A Christmas of Our Own by M.S. Spencer

When I was ten years old my father landed a job with UNESCO, the United Nations Education, Scientific and Cultural Organization, at it's headquarters in Paris. Our family of five took the Queen Mary first class across the Atlantic, but that's another story for another time. We moved into a house in a suburb of Paris called Palaiseau. The town happened to be run by Communists, who, in order to prove how wonderful their system was, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, built a beautiful stade (recreation facility) and other amenities. What they didn't deliver was enough coal to heat the houses in what turned out to be the coldest winter since 1923. We lived in an ultramodern house reminiscent of Frank Lloyd Wright's less comfortable designs. It consisted of a square concrete block on stilts with large, uninsulated windows, so the cold wind not only swept around the house and through the windows, but underneath it. After a freezing night, we'd step from bed into icy puddles on the floor. To keep warm we used layers. And layers. And layers. So many layers that one night I heard a screech from the bathroom. My mother stood there, still in her underwear, soaking wet. She figured after shedding two sweaters, four shirts and five trousers she was clear and only learned her mistake when she stepped into the shower. To make matters worse, our trunks took six months to arrive, leaving us with only a few clothes and utensils, and of course none of our Christmas decorations. Us children (6, 10 and 12) figured whining would help and made a serious attempt to keep it up well into Christmas week. When even that failed we tried moping. My mother walked in two days before Christmas to find us in full mope mode. Without a word, she laid on the table several rolls of construction paper and glue, together with sparkly sprinkles and other small ornaments. "We're going to make our own decorations," she announced cheerily. A few hours later we'd made enough ornaments to cover the tree. My father found some real candles with little hinged holders and we attached them to the tree. It was magical! Little green paper pines with red polka dots, yellow stars, sparkly with silver sprinkles, and popcorn chains covered the little tree, all of it lit by golden light. At last we began to feel the Christmas spirit and went to bed with visions of roast chicken (no turkeys in France) and pain au chocolat (no Hershey kisses) in our heads. By the morning I was so excited my stomach hurt and I had to hold a gallon jug (no hot water bottle) on my lap. Despite-or perhaps because of-the absence of our store-bougth,factory-made, cookie-cutter American trinkets, it was the best Christmas we'd ever had. If you liked this story, please leave a comment. I will be giving away a lovely Christmas ornament to the first person who joins my blog site and can name all four of my titles! Merry Christmas, M.S. Spencer My Latest Release: Take lost masterpieces, brilliant inventors, and stolen prototypes. Add Three Sisters, Indian spirits who guard the Potomac River. Stir in three sisters and their lovers. Result? Jealousy, sex, genius, larceny and love. Who will end up with whom, and will the Three Sisters take another life as the legend demands? Triptych, by M. S. Spencer Released November 9, 2011 ISBN: 978-1-61885-064-5 68,00 words, M/F, Contemporary romantic suspense, 3 flames (erotic) Blurb

Both Miranda Cabot and her sister Honor prefer their solitude to romance, Miranda having watched her husband die in flames on the Potomac River rocks called the Three Sisters. Not so the youngest, Sybil, who invites a mysterious Frenchman calling himself the Chevalier du bon Arnaque to stay with them in their mansion overlooking the Sisters.

Misgivings about the stranger’s intentions lead Miranda and Honor to ask their neighbors Dieter Heiliger and his grandson Corey to chaperone. Three beautiful, strong-willed women living in a house with three handsome, virile men results inevitably in an intricate web of jealousy, sex, and intrigue. Add in long-lost master artworks, stolen prototypes and a resident genius and you have a recipe for romance. Who will end up with whom, and will the Three Sisters take another life as the legend calls for?

