Daring Miss December

December 5

Madison:  It’s here–the day I both anticipated and dreaded–our last visit with Macy Beck, and the final sneak peek at a Hot Nights in St. Blaise book. Welcome back, Macy. Did you ever think we’d get through them all? 

Macy: Let me tell you, it was a lot easier to snap a few nudie pics. 

Madison:  I bet. So I hear Miss December is a little older than the others. 

Macy: Don’t let the platinum highlights fool you. Anne Silverstein is aging better than Christie Brinkley, and Christie looks pretty damn good for any age. 

Madison:  I agree. Her... ummmm...assets on the cover look pretty good. And Oliver? Is he more mature as well, or is Anne pulling a Sharon and snagging a younger man? 

Macy: Oh, Oliver is age-appropriate, but don’t worry. There’s plenty of fire.
 

Here’s the setup: 

     Straight-laced hospital administrator Oliver Watkins has the heart of a rebel.

     Coming of age in the free-wheeling seventies meant that Oliver’s rebellion manifested itself in always doing precisely what he was expected to do.

     With his wife gone and his daughter grown, the survival of St. Blaise Regional Medical Center has become his main focus in life. That is, until the results of a routine blood test give him the nudge he needs to indulge in forbidden fruit.

     Anne Silverstein has enjoyed a smorgasbord of experiences, but none shaped her life more dramatically than finding a lump in her breast at the ripe old age of twenty-six. In the years since she triumphed over death, Anne has learned to embrace life by taking each new day as it comes.

     When Ollie Watkins, stumbles into her office looking for more than a few tips on lowering his cholesterol, throwing caution to the wind is a no-brainer for the free-spirited dietician. But the home remedies Anne and Oliver cook up together leave them both ravenous for more.

     Suddenly one finds that one day at a time is not enough and the other fears it will be way too much.
 

And here is a snapshot: 

     “Come in,” she coaxed. “I won’t bite. Unless you’re into that,” she added with a waggle of dark brows.
     Heat rose inside of him. Desire bubbled like molten lava. He wouldn’t mind a little biting, but he wanted to be the one to do it. He’d nibble that sweet, plump lower lip and leave his mark on alabaster skin if she’d let him.
     But he didn’t do either of those things. Instead, he stood there in the open doorway hugging a couple bottles of wine and staring at her like a boy peeking into the girls’ locker room for the first time. For a moment, he reveled in it, enjoying the novelty of feeling young and carefree for a change.
     She placed the pan on a back burner, then nudged the handle, centering the bubbling pot on the glowing red coil. Cocking her head, she regarded him with a gentle smile. “You brought wine?”
     “Oh!” Startled from his trance he nodded. “I hope you like red.” Caught in the tractor beam of her soft smile, he surged forward. “I have a full-bodied Cabernet, but if you want something lighter, this is a nice Beaujolais.” He frowned at the label on the second bottle. “Not as young as it should be—”
     “None of us are,” she quipped.
     “But still…” He trailed off, a smile quirking his lips as her words sank in. “No, I suppose we’re not.”
     Anne plucked the Beaujolais from his grasp and whirled, setting the fringed scarf aflutter. He wanted to sink his teeth into the taut, firm flesh of her bare shoulder. He might have made a lunge for it if she hadn’t pulled a corkscrew from a drawer and waved it at him.
     “Let’s start with this over-the-hill Beaujolais.” He set the Cabernet aside when she thrust the bottle and opener at him, but instead of retreating to the stove once more, she closed in on him. He blinked slowly, praying he hadn’t imagined the gossamer brush of her lips against his ear. Hot breath sent a shiver racing over his skin. “We can be full-bodied later.”
     Before he could respond, she danced from his reach. Drawing a steadying breath, Oliver applied himself to peeling away the protective seal on the cork. Somehow, somewhere between telling her he wanted her and the Cheez Whiz admonishments, he’d lost control of the situation. While he was a man who admired a strong and independent woman, he was not accustomed to taking someone else’s orders. He wanted his edge back, and damn it, he was going to take it.
     He pulled the cork from the bottle and held it up to the light, eying the contents critically. “Glasses?”
     “Oh.” Spinning on her heel, she scanned the detritus scattered along the countertop. “They’re here somewhere.” Even white teeth sank into her lower lip. A bolt of envy-laced lust shot straight to his groin. “A-ha!” she cried as she collected a battered and smeared set of reading glasses from the counter and offered them to him. “Here, you can use mine.”
     His huff of laughter surprised them both. Lowering the bottle, Oliver shook his head. “No, I meant wine glasses.”
     “Oh.” She looked down at the readers in her hand and shook her head in dismay. “Of course.”
     A full-blown laugh burst from him when she pitched the glasses over her shoulder without a moment of hesitation. They landed amidst a pile of abandoned garlic cloves, but Anne didn’t seem to care. She was too busy poking through cabinets as if their contents were unfamiliar. The urge to tease her rose inside him. It tasted warm and sweet on his tongue. His heart beat a playful pitter-pat. He was about to ask her if she actually lived in the cluttered flat when she stood on the tips of her toes and stretched.
     The sweater rose up; the scarf slipped down. In a heartbeat he stood behind her, thunking the bottle on the counter and reaching for the hand-painted goblets on the top shelf.
     Anne froze the second he grasped her hip. The glasses clinked as he laced his fingers through the stems. She slumped against him when he rocked back onto his heels, placing the glasses on the counter in front of her. His breath stirred her hair. The notch of her hipbone fit his palm to perfection. He braced his other hand on the counter, surrounding her willowy body with his.
     “I did that on purpose,” she confessed in a whisper.
     “I’d hoped so.” 

