Welcome to my blog! Pull up a chair, grab a cup of coffee and read what's on my mind. I've a vicious sense of humor, an apprecation for romance and a mad addiction to writing.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
What Every Woman Wants Under Her Christmas Tree. Rynne Raines Goes Naughty. Warning: Sexy Men Alert! Comment to Win Big!
Welcome! If it’s your first time to this blog, you’ve arrived at the perfect time. Why? My What Every Woman Wants Under Her Christmas Tree is ‘full throttle ahead!’ and let me tell you, it’s been a hands-down festive blowout so far. I highly recommend you grab your favorite cup of java and spend a few minutes browsing the talented authors who have already visited during this event. Well worth your time!
Be forewarned, this post is full of super sexy stuff and more suitable to an 18+ crowd, definitely Rated R. Now that I've said that and we both agree you can handle it...read on ladies!
This weekend marks the last before Christmas itself and as you might imagine, I saved one of my favorites for last. Aye, we’re at that ‘dash of Erotica’ I spoke of way back at the beginning. And let me tell you, this ‘dash’ is extraordinary. I’d like to once more introduce paranormal and erotica author, Rynne Raines.
Because I consider Rynne one of my dearest friends, I have to share….she was recently married. By recent I mean December 3rd of this year!!! Yep, Rynne zipped down to Mexico and tied the knot with the love of her life, Andrew. Was I invited? Of course! Regrettably, I was unable to attend but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t totally there in spirit. Note: the picture above is them. How romantic is that! So before I begin this interview I say to Rynne and Andrew… “Congratulations. I wish you many, many years of happiness!”
Disclaimer sent Andrew's way: Sorry about the guy below with the funky colored hay on his...(Sky clears throat) You married an Erotic romance author! Guess you'll have to forgive many of the pictures in this post. *wink and a smile*
Alright, back to my blog event. Of course, Rynne graciously put a few gifts beneath this blog's Christmas tree and we all know whatever's placed beneath the tree is up for grabs! Two winners will be drawn. The prizes? One lucky commenter will win a $10 gift certificate to Digi Books Cafe. The other, two Ebooks from Rynne's collection, your choice! How do you enter to win? Easy as pie. Somewhere in this post Rykel Vincent Deveau (hero from Reflections) speaks to us directly and mentions he's been given several titles over time. Pick one and share with us why you chose it in a comment at this blog.
Time to get to know Rynne a bit better during this holiday season!
SKY: Thanks so much for visiting. It’s a pleasure to have you!
RYNNE: Thanks for having me again.
SKY: Before we dive into your books I’d like to first dive into the holidays. What’s your favorite part of Christmas?
RYNNE: Hmm, it’s a toss up between spending time with loved ones and the endless amounts of food…lol. Usually those go hand in hand. I also love going to my mom’s place and decorating the Christmas tree—all of us kids have separate ornaments we need to put on. I don’t get to put a tree up at my place. My dog, Rogan, would destroy it…that is after he used it as a bathroom…lol.
SKY: No tree! Bummer. You’ve got to get one of those rounded doggie gates I have, works like a charm. Now, if you could ask for one thing to be delivered under your Christmas tree this year, what would it be?
RYNNE: Oooo, a one-cup-coffeemaker! My sister has one and everytime I go to her house I’m a bit envious.
SKY: I’ve seen those. Want one myself! If you could give readers one of YOUR heroes under their Christmas tree…which one would it be? Why?
RYNNE: Just one! Oi…how can I pick just one when they would all look so good in nothing but a big red bow? Can’t I do a combo pack? Oh, all right. If I have to pick just one it’ll be Cade Sinclair. Why? Well, he’s a hot Dom who would know exactly what to do regardless of whether the reader had been naughty or nice. *wink*
SKY: ROFL, combo pack, love it! But Cade’s delicious so I think you chose wisely. *winks* If you could pick one heroine from your stories who would willingly pass out gifts Christmas morn, who would she be? Why?
RYNNE: Evelyn Morgan. You won’t know her yet because she’s in the third Eden installment that I’m writing now but I’m nearly finished. Eve is a cut throat lawyer. Her career means everything to her. After growing up in poverty with an alcoholic mother, she has trust issues and few close friends even though deep down she longs to be loved. I think passing out gifts would be right up her alley.
SKY: Sounds it! Which one of your heroes and/or heroines in your stories would take one look at a Christmas tree and say, “no thank you.” If so, share. Why? It’s okay, we like the bad guys/gals too!
RYNNE: I don’t think any of my characters would say no to a Christmas tree! There’s a little bit of me in all of them and I have to say…I’m a Christmas nut.
SKY: Me too! (Still amazed you don’t have a tree up at home due to dog. Sees Sky flying up to Canada to put up doggie gate and getting your own Christmas tree up!) Okay, back to the warm and fuzzy’s. Share with us the scene (found within any of your stories) that was─ to this day─your favorite to write. Why?
