Virtual Blog Tour - Fathoms of Forgiveness by Nadia Scrieva

I'd like to welcome a Goddess Fish tour guest, Nadia Scrieva as my visitor today! During her tour, Nadia will be awarding the box set of Sacred Breath Series or the box set of Thirty Minutes to Heartbreak (winner's choice)to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. So be sure to follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better the chances of winning! 

BLURB: 

Meet the brave and fearless Visola; a woman unlike any you've ever encountered. Her wit and humor take her through the darkest of dangers with a smile always on her face--and her smile only grows larger as the odds become more impossible. With no concern for her own safety, Visola dives headfirst into the throes of battle to protect the people and country she loves, even if it means facing her worst enemy--the one man who can get inside her head and break her down like no other: her own husband... 

EXCERPT:

When Aazuria entered the room, her eyes were immediately drawn to Visola’s wild red hair, which had recently been a lustrous mass of audacious curls. Now, her hair was limp. It hung against her head flat, frizzy and defeated. Aazuria’s eyes darted to the warrior’s sunken cheekbones and gaunt face. She saw the bruises on Visola’s neck before her eyes traveled further to the withered, wasted limbs. Every visible part of her friend’s body was covered in fresh scars. She saw the bandaged hands. Visola had been starved and tortured.

Perhaps in these modern times, even under the surface of the sea, kings, queens, and the aristocracy had close to zero significance. Perhaps the words and decrees which left Aazuria’s mouth would have minimal consequences. No one in the throne room felt this way as they awaited Aazuria’s judgment with bated breath. Sionna was standing aside, with her arms crossed. The newly-crowned queen gripped her husband’s sword tightly in her fist as Trevain and Elandria entered the room behind her.

Aazuria shifted her eyes to the man standing beside her friend. Her face was expressionless.

“Approach me, Vachlan,” she whispered.

The man began walking toward her. Although his stride was dignified, there was hesitation on his face. Visola began speaking, pleading words which Aazuria could not hear over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

When Vachlan was close enough to strike, Aazuria gazed at him with death in her eyes.

“Kneel,” she commanded him. Her chest was rising and falling perceptibly.

Vachlan knew that this would be a very unwise thing to do, but he owed it to Aazuria. He owed it to Visola, and to Adlivun—the nation he had once called home.  He lowered his head and dropped to one knee before the queen, saluting her across his chest. His eyes were level with the sword she held, and he could see the veins bulging through her translucent pale skin from how tightly she clutched it.

“It would be futile to order you punished,” she said slowly. “No one can even attempt to hurt you as much as you have hurt her.”

“I know,” he answered quietly.

“But it is my duty to try.”

She struck out with her sword, slicing the air until the blade collided with his face, knocking Vachlan off his knees and onto the floor. Aazuria could vaguely hear Visola screaming for her to stop, but she was already standing over Vachlan and forcing the tip of her sword between his teeth. Her previous strike had resulted in a huge bleeding gash along the side of his handsome face, but it had not been enough to kill him. She was poised to finish the job.

Vachlan moved his tongue against the steel, tasting the freshly-sharpened metal edge garnished with the metallic taste of his own blood. It is rare that the wine so perfectly accompanies the main dish, he thought as he swallowed the coppery fluid accumulating in his mouth. Kind of like a German Pinot Noir. He looked into the azure eyes of Adlivun’s queen and realized that this was no longer the innocent, charitable philanthropist he had known hundreds of years ago. She was hard. He wondered what percentage of the tempered rage behind her eyes he was responsible for generating.

“One reason.” Aazuria was demanding. “Give me one convincing reason that I should not thrust my blade directly through your skull.”

AUTHOR INFORMATION:

Nadia Scrieva lives in Toronto, Canada with no husband, no kids, and no pets. She does own a very attractive houseplant which she occasionally remembers to water between her all-consuming writing marathons.



Contact Information
Website: www.NadiaScrieva.com 
Facebook: www.facebook.com/NadiaFans
Twitter: https://twitter.com/NadiaScrieva
Blog: http://nadiascrieva.blogspot.ca/



Fathoms of Forgiveness

Purchase Links
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007KWTTXK/
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fathoms-of-forgiveness-nadia-scrieva/1109848141?ean=2940044959552&itm=1
Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/fathoms-of-forgiveness/id562783450?mt=11
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/235351
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Nadia_Scrieva_Fathoms_of_Forgiveness?id=TgdSAgAAQBAJ

Virtual Blog Tour - Banished Love by Ramona Flightner

I'd like to welcome a Goddess Fish tour guest, Ramona Flightner as my visitor today! During her tour, one randomly chosen commenter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card. So be sure to follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better the chances of winning! 

BLURB:

Free-Spirited…

Clarissa Sullivan dreams for more from life than sipping tepid tea in stifling parlors in Victorian Boston. She defies her family’s wishes, continuing to teach poor immigrant children in Boston’s West End, finding a much-needed purpose to her life.

Radical…

As a suffragette, Clarissa is considered a firebrand radical no man would desire. For why should women want the vote when men have sheltered women from the distasteful aspects of politics and law?

