Thursday, August 30, 2018

Spotlight on Georgia Lyn Hunter's Fallen Guardian Series

Hi Everyone!

 Hope you've had a great August! I've spent these last days of summer finishing up edits on my Work-In-Progress, taking one last road trip with the family, and most recently, diving into a wonderful, pre-release, beta-read of HEART'S INFERNO for author pal, Georgia Lyn Hunter. Since her sexy alpha warriors, aka The Fallen Guardians, are haunting my thoughts (in a good way!), I decided to introduce you to them, too. There are several stories in the series, so we'll start with #1, Absolute Surrender. Enjoy!
Absolute Surrender book cover, by Georgia Lyn Hunter

Author: Georgia Lyn Hunter
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Series: Fallen Guardians
Release Date: June 2015
Formats: e-book, print, audio

Available at:
Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Audible

Born in the flames of Heaven’s wrath, he’s all things sinful and too dangerous to love.

An immortal guardian, Aethan has walked alone for millennia, trapped in a hell of his own. Until a feisty mortal crosses his path. A female he shouldn’t even look at, one who shakes the precarious foundations of all that he is, and one who’s determined to walk the edge of danger.

All her life, Echo Carter wanted “normal”, an impossible feat given that she can see demons. Drawn back to the alleys of New York, she’s determined to hunt down the one responsible for the death of her friend. And no man, no matter how sexy, will stop her. Until she discovers a horrifying truth about herself, forcing her to turn to the one man she should avoid. Aethan.

But when two stubborn wills collide, a dangerous passion ignites…

As evil closes in, Aethan has to overcome his darkest fears and claim Echo as his. If he doesn’t, he just could lose her to a far more sinister fate...


(Echo meets Aethan. But first, a there's a demon to slay...)

He followed.

Of course he’d follow. They always did.

She popped her jacket buttons free as she rounded the rear of the building and headed for the alcove where the statue of an angel with massive wings stood. When he grabbed her from behind and slammed her against the cathedral wall, she sucked in a breath, pain jarring up her arm to her shoulder. She twisted around. The acrid stink of sulfur flooded her nostrils. Bile rushed to her throat, telling her exactly what this thing was.

“Ah, little mortal. So good of you to choose this place—” He stopped, confusion flickering across his face, frowned, and leaned in to sniff her.

Oh yeah, her cursed pheromones always worked in her favor. They threw them off track and gave her the crucial edge she needed. But the black sludge that coated her hands as she held him off warned her this one had been wounded.

“You smell different. Must taste.” His tone slurred. Something wet and rough slithered along her neck. Crap! The slimy saliva on her skin sent a shudder of revulsion through her. But she didn’t let that distract her. Once his foul-breathed mouth claimed hers, life as she knew it would be over.
Nope, not happening. She had no plans to die at the hands of this fiend.

“Pity I have to cut our fun short.” His face cracked into a menacing smile to reveal pointy canines. “Your light’s mine.”

That’s what he thought.

“If you want it, come and claim it.” The familiar words rolled out of her mouth. Darn, she had to stop watching The Lord of the Rings. But Aragon was so—

Argh, kill first, then think about the sexy Aragon—she kneed the demonii hard in the crotch, breaking his hold. Spinning around, she kicked out her leg in a fast sweep, knocking his feet out from under him. He stumbled to the ground. About to go in for what would have been a routine kill, the demonii sprang up. He flung his shades aside. Eerily red eyes flamed with fury.

“I’ll drain every drop of your blood before I rip out your soul!”

“Promises—promises,” she taunted.

He came at her. Echo palmed her dagger and met him head-on. She went in low and rammed the blade into his sternum. The demonii fell to his knees, eyes widening in surprise.

“Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?” Vengeance burned in her as she grabbed him by the hair and slashed his exposed throat, severing the carotid artery. Blood, black and thick, gushed out.

Her breathing harsh, she let the body fall to the ground. Disappointment burned through her. This fiend hadn’t killed Tamsyn. The stink of the sulfur now coating her skin lacked the coppery, sweet odor of vanilla she was after. No matter. It meant one less evil fiend roaming the streets and robbing the innocents of their souls.

