Sunday Smooch

Welcome to another LoveCats DownUnder Sunday Smooch!


Today we have a sizzling smooch from The Billionaire's Bedside Manner by award-winning Desire author Robyn Grady, but first ...

the winner of last week's Sunday Smooch Giveaway is -- jacque!


Congratulations, jacque! Can you please contact Mel Teshco at

melteshco (at) yahoo (dot) com (dot) au

and she'll send you a copy of Ice-Cold Lover.

And now for today's Sunday Smooch from The Billionaire's Bedside Manner by Robyn Grady ...

An unexpected visitor was not something billionaire Mateo Celeca wanted to deal with on his vacation. Especially one as beautiful and mysterious as Bailey Ross. She claimed his grandmother had sent her, so he offered her a place to stay. But there was no way he was leaving his "guest" alone at his mansion. If Bailey needed a refuge, she'd come with him…to Paris.

Being with Mateo soon made Bailey forget all the reasons she'd vowed to avoid romantic entanglements. But falling into bed with him could lead her dangerously close to revealing all her secrets…and falling in love.



[Set-up: Mateo Celeca felt inconvenienced when Bailey Ross unexpectedly landed on his doorstep. But after offering a place to stay while she sorts herself out – after spending time with her, introducing her to his friends – Mateo begins to look at Bailey not with suspicion but desire. When they arrive home from an evening out, the emotions kindling between them these past days and nights ignite into a fire neither can – or wants – to contain… ]

The tall double doors of Mateo’s suite were open. He didn't bother to kick them shut after he'd carried her through. Nor did he switch on any lamps. What she could make out in the shadows was courtesy of the light filtering in from the hall as well as the moonbeams slanting through a bank of soaring arched windows that looked out over that garden and its statues below.

He stopped at the foot of his bed and his voice dropped to a low rasp. "This is what you want?"

Instinctively, her palm wove around the sandpaper of his jaw. She filled her lungs with his scent then skimmed the pad of her thumb over the dent in his chin. "Yes," she murmured.

His chest expanded, his grip tightened then he lifted her higher in his arms as his head came purposefully down. When his mouth claimed hers, Bailey couldn't contain the moan of deepest desire the sensation dragged from her throat. She didn't want to contain anything. And as his mouth worked magic against hers and his beard grazed and teased her skin, she pressed herself up and in, needing to feel even closer.

Needing him as close as it got.

Her fingers wound through his hair while his throat rumbled with satisfaction and the kiss deepened. Even as her mind and body raged with desire, she was lucid enough to recognize the simple truth. Whatever it was that had sparked when they'd met, it had grown to a point where now they were downright hungry for each other. Starving for each other's touch in a primal nothing-held-back, nothing-taboo, kind of way. She could never get enough of this burn…of the flames that already leapt and blazed near out of control.

When his lips gradually left hers, she felt dizzy. Her eyes remained closed but she heard and felt his breathing. At the edges of her mind, she wondered…why was this coming together so intense? So combustible?

He dipped to sit her on the edge of the mattress. With moonlight spilling in, she dragged the dress up over her head then, in her lingerie, watched as he wound the shirt off his shoulders, the sleeves from his arms. When he was naked, he bent near, slid an arm around her waist and drew her up to stand again. Holding her chin, he ran the wet tip of his tongue along the open seam of her mouth while, at her back, he unsnapped the strapless bra with one deft flick. His palm pressed down the dent of her spine and slipped into the back of her panties. She whimpered as her womb contracted and quivered…a tantalizing prelude to the climax she couldn't wait to enjoy.

His fingertips pressed and seared into her flesh while his mouth covered hers completely again, and all the time her insides clenched and pulsed while her limbs and mind went to mush. She wanted this heaven to go on forever. But even more, she wanted him bearing down on top of her. Inside of her. Filling and fulfilling her now.

Her hands ironed down his sides. When she reached his lean hips, she urged him forward, toward her and the bed. With their mouths still joined, she felt his smile before he broke the kiss long enough to wrench back the sheets. With a determined gleam in his eyes, he crowded until the back of her legs met the cool edge of the mattress. His big hands ringed her waist and her feet left the ground long enough for him to lay her gently down. He followed a heartbeat behind.

Looming above her, everything seemed to still as he searched her eyes in a world of midnight shadows. His deep low voice seemed to fill the room. "I didn't ask you to stay here for this."

She drew an aimless pattern through the hair at the base of his throat. "I know."

"Although I'm not sorry you agreed."

She matched his grin. "I'm not sorry you asked."

