Monday, December 31, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 31: Knox and Issac

“Another year.” Issac sighed. Again. For the eighty thousandth time in the last hour.

Knox was going to beat him bloody. The man was always so fucking melancholy on New Years. Hell,, Knox had never actually used the word melancholy in a sentence before Isaac.

“Yep. We should get a dog.” He’d given the last one away damned near thirty years ago.

“A dog? Are you hungry?”

“Nope. I just figure I’ll need company when you off yourself in your ennui.” Bing. Another word he hadn’t even known how to pronounce.

“Oooh. Very nice. In another fifty years you’ll be able to do crosswords in pen.”

“I know, right?” He wandered toward Isaac, the old floorboards creaking under his feet as he skirted a pile of books. “In a hundred I’ll be able to burn the words into paper with just my mind.”

“Everyone will be able to. Hell, in a hundred years, words may be obsolete.”

“Nah. You’re too fond of them.” He moved closer, trying for nonchalant.

“I am. Nearly as fond as I am of you, Pup.”

“Not. A. Pup. Old man.” He reached down and hauled Isaac up, smooshing the man against his chest.

“Mmm. My Pup. Eternally.” Those teeth flashed in a quick, happy smile.

“Oh, good. Another year you’re looking forward to, then.” He bared his teeth, leaning toward that long, pale throat.

“What’s another year, Pup? Another century. Another lifetime.” Issac arched for him, the offer clear.

Knox moaned, letting his fangs sink into Isaac’s skin. He’d known all that sighing was just to get his attention.

Thank God, Father Time and the Baby New Year that it worked.

***

TA DA!

Knox and Issac's story is in Timeless Hunger and I'll pick winners Jan. 2. 

Thanks, y'all, for all your love and support.  I appreciate y'all more than you can ever imagine.

*hugs tight*

BA

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Six Sentence Sunday: WIP

He needed to see Channing as soon as possible. Thank god for the knock on the sleeper cabin door. Time for breakfast.

Soon he’d figure this shit out. Soon he’d have his mates in one room and he’d remind them who the fucking Alpha male was, damn it.

He couldn’t wait.

***

;-)

Much love, y'all.

BA

Frosty Fiction, Day 30:

Jesus stretched, his paws kicking the air. Oh, he loved a lazy morning. He didn’t even know what morning it was. Jonah was the only one who kept track of days of the week and month.

Mariposa was fat and swollen with pups, her nose covered by her tail as she curled in her den. She opened one eye to glare at him when he woofed softly, but he just gave her a lupine grin. Their lady was never so beautiful as when she was pregnant. And Jonah was never so happy.

Jonah was singing in the little kitchen of their cabin, stirring something that smelled heavenly and Jesus licked Mariposa’s muzzle before padding over to see his Alpha.

“Hello, love.” Jonah scratched his ears, making his eyes cross.

He lapped Jonah’s wrist, tail moving fast and hard. Happy winter, mate. Puppies and food and petting.

Jonah chuckled. “I’m making barbecue sauce, love. I know how you adore grilled meat.”

He chuffed and wagged, leaning hard, the scent of Jonah like a drug.

“I could use some human company today.”

Oh. Oh, sweet Alpha. Jesus pondered that, very hard. Legs. Man. Come on. Jonah needed love.

There. His legs lengthened, his front ones becoming arms.

“Mmmmmate.” He growled happily, standing to push into Jonah’s arms.

“Hello, baby.” Jonah kissed him, tongue flicking his lips. “Shall we make Mari some yummy food?”

“I like food. And Mari.” He sniffed the air. “There’s going to be snow.”

“Is there?” Jonah laughed. “Glad you came north with me, baby?”

“Always.” He was made to follow his mates. They took care of him and he made art for them.

“Good.” He got another kiss, then Jonah squeezed his ass. “Get Mari another blanket, and I’ll give you a reward.

“I will.” He rubbed their cheeks together. “The pups will be here soon, I think.”

“Then we’ll have to be ready. I love you, Jesus.”

“Love.” He took a kiss, smiling as the snow began to fall. Lovely.

Home. Snow. Puppies.

Perfect.

***

Mariposa, Jesus and Jonah live in Desert Lobo. One day left, y'all -- can you believe it? :D 


Much love, 

BA

Saturday, December 29, 2012

What I Worked on this Week

Working, working, working.
 
 
Active writing:
 
Tag Team: Fais Do Do -- m/m novel. Actually got some word count this week. Woo.
 
The Terms of Release -- m/m novel. Win made Sage laugh. ;-)
 
Hammer and Tongs -- m/m Western. Kink has happened. 
 
m/m/f novel (co-write with Julia) -- fun, sexy menage. This one's on hold until J and I hit some deadlines.
 
Catnipped (working title) -- m/m/f shifters, bdsm. Are you praying? You should pray. This one's blistering. 
 
 
In edits/rewrites:
 
Alpha Call: edits due in Monday next.
Mr. Unlucky: edits due in Friday this.
The Four Horsemen: Ace and Kitty -- still waiting. 
 
 
Next up:
 
Catnipped. Edits. Like whoa.
 
;-)
 
Much love, y'all.
 
BA

Frosty Fiction, Day 29: Stephen and Low

The New Year was upon them and Stephen sat before the fire at the club, eyes watching the flames as he waited on his Scot to return from his familial obligations. The man had an unruly lot of cousins, mostly, more extended family than any Texan Stephen knew.

Francis Lowell was ignored by his family all year, but at this time of year, they all wanted something.

Stephen’s grandmother had passed on a few months ago and so he’d spent the holiday in her odd, rambling house, missing Low and drinking.

He would much rather do anything else, especially with Low.

He shifted, loosening his blasted cravat. Damnable Englishmen and their binding clothes.

“Oh, are you stripping for me, my love?”

He sat up, eyes searching out the beloved face that went with that voice. Low looked tired, but the smile Low kept just for him was there.

“My Scot.” A wave of pure relief flooded him.

“Hello, Stephen.” Low held out a hand to him.

“It is a joy to see you.” He took that offered hand. Please. Please say that there was a room reserved.

“Mmm. Good. You’re my reward for being such a good host. Shall we go upstairs?”

“Please. Now is a perfect time for me.”

“Good.” Low’s smile widened into something almost catlike. Cat with a mouse-like.

Stephen shivered and stood, gathering himself. He could only hope Low had something devilish in mind for him. He needed to drive out his demons.

Most specifically, he needed Low to drive them out.

***

Stephen and Low appear in Hyacinth Club.  :D

*smooches*

Much love, y'all!

BA

Friday, December 28, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 28: Will and Dean

Dean pulled the boxes out of the garage and brought them into the front room. “Okay, these are all of them, I think. You sure all this shit’s going to fit? Looks like Santa’s workshop moved in over the last month.”

Not that he was complaining, because he wasn’t. He liked it. He just thought they were going to be making a run to town for more containers.

Will chuckled. “Well, we had to get stockings for the new pups, and we still had to hang Sadie’s. Then there was that nativity scene you got from old man Hyner.”

“That was pretty damned cool, huh?” The whole thing was carved out of barn wood. Dean was sort of stupid tickled with it.

“God, yes. Almost as cool as the whole box of quilted balls my mom sent.” Will’s momma had wanted to make sure they had plenty of stuff to go on the tree.

“Almost.” He grinned and kissed Will soundly. “Get started and I’ll grab us both a beer.”

“You got it, cowboy.” Will hung on a moment, though, laughing. “Merry after Christmas and Happy almost New Year.”

“You know it. Happy happy.” He winked, grinned. “Get to work, cowboy. Sunlight’s burning.”

Will nodded, whistling Auld Lang Syne, and got to work.

 

***

 

3 more days, guys!

:D

Much love,

BA

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 27: Cotton and Emmy

Cotton walked into the kitchen, unzipping his jacket. “Shit, marthy, it’s cold out there. That fucking wind is like...”

He stopped, still.

Emmy was standing there in nothing but an apron and a pair of the highest, sparkliest heels he’d ever seen, stirring a bowl of...of...Oh, who the fuck cared what she was stirring?

He took a step forward and hit his knees. Happy holidays to him.

 

***

For Sonya. ;-)

Much love,

BA

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 26: Paddy and Neil

He liked the lights best. He sat in their little house and stared at them for hours, letting the reds and greens and purples hypnotize him, fascinate him.

