Category Archives: Featured Author Posts

Maine Author: Jennifer DeCuir and #Disorganized Chaos

#Maine author: Jennifer DeCuir and #Disorganized Chaos

As promised, here she is. I could blab on about her, but she really ought to speak for herself. So, without further ado, here is Jennifer DeCuir railing about Disorganized Chaos:

Author Bio:

Jennifer DeCuir writes small town contemporary romances while wrangling two kids, a husband, and three neurotic pets. She lives in the Pacific Northwest, where she can never get enough sunshine or caffeine. Her Scallop Shores series, published by Crimson Romance, is based on her hometown of York, Maine. When she isn’t writing or reading, she is probably adding to her obsessively huge yarn stash and wondering what gifts she’s going to crochet for Christmas this year.

Social Media Links:






Disorganized chaos… it works for me.

Where the heck did I leave that little sticky note? The post it with all the important dates for the month on it. Ah, here it is! Stuck to the bottom of my coffee cup. I knew it was there all along. I was just testing you.

I had originally meant for this guest blog post to be a comparison on the merits of “old school” writer tools vs new technological gadgets to help us become better organized and more productive. You know, index cards and post-it notes, pens and highlighters and how they stack up against excel spreadsheets, One Note and all those different writing software programs out there. But I realized that I use all of these and still my office is a crazy mess.

My husband thinks it’s scary how he can ask me where something is and I’ll turn, lift a stack of papers and books several inches thick and come out with that one receipt or important paper he’s looking for. To me, that’s just normal. I can’t explain it. Things just have a way of cataloging themselves in my brain so that, when the time comes, I can remember easily.

I’ve tried mapping out storylines on a poster board. I mean, hey, it’s a guaranteed trip to Staples – and that store is like Disneyland to me! But I get to the second chapter in the book I’m plotting and the newness wears off. My ADHD kicks in and I’m distracted by all the pretty colors. I hand the poster board off to the kids and save the post-its for myself.

I have a calendar, and I’m very good about marking down dates. I have spreadsheets for all kinds of things. Do I update them? Nah. Do they keep me on task, more productive, focused and organized? Ha! I have One Note on my phone, on my laptop and on a tablet that my husband tries to get me to use more often. Poor techie genius got saddled with a wife who has a hard time jumping into the 21st century. I do use Write Way Pro to write my books.

Maybe I have a touch of OCD. Somehow the thought of transferring all my handwritten notes into something more functional gives me hives. Throw out my notes? My index cards and post its? God forbid! I go through drawers and still find random plot ideas for books that are already published. I don’t need these. But I just smile and close the drawer.

My desk is an absolute war zone right now. My pen cup is empty – because the pens are littered all over the desk. I have a rainbow memo pad cube. I’m on orange now. Bright scraps of orange paper are strewn everywhere. It’s beautiful. I can’t decide on one votive candle scent to burn while I’m writing, so I have a few of them clogging up my work space. I love choices! And we won’t even talk about the Legos, Hot Wheels or other toys my son leaves behind on his whirlwind trips to visit while Mommy is working.

Yes, I have a system. It’s crazy and it’s messy and it only works for me. I thrive on chaos and probably wouldn’t know what to do if everything was neat and tidy. Is this just a “creative type” thing? Do all writers have desks like mine? I’m curious. Are you organized? Or is your workspace a jungle? Leave me a comment below and I’ll choose a winner for a copy of my first book, Drawn to Jonah. E-book or print, winner’s choice. J


Drawn to Jonah (a RONE 2014 Nominee and 2nd place winner in the 2012 ECO contest)

Quinn finds new purpose in life caring for the local handyman’s daughter and teaching the sexy single dad how to read.  He knows he owes her a huge debt, but he’ll start by giving her his heart.

Amazon link:

B&N link:

Five of Hearts

Shannon is a single mom to triplets.  Dean is a former boy band member hiding from the latest fake paternity scam.  They couldn’t be more wrong for each other.  Sometimes falling in love is more about chance than choice.


Amazon link:

B&N link:






Wynter’s Journey (A 2nd place winner in the 2013 ECO contest)


A childhood promise brings Wynter and Sam together again after tragedy ripped them apart over ten years earlier.  Fate has given him a second chance to tell her how he feels.  This time he’s not going to run.


