Friday, October 19, 2018

#amwriting -- A #Tirgearr published author talks about writing #romance-- understand why people fall in love--

If you write any genre of romance, you think about your hero and heroine's shortcomings, talents, and what they need from a partner. Consider the meaning behind this quote.
"She knew she loved him when 'home' went from being a place to being a person." — E. Leventhal
Home is similar to one's lifestyle.  Many therapists believe people actually fall in love with a lifestyle that the other person can provide.
That idea brings us back to shortcomings. What is a person missing that the other has? As an author, you won't go wrong if you write your romance to satisfy psychological longings.
Here are the underpinnings for two marine biologists to fall in love in One Night in Havana--
Meeting her Cuban competitor for the grant changed her New York perspective in many ways, some painful and some unexpectedly joyful, but she changed him too. He saw his fight for survival in a different light because she gave him hope a better future existed.
Except for their research, this couple is worlds apart.  He's a communist in Cuba, and she is an American enjoying every aspect of freedom. Yet, they want the same lifestyle.

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

#BookQW word is LIGHT-- for years he's preached the gospel of 'Keep things light'. Visit for fun excerpt, #Tirgearr City Nights story is #99cents

Are you ready for a Book Wednesday Quote? A marine biologist meets lots of scuba diving women, and he keeps things light. This prevents a number of adverse factors.  One Night in Havana is 99cents/99pence for a short time on any Amazon.

Carlos cursed inwardly, hating himself for wanting Roni permanently. What he wanted was impossible. Insane. But here he was in a snare. A snare with time slipping away like sand through a glass. “I want you to miss me.”

“You know I will. I’ll hold onto the memory of tonight. Not only our romps in the sack. You.”  Tenderness in her blue eyes held sincerity.

“We both will,” he said, and for the first time meant it. It’d taken him years to perfect the illusion of having no feelings. He slipped his fingers through strands of her silky hair. “I like seeing you in my shirt.”

“Can I keep it as a souvenir?” Her accented New York voice was light and sexy. Roni lacked the protective shell he carried.

“Si, Roni,” he whispered, and when she extended her long fingers in his direction, her warmth traveled over his skin. He took her hand and bent to meet her gaze.

“When will I see you again?” Roni was soft, sweet, and at the same time strong and full of fire. Beautiful, and he wanted to be inside of her so badly he hurt.

He didn’t know. “Love hurts. I’ll die each time I read one of your articles.”

“Hey! Every year I have two weeks of vacation. This summer I’ll fly down.” She spoke with a tremor.

“How about coming for long weekends?” he asked. “Surprise me.”

“What if you’re busy?”
“You can crash my party anytime. Wreck my plans. That’s all right.” He kissed her. Once more. Again.

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

#BookQW word is LONG. Here is an excerpt with the word from the #Tirgearr #eroticromance series, City Nights-- One Night in Havana

LONG is the Book Quote Wednesday word.  From an excerpt in ONE NIGHT IN HAVANA, a New York marine biologist is dropping off artwork on her cruise ship.  It's common for tourists to Havana, Cuba to stay on their ship instead of finding a hotel.  A hotel would have been safer!

Stepping along the empty pier, she braced against the wind. Above her, clouds swelled and sailed across a full moon. A sudden gust blurred her vision. The heavy parcel put her off balance, and she tripped.

"You okay, lady?" The security guard wore her cruise ship’s light blue uniform, stretching tight over his double-wide body.

"I'm fine. My heel caught in the grate on the ramp. I dropped my purse."

With a menacing air, the guard rocked the pier as he came toward her. “Storm’s coming. Not for a few hours, though. When it does, we’ll get rain, wind, thunder, and lightning.”

“Sounds like the whole enchilada.” Alone at the end of the long pier with wide-hairy-brawny, her heart pounded with dry-mouthed panic, but she stood tall.

He puffed up his chest. "Hey. You're the marine biologist. Veronica Keane?"

"That's me. I’m dropping this parcel at my cabin."

“Artwork?” The ape's glare traveled down her body from the scoop neckline to her bare legs. She fought the urge to tug at the bottom of the knee-length dress.

It struck her as ironic a cruise ship smuggling cocaine employed guards. Wait a minute. Were guards hired to keep guests off the ship so that drugs could be loaded onboard? "You remember me, right?” she asked.

"Oh, yeah. I've seen you onboard." He shifted into an apologetic slouch. “I’m Chuck, by the way.”

"One more day, Chuck. Then it’s back to winter." She didn't explain her business in Havana or why her hopes of winning a grant were dashed. Dashed because of Dr. Carlos Montoya.

Chuck picked up her purse and handed it to her. "Most guests are partying in Old Havana. I'll put that tube in a locker for you.”

“Okay." Catching his gist, she gave up on the idea of getting into her cabin.

