Cara Carson only wants one thing, and it isn’t a man. Her new business, Cara’s Kitchen, is all she cares about. Her recipes are perfected and the old house remodel is underway. But on this raw March morning, the contractor isn’t returning her calls, there’s a bulldozer mired in mud on the side lot, and the man operating it has managed to destroy the old willow tree she wanted saved. Furious, she charges across the mire to demand answers and finds her feet stuck and then her heart flailing after the bulldozer operator has to come carry her out.
Morgan Woods never believed in love. Until now, it’s been easy to take and leave women. This woman shouldn’t be any different, except something about her pouty pink lips and her blazing hazel eyes sails past all his defenses. His business-partner dad is sick and his businesses are struggling, but he never wants to let this woman out of his arms.
Can two broken people love again?
5 day special — only 99¢ (Discount ends December 19)
Smashwords (all formats)
Bryn McClure is running out of time. With foreclosure in the last stages, she’s about to lose the beloved twelve-hundred acre Ozark farm she inherited from her grandparents. Her desperate last hope is to sell hunting rights for deer season.
Alex Cannon is running out of options. After a humiliating discovery about his wife, Alex’s cousin and property development business partner Dan has spiraled into a life-threatening depression. Alex hatches a brilliant idea of what might help Dan, and on advice from an old friend, contacts Bryn. A hunting trip might be the perfect route to a new outlook for Dan, especially with the extra touch Alex wants from Bryn.
When Bryn agrees to Alex’s special request, she’s thrilled not only with the promise of badly needed income but also with the prospect of bondage and discipline at the hand of his cousin Dan. Her appetite for kink has sharpened during her lonely year of rural living. It seemed like such a good idea when she agreed to it.
But standing on her porch watching these two gorgeous men climb out of their truck and walk toward her, she thinks maybe she hadn’t fully appreciated how complicated things could become. Alex stuns her with his warmth and charm, but the cold and angry Dan is the one she’s supposed to submit to. By the second day, when the first spanking sparks her passions, she realizes she may be in for more—much more—than she expected.
Special discount, 5 days only — only 99¢ Offer ends December 16
Smashwords (all formats)
5 days only! Full length novel reduced to 99¢. Don’t miss it!
The year is 2056. Fire rages unchecked across the American countryside. Water rationing is a way of life. A new plague creeps across the land, an insidious degradation of cell function called Brown Death.
Lu Haverson stumbled across a cure for this malicious killer when he joined forces with Rae Stewart at her House of Rae, a pleasure house serving women. He loves bringing women the height of sexual pleasure, but even more he loves Rae. But he and Rae can’t seem to get past their jealousies and power struggle.
It’s the pleasure energy generated at the House, not only the flagship operation at Kansas City but in Rae’s chain of houses across the nation, that fuels the restorative powers that heal Brown Death. That’s Lu’s mission even if things never work out with Rae.
But now she’s brought in this young buck, Josh Carter, a new hire who seems anything but eager to serve the House’s female clientele. Lu’s instincts tell him there’s a lot more to this kid than what’s on the surface, and he makes it his mission to find out more.
Rae resents the hell out of Lu’s suspicions. She knows a hit when she sees it, and there’s nothing more appealing to the House clientele than a potent young man so full of himself as Josh. Plus she personally finds him irresistible and is determined to introduce him to the world of erotic pleasure.
Trained since childhood to carry out the Brotherhood’s mission, Josh hardly cares what this Lu guy thinks. If he has to sacrifice his moral standing to satisfy his boss Rae, he’ll do it. The mission is the important thing, the mission to destroy her and her House.
Available at this super-discounted price through December 15!
Smashwords (all formats)
My all-time favorite — Brown Butter Cookies!
2 sticks butter (1 cup)
2 cups flour (When measuring, fluff the flour in its container before measuring so it isn’t packed.)
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
❧ Preheat oven to 350°.
❧ Melt butter over medium low heat until milk solids separate and turn light brown and butter foams. Do not stir, but when you think it’s starting to darken, swirl the pan and butter will foam and turn dark quickly. Cool 8 minutes.
❧ Add vanilla to butter. Add sugar and stir until sugar is dissolved.
❧ Add 1 cup flour and the baking soda, stirring until well mixed.
❧ Add most of second cup of flour, stir until just blended. If dough is too wet, add rest of flour.
❧ Use 1 rounded teaspoon of dough per cookie, shaped into balls. Do not allow dough to sit and cool, or it will be too crumbly. Place about 1 inch apart on parchment-lined baking sheets.
❧ Bake until puffed, cracked and golden on the bottom, about 18 minutes.
coming next … Tea Sandwiches!
Heads up, dearies — my monthly FREE newsletter, Liz’s Hot News, will feature coupon deals on novels and short stories plus special treats. Sign up before the December issue release date, Dec 1 to get in on the fun.