The body decomposed and vanished within seconds. No sign remained that the demonii had ever existed. The oily ooze on her dagger had disappeared, too, when a frisson shot through her. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose in warning. Oh, hell. More of them.

Survival mode on high alert, Echo whipped around in a defensive strike and met steel with steel. The metallic sound reverberated through the cathedral’s garden. The sheer power of the blow vibrated up her hand to her injured shoulder. Pain streaked through her but didn’t slow her down.

She attacked. He countered.

This one was too strong, too canny. She lunged at him, but he grabbed her in a move that made her head spin and imprisoned her in an ironclad grip against a wall of muscle. It took her a second to realize the stranger had no intention of disarming or hurting her. He merely shielded himself from her attack.

Irritated, she glared up. The impact of the man facing her over their crossed daggers hit her like a blow to the stomach. She stumbled back, dragging in lungfuls of air. Wild as rainstorms and earthy as sin, his scent crowded her. She blinked, sure the vision before her was a fantasy induced by her sleep-starved brain.

He was so tall, he had to be at least six-seven. His long, leather duster parted to reveal muscular, leather-covered legs. All that black he wore was the perfect backdrop for a wickedly handsome face. The hard, sensual curve of his lips and that focused way he studied her told her he would know every carnal pleasure there was.

A tiny shiver of awareness darted up her spine, but she brutally clamped it down.

The chilly breeze tossed back strands of his long hair to reveal the glitter of small silver hoops in his ears. But his hair—she’d never seen anything like it. It was as if nature had stroked it with every shade of the blue spectrum then laid a careless dash of ebony between those strands.

The air around him shifted. Power rolled off him in aggressive waves. But his eyes held her spellbound—gunmetal gray irises took on streaks of white—a caveat, a warning not to attack him again.

Oh, Mr. Goth-man could send out all the signals he liked. She wasn’t easy to intimidate.

“Who the hell are you?” she snapped.


  • Absolute Surrender, #1
  • Echo Mine, 1.5
  • Breaking Fate #2
  • Tangled Sin (standalone)
  • Guardian Unraveled #3
  • For You, I Will #3.5
  • (Heart's Inferno #4)

Have a great September, Dear Readers, and I'll see you back here on September 30th with some pre-Halloween fun!


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Sunday, August 26, 2018

More Unabashed Decadence of the Roaring Twenties !!!

Given it's one of my favorite time periods, I'd love to share more with you about this wonderful decade. The roaring twenties were considered a decade of decadence and revolution. Young women threw of the constraints of the Edwardian age and embraced a new-found freedom of expression on the way they acted and the way they dressed.

Hemlines rose and, even more shockingly, dresses became backless. Women bound their breasts to appear waifish, as opposed to the era of flaunting what Mother Nature had given them in tightly cinched corsets.

Women flooded the workplace, leaving the usual constraints of domestic service for the freedom of the factories, direct sales and restaurants.

Men of means, influential businessmen and royalty began consorting with, and even marrying, women of somewhat reputable status. Nightclubs opened, hosting every class of people and serving up cocktails, wild jazz music, and risqué behavior.

Movies went from silent to talkies. The Jazz Singer begat extravagant musicals and more racy art films. Prohibition led to the introduction of speakeasies and all that was illegal became fun!

My research into the era led me on a wonderfully entertaining ride and turned into two of my favorite books.
In The Muse, I explore the extravagance and excitement of not only the art scene but also the illicit adventure of a multi-cultural ménage à trois, all of which leads to an awakening of a young innocent.
Decadence, freedom and illegal activities…

Everything a sheltered debutante in the mid-1920s could want. When Hyde Park socialite Susan Leland meets up with Evan Forrester for the second time, she makes no excuses for their first meeting—an auto accident in which she broke the young artist’s wrist. She finds the handsome Evan both infuriating and intriguing, yet not quite as intriguing as sultry torch singer Holly Winters, a performer at Susan’s favorite supper club.

