Daisy ....

Two days later, Gabe’s head was still reeling from the crazy magic carpet ride Daisy had him on. She was the hottest woman he’d ever met and from the moment she’d walked into that bar and asked for his help, his world had been thrown into a blender and set on puree.

“Ouch.” Daisy’s voice cut through the tranquility of the morning and Gabe glanced over his shoulder at her. He knew better than to laugh but he couldn’t stop the grin. She slapped at her arms. “Stupid bugs.” Slap. “Why do they like me,” slap “and leave you alone?” Slap.

“Put on some more bug spray and let’s get moving. It’s already hot enough to boil coffee out here. If we don’t get on the trail now, it’ll be siesta time and we’ll be stuck.”

No reply from Daisy, except for an indecipherable mumble and the erratic squirting of bug spray. Juan, the guide they’d hired was giving orders to his employees about packing up the tents and supplies and loading everything onto the burros. Two more days of hiking in the sweatbox of the South American jungle and they’d be able meet up with the men who were keeping Daisy’s sister captive.

One night in the jungle and all of Gabe’s well-honed, and as of late, unused battle skills came to the forefront. There was no way Daisy could have known about his background of Special Ops training, so he could only guess that she had some kind of Catwoman instincts in choosing him.

He glanced in her direction again and shook his head. Her hair was up in a pony tail, she didn’t have on a drop of makeup, and she was irritated as heck. But damn she made his blood race.

If they weren’t on this crazy trip to save her sister, he’d take her back to the hotel that they’d checked out of the day before and they would stay there for at least a week. Maybe longer. He was pretty damn sure it was going to take a long time to get Daisy Stone out of his blood.

An enormous roar shattered the chilly morning air.

Daisy ...

"That I think you aren't clear on our destination."

"Huh?" Gabe said, his hand lazily on her thigh.

Daisy climbed off his lap and settled into the seat beside him. Puffy white clouds the only scenery out the window. "We aren't going to Columbia, as in Columbia University in New York. We're going to Colombia, as in South America."

Gabe scratched his head. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Well, you can't pronounce it 'Columbia' when we get here. I need you to pretend you're Colombian. So you have to say it like 'Co-lome-bee-uh'."

"Anything else I need to know? I mean do I need to slick my hair back and smoke a cigar too?"

Daisy nibbled on her bottom lip. "Actually, that's a good idea."

"Look, babe, I think you need to tell me more about what we're up against. I don't like feeling unprepared. I'm a fireman. And firemen are always prepared."

Daisy took a deep breath then sighed. "OK. It's like this ..."

Daisy ...

It wasn’t until they were halfway to nowhereville that Gabe realized maybe he might have made a teensy little mistake.

Staring out the small window of the private jet – how Daisy managed that he didn’t even want to know – into the midnight sky, Gabe went from ‘Hell ya’ to
‘What the f –’ in about two point five nanoseconds.

Because really, did he need to get laid that bad? A quick glance at the tanned feminine leg pressing against his jean clad thigh answered that quickly enough. And sure he’d done some pretty outrageous things to get a woman into his bed. But Columbia? What the fuck was that?

What he knew about the country was pretty much what any average person might know. Drugs. Yeah, that about covered it. In his bitty little man mind he couldn’t quite figure out exactly what a yacht would be doing anywhere in the vicinity but hey, he didn’t own one so maybe it was a haven for people that liked adventure on the high seas.

Right. And he liked to wrestle gators in his free time.

Little Miss Knock ‘Em Dead was hiding something and damned if his sixth sense wasn’t screaming at him to turn tail and head home. Oh, wasn’t hindsight twenty twenty?

A cool hand settled on top of his and he turned to look down at the beauty sitting beside him.

“You okay?” The husky tone of her voice sent damn near every one of his doubts into hiding.

“You tell me.” He slid his thumb across the back of her hand in the smallest of caresses.

She shook her head in denial, he supposed, but she didn’t quite conceal the fear lingering in her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Cut the crap, Daisy,” he said. When she flinched he realized his tone might have been a little harsh but he didn’t back down. “I’m here and it’s not like I can walk away at this point, so give it to me. Straight.”

Daisy crawled over the seat and straddled his hips with those killer legs and it took him a second or two to realize exactly what he said and why she chose to misinterpret those words. He wanted to resent the fact she was trying to turn the tables on him but he just wasn’t that strong.

“Daisy … ” He tried to find reason but there was just something about a beautiful woman straddling him that made forming a coherent thought a little difficult.

