite a grunt or a moan. He retaliated by caressing her breasts and burying his face against them. She had known his body once and although a few years of wear showed, it hadn’t changed much as Marie explored it. Her hands followed the curve of his hip, the cleft between his legs as if she were blind.

Joe traced the outline of her ribs with one finger, tantalizing and ticklish. “You’re too damn skinny,” he said as his fingers touched bone just below the skin. “But you’re sexy as hell anyway.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Marie replied, the line an old one from their past. In their earliest attraction period, Joe teased her unmercifully and she would often snap at him, “Shut up,” but she never wanted him to quit. He hadn’t.

“Your wish is my command, movie star princess,” Joe told her, laughter in his voice.

From the moment his mouth touched hers, she burned with fire. His hot lips melted her body into pliant wax, his to do whatever he wished. Joe kissed her with the same slow nonchalance, no hurry, and his indolence drove her wild. The more she ached for release, the harder Marie coveted wildness, the slower Joe became and the more deliberate.

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Sunday, May 12, 2013

Let Devlin Ride Into Your Heart via your e-reader! If you like motorcycles, if you appreciate veterans, if you struggle with PTSD, this is the hero for you! Let Devlin ride into your life and heart. Devlin roars into Gracie’s life on a motorcycle in Devlin’s Grace from Rebel Ink Press as the first chapter begins. She’s scared but she’s intrigued too. Readers get their first taste of Devlin in a brief prologue so they’re aware he served in Iraq. And it’s evident the attraction is mutual. Devlin is far from the ideal date. He’s more than a little rough around the edges and he struggles with many things including PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). He rides on the wild side of life and by his own admission he’s more than a little wicked. After all, his nickname is ‘Devil’. Since Gracie’s a good girl and a college student, you might expect her to turn tail and run but she doesn’t. Instead, she responds to him with an openness he hasn’t experienced until now. Devlin is more than a little prickly but Gracie, despite her natural shyness, can be pushy. And she dares to move closer when everyone else tends to back away from the former Marine. Devlin is a flawed hero. He’s human but he’s not without redeeming qualities. And Gracie looks beyond the mask, probes deeper behind the façade. The more she knows him, the deeper her feelings become. Their love story possesses some poignant moments and I think it’s because he’s not perfect but they work together in spite of their issues. When I decided to get serious about writing fiction I didn’t set out to write romance, just tell stories. It wasn’t until after I’d finished the third one I realized I was writing romance and it worked for me. I strive to write about everyday people who are often in extraordinary circumstances, real people with quirks and flaws and troubles. From Devlin’s Grace, here’s an excerpt: “I don’t sleep much, anyway.” His hesitant manner hinted maybe he didn’t usually volunteer such personal information any more than she invited men up to drink coffee or rode motorcycles. Her hand trembled the tiniest bit as Gracie put her cup up to her lips. Dev made her nervous, but he evoked a growing sense of tenderness, too. And his presence leached out a lot of her usual bashful reserve. Deep weariness shadowed his eyes and haunted his face, she noted, so she asked, “Why don’t you?” This time, his mug shook between his hands. After a heavy moment of silence, he sighed. “You can’t expect the devil to have sweet dreams, darlin’. Thanks for the coffee. I’ve got to go – morning comes early and I have to work.” When he held out the cup, Gracie noticed the scarring on the underside of his left arm. Dead white skin mottled with angry red patches and rough ridges indicated he’d suffered serious burns. She noticed similar scars on the side of his neck and wondered how much of his body had been affected. Everything she’d learned screamed at her to say nothing, to ignore what she saw, but Gracie followed instinct. After accepting the cup, she put it down on the end table and touched the old burn. Her fingers brushed against the coarse skin and marveled to find it cool. She expected heat, but it would’ve gone long ago. Dev started to jerk away from her, but when she touched him, he stopped. Like a bird poised for flight, he remained still as she stroked the damaged area. Before she could speak, he pulled his arm back and with a defiant glint in his eyes, he removed his t-shirt. “If you want to see the scars, you can see them all,” Dev said, voice harsh and hoarse. He revealed a torso dappled with terrible raised welts, both back and belly. These scars were worse than the others. Raised red ropes twined like vines over his flesh, fused and almost melted. The agony Dev endured was beyond anything she could imagine and Gracie’s eyes brimmed with tears. They spilled over, down her cheeks with silent hurt. One glance at his face, set hard and as stoic as a statue intensified her empathy. She laid her right hand on his back, his scarred flesh beneath her touch and with her left she touched the center of his chest. Beneath her hand his heartbeat thumped, rapid but steady. His eyes locked with hers and in them Gracie glimpsed flickers of his personal hell. Confusion showed up, too, along with regret and maybe shame. Whatever she did or said now would be pivotal, she