Buy Links: http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=171 All Romance E Books: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-triptych-641725-148.html Book Strand: http://www.bookstrand.com/triptych Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Triptych-ebook/dp/B0067MSSO0/ref=sr_1_4?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1321481301&sr=1-4

Excerpt: "That's the car, Sybil! The plane must have arrived early. Go open the door." Miranda heard the pounding of excited feet on the stairs. She checked her hair and dress and prepared herself not merely to meet the Chevalier du Bon Arnaque, but to dislike him intensely. She called to Honor and stepped sedately down the long formal staircase to the centeral hall where Sybil was taking the coat of a very tall, black-haired gentleman. As she stood on teh last step, he turned and glanced up at her. A long pause ensued. Did my heart just stop beating? The house, the hall, Sybil, everything but the man faded into the background. She examined his face minutely, as though she had all the time in the world. ringlets of thick, glossy black hair twined over his forehead, the light catching highlights of silver at the temples and deep in his ebony eyes. Tanned skin stretched tight over his high cheekbones, reminding her of the portrait of a Highland chieftain that hung in her study. She could just make out a tiny upturn at the end of his nose that lent a fanciful air to his appearance. Perhaps not a clan chief but an elvish prince? Slowly she grew aware of Sybil's chattering. "Monsieur le Chevalier-see how well I pronounced it, monsieu? I've been practicing. I promise to be your best student ever! Oh, and this is miranda, my sister. Honor? Honor! Are you coming down?" Miranda took the last step into a new world. She faltered before this man who turned her inside out with a single look, and words failed her. As she struggled with an unaccustomed shyness he held out a friendly hand to her. She mustered up a firm shake from somewhere, noting the hard calluses that lined his palm. A work-hardened hand. Could it be he's not a leisure-loving gigolo after all? CONTACTS: Website: www.MeredithEllsworth.com Facebook Author Page:www.facebook.com/M.S.SpencerAuthor blog:http://msspencertalespinner.blogspot.com Twitter: www.twitter.com/msspencerauthor Author Pages: Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/M.S.-Spencer/e/B002ZOEUC8/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1277387999&sr=1-2-ent All Romance E Books Author Page: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html?searchBy=author&qString=M.S.+Spencer

The Gift of Belief with Willa Edwards

My mother loves to tell the same Christmas story over and over. Every time she tells it, it makes me cringe. I know it’s not that bad. I was only five or six at the time, and my excitement can be understood, but still, now in my late twenties, when she tells it I want to hide under the table.

Since this is one of my mother’s favorite Christmas memories, it’s also become a long standing tradition that we hear the story at least once, and definitely several if we have guests over or attend a few Christmas parties.

So I decided today to share it with all of you. This is the way she tells it each year. I have very little recollection of the night myself.

One Christmas Eve, while in pajamas and being obstinate about going to bed (I was a night owl from conception). I was sitting on the bench we kept in the living room by the big bay window, looking out to the front lawn and the open sky above us. A red light blinked from the sky, and I became convinced I’d seen Rudolph’s red nose. A few minutes after I heard the bang of Santa’s Reindeer hooves on the roof.

As all parents do on Christmas Eve, my mother was eager to get me into bed. She played along with my fantasy. And being the oldest it wasn’t hard for me to convince my two years junior brother that he’d heard it too. We scampered to our beds, quickly got in, and tried to go to sleep; convinced if we didn’t Santa wouldn’t leave us our presents. She always says it was the cutest thing she’d ever seen.

My mother’s version of the story ends here, and since I don’t really remember it myself, I don’t know if we actually went to bed or merely lay in bed so excited for Santa we couldn’t move.

Now do you see why I cringe?

In my defense, I will say we lived by the airport. So I probably did see a red light in the sky, though it’s more likely it was the light of a commercial plane than a reindeer. And I probably did hear noises after seeing that light, though it was probably the sound of the plane overhead like I’d hear on any other day Jolly Old Saint Nick wasn’t supposed to stop by.

And even though I cringe at this memory every time my mom tells the story, I know I should be proud of it. After all it’s that over active imagination that allows me to do what I love most, write. If I didn’t have the imagination to believe a red light in the sky was a reindeer or that Santa was on his way each year, how would I have the strength to believe in true love or that love conquers all, as it does in the books that I write. It’s that writers imagination that allows us to not only dream up these stories and characters that readers can relate to, but to believe they could actually come true so much we can make hundreds or thousands of people believe with us (just like I did my little brother).

So I know this year, when my mom tells this story, I should smile with pride and say, “Yup, that’s me. Always the fantasizing writer.” But I have a feeling I’ll still be under the table, with my fingers in my ears, inwardly proud.