She leaned closer, her breasts pressing against his chest. “Please don’t hate me …” Her lips brushed against his ear as she spoke and chills tingled down his spine.

“I could never hate you.”

“Even if I told you …”

A Dollop of Daisy

Daisy looked at Gabe. What would she do if he said no?

"Your sister?" His brows slammed together as he stared at her. "What the hell is your sister doing in Columbia?"

"Her yacht flipped and she's in the hospital." Just like Elise to leave the cleaning of messes to her. What would happen to the jewels if Daisy didn't hightail it to Columbia?

"It has nothing to do with drugs?"

"Of course not!" Unless you considered the jewels belonged to the regional drug lord, or whatever he was called down there. "She and her husband were vacationing when a storm," of bullets, "tipped their yacht over and passing fisherman pulled them out. At least that's what the person" i.e. Elise who placed an urgent call from the hospital, "who called me said. Now are you coming or not?"

"Why do you want me again?"

"Because I need you. I don't have anyone else."

She really should have bid higher on him at the auction, taken him as hers, but then she realized she'd left her wallet at home and the place insisted on cold hard cash upfront. No checks or credit cards. As if it were the 50's.

Daisy needed him to go with her. Needed him to help her save the jewels. Elise would be okay, but they needed to get those precious stones her sister risked her life for out of the country.

From what she'd heard, Gabe was the perfect person to help. Plus he was easy on the eyes.

Nothing like a little danger to spark a one-night stand.

Gabe sighed. "Alright. I'm in."

A Dollop of Daisy cont.

A proposition? From Daisy Stone?

Oh hell, yeah! He couldn’t wait to hear how this played out. With any luck, there was a bed involved somewhere in this unexpected proposition.

Gabe leaned against the pitted edge of the wood bar, careful to keep his expression shuttered. The last thing he needed was to frighten Daisy by letting her see the raw hunger generated in his blood from her words alone.

Her gaze strayed away from his, frown lines setting up residence between those gorgeous blue eyes.

Whoa. What was this? Was Daisy Stone going serious on him?

The urge to touch her, to smooth away her worries was strong. He wanted to hold her, feel her bare skin against his, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate all the ways he wanted to get naked with her. Not right now, anyway.

Her gaze darted around the hazy bar. He didn’t know if she was looking for someone or just avoiding looking at him.

“Care for a drink?” He motioned the bartender over, ready to order her some kind of fruity girl drink.

Those crystal blues settled on him and he got a surge of pleasure from having captured her attention.

She glanced at the bartender. “Tequila. Straight up.”

Okaaaaay. So Daisy needed something with more punch than a Pina Colada to sip on.

A glass filled with amber liquid slid across the bar and Daisy lifted it in the air. She tossed Jose Cuervo’s finest back with a soft bounce of cinnamon curls. The glass dangled from her slender fingers before she set it back on the bar with the gentleness of a mother caressing her baby’s head.

Gabe knew his eyebrows were trying to connect with his hairline, but seeing the crack in Daisy Stone’s armor was a new experience for him.

“I need your help, Gabe.” She took a deep breath, which did amazing things to the front of that red halter. His mouth went dry and his brain lost the majority of its blood supply. “And as you might have guessed by now ... I’m desperate.”

What? Gabe sent out a directive ordering his body to return the blood back to his brain because – holy hell – Daisy Stone needed his help. And she was desperate.

Either this was the luckiest damn day of his life or he’d died and gone straight to his version of heaven.

Gabe took a moment to consider his reply. There were several possibilities but they all came down to the same thing. He reached out, tucking her small hand in his. “I’m in.”

“But I haven’t told you what I need yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.” There was no hesitation. Whatever Daisy needed, he wanted to give to her.

“But if you’ll let me explain – ”

He stepped in close to her, holding her gaze with a steady look. “Like I said. It doesn’t matter. You can count on me.”

Daisy slid off the barstool, her body a hairsbreadth from his. Her scent and heat wrapped around him, more intoxicating than the beer he’d drunk.

“Then let’s go to your house.”

Oh yeah. It was definitely his lucky day. He threw some bills on the bar and started for the door with Daisy in tow beside him.

She tugged on his hand. “Why don’t I follow you in my car? We’ll get your stuff then head straight to the airport. I’m already packed.”

Gabe slammed on the brakes, turning to stare at Daisy in the dim light of the bar. He was pretty sure he’d heard her wrong because she’d used words like ‘airport’ and ‘packed.’ “You wanna explain that?”

Another gap rocked her armor and for a scary moment he thought she might cry, but she got it back in control, her spine stiffening. “Just forget it. I’ll get someone else.”