They were the colors of laughter, Paddy thought. They made him smile, made his fingers itch to see if he could touch them and come away with dyed fingertips.

“Mmm. Here we go, love. Hot chocolate and cream buns and those cheeses and crackers you like.” Neil sat down next to him, placing a tray on the low table in front of the sofa. He would have called it a couch, but Neil always said sofa.

“You spoil me.” He leaned over, eyelids heavy, tingling from the lights.

“Do I? I think I merely do happy things for my lover.”

“Happy things.” He chuckled, moved into Neil’s lap. “I have you a present.”

A huge five pound bag of M&Ms, topped with a bow.

“I like presents.” Neil didn’t seem too worried about going and getting presents. Just sitting was good.

“I like you.” He closed his eyes and suddenly he was in Neil’s thoughts, the pattern prismatic, delicious.

Oh, he loved that. It was like looking at a kaleidoscope.

Magic. His Neil. Magical.

“My happy love.” Neil kissed his cheek, stroking his back.

“My Neil. Love. Dearest love.” He laughed, joy crashing through him. Neil always made him happy, but his lover adored Christmas, and that made all those glorious thoughts even brighter.

Neil made things...whole. Even things he never thought he’d find in himself again.

“You’re thinking too hard for a cheese plate, sweet.”

He cackled softly. “But there are crackers, too.”

“Mmm. Deep, those crisp breads.”

“Absolutely. Genius.”

They laughed together and it was quiet. Simple. right.

Home.

***

Paddy and Neil can be found in the Road Trip series. :D

Much love, y'all!

BA

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 25: Coke and Dillon

Dillon was pooped. He’d just gotten back from Australia, where it had been balmy and beautiful. The event had gone swimmingly, and the swimming had been awesome.

Too bad Coke hadn’t gone with him.

On the good side, he was home early. He’d thought he’d be flying in on Christmas Eve. He’d got in on the twenty-third instead.

He pulled into the driveway, frowning as he drove past a travel trailer, a dualie, a Dodge Ram that wasn’t Coke’s. Weird. Coke and him had Skyped right before he got on the plane, and no one had mentioned a party.

He knew the trailer belonged to Sammy and Beau, and the duallie was the Taggarts’, but he wasn’t sure about the new pickup, though, and...

Jesus christ.

He stood in the doorway, staring. Dillon was surprised that no one woke up. To him, his jaw dropping sounded like a champagne cork popping.

Coke lay in his easy chair, one basset hound across his legs. the other stretched out on his chest. That wasn’t unusual at all. The amazing thing was the pile of cowboys strewn about the front room floor.

Balta was upside down in the inversion table, Joa sleeping on the biggest Fila Braziliero he’d ever seen. Raul was sprawled between them, on hand tangled with Balta’s, the other around Joa’s ankle. They were all naked, and it was like the progression of caveman to modern man. Joa looked smooth and waxed, Raul fuzzy but neatly manscaped, Balta an explosion of black hair.

The Taggarts were on the floor in a puppy pile, legs and arms tangled, all sleeping soundly, Adam holding Bri and Chrissy both, each of them with their head on one of Adam’s shoulders.. God, the cuteness.

In the hallway, he saw two sets of bare feet. When he peeked, he saw Beau Lafitte and Sam Bell, a pair of stocky, tiny cowboys. There was a couch cushion under Sammy’s poor broken head, carefully placed. The guys’ bloodhound, Boudreaux, lay across Beau’s feet, head on Sammy’s leg.

Oh, God.

Oh, God, he couldn’t bear it. He grabbed his phone and started shooting pictures. Naked cowboys everywhere. He wasn’t even getting blackmail material. He just needed to records this for his own personal scrapbook. Did everyone’s clothes explode? There wasn’t a stitch of cloth anywhere. Not even a robe.

There were pizza boxes from the little joint right on the outskirts of town. Beer bottles. Four empty boxes of honey buns were stacked on top of a case of cherry fried pies. There was a box of chicken fingers from Whataburger, too, in the refrigerator. Those were so his.

When he closed the refrigerator door, two bassets, a bloodhound and the giant mastiff-hound looking fila Brasilero stood there, all looking particularly hungry.

“Didn’t get any pizza, huh, guys?”

Four tails wagged. Thump thump thump.

“Bad cowboys, not feeding the pups.” He peered at the fila’s nametag. “Are you hungry, Paulo?”

A deep bark answered him, and he laughed, passing out chicken fingers and grabbing four pounds of bacon to cook off. Those guys could eat. He plopped them on the counter.

“Cowboy? You’re early.” Coke stood there, naked and grinning, looking pleased as fuck to see him.

“Hey, babe!” Dillon put the chicken down high up on the back counter to keep the tall dogs out of it, and held out his arms to Coke. His bullfighter came right to him, kissing him happily.

“Missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Got home early. What’s with all the naked?” Not that Dillon was gonna complain.

“We went for a swim around two a.m. and no one else brought suits.”

“Ah. Pool’s nice, this time of year.”

“It is. You shoulda seen Old Man Taggart, swimming with one basset under each arm.”

Dillon couldn’t help but notice that Coke was...appreciating that he was home. Dillon was appreciating it, too, but this was awful public.

“Anyone gonna get mad if we get up late?” He abandoned the chicken to the dogs, tugging Coke toward the bedroom.

“Uh-uh. Told the Cajun and Sammy they could stay ‘til the New Year. Taggarts and the Brazilians are leaving today after the barbeque competition.” Coke followed, hands on his ass.

Dillon squeaked. “Competition?”

“Uh-huh. Sammy and Balta. Brisket and chicken. Noonish. Later.”

“Maybe two-ish? It was was an eighteen hour flight.” He got Coke in their room, locking the door.

“Works for me. If the Taggarts have to leave, they do.” Coke tilted his head for a kiss.

“Mmm. I’ll make it up to them.” He kissed that amazing mouth.

“Uh-huh.” Coke grew him close. “Later.”

“Much later,” he agreed. Really, when it came down to it, Coke was the only naked cowboy he needed.

 

***

Merry Christmas, y'all! Peace and much love,

BA

Monday, December 24, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 24: Gilead and Rian

“Do you celebrate the solstice, mate?” Rian balanced on his forearms, legs slowly lifting.

“Hmm? Yule?” Gilead watched him, lying on a mat on the floor, looking huge and shaggy even in human form. “I suppose I do.”

“How? Do you have a tree? Egg nog?”

“We have all the trees you could ask for.” Gilead rolled to his back, kicking his feet up in happy baby pose.

“Very nice. Should we get presents?”

“For who?” Gilead laughed, which told Rian his mate was teasing. “I got you something already. Daniel helped me.”

“Oh, good. I have something for you too.” Bedding. Lots of bedding. Gilead loved bedding.

“Then we will open presents together!” Gilead switched around to down dog, easy as pie.

“I can’t wait.” He slid down to plow.

Gilead watched him, nose quivering. Then his big mate did something that looked like dolphin, ending up nose to nose with him. “I could distract you.”

“I like distraction.” He licked at Gilead’s lips.

“Me, too! Can we do yoga together naked?”

“Of course.” He eased himself down. “You want to start now?”

“I do!” Gilead kissed him lightly. “Presents can wait for Yule.”

He pounced his mate, biting playfully before bounding off. “Come catch me!”

Gilead’s paws thundered on the floor behind him, that big body hurtling along after him. He grinned. When Gilead caught him he would get all the gifts he ever needed.

Which wouldn’t keep him from opening a Yuletide present. Rian couldn’t wait to see what an alpha old-forest wolf and a dragon thought was appropriate.

*** 

Gilead and Rian live in Cereus: Opening

Merry Christmas Eve, y'all!

Much love,

BA

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 23: Packer, Adrian and Calleigh from What She Wants

Five stockings.

He looked at his mantle, nodded. One gold sequined. Two cowboy boots. Two, tiny pink stockings with soft fuzzy tops, baby dolls peeking out of the tops.

Five stockings all filled to bursting.

Five.

Packer chuckled. Not bad, not bad at all.

***

Short and sweet.

Merry Christmas Eve eve, y'all.

Much love,

BA

Saturday, December 22, 2012

What I Worked on this Week

Y'all -- it's been one of those weeks, you know? Argh.
 
 
Active writing:
 
Tag Team: Fais Do Do -- m/m novel. This one's on hold for this week and next.
 