Here’s a quick look at my grown up Christmas fantasy, Naughty List.

*** Leave a comment with your email address and be entered in for a chance to win a copy of Naughty List***

BLURB

Eric has been in love with Callie since the day they met, one month after someone else put a ring on her finger. Since her engagement ended Eric has been biding his time, waiting for her to be ready. Until he finds a naughty list of Christmas wishes hidden between her couch cushions with his name on the top.

He's willing to do anything to make Callie happy, including take on the role of dominate Santa Claus and spank her to blow-your-stockings-off orgasm. But is she ready for everything he wants? Does she want his love?

“I’ll just be a minute,” Callie replied, her hand brushing along his arm as she stepped behind him to her bedroom. “I’m going to slip into something less comfortable.”

“Take your time,” he called, holding his breath as he waited for the bedroom door to click closed.

He’d fantasized about that bedroom so many times. The dark navy comforter, the soft baby blue sheets decorated with smiling snowmen she used all winter long. He imagined them so many nights. The smell of her skin along the sheets, the feel of the fabric wrapped around him as he perched above her, soft against his back as she straddled him, keeping them warm as they drifted off to sleep, Callie tucked into his side.

The doorknob snapped shut and Eric jumped to attention. He wouldn’t have long. Callie was always quick getting ready. If he wanted a chance of finding any evidence of what Callie wanted for Christmas, he’d better move fast.

Callie and he had an ongoing bet to find the most heartfelt present for the other. The loser had to be the other’s designated driver for New Year’s Eve. And Eric had lost for the last three years.

If she hadn’t been newly engaged he probably would have lost four years ago too, but when he’d found the picture of her parents’ wedding he’d had the brilliant idea to have her friend Amy make a duplicate of her mother’s veil. Callie had cried when she opened the box and had worn the veil for the rest of the holiday party. Eric had never done anything so right as commissioning that frilly lace train.

It wasn’t that he minded losing. Callie was funny when she had too much to drink. She told racy jokes and got overly touchy, which as long as she was only touching him, was worth being sober to ring in the New Year.

But after all she’d been through this year, calling off her wedding and finding out the truth about Josh, he wanted to make all her Christmas wishes come true. Starting with the perfect present, even if he had to snoop to find out what she wanted.

Eric looked around the room, frantically searching for something she might need. He tipped his head to look into the trash, inspecting the contents for clues, hoping to find some recently broken appliance or family heirloom he could repair that Callie’s elementary gym teacher salary wouldn’t allow.

A sliver of light green between the arm and cushion of Callie’s mocha-colored couch drew his eye. The bright color protruded from rich leather, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room besides an inherited coffee table and elaborately decorated Christmas tree. Taking two steps to the couch, he gripped the spearmint object between his thumb and forefinger, pulling the folded holiday paper from the crevice. Why would Callie shove a piece of paper between the couch cushions? Why would she need to hide something in her own home?

Eric unfolded the paper, expanding the corners into a large, flat sheet. Twirling red ribbons and shiny gold ornaments decorated the page and snowflakes dotted each line. The written words stopped his breath. Callie’s tight, neat script whispered his greatest fantasy.

His throat closed, trapping the oxygen in his chest. His eyes blurred as he read the words over and over. His vision must be playing a trick on him. Callie would never be interested in this kind of sex, and she would certainly never be interested in him.

He’d been in love with Callie since the day he’d met her, which happened to be one month after Josh had slipped a three-carat diamond ring on her finger. He could still remember the bite of that hard rock into his palm as he shook her hand, thanking her for volunteering at the special needs event for thirty kids with physical handicaps, several his cases, that her fiancé’s team was hosting. The small pinch reminded him their meeting was not a dream. This funny, interesting, beautiful woman was real.

He may have denied his feelings at first, but he’d long since accepted he’d never have her, and forced himself to become just her friend. In all that time he’d never imagined she could return his affection.

He wasn’t her type. Callie went for athletic pretty guys. Hell, Josh had been a professional baseball player. How was a social worker supposed to compete with a guy like that? Awkward, gawky, and broke to boot—what a catch Eric was. She deserved better.