Amazon link:




Fun, right? Most definitely something refreshingly different from my books and writing. Feel free to contact her, or make comments about your Disorganized Chaos and how it works for you. Besides, if you contact her, you just might be the lucky winner of the free book she’s offering, Drawn to Jonah.

~S.C. Dane



A Review for a Fellow Author

#review #paranormal suspense #Melange Books author Carrolli

I confess I’ve retreated from the world. No longer do I watch or read the news. I hear about world or national events through friends, and after several years of being a drop-out, I’ve discovered nothing has changed. Oh sure, it’s been so long now that most of the people have changed. Sadly, the news has not. But it’s my responsibility as an American to be involved, you say? Pfffft, is my response. Or, bull shit, when I’m not feeling particularly indulgent. And so the argument ensues. We go back and forth…

But this isn’t what my post is about. The reason I started the post with my confession was to mention how corporate giants still strangle the little guy. I’m not one hundred percent clear on what is happening with Amazon because I am a media hermit, but I do know they slash reviews from fellow authors. We all have our opinions on this and mine would just reiterate what has already been said. But I have to wonder: can’t authors ever submit reviews? I mean, we write books, but we read them, too. Duh.

Aaaaand, I’ll shut up about it.

Instead, I’d rather post my review of fellow Melange Books author Christopher Carrolli and his paranormal novel The Listener. I consider it to be a part of “paying it forward.” What we authors do isn’t easy. The challenges, hurdles, and mountains we face is enough to deflate even the most determined writer. But, I’m preaching to the choir, to drop a cliché. Which is one of the many other reasons I love being a part of this vast “published authors” realm: You get the part about helping each other out and do it with altruism. It’s a beautiful thing.

So, here is my review of Christopher Carrolli’s The Listener:

    Using the same cast of characters from his first novel The Pipeline, Carrolli keeps us in the thick of the action. The Listener picks up where the first story leaves off, only this time it’s the beloved Sidney Pratt, the conduit to the dead, who is in trouble. In a near-death state, he transcends the physical realm to visit the spiritual. Or rather, the mystical visit with him.

    Yet they aren’t the only voices he encounters while comatose. Sidney also “hears” a young boy calling out to him for help. Wanted for his psychic abilities, Ryan, an audio clairvoyant and telepath, has been kidnapped by a secret organization. The head of which turns out to be none other than the man governing the university’s team of ghost hunters.

    In a brilliantly woven spider’s web of intrigue, Carrolli leads us through our beloved team’s emotional and psychic upsets as they set out to rescue their young friend. The suspense continues to build as The Listener unfolds, and I find myself scrolling through the pages like a fiend. Not only that, I’m sympathizing with the villain! Just as in real life, there is always the back story, the reason behind the motivation, and Carrolli delivers this with a talent I hope to see in his third book of this series.

    With The Listener ending with another lead-in, I have no doubt readers won’t miss a single thread of these knuckle biting, suspense driven plots.


Hopefully, it makes you want to check this book out, or even the first, Pipeline.

And don’t forget: this Saturday July 12th it’s Jennifer DeCuir, a fellow Maine author, who gets her plug here on my blog.

~S.C. Dane

Writers, Scavengers and Co-existence

It’s been a while, I know. But the life of a writer can be a varied thing. We’re like scavengers, perpetually watching, constantly consuming. We closely watch our environment for any opportunity. When it arises, we want to be there. We don’t want to miss a thing, subtle as it can be. Which means living outside of our computers and our fictitious worlds. In order to build them, we must gather our material.



As I’ve been doing. My readers know I’m currently in Wyoming. I have immersed myself into the ranching culture and have been glutting myself like the good scavenger I am. For I do not know when the next opportunity will present itself. This might be the only time I get to experience the “real West.” Sadly though, my other love has taken a hit. I haven’t been writing, or spreading word about the books I’ve already written.

A co-existence must be found, for even scavengers must abide the rules of balance.