The Terms of Release -- m/m novel. They smiled at each other. ;-)
 
Hammer and Tongs -- m/m Western. Longest sex scene ever.  
 
m/m/f novel (co-write with Julia) -- fun, sexy menage. This one's on hold until J and I hit some deadlines.
 
Catnipped (working title) -- m/m/f shifters, bdsm. Pray for me.
 
 
In edits/rewrites:
 
Alpha Call: working on edits.
Mr. Unlucky: working on edits.
The Four Horsemen: Ace and Kitty -- still waiting. 
 
In the dustbin:
 
Don't Mess with Hexes -- m/m/f novella -- don't ask
 
Next up:
 
Catnipped. Lots. No Christmas break for me.
 
;-)
 
Much love, y'all.
 
BA

Frosty Fiction, Day 22: Sara and Cal

“Cal, he’s heading for the tree again.” Sara reached for Jonah’s heel from her place on the floor, where she was wrapping presents to mail to Mom and Poppy.

“I got him, darlin’.” Her cowboy leaned down, scooped the baby up and nuzzled his neck. “You gonna run track, boy?”

“Crawl track, maybe.” She winked over, put a bow on the package that held a signed copy of her last book. “He’s never going to walk.”

She wasn’t complaining. She had enough to keep up with without her boy being a sprinter.

Cal chuckled. “Maybe he’ll be a roper. Team ropers never walk anywhere.”

“Like my son is going to be a rodeo cowboy.”

“Hey, now. There’s way more money in it than there used to be.” Cal’s blue eyes twinkled at her.

“Uh-huh. No.” God, he was beautiful. “He’s asleep again.”

“Well, there you go.” Cal bounced the baby a little “You need any help there. darlin’?”

“Always. You want me to put him down or do you have it?”

“I got it.” Cal had gotten past his fear that he would break the baby remarkably fast.

“Love you, Cowboy,” she called after him, watching that Wrangler butt go.

“Hold that thought, darlin’,” she heard, low and soft. “I got something you can unwrap.”

“Promises, promises.”

Merry Christmas to her.

***

Sara and Cal live at Sara's Cowboy and their sequel is featured every month in my blog. :D

Please comment for a chance to win backlist and Happy Saturday!

Much love,

BA

Friday, December 21, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 21: Gen and Dale

Salty fish and noodles.

Oh, Gen called them baccala’ and spaghetti a la something, but they sure didn’t look like Christmas. The noodles he could handle. He just wasn’t so sure about the fish. Christmas in Italy might be more than he could swallow.

“You look very nervous for a man at a feast, tesoro,” Gen said, hand sliding on his back.

“Oh, just a little homesick is all. This is very different.”

Very.

“Mmm. I imagine so. It is all traditional.” Gen had a few thousand relatives, all of them very sweet but loud and emotional and hungry. “I have something just for you. Not to share.

“Well, I should hope so, honey.” He waggled his eyebrows, looking Gen up and down.

Gen laughed, which drew a few looks from the people starting to edge toward the food. Gen took his hand, leading him out of the big formal dining room. He was living in a villa, for god’s sake.

Him. Goofy redneck him.

How fucking cool was this?

Gen kissed him gently, bringing him back to the moment, which had resolved itself into a table for two.

“Gen?” A table just for them?

“Mmm. Yes. We can join the others in a bit, but I wanted you to have something traditional for you, as well. I talked with your old roommate.”

There were two covered platters, and Gen waved him toward them. He headed over and the smell of home hit him. He tugged the lids off and, praise the Lord, there was a pile of tamales and what looked like sliced brisket with onions, pickles and sauce.

“Oh, Gen. Gen, did Santa talk to you?”

“Perhaps.” Those dark eyes shone with love, Gen smiling for him. “Buon Natale, tesoro. Are you happy?”

“Merry Christmas, honey.” He grabbed his lover, took a long, hard kiss. “Who on earth wouldn’t be happy if they were me? I got my heart, right here.”

Even if there was salted fish and spaghetti for Christmas dinner. They got tamales to share.

***

Buon Natale, y'all. ;-)

(Dale and Gen are from Private Dances, btw. Comment for a chance to win books.)

Much love,

BA

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 20: Wend, Canyon and Riana

“Canyon?” Riana came to him, long white hair like a cloud around her, face like a little worried thundercloud. “The women say that I have to make the Pack a Christmas. I’ve never done a Christmas for anyone. I don’t know how.”

“Oh.” Canyon bit back a grin. “I guess not. I can help with that.”

“Okay. You tell me and I will make it.” His fierce, frowning girl, working so hard to be the alpha female, to make things right. He adored her.

“Well, first we need Wend. He’s the domestic one, yeah?”

She nodded, arms wrapped around herself as she turned, heading back toward their home, tension written in every line of her body.

“Hey.” He snagged her, pulling her back against his chest. “Guess what?”

“What?” It meant so much, that she never even tensed, just cuddled in.

“Christmas can be easy. You just need a lot of love in your heart.”

“I have a lot of love in my mates. I want you to be pleased.”

Wend appeared out of the shadows. coming to them like he’d been called. “Is something wrong?”

Canyon chuckled. “Not at all, sweet boy. Let’s go in, make hot chocolate, and plan our holiday.”

“I’d love that.” His sweet mate beamed, coming to nuzzle and nibble their lady until she eased, smiled, nodded.

“It will be okay?” she asked.

“It will be perfect.” No matter what.

Canyon would bite anyone who said different.

 

***

Riana, Wend and Canyon are from Opening the Cage. :D

Comment for a chance to win a backlist ebook, y'all.

Much love,

BA

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 19: Remy and Griffin

“Ooo, douce! Where you been? You been hunting nummy Christmas treats without me?” Remy looked over at his tall, fine, hot as all get out lover. “I done decorated the tree.”

Griff smiled, fangs against lower lip. “Now, would I do that. sweet?”

“Don’ make me bite on you now.” He licked his lips, moving forward. “You get something sweet and nummy?”

“I got something spicy. Want a taste?”

“I do.” The lights on the tree -- all purply and fine -- made Griff’s skin glow. The way Griff offered that long, pale throat was enough to make Remy feel like he was glowing, too.

“Douce. You like the best of all things -- Santa, presents, lights.”

He murmured the words just before his fangs sank in, and the only lights he knew where the ones in his own head.

 

***

Remy and Griff were featured in Long, Black Cadillac.

Y'all know the drill by now, right? Comment to win!

Much love,

BA

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 18: Max and Morgan

“Sugar?” Max looked at the house, wide-eyed. “Did a Pier One explode in Oklahoma City?”

“What? No. Possibly UPS truck, the guy was a little peeved when he was bringing in all the boxes.” Morgan looked tickled as a pig in shit.

“Uh-huh. Did you buy... Santa?”

“Oh, no. He’s still ensconced in the North Pole. I think. I could look it up on Amazon...”

“That looks like the weird little penguin from the commercial.” He pointed out a sparkly bird on a cupcake.

“Uh-huh. I love him. I named him Charlie. It’s a thing.”

Max grinned. Morgan had a lot of things that were a thing. It was one of his most endearing qualities. “Well, I like the shiny stuff on the bull horns.”

“You’ll like the new sheets, too.” Oh, there was evil in them there eyes.

“Will I?”

“Oh, yes. The website called it Pinup Cowpokes.”

That grin made him a lot of promises.

***

Max and Morgan's story is called Oil and Water. :D

Comment for a chance to win one of my backlist titles. :D

Much love, y'all.

BA

Monday, December 17, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 17: Addie and Bodie

Bodie hummed, trimming stray branches off the Christmas tree. He and Addie had compromised; he’d got his live tree, Addie had made sure it was a potted tree they could plant later.

He could hear his girl, singing in the kitchen, the sound sweet and a little silly as she rattled pans and measuring cups. She had this idea about making cookies to hang on the tree. Bodie wanted to string popcorn, too.

He grinned, then removed one of the pups from the toe of his sock. “That hurts, now.”

The silly little border collie grunted and attacked again. He thought that one was... He lifted it. Girl two. Right side moon.

“Are you abusing my puppies?”

“They’re abusing my socks.” He held up the puppy when Addie peeked in at him. “Which one is this?”

“That’s my baby girl!” She squeeked and clapped and that fuzzy baby went crazy, barking and wagging. “And where’s that wee baby boy?”

“You don’t have him?” Uh-oh. Loose puppies did bad shit.