Determined…

When love blossoms between Clarissa and Gabriel McLeod, a struggling cabinetmaker, her family objects. Clarissa’s love and determination will be tested as she faces class prejudices, manipulative family members and social convention in order to live the life she desires with the man she loves.

Will she succeed? Or will she yield to expectations?

BANISHED LOVE follows Clarissa Sullivan on her journey of self-discovery as she learns what she cannot live without.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EXCERPT:


“If you don’t mind me saying so, Mr. McLeod, you seem quite domesticated,” Savannah said in a haughty tone.

Gabriel laughed. “Like a favorite pet, Miss Russell?” He glanced toward her with humor. “I always think domestication ruins the better part of the beast.”

“But you wouldn’t want a wild dog in your house,” Savannah protested. “And horses must be tamed.”

Gabriel nodded. “I would hate to think you compared me to a horse or a dog, miss. I hope I have better manners than that?” he asked, raising his eyebrows mockingly toward Savannah. “Though, I agree, horses are most useful for our purpose when tamed, but I wonder if they truly enjoy working for us?” He looked toward me, although he did not push me into the conversation.

He let out a long theatrical sigh. “Domesticated cats, dogs. Domesticated women. Wonderful creatures. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Sullivan?” He looked toward me wickedly. I had bolted so hard in the rocker at his words I had nearly flown onto the floor. I watched him with wide eyes, wondering why he pushed Savannah so.

Savannah replied, “Now you are offensive, sir.” She vibrated with anger.

“Isn’t that what all young women long to be?” Gabriel asked Savannah, setting down the filled mugs with a clunk. “Domesticated. Demure. Tamed to the needs and ways of their husbands?”

“You know perfectly well you are describing the ideal wife,” Savannah spat out.

“Am I?” he asked, sounding unconvinced. “What do you think, Miss Sullivan?” he turned to me. “Is that what you long to be, a domesticated woman?”

“No!” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

“Rissa!” Savannah scolded me, eyes flashing. She had begun to breathe heavily, and I feared she would faint with her tightly laced corset.

I blushed but met Gabriel’s eyes. “No,” I said. “I have no desire to match that description. Slightly less clumsy, perhaps,” I muttered.

“Yes, I agree,” Gabriel said, causing me to worry he agreed with my assessment about my clumsiness. “Domestication is akin to docility which is an unattractive trait in a woman.” He smiled knowingly at me, and I felt a flash of pleasure.

“Do you speak in earnestness, sir, or are you in jest?” Savannah demanded. When Gabriel merely turned to look at her, she continued. “Men want docile, demure women,” she expounded, as though teaching a rudimentary fact to Gabriel.

“Well, pardon me, ma’am, for not learning my lessons well,” he replied, nodding his head deferentially.

I watched Savannah’s face become flushed red with anger and was worried she would erupt. She generally kept her temper under control, but, when it blew, it was a frightening thing to behold.

“I’d actually like to meet a young woman who can think for herself and doesn’t want only what her father or husband wants.” His quiet statement made my pulse quicken.

Savannah scoffed, “That path leads only to misery.”

“Or tremendous contentment,” Gabriel countered.

Savannah stood, knocking into the table with such force she caused tea to spill out of the mugs. “I will not sit here any longer and listen to your insolent beliefs,” she declared. “Rissa?” She turned toward me expectantly, then headed toward the door.

I looked at Gabriel with remorse, wanting to have spent longer time in his company. “I enjoyed our conversation. Maybe we could continue it one day at the school?” I watched him, hopeful he would agree.

He smiled, releasing a sigh of relief. “I would enjoy that very much, Miss Clarissa.”

I had forgotten how his voice could feel like a caress. I closed my eyes for a moment, having missed hearing his gentle baritone. No matter how much I had enjoyed his letters, I had missed him.


 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Ramona Flightner is a native of Missoula, Montana. After graduating from Tufts University with a
           
She studied nursing at the University of Pennsylvania and graduated with a Master’s in Nursing as a Family Nurse Practitioner. She has worked for ten years as a family nurse practitioner providing care to the poor and under insured at two community health centers, first in Wilmington, Delaware and now in Boston, Massachusetts.
           
An avid reader, she began writing three years ago. She enjoys the demands of research and relishes the small discoveries that give historical detail to her books.
           
Ramona is an avid flyfisher and hiker who enjoys nothing better than spending a day on a remote Montana river, far from a city. She enjoys research, travel, storytelling, learning about new cultures and discovering new ways of looking at the world. Though she resides in Boston, Massachusetts, Ramona remains a Montanan at heart.
          
 Her dreams are to see the plains of East Africa, marvel at the wonder of Petra in Jordan, soak in the seas of the South Pacific, and to continue to spend as much time as possible with her family.
           
Banished Love is her first novel and is the first in the forthcoming Banished Saga.

AUTHOR WEB PAGE: http://www.ramonaflightner.com

TWITTER:  http://twitter.com/ramonaflightner

FACEBOOK:  http://www.facebook.com/authorramonaflightner

PINTEREST: http://www.pinterest.com/ramonaauthor


B.A. in Spanish, she earned a Masters degree in Spanish Literature from the University of Montana. Her Master’s thesis, Chilean Testimonial Literature: the collective suffering of a people, highlighted her continued interest in the stories of those who were at risk of being forgotten or silenced.