Madison:  Love it! I love how blunt she is. 

Macy: Anne isn’t one to beat around the bush, and Oliver is a man who gets what he wants. Together…well, let’s just say they made the holidays a lot hotter. 

Madison:  Macy, I’ve really enjoyed our time together, but I have one last question. 

Macy: Shoot. 

Madison:  What about you? When do we get to hear about your love life? 

Macy: Oh! Look at the time. Gotta run. Christmas program tonight. Lots of angels to wrangle and shepherds to herd. See ya! 

Madison:  *sighs*  Daring Miss December by Maggie Wells is available now in all ebook formats at the Turquoise Morning Press bookstore or your favorite online retailer. For more information on the Hot Nights in St. Blaise series, readers can visit www.maggie-wells.com . 

Thank you all so much! *blows kisses* ~ Maggie

Nabbing Mr November

November 7

Madison:  We’re back! Only two more St. Blaise stories to go. I’m sad but excited. Know what I mean, Macy?

Macy: I know exactly what you mean. I promise you, these two were worth the wait. 

Madison:  So tell us about Mr. November. 

Macy: You know how you think you know someone, but you don’t really know them at all? Well, that was the case with Luke Langston. For the longest time, we thought the guy was kind of a jerk, you know? A beautiful jerk, but a jerk nonetheless. 

Madison:  Why is that? 

Macy: Cool. Standoffish. Never very friendly to anyone other than a few of the other doctors. We thought he was an ass. 

Madison:  But he’s not? 

Macy: Not at all. Of course, he had to get shot in the ass before we discovered he was actually a pretty nice guy. 

Madison:  Shot in the where? 

Macy: You’ll see. 

Here’s the setup: 

     The doctor becomes the patient when Luke Langston lands in St. Blaise’s overrun emergency room with a keister full of birdshot. Aside from the obvious Dick Cheney jokes, he has to endure the abject humiliation of having a woman he never got around to calling pluck bits of shrapnel from his ass.

     Intern Elena Mendes can’t wait to pull the last shard of shot from Luke Langston’s magnificent tuchas. The minute she’s done, she is going to strip off her gloves, march into the waiting room, and shake his assailant’s hand. Hell, she may even tongue kiss the guy. It’s about time Dr. Iceman is taken down a notch. Or twenty.

     Luke’s cockiness makes Elena crazy, but she can’t resist the sparks that fly each time they butt heads. Every time he’s near, she’s compelled to turn it up a notch, curious to see how much heat it will take to melt the ice-man’s heart.

     She doesn’t know Luke has been on a slow simmer since the day he first saw her. A tease, a taunt, a whispered confession, and a heated kiss are all it takes for their attraction to boil over. 