He dropped a tender kiss at the side of her mouth, a barely there touch that shot a fountain of star-tipped sparks through her every fiber.

He murmured against her lips. "Come with me to France."




To be in the draw to win a signed copy, answer Robyn's question:

"What’s the most romantic city/place you’ve ever visited?"


Come back next Sunday, when the winner of today's giveaway will be announced -- and a smooch from A Risk Worth Taking by Zana Bell will be posted!

C'mon and join the e-train!

E-book train, that is.

Who remembers Cat Stevens’ 1970 legendary album, Tea for the Tillerman? The smash hit single Peace Train inspired so many. I was a kid but I listen to that song even now and - revelling in my goose bumps - can’t wait to join the peace train revolution.

There’s another inevitable change happening 40 years later. It has to do with how we want to read our stories and where we, as lovers of books, perceive their future to lie.

Ten years ago I published an ebook but the cover was yuck and the experience bad, bad, bad. In 2011, however, there are fabulous e-readers and the appeal of instant download of quality works is more than inviting. E books are hitting New York Times #1. There are also mega e-sellers opting to sign with traditional publishers – aka (who hasn’t heard of her?) Amanda Hocking.

I confess. I’m of the old school. I work on a laptop all day and lavish the comfortable feel of a paperback when I’m ready to sit back and relax. But I’m aware that I could be a dying breed. In twenty years, will my grandchildren wonder at the oddity of paper books like my own children shake their heads at the notion of encyclopeideas over Wiki.


We have Amanda going from E to traditional. Many other authors self publishing and engaging with readers who adore solely Kindle and alike.


What’s your preference? Ebook or print, and why? I guess the world at large is, in Cat Steven’s words, On Our Way to Find Out.

The Rapunzel Effect...or hairy and hairier

by Michelle Douglas

Reading: Writing Screenplays That Sell by Michael Hauge

Watching: P!nk's Funhouse Tour DVD

Listening to: Bette Midler (have a crush on her bluegrass/gospel version of Delta Dawn)

Making me smile: Zumba for the Wii (I'm so bad at it!)

Rapunzel always kind of annoyed me. If her hair was long enough for the prince to climb up to the tower, then why on earth didn't she cut it off, plait it into some kind of rope and climb down the tower herself? Now, of course, it is possible that she might have been afraid of heights. It is also possible that was simply plain vain. After all, what if the prince didn't like her new hairstyle?

Passive heroines are no long in vogue (thank heavens!), but what about long hair?

Did you know that there is a 13-level categorisation system for hair length? At number 1 is chin level hair. Ankle/floor length hair is at number 12 with Fairy Tale Hair at 13 (in homage, I'm guessing,to Rapunzel).

When I was an undergraduate I let my hair grow. I had limited funds and hairdressing expeditions were an expense I decided to dispense with. This may also have been in rebellion to my childhood. We spent a lot of the summer at the beach and as a result my mother insisted I have super-short hair. And, honestly, false modesty aside, I wasn't a pretty child. I remember having arguments with people who thought I was a boy (and ordering me out of the ladies toilets!).

I finished university, I met the man who has since become my dh, and he LOVED my long hair. So I let it be... and it continued to grow - to level 8 Classic length (see below).

I got a lot of comments and people would want to touch it, but hey, it was just hair, right?

Throughout the ages, however, hair has not always been just hair. Hair length has often been freighted with significance. In ancient Greece, long hair was a symbol of wealth and power, while a shaven head was appropriate for a slave. In the Middle Ages in Europe, short hair often indicated peasantry or servitude. In the English civil war of the 1600s hair length could indicate whether one was a roundhead (short hair) or a cavalier (long hair). Hair length even gets a mention in the bible: "Does not the very nature of things teach you that if a man has long hair, it is a disgrace to him, but that if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For long hair is given to her as a covering" (1 Corinthians 11: 14-15). Short hair has been enforced as a form of control in the military and police forces. In the 1960s, a lot of men wore their hair long as a political or counterculture form of protest.

But sometimes hair is just for fun!

When I started working fulltime in a corporate environment, I did cut my hair - to level 4 (midback level). It's been at that length or thereabouts for the last 8 or so years. A week ago, however, I took the plunge and I'm now at level 2 - flip level. My hair feels so light! I spent the first hour after my haircut tossing my head so I could feel my hair bounce and swish (and probably looking like an absolute lunatic in the process).