“I thought they were both in there with you...”

“Crap.” He handed her the girl pup and went looking.

He found the little shit, sleeping in his towel, curled up in a tiny ball. Oh, damn. “If this is what it’s like to have kids, we’re gonna have to work harder.”

Her little hand landed on his butt with a smack. “You got a mouse in your pocket, cowboy?”

“Hey! He’s your dog.” He winked, then bent to kiss her.

“And you’re my cowboy. Put them in the laundry room, lover. I want to make something more fun than cookies.”

Oh. Hello. Bodie did love how straightforward his girl was. “Yes, ma’am.”

This time that hand didn’t swat. No, that was a promise, sure as shit.

“Such a good cowboy. I have such a present for you.”

“I like presents.” He did. Better than cotton candy.

***

Addie and Bodie are from Mr. Unlucky, releasing in January from Resplendence. :D

Much love, y'all.

BA

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Six Sentence Sunday, from Hammer and Tongs

Please, he thought, please, Asa, go. Go. All he would need was a few quick, hard strokes.

Asa turned, eyes meeting his head on, and oh. Oh, Lord help him, that look burned him.

As caught as a rabbit by a snake, Virgil simply stood, stared, the world itself come to a stop.

 

***

Cowboys. Indians. Desert. Bondage. Spanking. Old West. It's an experiment.

Much love, y'all.

BA

Winners for this Week!

Katherine

ButtonontheTop

Jaymi

Kaytee

Rachel

Stacy Houston

Email me at batortuga at gmaildot com and tell me which backlist book you're interested in and I'll send!

*smooches*

Y'all rock!

Much love,

BA

Frosty Fiction, Day 16, Mik and Van

“Vampires don’t ski.”

Mik sat on the end of the bed, arms crossed, glaring at him.

Van chuckled, tossing another sweater at his own personal vamp. “Werewolves do. You can sit at the lodge and drink hot buttered blood.”

“That’s disgusting.” Uh-huh. Mik was way less pissy than he was letting on. Way less. Hell, Jonny had personally recommended the lodge they were going to in Switzerland...

“It’s funny. Come on, baby. Christmas on the slopes.”

“Switzerland? Seriously? Me, on an overseas flight?”

“We could take a boat, but the snowpack might be gone...”

“I’m going to bite you.”

That got him to stop tossing clothes about, making him chuckle. “Promise?”

Mik grinned, fangs gleaming. “Uh-huh.”

“That would be a nice start to Christmas.”

His own personal bloodsucker started stalking. “Ho. Ho. Ho.”

“Still taking you skiing.”

Mik growled, the sound hot as fuck. “I told you, vampires don’t ski.”

***

Mik and Van are from Cereus: Opening (thanks to Julia for letting me borrow her boy for this one).

*smooches*

Comment for Friday's giveaway!

 

Much love,

BA

Saturday, December 15, 2012

What I Worked On This Week

Been an okay writing week. Nothing spectacular, nothing bad. ;-)
 
 
Active writing:
 
Tag Team: Fais Do Do -- m/m novel. This one's moving fast. Will definitely need rewrites.
 
The Terms of Release -- m/m novel. Still toodling along like a house afire.
 
Hammer and Tongs -- m/m Western. On first sex scene. 
 
m/m/f novel (co-write with Julia) -- fun, sexy menage. This one's on hold until J and I hit some deadlines.
 
Don't Mess with Hexes -- m/m/f novella -- book two of the Cowbell, Book and Candle series. I don't know, y'all... This one's giving me fits. I may have to start over. AGAIN. *sighs*
 
 
In edits/rewrites:
 
The Four Horsemen: Ace and Kitty -- still waiting. 
 
 
Next up:
 
Need to make a decision on whether DMwH is fixable and finish-able by Jan 1. If so, focus on it. If not, find another hot idea and write like the wind.
 
;-)
 
Much love, y'all.
 
BA

Frosty Fiction, Day 15: Dave and Amos

“Dave? Baby, why are there lights on the dog house?”

“Because it looked drab.”

“There’s no one but us to see it out here, and...” Amos stopped, sniffing. Frowning, he glanced around. “Is that coffee?”

“I wish.” Dave sighed dramatically. “Iris sent more candles in her care package. Hazelnut cappucino, creme brulee, and Mocha Mint.”

“Go her.” Dave’s secretary, because Iris would never be an ex, sent all sorts of shit, all the time. She thought they were way too isolated up in the Colorado mountains. “Did she send more toffee?”

“She sent pecan brittle, bagels, and smoked salmon.” Dave stared at him. “Seriously? After so long, you’d think I’d cheat?”

“No.” He grinned and pulled Dave close. “It’s habit to ask.”

“The puppies like the Christmas lights.”

“Do they? I had to dig a ball out of Noodle’s mouth last night.”

“That’s why I hung them with string instead of hooks.”

“It’s why you got the hard plastic, too.” He knew it was important to Dave that everything was just so, especially at Christmas. “I like the candles. You want to make cookies now, baby?”

“That would be fun.” Dave came to him, lines beside those dark eyes pure laughter and sunshine. “Yeah, Shep.”

“Well, let’s get to it. I got you some bone shaped cutters to make some for the dogs, too.” Dave wasn’t the only one with Christmas spirit.

His was just less... sparkly.

***

Dave and Amos are from my very first book ever, Stress Relief. ;-)

Much love.

BA

Friday, December 14, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 14: Jeremy and Hollis

“Sausage balls aren’t good for you.”

“Egg nog is just empty calories.”

“Christmas cookies? MORE Christmas cookies?”

“Sugared pecans? Really?”

“You put that toffee down, Hollis!”

Hollis had had enough. Jeremy was taking this whole trainer-at-Christmas obsession too far. They were retired, now. If he gained five pounds at Christmas, he would work it off on Jeremy’s hot little ass.

He grabbed a joint, a bag of Doritos, and jar of really good olives, popped them in a box and stuck a bow on it.

“Jeremy? Baby? Come see what I got you!”

***

Jeremy and Hollis are from Living in Fast Forward. ;-)

Y'all know the drill.

Much love,

BA

Candy Cane Kink Giveaway Hop

Candy Kane Kink

Happy Holidays, y'all!

I saw this bloghop and had to play, too. ;-)

I love Christmas and gifting (and, okay, kink. What? Sean Michael's my best friend!) and I'm tickled to play.

Today I'm offering up a pair of crocheted hand-cuffs and a vibrator cozy, in colors of your choice.  (and yes, international folks are welcome to play along *kisses*)

Happy ho ho ho and much kinky candy love.

BA


  http://closeencounterswiththenightkind.blogspot.com/2012/08/candy-cane-kink-giveaway-hop-sign-up.html


Thursday, December 13, 2012

Thirsty Thursday Drink Recipe: Buttery Nipples

*grins*

What?

1/2 oz. butterscotch schnapps

1/2 oz. Bailey's Irish cream

Whipped cream on top.

YUM.

Really. A sip of sex in a shot glass.

Shutterstock 114598429

(okay, this is just Baileys, but Julia says it's too early to make one up to photograph. Damn it.)

Much love, y'all.

BA

Frosty Fiction, Day 13: Danny and Quinn

God, the cold made him hurt.

Danny crept up the stairs of the house, the couple of bags from his stop at the City Market on the way home from cleaning out his little office and telling Professor Wells happy holidays weighing a million pounds in his arms.

Please don’t let me fall. Please don’t let me fall. Please don’t let me fall.

The door opened before he could reach for the knob, Quinn right there, frowning. “Oh, God, why didn’t you call, babe? I would have come and helped.” Those big, warm hands closed on his arms, helping him over the stoop before the dog could charge him.

“Thank you.” He felt like an idiot, sore and stiff and ancient. “Cold. Good day?”

“Not bad. Couple of people being crappy to each other, but you know how that is.” Quinn dropped a kiss on his cold lips, warming them.

“I do. Semester’s officially over. Office is locked.” That meant long days in their old house, pottering around and drinking coffee.

“Yeah? Means I can melt you with a massage.”

“Oh, God. Please. Yes.” He’d sell his left nut for one.

“I thought so. Hop in the shower while I put the groceries away? Then we can start Christmas break.”

“You got it.” He kissed Quinn’s cheek. “It’s good to be home.”

“Good.” Quinn squeezed his ass. “Because I have plans for Christmas.”

Oh, yay.

He thought he felt better already.