And here is a snapshot: 

     “Hello.”
     Elena twirled the dial on the combination lock and tucked her purse under her arm as she turned from the bank of lockers. Brushing a wisp of hair from her cheek, she huffed an annoyed breath. Her ponytail had started slipping mere minutes after she came on shift, but she hadn’t had a spare second to deal with it. If that wasn’t irksome enough, it looked like today was the day Luke Langston had chosen to start keeping his word. Wasn’t she the lucky girl?
     “Hey,” she replied and started toward the door.
     “How was your shift?”
     She froze, her hand on the handle. Escape was within reach if she were just strong enough to grab it and run. But she just couldn’t resist the pull of him. Straightening her shoulders, she turned to find him standing beside the ancient couch, tracing the outdated pattern on the upholstery and looking unbelievably uncomfortable. Unable to process the picture of the aloof Dr. Langston looking so achingly awkward, she stared at the sofa trying to envision him falling asleep on those faithful old cushions as many times as she had in her tenure at SBRMC. She looked up to find him staring at her expectantly. Fuzzy-brained, she had to backpedal to latch onto his question again.
     “Oh, uh, we had an angina attack, a bee sting allergy, and a little insulin shot. Those were the headliners.” Tipping her chin up, she stared him straight in the eye. “Nothing as exciting as an ass full of bird shot.”
     A breathy little chuckle escaped him, but it came and went as quick as the smile that spawned it. “Good.”
     Bobbing a nod, she shrugged. “Yep. Well…there you go.” Looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she pulled the scrunchie from her ponytail and slipped it onto her wrist. “How are you doing?” she asked as she finger combed her hair. “Any trouble with the tuchas today?”
     “It’s fine.”
     The way he bit the words off sharp set her back on even footing again. She glanced up from under her lashes to find him watching her intently, his gaze following every movement of her hands. She lowered them slowly to her sides and the spell was broken. They stood facing each other, unmoving and unflinching as the seconds ticked past.
     At last, a corner of his mouth ticked up. “I feel like I should wear one of those buttons that says ‘Thanks for asking about my ass’ or something.”
     The dry humor in his complaint made her laugh. “Yeah, I imagine you’ve taken a butt-load of grief today.”
     The twitch of a smile twisted into a full-blown smirk. “Couldn’t resist that one, could you?”
     She grinned. “Nope. Been saving it up.”
     He conceded with a nod, but his smirky smile faded away. Once again, his thumbnail followed the pattern on the sofa. Silence fell like thick, heavy snowflakes all around them, blanketing the time-worn doctor’s lounge in a hush. Suddenly, the walls of the room that too often felt like a home away from home started to close in on her.
     “Yeah, well…” She offered a weak smile as her hand tightened on the handle. “Have a good night.”
     “It was too late.”
     The words echoed through the room like the report of a shotgun. Elena had to check to be sure she could draw a steady breath before she asked, “What was too late?”
     “I wanted to call you.” Every muscle in her body tensed, but she didn’t dare turn to look at him. “I did.”
     She swallowed his earnest insistence with a quick hit of oxygen, knowing by the sound of his voice that he was moving closer. Instinct warred in her gut. Fight or flight? “Why didn’t you?”
     “My dog ate chocolate.”
 

Madison:  Okay, I totally relate to his “It was too late” excuse. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve avoided calling because I waited too long. 

Macy: I know, right? And extra points for admitting it too. I totally don’t blame Elena for falling for him now, but at first, we were thinking about sending her in for a psych evaluation. 

Madison:  But he’s hot. 

Macy: Yeah, but hot can only carry a guy so far. Elena was the first woman to get close enough to scratch the surface. Of course, she nabbed him there and then. Greedy girl. 

Madison:  A girl should get points for being brave. Thanks for sharing this one with us, Macy. 

Macy: Thanks for having me. I’ll be back next month for the grand finale! 

Madison:  Looking forward to it! Remember, Nabbing Mr. November by Maggie Wells is available now in all ebook formats at the Turquoise Morning Press bookstore or your favorite online retailer. For more information on the Hot Nights in St. Blaise series, readers can visit www.maggie-wells.com .

Ogling Miss October

October 3


Madison:  It’s that time again! Macy Beck is back with us and she’s going to give us the latest scoop on what’s happening in St. Blaise.

Macy: Hi! I’m baaaaack. 

Madison:  And who are we meeting this month?
 