“Hold up. I’m not turning tail. I just need a few details. Like, where are we jetting off to? And why?”

“Cartegena. In Columbia. It's my sister ...” Daisy broke off, struggling to regain control.

Well, hell.

A Dollop of Daisy, cont.

... that you're either selling something ... or giving it away for free.

Daisy perched herself on the bar stool next to him, and Gabe couldn't help but notice as her short jean skirt slid up her thighs. Her legs were long, toned and lightly tanned, just the way he liked them. He imagined how they would feel wrapped around his body.

"Nothing is ever free, fireman, even if it is given away." She swiveled toward him and crossed her legs. The red halter clung to her curves like plastic wrap and a single diamond tear drop nestled in her cleavage.

Damn she was hot.

"Did you enjoy your date, Gabe?" The hint of amusement in her voice made him cringe. She took a long pull on her beer, those crystal blue eyes locked on his the whole time.

"Yeah, I forgot to thank you for offering me up on a silver platter to the cougar den." Gabe tipped his beer in her direction. "I think you owe me now." He placed his hand on her knee and idly swept his fingers along her outer thigh. Two could play at this game. She caught his hand up in hers, effectively halting his advance.

"What are you doing here, Daisy?" He drawled.

A slow, inviting smile came to her lips. "I have a proposition for you, fireman."

A Dollop of Daisy, cont.

... but honestly, I just picked up these new shitkickers today at Rural King. I bet you're totally sweating them, right?" She ran her tongue around her glossy lips, causing him to grip the side of the bar. "In fact," she said, sliding her hand over the varnished wood until her delicate fingers slipped over top of his, "I bet, right now, you're imagining me wearing nothing but these red boots."

Gabe just grinned because he had no idea what in the hell she just said. Except for the wearing nothing but red boots part. He chuckled then straightened his posture. "Well, you know what they say about women who wear red boots."

Daisy rubbed her lips together. "No. Tell me."

Gabe slid his eyes down her body until he got to her red boots. "Well," he started, taking a step closer to her, "red boots mean ...

Round Robin - A Dollop of Daisy

Daisy Stone was one hell of a woman. Every inch of her demanded attention – from the tips of her expensive stilettos to the top of her cinnamon colored hair – and more than one was willing to give in to the urge to splurge. Every set of male eyes in the room were focused on her and even a few of the female eyes followed her graceful gait as she crossed the crowded bar.

Toward him.

Gabe Nafton assumed a negligent position resting against the bar, a frosty bottle of beer clinched in his hand. The casual pose was in direct contrast to the unsettling feeling of discomfort that stole over him when those crystal blue eyes locked on him.

He had met – for lack of a better word – Daisy a little over a month ago at an auction where he had been the item up for sale. Well to be fair, seven other single firemen had also been up for auction but something about the whole idea of being bartered to the highest bidder to find a date and help pay for department improvements just stuck in his craw. But he tried to be a good sport, really he did.

His attempts to schmooze some of the senior citizens at the event had seemed like a good idea until the bidding started. Those old biddies hadn’t stood a chance against the married cougars -er, housewives- attending the event.

Daisy, though he hadn’t known her name at the time, had stood near the back of the room with a smug smile on her face throwing out astronomical dollar amounts that were countered each and every frickin’ time. And maybe it was the smile or the way she looked standing there in her sophisticated black pants suit that hugged every sweet curve of her body, but Gabe had zeroed in on her and prayed a silent prayer she would be the one to save him.

Except she hadn’t. She let that dollar amount soar until finally it reached a point where everyone in the room had turned to her, holding their breath to see if she would counter yet again. Her smug smile had turned even smugger before she shook her head and mouthed an apology to him from across the room – leaving him to fall victim to the group of ladies he mentally dubbed ‘The Cougar’s Den’.

And rightfully so. A group of five past their prime women who had banded together like white on rice and bought and paid for a bona fide firefighter of the first caliber. It wasn’t enough that his buddies down at the station were still beating him over the head because he’d essentially been sold into bondage. That he’d actually had to suffer through the most excruciatingly painful night of his life with The Cougar’s Den still pissed him off.

Not to mention the fact when he’d searched for the mysterious woman with hair the color of cinnamon in the crowd all she had said to him was a flippant ‘Better luck next time, eh?’ before smiling a smile that caused his step to falter and sailing out of his life as quick as she came in.

