Greetings Liz Fans Plus All The Rest Of You.It’s the 3rd Tuesday of May. Mad Man is over. The Voice is almost over (go JOSHUA DAVIS!). Game Of Thrones jumped one too many sharks on the rape-o-meter. I went to bed last night sweaty with windows open and…
Permanent Spring Flowers
by Scott D. Southard
Professor Rebecca Stanley-Wilson is having a very bad season. The ramifications of one torrid evening with one of the great upcoming painters of his generation, will not only be felt across her life but over the entire art world. Sexy, funny, and very surprising, Permanent Spring Showers is the tale of one very memorable springtime and how it impacts a group of unique artists and dreamers. From the the hopeful Olympian with the failing marriage to the writer who is creating a new literary movement (through outright manipulation) to the romantic wondering what he did wrong to drive away the love of his life, each tale walks the line between reality and fantasy. And waiting at the end of the line is a very important painting… and possibly the revolver used in the Lincoln Assassination.
“What are you thinking? She’s an escort!”
“I’m in love, Steve. After sitting through the first twenty minutes of this lunch, it’s obvious you certainly still remember what that feeling is like.” He pushed his plate forward.
“But Clark…” I began.
He interrupted, “And it’s not like she wants to do that her entire life, Steve, if that is what is troubling you. She is doing it to pay for college.”
I stopped, the car of my mind shifting gears again. “Wait, did you say ‘is’? Do you mean she is still doing it?”
“Well, times are tough all over,” Clark replied far too calmly for my taste. “Have you seen college tuition rates this year?”
“And she’s really in college?” I asked, shocked. I began to wonder if I was on one of those TV shows and a camera was hidden in a bush nearby me.
My shock was perfectly mirrored by the opposite reflection of the casualness of my brother.
“You didn’t think I would marry an idiot did you, Steve? I need to be mentally challenged, you know that. She is studying education; her dream’s to teach third graders.”
“You’re engaged to a hooker…”
“Escort,” he corrected quickly for a third time.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically. “You are engaged to an active escort who wants to be an elementary school teacher?”
“Yes,” Clark said with a dramatic point across the table at me. “And Steve, this is where you come in. You need to help me introduce her to mom and dad.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Scott D. Southard is the author of A Jane Austen Daydream, Maximilian Standforth and the Case of the Dangerous Dare, My Problem With Doors, Megan, 3 Days in Rome and Me Stuff in addition to his latest release, Permanent Spring Showers. His eclectic writing has also found its way into radio, as Scott was the creator of the radio comedy series The Dante Experience. The production was honored with the Golden Headset Award for Best MultiCast Audio and the Silver Ogle Award for Best Fantasy Audio Production. Scott received his Master’s in writing from the University of Southern California. Scott can be found on the internet via his writing blog “The Musings & Artful Blunders of Scott D. Southard” where he writes on topics ranging from writing, art, books, TV, writing, parenting, life, movies, and writing. He even shares original fiction on the site. His blog can be found at http://sdsouthard.com. Scott is also the fiction book reviewer for WKAR’s daily radio show Current State.
Scott D. Southard will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Ah, “menage,” shorthand in the romance universe for “menage a trois” which of course is French for “never in a million years but boy do I wish!”
Henri kneaded the flesh of her thigh before moving down to rub each toe, then the sole of her foot, which sent those same zinging, nerve rattling sensation straight up to the top her head. She stretched her hands over her head and allowed the blanket to fall away. Eyes closed, she reveled in the pure sensation of his touch. By the time he switched over to her other leg and placed her foot on his chest again, a low moaning sound had begun in in her throat andhad to force herself not to grab him and pull him on top of her. He stretched her knee towards her chest.
“You’re very flexible, yes?” His hoarse voice gave away his feeling about this whole thing.
“Yes,” she breathed, tilting her hips up to make contact with his arm.
The last time he bent her kneeshe felt his tongue flick her nipple. She realized he was pulling the sheet off her completely and she gave no resistance. Raising her arms up over her head again, Grace stretched like a cat in the windowsill.
She heard him make a sound deep in his throat before he ran his strong hands from her shoulders down to her nipples and across her stomach. He stopped to knead her hips once morethen kept moving down her thighs to her calves and then to her sensitized feet. She arched up and gasped as she felt his tongue again, this time right on her clit. He teased her flesh then sucked brieflybefore standing up.