Macy: This month you meet Miss October, Susie Chen, and one great big hunk of a Missouri farm boy. Warren Mueller is a very special man. He was widowed at twenty, the poor thing. His high school sweetheart died while giving birth to their little girl. At a time when most guys are learning to shotgun beers, he had his hands full learning to be a father. Now, he has his hands full of Susie. 

Madison:  Ha! Good man. 

Macy: A very good man, from what I hear….
 

Here’s the setup: 

     Warren Mueller’s daughter, Lily, has an opinion on everything and everyone in his life. After five years as a single dad, he can spout the reasons why purple is ‘so much cooler’ than pink, wield a fairly competent glue gun, and fumble his way to a decent set of pig-tails. The only thing he hasn’t figured out is how a big, clumsy farm boy like him caught the attention of an exotic flower like Susie Chen.

     A tiny Asian-American cursed with more brain that brawn, Susie has always been attracted to big, burly corn-fed men who drive pick-up trucks and spend their weekends fishing, hunting, and paddling canoes. Especially ones who have a soft spot for little girls with sparkly hair bows. She likes Warren Mueller, not that she could ever have him.

     The town erects a protective barrier around its young widower and his baby girl that seems to be impenetrable…until the night of the St. Blaise Elementary Fall Festival. If a picture says a thousand words, a single snapshot of Warren speaks volumes to Susie. He wants her as much as she wants him, and if he isn’t a big enough man to admit it, she’ll just have to show him the way. 

And here is a snapshot: 

     “I should…”
     He turned to check on Lily once again. If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, it appeared his daughter had talked Dr. Debrizzio into getting a butterfly painted on his cheek too. Warren entertained a twinge of sympathy for the poor sucker. He also felt more than a little torn. Talking to Susie gave him an excuse to avoid talking to Mario, but it was a toss-up to see which one would turn out to be more awkward. He didn’t dislike Dr. Debrizzio. It was just hard to be easy around a guy who witnessed Warren’s greatest high and lowest low all within one life-shattering forty minute window.
     Sophie Bernard hovered near Mario’s chair, chattering happily with Lily. The bone-deep certainty that he was next on the list fired his need for escape. The awkwardness of standing too close to a woman he noticed too often jangled his nerves. He needed to grab his tiny tyrant and beat a path for home before he did something irrevocably stupid.
     Turning back to Susie he mumbled, “I’ve gotta get you into bed.”
     Her eyes widened and the sparkle in their ebony depths flared with amusement. Warren’s soul died the first of a thousand slow, painful deaths at the realization that he’d said something stupid instead.
     “Wow.” Susie beamed at him, obviously delighted by his complete and utter mortification.
     “Most guys would buy a girl a corndog first.”
     “Her.” He spat the word from his cotton-filled mouth like it was a boll weevil. “I’ve got to get her into bed. Lily.” He invoked his daughter’s name for the sake of clarity, but couldn’t refrain from reiterating his intentions for the record. “I have to get Lily home and into bed. It’s a school night.”
     This time, her smile didn’t fade. If anything, it warmed with understanding. That was why he didn’t turn tail and run when she raised one clenched fist. He didn’t move at all. Not even to breathe. He watched in rapt fascination as her fingers uncurled, each one as delicate as a flower petal. In the center of her palm she held another bloom. This one a pale pink and sparkly with a metal clip attached.
     When he failed to recognize the gift she was offering, Susie cocked her head and stared up at him quizzically. “I do believe this belongs to Miss Lily Mueller.”
     The teasing lilt in her faint drawl turned a swarm of butterflies loose in his stomach. The raspy intimacy threaded through the simple statement of fact stirred something else entirely. The devil whispered in his ear, reminding him that a fifteen-inch height difference didn’t mean diddly-squat when a man had a woman stretched out on his bed. His better angels sang a chorus of ‘Run, Warren, run!’
     “Thank you.”
     He plucked the girly hair doo-dad from her palm like it was a squashed bug and resigned himself to a few more weeks of pigtails.
     “I should…” He waved a hand in his daughter’s general direction, but found himself unable to pull himself from the tractor beam cast by her smile.
     “Get someone into bed,” she finished, a sly smile curving her lips. “See you around, Warren.” 

Madison:  A snapshot? One of yours? 