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Release Day blast - A Love Stolen by Ella Jade

Can time forgive the mistakes of the past? After a six year absence, Lila Crofton has returned to her hometown of Steeple to bury her father. Hopefully she can avoid Trevor Matheson, her ex-boyfriend, long enough to take care of her business and get back to the city. With everything she's dealing with the last thing she needs is to run into the man who betrayed her and broke her heart. Recently divorced Sheriff Trevor Matheson is picking up the pieces of his life. When his high school sweetheart, Lila, returns to Steeple, Trevor sees it as a sign. He's getting over a failed marriage and she's grieving the loss of her dad. They need one another. The timing couldn't be more perfect. But can they move past the events that tore them apart six years ago? Is there a second chance in their future, or is their stolen love gone forever?

Content Warning: contains graphic sex and strong language
Genre(s): Erotic Contemporary Romance

  


As Trevor helped Lila up the porch steps, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his jaw. She hadn't taken her hands off him since they'd left Tate's.

"I love to feel your stubble." She ran her fingers along his cheek. "It's sexy."

"Keys?" He held out his hand and waited as she dug through her bag. She had him rock hard and ready to go. The fact that she'd rested her hand on his thigh the whole ride home hadn't helped matters. It was the alcohol lowering her inhibitions, but that didn't make it any easier not to respond.

"Here they are." She dropped them into his hand. "Come inside with me."

He opened the door and led her into the foyer. As soon as he let her go, she stumbled forward. He caught her by the waist and pulled her against him. He couldn't take his eyes away from her lips.

"Do you want to kiss me?" Her warm breath caressed his mouth.

More than you know.

"Let me help you upstairs. I don't want you to fall down the steps." He scooped her up and carried her to the staircase. She was so light and dainty. She was still his perfect fit.

"You didn't answer my question." She placed soft, open-mouth kisses along his neck as he made his way to her old bedroom. He remembered sneaking up those steps many times, while her father slept down the hall. They still creaked, but this time he didn't have to worry about getting caught.

"Of course I want to kiss you." He pushed the door open with his shoulder and set her down by the bed.

She closed her eyes and leaned into him. He swiped the hair from her face, took her chin between his fingers, and placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

She opened one eye and peered at him, waiting for more. "That's it?" Disappointment flooded her beautiful features.

"For tonight." He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. "I want you to remember when I kiss you."

"I'll remember." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "You're not easy to forget."

He pried her arms from his body. "Believe me, I want to, but not tonight."

"Why?"

"Because four hours ago you ran away from me," he said. "Something made you run. Tell me why." He may not have wanted to take advantage of her physically while she was intoxicated, but he didn't see why he couldn't let her drunken lips tell him what she was afraid of.

"I can't."

"You can't what?" He needed to know what she thought about the two of them.

"I'm tired now." She lifted her dress over her head and tossed it in the corner of the room. She stood before him in nothing but her white push-up bra and matching lace thong.

"Hell." He couldn't take his eyes off her toned, tanned body. He mindlessly licked his lips when he discovered her rose-colored nipples poking through the thin, silky material of her bra. Struggling with himself, he tried not to lower his gaze. He lost the battle as he greedily took in her scantily covered sex.

"Want to kiss me now?" She ran her fingers down her neck and over her breasts. "Want to touch me like this?" She moved her hand down her stomach and to the waistband of her panties.

He stepped closer to her and grabbed her wrist. He had to get her to stop or he'd lose all control.

"You want to do it?"


    Ella Jade has been writing for as long as she can remember. As a child, she often had a notebook and pen with her, and now as an adult, the laptop is never far. The plots and dialogue have always played out in her head, but she never knew what to do with them. That all changed when she discovered the eBook industry. She started penning novels at a rapid pace and now she can't be stopped. Ella resides in New Jersey with her husband and two young boys. When she's not chasing after her kids, she's busy writing, attending PTO meetings, kickboxing, and scrapbooking. She hopes you'll get lost in her words. She loves connecting with readers. You can find her here… Website / FB / twitter / blog

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Love-Stolen-Steeple-Town-ebook/dp/B00IH9KSBW/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1392555362&sr=1-1&keywords=a+love+stolen

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-love-stolen-ella-jade/1111794214?ean=2940148251453

 

Virtual Blog Tour - Beauty and the Beast by Shoshanna Evers

I'd like to welcome a Goddess Fish tour guest as my visitor today! Shoshanna will be awarding a
signed paperback of Beauty and the Beast (US ONLY) plus a $10 Amazon or Nook GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour, and an electronic copy of the book to six randomly drawn commenters during the tour. So be sure to follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better the chances of winning!

BLURB:

From bestselling erotica author Shoshanna Evers comes an erotic re-imagining of the classic fairytale, Beauty and the Beast.