My place to start? With my roots. I might be traveling across our country, but I can do so because of my strong ties to Maine. The landscape has shaped me into who I am today. As have the people. Characters themselves, every one. So, I thought, why not share with my readers a flavorful morsel. Let you enjoy a taste of one of the things that makes Maine so special: her talented artists.

I present to you Jennifer DeCuir. A Maine author who now lives in the Pacific Northwest, but who writes romance novels framed within a small, coastal town on the East Coast. No need for warnings here. Her novels are fresh and charming. The heat level won’t burn you, but the characters will mark you anyway. Check her out  again and in depth when I showcase her on this blog site July 12, 2014.


Drawn to Jonah (a RONE 2014 Nominee and 2nd place winner in the 2012 ECO contest)

Quinn finds new purpose in life caring for the local handyman’s daughter and teaching the sexy single dad how to read.  He knows he owes her a huge debt, but he’ll start by giving her his heart.

Amazon link:

B&N link:

Stay tuned! July 12th and more from Jennifer DeCuir will arrive before you know it.

~S.C. Dane

#Still Paying It Forward: It’s About YOU not me.


This past week I talked about how giving the romance community is, and presented four authors who have demonstrated their generosity toward a fellow writer. They were Lisabet Sarai, Margay Roberge, V.S. Nelson, and Destiny Blaine.

Now, I want to acknowledge the Readers, who deserve as much praise for their support of the romance community. Without our reading fans, we writers wouldn’t be able to share the stories that haunt us until we tell them. We couldn’t find relief from the characters that scratch and stretch until we give them substance upon the page.

If you think I’m kidding, think back to some of your favorite characters. Maybe he was from a book you haven’t thought about for years, maybe the heroine is someone you forgot was a lot like you. Have you got your character? Are you visualizing him or her, breathing life back into them?

Remember how they had you gripping the sides of the book you were holding as you read, breath held, stomach clenched, just dying to devour the words so the scenes could play out? Well, those same heroes are conceived in our tiny heads, and like fledglings who are too big for the nest, they demand their space.

And they demand it according to their personalities. Some kick. Hard. Dropping roundhouse kick after kick until we acknowledge them. Some are more subtle, preferring to tickle and tease, to tempt us toward the blank page. Imagine how it is for the busy writer with such demanding creatures in our heads!

They are relentless. We love them as much you, the reader, does. Except we get the not-so-glamorous parts, too. All those quirks that never make it to the page because they didn’t fit a story line, or an image. But exist, none the less.

Although, we do our best to deliver everything. We want you to love our heroes and heroines as much as we do, despite the bad and the ugly. It’s what makes them real. Sometimes, we can sneak them into the story for you. Maybe it’s just a single, graphic line meant to stir you, giving the character another edge, a little more sensuality.

Are you still thinking about your favorite hero or heroine? Excellent! Now, go do what we authors love about you. Go Read! Now. This instant. Disappear into the pages in the name of supporting a romance author, of giving help to us before our new characters drive us mad with their demands. Pay it forward.

We writers need our audience. Without you, dear Reader, we would all be just a touch insane.

“Artistic experience lies so incredibly close to that of sex, to its pain and its ecstasy, that the two manifestations are indeed but different forms of one and the same yearning delight.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke (from Seductress, by Betsy Prioleau)

~S.C. Dane

#Paying It Forward

#Paying It Forward

Paying it forward.

An expression with a living heart in this realm known as romantic fiction writing. Who would have thought authors of the romance genre would be so generous? You’d think we pen-slaves would be cut-throat in our battle to capture our reading audiences. We want to sell our books, we need to sell our books. Our livelihoods depend on it. Romance writers should be like crabs in a barrel, yanking down the competition as she reaches the crowning apex of her success, her pinchy feet dirty from grinding into the backs of her competitors.

Yet, this is so not the case. Time and again, I’m shown my fellow authors’ altruism in their willingness to help out their writing colleagues. It’s as though, in this world of romantic fiction, there is a ‘circle the wagons’ mentality, a joining of forces that makes us stronger.