Here are the before and after shots:

Remember the movie Sliding Doors? Remember the moment when Gwyneth Paltrow's character lopped her luscious dark locks for that super-short, super-blonde, super-funky cut? Women the world over loved it. How we wear our hair is one of the most important ways we have of presenting ourselves to the world. So, do we really think women with long hair are more beautiful than women with short hair? And tell me - now that regular hair saloon visits are going to become a must for me - have you ever had the haircut from hell?

Back from the Dead...

by Emily May


So, it's winter in Regency London, the Thames has frozen over, and you've gone ice-skating. Horror! You fall through the ice and are dragged out apparently dead. How do you think you would be revived?


Well, let's start by saying that Regency methods of reviving drowning victims were very different from modern methods! Tobacco smoke would probably have been involved. If you were lucky it would have been puffed into your lungs; if you were unlucky it would have been puffed into your...er...rectum.

That's right. One method for reviving drowning victims was a tobacco smoke enema. Here is a picture of one of the devices designed for this purpose.



Enough to put you off ice-skating, isn't it?!

Back in the Regency, 'apparent death' was treated by warmth and stimulation, and tobacco smoke, being a 'stimulating vapour', was a popular cure for drowning. (Tobacco was also used to cure many other ailments, including headaches, stomach cramps, intestinal worms, gout, and -- ironically -- cancer.)

In 1774, two London physicians founded the Society for the Recovery of Persons Apparently Drowned, later renamed the Royal Humane Society. (I much prefer the earlier name!) The society provided a number of tobacco smoke resuscitation kits in strategic locations along the River Thames, for the revival of drowning victims.




So, knowing that if you fell through the ice and drowned, you'd be resuscitated by having tobacco smoke puffed into a place tobacco smoke should never be puffed, do you think you'd have gone ice-skating on the Thames ... or not?




Personally, the tobacco smoke enema is something I would have wanted to avoid -- but the skating looks so much more fun than merely watching from the shore! Would you have risked it, or not?

Sunday Smooch

Welcome to another LoveCats DownUnder Sunday Smooch!


Today we have a sexy paranormal smooch from Ice-Cold Lover by Ellora's Cave author Mel Tescho, but first ...

the winner of last week's Sunday Smooch Giveaway is -- TashNZ!


Congratulations, Tash! Can you please contact Annie West at

annie (at) annie-west (dot) com

and she'll send you a signed copy of Prince of Scandal.

And now for today's Sunday Smooch from Book Two of the Winged and Dangerous series, Ice-Cold Lover by Mel Teshco ...

Celeste has been having vivid sexual dreams starring Pascal Daniels. The son of a mobster, he is every woman’s most dangerous fantasy. Pascal leads a charmed life and can have any woman he wants, any time he wants her. Celeste is determined to have him—but just once. Because she has a secret she will fight tooth and nail to protect. She is human in every way but one—hideous bat-like wings, a permanent legacy from her once-cursed gargoyle father, Cray.

Pascal is used to attention from women, but he’s looking for someone special. He’s interested in the ice queen, Celeste Diamond. He thinks hers is the perfect female form, one he’d do anything to possess. Pascal has decided it’s way past time to warm up the mysterious, elusive Celeste.

And perhaps he’ll share some secrets of his own.


[Celeste has just left the casino and stepped into the elevator with Pascal, a man she’s wanted long enough already. But before she steps into his bedroom she needs to ensure he’ll never lay eyes on her gargoyle wings...]


Pascal blew out a breath before tunneling a hand through his hair. “I’ve never leashed my desires, never had reason to pledge a woman my commitment. Just as I never gave any lover a reason to believe they were more than a passing diversion.”

He cocked his head to the side and she felt as if all her thoughts were exposed as he studied her with his tiger eyes. “I’m certain you wouldn’t have stepped into my private elevator, come to my penthouse suite with me, if you weren’t ready and willing—”

She stood on tiptoe, leaning forward to slant her lips across his in an action that spoke so much louder than words. She sighed, savoring the fullness of his mouth, the decadent taste of spice and scotch.

With an almost soundless groan, he returned the kiss, deepened it, his skill all too apparent as his tongue skated across her lower lip before sliding inside her mouth with an ease that screamed bedroom prowess.

When his hands spanned her waist, she jerked free, gasping for breath and wishing desperately that she had nothing to hide…nothing to fear. “No,” she uttered. “If we’re intimate tonight, it will be under my conditions, or not at all.”

Pascal’s expression bore no hint of disapproval or surprise, just a fleeting curiosity. “No touching, hmm?”

Her heart fluttered like a moth beating itself against a light bulb. “Something like that.” Gathering her composure, she swept past him, out of the elevator and onto a gleaming expanse of white tiles.