With her father’s freedom at stake, Belle agrees to be the fearsome Beast’s prisoner in his enchanted castle. Held as his willing captive, Belle must submit to the Beast’s most primal desires to survive.

The Beast can’t let his little Beauty go free, not while there’s still hope that she might be the one to end his decade-long curse…and with true love’s kiss, return him to the Prince he once was.

Their story is one that begins with imprisonment—he in his monstrous body, she in a dungeon—but without this predicament, Beauty would never have met the Beast.

So we shall begin with what occurred on that fateful night when everything changed: when a lover was betrayed, a man deformed, and a castle shrouded in an enchantment…



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Excerpt One:

Copyright 2013 Shoshanna Evers
All Rights Reserved.

Beast bared his fangs, and she cringed.

“Y-you’re smiling,” Belle said. It might take her a while to get used to that.

“I am. I have a proposition for you.” He gently smoothed her skirt back over burning bottom, and turned her around to face him. “I haven’t had a woman in my bed for a very long time. If you’d be willing to sleep with me, I’d reduce your lifetime imprisonment to one short year.”

Belle gasped, both at the idea of sleeping with him, and the idea of a life sentence being reduced to a year.

“You’d crush me to death,” she said, looking up at his towering hulk.

“I would not. Wasn’t I very gentle with you earlier, in your cell, when I made you feel so amazing, as you put it? Right before you—”

Right before she cut him and ran. Yes, she could recall something like that happening.

“It’s really not ‘willing’ if I must bed you for my freedom,” she pointed out.

“Forget I said anything,” he growled. “I’ll see you safely to your cell.”

“Wait!” She paused, frantic, not willing to give up her one chance of freedom. And also not willing to give up a very rational excuse for having more experiences like the one he’d given her earlier. “Three months. Then I can go.”

“Six months, and you do everything I say.”

“It’s—It’s a deal, Beast.” She sighed. “I’m yours for six months. And then you set me free and you forget all about me and my Papa.”

Beast smiled. Yes…definitely a smile. “I very much doubt I will ever forget you, beauty. But I’ll never harm you.”

Her thoughts immediately flew to her sore bottom, at the way he spanked her so thoroughly. Although, it was as he said. He’d hurt her, he had not harmed her. She would remember her punishment when she sat down for a day or two, but it wasn’t like he’d crippled her.

Or ate her. That was something to be grateful for.

Beast looked around his castle as though seeing it for the first time. “I suppose, if you’ll be staying awhile, we could arrange more suitable sleeping quarters for you.”

“In your bed,” she guessed.

“You’ll have your own suite.” He spoke louder, and Belle realized he was probably summoning the fairies. “Belle will need a suite, with a four poster bed, a bath, dresses in the armoire, and a fire ready for her.”

“The fairies can do all that?” she asked.

“Fairies?” He shook his head and began to say something, but it just sounded like growling to her.

“Pardon?”

“Never mind. If you’d like to believe we have a fairy infestation, then by all means. Believe what you will.” Beast gestured for her to follow him up the stairs and into the west wing of the castle.

She followed, mesmerized by the glorious tapestries and paintings that adorned the long hallways. Where had a beast gotten such wealth?

One oil painting, of a young man, about her age perhaps, caught her eye. His handsome face seemed to draw her in. Belle stopped in front of it, gazing at the portrait.

“He’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” Beast said. “I mean…I’m glad you appreciate the art in my castle.”

There was something familiar about the young man’s intense green eyes.

“Do I—do I know him?” she asked.

“Perhaps. You would have been a child when this portrait was taken.”

She looked at the inscription on the gold plaque beneath the portrait. It said “Prince Frederick,” and was dated ten years prior. That would have been when she was nine years old, and certainly never out and about, gazing into handsome princes’ green eyes.

“I suppose I don’t,” she said.

For some reason the thought made her sad. What had become of that young man? Perhaps the portrait was from another country. She’d never heard of a Prince Frederick before.

Beast kept walking down the corridor, so she followed.

“I imagine you ate everyone who lived in this castle,” Belle said. “That’s why they aren’t here, and…you are.”

Beast whirled around, and she was so caught off guard that she stumbled against his enormous chest.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped.

“That is not what happened.”

“The painting was ten years ago. Ten years ago, you changed. You told me so. I was merely…taking an educated guess.”

“There was nothing educated about it,” Beast said. “And if you’ll be staying under my roof for the next six months, you might want to reconsider playing guessing games if you want us to get along.”

She put her hand to her mouth. “I apologize.”

“We’re here.” He stopped in front of a large door, with the words “Belle’s Suite” etched into a small silver placard on the door. “If you need anything—”

“I’ll just ask the fairies,” she finished for him.

“Um, yes. Exactly.”

“Will I be sleeping…uninterrupted?” She blushed as she spoke the words, but she had to know if he’d be taking her up on their deal tonight.

“Dawn is almost here. Sleep as late as you’d like. I won’t bother you until you come to me.”

“But…what if I never choose to…come to you?”

Beast raised his heavy brow. “Your six months begins when you do. Take as long as you need.”

He held opened the door to her suite and she stepped inside, reveling at the sight of the large four poster bed with the flowing white linens, the glowing warmth of the fire burning in the fireplace, and most of all…the roses. They were everywhere, the scent beckoning her.