His stare remained glued to her naughty Christmas list. His gaze drifted to the top of the page where she’d written his name. He reread each increasingly kinky line. How long had she been thinking about him like this? Since she’d broken off her engagement? Before? If he’d only known, he would have already fulfilled all these wishes and then some.

A wicked smile curled his lips. His body burned stronger than the fire in the chimney Kris Kringle would soon be coming down. His cock pressed against his jeans, hard, hot, wanting. The confinement was a sweet pain he’d become used to after years of being so close to the woman of his dreams but unable to touch her.

There was no time like the present.

“Ready to go?” Callie asked from the bedroom door. He raised his head, cramming the list under his thigh as he drank in the poinsettia red sweater hugging her curves. His mouth watered at the rose blush staining her cheeks. He’d do better than that.

Eric nodded, his tongue no longer working properly. Callie’s curls fluttered as she pulled on a white puffy jacket, making the most adorable candy cane he’d ever seen as she walked to the door. One he couldn’t wait to taste.

Eric trailed behind, stuffing the holiday page into his back pocket. Christmas suddenly looked a lot brighter.

Holiday Stories with Tawny Weber

Holiday Stories - Tonya's 15 Days of Christmas celebration I'm a big fan of this time of year. The magic of the season, the message of caring, and the comforting traditions. And, actually, of the romance as well. Which makes it extra wonderful to add a book release to the celebration of the season. The first book in my Under Cover Operatives Series, SEX, LIES AND MISTLETOE is on shelves. The blurb goes like this: He sees her when she's sleeping... Undercover DEA agent Caleb Black is home for the holidays-possibly to bust his own father. But maybe Caleb's con-man dad isn't the one running drugs through the small town of Black Oak. Maybe it's the green-eyed goddess who runs the New Age shop and has Caleb under her sultry spell. Pandora Easton saved the family store with two words: sex sells. And her delectable aphrodisiacs really works, as she's proven with notorious bad boy Caleb again and again and again. Little does she guess that, int he end, her most potent potion will be the truth... There's something extra magical holiday romances. I love the idea of a couple finding that extra thrill and joy under their Christmas tree. In addition to enjoying romantic reads, one of the things I love to do this time of year is make a big batch of cookies, pop a bowl of popcorn and curl up in front of the fireplace to enjoy a few holiday favorites. My top ten favorites are (in no particular order): 1. Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer 2. Frosty the Snowman 3. It's a Wonderful Life 4. The Year Without a Santa Claus 5. A Christmas Carol (with Patrick Stewart) 6. The Santa Clause 7. A Christmas Story 8. Miracle on 34th Street 9. How the Grinch Stole Christmas 10. Santa Claus is Coming to Town

So how about you? Is there a movie you love to watch each year? Or a holiday book you love to read? Are you a fan of the holiday romances?

Tawny Weber has been writing sassy, sexy stories for Harlequin Blaze since her first book hit the shelves in 2007. When not obsessing over deadlines, she's shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking or hanging out on Facebook and Twitter. Come by and visit her on the web at www.tawnyweber.com In December of 2011 Tawny launched her Undercover Ops series with SEX, LIES AND MISTLETOE. The second book in the series, SEX, LIES & MIDNIGHT is on shelves in January 2010, quickly followed in February by SEX, LIES & VALENTINES. Be sure to follow Tawny on her Holiday Survival Tour as she celebrates these three books with contests, giveaways and lots of fun. You can read the first chapter of SEX, LIES & MISTLETOE on her website, all you have to do is join the Reader LoveFest!

On the 6th Day of Christmas Lisa Alexander-Griffin joins us

Enter the dark and sensual worlds of Lisa Alexander-Griffin.

Fall in love again and again…

Shattered Illusions

Published

by

Pink Petal Books

Blurb

After a ten year stint in prison for a crime he didn't commit, a changed Cage Sinclair returns to his hometown. Hell-bent on clearing his name, trust is nonexistent—especially with the woman who had loved and betrayed him in the same breath. The woman who now lived in his deceased father's house.

Morgan still yearns for the love of her life to return, even though her own fear helped railroad him into prison. She has kept her silence to protect her son. But now Cage is back.