The longer I’m part of this wagon-train beast, the deeper I see into its belly, and I’ve discovered it’s no dark and dank cavern. Just the opposite. Hope blooms eternally upon these vast fields of romance, and as long as we authors keep crafting, our readers keep buying—thereby making room for us all. Despite the plethora of romance books on the market, there is a continuous demand. Who knew so many readers gobbled this stuff up? It’s like a secret society. Nobody talks about romance books, but by God, you can bet they’re reading them.

I love it! Because it means there is room for every writer, which is an apparent secret among the authors of this titanic genre. Before I’d been welcomed into the fold, I was ignorant that such a network existed, that it ran so strong and hard in the underground of the publishing business.

I’m proud to admit we pay it forward. Just as I’m doing today. On the right hand side of this posting, you’ll find four fellow romance authors who have done me a good turn. Now it’s my chance to give back. Scroll down to check them out and grab the chance to pay it forward, too. The authors, in order, are:
Lisabet Sarai, Margay Roberge, V.S. Nelson, and Destiny Blaine.

Thank you, Readers, for your insatiable appetites, and thank you, my fellow Romance Novelists, who are always sharing. Open hearts abound—within the pages and behind them!
~S.C Dane

Lisabet Sarai

Necessary Madness
M/M Paranormal Erotic Romance

Buy Link:


Both power and love can lead to madness.

Nineteen year old Kyle sees visions of disasters, visions that tear his world apart. Everyone assumes that he is schizophrenic, but Rob, the cop who picks him up off the street, knows better. Rob’s own experience has taught him that psychic powers are real, and potentially devastating.

Since his telepathic sister’s brutal murder, Rob wants nothing to do with “gifted” individuals like Kyle. Yet he can’t deny his attraction to the beautiful, tortured young man — an attraction that appears to be mutual. When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of the black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the forces of darkness.


“Kitchen’s here, with the door out to the back porch. Only one bathroom, I’m afraid. Here’s the guest room-your room. The closet’s empty; you’re welcome to put your stuff in there.”

Rob led Kyle through his apartment, fussing and clucking like a mother hen. He wondered for the hundredth time whether this was a mistake. The guy was just so damned beautiful. Rob could hardly bear to be close to him. Driving the few miles from St. Vincent’s to his building, Rob had tried to pay attention to the road, but he couldn’t help sneaking sidelong glances at the mysterious, sensual face of his companion. Kyle seemed to be brooding. Maybe he had his doubts, too.

“What stuff?” Kyle spread his arms, a half-smile on his plump lips. “Everything I own is on my back.”

“I’ll take you over to Greendale Mall so you can pick up some new clothes. Loan you some cash until you get on your feet.”

“What makes you think I’ll ever ‘get on my feet’, Sergeant Murphy?”

“Rob. Please.”

“Okay, Rob.” Kyle stared at the mostly bare maple outside the guest room window, before turning back to confront him. “Why should anything be different now?” Rob heard the bitterness in his voice. “I have a disease, and I don’t mean the ulcer. I’m cursed. I see terrible things, and I can’t stop them. It’s getting worse all the time. There are only two possibilities. Either I’ll kill myself, or I’ll truly go insane.”

Rob suppressed the urge to take the man in his arms. Instead, he settled for an avuncular pat on the shoulder. “It’s only your imagination, Kyle. Your mind playing tricks on you. Once you understand that, maybe you can suppress the visions. Or control them.”

Kyle sank down onto the bed. His dark eyes burnt under exquisitely arched brows. “My imagination? You know that’s not true.”

Rob lowered himself onto the desk chair. He wished that he were somewhere else. He wanted to help Kyle, but he really didn’t like where the conversation was going.

“What else could it be? These spells-they’re like seizures. Storms of random activity in your brain that make you see things. I was there at the hospital, remember, when it hit you yesterday. You were completely out of touch, yelling about the brake, the gas tank, groaning and crying. You were delusional.”

“It was a crash,” Kyle intoned. “At least five cars. Glass everywhere. The screech of rubber, the stink of leaking gasoline, and then the explosion and the smell of charred flesh… Check the papers, Rob. Call the police station. If it hasn’t happened yet, it will soon.”

“You really believe that your hallucinations foretell the future?” Rob remembered the night he’d picked Kyle up, the narrowly averted catastrophe at the address Kyle had seen.