Macy: Yep! I took a fantastic picture of Warren at that festival. As a matter of fact, I think Susie framed it. I guess that makes them even, as I heard Warren tried to swipe the October pages from a fresh set of calendars coming off the press. 

Madison:  A little territorial? 

Macy: In a very sweet kind of way. Speaking of territorial, wait until you hear what happened to Mr. November when he went for a walk in the woods. 

Madison:  A bear got him? 

Macy: Not a bear, but someone snagged him. That’s our story for next month, though. 

Madison:  I can’t wait to hear it. In the meantime, Ogling Miss October by Maggie Wells is available now in all ebook formats at the Turquoise Morning Press bookstore or your favorite online retailer. For more information on the Hot Nights in St. Blaise series, readers can visit www.maggie-well.com.

Seducing Mr. September


September 12

Madison:  Please help me welcome Macy Beck back to my blog. Macy is the (slightly fictitious) photographer responsible for the Men and Women of St. Blaise Regional Medical Center fundraising calendar that’s featured in the Hot Nights in St. Blaise series by Maggie Wells. She has been kind enough to stop by each month and give us a sneak peek at what’s going on with this series as it unfolds. Hi, Macy!

Macy: Hi, Madison! Thanks for having me back. 

Madison:  Okay, I’m dying of curiosity. You said Mr. September has a secret. Secret baby? Secret identity? Secret third nipple? 

Macy: No baby, as far as I know. Mike Weber is his real and only name. And I can tell you I’ve seen him shirtless. That nipple thing is just a vicious rumor. 

Madison:  Whew. I was worried about that one. Enough playing coy, spill the beans! 

Macy: It’s a love story for the ages. Shy, mysterious guy who keeps to himself meets a not-so-shy, not-so-mysterious former wallflower and all hell breaks loose. In the best possible way. 

Here’s the setup: 

     Shock and awe. That’s the only explanation Pharmacist Mike Weber has for agreeing to strip down to nothing but a lab coat and a smile for a fundraising calendar within weeks of moving to St. Blaise. The Costa Nostra has nothing on the ladies from the St. Blaise regional Medical Center Fundraising Committee when it comes to shaking people down for money.

     But after a few months of dealing with the small town’s quirky residents, he should have been better prepared for the frontal assault Karen Horton launches when she strolls into his store, grabs a jumbo box of condoms, and makes him an offer he can’t refuse.

     Karen Horton is tired of waiting. Every night Mike Weber jogs past her house, shirtless, gorgeous, and absolutely oblivious. After years of watching life pass her by, Karen is ready to go for the gusto. Unfortunately, the gusto she wants is six-foot-five inches of shy guy, so it’s up to her to take him down. 

And here is a snapshot: 

     “You were wrong about me, Karen.” His breath rushed hot and damp over her skin. The vibration of his voice skittered down her spine. “I noticed you. Oh boy, did I notice you.”
     The words were muffled by her hand. Apparently, the impediment offered the perfect excuse to request repetition because she cocked her head and eyed him speculatively. “What?” The light in her eyes told him she’d heard him, but she liked his confession enough to want to hear it again. She flashed a grin that flaunted her utter lack of remorse. “I’m sorry,” she cooed. “What was that again?”
     “The first time I saw you was the week after I moved here. You were in the produce section of the market. You wore clingy purple pants and were shaking melons.”
     Her face darkened and her brow puckered. Panic squeezed his throat as he realized he’d somehow said the wrong thing. Desperate to recover, he forged ahead. “I noticed you so much I forgot I went in there to buy apples. I turned around and left instead.”
     The last bit snagged her attention. “Left? Why?”
     “You were in the produce section,” he repeated. She blinked and shook her head, baffled by his un-explanation. He sucked in a breath but his voice grew tight with tension. “The oranges were stacked up to your shoulders. Hell, the banana display alone was packed and there was a damn pyramid of pork ‘n beans cans stacked like Mount Everest right there.” His mouth thinned into a line so taut he could hardly force the words from his lips. “You saw what I did to my own shop today. Who knows what damage I could have done if I tried to talk to you there....”
     Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. Tilting her head, she blinked fast and furious, trying to piece together his fumbled mumbles. “You were afraid you’d knock over the oranges?”
     “Or anything.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I get clumsy when I get nervous.”
     “And I make you nervous?” She stared up at him, incredulous. “Even then?”
     “Even then?” He snorted. “The minute I saw you and every minute since then.” Dismissing her question with a sharp shake of his head, he stared straight into her eyes. “We have the same friends, Karen. Didn’t you think it was weird we hardly ever ran into each other?”
     “You were avoiding me?”
     His hand slipped up her arm, his palm molding to the curve of her shoulder before sliding up the column of her neck. “I was trying to avoid disaster, but then you walked into my store and made that impossible.”
     “You’re calling me a disaster?”
     His nod came slow, but there was no way he could deny the havoc this attraction would wreak in the nice, quiet life he’d found for himself in St. Blaise. “You’re the most beautiful disaster I’ve ever seen.” 