“Good night, beauty.”

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Critically-acclaimed author Shoshanna Evers has written dozens of sexy stories including Amazon

The non-fiction anthology Shoshanna Evers edited and contributed to, How To Write Hot Sex: Tips from Multi-Published Erotic Romance Authors, is a #1 Bestseller in the Authorship, Erotica Writing Reference, and Romance Writing categories on Amazon.

Reviewers have called Shoshanna’s writing “fast paced, intense, and sexual…every naughty fantasy come to life for the reader” with stories where “the plot is fresh and the pacing excellent, the emotions…real and poignant.”

Shoshanna used to work as a syndicated advice columnist and a registered nurse, but now she’s a full-time smut writer and a home-schooling mom. She lives with her family and two big dogs in Northern Idaho.

Sexily *Evers* After... ShoshannaEvers.com

Shoshanna Evers wants you to stay in touch!

Like erotic romance? Sign up for Shoshanna Evers’s mailing list to be notified when a new book releases (right side of the page!) http://www.shoshannaevers.com/blog


Visit ShoshannaEvers.com for monthly giveaways and red-hot excerpts!

Let’s be BFF’s!

@ShoshannaEvers

Facebook http://www.facebook.com/shoshanna.evers

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/shoshannaevers

Books on Amazon http://amzn.to/pGdgKD

Books on Nook: http://goo.gl/MMgE9

Paperback on Amazon:  http://www.amazon.com/Beauty-Beast-erotic-re-imagining-Shoshanna/dp/0991372220/

Ebook on Smashwords  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/392793

Beauty and the Beast on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20413616-beauty-and-the-beast

B&N: http://bit.ly/19iFP84

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/1aRF5lJ

Paperback on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1agsWqn

Embedded: Amazon, B&N, iBooks, Smashwords, Amazon UK, Goodreads

Erotica Bestsellers Overheated, and Enslaved, Book 1 in the Enslaved Trilogy, as well as the post-apocalyptic dystopian Pulse Trilogy from Simon & Schuster Pocket  Star. Her work has been featured in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and Best Bondage Erotica 2013, the Penguin/Berkley Heat anthology Agony/Ecstasy, and numerous erotic BDSM novellas including Chastity Belt and Punishing the Art Thief from Ellora's Cave Publishing.

Virtual Book Tour - Of White Snakes and Misshaped Owls by Debra Hyde

Morning everyone! I want to welcome my guest today, Debra Hyde. She's on tour in support of her book, Of White Snakes and Misshaped Owls. Enjoy this entertaining interview!

INTERVIEW:

1. Which person in your life influenced you the most with your writing?

I can't say any one person influenced my writing and it may be more important to say who influenced my love for books because a love of writing doesn't happen with a love for books. And that person would be my mother. I don't remember being without stories and have many memories of curling up on her lap for a favorite story. In fact, I remember when I got too big for her lap—it was the first time I had to sit next to her for a story!

We had a sixteen volume set of books called “The Children's Hour” in our home, filled with short stories, novel excerpts, and poetry. I think it even had some early Dr. Seuss in one of its volumes! Two stories I especially remember from that collection: The Velveteen Rabbit and The Puppy Who Wanted a Boy.

Point is, being an avid reader allowed and encouraged me to become an author.

2. What is your writing process? Are you a plotter or a “pantser”?

I'm a plotter, but I sometimes get pantsed by my characters. Wait—that didn't come out right!

I'm a plotter because the process serves as a tool for me, helping organize the themes I want to work with, settings, character quirks and motivations, ingoing elements and outcomes. I'm quite good as “organized invention.” However, my characters always have the leeway of coming up with something clever, outrageous, unexpected—you name it—which accounts for getting pantsed.

3. Is one of your books your personal favorite?

I've had a love affair with every one of my books. However, I think The Charlotte Olmes Mystery Series might well become the most enduring effort. Because I'm writing from a Holmesian platform, I expect I'll write numerous novellas, rife with crime solving, lesbian love and lust, and history. I've plotted out two additional tales already with a time table of several more.

4. How did you come up with the idea for your latest book?

I wanted to write a lesbian Steampunk story, which placed my thought process in the Victorian era. But no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts kept drifting toward purer historical fiction and in the process, Charlotte and Joanna Wilson stepped into the light of my mind’s eye. To my surprise, they weren’t surrounded by the enticing trappings of steampunk—instead, the streets of New York City were their backdrop and their beat.

Then I began researching the city in the 1880s and discovered the real world history of 1880s New York City was fascinating enough without any added flourishes!

5. What’s coming up next for you in your writing?

2014 is going to be a busy year for me. I'll start the next Charlotte Olmes novella in March—and when it's published, you'll find the first two novellas paired for print as well! If I'm lucky, I'll manage a third tale before the year is out.

SizzleEditions.com and I are gathering dozens of my erotic short stories together and publishing them into ebooks, then gathering those together into one of two print omnibus editions. The publishers are long-time friends and colleagues and I'm trusting some of my legacy to them. They're going to get some of my kinky novels as well—think FemDomme, polyamory, who know what else!