sensed. Based on her actions he’d either leave and be gone from her forever, something she didn’t want, or a new beginning would emerge, delicate and fragile. If she took time to think, she’d be lost so Gracie mined deep into her woman’s soul. When words came, she spoke them, her voice soft and yet as constant as the evening stars. “Oh, Dev, it must’ve hurt so much.” “I don’t want your pity,” he said, a snarl transforming his face into something wolfish, alien. “Don’t feel sorry for me, babe. I don’t need charity and I sure as hell don’t need you to tell me some dumb ass feel good bunch of shit. So quit crying over me. Maybe it makes you feel better, but it makes me mad.” “It isn’t pity,” Gracie told him. “I admire you. It takes a lot of courage to overcome hurts like this. I hurt for you, but I don’t feel sorry for you. I hate you had to go through such pain, but I’m crying because I care.” His hard face softened a little. “Why?” In this raw moment, she could give him nothing but honesty. “I don’t know, but I do.” https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-devlin039sgrace-1004238-148.html http://www.amazon.com/Devlins-Grace-ebook/dp/B00A8J1D1I/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1353110924&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=devlin%27s+grace+lee+ann+sontheimer+murphy http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/devlins-grace-lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy/1113805013?ean=2940015838688 http://www.bookstrand.com/devlins-grace MY LINKS Twitter: leeannwriter From Sweet to Heat: The Romance of Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphyhttps://www.facebook.com/pages/From-Sweet-To-Heat-The-Romance-of-Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/287540748010934?ref=hl My Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/#!/leeann.sontheimermurphy Website/blog: http://leeannsontheimermurphywriterauthor.blogpspot.com Blog: Rebel Writer: Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy http://leeannsontheimermurphy.blogspot.com Author In The House blog: http://authorinthehouse.blogspot.com Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/e/B004JPBM6I http://www.linkedin.com/pub/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy/22/3a4/a75 Excerpt Two: He greeted her with a quiet smile, naked as Adam in the Garden of Eden. His lean, scarred body immediately aroused her, all the more because Gracie knew from his expression he’d sloughed away some of his inner darkness for now. Devlin glanced around the bedroom and grinned. In place of the candles she’d wanted Gracie draped the single bedside lamp with a thin kitchen towel to soften the illumination. The muted light set a similar mood and she’d found a Mannheim Steamroller CD among Dev’s collection so delightful music created some background ambiance. Her earlier desire stirred and with a racy little witch walk, hips swaying, Gracie walked over to him. Without a word, she touched his chest then dropped her hands lower to cup his manhood between her palms. His cock came to life with speed and Devlin kissed her, without artifice and with nothing between them but basic want and sheer need. His mouth cherished hers, nurtured and nuzzled Gracie’s lips. Tingles danced along her spine and legs. Devlin’s kisses sent electricity through her nipples and turned her pussy moist. He held her and his hands strayed over her flesh, removing her garments with deft skill. His kisses continued and he moved downward to kiss her breasts until she shivered. Gracie’s fingers fondled Dev’s nipples and when they turned hard beneath her touch, she put her mouth over one to suckle. His moan of pleasure fired her further and for the first time she dropped to her knees. Gracie took his dick into her mouth and sucked, evoking a new sensation for her, more than a little strange yet she liked it. When it stiffened, she used her lips to caress and Devlin cried out with wordless delight. “Oh, Jesus, babe,” he said, “That’s good, real good. Don’t quit now.” Unable to answer, Gracie used her tongue and Devlin quivered. She continued until she thought he’d explode in her mouth and withdrew. Dev jerked her to her feet then backed her to the bed. In their haste for fulfillment neither turned down the covers and as soon as she found herself on her back, Gracie opened her legs wide. Devlin dived between them, his cock proud and ready. He entered her hard, swift and sure. On impact, her walls tightened around him to squeeze as he moved within, each thrust bringing a new wave of pure pleasure. Gracie’s body hummed with gladness as the erotic buzz of good sex claimed her. Their connection rocked them both and they spiraled upward toward satisfaction, each level increasing the intensity of the sensual spasms. Gracie strained against Devlin, clinging and almost crying for release. His guttural noises of bliss brought her home and they came in a wild, spinning rush of ecstasy. During the final burst of orgasm Gracie cried out too and their voices joined in joyful noise, united in body, connected with soul. http://youtu.be/4UjJBYY6hz4 https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-devlin039sgrace-1004238-148.html http://www.amazon.com/Devlins-Grace-ebook/dp/B00A8J1D1I/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1353110924&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=devlin%27s+grace+lee+ann+sontheimer+murphy http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/devlins-grace-lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy/1113805013?ean=2940015838688 http://www.bookstrand.com/devlins-grace