“I only wish that they didn’t. All I ever see is violence and pain.” Kyle buried his face in his hands.

Rob moved to the bed, next to his guest, and put his arm around the denim-clad shoulders. He couldn’t help himself. “Look, that’s crazy. This isn’t some kind of horror movie. This is real life. There’s a rational explanation for everything.” He was trying to convince himself as much as Kyle. He didn’t want anything more to do with psychic abilities. Never again.

Kyle skewered him with a dark stare, hurt and angry. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought that you wanted to help me.”

Rob tensed. Kyle was so close. The funk of his old sweat rose from the worn jacket, along with a trace of disinfectant. Rob could see the pulse beating in the boy’s pale temple. He felt his own blood rush to his cock.

Kyle trembled. His nostrils flared. His eyes gleamed. Rob felt the pull, a magnet focused on his groin. It would be so easy to gather that taut young body to his chest, to fasten his mouth on Kyle’s ripe lips, to take control. But that wasn’t what the man needed. Kyle needed responsible strength. Logic. Maturity. With a heroic effort, Rob smothered his fantasies.

“I do want to help. If I didn’t, do you think I would have taken you in? I just want you to be realistic. To recognise that even when you think you’re seeing future events, that’s a delusion.”

Kyle wasn’t listening, not really. Rob could see him adjust his face, hiding his emotions, shuttering those bright eyes, donning a false smile. Putting on a mask. “Whatever you say, Rob. Maybe you’re right. After all, most nut cases think their visions are real.”

“You’re not a ‘nut case’, Kyle.”

“Are you sure?” He giggled. “You can’t have it both ways, you know. Either I’m prescient, or I’m insane.” He stood, stretching, then grinned at the sight of Rob’s obvious concern. “Hey, lighten up. Either way, I’m not going to stab you in your bed.”

Rob shuddered, despite himself.

Kyle rested a light hand on Rob’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to give you a hard time. I really do appreciate you giving me a place to crash.”

The casual touch re-ignited Rob’s carefully suppressed desire. Fortunately, the phone rang. “Excuse me,” he muttered, beating a hasty retreat to the hall.

Margay Roberge

Shiloh nearly leapt off the sill as his hand touched her knee. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to remain seated and appear undaunted by the gesture. “I am…much better now…thank you,” she said, becoming more unnerved by the presence of his hand by the minute. Oh, this was not good, not good at all. The longer it remained there, the stronger her impulse to bolt became. Oh, no…

What was it about this man that rattled her so and with so little effort on his part? Sharing the same air with him was enough to send her pulses to the moon—and her mind somewhere else, something new for her. Being this attracted to a man was beyond her realm of experience. She didn’t know what to do with it—or about it. Should she do anything? Should she pretend indifference? And why wasn’t he so deeply affected? It wasn’t fair.

Still confused, she gave him a weak smile, intent on backing up her previous claim with the gesture. She feared it failed miserably. When Micah returned her smile and lifted his hand from her knee, she felt precisely one second of relief before he shook her world again by caressing her face in parting. She stumbled
back against the frame of the window, her lips parting on a startled breath as a lightning bolt shot through her at his touch. Something flickered in his eyes at her reaction—pain, perhaps—and he retracted his hand, balling it into a fist as he turned away from her, preparing to depart.

In an instant, she realized her mistake. Along with it came the knowledge she couldn’t let him go away angry or upset. After everything he and his family had done for her, she owed him that much. She grabbed him by the shirtfront to stop him, and a shock of awareness shot from her hand directly into his heart, just beneath it. She could see it in the gaze he leveled on her then, could hear it in his breath trapped within his lungs, feel it in the missed beat of his heart. But then, all sense abandoned her, and her heart skipped a beat as he held her hand firmly to his chest with one of his own and lifted the other to her head, anchoring it against the window frame. Slowly, his eyes never straying from hers, he leaned across the space separating them. His lips brushed hers, like a whisper, before he withdrew, tilted his head to the side, and advanced again. This time the kiss was fuller, penetrating her every defense, both physical and emotional, but still not long enough for her. He retreated once again after a fraction of time and hovered before her, scarcely an inch away. Watching her. Waiting.