Inconceivable danger lurks in the shadows, but behind closed doors embers ignite and old passions flame. Amidst betrayal, deceit and shattered illusions, will the truth tear them apart or bind them together forever?

Excerpt

Cage stiffened and turned to face the man who had railroaded him into prison.

The sheriff eyeballed him, a thin smile stretching his lips. He hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his pants. “I’ll be a son of a bitch. When did you get out?”

“Wednesday. Came home last night. Thought I’d drop by, let you know I’m in town.”

“Now you have. What else?” Sheriff Blakely’s dull green eyes bored into him.

“My father left me the farm. Thought I’d buy a few heads of cattle and settle. He’d like that. The homestead’s gone to ruin since I’ve been away.”

“Well, at least there’s a place to come back to.” Sheriff Blakely smirked. “Just stay out of trouble, boy. Don’t go poking into affairs that don’t concern you.”

Cage released a dry chuckle. “I haven’t been a boy since I checked in for my extended vacation at Kentucky State.” He scrutinized the office, scanned the pictures on the wall, the worn desk and chair. “Whatever happened to your brother, Tom? Is he still around? I’d really like to see him, catch up on old times.”

“You don’t want to bother old Tom. Keep your nose clean and you’ll be okay. Otherwise...” Sheriff Blakely popped his knuckles and snickered.

“Otherwise I might find myself arrested and convicted for something else I didn’t do? Is that was your implying?”

“Now, now. That’s not a nice thing to say. I’d watch myself if I were you, Sinclair. And watch that temper. No one in town’s gonna like it that you’re back. They’ll keep their daughters locked up tight and a close eye on you.

“I’m not the one to be watched, and we both know it. I plan to clear my name, and the place to start is with Tom.”

Sheriff Blakely jabbed Cage’s chest with his finger, unease surfacing on his face. “I’m warning you...”

Hands balled at his sides, Cage regarded the sheriff. “What? It’s illegal now to converse with an old friend?”

“I didn’t say that. Just don’t stir up trouble, Sinclair. Take that as a friendly warning.”

“I don’t plan to do anything but unearth the truth. If that ruffles feathers, tough. Sleep well, Sheriff.” With a curt nod, he left.

Once outside, Cage blew a frustrated breath and headed for Pleasure Ridge’s only Baptist church. He hadn’t been able to attend his father’s funeral, and he’d be damned if anyone would stop him from visiting his father’s grave. Son of a bitch, he missed that old man.

Scowling, he tramped down the sidewalk, bitterness rising in his chest like bile. His mother had taken off soon after his father’s passing and left no forwarding address. Another oddity he couldn’t fathom.

Puzzled, he scanned the buildings and each passerby’s face. Holloway’s Market, the only grocery store in town, stood stark and white in the distance. Morgan was right. Not much had changed, except for maybe a new coat of paint here and there. An electronics repair shop sat adjacent to the drugstore. Both businesses exactly where they’d been ten years ago. Across the street a neon green sign blinked Breakers. He’d go in, check out the pool hall before he went home. With any luck he’d run into Tom Blakely and have his chat.

Cage strode through Pleasure Ridge, all four blocks. His attention, trained on the massive white steeple at the edge of town, shifted to the sandstone and mortar church, its stained-glass windows gleaming in the sunlight. Grief washed over him as he pushed through the graveyard’s black wrought iron gate. Locked away in prison, he’d refused to

mourn his father’s passing and instead had focused on survival. Now, it was time to grieve.

With no idea where the grave lay, he walked through row upon row of headstones, his attention darting from one to the other, until finally finding the name Sinclair. Eyes tearing, Cage traced a finger over his father’s name. Roses of faded red silk resided in a vase in front of the stone, dull and lifeless.

Lowering to his knees, he bowed his head. “I’m finally home, Dad. Sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me.” His voice cracked. Cage clamped down on the inside of his cheek and forced an anguished moan back in his throat. He rose to his feet, staring down at the grave. “Thanks for taking on Morgan and my boy. Taking care of them when I couldn’t.” He wiped his eyes and on a quivering exhale, retraced his steps to the florist shop he’d spotted.

