Friday, May 31, 2013

Today I Visit Cathy Brockman




Paul, Gordon, and I hit the road and take the zombie goodness and M/M spice over to Cathy Brockman`s blog. The stars of my newly released zom-rom-com are chatting up a storm and would love to have you drop in and say howdy! Just ignore the undead they left laying outside the front door.

Cathy Brockman-Author of Hot Romance

Thursday, May 30, 2013

The Unseen Graduate



There are times of the year that seem to make the memories stronger, don`t you think?

Christmas is one of those times. As is Thanksgiving. And, of course, Mother`s Day. Those three days seem to stir up the warm recollections of my mother with more ease than other days. As spring fights to hold on while summer battles to take control this year, I find myself pondering upon the yearly rights of junior and senior prom and high school graduation.

I`m not sure how many of my readers are aware of this, and I don`t make a habit of announcing it, but eighteen years ago Mister and I lost our first child, a son, to stillbirth. Of course, I have healed as well as a mother can ever heal from the loss of a child. We were blessed a year later with the arrival of a beautiful baby girl who has become our life, but as the date that our son would have graduated high school grows closer, I can`t help but wonder what John would have become.

Would he be going off to college as his sister plans to do when she graduates next year? Maybe he would skip higher education and enter the work force. Would he have graduated at the top of his class? Or would he have been an average student? Would dad`s love of power mechanics overridden mom`s love of English? Would he have tossed his mortarboard in the air? Would he have stayed out late at his friend’s parties and made us worry?

Would he have gone to prom with a girl he was wild about? What color would his tie and boutonnière been? Would they have slow danced? Would he have thrown silly looks at his younger sister as she enjoyed her junior prom at the same time and location? Would he have married this special girl someday?

So many questions that will never be answered and so many dreams that will never be fulfilled . . .

It is sad and always bittersweet. For those who are struggling with the fresh loss of a baby know that time does help. It does not erase the loss of that child. Nothing ever will. As you can see even eighteen years later, you`ll be lost in daydreams of what could have been. Know though, that the agony does subside.

For all those who have an unseen graduate in their hearts, know that you are not alone.



Monday, May 27, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Library

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F sports romance, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.

In today`s excerpt, Alain and Viviana are spending some time at the rink with the kids.

This week our word prompt is ‘Library’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.

Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!


               Clara tapped my shoulder. I looked up from skate lacing.

                “Are you and Coach Lessard boyfriend and girlfriend?”

                 The entire group of scouts, and my sister, were waiting on tenterhooks for my reply.

                “Coach Lessard and I are just friends,” I said, neatly avoiding the issue.

                “Friends with benefits,” Violet murmured then left to find that notebook. Clara wasn`t buying it either it seemed, for she folded her arms and cocked one dark eyebrow at me.

                “I`m friends with Boris Kieron and he never kisses my neck. I think you and Coach Lessard are make-out buddies.”

                “Where did you ever hear that term?” I asked in shock.

                “On that new teen Nick show about the girl who works in the library,” she announced, spun around and ran into a group of giggling girls who were all staring at me and tittering into their hands. I made a mental note to ask Violet what kind of shows they were playing on Nickelodeon nowadays.

                Watching the tiny kids on ice was amusing as all hell. They hung onto every word Alain and Bruno passed along, trying their best to emulate the moves their hero was showing them. I glanced at my girls in their Busy Bee uniforms with black joggers and turtlenecks for added warmth. They were quite behind the toddlers in the basics. I hoped Alain could get them up to snuff in time for their first practice game against the boys.

The Mighty Mites skated off after thirty minutes, which appeared to be the length of their attention spans. Alain skated over to Bruno, looking beyond tasty in plain jeans and one of his Wildcat jerseys. He wore no padding just his skates and that damned disarming smile. The girls were fidgety. I stood up and made my way to the gate, my skates feeling heavier than they had just last night. Alain glanced up and waved at me.

                “Okay girls,” I opened the gate onto the ice, “Let`s show them what Busy Bee Scouts can do with a puck!” I cheered. Violet clapped. The other moms in the stands sat on their hands. A few of the older boys guffawed as my girls stumble-bumbled onto the ice. Most went down instantly, their spindly legs splaying out like Bambi when he tried to cross that frozen pond. Sticks went flying and spinning across the glassy surface. “And that`s lesson number one of how to fall down without hurting yourself!” I announced brightly, hauling a thin young black girl with braces on her teeth back to her skates. Alain and Bruno assisted getting the girls back up. I could hear the barely veiled guffaws from the spectators.