Madison:  Oh my God. He’s a klutz! 

Macy: She’s not much more graceful, either. 

Madison:  How perfect! But, wait. You said he has a secret. What is it? 

Macy: You wanna know Mike’s secret? 

Madison:  Duh. 

Macy: Buy the book. 

Madison:  Ha! Okay, you win. Seducing Mr. September by Maggie Wells is available now in all ebook formats at the Turquoise Morning Press bookstore or your favorite online retailer. For more information on the Hot Nights in St. Blaise series, readers can visit www.maggie-wells.com. In the meantime, who are we meeting next month, Macy? 

Macy: Next month it’s Warren Mueller and our Miss October, Susie Chen. See you then! 

Madison:  She’s a poet and a photographer, ladies and gents. See you next time!

You Can Race Those?

August 12

I want to thank Maddie for having me back again. It’s always a good time with Maddie. If you can’t have a blast with your pals, who can you have a blast with?

Now the title of this post has to do with racing. I love, LOVE racing. I spend most of my Sundays writing while listening to the stock car races. I’m one of those strange beings who has to have noise when I write. Silence screws me up so much.

I titled this post ‘you can race those’ because I’ve had people ask me what I write. Well, contemporary erotic romance and the occasional paranormal erotic romance. But I love to weave racing into my stories. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. 

I was asked, well, how do you link romance and racing? Guys in suits. Seriously. Girls in suits. Doesn’t matter the sex of the being in the suit, but it’s the sharp dressed person mentality. Guys and girls look hot when they’re in a suit, or in this case, a firesuit. The guys and girls drive fast and risk their lives for the glory of the win. Pretty cool, but that’s my humble opinion.

I had someone ask me, well, they race cars, but you write about late models and trucks. They don’t race trucks, do they? If there’s a motor in it, someone will race it. Or they’ll add a motor and race it. Ingenuity is great when you’ve got the need for speed.  So yes, you can race just about anything.

In Saturday Night Special, my hero, Blaine, drives what is called a Late Model racing car. A Late model kind of looks like a DeLorean. Flat planes for the hood, very angular, and seemingly futuristic. But each part of the car has it’s purpose. It’s a different looking car and has huge tires.  Blaine, being a driver, has control issues. He likes things his way. But even the toughest driver has a point at which he needs to hand over control. That’s what I love about Blaine. For all his need for control, he also needs to give up control in order to center himself. That’s where Mallory comes in and it’s a sexy time.

I loved being able to work racing into this story and I hope that shines through for the readers. Saturday Night Special is one of my favorite stories because it combines my favorite things—racing, hot men, BDSM, and sex in fun places. I hope you enjoy the book, too.

Thanks Maddie for having me. I could talk about racing for hours. J

 
 


She makes his motor run.

Blaine Haeferle drives fast and lives on the edge. He’s not afraid to risk it all for the win—unless his heart is in the mix. He loved once, but things ended in disaster. Can he accept the woman who holds his heart, despite all their jagged past?

Mallory Sweet never intended to leave Blaine without a word. But one night changed everything for her. Instead of facing her past, she ran. Is coming to terms with her past the key to winning the love of her life back?

Anything can happen on a Saturday night under the lights.
 

EXCERPT:

With Kellen on the back of the machine, Blaine sped through the pits to the track. The surface seemed fine, if not a little dry. He couldn’t concentrate. His mind kept wandering back to Mallory.

“I don’t know, Kell—her being here has me fucked up.” Blaine gripped the handlebars. “I can’t wrap my mind around her coming back.”