Psst! You can unsubscribe at any time!
Now, for a taste of the holidays, a recipe for my favorite cake and to-die-for icing:
2 ½ cups flour
1 ¾ cups sugar, or 1 cup sugar and ¾ cup honey
1 ½ teaspoon soda
1 ½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon baking powder
¾ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground cloves
½ teaspoon allspice
1 ½ cups unsweetened applesauce
½ cup hot water (⅓ c if using honey)
½ cup shortening
2 eggs at room temperature
Optional: 1 cup raisins and ½ cup chopped English walnuts
Heat oven to 350°. Grease and flour baking pan, either 13x9x2 or 2 round layers 8 or 9×1½ inches.
Measure wet ingredients into bowl and mix thoroughly. If eggs or water are cold, the shortening won’t blend well. Add dry ingredients and mix on low speed until well blended, then increase mixer speed and beat three minutes. Pour into pans.
Bake oblong 60-65 minutes, layers 50-55 minutes, until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean.
When cake has cooled, frost with Penuche Icing.
Penuche Icing (Yumm!)
½ cup butter
1 cup brown sugar, packed
¼ cup milk
2 cup confectioners’ sugar
Melt butter in medium saucepan. Stir in brown sugar. Heat to boiling, stirring constantly. Boil and stir over low heat 2 minutes. Stir in milk. Heat to boiling, then remove from heat and cool to lukewarm.
Stir in confectioners’ sugar then beat with mixer until fully smooth and of spreading consistency. If frosting becomes too stiff, heat slightly while stirring.
With everything she cared about gone, Dominatrix Macie Fitzgerald has built a new life in service to those seeking pain and submission. She takes pride in her success. So when she accepts Jarrod Bancroft’s application to her next training session, she acknowledges the risk. The ten years that have passed since he was her high school history student have only made him more magnificent in every way.
Life has been too easy for Jarrod Bancroft—rich parents, football star, law degree, high powered job, women by the score. Something is missing. He wants whatever Stonybrook Academy can dish out, much as it scares the hell out of him. And he was right to be afraid. He never imagined this. And the voice behind Madam’s mask sounds familiar, but after days of torture and deprivation, Jarrod’s only thought is to obey.
Macie faces her biggest challenge as she struggles to fulfill her professional obligation to give Jarrod what he wants. What he needs.
Will Santa leave anything under the tree for her? And if he does, can she bear to open it?
Warning: This novella includes scenes of extreme BDSM as well as a few pages of same sex activity and group sex. For adults only.
Buy link: Smashwords offers all formats to suit your electronic reading device. I’d love to also make it free on Amazon, but they only allow five days free. So it remains 99 cents on Amazon.
Also, check back here or subscribe to my newsletter, Liz’s Hot News, for announcement of other FREE READS during the coming holiday season. It’s a once-monthly newsletter with excerpts, freebies, pre-release deals, and much more. Sign up at http://eepurl.com/bHOyS9
Now through November 14, Refuge in His Arms will sell for only 99¢ on pre-order status. On November 15, the release date, the price on this full length (no cliffhangers) contemporary romance novel will go to its regular price of $3.99.
Even in her sleep, Mackenzie Kilpatrick remembers this is a dream she has dreamed before. She snugs her forehead against Sid’s neck and inhales his familiar scent. His strong arms clasp tightly around her, pressing his heartbeat through the thin cotton t-shirt. She strokes the back of his neck as her face nestles in the curve of his shoulder.
The dream shifts and changes. Sid’s husky voice comes from a distance. “Get out of L.A., Mac. Get out now.”
“Sid?” She strains with her dream-shout. “Sid!”
He stands in front of her, his close-cropped hair caught under his camo hat, his tanned forearms framed against his dusty uniform. Behind him, bare gray mountains rise high along the horizon. The armored Hummer sits several yards away bristling with weapons and antennae. Other troops duck as gunfire explodes around them. Sid stands there unflinching like he always does, staring at her from the shadow of his hat brim.
She knows he is dead.
Then she’s awake, gasping, tears on her face, her throat tight in the contortion of dream screaming. She throws back the covers and sits up in the dark room. The dream has never been like this. She draws a shaky breath. The digital clock readout says 5:40 a.m.
Mackenzie’s day gets worse from there. Within the hour, her parents call from Oklahoma, warning that overnight, the sun has ejected a massive solar flare that’s hitting Earth. Her phone stops working mid-call. The television sputters and goes to static. With Sid’s dream warning and her parents’ plea for her to come home, she throws things into her car, loads up her dog Captain, and starts out of the drive.
She’s halfway out of the garage when the ground shifts. Walls tumble, cracks open in the roadway, and she barely makes it to the other side of the freeway when a traffic jam from hell stops her. She sees a way out—if she can maneuver down the sidewalk. Then she’s stuck. And there’s this guy waving his arms, shouting.
