Guest Blogger: Cara Hart

The Grip crew would like to welcome author Cara Hart:


I’m a traditionalist.

I’m not afraid to admit it. I’m tall, and I like my men taller than me. I prefer an older man – I had such crushes on guys who were seniors when I was a freshman in both high school and college. And Rob Crowe had the cutest curly hair I’d ever seen back in my first year of college. I nearly hyperventilated when he sat down next to me at the production of Loves Labours Lost in May that year. I must have blushed the whole time.

And call me a hypocrite, but I guess I’ve had my fair share of crushes on younger guys, too. I always felt a little silly when I got all hot and bothered over that baby. Even just a year younger and I felt like it was wrong. Crazy, I know, since my mom’s older than my dad. And several of my friends have married guys younger than them. They’re all happy as larks after robbing those cradles. I, on the other hand, still have my thing for older men. Not too old, of course. No daddy complexes here, but two or three years older is just about right.

The funny thing is, I’ve read some really great books where the heroine is older than the hero. Jo Beverley’s The Demon’s Mistress is one that comes to mind. It was published as part of a set, In Praise of Younger Men. And, hey, if Jo Bev can do it, it’s worth reading, if you’ll pardon my partiality towards those historical novels. Which obviously leads to a whole new set of complications. If the lady’s too old, the hero won’t be able to beget those heirs they’re all crazy for. And didn’t those historical heroes all wait until they were past their prime to marry, anyway? Are we just playing into the whole new cougar stereotype in the contemporary novels? But really, aren’t we just giving ourselves that equality we’re still lacking, despite all these centuries of proving women can do anything a man can do? Those old stereotypes ought to be going the way of the bodice-rippers.

My dad loves that old baseball movie – “If you build it, they will come.” (I like Kevin Costner, myself) Well, if you write it – and write it well – they will read. Guaranteed. I know I will. I’ll still be dreaming of that one perfect guy for me, single as I am. And maybe, just maybe...

He won’t have to be the older man.



Now here's a look at Cara's upcoming book from Resplendence Publishing:

A Love in Disguise



Blurb:
The Lady on the Run
The letter from her brother warned her of danger, but Kate Carteret is doubtful until she discovers her bedchamber in ruins. In the face of an unknown threat, she flees her home and finds sanctuary as companion to a family friend. Then Kate’s peace is shattered by the arrival of the Earl of Ashton, a man with a few secrets of his own.

The Gentleman Sent to Find Her
Though retired, James Meredith has unwillingly accepted one last mission for the Crown – locate a dead colleague’s sister, who may hold the key to the identity of a traitor. Her trail leads to the home of his cousin, a tiny village in the north of England. His aunt’s new companion, a middle-aged spinster, should be easily dismissed. Why can he not get her out of his head?

Both Searching for A LOVE IN DISGUISE

Excerpt:
“Disappeared, Your Grace? How could both of them be missing?” James Meredith, Earl of Ashton, leaned back in his chair facing the desk of the Duke of Foxborough and studied his grandfather’s aged face through narrowed eyes. “Carteret is one of your best men. Perhaps he’s simply late reporting to you and his sister went to visit friends.”

James always loved this room. The scent of old books and tobacco lingered in the air. Mahogany paneling and shelves stuffed with books and trinkets made the study of Foxborough House feel like a cave filled with treasures from distant lands. As a child, on visits with his mother’s father, the old man would gather James into his lap as he sat in the great leather chair behind the desk and spin wondrous tales of adventure and intrigue.

More recently, James had become the storyteller as he gave the duke reports of his whereabouts and missions. But today he was again the listener while his grandfather wove a tale.

“Without informing her staff? Do you know any woman who would simply leave her household with no information about her destination or return?” Incredulous, the duke shook his head. The leonine mane of hair was now an iron gray, rather than its original black. “You might, certainly, but the girl would never.”

James refused to believe the tale. “Could the man have turned traitor, then, and fled to safety with the girl?”

“Unlikely, lad. I knew Carteret better than his own sister did. The man was as loyal as they come.” The duke paused and sighed before continuing, his grief obvious. “No, he must be dead and I greatly fear the man who killed him abducted the girl as well.”