A chance to make amends…
By posing nude for Evan to paint. When Susan balks, Evan, not wanting to deal with an innocent, sends her away but not before the arrival of his next model, Holly Winters. As Susan’s preparing to leave, the beautiful and talented singer convinces her to come back the next day—so they can pose together.

Will Susan find happiness in the arms of Evan Forrester—or another?
~ ~ ~
I was so enthralled with the time period, I wrote another novella but this time with a nod to the end of World War I and the characters who served our country. The Mysterious Mrs. Pennybaker was the winner of the International Digital Award in the short, erotic category.

In the Roaring Twenties…

A former Hello Girl during WWI, widowed Ariel Pennybaker served her country proudly. She now carries on her late husband’s legacy…a home for the many returning, injured soldiers.

With her year of mourning nearly at an end, she’s had enough of her self-imposed celibacy. It’s time to get back in the game.

A chance meeting with a handsome WWI aviator has her imagining thoroughly naughty thoughts. When a second man walks into her life, her naughty thoughts turn downright decadent. What better way to fulfil her fantasies than by sharing both men’s beds.

As tempting as the idea is, Ariel has a huge secret, one she must protect at all costs. And, it’s possible one or both of her lovers is not what he seems.
~ ~ ~
Note: Both novellas are on sale for 99¢

Until my turn next month, stay happy, stay healthy, stay well read!


Tuesday, August 21, 2018

More Drakons are Coming...

I have a new book releasing on August 27th! I'm really excited about Drakon Unchained. I'd originally planned on writing only 4 books for the Blood of the Drakon series but couldn't seem to stop.

I love writing paranormal novels. The possibilities are limitless. As the author, I create the world in which my characters exist. In this series there are drakons--the sons of pure-blooded dragons and human women. Their sires are long gone from this world, but their sons, the drakons, remain. They are thousands of years old, powerful and intelligent, cunning and ruthless, a perfect combination between primal dragon and human.

But they still have enemies who will stop at nothing to capture and control a drakon.

Drakon Unchained
Blood of the Drakon, Book 5

Victoria Marshall is living a lie. She works for a member of the Knights of the Dragon, a secret society that traps and uses dragons for their own gain. As a child, she made an unlikely friend—a drakon. He went missing, and she’s spent the past twenty years searching for him. The only thing distracting her from her mission is Luther Henderson, her boss’s new head of security.

Luther is also living a lie. One, if discovered, could lead to a fate worse than death. He’s attracted to Victoria, but can’t fully trust her, doesn’t know if she’s truly innocent or a true member of the Knights. It’s not only his life at stake, but those of the people he loves.

As they’re thrust deeper into the dangerous dealings of the Knights, they each have to share their secrets in order to survive.


Luther didn’t feel much sympathy for Dent or the others. If you were foolish enough to take on such a powerful creature you couldn’t expect it to be easy. He wondered how many other Knights had died at the hands of dragons.

For as much as he knew about the Knights, Luther knew it was only the tip of the iceberg. They didn’t share easily. Many of the men working beneath him didn’t know anything about the Knights. All they knew was they worked security for powerful people, the kind of people who didn’t allow mistakes or betrayals to go unpunished. Most of the men were former military who wanted the good wages they made and were used to following orders and not asking questions.

That worked out well for Temple and the other Knights.

Unfortunately, he had a sinking feeling Victoria would ask too many questions. Oh, she wouldn’t ask them directly. The woman was nothing if not intelligent. But she would ask them in her mind and that would drive her to seek answers.

He’d have to protect her.

The rightness of his decision settled over him, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. How could he protect her and still infiltrate deeper into the inner realms of the Knights? He’d have to stay away from her, to keep her on the periphery of whatever was going to happen in Utah.

That was the safest way to handle the situation for both of them. But it wasn’t what he wanted. What he truly wanted was to take Victoria to his home, strip her out of her prim and proper suits, and discover what she wore beneath them. Would it be lace like he’d fantasized or white cotton? Did she wear pantyhose or stockings? These were things he wanted to know, needed to know until his blood practically simmered with impatience.