 

***

Danny and Quinn are from Old Town New, which is one of my favorites from way back.

Please do leave comments, I'll be choosing winners tomorrow!

Much love,

BA

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Adding to the Collection!

NewImage

Rancher and homebody Derrick loves going to the bullriding finals in Reno, especially when he gets to see his favorite rider, Stone. This year he gets way more up close and personal with Stone than he ever expects, and all of his fantasies come true.

After Reno, though, Stone has nowhere to go for Christmas, so he shows up at Derrick’s ranch, knowing there’s something about Derrick that makes him think of settling down. Will Derrick panic and send Stone away, or will he had the rodeo cowboy to his collection?

***

Stone sat on the rail against the wall, sipping his beer and humming along with Alan.

He was in the money tonight, and that was the third round he'd ridden. It wasn't going to win him a championship or any such shit, but it was going to get him to January, God willing and the creek didn't rise, and it was going to keep him in the top twenty, which meant sponsorship money come next season. Praise Jesus and bull ropes.

The crowd was jumping like a frog in a skillet tonight -- the buckle bunnies out in spades, all glitz and sparkle and more fake boobies than you could shake a silicone stick at. Sometimes he wondered what made anyone work so hard to look so fake, then he remembered how much money he spent on getting his jeans starched and he'd feel like an asshole. Still, those spider eyelashes scared the living fuck out of him. They looked like they could cut a man. Flap, ow!

Now, that big old boy who just walked in wearing Wranglers and a pressed, snap-button shirt? He wasn't scary a bit. No, sir. He was pretty with a capital P. Solid and broad, with hands that would be rough and hard on a man's skin -- that was just Stone's type. Sometimes a cowboy needed a good, hard ride. This one looked like he didn't get to town much. Oh, the boots were clean, and the hat was obviously expensive, but the guy scanned the crowd like he was starving, like he had a powerful itch.

Come on, pretty baby, look over here.

Like the message actually went through, the man glanced at him, then stared, eyes widening a little. Down boy. Could just mean he knew bullriders.

He tipped his hat, though, nodded. It was a fine fucking line -- straddling between making sure someone knew you were interested and not getting your ass handed to you. The message was received, and received well, he thought. The man started moving toward him at least, and Stone didn't think it was for an imminent ass-kicking.

He stayed where he was, holding those dark, hungry eyes.

Coming to a stop about a foot away, the man nodded. "Buy you a drink?"

"Bud Lite. Please."

Oh, fuck him raw, that was a pretty man.

"Sure. Two Bud Lites, please," the man told the waitress who hovered nearby. "I'm Derrick."

"Stone." He held one hand out, shook. The handshake was everything he could hope for, warm but not sweaty, that hand big and callused.

"I know. Hope that's not weird. You made a fan out of me."

"Oh, now, a man likes to hear that. You out just for the event? You liking Reno?" You wanna fuck?

"I am, and yeah. I come every year. First time I've seen you here." Those eyes weren't as dark as he thought. Oh, they were a nice, deep green, but the pupils were dilated, Derrick looking at him like he was dessert to a good meal.

"I been on the little tour for a while. This is my first time with the big boys."

"You did yourself proud." Derrick swallowed hard. "Looked good doing it, too."

He tipped his head, the brim of his hat dipping. "Much obliged."

"You, uh, do any private demonstrations? Of how you ride?"

"Oh, hell yes." He grinned, slow and easy. "Did I say that out loud?"

***

Buy link: http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=78_85&products_id=3765

Frosty Fiction, Day 12: The Brazilians

“What are you doing, Joa?” Balta asked, staring at his lover, who stood on a ladder, naked as the day he was born.

“Hanging mistletoe.”

The view was lovely, so Balta didn’t complain, but it seemed an odd thing. “Why?”

“Because I thought it would be a good game,” Raul said, wandering into the room with a box of mistletoe hangers.

“A game.” He held one arm out and Raul came to him, a naughty look on the hawk-like face.

“Mmmhmm.” Raul smiled for him. “I thought we’d hang them all over and let the one who catches Joa under them tell him what they want him to kiss.”

“Oh. Oh, my wise Raul.” Balta beamed, grin getting wider and wider.

Joa peered down at them. “Wait. You just said there would be many kisses.”

Raul nodded. “So there will be.”

“Feliz Natal!” He applauded, most amused at this game.

Yes.

Merry Christmas to them.

***

;-)

The Next Big Thing

Let me start this whole thing out by saying that the internet is a magical thing.

Hear me out, y'all. 

I know that everyone (or at least lots and lots -- I mean, seriously, when did I become the type of person that says 'everyone' whenever I feel like someone doesn't agree with my point, like I'm this crazy downtrodden broad? *snorts* Adds 'stop doing that' to my amazingly huge list of New Year's resolutions) says that it's unhealthy to live electronically, but come on.

Kari Lynn? I would never have met her and become friends if it hadn't been for Twitter. I mean, come on, y'all, she lives where there's snow. Lots of snow. All the time. She tells me the temps at her house and I just think, "7 degrees? Honey, you dropped a zero somewhere..."

At any rate, she tagged my happy ass in this blog hop, and I said yes, because I'm a little bit of a masochist and friends say yes and I didn't know at the time that it would be so hard to tag other people (four of my original taggers said yes, about 6 people had already been poked). ;-)

At any rate, The Next Big Thing. It goes like this: a writer (that's me) posts the answers to a list of questions about their book (that's Terms of Release -- note, please that this is the book I'm working on in the next few minutes. I have the attention span of a gnat on crack and I'm currently writing 3 novels and a co-written one, plus a New Year's Eve short. Don't judge, just send coffee), then 'tags' five friends, who tag five more friends, and so on. Follow the links and you get to know folks and their books along the way.

That's it. 

So, I yammer on, you click links, we all get to get excited about the upcoming books (and Kari Lynn Dell? WRITING A BULLFIGHTER. OMG. *ahem* Yes. Talented lady, that cowgirl. *sparkles with the bullfighter love*

 

What is the working title of your next book?

Terms of Release. 

Where did the idea come from for the book?

So, I'm a music psycho. I was reading a book that was trying to convince me to outline a novel instead of just making it up as I go when this song come on the iTunes. Modern Day Prodigal Son by Brantley Gilbert.

I stopped reading.

I hit replay.

I burst into tears.

When Julia woke up from her nap, Sage had a beginning, even though I don't have room for him in the schedule. 

What genre does your book fall under?

Contemporary western m/m romance. 

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

*lips twist* Hrm. Sorry, y'all. That's not how I roll. Sage looks like Sage (a wee pocket cowboy with bad knees and sad eyes and I just want to squish him) and Win looks like Win, who looks like his daddy, but younger and hotter.. Sage's daddy looks sorta like my daddy and Sage's momma looks very much like my best friend's mom looked twenty years ago...

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

After eight years in the federal pen for killing his lover, Angel, the last thing Sage Redding wants in the world is to go back to his tiny east Texas town where everyone knows his name, his former lover's uncle is the sheriff, his brother-in-law thinks he's a pedophile and Angel's daddy owns the county, but his daddy's got Parkinson's and needs him home and there's a war hero turned cop that may need him home, too. 

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I sort of promised this book to a publisher I haven't worked with yet. ;-) 

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

*snorts* I'll let you know. This one's going to be a long one.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Hrm... think a mix of Old Town New and the Roughstock boys, but set where Chasing Flame is.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

*ponders that* 

I have this love/hate relationship with tiny-town Texas. Obviously I love it -- I grew up there, my family is there, my heart is there. My daddy. Sisters. Nieces. My friends. I know that place like I know my own bed.

But.

I don't live there. I can't. I'm a pink-haired, tattooed, opinionated lesbian that refuses to apologize for being who I am. It's impossible to go home without making the people that live there incredibly uncomfortable and, unfortunately, that can lead to violence. I'll never be able to go home again. I know that.

Terms of Release is me working through all that mess in my soul.

What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?

I'm not shying away from the prison experience, or the psychological shit that being incarcerated pulls on a man. Sage is broken in a way I've never written before. I'm praying for him. (Is that weird? To genuinely need for them to be okay?)

And now for the fun part:

I get to pass the buck to other suckers!

Bella Leone -- Oh, y'all. I got the incredible luck of meeting Bella in person this year and I can tell you, she's like a tiny blinding light of pure joy.