            Let Devlin ride into your life and heart.

            Devlin roars into Gracie’s life on a motorcycle in Devlin’s Grace from Rebel Ink Press as the first chapter begins. She’s scared but she’s intrigued too.  Readers get their first taste of Devlin in a brief prologue so they’re aware he served in Iraq.   And it’s evident the attraction is mutual. Devlin is far from the ideal date.  He’s more than a little rough around the edges and he struggles with many things including PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).  He rides on the wild side of life and by his own admission he’s more than a little wicked.  After all, his nickname is ‘Devil’.  Since Gracie’s a good girl and a college student, you might expect her to turn tail and run but she doesn’t.  Instead, she responds to him with an openness he hasn’t experienced until now.  Devlin is more than a little prickly but Gracie, despite her natural shyness, can be pushy.  And she dares to move closer when everyone else tends to back away from the former Marine.
            Devlin is a flawed hero. He’s human but he’s not without redeeming qualities. And Gracie looks beyond the mask, probes deeper behind the façade.  The more she knows him, the deeper her feelings become.  Their love story possesses some poignant moments and I think it’s because he’s not perfect but they work together in spite of their issues.
When I decided to get serious about writing fiction I didn’t set out to write romance, just tell stories.  It wasn’t until after I’d finished the third one I realized I was writing romance and it worked for me. I strive to write about everyday people who are often in extraordinary circumstances, real people with quirks and flaws and troubles.
            From Devlin’s Grace, here’s an excerpt:


            “I don’t sleep much, anyway.”
            His hesitant manner hinted maybe he didn’t usually volunteer such personal information any more than she invited men up to drink coffee or rode motorcycles.   Her hand trembled the tiniest bit as Gracie put her cup up to her lips.  Dev made her nervous, but he evoked a growing sense of tenderness, too.  And his presence leached out a lot of her usual bashful reserve.  Deep weariness shadowed his eyes and haunted his face, she noted, so she asked, “Why don’t you?”
            This time, his mug shook between his hands.  After a heavy moment of silence, he sighed. “You can’t expect the devil to have sweet dreams, darlin’.  Thanks for the coffee.  I’ve got to go – morning comes early and I have to work.”
            When he held out the cup, Gracie noticed the scarring on the underside of his left arm.  Dead white skin mottled with angry red patches and rough ridges indicated he’d suffered serious burns.  She noticed similar scars on the side of his neck and wondered how much of his body had been affected.  Everything she’d learned screamed at her to say nothing, to ignore what she saw, but Gracie followed instinct.  After accepting the cup, she put it down on the end table and touched the old burn.  Her fingers brushed against the coarse skin and marveled to find it cool.  She expected heat, but it would’ve gone long ago.  Dev started to jerk away from her, but when she touched him, he stopped.  Like a bird poised for flight, he remained still as she stroked the damaged area.
            Before she could speak, he pulled his arm back and with a defiant glint in his eyes, he removed his t-shirt. “If you want to see the scars, you can see them all,” Dev said, voice harsh and hoarse. 
He revealed a torso dappled with terrible raised welts, both back and belly.  These scars were worse than the others.  Raised red ropes twined like vines over his flesh, fused and almost melted.  The agony Dev endured was beyond anything she could imagine and Gracie’s eyes brimmed with tears.  They spilled over, down her cheeks with silent hurt.  One glance at his face, set hard and as stoic as a statue intensified her empathy.  She laid her right hand on his back, his scarred flesh beneath her touch and with her left she touched the center of his chest.
Beneath her hand his heartbeat thumped, rapid but steady.  His eyes locked with hers and in them Gracie glimpsed flickers of his personal hell.   Confusion showed up, too, along with regret and maybe shame.
            Whatever she did or said now would be pivotal, she sensed.  Based on her actions he’d either leave and be gone from her forever, something she didn’t want, or a new beginning would emerge, delicate and fragile.  If she took time to think, she’d be lost so Gracie mined deep into her woman’s soul.  When words came, she spoke them, her voice soft and yet as constant as the evening stars.  “Oh, Dev, it must’ve hurt so much.”
            “I don’t want your pity,” he said, a snarl transforming his face into something wolfish, alien.  “Don’t feel sorry for me, babe.  I don’t need charity and I sure as hell don’t need you to tell me some dumb ass feel good bunch of shit.  So quit crying over me.  Maybe it makes you feel better, but it makes me mad.”
            “It isn’t pity,” Gracie told him. “I admire you.  It takes a lot of courage to overcome hurts like this.  I hurt for you, but I don’t feel sorry for you.  I hate you had to go through such pain, but I’m crying because I care.”
             His hard face softened a little. “Why?”
            In this raw moment, she could give him nothing but honesty. “I don’t know, but I do.”