But he might have to live with the deprivation of never knowing. And that was a crime he could lay directly at Temple’s door. There would be a reckoning, an accounting for all the man’s crimes, but it wouldn’t happen today.

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N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

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Saturday, August 18, 2018

National Bad Poetry Day!

In honor of National Bad Poetry Day, I’m going to share some poems I dug up on the internet. Are they bad? Some will make you groan. Some will make you roll your eyes. But are they truly bad? That’s in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it? Let’s start with something short and sweet, shall we?

There once was a fellow McSweeny
Who spilled some gin on his weenie
Just to be couth
He added vermouth
Then slipped his girl a martini
--Author Unknown

I’ve been on every diet known to man
Atkins, Lemonade, Cabbage, and f-plan
And I’ve never lost a thing worthy of mention
But I try every new one, full of good intention
Now I’m on the Whisky diet, which I’m taking steady
And do you know I’ve lost three days already?
--Paul Curtis

Like an orchid, she holds a sweet scent
and speaks to my heart, in a sexy accent.
A tigress in my defense, she gives me a hundred percent,
A guardian angel, she was heaven sent.
--Emile Pinet

“She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways” by William Wordsworth

Isn’t the imagery beautiful? Wouldn't it be lovely to matter that much? I challenge all of you to find a silly poem and share it with your friends today. Raise of toast to someone you've lost or simply to celebrate a wonderful friendship. 

Laurie Olerich writes taut, action-packed, and wickedly sexy urban fantasy and paranormal romance. Creating a world filled with immortal soldiers, micromanaging archangels, and unforgettable demons is her one true passion. Her stories will linger in your heart long after you’ve closed the book.

Wednesday, August 15, 2018


I love food and I love a good foodie romance, especially when it's light and funny. I'm Italian, so I knew at some point in my writing career I'd have to pen a romance with an Italian heroine that involved mouth-watering Italian food in some way.

My romantic comedy, The Meatball Mistress takes place in an Italian restaurant back east with a hero and heroine who are both trying to heal from betrayal. A tough road for sure...but worth it in the end.

Here's an excerpt:

Ryan headed home after Bella closed so he wouldn’t be tempted to drink as much. He needed to keep a clear head in deciding what his next step would be regarding the restaurant. He was about to pull into his driveway when he realized he had forgotten the reports he had printed out. They were on the desk in his office. Damn. He turned the car around and made the quick drive back. Run in, run out. That was the plan.
            He wasn’t expecting to see Cara on the floor of his kitchen, sobbing.
            “Jesus, Cara! What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He crouched down and grabbed her by both shoulders. Horrible thoughts went through his mind all at once. Had she fallen and broken her ankle? Had somebody followed her home and attacked her—or worse? “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
            She shook her head no. “I’m fine,” she managed.
            “You’re not fine.” He searched her body and face for signs of cuts or bruises. “Tell me what happened. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
            Her sobs began to subside. She leaned back against the leg of the counter, wiping at her eyes.
“Did someone hurt you?” He was already reaching for his cell to call 911.
            “Yes. No. Yes, but not in the way that you think.”
            Ryan waited for her to explain. “Cara?” he prodded, staring into her bloodshot eyes.
            She bowed her head, sheepishly. “I’m not hurt. I’m…hungry.” She started to laugh.
            “Are you drunk?”
            “Yes, extremely,” she said with a hiccup.
            That explained some of her erratic behavior, but not all of it. He felt his heart-rate slow down to where it had been before discovering Cara on the floor. Ryan’s knees cracked as he slowly stood.
            “That doesn’t sound good,” Cara said. “How old did you say you were?”
            “Pushing thirty, but in knee years that’s about sixty, thanks to sports.” He held out his hand to help her up.
            She squinted up at him. “You played football?”
            “I was too small for football. Baseball was my game. I was a pitcher.”
            Cara took his hand and he pulled her up. “My brother played shortstop. For three years, I went to all his games.”
            “So you’re a baseball fan?”
            “After being forced to attend all my brother’s games I grew to despise the sport. Although I have to admit I think baseball players are sexy.” She smiled, leaning into him. “I’d bet you looked really hot in your uniform.”
            “I did. Until I blew my shoulder out and couldn’t play anymore.” He led her over to the center island. “My dream of playing major league ball was shot.”
            “That sucks.”
            “And so began the series of disappointments I now call my life.” He grabbed Cara by the waist and lifted her onto the island. “Do you think you can sit there without falling off?”
            She snorted. “Of course I can.” Cara leaned back, supporting herself with her hands and stared at the ceiling.
            He admired her long, slender neck and collarbone. Her skin was lightly bronzed from the sun, making her rich olive tone more pronounced. He could see a lot of skin in the sundress she was wearing. It was short and skimpy, and had tiny buttons running down the center.
            She waved her hands in front of his face. “Hello? I asked if I could have some water. Ryan?”
            He blinked twice. “Sure.”
            He went to the fridge and grabbed a large bottle of mineral water, as well as a slew of other things to tempt her. When he handed her the water she drank straight from the bottle. Her nails looked very red against the green of the glass. And her lashes seemed absurdly thick and long.
You can take the girl out of Brooklyn…
            Ryan busied himself with unwrapping wax paper and cellophane, twisting off jar lids, and choosing a very sharp knife. Why did he feel nervous all of a sudden, like he was trying to impress a date?
            “Simplicity of flavors—that’s what authentic Italian cuisine is all about,” he said, slicing open a honeydew melon at its peak of ripeness.
            “Humph! Tell that to your psycho, stubborn chef.”
            “Brady is a master in the kitchen.”
            Cara rolled her eyes. “He’s a master of complication.”
            Ryan dangled a slice of prosciutto over Cara. She reached up and grabbed it with her mouth. “Mmm,” she moaned, tasting it. “Pure heaven.”
            He popped a chunk of sweet, juicy melon in her mouth to counterbalance the meat’s saltiness. Her eyes lit up, no longer dulled by alcohol and tears. That she was able to be pleased by the simple flavors of food delighted him. Maybe she wasn’t so high-maintenance after all.
            “More,” she whispered to him with her eyes closed and her mouth semi-parted, waiting for him to surprise her with a taste of something else. In went a silky morsel of buffalo mozzarella. “So creamy.”
            Ryan mopped his forehead with his sleeve to remove the sweat he imagined had to be all over it. He sliced into a beefsteak tomato, its lush contents spilling out all over the cutting board. His hand shook as he neared Cara.
            She opened her eyes and led his hand toward her mouth. Some of the tomato dripped down her lip when she took a bite and Ryan wanted desperately to lick it off. He settled for wiping it gently with his finger.
            She was smiling up at him, her dark eyes shining. “There is nothing like a ripe Jersey tomato.”
            Ryan took a bite of the velvety mozzarella, savoring its milky taste. “Sometimes the simplest things can give you a sense of home or in my case, a sense of peace.” He was thoughtful for a moment as he ripped off an end of a loaf of crusty bread. He handed it to Cara. “Wait,” he told her, fishing out a green olive and slipping it into her mouth.