This guy…David Evans…not a man she would ever want to know. But there he is in all his devastating, overpowering presence leaning in her passenger side window telling her what to do and here she is stuck between a fence and a light pole, and well, it could actually be the end of the world.
Buy links: Amazon
Smashwords (all formats)
At first when I saw this “Me, too.” effort sweeping social media, I didn’t think I qualified. I’ve never been raped.
But I have been sexually assaulted, a reality that dawned on me slowly as the week has progressed. That counts. Finally I said, “Me, too.”
At eighteen, I went on a blind date and found myself trapped under a 200-pound linebacker trying to take off my clothes. I wriggled off the bed where he’d tossed me and made my escape.
At nineteen, I endured the disgusting advances of my boss in a part-time job. He’d stand directly behind me while I worked at the cash register, pressing his body against me and sometimes putting his hands on my arms. I quit the job after 30 days.
At twenty, I was married and while he was a good man, he wanted to ‘try things’ which at one point included anal intercourse. I preferred not to, but he insisted. I never knew anything could hurt that bad.
At twenty-two while my husband was overseas in the military, an acquaintance decided he’d have a piece of me. After forcibly kissing and pawing me while I said ‘no’ and ‘stop,’ he picked me up and started toward the bedroom. I realized he wasn’t going to give up and grabbed his hair. I said I would call his boss, who I knew personally, and that I would report him to the police. He put me down and left the house at which point I locked the door. And I did tell his boss, who was a Methodist minister. The offender was an associate pastor.
In my thirties, I was at my office. No one else was around when an acquaintance stopped by to talk about a project. As we stood there, he stepped forward and cupped his hand between my legs. I was like, what? What did he think would happen, that I would fall onto my back in a fit of uncontrolled passion? He had this weird smirk on his face. I stepped away and said nothing. I didn’t want to confirm what he’d done. Afterwards, I refused any phone calls or other contact.
In my mid-forties, I sought out a realtor who owned a property I wanted to buy. When we met to sign the Offer and Acceptance contract, he closed his office door, grabbed me by the arms, and kissed me. I’ll never forget the slip of his tongue along my lips. He was in his 60s.
I saw all these acts–and others I haven’t described–as the dues I paid as a female. I never considered it as abuse or assault. Not until ‘Me, too.’
But now that I’m thinking about it, I see how much of my life and the lives of other women are shaped by men who take it for granted that they have a right to touch women whenever and however they please. Even more, men consider it their right and duty to direct and control women’s place in the world: my father’s decision that the only career suitable for me as woman was to teach school; an employer’s decision that I could run a cash register and stock shelves, but never decide how products were displayed or advertised; or a spouse’s determination to control how I dressed and what jewelry I wore.
More than that, I see how I was brought up to be complicit in such controlling and/or abusive behavior by men. My parents followed a strict religion. Women were not allowed to speak in the church and were assigned, by God, to a submissive position under men, just as men were in submission to God.
I was mildly flattered with the touching. It affirmed my femininity. It made me feel desirable. It was a measure of my value. This was part of the female experience.
It’s been a long hard struggle for me to learn my way out of patriarchy.
My daughters know better. They are among the first generation of women to assert their rights as human beings, not to be touched unless they wish it, not to be assaulted in any way at any time. I’m so proud of them. I’m proud of how far women have progressed in my lifetime.
I’m hoping there will be no more generations who can say “Me, too.”
One of my best friends gets completely sidetracked by the sex scenes in my romance novels. Not in a good way. I get that sexy romance novels are not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m positive that if she wasn’t trying to be a friend, she’d never read sexy romance. So there’s that.
But what triggered my recent, well, shock, was an email where she said I’d do just about anything to upset my parents.
It’s hard to hear something like that from a best friend. I’m stunned at her total lack of understanding about why I write sexy stories. Or, more importantly, why I’ve lived my life the way I have. We’ve shared experiences from our earlier lives and I’ve been honest about my adventures. She’s been aghast but not condemning.
I want to sit her down and emphasize that my choices about sexual behavior have nothing to do with rebelling against my parents. But then, I really don’t think she can ever understand. Although she hasn’t specifically stated this in so many words, I’m pretty sure she’s only ever had sex with her husband.
That’s her choice and I haven’t made any judgment about her for limiting her life experience to one man. Or judged any other woman for any decision she’s made about how to live her life.
Unlike my friend – well, let’s say I lost count somewhere around seventy. This was over a four year period in the early 70s and maybe a few after-divorce flings in my mid-40s. (Okay, I’m old.) This information blows my friend’s mind and apparently causes her to decide (a) that I’m a hopelessly immature minx forever rebelling against my parents (my dad has been dead since 2004, but I guess that didn’t factor into her analysis) and (b) that I’m a unrepentant slut. A dear friend slut, but nevertheless…
I have to guess that this is probably the way she’d see herself if she enjoyed sex with multiple partners.