RYNNE: Reflections was my second story ever released. It’s the only paranormal romance I’ve done without the erotica factor and I absolutely loved writing it. The opening scene, even when I read it over today, makes me smile like a total dork. So yeah, I hope it makes you smile as well.
He woke with a start. Fiery beams of light streamed through the lace curtains and bounced off the glass of the Regency giltwood mirror. Sunset, Rykel Deveau realized with a silent groan. Centuries of isolation had dulled even the simplest of joys. With a resigned sigh, Rykel watched the sun’s final rays dance along his reflective prison.
What would this make it now…two-hundred, three years and forty-six days?
Ha! Don’t be a fool…it’s only been two-hundred, three years and forty-five days.
Bloody hell, even his mind mocked him now. True, after such a long time he should have been glad that he had his wits about at all…but he wasn’t. Only one thing would make him happy: to have his freedom back. Peering around the room, Rykel found himself cringing. Clothes and dirty dishes were scattered about the floor, nightstand and bed. Clearly, the Lady of the manor hadn’t found anything to improve her mood since yesterday. The place was in ruins.
A sudden muffled mumble gained his attention. Ah, so she was home. No doubt she was in the loft, sculpting, given that was all the woman ever did these days. Not that it bothered him. He actually admired her dedication and found it intriguing how one could take a lump of mud and transform it into a sensual masterpiece. Miss Lovel had talent; he would give her that. Perhaps he should peek at her work tonight.
With that, he cleared his mind, divided his thoughts from his physical self, and stepped out of the mirror. Of course, now he was no better than a bloody ghost roaming about the house, but it gave him some sense of freedom. Had he not stumbled upon this little trick a century ago, he would be mad from boredom now.
He ascended the winding staircase and noted that the chaos in the bedroom was nothing compared to the rest of the house. He dodged several socks and a few pairs of shoes along the way as the mumbling grew louder. Oh, Danica Lovel was home all right, and in a fouler mood the ever.
“I just can’t! No, even better, I won’t!”
Rykel arched a brow at the woman’s firm exclamation as he entered the loft. Silly little dove. It had taken him nearly a month to get used to the habitual conversations she often had with inanimate objects. This time her companion appeared to be an invitation of some sort. He rounded the table, then loomed over the woman’s petite frame and spied the inscription. A benefit was taking place tonight at the Manhattan gallery where her work was on display. Between the tattered pink robe and her favorite giant, pig-shaped slippers that oinked when she walked, he drew his own conclusion. She had no intention of attending.
“Ugh!” She let out a fierce growl.
Her arms flew up in frustration and Rykel ducked out of instinct. Even if she were to make contact, her limbs would have passed through him. Unfortunately, she could not touch him in this form. No one could.
She continued to mutter. “Seeing him with her, well it’s just too much!”
Aha! So, that was why she wasn’t going, because of Marc Montgomery, gallery owner and unfaithful rake.
Get over it woman! You’re better off without that fool.
Unfortunately for him, eavesdropping was unavoidable. Though he sympathized with her broken heart, it had been six dreadful months of her pining away. Frankly, he was getting a little tired of hearing about it.
At the sound of a soft sniffle, Rykel’s chest unexpectedly tightened. She was crying? Over one fool of a man? Within the duration of her short-lived romance with Mr. Montgomery, he had done nothing more than destroy her confidence and turn her into a wreck. Aggravated, he suddenly noticed her tiny red nose, and flexed his jaw.
Oh Lord, don’t cry!
An unforeseen urge to comfort her surfaced inside him, but he knew only one way to console a woman. As he couldn’t touch her, that was certainly out of the question. He stepped closer and stroked her pixie-short auburn hair. Although the gesture didn’t do her any good, it made him feel a tad more useful.
“Danni, are you up there!”
Both glanced up at the intrusion. A number of vile curses and the rapid clicking of heels pounded on the stairs following the shrill screech. Rykel cringed. He knew that voice. Erica.
“For the love of God, Danni; if your grandmother saw her place like this she’d roll over in her grave!” Erica hollered from halfway up the stairs.
Rykel stood back and folded his arms over his chest. He could only guess what color of feather boa the plump, flamboyant drama-queen would be wearing today.
Appearing at the top of the stairs, Erica shrieked. “You’re not even dressed!”
Danica turned away and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I—I’m not going.”
“What? You have to go! This is the biggest benefit in Manhattan. Marc has been riding my ass about you missing the last five shows, says it’s bad for sales and as your publicist, I can’t say he’s wrong. Look, people want to meet the artists. It makes them feel more intimate with the sculptures.”
Danica groaned into her hands. “No one wants to see me. Look at me!” She yelped. “If people find out they’re purchasing sensual art from the least sensual person on the planet, it’ll do nothing more than hurt sales. Marc should understand that, he’s the one who said it.”