Kerry Freeman -- *cackles* Let me tell you, Ms. Freeman makes me laugh. Also, she can karaoke her ass off. I forgive her for rooting for 'Bama. Mostly. ;-)

Sean Michael -- What can I say? This is my best friend and the most prolific author I know. 

Simone Anderson -- Simone is another one of those folks that you can just sit and chat with for a hundred million years and then look up and go, "wait, what day is it?"

 

So there you go. Hop, skip and jump through the links, backward and forward, and meet a whole bunch of great people. Enjoy!

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Coming Tomorrow!

Addingtothecollection510

Frosty Fiction, Day 11: Ty and Abe

“Link? Link, did you RSVP to that party with Mrs. Hannibal and the Historical Society?” Ty looked at his calendar, the scribbled ‘party’ there in huge scrawled not-written-by-him letters.

“Uh-huh.”

“And did you tell them yes?” Those women were powerful old biddies and Abe wanted that remodel job for the city hall entryway.

“Uh-uh.”

Ty’s lips twisted. “So... what is this on my calendar?”

At least Abe hadn’t just left the old girls hanging, right? Right?

Abe wandered in from the front, face wreathed in a purely evil grin. “You got plans tonight.”

“Do I?”

That grin just got wider. “Uh-huh. C’mere.”

He headed over, not sure what his lover was up to, but knowing he was up for it. “What did you do?”

A dark, soft blindfold covered his eyes, then warm lips brushed his ear. “We got plans, baby.”

“Plans?” Oh, fuck.

“Uh-huh. Gonna blow your mind. Trust me?”

“Always.” Forever.

And he couldn’t wait.

 

***

Ty and Abe's story is Long Road Home, for those of you that haven't been hanging with me for 293479 years. ;-)

Y'all know the drill by now. Comment! :D

Much love,

BA

Monday, December 10, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 10: Beau and Sammy

Sammy was singing.

Loud.

Silent Night. O Come All Ye Faithful. Go Tell It On the Mountain.

The First Noel, O Holy Night, Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town and ‘Zat You Santa Claus.

One after another.

Beau loved it. He sat there on Coke’s front porch, rocking and drinking a beer as Sammy worked on one of the four-wheelers Coke was having troubles with.

The fearless one himself came out of the house, with a Dr. Pepper for Sammy. “He’s having fun, Cajun.”

“He is, cher.”

“I. Does he know when he sings he don’t mess up the words?”

“Yep. I’ve had him sing for his supper sometimes.”

“No shit? I like it.” Coke grinned at him. “Dillon’s in the kitchen making sammiches. You willing to cook supper? I got pork loin in there.”

“Shit, yeah. S’long as Dillweed doesn’t get all up in arms.”

“You ain’t going to make gumbo; it’s all good.”

Sammy bellered. “O come let us a-DORE hi-IM, Chriiiiiiiist the Lord!”

Coke’s grin was bright as all fuck. “Going to get him his drink.”

“Thanks, cher.” Beau hummed along, heading in to see about that pork loin.

Sammy’s voice followed him, all the way in.

“All I want for Christmas is you...”

 

***

 

:D

Much love, y'all.

BA

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 9: Garret and Kelly

The pictures came in on his emails -- desert and sand, explosions, scarred earth. Soldiers in battle gear. Soldiers in the hospital. Kids with scared eyes and gaunt faces. It had started with long letters about how things were, about how much Kelly missed him, missed Nashville.

Then the long letters shortened to, “miss you, man.”

Sometimes it was just a date, a location.

Sometimes not even that.

Garrett wasn’t sure how Kelly bore it, day after day.

Christmas eve came, and he was sitting in his momma’s kitchen, bored out of his mind while everyone wandered and cooked and shit.

An email popped up on his phone, a picture of a tiny tree, a handful of lights. A note. “Need you like breathing.”

He sighed. This was utter bullshit.

He just emailed back. “Then come home to me.”

***

Garrett and Kelly are from the Roughstock novella, Shutter Speed. They want another book where they get their permanent happy ending. 

:D

You know the drill. Comment away. I'll announce winners Friday.

Much love, y'all.

BA

Six Sentence Sunday: What She Wants

"Oh, now. That's pretty." A camera flash went off, blinding him.

Adrian shot up on the bed, Packer grunting when Adrian's hand landed hard on his belly. "What the fuck!"

"Oh, don't stop on my account, boys."

***

From my latest release, What She Wants. Available at Torquere Books.

Want to play along? It’s fun and easy

1. pick a project – a current WIP, contracted work or even something readers can buy if you’re published

2. pick six sentences

3. post ‘em on your blog or website on SundayThis snippet is from Adam's story, Tag Team, that I'm currently plugging away at. The boys are currently in a pervy position, in fact. :D Want to play along? It’s fun and easy 1. pick a project – a current WIP, contracted work or even something readers can buy if you’re published 2. pick six sentences 3. post ‘em on your blog or website on Sunday

Saturday, December 8, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 8: Samantha, Kody and Mesa

Kody stood in the main house, staring. “Uh, Mesa?”

“Yeah, baby?”

The room was filled with boxes and lights, garland and sparkles and... wow.

“Did the North Pole explode in here?”

His Alpha stood there, hands on his hips, glaring. “What? It’s Sammy’s first Christmas with us. I don’t want her disappointed.”

Kody snorted. Their mate wasn’t sad. Samantha loved it here, loved the clan.

Loved him and Mesa.

“Don’t you snort at me. It needs to be perfect.”

“You’ve got enough lights to signal space.”

“I might have a few too many.”

Sammy walked in the living room, whistling happily, before she stopped, blinking, and Kody winced, waiting for the explosion.

What he got was a happy laugh. “Are we all decorating together?”

“Yes!” Mesa, his big alpha Mesa, bounced. Bounced.

“Oh, how fun. I’ll get my iPod. There’s Christmas music.”

They’d lost their minds, both of them. They were wolves. Did wolves really even do Christmas? Kody chuckled. “Can I have a Yule log?”

“Baby, you can have a Yule tree if you want.”

“And hot chocolate, Kody-love. With booze.” Sammy bounced, and Kody’s eyes crossed at the boobage. So pretty. “Our first Christmas altogether!”

Their joy was infectious, and he found himself nodding. “I’m on it. Don’t start without me.”

“Start what?” Mesa popped his butt on the way by. “You’re right here.”

“Decorating. I was going to make drinks.”

“Oh!” Mesa came back to kiss him. “We’ll help.”

God, his mate was like a puppy. It was adorable.

Christmas music filled the air and he heard Sammy’s laughter. “Boys! Come on! Let’s play!”

Mesa kissed him one more time before whispering, “Don’t worry, baby. I got mistletoe, too.”

“You’re good to me.” He hummed, rubbed their noses together. “Mate.”

“Yeah. Finally. So it’s okay that I went a little nuts?”

“She brings it out in you.”

“You both do.” Mesa tugged him toward the kitchen where their girl was already heating milk for hot chocolate. This whole Christmas thing might just be fun.

***

Mesa, Kody and Samantha's story is Shifting Streams: Climbing the Ladder. You know the drill by now, y'all. Comment for a chance to win.

:D

Much love, y'all.

BA

What I Worked On This Week

Finally back to the swing of things, I think. Maybe. ;-)
 
 
Active writing:
 
Tag Team: Fais Do Do -- m/m novel. I'm nearing the conflict and am thinking I need to go back and do some rewrites.
 
The Terms of Release -- m/m novel. Why is it always the ones without a publisher/deadline that go gangbusters?
 
Hammer and Tongs -- m/m Western. With kink. I hope. Assuming they ever hook up.
 
m/m/f novel (co-write with Julia) -- fun, sexy menage with were cats :D
 
Don't Mess with Hexes -- m/m/f novella -- book two of the Cowbell, Book and Candle series. Driving into half #2
 
 
In edits/rewrites:
 
The Four Horsemen: Ace and Kitty -- needs rewrites like whoa. O.o
 
 
Next up:
 
Will try and focus on Don't Mess, but Terms is what wants written...
 
;-)
 
Much love, y'all.
 
BA

Friday, December 7, 2012

Winners for Week One

Kaytee

FanGirl Mom

Donna

Button on the Top

Jaymi

and Stacy Houston!

Y'all email me at batortuga at gmail and let me know which backlist book you'd like and I'll email it on. :D

Happy holidays and much love!