                “That is how we all started out,” Alain told the girls who looked close to tears as they hung onto the boards in humiliation. “There is not a player here,” his baritone carrying through the rink, “that has not fallen on his backside. As I told your Coach Land, it is how we learn to get up. Now, let`s practice learning to skate forward.”

Copyright ©by V.L. Locey

*~*~*

Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.


See you next week for more from Viviana and Alain!






In Memory of the Men and Women Who Have Served




May their sacrifice never be forgotten.

Happy Memorial Day

Saturday, May 25, 2013

Wind in White Birch- Issue # 21






It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch. 

I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.



Storytime Trysts

Friday, May 24, 2013

Today I Visit Ellie Mack





I have the lyrics to Rick Nelson`s Traveling Man in my head for some reason! Could be because today I`m visiting the always lovely and quite talented Ellie Mack`s blog to chat with my leading men from Two Guys Walk Into An Apocalypse 2 : It Came From Birmingham, Paul and Gordon!


quotidiandose

We`d love it if you stopped in and dropped a howdy in the comment box.


Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Two Guys 2 Release Day has Arrived!

They`re back . . .




Paul, Gordon, Tallahassee, and The Colonel are back to fight zombies, sling one-liners, and give us all the action, adventure, and M/M spicy bed-play we could ask for!

To grab your eReader copy you can follow the link below or click on the cover on the right.

Two Guys Walk Into An Apocalypse 2



Thank you all so much for your support!






Monday, May 20, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Bite




Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F sports romance, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.

In today`s excerpt, Alain and Viviana have had a rather fun-filled night of ‘more enjoyable things’ and we get to share the morning after.  

This week our word prompt is ‘Bite’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.

Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!




Morning came far, far too quickly. I hate waking up rudely. I much prefer lounging in my bed, stretching, yawning, dozing, and if I am lucky, as I was this morning, feeling a buff young athlete pressed tightly against my back, his morning arousal nestled between my buttocks and his hand bouncing a large breast.

“Mmm,” I mewled when Alain nudged me in the rump and gave my shoulder a playful bite, “I`d love to frolic but you have to let me freshen up. My breath must be akin to a dragon`s.” I smiled at the lamp still burning despite the sun brightening my boudoir.

“Go then, but do not be long, I want to see you trembling beneath me again.”

See, if alarm clocks could say that to a woman and then follow through, we gals would all jump up and begin our ablutions. I shuddered decadently then squiggled away from him and his stiff ass-poker. I did sneak a peek before I left for the bathroom. He was stretched out across my bed gloriously nude, one leg bent, the other stretched out and one arm resting on his chest. He looked sleepy but it was desire making him appear so heavy-lidded. His manhood stood up straight and proud. I wet my lips as I drank him in.

 Then some asshole began pounding on my front door. Alain sat up quickly, his languid expression slipping away. He hurried to cover his erection with the covers while the rude person began shouting and hammering.

“What time is it?” Alain asked. I grabbed my frilly summer robe and slid my arms into it. I picked the clock up from the floor where it had fallen when someone - the well hung Quebecer in my bed - knocked it when he was searching for his third condom of the night.

“It`s only nine,” I sneered, glaring at the digital readout then slamming the clock back to the table.

Tabarnac!” he hissed, throwing himself from my bed. “We were to be at the rink at eight,” he growled tugging his jeans up over his ass. I felt enormous disappointment when he tucked his prick into his black pants and zipped. I was so looking forward to another round of lovemaking. I sighed then stalked from my bedroom to answer the door, knotting my sash as I went. Alain was frenzied behind me, gathering his clothes and muttering a slew of French-Canadian expletives as he tumbled along. I ripped the door open and stared up at Oscar.

Must you make such a racket?!” I snarled. Oscar, looking distressed beyond belief, pushed into my condo, his hands flying about as he spoke. A sure sign he was wound-up.

“Your sister called me an hour ago, all sorts of frantic when she couldn`t reach you! I called for over forty minutes. Where is your cell phone, honey?” he snapped then instantly clamped his mouth closed when Alain tripped into the room. “Oh, well, I see why you`re running late,” Oscar said, his voice the lovely purr of a tom cat getting his chin scratched. Alain lowered the foot he was trying to shove into a boot and smiled sheepishly at the tall black man in matching caftan and turban of rich gold and red.

“My cell is in my purse which is  . . . well, it`s somewhere,” I muttered, closing the door gently.

“Well, yes,” Oscar folded his arms over his chest, "perhaps you should find that purse and call Violet before she has the CSI team over here? Hello, my name is Oscar LaRue Tiffany and I am Viviana`s dearest friend and confidante,” he held out his hand for Alain. I think the poor man didn`t know if he should shake or kiss those well-manicured dark fingers. Alain went for the shake. “Funny, she never told me she had such major snackage visiting.”