Foxborough leaned forward in his chair, determination written plainly on his countenance. “James, I realize you’ve lost your taste for this kind of activity.”

A bark of bitter laughter escaped James. “Lost my taste for clandestine killing? You jest. I never acquired a taste to lose.”

Abruptly, he stood and stalked to the window. He gazed out over the back garden of the Grosvenor Square mansion as he leaned against the sill. In a few weeks, the landscape would burst with the radiant color and sweet perfumes of daffodils, roses and camellias. A feast for the senses. But today, the sight of a bare winter garden did not help to soothe the bleakness in his heart.

“We have discussed this before, sir. I did my duty to the best of my ability. I consider that duty complete. I do not wish to rehash the issue. Again.” He infused his voice with finality and desperately hoped his grandfather would leave him in peace.

Foxborough rose from his chair and stood beside James. “Carteret’s last communiqué indicated he was close to discovering the traitor. He would rendezvous with another agent and continue here to report as soon as he completed the assignment.

“Word reached me he landed at Drakemouth, his usual debarkation point, and procured transportation, but I’ve no further information of his movements. He would have sent word to me if he was still alive. Whoever killed him will have confiscated and most likely destroyed whatever evidence he possessed.”

James moved to the small oak table between two towering bookshelves, poured himself a brandy and downed it. He needed the fortification against what his grandfather was about to say.

“Michael’s mission was to uncover the identity of a highly dangerous traitor. Information has been leaking over the Channel and much of it has come directly from this office. I’ve already put another agent in place to find Michael’s body and plans are in motion to send another to complete his mission. The disappearance of the man’s sister, however, creates something of a dilemma.

“I want you to locate the girl—Catherine. They were extremely close and she may have information we can use. The French may also appreciate her importance to Carteret. Locate her, find out what she knows and keep her safe.”

James sighed. He poured himself another drink, leaned his shoulder against the bookshelf and contemplated the glass in his hand. The amber liquor swirled, a small funnel appearing in the center. He felt himself being sucked into a similar whirlpool.

“You have other men, I believe, who could accomplish this task for you.” Taking a sip of his drink, James savored the flavor of fine brandy. How ironic that his grandfather fought so steadfastly for England, but refused to allow his cellars to suffer the loss of French wine. The liquid burned a path to his stomach as he swallowed, as though taunting him for hypocrisy.

“You are asking why I want you to complete this mission for me.” The canny old man studied James closely. “You are one of only three men I trust without reservation. The others are your cousins and they are already engaged in activities which preclude involvement in this matter. By default, you are the only man I can rely upon without hesitation to fulfill this request. Find the girl and protect her above all else.”

The worry in the old man’s eyes disturbed James. Never once in as long as he could remember had he seen such an expression mar Foxborough’s countenance. Even when James’ mother lay dying, the old man had displayed only sorrow and resignation.

Fear now twisted the duke’s strong features. There had to be a compelling reason behind this request.

“What is this girl’s importance to you?” James probed. “Why such an interest in her?”

“Carteret held a barony and his father was one of my first recruits. For that reason alone, I would be extremely concerned about her welfare. However, Michael also had the habit of writing letters to his sister in code. While innocuous in their appearance to her, they would be full of information for us. If he stayed true to form, he would have sent her a letter prior to his last discovery, containing information which may lead us to his killer.”

Check out A Love in DIsguise, coming November 4, 2008 from Resplendence Publishing:
www.Resplendencepublishing.com
Visit Cara on MySpace at: http://www.myspace.com/carahart71

Guest Blogger: Author Renee DeMarcus

The Grip Crew would like to welcome author Renee DeMarcus. Please leave Renee a note to let her know how much we appreciate her stopping by!

This isn't an excerpt, but a piece written for this blog. Enjoy!

“I think I’m in love.” Stella said breathlessly as she climbed onto a barstool and took a seat.

“Oh my God, I so knew Michael was right for you.” Leah had set the pair up on a blind date three weeks earlier and she had been on pins and needles waiting to dish the juicy details with her friend.