If that's not enough, my agent pushing some ideas and samples around New York City as well. It's exciting and thrilling, but too formative to talk about at this stage.

6. How did you do research for your book?

Research—my favorite topic! I minored in history in college and, good thing, because the skills I learned then really come into play with the Charlotte Olmes series. I relied on NYC history blogs and books as secondary sources, and all kinds of primary sources from 1880s. Harper's Weekly, Frank Leslie's Illustrated Paper, and many other illustrated periodicals gave me authentic period images of the city. Works like The Rogue's Lexicon taught me city slang, and several police manuals from the period taught me about the NYPD of 1880. I needed good dictionary to look up colloquialisms to see if they were in use by 1880—phrases like right off the bat. But every find was a treasure and it helped build this novella!

7. What do you enjoy reading for pleasure?

I read across all kinds of genres, but seem focused on erotica, mysteries, social history books right now. On my current short list: friend Cecilia Tan's Slow Seduction, John Dunning's mystery The Bookman's Promise, and Sandra Hempel's The Inheritor's Powder: A Tale of Arsenic, Murder, and the New Forensic Science. (Research!) I hope to return to reading the lesbian mystery novels of Val McDermid and Katherine V Forrest soon, too.

8. What’s your favorite guilty pleasure?

Would you believe this is the toughest question you've asked?! It's hard to have an actual guilty pleasure when you've brave enough to write the erotic word. But I'll share.

Worchester Sauce. Spicy, flavorful, and robust. Why a guilty pleasure? Because of the foods I use it on. Don't ask.

9. What is your favorite quote and why?

Mad magazine's “What? Me worried?” Many, many years ago, it came out of a word association incident and stuck.  I still  think automatically of Alfred E. Neuman when I'm asked this question!

10. In a nod to the Actor’s Studio, what's your favorite curse word and why?

Horse hockey. Because it rolls of the tongue with force and satisfaction.


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The Charlotte Olmes Mystery Series

Of White Snakes and Misshaped Owls

Riverdale Avenue Books

Lesbian, F/F, Historical, Detective

 

 

A dead body in a back alley means little to the rough streets of 1880s New York City—until Charlotte Olmes woman detective steps onto the scene. Crime-solving on behalf of her female clients, Olmes eschews decorum and ventures into places forbidden to the fairer sex, sleuthing after clues hidden, elusive, and often distasteful. When the exotic Miss Tam pleads with Charlotte to find the man to whom she's secretly married, Charlotte ventures into the dark and dangerous crannies of the city with her partner and passionate lover Joanna Wilson at her side. Soon, what appeared to be the random misfortune born of Chinatown's opium dens reveals itself as a vicious gang-related murder—and Olmes and Wilson find themselves wedged between the ethnic and political forces that collide where Chinatown borders the Bowery. Penned by Lambda Literary Award winner Debra Hyde, Of White Snakes and Misshaped Owls recasts the classic eccentric detective genius in ways never before seen. Passions both criminal and carnal come alive in vivid and exacting detail in what promises to become the hallmark of the Charlotte Olmes Mystery Series.
 

AMAZON / SMASHWORDS / GOODREADS

   I was not surprised that I had slept through the morning sun and birdsong of the fine spring morning on which this exceptional adventure had started, but how I escaped the sounds of Madison Square Park and the nearby Sixth Avenue El, I still do not know. Coming to our table for breakfast, I found Charlotte's nose buried deep in the day's penny press. Without fail, she started and ended each day perusing Manhattan's most dreadful news accounts, paying close attention to the brawls between swells, what dead bodies were pulled from the nooks and crannies of the city, and things even more violent and horrid. I prayed she would tell me nothing gruesome this morning. I preferred my first cup of tea without word of the city's more morbid distractions.

  “Good morning, my dear Miss Wilson,” Charlotte said, her eyes still glued to her paper.

  “Good morning, Miss Olms,” I countered.

   However formal our salutations, they were first and foremost an affectionate routine, an irreverent jest aimed at how society expected us to act and not a reflection of how we really felt about each other. And, daring to remind Charlotte just how I preferred our interactions, I leaned over and placed a kiss upon her cheek, one soft enough to suggest I'd welcome more. It earned a chuckle from her and a quick, sly glance of promise. A bustle from the kitchen told me that Mr. East had heard me, and our man's man who preferred serving women came laden with a full meal of eggs, bacon, and toast.

  Joining that bounty, a libation of some strange concoction—no doubt, another of Charlotte's attempts to fortify the temples that were our bodies with the fruits of exotic flora from God only knew where. While I should have rued the presence of the strange beverage, it was the larger meal that caught my true attention. A big meal meant one of two things: We either had something physical to do that morning or a case to investigate. Seated, I sipped my tea and tried to ignore the message inherent in my breakfast. Halfway through my meal—the eggs scrambled to perfection, made better with a splash of maple syrup, the drink concoction decidedly not so—I caught Charlotte snapping her crisp newspaper and swiftly folding it with a flourish so dramatic it rivaled the sweep of a magician's hand. I shook my head, thinking of our poor butler, Mr. East, always having to iron the paper to Charlotte's perfection. Charlotte caught my reaction from the corner of her eye.