Motion sensors triggered a series of down-lights to illuminate the huge penthouse suite and she shivered under their glare as Pascal followed her, close behind. Even without the clack-clack of her stilettos, she wouldn’t have heard his tread. He moved with the stealth of a predator. Only a fixated awareness of him allowed her to perceive the moment he released her from his sights.
She turned, watching as he strode over to a well-stocked bar. His jacket pulled taut across his broad shoulders as he bent and opened the door to a mini-fridge. Retrieving a chilled bottle of champagne, he uncorked it with deft hands and filled two glasses.

She looked away, suddenly nervous and inexplicably afraid. What had she been thinking? Pascal was a man who took control, shaped his destiny and commanded his lot in life. He was a man who, she had no doubt, yearned to touch, to feel, to caress and possess the woman in his bed.
She swallowed hard. Heaven help her, she wanted to be that woman!


Ice-Cold Lover is available now from Jasmine Jade and Amazon. To be in the draw to win a downloadable copy, simply answer Mel's question:

"What is your favourite paranormal creature?"

Come back next Sunday, when the winner of today's giveaway will be announced -- and a smooch from The Billionaire's Bedside Manner by Robyn Grady will be posted!

Elvis Sightings

From Wikipedia

I've had a few Elvis experiences lately. Luckily I'm an Elvis fan, so it's all good. :)

Experience #1:
I've just finished reading Jennifer Crusie's Bet Me (again!) with Michelle Douglas. Reading it together was fun, especially since we live in different states. If you haven't read the book, our heroine is Min Dobbs and she loves Elvis Presley (she even names her cat Elvis). Our hero is Cal Morrisey and he loves Elvis Costello. Gorgeous way to show us the differences in their personalities.

From www.elvis.com

In one scene, Min says, "You make all the fun you want of the fried bananas and the sequined jumpsuits, but he never lied when he sang." And I think that's some of what appeals to me about Elvis and his songs - they're just so emotional. Full of genuine emotion. Happy sigh.

Experience #2
My sister is an Elvis fan too, and for Mother's Day a few weeks ago, I bought an Elvis DVD for her daughter to give her. My five year old niece loves to give her mother Elvis CDs and DVDs, and her personal favourite is "the one where he sits on the chair and plays the guitar when he sings". Yeah, I love that one too. =)

Experience #3
I was at my mother's house yesterday and I was playing some Elvis on my iPod, as I'm known to do. My mum is another huge Elvis fan, and there are certain Elvis songs that make us pause the conversation to listen. Bridge Over Troubled Water is one of these, and we played it three times yesterday. And then I heard it more times last night because I went looking for youtube clips to show everyone here (see below). Oh, the velvety richness!



And another one, just because I feel like sharing. :) In The Ghetto.



So tell me, which Elvis do you prefer - Presley or Costello? Or are you more a Frank Sinatra or a Johnny Cash kinda person? Who's the biggest legend of all?

And, I couldn't resist - I'll leave you with another one. :) This is a very young Elvis singing Love Me Tender.

New Beginnings.

Today's June 1st and supposedly the beginning of winter. Except, as I look out the window at the absolutely calm sea and note the warm temperature, I wonder if anyone has told winter it should be here. Not that I'm rushing it, you understand. I'll soon be grizzling about ice on the ground when I go for a bike ride.

I have just started a new book, always the most exciting time for me. The blank pages just begging to be filled with story. If only it was that easy. Like going on a big trip, there's a lot of planning to be done first. Whenever my DB and I go on a trip I tend to leave all that planning stuff up to him as he loves delving into all sorts of information whereas I just want to get on the plane and arrive somewhere exciting. So far I've never been disappointed. Not that we've gone to very many places yet. We are off to Rarotonga next week. Not a big trip, but we were there last year for a wedding and decided it would be wonderful to go again with the family. I am really looking forward to it. Also, I'm thinking of visiting the local hospital, hopefully not when I fall off my scooter, but as a setting for a medical romance. Rarotonga is a very popular and beautiful destination for weddings.

When it comes to my books I've always thought I'm a pantser with a minimal amount of plotting thrown in. Now, after writing to deadlines for my last four books, I'd say forget pantser or plotter. My style's more like leaping out of a plane without a parachute - with the resulting mess looking very similar.

So for this book I have spent a lot of time on plotting. I'm not sure if this will make the flow of the story better when I get to the middle or if I'll sag as per normal. Here's hoping for the former.

Are you pantsers or plotters? Or plane leapers?