A stop at the registration booth had given him her name but her image and that heavenly smile had haunted his dreams on more than one occasion. With a shake of his head to clear it, he watched her approach him hoping his eyes only showed mild curiosity and not the overwhelming hunger that would take way more than his cold beer to quench.

She stopped about a foot away from him and even through the musty odor that filled every bar he’d ever frequented – the subtle floral scent of her perfume teased his senses.

Gabe smiled. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She cocked her head and regarded him with teasing eyes. “Strangest thing. I was just asking myself that very same question..."

Shot Through The Heart

Okay. How many of us were in love with that? Feeling a little pathetic? It's okay. I feel that way every time NKOTB comes on my IPOD and I still get all giddy and stuff.

So the thing that sucks about adding an image to your blog post is that it totally throws me off. Cause how can I post a picture LIKE THAT and not say something about it?

Focus.

Okay, so I read a book a while back by an author that I sorta like. She has a series and it's really nasty dirty but I read it for the articles. Right. Anywhoo, in the one before this latest one she had one of the female secondary characters get shot. In the chest. At pretty much point blank range.

I'm no expert on gunshot wounds but I clearly remember thinking, "Holy crap! She killed her!" and I got all sad and stuff because surely she was dead.

Not so much.

The newest book in the series, which came out a few months ago (I'm really behind), has her in it. As the heroine. Alive.

At first I thought "Oh, great, she made it" and then I thought "How is that possible?". And the weirdest thing was the author didn't really address it. Just a couple of lines somewhere buried in the manuscript about how she had been shot but was just fine.

It ruined the whole book for me. I kept turning page after page just knowing she was going to explain the miraculous recovery but it never came. Now it is completely possible that maybe she explained it in the previous book but I have no recollection and it would be too much like work to dig it out and verify. The author should have given me more in this book. She should have told me how it impacted the hero to see her shot up and bleeding at his feet - because he was there when she was shot.

She should have consulted me before publishing so I could clear this up for her. Riiiight?

The point I'm trying to make is: shouldn't every book (that's part of a series) be written with the assumption that someone may pick it up that has never read any of your work before? AND with the understanding that some of your readers may suffer from debilitating disorders such as ADHD and require at least a couple of paragraphs dedicated to the rehashing of silly little things LIKE GUNSHOT WOUNDS TO THE CHEST AT POINT BLANK RANGE so everyone understands just exactly how you survive something like that?

I'm just saying. Throw this bitch a bone.

Size doesn't matter ...

Today at work we had a lunch talk on colon cancer given by an outside speaker. Referring to the staging of a tumor, she made the comment that its size doesn't matter, it's how far it penetrates.

She was, of course, referring to the tumor growing through the colon wall, not what my dirty, gutter-filled mind came up with.

Apparently I was the only one getting a chuckle out of it.

But it got me thinking on writing sex scenes and how some of us have problems with it. I'm not going into why we might have problems writing sex, as I'm no shrink. Nope, tonight I'm going to try to share some things I read somewhere (hey, it's late, excuse the lack of exact quotes) about how to write sex scenes.

It's just a carry-over of a conversation between the two getting it on (or off as the case may be). All sexual interaction between them should be a way of showing what is going on in their relationship. It should be a way of drawing the reader into the relationship, not just the sex. You can write shocking sex scenes, or behind the door ones, either way, what is going on needs to ring emotionally with your reader.

Make them have some conversation. Sprinkle sex in-between the conversation. Make the characters think something emotional besides what a good fuck he/she is.

That's my advice. What do you think? How do you write a sex scene?

Oh, one other piece of advice. Be sure to get the colonoscopy when you turn 50. That's all.

Good night. :)

Take me to Margaritaville!

So it’s summer. Time to slow down. Relax. Take a vacation. My DH loves to vacation. He’s always ready to go somewhere. Almost anywhere.

I on the other hand tend to relax better at home, where everything is familiar. The element of surprise pretty much just increases my stress level. I’ve never really thought of myself as a control freak but I do enjoy having control over my surroundings and all that entails. So it’s possible I may have a control issue or three.

DH seems to love everything about traveling, while I’m a stressed out wreck until we get wherever we’re going and settled in.

In the last few years, the DH has become enamored with vacations that involve hiking up and down mountains. I really don’t get this sort of phenomenon because #1 that’s not relaxing in my book and #2 there’s nothing at the top to do after you get there. It’s not like there’s ever a Nordstrom or even a Starbuck’s perched on the peak. And then you have to walk back down without getting lost in the wilderness or eaten by bears.