“I’ll label it.” He took it and smiled ear-to-ear, no doubt familiar with dressed up women in high heels. "So, are you going?"

"Of course. I'm a party-goer." She injected buoyancy into her voice while clutching her hands around her purse. The most recent party she'd attended was a fundraiser for Saving the Seas where tea and mini bundts were served in snooty Greenwich Village.

The guard spread his lips wide, but his lecherous gaze aimed below her waist.

"Okay, then." Her legs shook. Not a good time since all she wanted to do was walk in the opposite direction.

Thursday, September 27, 2018

#amwriting #Tirgearr author #inspiration -- do you play music when you write? In one book my character's song was from @KennyChesney --Get Along

Authors, are you writing with music playing or do you need quiet? If you listen to music, what range works best for your genre?

I find a specific scene or character needs a certain intensity or even agony.  Yesterday on Dellani Oakes' talk radio show, Red River Radio, What's Write with Me, we shared about a character having a song that defined them. In Unholy Alliance Tori's song was Get Along by Kenny Chesney.  The chorus below encourages her to adjust to her new existence. She's spent a decade behind bars for a crime she didn't commit.

Get along, on down the road
We've got a long long way to go
Scared to live, scared to die
We ain't perfect but we try.
We had a wonderful time on the radio show with our amazing host, Dellani Oakes.

Wednesday, September 26, 2018

#BookQW is mistake. Find it in your book and share. #Tirgearr #RomanticSuspense -- Unholy Alliance excerpt.

Happy Book Quote Wednesday. Mistake is the featured word today, and here is an excerpt from UNHOLY ALLIANCE, book 2 in my Donahue Cousins series. Attorney Grady Fletcher warns his client, Tori, not to search for her cousin whom she believes is held captive by the Irish mob.

“Finding Vivienne?” He balled his fists at his sides and looked away. His head throbbed over her risky search. He made the mistake of meeting her gaze. The look on her face pleaded for understanding. Her persistence overpowered his energy to stop her.

“She’s in danger.” The hopeful woman gazed up at him with eyes filled with warmth, the kind of down-to-earth warmth he longed to have wrapped around him.

“The mob hates anti-extortion squads,” he reminded her.

She waved off his warning. “About tonight,” she said, “Sherlock and I will sleep on the carpet in your office.”

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

#BookQW word is VOICE-- excerpt from #eroticromance One Night in Havana from #Tirgearr publisher's City Nights series!

BookQW is here with fun excerpts with the word voice-- from One Night in Havana:


Chapter One

“Why, Veronica Keane.” A voice heavy with a Spanish accent drawled from behind her. “A dive bar?” A taunting tsk. “What do we have? A slumming New Yorker?”
She stiffened and closed her eyes. She knew that voice and its owner, Dr. Carlos Montoya, a finalist like her, competing for the same damn grant at the biggest Cephalopoda conference of the decade. Her heart pitter-pattered against her ribs. To turn toward him would intimate distress, or worse yet, weakness. She wouldn’t fail to win this grant, not when she was a final contender. “I like this funky little place.” Sia Macario Café, smack in the center of Havana, allowed her to observe locals and their daily lives.
“You need to eat with all the mojitos you’ve downed.” The big tease wasn’t  counting. This was her first drink, but his rumbling, sexy timbre hinted at all kinds of dark, hot promises. She’d rubbed shoulders with the Cuban scientist all week. This splendid specimen of Latin male brought on a physical ache that punched low.
A flare-up stirred fear. For her own good, she needed to resist. “I ordered camarones enchiladas.” By now she knew the menu on the chalkboard by heart. She tipped her head back to whiff grilled shrimp soon to arrive in sofrito sauce with fried sweet plantains.
“The flan is good. Just like my abuela makes.”
“I bet. Your grandmother would be happy to hear that,” she said, knowing he brought out the best in most people. Two days ago he'd invited her and a handful of others scuba diving. The chance to ogle him had been one of the perks. He’d worn nothing but swim trunks, his bare chest on display. Every glistening muscle was finely etched. Not a drop of fat on him. Since he’d not given her the time of day, she’d checked him out without him noticing.
The hard-bodied host had led the way toward habitats of soft-bodied creatures. To find where invertebrates lived was never an easy task. Octopuses squeezed into narrow passages of coral for protection and gave females a place to keep their eggs. She’d discovered the remains of a few meals nearby. Octopuses scattered rocks and shells to help them hide.
 This grant meant so much to her and no doubt to him as well. Veronica mindlessly toyed with the gold necklace around her neck, but anxiety crackled through her brain. Unlike this man of action, she lacked the flamboyant personality necessary to talk people into things. Carlos had that ability. He'd made friends with judges on board while she’d conversed with an older woman about a box of scones made with Cuban vanilla cream.
That day the wind had picked up to a gale force, and this woman named Bela with Lucille Ball red hair needed help walking to her home. The half mile down the seaside promenade, The Malecón, had provided her with time to practice her Spanish. Turned out Bela was Carlos’s grandmother. She’d worked as a maid when the Castro government came to power. When private homes were nationalized, titles were handed over to the dwelling occupants. Bela owned a crumbling home in the respected Verdado district and rented out rooms.
What Veronica detested about Carlos was his abnormal level of talent for schmoozing. Not that he wasn't charismatic; he drew her like a powerful magnet with emotions hard to untangle. Why was a self-assured woman who ran her own life thinking about a man who commanded everyone around him?
She inhaled a breath and turned around on the barstool, caught fast by a gut punch of Carlos Montoya in the flesh. She sighed and surrendered to the tendrils of want sliding up between her thighs.
Tall and muscular, his lush dark hair curled to his collar giving him a wild, roguish appearance. His face was lean and chiseled. His mouth full and tempting. His eyes the smoky-gray of a grass fire and fringed with black lashes as dense as paintbrushes. He smiled. A faint hint of mockery curved his mouth, a sensual mouth she imagined to be either inviting or cruel. Or both at the same time when he leaned over a woman with a diamond-hard gleam in his dark eyes while she drowned with pleasure. She fought a fierce desire to run her hand across his broad chest, tip her face upward, and…
His breath tickled her face.
Not going there. She blinked and forced her mind to focus. Carlos Montoya was not the kind of man you lost focus around. But that image of putting her mouth full on his and peeling away his shirt once introduced in her mind was impossible to expunge. Pointless even to try.