“Okay, enough, you`re making him blush,” I chided, grabbing my friend`s elbow and leading him into the kitchen. Oscar took one long loving look then jerked his bald head back into the kitchen.

“That is a gorgeous man! Is that the hockey player?” he whispered as I tossed pots and pans around. I nodded. Oscar padded over to the coffeemaker, pushed it back to its spot and then turned the machine on. “Is him shagging your carpet going to be part of the expose?”

“Shut up!” I hissed, rattling a frying pan loudly.

“Whatever,” my buddy waved a long-fingered hand in the air, “But you know sleeping with a story is always a recipe for disaster.”

“What is a recipe for disaster?” Alain asked, walking into the kitchen buttoning his shirt. His hair still looked like a wild woman had been trying to yank it out by its roots all night, but aside from that and needing a shave badly, he was simply mouthwatering.

“Me frying eggs,” I quickly smiled. Oscar grinned like a dodo then stared at his red slipper while Alain gathered me up for a kiss. I gave my lusty Quebecer my cheek. “Still dragon breath,” I whispered, running my hand over his scruffy cheek. “I`ll be there in an hour.”

“That will work,” he placed a soft kiss just under my ear, whispered something so dirty I almost dropped my griddle, and then left with a wave to Oscar. I stared at the doorway until I heard the front door shut.

“Viviana, are you sure sleeping with him is good? You know how you are when a take a man to your bed,” Oscar warned, tapping his chin with a fingernail of scarlet. “You get all emotionally involved and before you know it, you`re choosing china patterns.”

I placed the pan to the range top as cool as a garden cucumber. “I need a shower,” I proclaimed, exited and grabbed my purse so I could call Violet before the forensic team showed up.



*~*~*

Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.


See you next week for from Viviana and Alain

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Wind in White Birch - Issue # 20



It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch. 

I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.

Storytime Trysts

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Inspirational? Me?






Wow, I didn`t know I was inspirational. I`ve been called many things, but rarely inspirational. Most the things I`m called I can`t repeat. All kidding aside, I am deeply honored to be given this blogging award by Ellie Mack. You can check out her awesome and equally inspiring blog by clicking on this link right here:



Now, the rules are that you display the award. Check. List seven things about yourself. Okey-dokey, here are seven fascinating things about V.L. Locey. (They`re not fascinating at all but if I had written 'Here are seven mundane things about a pudgy goatherder' you`d have nodded off.)

***

1-Since quitting smoking I chew gum, a lot of gum. The really sad thing about it is that I`m a flavor chewer, so I chew for five minutes then spit the gum out. Gum waster. That`s me.

2-I would be lost without my yearly day minder book. I am not joking. I write down every appointment, every blog I`m scheduled to be on, every promotional thing I must attend to, and even what page each chapter of a WIP begins on. Without this book I would be sitting here blowing spit bubbles, drifting mentally about comic book heroes and hot Swedish goalies.


Speaking of hot Swedish hockey players . . .




3-This is my new crush. His name is delicious. No, it`s not, although he is. This is Henrik ‘The King'Lundqvist on the left, and his twin (Yes, TWIN) Joel, who also plays hockey, on the right roughly ten years ago. 

This is Henrik today--



 Henrik is the goalie for the New York Rangers. Did I need to use an image of Henrik? Probably not. Did I want to just so I could stare, sigh, swoon, and lure other women to this post? Yep.

4-I strongly dislike olives.

5-If I were being fed my last meal before being executed (I don`t know why I`d be executed. Maybe I violated that restraining order Robert Downey Jr. has against me) I`d want a dish of my mother`s halupki (stuffed cabbage rolls) and her lumpy mashed potatoes.

6-I am a cat person. I love my dogs, but I adore my cats.

7-Having rolled past 50 a couple years ago I can say without reservation that I`m happier right now than I have ever been before, with two exceptions. One is the day I married Mister. The second is the day they placed my newborn daughter into my trembling arms.

 ***

There, you`re utterly stunned and fascinated, aren`t you? I know, Henrik makes me all googly and sappy as well. The final part of this award is to pick fifteen other bloggers to pass it to. Well, I`m going to weasel out and say that every person who visits me is inspirational in their own way. Please, if you`d like to play along, feel free to do so. I`m heading off to get ready for game one of the Rangers VS the Bruins in the race for the Stanley Cup! *Looks around in confusion*

Now where did I put my Rangers #1 foam finger??