Her heart beating a frantic tempo now, Shiloh abandoned all of her reservations and her good sense to swoop in for a more vigorous kiss. So vigorous, in fact, she knocked him off his perch through the open window. Only quick reflexes honed to perfection at the Institute prevented her from tumbling after him.
Bracing herself against the sill, she leaned out the window as far as she was able and watched his descent from the slanted roof to the ground below. She lost sight of him the moment he slid beyond the reach of the light from her window. But then she heard him land with a thud —and a howl—on the ground in front of the back porch when he failed to catch himself on the roof edge. She clasped a hand over her mouth to silence her reaction and waited. When he didn’t rouse right away, panic shot through her and she leaned out another few inches.

“Micah? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he answered after a few moments, appearing beyond the overhang of the roof as if to prove it to her. “Nothing hurt but what’s left of my pride.”

Relief coursed through her at his statement, and she allowed herself the laugh she’d literally held back before. Her mirth was cut short, however, by his next words.

“Hey, Shiloh! We’ve got to stop falling for each other like this.”

His laughter followed her as she ducked back into the room. She could still hear it even after she closed the window, though not as well. Oh, Lord. She rested against the cool pane of glass and touched her still-tingling lips with shaky fingers. Was she? Falling for him? Was that what this crazy-mad feeling inside of her was?

The question plagued her long into the night.


Buy Links:



Margay Leah Justice
Elemental Humans: Water:

The Jane Austen Society Pages:

Virginia Nelson

Author of adult sensual paranormal romance series “Sekhmet’s Guardians.”

Eternal Nights – Sekhmet’s Guardians – Book Two

Back cover blurb:
With each passing day Jessica’s consciousness grew stronger. For twenty years she was content to remain as she was—trapped inside another. The life she led came to an abrupt end the moment she laid eyes on Raphael. At first she suspected they were destined to be together–his gentle touch confirmed it. Although he didn’t know it, he ignited waves of a fiery passion that burned deep into her soul. It became brighter every day, giving her the strength she needed. Somehow she would find a way to free herself from her grandmother’s powerful magic.
Since her birth she learned vicariously from observing others of her kind and until now she was satisfied with the life she led. She had everything one would need to live a meaningful life without the stress the human world inflicts on its inhabitants. With each passing day her obsession to be more than she was, intensified. Jessica knew she was gifted with her race’s abilities to communicate with others but until now she had never used them. They say practice makes perfect and she was at a point now where she could make her presence known—at least to him.

Virginia S. Nelson writing as V.S.Nelson
Ancient Legends – New Worlds – Humans weren’t the only ones to migrate to America
Book Trailer Amazon Website Blog Twitter Goodreads Facebook Authorsdb BookB

Destiny Blaine

Trilogy of a Wolf’s Endowment, including Savage Release is available from eXtasy Books

Tagline: One beast may die, but another one will rise. And his savage ways will live on forever.

Two members of the Moonlight Clan Council are abducted. After they’re pulled away from their East Tennessee pack and shipped to Canada, they awaken only to find themselves surrounded by the snow-covered peaks of the Northern Rocky Mountains. To make matters worse, a formidable enemy stands before them and challenges them in a battle for their lives.
Fighting their way to freedom, Len and Ray come face to face with Sable, another wolf-shifter defending their pack’s enemy, Corey Marshall. Once Sable learns she supported the wrong wolf, she realizes how much she stands to lose.
Drawn to their attacker in a way that doesn’t make sense, Len and Ray see vivid images as the trilogy of endowment unfolds before them. They embrace their mating call, but the young woman is quite a handful. And Sable isn’t prepared for Len’s idea of a first mating. After Len and Ray unleash their building passion, Sable is left with only one choice—complete surrender.

Destiny Blaine
WOLVES_destiny blaine

What the Deuce Does South Africa Have To Do With Romance?

What the deuce does South Africa have to do with Romance?

That’s my question, because what I know about South Africa I could fit in a thimble.

But I do know Charmaine Pauls, my featured Romance author, hails from there, and she’s a beautiful person inside and out.  So, maybe she resembles her country in that respect.