“No shit,” Kellen replied. “If they keep watering the surface, the track will get tacky but I’m pretty sure it’ll be bone dry by lap twenty.”

“Yeah, the grip is up on the top shelf.”

“Cool. I can adjust for that.” Kellen gripped Blaine’s shoulders. “About your woman situation…you’re here to do a job not tag a piece of ass. Don’t hit me and don’t throw me off the back of this thing. She used to be a sweet girl and I can’t imagine what she’s been through.”

“But?”

“But you’re here to race so we can afford new parts for the Friday night car and buy a new front nose piece for the Saturday car. The Saturday Night Special pays well and you know

it. Figure out things with her afterward. She’ll be here. If I have to barricade the damn hauler and enlist the badass twins, I’ll keep her there. Hell, I might even have them escort Susie out while they’re at it. She’s not helping at all. I swear she’s been screwing around.”

“I haven’t fucked her, so I have no idea.”

“Good. Don’t. Let’s head back to the pits. It appears they’re doing the fireworks now instead of after the race. Gives me a little more time to adjust on the car and you time to work your shit out.”

“You know you can be a real asshole when you want to, but you’re right.”

“I aim to please or at least kick your ass into winning. Head back to the pits, hot shoe.”

Blaine processed Kell’s words. If the powers that be changed the order of the program, he’d have time to talk to Mallory. Whatever she had to say, he’d be pissed. But they had a few minutes—plenty of time to make a sexy memory before he found out exactly what she had to say. Blood rushed through his body and centered in his cock. Yeah, he needed to make at least one more white-hot memory with her. Blaine pulled to a stop behind the hauler. No Mallory.

Quint nodded to the hauler truck. “She’s in there.”

“Thanks.” Blaine headed through the side door and climbed the stairs to the cabin area of the hauler truck. Mallory hugged herself and sat on the edge of the couch.

“Hey.” She didn’t move, just watched him. “Blaine. I came back here because it was more private. I’m sorry if I encroached.”

“Don’t want to talk.” Blaine locked the door and crossed the short expanse to her. She shot out of her seat and opened her mouth to protest. He smothered her answer with a kiss. Lust and desire slammed into his brain. As much as he’d told himself he didn’t love her, he knew better. She flowed through his soul. Mallory clutched at his shirt and pressed her body to his. This, her soft body underneath him, this is what he needed. Craved. He angled her to the couch and dropped down between her knees. He broke the kiss and shoved her skirt up past her hips. She gasped and braced her feet. The heels of her shoes clicked on the hardwood floor.

* * * * * * *

Want to know more about me?

I’ve always dreamt of writing the stories in my head. Tall, dark, and handsome heroes are my favorites, as long as he has an independent woman keeping him in line.  I love playing with words and letting the characters run wild.

NASCAR, Ohio farmland, dirt racing, animals and second chance romance  all feature prominently in my books.  I also write under the pen name of Megan Slayer. I’m published with Total-E-Bound, Resplendence Publishing, Changeling Press, Liquid Silver Books, Turquoise Morning Press, Decadent Publishing and The Wild Rose Press. Come join me for this fantastic journey!  
 

If you like my work, tell your friends and email me. I love hearing from readers!
 
 
 

Thanks for stopping by and helping us get our motors revved, Wendy. 

August Awakening

August 8

Madison:  Okay, last month Macy Beck teased us with the prospect of a St. Blaise story that will tug at our heartstrings. Now, she’s back on the hot seat and she’d better be prepared to share the goods. 

Macy: I am. Let me tell you, there wasn’t a person in St. Blaise who didn’t get a little choked up the first time they saw Alex Stephenson take Jenny Clyburn’s hand. He is a good guy, but he wasn’t always. That’s what makes Alex and Jenny’s story so special. 

Madison:  What do you mean he wasn’t always a good guy? 

Macy: Once upon a time, Alex Stephenson was the kind of spoiled, snotty rich kid James Spader used to pretend to be in all those movies from the nineteen-eighties. He was reckless and wild and didn’t care about anything. Not even himself. Then life dished up a series of harsh lessons, and suddenly the golden boy wasn’t quite so golden anymore. Jenny was our Miss August. Another hometown girl who was petted and protected from the day she was born. Alex saw another person poised on the brink of taking the wrong path and stepped in. Before either of them knew what was happening, they both fell. Hard. 