For me, sex with multiple partners has been the most educational and liberating thing I’ve ever done. I actually consider it an essential part of my growing up to become who I wanted to be. Writing explicit sex in my novels continues that essential effort, my personal mission to free other women from millennia of patriarchy, just as it freed me.
I took part in the free love movement, the cresting wave of the sexual revolution that occurred in the 60s and 70s and continues in some measure even today. In 1961, birth control pills entered the marketplace and assured women they could have fun just like men—without fear of pregnancy.
Also, hooking up for a roll in the sheets was an important healing counterbalance to riots in the streets, assassinations, and the Vietnam War. But it was more than that.
Sex served an important role in liberating women from the traditional degrading view that we were only valuable as baby machines and housekeepers, subordinate to men in all ways. Women weren’t ‘capable’ of making important decisions like handling money or owning real estate. Thus men were required to maintain firm control on the ‘weaker sex.’
More to the point, while men could go out and get ‘experience’ with multiple sex partners, women who did so were unredeemable sluts. Women required strict supervision both by men and by society’s rules. Those who stepped over the line merited our worst condemnation. This is the narrative that seems to run in my friend’s head.
Sex was a dirty act to be hidden behind closed doors. Or it was a holy rite reserved to those sanctioned by church marriage and under the control of the male partner, preferably indulged only for the production of children. If you ventured away from the sex-only-for-babies concept, you at least limited sex to a chosen partner whom you ‘loved’ and with whom certain promises had been exchanged. Largely, those promises had to do with fidelity to the chosen partner.
The sexual revolution blew the doors off this Victorian mindset. Sex isn’t dirty. Sex shouldn’t be hidden behind doors. Sex is an option for any and all kinds of relationships. Sex is a joyful experience, a supreme human pleasure, and could serve as a path to spiritual awakening and connection. Sex is beautifully transformative, opening its participants to the connection we share with all humanity. Sexual intercourse allows its participants to soar beyond words and rules.
To interact with someone through sex means stripping away surface judgments about appearance, clothing, or hair style. It’s a way to say ‘Hi, nice to meet you’ without the games. Whether a one night stand or the beginning of a passionate affair, such interactions can be and often are the foundation of lifelong friendships. With the trappings of civilization stripped away, nothing stands between us but our inhibitions.
Looking into someone’s eyes while lying next to each other naked is a damn good way to get acquainted.
For me personally, and what I’ve tried to explain to my friend, is that sexual freedom gave me my life back. Stolen from me since the day I was born female, my life had been narrowed, judged, and denigrated by the mere fact of my gender. I could never be ‘equal’ to a man, never aspire to lofty goals. Rather, I should content myself with a wife’s role and be forever penitent that I embodied the Eve who introduced sin into the world. After all, God was a He.
Well, fuck that. I rebelled against that entire sexist narrative from my earliest memory. I questioned church teachings about women by the time I was eight years old. As soon as I left home at eighteen, I never again set foot in a church. But that didn’t mean the weight of all that crushing propaganda suddenly lifted.
As with many women who have sought to move beyond the confines of tradition, I struggled with confidence. Sex fixed all that. As I pursued my desires, I became skilled at picking up men I wanted instead of shrinking into a corner waiting for a guy to make a move. I gained assurance about how I looked and about the fact that it didn’t fucking matter how I looked. I realized I could meet another person on a level playing field. I slowly acknowledged my value as a human being.
My experience in one-night stands and short-term affairs freed me from the constraints put on me by patriarchy and its religious teachings meant to keep women barefoot, pregnant, and silent.
None of that prevented me from falling in love, getting married, having children, and leading a fulfilling life as wife and mother. But by then I had no qualms about starting my own business in a career dominated by men. I didn’t hesitate to participate in or take a leadership role in advocacy projects that sought to bring about social change in a variety of pressing issues.
I accept no boundaries in writing explicit sex scenes, some of which go way past what I ever personally experienced and which explore some of the darker chapters of domination, submission, and sado-masochism. I write females with the chutzpah to do whatever they want including pursuing a career as a dominatrix or happily fulfilling her desires as a masochist submissive. I write group sex when it fits the story. I write ‘normal’ romance when that’s what the characters demand. Whatever sexual preferences and activities thread through my writing, I see them as the vital organs, the blood veins, of humanity, just as important as how we treat our children and neighbors.
In my view, I owe this freedom of thought to my willingness to break through barriers of sex norms. Norms are what we make them. I’m so proud of how much the ‘norms’ have changed during my lifetime so that now we can openly accept same-sex marriage, homosexuality, and transgender identities — whatever makes us happy.
Maybe someday I’ll tell my friend.