No doubt she’s complex. A woman who can write like she does, and travel the globe is by no means simple. See for yourself, as I let Charmaine speak for herself:


Charmaine Pauls was born in South Africa, has lived in France and currently resides in Chile. She used her travel experience of different parts of the world as backdrops for her romance novels Between Yesterday & Tomorrow (2011), Between Fire & Ice (2012) and The Winemaker (2013). When she is not writing, the ex-communications and public relations practitioner loves to look at the world through the lens of her camera.

Here’s a blurb from her novel Between Fire and Ice:

Cy is heir to the powerful empire of his parents, a mining enterprise in Chile, South America. Their future power depends on his ability to produce an heir himself, a daunting prospect, as the human race is becoming infertile. But Cy’s mother – a brilliant, cold-hearted scientist – left nothing to chance, when she, in the year of her son’s tenth birthday, headed a project to artificially inseminate a fertile woman. At thirty years of age, Cy is instructed to marry Elena, who his parents surrogated and adopted for one purpose only – to have his baby. 

Elena was hidden in a secluded cloister in the ice-lands of Patagonia, where the nuns, renowned for their mysterious magical practices, taught her the art of meditation and healing. A cruel education ensured that Elena submitted to her destiny, namely to give Cy a child.  But soon Cy will learn that there is more to his bride than shy submissiveness. Under her gentle beauty hides a powerful woman who can give Cy the peace he is yearning for. She holds the key to his heart, and for once, he may just begin to believe in the destiny that had been preached to him all his life.

Whets your appetite for more, doesn’t it? If so, then check to the right of the main blog page, and click on the Between Fire and Ice book cover. You’ll find a full excerpt and the buy links.

Visit Charmaine Pauls if you would like to read more, or know more about her.

Happy reading!

~S.C. Dane

Featuring Author TJ Shaw

TJ Shaw

Romance. Each of us has our own idea of what it is. For some it’s the moment, like walking arm in arm with your guy or gal. For others, it is the gesture, the giving of flowers just because. There are as many ideas of what it means as there are hearts to hold it.

Whether those hearts be human or other.

Other, you ask?

Of course. Were you thinking love had biases, boundaries, or limitations? Not so. Open your eyes to the parallel realm and let your imagination unfetter the restrictions on your heart.

Enter the world of a writer’s liberated concept of Romance, where men bear the hearts of wolves, women alter reality with a touch, and dragons soar aloft, among the clouds.

What has this to do with romance? Everything! Even those beings dwelling under our radar burgeon with the capacity to love, to desire, and to possess.

Author TJ Shaw understands that with a clarity capable of sucking you in and revealing that alternate universe. Even to the skeptic. Her romance novel, Caller of Light will have you believing that the heart does not discriminate. Nor does it obey. Read this excerpt and see if you don’t agree:

He was about to inquire into Carina’s whereabouts when she emerged at the top of the stairs. She paused. Uncertainty flickered across her face. For a moment he thought she was going to fade back into the shadows of the upper floors. But she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped off the landing.

He inhaled a ragged breath at the sight of her. Her dress accentuated the slight swing of her hips while the tight bodice molded perfectly to the swell of her breasts. With each step as she descended, a slow burn heated his blood, flooding hot desire straight to his groin. She shimmered in the soft light spilling from the rooma light acting as a path for her to follow, illuminating her way…to him.

She entered with her head bowed and lowered into a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

He extended his hand and tried to keep his fingers from twitching in anticipation of her touch. She hesitated, and had yet to look him in the eyes. But she could not deny him, not without causing insult, so he waited. His body trembled when her hand slipped into his.

For the second time today, he couldn’t let her go. She had entered the room on a whisper, but swept across his senses like a winter storm.

As she looked down, he resisted the urge to brush his thumb across the soft curve of her lips. She was a feast for his eyes to devour. He wanted to tell her that she looked stunning, but his voice failed him and he could only mutter her name in a gravelly, scrape of sound.

Intrigued? Feeling the collapse of your preconceived notions? To slake your thirst for more of TJ Shaw’s Caller of Light browse on over to the right of my blog’s home page and click on the image of Shaw’s book. You’ll find everything you need to indulge the romantic stirrings of your heart.

~S.C. Dane