MY LINKS
Twitter: leeannwriter
From Sweet to Heat: The Romance of Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphyhttps://www.facebook.com/pages/From-Sweet-To-Heat-The-Romance-of-Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/287540748010934?ref=hl
Blog: Rebel Writer: Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
Author In The House blog:
Excerpt Two:


  He greeted her with a quiet smile, naked as Adam in the Garden of Eden.  His lean, scarred body immediately aroused her, all the more because Gracie knew from his expression he’d sloughed away some of his inner darkness for now. 
            Devlin glanced around the bedroom and grinned.  In place of the candles she’d wanted Gracie draped the single bedside lamp with a thin kitchen towel to soften the illumination.  The muted light set a similar mood and she’d found a Mannheim Steamroller CD among Dev’s collection so delightful music created some background ambiance.  Her earlier desire stirred and with a racy little witch walk, hips swaying, Gracie walked over to him.  Without a word, she touched his chest then dropped her hands lower to cup his manhood between her palms.  His cock came to life with speed and Devlin kissed her, without artifice and with nothing between them but basic want and sheer need.
            His mouth cherished hers, nurtured and nuzzled Gracie’s lips.   Tingles danced along her spine and legs.  Devlin’s kisses sent electricity through her nipples and turned her pussy moist.
He held her and his hands strayed over her flesh, removing her garments with deft skill.  His kisses continued and he moved downward to kiss her breasts until she shivered.  Gracie’s fingers fondled Dev’s nipples and when they turned hard beneath her touch, she put her mouth over one to suckle.  His moan of pleasure fired her further and for the first time she dropped to her knees.
            Gracie took his dick into her mouth and sucked, evoking a new sensation for her, more than a little strange yet she liked it.  When it stiffened, she used her lips to caress and Devlin cried out with wordless delight. “Oh, Jesus, babe,” he said, “That’s good, real good.  Don’t quit now.”
            Unable to answer, Gracie used her tongue and Devlin quivered.  She continued until she thought he’d explode in her mouth and withdrew.  Dev jerked her to her feet then backed her to the bed.  In their haste for fulfillment neither turned down the covers and as soon as she found herself on her back, Gracie opened her legs wide.  Devlin dived between them, his cock proud and ready.  He entered her hard, swift and sure.  On impact, her walls tightened around him to squeeze as he moved within, each thrust bringing a new wave of pure pleasure.  Gracie’s body hummed with gladness as the erotic buzz of good sex claimed her.
            Their connection rocked them both and they spiraled upward toward satisfaction, each level increasing the intensity of the sensual spasms.  Gracie strained against Devlin, clinging and almost crying for release.  His guttural noises of bliss brought her home and they came in a wild, spinning rush of ecstasy.  During the final burst of orgasm Gracie cried out too and their voices joined in joyful noise, united in body, connected with soul.





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