   Without taking her gaze from the small corner of the paper she now consumed, she remarked, “He had no compunction about ironing my newspapers when we interviewed Mr. East for the position, Joanna. A crisp paper makes for a precise read, my dear.”

   With Charlotte Olms, precision was paramount. My eggs and bacon gone, I mopped my plate of syrup with my toast. “Dare I ask what this morning brings?” I hoped she would let me finish a third cup of tea and have a proper pinning of my hair before dashing us out the door.

  “Training, dear Joanna, training.” I suddenly felt overfull. Physical exercise and a full stomach were not well paired for me, no matter how frequently I tried to dissuade Charlotte of that fact. I set down my toast.

   “Pick it up and eat,” she half-scolded.

   “We're not doing it—we're teaching it.”

   “Teaching what?”

   “Parasol defense.” Charlotte's obsession with self-defense, especially as it applied to women, had long been a great passion of hers.

   I resumed devouring my toast, sipping away its dryness with tea and noting how very well the taste of India Black tasted with the sparse left-overs of maple syrup. Perhaps I would suggest Charlotte make a concoction based on those two ingredients. Maybe she would come up with something actually tolerable. Another time, I thought.
   “And who are we training today?” I asked.
   “Mrs. Philomena Pelton has asked me to introduce several of her peers and their lady's maids to the practice,” Charlotte answered. I pulled up from my teacup. We were teaching a lady's maids?

   “However did you finagle that?”

   The upper crust were not exactly sensitive about the betterment of their help. Charlotte finally set her paper aside, slapping it onto the table, and leaned towards me, elbows planted firmly akimbo on a fine Italian cutwork tablecloth. Mannish behavior, of course, reflecting a competency that she could not innately express in any sort of feminine way.

   “I told them that no matter how well-versed they themselves became in the art of parasol self-defense, they would remain at risk if their help did not become adept as well.”

   “Really, Charlotte.”

   “No, no, it's true,” Charlotte claimed. “Mrs. Pelton herself was accosted just last week on the Ladies Mile. Her lady servant was of, shall we say, limited assistance.”

   “The Ladies Mile? So now even shopping puts one at risk. Of course you do this entirely for the benefit of the well-off,” I facetiously declared.

   I swatted at her elbows, smacking hard enough to sting. Charlotte grinned. She heeded me, removing her elbows from the table. She might forget her manners from time to time, but she always enjoyed my corrections, minor or severe. We both knew she believed that all women should be skilled in self-defense, regardless of class and station. And I knew that if Charlotte would ever deign to imagine a utopian society, men would be far too civilized to even think to accost the fairer sex. Not that we would carry that dainty an appellation in Charlotte's utopia.

   “Do I have time for Phoebe to pin and lacquer my hair?”

    Charlotte waved me off. “Yes, yes, but we should depart in twenty minutes.”

   “Twenty minutes, then,” I said. I rose and made my way across the room, only to stop and turn. “Charlotte?” I said.

   “Hmmm?” Her nose was in that paper again.

   “Should we not invite Phoebe to join us?” Charlotte pulled up from her reading, glaring at me. The devil that I should put her high horse on the spot! But one look at me and she knew that I teased said horse with both warm regard and hard truth.

   “I shall tutor her myself,” she declared, flicking her newspaper dismissively. Exactly what I wanted. What was good for the geese of Manhattan's elite was good for the gander 
in our own home.

     

Debra Hyde writes erotic fiction for everyone, across the gender & orientation spectra. Her lesbian BDSM novel, Story of L, won the 2011 Lambda Literary Award for lesbian erotica. A modern retelling of the classic Story of O, it updates the original tale to reflect the contemporary lesbian leather world and the women in it. Romantic Times BOOK Reviews magazine named it and her heterosexual novel, Blind Seduction, to its Fifty Hot Reads beyond 50 Shades of Grey, calling Blind Seduction “a story about what happens after the BDSM seduction.” She is a contributing author to the ground-breaking and critically-acclaimed Entwined erotica series, penning two lesbian novellas for it, Hers and Provenance. Now she turns her attentions to her new erotic Charlotte Olmes Mystery Series, recasting the classic eccentric detective genius in ways never before seen — in passions both criminal and carnal!

Visit Debra Hyde at her website:

http://debrahyde.com

Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/debra.hyde

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/#!/debrahyde

 

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Virtual Blog Tour - After the Rain by Daisy Harris

I'd like to welcome a Goddess Fish tour guest as my visitor today! Daisy will be awarding a $20 gift card to Amazon or Barnes and Noble to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour, and a $10 gift card to a randomly drawn host. So be sure to follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better the chances of winning!

BLURB:

They’re going to need a bigger tent.

Henri’s list of bad exes is as long as his arm, but nothing prepared him for his latest, heart-stomping breakup. He thought he couldn’t feel more abandoned, until his ride for a group camping trip bails, leaving him stuck driving for hours with a guy who is absolutely not his type.

