March in Michigan. Not the prettiest time or place. Don’t get me wrong, my home state can be beautiful. The phenomenal Great Lakes, lots of brilliant green in the summer, urban architectural grandeur in Detroit and Grand Rapids, and magnificent color in the fall. But in March? Yuck. Melting snow that’s more gray than white. Leafless trees and brown muddy grass. But there is hope! Birds are chattering away outside my window this morning. Yesterday I saw the first vulture of the season. Yeah, that’s a weird sign I know, but they do migrate, so if they’re back it is a sign of spring. I saw my first one just last Friday. And instead of jackets and sweaters, the stores are full of swimsuits. There’s another clue.
So spring is springing, albeit at its own leisurely pace. And I am anxious. I’m tired of trudging through snow and I miss having the windows open while I type. Knowing the weather in my part of the world we’re due for one or two more snowstorms before winter gives up the fight, but for today I’ll move my computer to the sunny spot by the kitchen window and pretend. Some day, I tell myself, I’ll be able to move me and my computer someplace warm, where I can sit on a shady porch and look out at the ocean while I type. Hey, we all have to have dreams, right? Goals are important, and all that. And for a writer, imagination is a prerequisite. So if I want to sit here and pretend that the palm tree on my computer screen is actually right outside my window…well, probably shouldn’t mention it, or I might be getting a visit from the nice men in the white coats.
Ah, but that’s the life of a writer. If we admitted to half the stuff that goes on in our twisted little brains, the psych wards would be packed with us, all frantically scribbling away with crayons, and saying, “not until I finish this scene,” when it’s time for our medication. No, much better to put all our craziness down in our fiction and pretend that’s where it came from all along.
If you’re looking to heat up your day a bit, you might want to check out “Trapped,” in the Ellora’s Cavemen Flavors of Ecstasy anthology that came out just last Friday. (link: http://www.jasminejade.com/ps-
Finally, thanks to You Gotta Read , and Tami, my gracious hostess, for inviting my ramblings today. To all of you, have a wonderful weekend, and may the first vulture of spring bring only good things to each of you!
By Cindy Spencer Pape
In Ellora’s Cavemen, Flavors of Ecstasy, Volume I
From Ellora’s Cave
Blurb: Intergalactic bounty hunters Tabrin Jones and Zeyd Vasari, sometime lovers and continual rivals, are trapped for twenty-four hours on a tiny escape pod. To make matters worse, the atmosphere in the pod has the effect of loosening inhibitions. Amid the marathon sexual experience of a lifetime, will Zeyd also be able to convince Tab that they belong together forever?
Excerpt from “Trapped” ADULT:
“Take off your armor, Tab, I promise not to shoot you.”
“Would kind of make saving my ass a little pointless, wouldn’t it?” She sent him a whimsical smile. “Thanks, by the way. Though I’d rather you’d shot Dinse, that annoying little prick.”
“Your ass is well worth saving. I have a lot of fond memories of those pretty little cheeks.” He licked his lips, remembering the taste of her silky tan skin, the tang of her cream. Then he shifted to ease the massive pressure of his erection against the front of his pants. He liked seeing her flush, watching her chest rise and fall with shallow, rapid breaths.
“I’d believe that more if I’d woken up just once to find you still beside me. You have a nasty habit of running off while I’m asleep.”
“I’m not going anywhere now, sweetheart,” he growled. “Take off your armor.”
He watched the struggle going on behind her eyes. She knew her resistance was lowered and Tab hated that. She hated not being in complete control, even for a millisecond. He’d never even seen her drink anything but water. Something else they had in common. Zeyd couldn’t stand giving up control to anyone, which is part of why he was a lot happier as a bounty hunter than he’d ever been as a soldier.
But she wanted him. That much was a given between the two of them. Something about her set every nerve and circuit he possessed to humming and he knew that she was already wet, just from being alone here with him. He could smell her arousal from across the pod and it was taking every bit of his control not to lunge over there and rip her damn clothes right off her body.
Finally she sighed. “It’s going to happen sooner or later, isn’t it, Zeyd?”
“It always does, T. Even without the happy gas.”
“I guess that’s true.” She stood and began to unbuckle the straps on her jacket. “Even when I know better, I can never seem to stop wanting you. It’s like you wormed your way into my bloodstream or something.”
He saw her make a face—yet another thing she hadn’t meant to say out loud but Zeyd couldn’t have been happier. He stood and took the two steps across the pod, replacing her hands on her clothing with his own. “Goes both ways, you know. Never been able to get you out of my system either.”
He pushed the reinforced leather down her shoulders and stared at her luscious breasts, barely contained in a skimpy bra-top, the kind most women wore for swimming or working out. The peachy-pink cloth set off her creamy tan skin to perfection and was snug enough to outline her generous nipples, which were clearly on full alert.
“Gods, Tab. Been too damn long.” He bent his head and sucked one of those peaks into his mouth, fabric and all.
“Ten months,” she murmured, arching her back and gripping his head with both of her hands. “Two weeks. Three days.”
“And about six hours, give or take time changes,” he added, taking just a moment to switch to the other breast. Yeah, he’d been counting the days too, damn it. Ten and a half months was an awfully long time to go without getting laid. But lately, nobody else seemed to appeal. In the last two Earth Standard years, the only woman he’d been with was Tabrin. The rest of the time it had just been him and his fist.