Thursday, September 6, 2018

Spotlight #excerpt #blurb #WesternRomance Lily and the Gambler by Linda McLaughlin @LyndiLamont

Please welcome talented author Linda McLaughlin.  Today I’m featuring her California-set Western romance.

Lily and the Gambler by Linda McLaughlin

Blurb: Respectability is in the eye of the beholder, or so Lily hopes. After her lover’s death she pretends to be his widow and travels to California to marry a mine owner. Then she meets King Callaway, a charming gambler. King knows he’s found his Queen of Hearts. But can he convince her to take a chance on a foot-loose card sharp? Only Lady Luck knows for sure...

Lily and the Gambler is available at:


“Do you tell fortunes, too?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Is the lady interested?”

“Perhaps,” she said, aware he was flirting with her again and annoyed with herself because she was enjoying it. “There should be a deck of cards here somewhere.”

“No cards required. Just let me see your palm.”

Unable to stop herself, Lily stripped off her gloves and let him take her hand. He held it in his left hand, and with his right index finger, traced the lines on her palm. Shivers ran up her arm at each caressing touch. His scent, a mixture of bay rum, male musk, and a faint hint of tobacco, overwhelmed her.

“What do you see?” she asked, her voice suddenly breathless.

“Health and long life.”

“What, no handsome stranger?” she joked.

He raised his head and stared into her eyes. “Oh, yes, I see romance ahead for you. With a dark haired fellow. But he isn’t a stranger.”

For what seemed an age, she stared into his green-gold eyes while her pulse quickened and warmth stole through her veins. It would be so easy to surrender to the feelings he evoked.

“I also see a fork in the road ahead,” he added softly. “You have a decision to make. A very important decision.”

She snatched her hand away, knowing she couldn’t afford to be distracted by him. It wasn’t as if he had made her any promises. “I think you need to practice your fortune-telling skills, Mr. Callaway.”

He chuckled. “There’s something else I’d like to practice.” Cupping her chin, he stared at her, his eyes full of half promises. “Oh, hell, I may get my face slapped for this, but…” His hand moved to the back of her neck as he lowered his head and captured her lips in a kiss that stole her breath away.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the kiss. Then a door slammed somewhere in the house, reminding her of where they were. She pushed him away. “How dare you?” she hissed.

He gave her a lazy grin. “What’s that old saying? Nothing ventured, nothing gained?”

“I think you’d best be going.”

He paused at front door, turned and held her gaze for a moment, then left.

She sighed and leaned against the doorjamb. What had she been thinking to let him kiss her, however briefly?

Author bio:

Linda McLaughlin grew up with a love of books and history, so it's only natural she prefers writing historical romance. She loves transporting her readers into the past where her characters learn that, in the journey of life, love is the sweetest reward. Linda also writes steamy to erotic romance under the name Lyndi Lamont, and is one half of the writing team of Lyn O'Farrell.

You can find her online at

Twitter: @Lyndi Lamont

#amwriting -- A #Tirgearr published author talks about writing #romance-- understand why people fall in love--

If you write any genre of romance, you think about your hero and heroine's shortcomings, talents, and what they need from a partner. Con...