After breaking up with his girlfriend of five years, firefighter Logan is working up the nerve to explore his interest in men. He knows he’s gay. He just hasn’t had the guts to do anything about it…until now.

Henri’s big-city attitude and tight jeans push every last one of Logan’s buttons, and when he and Henri have to share a tent, Logan is thrilled. He should have realized Pacific Northwest weather would get wet—forcing them to strip naked. Though the steam between them is thicker than coastal fog, Henri’s not sure he can let himself fall for another man. Not even the guy who finally treats him right.

Warning: Contains bad ex-boyfriends, even worse weather, and more than your average amount of sex in a tent. May not be suitable for those with germ phobias, outdoor aversions or fear of damp shoes.

Excerpt:

The first thing Henri smelled when he woke up was coffee. The second was bacon.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the top of the tent and anticipating the salty, crisp fat. Henri was probably sublimating with food since he wouldn’t be getting laid anytime soon, but if he couldn’t eat cock, bacon was a pretty good substitute.

The smell of Logan was there too, though the guy himself no longer took up the better part of the tent. Henri lifted his head off the sweatpants he’d somehow replaced his pillow with in the middle of the night, and assessed his surroundings. Logan’s duffel filled the corner, meaning Logan must have slept scrunched in the shortened space. Other than that, Logan’s side of the tent was completely clean.

Henri’s side, on the other hand, looked like his suitcase had vomited in the night.

The tent flap rustled, and a slice of Logan’s face appeared in the opening. “You awake?”

“Yeah.” Henri started to smile, and he forced his lips to a smirk instead. Things had been fine the night before, more comfortable than Henri would have expected, once Logan had stopped talking, but Henri didn’t want to get too friendly with Logan and lead the guy on. Between the STI thing and still being hung up on Preston, Henri was in no position to start dating. “Is that coffee at someone else’s campsite, or is there a chance I can have some?”

Logan reached into the tent, a travel mug in his giant fist, and handed it to Henri. His grin was shy, and his cheeks red.

Well, drat. Henri was leading him on just by not kicking the guy.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Birkenstock-wearing glamour girl and mother of two by immaculate conception, Daisy Harris still isn't sure if she writes erotica. Her romances start out innocently enough. However, her characters behave like complete sluts. Much to Miss Harris's dismay the sex tends to get completely out of hand.

She writes about fantastical creatures and about young men getting their freak on, and she's never missed an episode of The Walking Dead.

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After the Rain on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/After-Rain-Fire-Daisy-Harris-ebook/dp/B00EKJGRJA

Virtual Blog Tour - Birthday Wishes by Heidi Lynn Anderson

I'd like to welcome a Goddess Fish tour guest as my visitor today! Heidi Lynn will be awarding a $15.00 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. So be sure to follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better the chances of winning!



BLURB:

Emily Samson’s awful thirtieth birthday consists of a solo bubble bath, burned microwave popcorn and a broken elevator – until both of her gorgeous landlords show up, making all her wishes come true.


Corporate whiz Emily Samson’s friends have deserted her for husbands and babies. So what does she do to celebrate turning the big 3-0? She buys herself popcorn and chocolate, refusing to settle for less than her ideal man. Or two. Her birthday wish is to be sandwiched between both her hunky landlords - as if that would ever happen outside of her most sensual, and secret, dreams.

Conner Walker and Jackson Smith are ready to find the one woman who can satisfy them both. However, finding that elusive someone to fulfill their needs has been like finding a snowflake in a snowstorm. When they rescue the normally uptight woman from 5B and discover her in cotton pjs instead of cherry red stilettos, they wonder if they’ve finally found the one strong enough to handle their demands.

Excerpt:

The two men stepped into the now empty elevator. Jackson pushed the button for the fifth floor and
asked, “What do you think of our hot little tenant?”

Conner’s gut clenched and need filled his chest. “She’s sexy as all hell and I think under that stuck-up bitch act, there’s an adventurous woman that would be up for anything.” His dick twitched in his pants. “Why? Are you thinking about courting her for us?”

He’d dreamed of her hot little ass gripping his cock while Jackson filled her wet pussy, but the reality of a woman like her being open to having more than one man was a long shot. Women in her class wanted careers and, if they did get married, they barely had time for one husband—never mind two.

Jackson’s shoulders lifted. “Maybe. Part of me wants to fill her demanding mouth with my cock.”

Conner smiled. “And the other part?”

“Wants to run screaming, because my dick doesn’t know whether to stand at attention or shrivel up and hide.”

“I feel the same way, man.” Images of Emily rushing out her apartment to her fancy Wall Street job, making and losing millions for her clients filled his head. “I wonder what it would take to make her relax and let her hair down?”

“Probably not watching the Rangers beat the Bruins while having a beer,” Jackson said.


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

By day, Heidi Lynn Anderson is a wife, mother, and owner of a small Green-Cleaning company. By night, she spins erotic tales featuring hunky heroes and the women they love. When not working or writing, Heidi likes spending time with her husband and son, doing what Florida has to offer.

Visit Heidi at www.heidilynnanderson.com

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