“He is so different from any guy I’ve ever been with, for real.” She plopped her shiny black purse on the bar with a heavy thud and started scanning for the bartender. As Stella absently reached for a bowl of nuts, Leah noticed a ring of angry looking red marks on her wrist. “I swear to God, he could be the one.” Her other hand reached for a small menu and Leah’s eyes widened when she spotted matching red marks on the other wrist.

“Stella, don’t tell me you let him tie you up.”


Stella giggled. “Yep, last night. It was so hot.”

Leah’s mouth dropped open. She was open-minded and had no problem with silk scarves binding her to the bedposts or even the occasional lusty round of naughty-girl-in-need-of-a-spanking. But staring at the injuries visible on her friend’s pale skin left her feeling cold and uncomfortable. “But, Stella… he must have tied you up pretty tight. I mean, you still have marks.”

“These are nothing. You should see the ones on my ass.” There was a definite satisfied tone to her voice.


“Did you ask him to loosen the restraints?”

“No. You can’t talk when a ball gag is in your mouth, Leah. Duh.” She popped a few nuts in her mouth and started chewing, waving the waiter over by waving her reddened wrist in the air like a flag. “Michael is so amazing—he really gets me.”


“Gets you? Yeah, like, gets you in need of medical attention.” Leah took a swift drink of her Margarita, wishing she’d ordered something stronger. This bar always served watered down drinks, if it wasn’t on her block she’d never come again. “I had no idea Michael was so twisted—he’s always seemed so normal at work.”

Stella sighed. “Oh, he is twisted alright. I think he is twisting right around my heart.”


“This is not normal, Stella. Man, I should have set you up with Bill—he’s a therapist.”

“Relax, Leah, it’s normal for me.”

* * * *

Like Leah, many of us consider ourselves pretty open minded when it comes to sexuality. Even if we’re more traditional in our sexual practices, many feel wickedly adventurous by dabbling in an occasional session of what we think is BDSM with our partner. But is it? Probably not.

Wanting to enrich one of my stories with a flavor of BDSM, I recently endeavored to take an online workshop on BDSM given by a couple living the Lifestyle—erotic romance author Sascha Illyvich (http://whitewolfwriting.blogspot.com/) and his Domme. I found the lessons and the instructors utterly fascinating and realized I possessed little understanding of the psyche involved in the BDSM Lifestyle.


BDSM (Bondage/Submission/Sadism/Masochism) is so much more than the cliché Domme in black leather sporting a whip and looming over a submissive man on a leash. Does BDSM encompass the stereotypical tools such as whips, chains, collars, ball gags, and even unusual fetishes? Yes, however, BDSM practitioners also follow a lesser known code of ethics known as SSC—safe, sane, and consensual.


Most surprising was learning most BDSM couples engage in their sexual play from a loving place. I know, it sounds contradictory to believe any sort of violence is loving—it’s tough concept to wrap one’s mind around.

One current theory suggests BDSM practitioners associated violence with sexual arousal at a critical point in early development, creating a spark of interest that grew as they developed to maturity, resulting in the expression of BDSM in their adult lives.


Maybe.


Others theorize BDSM is a perversion resulting from abuse or trauma.

Again, maybe.


What I found over the course of my research was that individuals engaged in the Lifestyle believe they are expressing their true selves, feeding an inner psychological or emotional need in a healthy way.

This new knowledge has inspired my writing and I have gained a broader understanding and acceptance of those engaging in alternative lifestyles. My recently completed novella, BLACK AND BLUE, possesses shades of BDSM and I am certain future books will as well.


So what do you think? Do you believe one can work out emotional issues sexually with a lover, one who is aware of those problems and actively attempting to help their partner grow in a positive way, even if the methods involve BDSM?

Renee DeMarcus
http://www.reneedemarcus.com/
http://www.myspace.com/reneedemarcus

And now for a look at Renee's latest book:
TAYLOR’S TRYST,
by Renee DeMarcus
available from Resplendence Publishing
(Click on the cover for more information)

Blurb: Introverted biomedical research assistant Taylor Anderson has given up on finding sexual satisfaction, let alone a man, until her pushy best friend, Tyanna, insists she meet her boss, Brian Jackson.