Grace kept her eyes closed, her body was on fire, every nerve ending crying out for more. But he seemed to be doneso she struggled up to a seated position.
“Would you like a bit more? An internal massage, perhaps?”
“Yes,” she nearly yelled outthen felt herself blush. “I mean…that’s sort of a lame line, though.”
He chuckled. “I’ll work on my lines a little, after this.” His low, accented voice made her shiver.
She finally got a good look at him as he pulled his silk boxers down to reveal his long, thick cock, just as she remembered from that fateful night at the party. She sat for a minute drinking him in as he brushed his shaggy, dark hair off his brow and put his hands on his hips.
“Okay. I’ll let it slide this time,” she whispered as she lay back down. How this could be happening to her, she had no idea but Grace knew if she didn’t get this man inside her right now, she would scream. As he climbed up between her legs and slipped into her, she finally fully relaxed, clutching at his ass to pull him in further.
“Keep your hands up over your head like before,” he demanded as he began to move.
He leaned down to lick her neck and tug at her nipples while his hips rolled against her, giving her the most perfect contact. She laid back and let him work, feeling every inch of himwhen she came, she gasped at the sheer, sensual, forbidden beauty of it. She touched her own face and her fingers came away wet.
“May I come inside you,” he asked, breathless.
By way of answer, she repositioned her legs so her knees were up against his chest. She had to feel more and wanted to watch his face. He increased his tempo, his bronzed skin flushed in the candlelight. She sighed as she sensed his warmth explode inside her.
When Henri bent down to kiss her lips and let his tongue caress her a moment before he raised himself up and off her, she felt more wrong than she ever had, but somehow right the same time. Pulling the blanket back up to cover her sated bodyshe stretched again and flipped over.
When her eyes met Ryan’s across the roomshe yelped. Her husband sat directly across from the massage table, a drink in one hand, the other arm stretched over the back of the couch. His eyes shone with the sort of light that made her want to weep.
“How long have you been sitting there,” she demanded.
“Long enough, baby.” He drained his glass, set it on the table and made his way over to her. “Long enough.”
She sighed as he knelt down, pulled her up and kissed her hard and deep. His bourbon-tasting lips were delicious.
“Did you like your Vegas surprise,” he asked as he pulled her to sitting and wrapped his arms around her. But he pressed his mouth to hers before she could answer. The familiar strength of his body, the crisp feel of his dress shirt against her naked skin, the clean smell of his cologne all enveloped her at once and she wrapped herself around him, ready to thank him in a way he’d never forget.
Yeah, so fair warning: if you are already a Liz Crowe fan this book will make you sweaty and need a cold shower. If you are NOT and this is your first time with me (I’ll be gentle) note that this book represents the most “traditional” of my romance novels. I really love it and hope you will too.
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As I type this week’s super important and crucial to your life Liz blog post, I’m doing it with a new view in front of me. Yes, finally, The Move has occurred. The Great Downsizing of 2015 is complete. The Soon-To-Be-Empty-Nest is now smaller and more manageable (although somehow we now have 3x as big a lawn as we sold).
Lindsay got up with a sigh and climbed back onto the saddle. Her father would be home by now, and he always asked about her first. She’d left behind a real mess—her mama spitting mad, her brother pissed off about his cards and her taking the expensive dressage horse out wilding. After sliding to the ground and pulling Lucy around behind the main barn, hoping to sneak her into the clean up stall unnoticed, Lindsay was surprised to find both of her brothers and her father standing in the door of the barn with a couple of strange men.
Glancing around for one of the stable boys to take her horse so she could sidle up to the house, she got her feet tangled in something and lurched forward, letting go of Lucy’s reigns and dropping to her hands and knees in the dust and hay. Her face burned hot as a forbidden words rose to her lips. Both her brothers cursed like sailors on leave outside their mother’s hearing and she’d picked up some of their habits. The words felt so good coming out of her mouth, she couldn’t help but use them whenever she was around the barns—a place her mother rarely graced with her presence.
“Shit. God damn it.” She flinched when a very warm, very masculine hand took hold of her arm. Thinking it must be one of her brothers, she yanked herself away. “I can get up my own self.”
“Sorry, miss. Just trying to help.”