BA

Frosty Fiction, Day 7: Sam and Gus

“What’s your position on the Nutcracker Suite?”

Sam’s head swiveled to look at him, the low growl barely audible. “Why?”

Gus grinned, slow and lazy. God, they hadn’t fought in so long. “Come on, Puss. You’re a dancer. Were you the mouse?”

“I was a choreographer, you animal, not a ballet dancer.”

He pouted, making sure it was as dramatic as possible. “No tutu?”

This time the growl was louder. “No?”

“Not even for me, Puss?”

The toe of a pair of boots whipped toward him, just barely touching his balls. “Let’s discuss nut cracking, Sweet.”

***

;-)

 

Much love,

BA

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 6: Bax and Jason

“Goddamn it, Mini! Are you trying to kill yourself?” Bax was about to boil over. Jason had been out there with an axe, trying to trim branches off their Christmas tree.

“No. If I was doin’ that, I’d be whacking at my legs and shit.” Jason’s eyes rolled, searching for him. “I didn’t hit an artery, did I?”

“No. No, but you were headin’ that way.” Bax took the axe, glad Mini didn’t make him wrestle for it.

“I was helping.” Oh, there was pouting involved now, full-on. Shit, marthy, that was cute as fuck.

Bax manfully fought the urge to kiss that lower lip where it stuck out. “How did you even find the axe, Mini?”

“It was in the toolshed.”

“So, what, you wandered around calling for it?"

“Nope. I wandered around feeling for it.” Jase just grinned like a monkey. “I moved the rakes.”

“Good to know. I ain’t blind, but I might just kill myself on them.”

“Don’t be pissy, Bax. This is the only way I’ll get to see the tree this year. Once the glass shit is on it, no one will want me touching it.”

Well, shit. He’d not thought of that. He had a bunch of stuff of his momma’s, and Brenda had sent a box for Jason...

“We could hang the glass stuff off the garland on the big wall. Do the tree up in stuff for you.”

Jason shrugged, cheeks pinking. “I don’t want to be no problem.”

“Why would it be a problem? This is our place, not your momma’s or mine.”

“It’d make things a little easier, to not have to worry about knocking into the tree.”

“Well, then, we’ll do that.” He forgot, sometimes, that Mini couldn’t see. Jase got around so much easier every day. It sucked, not to see the twinkly lights and pretty wrapping paper and all.

“Okay.” Jason sighed. “How ‘m I supposed to buy you a present, cowboy?”

“You think I need anything? Hell, tell Missy to take you to buy me new Wranglers.” He hooked an arm around Jason’s waist, hating that defeated fucking look, hating God and the job and the world with all his soul, for mucking up the man he loved. “You know my size. Intimately.”

“I know all about you.” That grin went all goofy and Andy knew he’d gone and done something good and that loosened up that acid in his heart. “Intimately.”

“There you go. All I want for Christmas I got.”

It wasn’t true. He wanted Jason’s sight back. Now, but both of them knew it, so neither of them said it.

Weren’t neither of them young enough to believe in Santa and shit. They just had to believe in each other.

That was enough.

 

***

*sniffles*

Much love, 

BA

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

What She Wants and Ink Out Today!

Whatshewwants400

Calleigh and Adrian have always had an open marriage. Adrian being on the road all the time has made it easy for them to have separate lives, but neither of them acted on their agreement to see other people until Adrian met fellow Aussie and force of nature, Packer Stevens.

Now Packer and Adrian are always together, and Calleigh is left at home, missing her man. When Calleigh decides she’s not going to let Adrian go without a fight, she comes up with what she thinks is the perfect plan. She hits the spa, and the gym, and sets out to find her inner buckle bunny, intent on getting her bullrider back, and maybe on impressing Packer a little, too. She heads out on the road, ready to fight for her husband.

What Calleigh doesn’t understand is that her plan will be wildly successful, and also the hardest thing she’s ever done in her life. Packer is more than willing to play, but he’s as complicated as Calleigh is emotional. As much as he loves Calleigh and Packer, and the sexy games they play, Adrian has to try  to set things right, but can he find a way to give Calleigh what she wants, and make everyone else happy at the same time?

http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=97&products_id=3758

Ink400

Tattooed men are sexy, right? That’s the premise of the eight tales in the Ink anthology.

Victoria Sloane opens with The Frayed Line, the story of Dan, who daydreams about the black line on Jonah’s back until he finds out what’s underneath the ink. Sinner's Star by Elizabeth Brooks is the story of ex-con Dope, who discovers his best friend Rat isn't dead after all, but Rat has a new tattoo, a .45, and a grudge against Dope!

Katherine Halle brings us Kelly, who fantasizes about licking Dwayne's tattoos, and just might get his chance in Come Fly With Me. In Dragon by D.K. Jernigan, bartender Travis is haunted by a sexy man with a magnificent dragon tattoo. Now Travis just has to find him. Mychael Black's Detective Kris Winters is also looking for a man with a very special tattoo in Secrets.

In Pounding Skin by Emily Moreton, Mal's tattoo should confirm his commitment to the army. To his shock, it has far more impact on his life. In Simple Instructions by Zoe Trope & Brendan Adkins, Finn accepts an internship at a large law firm, and loves his position at the hands of Robert, a demanding, tattooed lawyer. Finally, in BA Tortuga’s Tramp Stamp, what's a vamp to do when he has a tattoo he can't get rid of? Read the Ink anthology to find out!

http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=76&products_id=3757

Frosty Fiction, Day 5: Sonny and MJ

“Why are we doing the blindfold, Precious?” Sonny asked, staggering down the fucking gangplank.

“We’re docking for Christmas, not playing hide the sausage.”

“No, I’m not in the sausage-hiding mode right now, but thanks for the offer.” MJ patted his ass. “Step down.”

“Down how far?” He’d damned near broken his ankle stepping off the boat, MJ having neglected to tell him they were at a plank, not a dock...

“There’s two steps. You and your weak fucking ankles...”

“I never had ankle problems until I hooked up with an eco-terrorist in North Carolina.”

“You have to watch out for them; they’re assholes. Trigger-happy, too.”

“I know. Blowing shit up.” Sonny nodded, stepping down carefully.

A set of keys was pressed into his hand, the blindfold removed. “You forgot Ding Dong stealing.”

“Well, I bought the Ding Dongs for you.” Sonny stared at the 1970 Plymouth Hemi-Cuda. Red with black racing stripes. Christ. The last time he’d seen one at auction it had been half this good and it had gone for a cool two million.

“Merry Christmas, Sunshine.” MJ’s fingers traced a circle in the small of his back.

“Holy shit, Precious.” MJ had bought him maybe fifteen muscle cars over the years, from Camaros to Chargers, but this was like the Holy Grail. “Uh, what do you want for Christmas this year?”

“Well, I figure the Mustang got me blowjobs...this is vastly better.”

“Oh, so no blowjob, huh?” He walked over to the car, running his hand over the shiny hood.

MJ leaned, all smiles and laughing eyes. “You like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Precious. I like it enough to let you do me in the backseat. Got lube?”

“I do. First, though, I want you to drive.”

Sonny grinned, the expression stretching his cheeks until they hurt. “Think they got enough road on this rock for me to get up to speed?”

“I do.” MJ came right up close. “I think that the local federales also have instructions to leave a certain redneck alone, too.”

“No shit?” Oh, now, that was the best Christmas present ever. Permission to speed. He bent and took that smiling mouth with his, the kiss going nuclear fast.

He was going to have to buy a case of Ding Dong flavored lube for his.

Either that or buy a boat for MJ to blow up.

***

Y'all know the drill by now. :D

I'm picking this week's winners on Friday!

Much love, y'all.

BA

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 4: Lily and Marc

She looked at the EPT stick in her hand, shaking her head. 

They'd only been married three months. She was on the pill. They didn't need a baby.

A tiny voice at the back of her head whispered, "The last time Granny visited you she promised twins."

"Oh, shut up."

"Lady? Honey? Lily? You okay?" 

"Uh-huh." The tears started then, pouring down her cheeks and she fought the sobs, knowing that her lover, her soul mate, her lion would know, would just need the slightest clue to...

The bathroom door opened, Marc standing there, looking like he was storming a beach somewhere. "What is wrong? What is it? Are you sick? Are you?"

His eyes landed on the pregnancy test in her hand, the positive sign almost glowing. "Lily? Is it true?"

"Merry Christmas?"