Brian is an African-American man with a playboy past, one which nearly derailed his fledgling career. He is determined to tame his bad-boy image, focus on his law practice and philanthropic endeavors.

Brian and Taylor’s awkward first date leads to a second and a sexual journey in which Taylor overcomes her sexual insecurities and Brian finds the one woman he believes he can truly commit to.

But when meddling Tyanna lets it slip that she all but resorted to blackmail to get Brian to agree to a meaningless sex-date, Taylor is humiliated. She retreats to her lab work, intent upon denying the stirrings of love within her heart. Taylor decides Brian simply played her, adding her to a long list of sexual conquests.

Can Brian convince Taylor he is more than his past, that their connection holds the promise of more than a meaningless sexual tryst?

More Than Words. Out NOW!!

More Than Words (Historical Romance/Fantasy) Released August 4, 2008 from ResplendencePublishing.com

Kylie Dobson is a romance author with a problem. As a seat-of-the-pants writer, she depends on the strength of the characters to drive her plot. But when her hero, Milo, Lord Gafton refuses to chase after the prescribed heroine, everything goes wonky. Kylie is inexplicably sucked into her work of fiction, transported from a contemporary venue to a fictional Regency setting. What's worse is, nothing she does is affecting the plot and she can't get out.

Set into motion by her own creative process is a winter storm which seals the Regency party goers in on a country estate. If that wasn't bad enough, a murderer is on the loose and he's picking off one guest at a time. The more time she spends with Milo the more she comes to depend on him. She's convinced that his character sketch will kick in at any moment and he'll fall for her heroine. But will it happen before she loses her heart to him? And what happens when the plot draws to the end? Will the killer have his way and will Kylie solve the case only to be returned to her reality without the man she's fallen for?

EXCERPT 1:
The next morning, Kylie sat in front of her laptop trying to recreate the solarium scene in her mind. A soft flutter tickled along the side of her neck. Her eyes sealed shut, Kylie batted it away. Seconds later, the wispy flutter returned. She swiped at it, returning her fingers to rub clumsily over the spot which insisted on distracting her from her visualization exercise. Determined to work through the problem with her novel, she wasn’t about to let the irritation of a mosquito pull her from the scene she needed to write.
The problem was with Milo, she decided. Miss Sutterfield was blameless. Kylie had made Milo too demanding. She’d have to go back and rework his character. Maybe make him weak-kneed for Miss Sutterfield. But try as she might, she couldn’t play the image of Milo being anything less than he was for the lovely Miss Sutterfield.
Kylie grunted her irritation. A low throaty chuckle drifted to her moments before something flitted over her earlobe. Leaping to her feet, she grabbed madly for her laptop only to find it missing. “What the—?”
“Were you quite finished? I would have allowed you more time but your furrowed brow proved too fetching to resist.” Milo sat on the settee, arms draped along the back and legs crossed, his negligent pose was at odds with the light dancing in his dark brown eyes. He twirled a feather between his fingers closest to where she had been sitting.
She blinked, rubbed a knuckle over her tired eye and blinked again. “Great, I’m seeing things.”
Milo cocked an eyebrow. His smile broadened. “Are you?”
“Yes, I are,” she snapped. “Get back in my head. We have work to do. You nearly messed up the plot by refusing to compromise Miss Sutterfield.” Kylie muttered to herself. She went through the solarium scene in her mind. She had actually managed to talk herself through the initial door opening, where Milo first saw Miss Sutterfield nervously standing across the room, when Kylie froze.
Milo hadn’t faded. She could still see his booted foot in her line of vision where she stared at the floor, trying to reason out the hang up. Her gaze traveled up his boot to the form fitting buff breeches, over his crossed knees. The muscular flex of his thighs was not hidden by the clinging material, nor was the line of his lean hips, visible through his parted coat. Her face heated and she had the distinct urge to fan herself. If a man were standing and had something going on in those pants, it would be really difficult to hide. She’d have to keep that in mind for a future scene.
Kylie studied the deep navy coat with its large brass buttons, the black piped edging and the way his lapels only seemed to widen his already broad shoulders. Milo’s cravat, a cascade of folded, tucked, and knotted fabric should have seemed frilly, effeminate, but it had the completely opposite effect. The abundance of white deepened the warm tones of his skin, framed his jaw and made the visible tendons steely by comparison.
Her mouth went dry. “You’re still here,” she croaked.
“As are you.”
Her gaze lingered over the cut line of jaw, the prominent chin with a small indent perfectly centered below full, smooth lips. Kissing lips. She remembered thinking that when she created his character, imagining lips which had pouty thickness without losing the fine hard line of formation. His nose was long and straight, his dark eyes engaging and seductive beneath the straight, dark slash of his brows. Chestnut locks waved back from his high forehead and skimmed the back of his cravat. “Damn, I did a great job on you.”
His mouth curled, taking on a lopsided tilt. “So glad you approve.”