She scrambled to her feet, and turned, sensing herself move in slow motion, blinking fast like a mole in the daylight. That voice had been a new one—gravely, gruff and low. It reverberated around in her chest in a way that made her both tingly and mad. The man that belonged to the voice stood with his hand on Lucy’s flank, his deep brown eyes boring into her. She tried not to but couldn’t help herself as she took him in—He had thick, coal black hair, olive-colored skin, shoulders as wide as any man’s she’d ever seen, even though he wasn’t a tall, which she’d always claimed to prefer. But if she had to conjure a sultry Italian star for a Hollywood movie, this stranger with the incredible voice, in his jeans, plaid shirt and ratted out cowboy hat, would be a shoe-in.
His utter foreignness—not just his appearance and voice but the very fact of his presence in her family’s barn—heated every inch of her skin. She kept backing away from him, embarrassing herself even more and then compounding it by whamming her backside into a stack of metal buckets in the cleaning area, sending them clattering down and deafening everyone in the vicinity.
The man didn’t move, other than to keep stroking Lucy to keep her from skittering away from the terrifying clamor. He pushed his hat back and tilted his head as if confused by her, or just amused at her abject clumsiness and idiocy. Lindsay sensed something between them—something she’d poo-pooed when she’d read the romance paperbacks but one of the more clichéd phrases rose in her brain and stuck there, like a candy wrapper in a chain link fence.
Time stood still.
Her face flamed again and she let her embarrassment morph into convenient anger. “What are you staring at?” She’d meant to sound demanding, bossy, as she could be she knew, the more-than-slightly-spoiled daughter of the rich horseman. But her voice cracked, betraying her with its weakness. She cleared her throat, opened her mouth to try again, even as the unbelievably handsome man dressed in dark jeans and a shirt so tight she could discern every muscle in his torso kept her pinned to the wall with his deep, brown gaze.
“Ah there you are,” her father’s voice made her flinch and trip straight into the pile of buckets with another curse. “Lindsay, honey, what has gotten into you. Such language.”
She glared over at the man who’d taken Lucy’s reigns but still had not stopped staring at her like she was some kind of freak show exhibit. “Sorry Daddy,” she said, moving next to him, shivering in the coolness of the barn after the past hour she’d spent in the sun. He put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair. “Sweetheart, I’d like you to meet Lorenzo Love.” Her father turned her slightly. A shorter, less compelling but obviously related version of the man with the voice smiled and held out a hand. She shook it trying to parse the words coming out of her father’s mouth. “Lorenzo is our new manager. He’ll be working with Patrick for a few weeks, then he takes over.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said in a whisper, the back of her neck prickling for some reason.
“I hired these boys out from under old Yarrington,” her father said with an obvious bit of pride. “That sonofabitch was hollerin’ at me for sure. But I knew he had some real talent in his back stretch and must have had some seriously good barn management. So, I hired them. Paying them twice what he did, the sorry so-and-so.”
The man with the voice who’d made her brief, naïve life come to a screeching halt with one look, joined Lorenzo. He seemed nervous and a little shell-shocked which gave Lindsay another jolt right through her gut. “This is Tony,” her father said, gesturing to him. “Tony Love. He’ll be his brother’s assistant. All right now boys, I’ve got to get my baby girl up to the house. Her mama has some kind of a dinner party planned, right, sugar? You all see Patrick and he’ll get you settled in your new home. It’s a shared house but is has running water and a kitchen should you want to cook for yourselves. There is always food up at the house, where you’re welcome to eat during the week.”
Lindsay swallowed and nearly choked on her own spit when Tony stepped forward, took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips. “Bellisima,” he said, clear as day. His dark eyes twinkled. His bright white smile blinded her. And that voice—the deep growl of it combined with his over-the-top movie-star Italian looks literally made her hand shake when she yanked it out of his palm.
Her father frowned, then chuckled and smacked Tony hard on the shoulder, sending a message with the force of it. James Halloran Senior was large, in charge and might tolerate the help paying his precious jewel of a daughter a compliment in a fancy foreign language after kissing her hand but only once.
Have a lovely DERBY WEEK!
Yours in cardboard,
p.s. I sell houses. I’m pretty good at it. Check my website and if you are considering selling in A2 NOW is the time to do it! We call it a “Seller’s Market” but it’s more like a frenzy.