His smile, even through her tears, let her know that yes, yes it was.

***

Babies!

Want an ebook copy of Deep in the Heart of Hexes? Comment away and I'll  pick a winner on Friday.

Much love, y'all.

BA

Monday, December 3, 2012

Writing Contemporary Western Menage, or why it took my 3 years to write What She Wants...

Whatshewwants400

Julia dared me, a few years ago now, to write a western contemporary menage that made sense to her. 

Now, I'm a fan of menage books -- in fact, I read them sort of voraciously. I love the werewolves, the were kitties, the contemporaries. I've got a huge collection and I enjoy them. 

Julia, though, the western contemporaries bothered her. 

"I want one that I buy, baby," she told me. "I want one where I can go, okay, yeah. Those two cowboys would share each other and some incredibly patient girl. I want you to write it for me."

I know a lot of cowboys. Rednecks? Rednecks play fast and loose with the rules, but cowboys are harder, cowboys have a code, rules. Y'all, I actually discussed this with my daddy and my brother. OMG, the awkward.

Finally, though, I did it and once the thought was out there? Let me tell you, Adrian and Packer were happy to oblige, and Calleigh? Well, this woman knows her own mind, that's for sure...

So, I got the concept pretty quick. What if there was this couple in an open relationship and the wife decided she was tired of waiting for her husband to come home to her? What if she wanted to play with him and his 'traveling partner', too.

Boom.

So I wrote.

And wrote.

And wrote.

And about 10K from the end, the file corrupted.

The backup corrupted. 

I ended up with the first, oh, 8,000 words recoverable?

So, Calleigh and the Aussies went in a box while I licked my writerly wounds. And lord, I did. God help you if you asked me where they were, how they were doing, because I'd just burst into tears.

Then one day I thought about them and didn't cry.

That's the day they went on the writing board.

What's the writing board, you ask? 

It's the whiteboard in the office where Julia and I pretend to keep track of things. (What She Wants isn't on this one because it was in editing already. For the record, (looks at the current board) it doesn't look like this anymore...the ink story is done, Julia's current square has stuff in it and my NEEDED square is, like, totally got 6 projects in it... O.o

IMG 0887

It lingered for a few months, then I opened the file.

Cried.

Closed it, BUT I started talking about Adrian and Packer. Julia played along, encouraged me, then Calleigh started poking and, 70,000 words later, they're real.

:D

Also, Julia dubbed them incredibly hot, so yay. :D

Okay, so, that was the story of how Julia asked for a western contemporary menage and how it almost didn't happen.

Much love, y'all,

BA

Frosty Fiction, Day 3: Steph, Jordan and Shaw

"Jordan, did you get something for our girl?"

His mate looked over from the chair where Jordan was repairing snowshoes. "Huh?"

"It's December. Christmas? You know?" Their first holiday altogether as a threesome, as three wolves, as lovers. As family.

Jordan snorted. "She's a witch. She doesn't do Christmas."

"Everyone does Christmas!" Didn't they? Trees. Lights. Carols.

"Jewish people don't."

Shaw was going to bite Jordan, hard. "Steph's not Jewish."

"I know that. She's a witch."

"Jordan!"

"What baby?"

"Did you get Steph something. For. Christmas?"

"Nope." Jordan didn't even look at him, but Shaw could scent amusement.

"Boys, I'm home." Cinnamon. Stephanie smelled like cinnamon and ginger and citrus and...oh, yummy. "Busy day at the shop today. I brought gingerbread. Are there steaks?"

"Gingerbread?" He glared at Jordan. "As in Christmas cookies?"

"Christmas cookies, Yule cookies, holiday cookies. I just wanted gingerbread and lights. When are we putting up the tree? I love the lights."

"See?"

"Tree's in the back, baby girl, just waiting for you to get home to decorate it. I even got you candy canes."

Shaw's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "You suck."

Steph came to him, kissed him soundly. "So do you, Shaw. Hell, so do I? Wanna see?"

"Uh-huh." He spared a half glare at Jordan, but his mate just chuffed softly. 

"So easy to tease, baby."

He would have growled, but Steph was kissing him, loving him. 

Again.

It could wait for later -- after the sweets and the tree.

***

*grins*

Want an ebook copy of Mating Call? Comment away and I'll  pick a winner on Friday.

Much love, y'all.

BA

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Frosty Fiction, Day 2: Markus and Sebastian

“You want to do a Christmas album someday, Candy?” Seb pulled his guitar off the stand, coming to the soft, comfortable couch they wrote from.

“I never say never, baby, but we’d have to be in the studio in fucking June with it.” Markus shrugged. “I never loved that.”

“I like carols, though.”

Markus grinned at him, eyes warm, sweet, like a fucking drug, and Sebastian warmed, balls deep. “What’s your favorite?”

“I love O Holy Night. You?”

All I Want for Christmas is You.” Markus started singing away, almost bellering it. Jackass. Beautiful, musical son of a bitch.

Sebastian smiled, he had to because he knew Markus. The man meant it, playing around or not. “You want to pick some?”

“More than breathing.”

He nodded. Santa couldn’t bring him anything he needed more. He had Markus and music, everything a Cajun needed.

Except for etoufee.

Oh, he wondered if he could hire Jean-Jacques to fly down to make some. Maybe Eduardo would know someone local...

“Baby? You got smoke coming out of your ears.”

“I want etoufee for Christmas dinner. Etoufee and pralines. Can we make that happen?”

Markus hooted for him. “Baby, you leave it to Santa. It will happen.”

It was good to be him.

Damned good.

“All right then.” He strummed the melody they’d been working on the night before, picking the complicated line. Then Markus’ harmony joined him, sweet as spun sugar and they were off, making music.

Together.

***

*grins*

Want an ebook copy of Fighting Addiction? Comment away and I'll  pick a winner.

Much love, y'all.

BA

Six Sentence Sunday: Adding to the Collection

Derrick woke up warm, real warm. Like he was wearing a bear rug as a blanket or something. Jesus, had he let Goofus come in and go to bed with him? That dog was going to be--oh.

He blinked at the unbelievably hot bull rider lying on his chest. Oh, Reno...damn.

 

This snippet is from Adding to the Collection, publishing December 12 from Torquere Press! (Yay! Roughstock Christmas!) :D .

 

Want to play along? It’s fun and easy

1. pick a project – a current WIP, contracted work or even something readers can buy if you’re published

2. pick six sentences

3. post ‘em on your blog or website on SundayThis snippet is from Adam's story, Tag Team, that I'm currently plugging away at. The boys are currently in a pervy position, in fact. :D Want to play along? It’s fun and easy 1. pick a project – a current WIP, contracted work or even something readers can buy if you’re published 2. pick six sentences 3. post ‘em on your blog or website on Sunday

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Frosty Fiction: Shane and Galen

Shane whistled, draping Christmas lights over the dock. The house was lit, the driveway. Car port. Barn. Bait shop. There was a moving lit-up alligator and eight flamingos in the front yard, sparkling palm trees on the back porch, and an inflatable Rudolph bobbing in the pool. The door had a rainbow sparkly wreath, the porch light was red, and the doorbell sang jingle bells.

The dogs had on Christmas collars.

He had on one red and one green flip flop and Grinch boxer shorts.

December was here.

He was ready. Like whoa ready.

He looked down at his chest, the battery operated LED blinking lights clipped to his nipple rings just merry as fuck.

Now, all he needed was his Galen to come home from helping Momma at her new house so that the man could admire.

***

Want a free copy of one of the Shane and Galen ebooks? Leave a comment and I'll pick a random winner. :D

Much love, y'all.

BA

What I Worked On This Week

Sent Sean home Tuesday. Had a slow start, but I'm back to work.
Active writing:
Tag Team: Fais Do Do -- m/m novel. Ah, the falling in love phase. Still going strong.
The Terms of Release -- m/m novel. Have already cried twice on this one...
Hammer and Tongs -- m/m Western. With kink
m/m/f novel (co-write with Julia) -- fun, sexy menage with were cats :D
Don't Mess with Hexes -- m/m/f novella -- book two of the Cowbell, Book and Candle series. This is going way faster the second time. :D
In edits/rewrites:
The Four Horsemen: Ace and Kitty -- needs rewrites like whoa. O.o
Next up:
Going to really focus on Don't Mess with Hexes this week. Wish me luck. 
;-)
Much love, y'all.
BA