Erica let out a heavy sigh. “Listen, I’m sorry he hurt you. The guy is slime, but he owns practically every gallery in Manhattan and unless you want to relocate, we’re stuck with him. You have to get over this. It’s been six months!”
Rykel gave a sure nod. I’ll second that notion.
Erica continued, “Besides, by avoiding the gallery, it’s only letting him win. You can’t leave me alone with them again or I may be tempted to pour a glass of champagne down little Miss New Boob’s dress.”
A hint of a smile touched Danica’s mouth but quickly disappeared. “It’s not Jessica’s fault Marc told her we were through when we weren’t.”
“Oh, don’t stick up for her,” Erica snapped. “The woman’s a vulture. Now, whether you like it or not, I’m staying right here until you’re dressed and ready to go. I’ll even do you the favor of tidying up this place. Look at this. Junk, junk, and more junk.”
Erica began hastily swiping various objects off the floor and tossed them in the trash.
“And what’s this? It looks older than the hills.”
“No!” Danica leapt from the table. “That isn’t junk. It’s an heirloom, a journal written over two hundred years ago. Oh, please be careful. It’s fragile.”
Erica wrinkled her nose and flipped open the book. In less than a minute the woman’s fair brows were raised as high as humanly possible as her eyes darted from left to right, picking up speed with each line. “This isn’t a journal, it’s some kind of medieval porn!” she laughed.
“Oh, give me that,” Danica snatched the book and cradled it protectively to her bosom.
“If you must know, it’s my muse.”
Erica clucked her tongue. “Well, well, I’m beginning to understand how you went from sculpting bowls to erotic statues. It inspired me just by reading one page. I’ll bet the guy who wrote it even has a rating system in there for every one of his conquests.”
Insulted, Rykel narrowed his eyes. Only a cad would stoop so low as to rate a woman on her sexual performance alone. On the contrary, women who appealed to him were normally hidden treasures lying uncertainly beneath rigid shells, in need of coaxing and reassurance—the ones who failed to recognize how exquisite, inside and out, they truly were.
Appalled, Danica spoke through clenched teeth. “He does not have a rating system, and not every entry is like that; I mean, most are, but the man’s entire life is documented in here.” She tapped the book at her chest. “He was an adventurer of some kind, and yeah, so what, he was popular with the ladies but…” she bit off her sentence. “Look, you can’t just judge him from one page, he’s a complex individual. Oh, forget it. You’d have to read the entire book to understand.”
A frown creased Rykel’s brow. It had been a long time since he had seen his little dove speak with such conviction, and in his defense, no less. A muscle worked in his jaw as a strange tenderness filled him. He was at a loss. Perhaps some spark did remain inside Danica Lovel.
“Good God, Danni,” Erica rolled her eyes. “Always thinking there’s good in everyone. If you ask me, that book is nothing more than an old fashion scoreboard. I won’t deny whoever he is, he sounds delicious but truthfully, he was probably no better than Marc.”
Rykel hissed, overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and choke the feather-wearing prima-donna. He had never lied nor misled a woman with deceitful promises, or proclaimed love, and he sure as hell had enough decency to end one liaison before starting another. There was no denying he had dreaded the parson’s noose as much as the next man, but none of his deeds had been as malicious as this woman was making them out to sound. No. He was certainly nothing at all like Marc Montgomery.
Erica stormed round the table, purposefully cupped Danica’s shoulders, and pushed her toward the stairs. “Listen, go take a shower and put something on while I straighten up. Hey, why not ask Spencer from next door to come tonight, he’s always had great fashion sense.”
“Don’t all gay men have great fashion sense? I would have asked, but he’s in Mexico for a week doing some photo shoot.”
“Well, there’s some hunks down at the martini bar on seventh that I’m sure would love to be your escort, and then some.” She winked.
Danica gaped. “Are you serious?”
“Of course, I’ll just make a call—”
“No. I mean are you seriously suggesting what I need right now is another man? Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but the only man getting anywhere near me or my bed right now is the one in this book.”
Erica frowned at the sudden sharpness in her tone. “Sorry, I just hate seeing you torn up about this. I’ll tell you what…we’ll go to the benefit together, stag. I’ll call Richard and cancel.”
“No, don’t do that,” she murmured. “I’ll be fine attending the benefit on my own. Maybe you’re right. I can’t let this one thing stop me from succeeding.”
Erica smiled, her round cheeks gleaming. “Good girl, I’m proud of you. Your grandmother would be proud, too.
Rykel watched them share a moment of comfortable silence before Erica yanked Danica into a hug. He knew the little dove loved her grandmother dearly, as he had grown to as well, over the years of living in this house. After inheriting the estate, three months had passed before Danica had the strength to step into the deceased woman’s bedroom. Much had changed over the passing centuries, but Danica and her grandmother were of gypsy descent. There was no bond greater than between females who shared gypsy blood. The truth of it was one he knew all too well.