            “Why do you think I always want to make meatballs? It gives me that sense of home I no longer have.” She spied the piece of salami Ryan was cutting for her. “You’re going to make me delirious on food.”
            “I can think of worse things,” he said, placing the salami gently on her tongue. “Let’s see how good an Italian you are. Tell me what kind of salami this is.”
            She answered right away. “Genoa.”
            He was impressed. “Wow, you’re good.”
            “You don’t know the half of it,” she said, smiling devilishly.
            Their eyes held for a beat. Was he supposed to take that as an invitation to find out?
            “So, when were you in Italy?”
            Ryan had to think back. He shaved off a sliver of salty Pecorino Romano cheese and fed it to Cara. “Almost three years ago. I travelled all over Europe, but once I arrived in Italy…she seduced me and I stayed put for awhile.”
            “You fell in love there.”
            Ryan’s jaw tightened. “I fell in love with the customs, the people, and the food.”
            “And not with an Italian woman?” she said teasingly.
            “No,” he said in a clipped tone.
            Cara took another sip of water, waiting for him to say more. He sighed. “The reason I left the States in the first place was to get over a woman. My wife.”
            “Did she break your heart?”
            Ryan nodded.
            “I think the people with the hardest hearts are the ones who’ve been hurt the most.” She spoke so softly he almost missed what she had said. “Today was supposed to be my wedding day.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Cara, listen to me.” Ryan came up to the edge of the counter and wedged himself between her legs. He looked her straight in the eye. “He’s not worth it. You’re too good for him.”
            “I know,” she said without conviction. “‘It’s him, not me,’ and all the other things people say to make a person who’s been cheated on feel better.”
            “You’re beautiful, and smart, and sexy. You’ll get over this.”
            “How can you possibly know I’ll get over this? Maybe I’ll take it to the grave.”
            He despised her bastard of a fiancé for putting her through this pain and self-doubt when she didn’t deserve it. “Because I’ve been where you are, Cara.”
            “Obviously as the cheater,” she said bitterly.
“No, as the poor sap being cheated on. I caught my wife in bed with another man.”
            Cara cupped a hand over her mouth. “Oh no, Ryan.”
            “It’s fine. I’m over it.”
            She let out a strangled laugh. “No, you’re not.”
            “Of course I am,” he said quickly.
            “Okay, you are.” She wiped under each eye with a red-tipped finger. Her eye makeup was smudged beyond belief and one of her lashes was crooked.
            “Why do you wear those things?” he said, pointing to her fake eyelashes. “They’re hideous.” He pulled one off and it stuck to his finger.
She peeled the other one off and placed it in his outstretched palm. “Happy now?” Ryan was careful not to let them fall on the ground. He didn’t need Brady thinking there were spiders crawling around the kitchen.
            She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and stared up at him. Something had shifted in her eyes, her body language, and that something was giving him permission to kiss her.
“Tell me again how beautiful I am. And smart, and sexy.”
            “You’re beautiful, Cara.”
            She started to unbutton his shirt from the bottom. “And?”
            “And smart.” Ryan closed his eyes as he felt her cool hands on his warm bare stomach.
            She unbuttoned the last remaining button and trailed her fingers through the hair on his chest. His eyes opened when he felt her warm breath an inch from his mouth.
            “And?” she prompted, pressing against him. He became so hard, so fast. He tried to remember whether he had a condom stashed anywhere in his office.
            “Sexy.” He wondered if it’d be tacky if he took her right there on the stainless steel.
            Cara kissed him lightly on one cheek, then the other. She moved to his mouth, brushing her lips against his in a feathery motion. Her tongue flicked his bottom lip. Ryan had his fingers twisted in her hair before he even knew what hit him. He pulled her toward him, kissing her with raw hunger that had been building for a while.
            His tongue demanded he taste every inch of her body. Ryan needed to suck, bite, lick her, fill her. She urged him on with her moans, reaching for his belt. The anticipation of being inside her made him ache. He hadn’t wanted a woman this much since—
His wife. He pulled away suddenly.
“What is it?” Cara whispered. “Do you want to go upstairs where it’s more comfortable?”
Don’t screw with this one, warned a small voice inside him.
“No, I—” Ryan stopped himself. He stared at Cara—beautiful, smart, sexy Cara. He had to be out of his mind to say no to her. Couldn’t he just—?
No, the voice said.
He let out a long exhale. “I have an early meeting tomorrow with a fish vendor.”
She gaped at him, mouth open.
“I have to go.”
Cara let her legs fall from his waist. She pushed him away with her foot.
“I completely forgot about it.”
She slid off the counter and grabbed her purse. “Where are my stupid sandals?”
Ryan found them and handed them to her. She snatched them out of his hands. “Good night, Ryan,” she said, her eyes avoiding his.
“Cara, wait…”
She looked up at him, her large brown eyes filled with hurt and disappointment.
Let her go, Ryan.
“Good night,” he said.

If you liked what you read, you can purchase
 The Meatball Mistress on Amazon.

Tiffany N. York lives in SoCal with her teenage son who is getting more and more picky about food. She can cook good food when she wants, but would much prefer her own personal chef. You can visit her website at