EXCERPT 2:
Wheeling her around, he backed her to the wall where he had been standing. His mouth crashed down on hers. Where before she had dominated the exchange, now Milo seared her lips with his. He commanded her, held her captive under the seductive onslaught of his kiss. Kylie clutched his shoulders, hanging on when her body wanted nothing more than to dissolve within the sensations he crafted. Her head spun, her insides did summersaults, her ears rang happily. Through it all, her body awoke with a long, shuddering sigh, blissful and no longer willing to remain complacent.
Kylie rocked her hips to his, rejoicing in his obvious arousal. Milo’s hands clinched repeatedly on her waist, clearly wanting to touch her but not allowing himself to take the liberty. Deciding to show her Regency man a little real world experience, she reached between them, stroking over his length. He muttered something into her mouth which sounded like a half-crazed oath. Her sentiments exactly. The man was huge. She’d written that part of him well, too.
The realization poured over her like a bucket of ice water. What the hell was she doing? Feeling up her fictitious hero? Hello, Kylie, get a grip. Oh, she’d love to get a grip. Oh wait, no, she shouldn’t. Kylie shoved him, then shoved him again when she wasn’t immediately successful in pushing him away. “Quit doing that.”
Milo’s breath rasped with the same harsh grating as hers. He swore viciously under his breath. It sounded nothing like the previous one meant to call upon the power of God. No, this oath was pissed.
“I admit I got carried away the first time, but you can’t just grab me and kiss me.”
“The first time, Kylie? What of the second time? And if the second was my doing, why did you grasp the front of my breeches?”
“Fine. I got carried away both times. It can’t happen again.”
“It will happen again.”
“No, it won’t. You’ll go on your merry way lusting after Miss Sutterfield and I will work out the bugs in my plot. We’ll all live happily ever after. End of story,” she snapped.
“Is that the promise of a novelist? Hmm? Happily ever after? Because you are correct about it being the end of the story in such circumstances. But it would be your happily ever, not mine. I may have been formed by your mind and creative effort, but I choose my own direction.”
“That’s not what I meant. In real time, end of story is a figure of speech. Though, I want to figure out the ending and get back to some semblance of normalcy.”
“You’re meant for me, Kylie. You don’t see it yet, but you are as drawn to me as I am to you.”
“You’re drawn for Miss Sutterfield. At some point your true nature will come out, you’ll realize your mistake and make a bee-line for her. Then I’m left in the dust. No thanks. I’m not about to get burned by the embodiment of my hero. I’ve done it in real life and I’m not doing it for the plot development of this book.”

New Releases

Weirdly Volume II: Eldritch is a collection of strange tales that will be released on June 24th by Wild Child Publishing.

Here is the blurb:

From paranormal to weird, from chilling to odd to scary, Weirdly Volume 2: Eldritch will sate your lust for strangeness in bite-sized pieces. Each tale weaves its own spell. Vampires, beasts, ghosts, evil creatures and, of course, every day people inhabit Weirdly’s pages.

Soldiers must reach their destination before the undead get to them first... What does the picture on the wall mean to Jen? Fate holds something in store for Lewis—but is it what he wants? Lillie embarks on another quest... Is the young man who sees and hears fluffy beings insane? An old letter urges a young woman to the train station—but is the train that puffs into view real? All these tales and more. Dare you read them?