Monday, May 13, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Picture Prompt


Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F romantic-comedy, starring my sassy, curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.

In today`s excerpt, Alain and Viviana share an intimate evening on the farm he`s renting for the summer. Viviana`s secret is still safely hidden . . . for the moment.

This week we`re writing to a picture prompt and the excerpt must not be longer than 300 words.

Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.

Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!




Dinner was delicious. The roast was moist and well-seasoned, the potatoes and carrots that had been cooked in the broth mouthwatering. Alain had made us a big root beer float which we were now sharing on a rustic swing on his front porch. It was too colloquial for words.

His four dogs were lazing by our feet. The chains that held the swing to the ceiling squeaked softly as we swung. My head was pillowed on his shoulder. Fireflies filled the front yard. Frogs could be heard in the distance. The light from the living room was softly muted through the sheers as it fell over us through the window.

“So why here?” I asked, spooning some vanilla ice cream into his mouth.

“Mmm, well,” he swallowed then pushed the swing gently, “It reminds me of where I grew up I suppose. The nearby town has red brick storefronts and pretty canopies over the windows, just like back home. Of course, the flags hanging outside your stores are not our flag, but the American one. It is nearly as nice as ours,” he teased, dropping a vanilla and root beer flavored kiss to my lips. “Also, the dogs do not do well in kennels for long periods. So, Bruno found this place for me. The rent, it is so cheap I had to ask the realtor several times to make sure I heard correct.”

“I bet it`s half of what I pay for my condo.” I stirred soda and ice cream languidly.

“I know it is half of what I pay in Philadelphia for a studio apartment,” he announced, his fingers toying with the bare skin where neck and shoulder met. “So, shall we discuss rent or find something more enjoyable to do?”

I opted for the more enjoyable and met his cold lips eagerly.

Copyright ©by V.L. Locey

*~*~*

Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.


See you next week for more from Viviana and Alain!




Saturday, May 11, 2013

Wind in White Birch - Issue # 19








It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch. 

I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.

Storytime Trysts

Thursday, May 9, 2013

To Thine Own Self Be True




     Boy, that Will Shakespeare really knew how to string words together, didn`t t he? Seems like pretty good advice that Polonius was passing along to his son in Hamlet.

     That sage saying can be applied to many things throughout life as well as to writing. What made me think of the dour Dane was hearing a fellow writer complaining about the fact that she can`t/won`t write BDSM, and she is not having success selling her manuscripts since that is all the publisher`s supposedly want now. I haven`t seen this trend with my publisher Torquere, but since the fame of 50 Shades, I don`t doubt that BDSM is the hot new thing.

     A few years ago it was sparkly vampires. Before that it was boy wizards. These things go in cycles. Next it could be steampunk lesbian werewolves or gay zombie hunters. Oh, yeah, the gay zombie hunter thing is already here! I`m shameless, I know. *winks*

     The point I was trying to make before I got led astray by gay zombie hunters is that it`s really okay to not want to write the current hot trend. If you don`t like writing BDSM, or steampunk lesbian werewolves, or westerns, or science fiction, or whatever, then don`t!

     If you`d like to dip your toes into a new genre then please do leap into it. You never know where it may lead you. If someone had told me a year ago I`d be enjoying writing gay zombie romance stories I would have laughed at them, but here I am having one hell of a good time! I`m also toying with the idea of a western, which is something I`ve never written, but these are decisions I make based on what I wish to do. If I do pen a western, it will be because I want to, and not because all the publishers are clamoring for westerns.

     See, I firmly believe that if you don`t love what you`re writing it will show. If you aren`t infatuated with the genre or the premise your work will reflect it, no matter how well written the story may be. Write as you can, not as you think you should.

     Look, I fully understand how tough it is trying to make it as a writer. You struggle and shove and nudge and sometimes suplex your way to the doorway of fame, only to get it slammed on your toes. Family and friends aren`t always helpful either. I recall a loved one saying to me ‘Why don`t you write something people want to read?’

     Yeah, ouch right? And they didn`t mean it maliciously. They were trying to say that I should write something like 50 Shades. Then I`d be rich and famous and not working my fanny off to sell a hundred books. Thanks but no thanks. I would rather have books stored in my closet then write something that I didn`t love.

     I know I may not ever be on Oprah dishing about my best-seller, or I might never have thousands of screaming fans, but that`s okay. I`m telling the stories that I want to tell. I am being as true to myself and my muse as I can be.

     So be true to yourself my fellow scribes. Write what you love, live what you write, and let the world`s next trend come and go as it will. We might not be rich but we`ll be telling tales that we adore to fans who cherish them as much as we do.