The old man deserved more than faded, fake flowers on his grave. Distracted, Cage sidled past shoppers on the sidewalk. He entered the shop, cool air hitting him in the face. Patricia Ann McCarley stood behind the counter. Hell! It had to be her. Green-eyed and buxom, she’d hardly changed at all.

With a nod of acknowledgment, he turned to the silk flower display. Seconds later, she stepped in close, her breast brushing against his arm.

“Need help with something?” she purred in a sexually suggestive tone.

Caught off guard, Cage stepped back, trying to ignore her blatant attempt at a come-on. He’d been out of circulation for a long time, but the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice, was clear enough.

Patricia Ann used a heavy hand with makeup. Black liner caked the edges of her eyes, reminding him of a raccoon. Her full lips shimmered, red and garish. He cringed inwardly.

“I need new flowers for my father’s grave. Something white. Maybe lilies. They were my mother’s favorite.”

After a quick scan of the premade arrangements, she frowned. “Hold on, sugar. I think I have what you need in the back.” With an exaggerated sway of her hips, she disappeared through a door and moments later returned holding a bouquet of white lilies and yellow carnations. “These are not all white, but it’s the best I can do on short notice.” She inspected him from head to foot and smiled. “Unless you’d like come back later, let me make you something special.”

Cage’s stomach rolled. “No. Those are fine. What do I owe you?”

She walked behind the counter and rang up his purchase. He passed her the required bills, and she counted his change back to him.

“Who was your father?” She crinkled her nose, leaned over the counter, and exposed her cleavage. “For some reason, you look familiar.”

“Levi Sinclair. Nice to see you. It is Patricia Ann, isn’t it? Thanks for all the help.”

Alarm erased the lust on her face. Her jaw dropped open. “When did they let you out?”

“Wednesday. You’ll be seeing me around often enough.” He smiled.

“Uh. You coming back won’t make anyone around here happy.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a reformed man. Nothing to fear.” Scooping up his purchase, he headed for the door.

“Does Sheriff Blakely know you’ve returned?”

Cage paused, his hand on the doorknob. Patricia Ann was a fine example of the close-minded attitudes he’d always sensed as a boy. “Yeah. Paid him a visit earlier. He’s about as happy to see me as you are. But I’ve done my time. Guess all you townsfolk will just have to grin and bear it.”

Outside, he stared toward the police station and gave a quick salute to Blakely who stood watching him.

Back at the cemetery, he knelt next to his father’s grave and gently placed the new flowers in the stationary vase at the foot of the tombstone. Satisfied he’d done all he could, he rested a hand atop the cold stone. “It won’t be easy, Pops, but I’ll make a go of the farm like I promised, clear my name, and take care of my son. Sons of bitches won’t run me out of town, and I’ll die before I go back to prison.”

Title Available at Pink Petal Books, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and All Romance ebooks

Visit Lisa at http://www.lisaalexandergriffin.com Friend on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1402843806 Follow on Twiter http://twitter.com/#!/LisaAGriffin

Lisa would like to share one of her favorite holiday recipes, and a Christmas tradition at her house.

Merry Bells

Ingredients

1 box confectioner’s sugar

1 can Eagle Brand milk

½ stick butter

1 large package coconut

2 cups chopped pecans

(chopped cherries) optional

Directions

Mix well. Chill. Roll into balls and chill again for a couple hours in the frig. Insert a toothpick

into each ball for dipping. Dip in chocolate.

Chocolate Dip

1 large pack chocolate morsels.

1 block of Gulf Wax paraffin

Melt in double boiler on medium heat.

Bio

Lisa Alexander-Griffin began her career as a writer twelve years ago. Multi-published, her titles range from sweet to spicy with elements of fantasy and suspense.

A North Alabama native, Lisa lives with her husband and twelve-year-old daughter. She also has two grown children who live nearby, so she can enjoy her three beautiful grandchildren quite often. When Lisa's not writing, she can be found in her garden, tending to a vast array of vegetables, which she cans, allowing her family a taste of summer year round. Other favorite pastimes are reading, quilting, spending time with her family, and fishing on the lake.

An avid reader of romance for as long as she can remember, most days you'll find her weaving tales of heartbreak and betrayal, love lost and found, and happily ever afters.