Esprit de Corps is my contribution to this anthology. It is the story of a group of Army Rangers trying to get out of Al-Rutbah. They aren’t worried about insurgents keeping them from reaching their destination. No, it’s the hordes of zombies they must overcome to make it home.


Be sure to pick up a copy. This is a collection of stories you don’t want to miss.






Pixels and Pain is now available in e-book format.


Pixels and Pain





Here is a blurb:


Explore the dangerous domain of a madman…


Johnny Walker is a FBI agent on a personal crusade to catch a killer. One year ago, his little sister was brutally murdered and the police still don’t have a suspect.


Mary Marshall founded a watchdog group to rid the world of online predators after her sister fell victim to a charismatic stranger she met on the popular networking website, HiyaSpace.


As the similarities surrounding their losses draw these two together, they soon embark on a desperate quest for answers—a quest wrought with peril, betrayal, and unimaginable horror.


In a virtual world where everyone’s a friend, and everyone’s a suspect, will Johnny and Mary be able to track down and stop an internet serial killer whose unspeakable deeds threaten to destroy them all?


Or will these two hunters become the prey, unable to escape the web of Pixels and Pain?

Marriage Plot, NEW EXCERPT

Available NOW from Resplendence Publishing!

Nicolas closed the space between them. He could think of only one way to make the questions stop until he could settle on a better explanation. And damn if the idea of kissing her into silence didn’t appeal to him.

Her eyes widened.

This close, he could see flecks of brown and amber streaking through the honey in her irises. Her lashes fluttered but he did not miss the wary interest in them, or the way her breath caught as he leaned toward her.

“I’d rather continue your instruction,” he whispered.

“You’re trying to distract me from my purpose.”

“Would that be so wrong?” He brushed his mouth across hers.

Sensation sizzled like water droplets on a hearth. The sweet warmth of her breath tickled the sensitive flesh of his mouth. He wanted her to kiss him. He wanted her to reach up on her toes as she had the first time, thrilling him with her forwardness. Would she know what he was after?
He cupped the side of her face, stroking her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. His gaze lingered on hers until she lowered it to his mouth. There to the left, by the bridge of her nose, he found a faded freckle. Another below her right eye. Three along the slim line of her nose and a small, flat beauty mark at the corner of her lips. He’d not seen it before. Nicolas kissed it, reveling in the possessive curl of pleasure over her breathy gasp.

Had Puck seen these same marks up close? Did Puck know Caroline had played outdoors without a bonnet when she was a child, marking her perfect skin with nearly invisible spots? They weren’t invisible to Nicolas.

He would have expected the reminder of her youth to pull him away from his current longing, to fade the lust boiling in his belly. Instead it only served to distance her from childhood, to fade her immaturity as it had faded her freckles, and make her appear that much more the woman. A woman, not a girl, from whom he desperately wanted a kiss.

Why had he stopped? His slow scrutiny tortured her. His heated gaze searching and settling on each feature warmed her as much as his hand on her cheek. His lips brushed the side of her mouth. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she gasped.

His face hovered over hers, too close for propriety, not nearly enough to satisfy her screaming senses. What did he wait for? Permission? Caroline rested her hand on his chest. The quick, strong beats of his heart were a metronome to the melody of her pulses. His lips parted, but still he did not move.

With a soft cry, Caroline rose up to meet him. Her lips claimed his since he would not claim hers. Their mouths bumped awkwardly in her haste but smoothed with heated flesh to heated flesh. Closing her eyes on sensation, she sighed against his mouth, wanting but not sure she knew how to take. It hadn’t been so complicated in the rain storm, when he had kissed her, showed her how to blend their mouths.

Shoving thought from her mind, she acted on instinct. Would he laugh at her clumsy seduction? The beat beneath her hand raced. Caroline’s lips sank into his, this time parting under him and capturing his bottom lip between hers.

He groaned.

Encouraged, she slid her free arm around his neck. Her legs trembled and Nicolas pulled her to him. His body supporting her, warming her, she drew back from his mouth, overwhelmed and uncertain.

But Nicolas wouldn’t let her.