And what’s the whole hullabaloo about climbing Everest? We watched about 100 painful hours of a documentary on this group of people (all men with 1 woman) trying to get to the top of Mt. Everest. Those people are insane. It costs a boatload of money to even be accepted into a group to make the climb and the chances of survival are questionable. They have to spend months attempting to make the climb because at each camp it takes weeks for the human body to adjust to the altitude. BECAUSE WE AREN’T DESIGNED TO LIVE UP THAT HIGH.

In one of the episodes the leader told them that if they died on the climb he’d send a Sherpa up to move the body off the trail. Isn’t that heart warming? They can’t bring the body down because it’s too dangerous but they’ll kick it to the side so that everyone doesn’t have to step over it. That’s so sweet.

If I was that guys wife, I’d say ‘Don’t move him off the trail, just prop his frozen dead body up right in the middle of the path with a big sign that reads “I’M AN IDIOT. AND I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO MY WIFE. IF I HAD, I’D BE HOME RIGHT NOW SWIGGING A BUD LIGHT AND WATCHING THE LATEST HIJINX OF ‘THE GIRLS NEXT DOOR’ INSTEAD OF HAVING MY ASS FROZEN TO THE SIDE OF A STUPID MOUNTAIN!”

So anyway, back to relaxing. I’ll take a margarita on the swing in the backyard any day. Or a day of sitting in my office, writing

Arrrgh... I have research to do

I hate doing research. My most recent wip involves time travel and pirates, and this means I have some research to do. I seriously think I started with paranormals so I wouldn't have to do much research. I could just make up whatever world I wanted to.

As I've said before, I'm a panster. By the time I figure out what I want to write, I'm ready to start writing it. So now I'm in the middle of my second rough draft and still haven't done much research. My fear is that if I stop writing and start researching I'll lose my momentum.

Here's my plan. Finish rough draft number two, do research, then add details back in while layering.

I'll keep you posted on how that works out.

One thing I have come to realize, all genres require research. I'm even having to do research on the future for the time travel part of my story. Thank goodness I'm always getting emails from the Overlords at Think Geek.

Currently fellow spanksters are researching Navy Seals (sign me up for that one), marching bands and the dreaded ton of the Regency era.

There's always research to be done, so what's the best way to do it?

Any ideas?

are you in style?

i was going to blog about myriad things tonight 'cause i've got a lot on my mind that i could ramble on about, but the spanksters gave me some good comments that sparked a topic i think worthy of mentioning.

and the topic is ... style.

huh, you ask? what does that even mean? in simple terms, it means picking a style and being consistent with forms of words throughout your story.

for example, more than one person put a hyphen on this word for me: pre-game. i wrote it one word: pregame. both are correct, but the style i adhere to requires it to be one word. in fact, it advises against hyphenating most prefixes, so that's why i didn't. i totally appreciate that everyone was reading so closely to mark that. it shows we are fantastic, detail-oriented critique partners. insert: group hug.

is anyone wrong though for hyphenating or not hyphenating? it depends, but really it's just a matter of choice. and there are lots of choices in the english language, and then there are some set rules you just don't break. personally, i choose not to hyphenate prefixes unless they precede a proper noun. does that mean a copy editor who might edit my story one day will also adhere to the same style as me? not necessarily. the most important thing is not which style you use. it's consistency. pick a style and adhere to it at all times. i mean, if you hyphenate a word on page 5, gosh, YES, you have to hyphenate it on page 242.

what are some of the style guides out there?

chicago manual of style
apa
ap style (this is what i use)
mla
etc.

i use ap because that's what i know and what i've always used at work. and although i am largely faithful to ap, i still have chosen to go rogue on a few things. such as serial commas. i believe serial commas help avoid ambiguity, so i use them although ap does not.

mla is more for research papers and stuff - you probably used it in your college english class. also, lots of publications, like the new york times, have their own individual style guide.

you too can have your own style guide - just pick what works for you and make sure it at least adheres to one of the dictionaries. there are boocoo books out there on craft and whatnot, but i recommend strunk and white's the elements of style. this is a tiny, thin book that gives straightforward advice on things that we usually forget, like farther/further. farther means distance; further refers to time or quantity. and always, if in doubt, check the dictionary. seriously. i am on www.m-w.com countless times a day. partly because i'm anal. partly because i like being able to tell people who question me to go check the dictionary. and lastly because it's just what writers should be doing.

that is all. if you found this blog helpful, press a. if you thought it sucked A, press b. if you enjoy my critical rants and raves, press c. if you'd rather i blog about hot guys, press d. if you have no opinion and don't give a flip one way or the other, just close out of IE or Firefox.