Here’s the setup: 

     The only things Admissions Clerk Jennifer Clyburn admits being addicted to are: Caramello bars, shoe sales, and diet cherry Cokes from the Sonic. One minor fender-bender, and old Judge Whitby decides to teach her a lesson by effectively ruining her Friday nights. Still, there is one advantage to being sentenced to six weeks of alcohol awareness classes—she gets to spend a good hour each week ogling local bad boy, Alex Stephenson.

     Alex was once the crowned prince of St. Blaise. The son and only heir to the area’s largest employer, he grew up spoiled rotten and cocky as hell. The world was his oyster up until the day everything spun out of control. The red Corvette he got for his eighteenth birthday was a total loss. So was the sixteen-year-old girl in his passenger seat.

     Ten years later, scarred and broken, Alex is back in St. Blaise leading the local recovery meetings in hopes of sparing someone the guilt and grief he’ll carry with him the rest of his life.

     Jenny Clyburn is just the kind of good-time girl he used to love, but now he’s smart enough to recognize the demons that drive her. Her smart mouth is temptation incarnate, and her docile nature a siren song. Unable to resist, Alex takes it upon himself to teach her the best ways to master her impulses and surrender that which she can’t control. 

And here is a snapshot (warning - this one has some language in it): 

     “I killed Stacey Morgan.”
     Her sharp intake of breath told him his confession was not in vain. Though he had no doubt she knew his history, he also figured she’d rewritten good chunks of it in her head to make this thing between them more palatable. He couldn’t let her do that. Not if they were both going to get what they needed most.
     “I’m telling you because I think most people want to forget, but I never will. Yes, I was young, and stupid, and as fucked up as the day is long, but being an idiot doesn’t alter the facts. I knew better. She was too young, and too na├»ve, and not nearly fucked up enough to be able to say the same.”
     “Alex—”
     He held up a hand to stop her. “Please, just let me….” Swallowing the lump in his throat, he allowed himself to avert his gaze a bit. Not enough to block her out, but as much as he needed to make room for the memories in the forefront of his mind. “You know I was a junkie, but you’re not an alcoholic. I can tell. You don’t have enough fear in you.”
     “I’m afraid of everything,” she whispered.
     He zeroed in on her again. “Being afraid and living in fear are two different things.”
     Her soft hand in his, he carried it to the collar of his shirt then slid her fingers under the soft cotton. The second her fingertips grazed the ugly raised scar on his shoulder her lips parted. He held his breath, every nerve ending in his body screaming her name when she caressed the gnarled skin. Exhaling a bit of his trepidation, he attempted a reassuring smile but it fell way short of the mark.
     “Afraid is a temporary thing, but fear never goes away.” His voice pitched low and steady, he dropped his hand. Her gentle fingertips sailed over the bumpy ridge and skated onto a patch of slick, tight skin. “I’m afraid you’ll send me home tonight before I get a chance to kiss you.” Arousal, stark and hungry, flared in her eyes and he lost control of his lungs altogether. “And I want you. I want you more than I can say, but I live in fear that one day, any day, I might break down and trade the pleasure of having you for a hit of something not so sweet. One magic pill,” he whispered.
     “You said you would give me what I need.”
     “I can give you what you want,” he corrected. “I may be what you need for a little while, but I need you to understand why I’m not a good bet in the long term.”
     She looked up, unperturbed by his assertion. “You’re not that man anymore.”
     “I will always be that man,” he said without a moment of hesitation. “You have to understand, I will never escape this. No matter how much everyone around me wants to forget it ever happened.” 

Madison:  Wow. Wow. 

Macy: I know. Now you know why we’re all so damn happy for them. It takes a lot of courage to take a chance on someone like Alex, and even more for Alex to open himself up to another person. You’ll fall in love with them too. 

Madison:  I can’t wait to read it. August Awakening by Maggie Wells is available in all ebook formats at the Turquoise Morning Press bookstore or your favorite online retailer. For more information on the Hot Nights in St. Blaise series, readers can visit www.maggie-wells.com. Who do we have coming up next month? 

Macy: Oooh! Just you wait. Sexy Mr. September has a secret, and the good sheriff’s sister is just the girl to wheedle it out of him. 

Madison:  Fabulous! Thanks for being here, Macy. See you next month!