Monday, May 6, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Laughter


Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F romantic-comedy, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.

In today`s excerpt, we find out just what decision Viviana makes.

This week our word prompt is ‘Laughter’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find.

Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!

*~*~*




Frank stood up.

“Everyone but Land out.” He motioned to the door that led out into our newsroom. Bert was the first one to fling his angry self out the door. Lucretia of the Undead followed, her hair now obscuring her face completely. Oscar departed. He blew me a kiss before closing the door gently. My editor folded his arms over his stomach. “Okay, tell me what you want.”

I ran my hands down my skirt to press out a few imaginary wrinkles. I really hadn`t been pushing for any special favors, but if Frank was ready to deal for this Lessard`s story then I would certainly not be dumb enough not to grab what I could. I dallied and pondered.

“Come on, Land, I know you want something. You want a new beat maybe? Get some juicy stuff? I can maybe send you out with Kowalski on the crime stories.”

That got my attention from my faux wrinkles. Paul Kowalski was the top reporter here. A huge fish in a very small pond it was true, but one that had written three novels and had a Pulitzer sitting on his desk for a  in-depth piece he did three years ago on disability pension abuses by the state government. He was working for a major New York paper at the time of his big break. Sadly, Paul and his love of Jim Beam, Johnny Walker, and all those other highly proofed gentlemen meant he was now working with us in Green Hills, Pennsylvania. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Probably Paul was now lying right where he had fallen last night after closing down Paddy`s Southside Pub.

“Before we begin any negotiations, I need to know just what`s so damned special about Alain Lessard,” I informed my boss. Frank gawked at me as if I were from some alien planet and had asked what was so special about Lagavulin on the rocks or pilfered porn. Bowers rump hit his chair and expelled all the air from the cushion. He reached for the pack of Newports in his shirt pocket then frowned when he realized he couldn`t light up.

“Lessard is the wunderkind of the hockey world,” he grumbled, tapping a stout finger on the top of the mentholated cigarette box. “This kid has blown every damned record the NHF has had for years to bits, and the amazing thing is that he`s only twenty-three years old. He`s elusive and reclusive and shuns the press like a nun sidesteps a hooker. Last year his points per game and power play assists were . . .”

I had stopped listening right around the ‘he`s only twenty-three years old’ bit. That astounded me yet I couldn`t say why. I had known he was young, it was obvious. So why was I so taken aback to hear his age?  Could it have something to do with the fact that his fantasy double had been feathering kisses up my leg last night?

“. . . can get close to him you`d be pulling off one of the largest coups in sports journalism.”

I realized Frank was finally done talking. “I`m not a sports journalist,” I whispered then cleared my throat to dislodge the sinful memory of Alain Lessard`s fingers between my toes, “I`m quite happy doing the society page.”

“You`re a damned poor liar, Land,” Frank laughed in his bullfrog manner. “I heard you telling Morticia Addams from Obits that what you submitted for Sunday was tripe.”

My lips flattened.

“Yeah, I thought so,” the man guffawed, “I know you got ambition. You pull this off and I will guarantee you one byline with Kowalski per week. That gets your name on the front page.”

“I want another weeks’ vacation and a hundred dollar a week raise,” I said, hands folded demurely in my lap. Frank`s eyes bulged amphibiously.

“Land, have you seen our reader numbers over the past two years?” he asked. I nodded.

“Okay, I`ll drop the raise but I want another weeks vacation, paid, and a byline. You give me those and I`ll give you Alain Lessard,” I countered.

“Are you set on the paid vacation?” Frank asked. I fixed him with a ‘What do you think?’ expression. “Had to ask,” he muttered. “Okay, you get them both with pay but you have to deliver me an in-depth story about the golden child of the NHF or it`ll be you sitting in the basement beside the hot water tank writing post mortems. You and me clear on that, Land?”

“Crystal, “I smiled widely. With a quick handshake and a final warning I was on my way, my step brisk and lively as I cruised past Bert Anderson by the water cooler throttling a pointy paper cup. I sailed through the tiny newsroom to my desk then met Oscar`s assessing gaze.

“Can I talk to you privately?” I asked, nodding at the ladies room door. I entered first and checked under the stalls. When I was sure the coast was clear Oscar swooped in amid a cloud of delicious cologne and raspberry cashmere. I jogged over, put my ass against the door then looked up at my dear friend. “Can you tell me what the hell NHF stands for?”


Copyright ©by V.L. Locey

*~*~*

Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.


See you next week for from Viviana and Alain!




Saturday, May 4, 2013

Wind in White Birch - Issue # 18






It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch. 


I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.


Storytime Trysts