SKY: Super excerpt! Now I’m going to make you really think. You must have written a scene in one of your stories you weren’t sure about but you wrote it anyway. AND, you were SO glad you did. What was it?
RYNNE: I honestly can’t think of a scene that I wasn’t sure about. I’m a planner. And, a quite anal one at that. I suppose there’s been scenes that I’ve cut that I wasn’t sure about cutting at the time, but in the end, all the stories I’ve written have pretty much turned out the way I’ve wanted them to.
SKY: I say we leave off with some sizzle. What do you think? After all, that’s essentially what every girl wants under her Christmas tree (winks). SO, let’s talk hot, hot, hot. Share with us the story─the very scene─that will make every reader at this blog walk away….steamin’ ready, searching out your tale! (I encourage not only a response but an excerpt here. As hot as you like outside a sex scene)
RYNNE: The hottest scenes I have to date are from Pure Sin. It’s the longest BDSM I’ve written so far and I like to think the tension between the characters is off the charts. Hope you will agree. I won’t set this scene up too much since I chose another long excerpt that should make it clear what’s going on. Enjoy.
Cade Sinclair circled his desk, dropped his weight into the chair, reached for the phone and tried not to punch the buttons as hard as he really wanted to.
Christ. Why did the woman have to look so damn good?
His plan had seriously backfired on him.
“Make yourself at home,” he told her, then cursed the edge in his voice. “I’ll be a few.”
Bianca didn’t seem to notice. In an elegance patented solely by her, she wandered the office, and paused at an oil painting of the San Francisco Bridge, framed in cherry wood. His grip tightened on the phone receiver. After all they’d shared together, passion and memories, hopes and dreams, how dare she treat him as a casual fling four years ago, then have the audacity to admire his favorite painting? She stared at it lovingly, appreciatively, with wide blue eyes and slightly parted, rouge lips that matched her deep, scarlet hair.
“Yeah, I’ll hold,” he grumbled into the receiver, forgetting who in the hell he’d called in the first place.
This meeting was supposed to bring him closure and make her feel like an ass for writing him off like a bad check after the week they’d shared. At the end of it all, he’d planned to politely decline Chambers’ offer and get on with his life.
Instead, his cock strained painfully against the fly of jeans at the mere sight of her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her goddamn boots, and the last thing he was experiencing was fucking closure.
Cade worked the muscle in his jaw to keep from growling. His only solace was that she wasn’t as indifferent as she portrayed herself either. He still had a physical affect on her. He’d seen her body react to his whispered command earlier in the hall. If she’d hesitated like that four years ago, he’d have bound and sprawled her over his knees then branded her sweet bare ass with his palm.
But the rules were different now.
Bianca wasn’t his submissive any more than he was her Dominant. She’d made the decision not to leave her real name and contact info at the front desk, as was the policy with a masquerade event. To ensure there was no pressure, always, the submissive retained final choice on whether or not there would be a relationship after the week was out.
It apparently didn’t matter to her it had been the most explosive week of his life. Pure irony had brought him to Eden, where his chance meeting with Caitlyn Ward Chambers at a lifestyle seminar had developed into a solid friendship over the last two years. If he hadn’t finally agreed to meet her husband, he never would have spotted Bianca at the club. Then the memories he’d fought to keep locked away would still be buried now.
However, his childish need to accept Evan’s offer and see the look on Bianca’s face had been too strong to decline. This was his payback for acting like the teenage dork spurned by the cheerleader.
“Cade?” Her soft voice had him glancing up into those pale blue eyes before he registered the dial tone blaring from the receiver dangled from his fingers. “I think whoever was on the phone hung up on you.”
“Apparently.” He dropped the receiver into the cradle and shoved back from his desk.
Only one woman could make him feel like an ass and make his cock throb at the same time. She was still in his system, revving it up, punching the throttle—he had to have her again.
Correction, he would have her again.
“I’m not sure I understand this. Evan said you wanted to meet me, but if you already knew who I was, why arrange this?”
“Evan misunderstood.” He drained the last ounce of cold, two-hour-old coffee from his cup, then set it down on next month’s schedule, ignoring the ring of moisture it left. “My concern had to do with being on the same page given our…colorful history.”
“How eloquently put,” she murmured and broke eye contact. The gesture made his gut clench and he wanted to curse himself. He wasn’t normally a supreme asshole.
Whatever her reasons for not wanting a relationship all those years ago had been her own. Who was he to question them? Although he’d been told on several occasions his temper often got the better of him, he didn’t consider himself a cruel man, particularly not when it came to the few people for which he harbored fondness.
As stupid as it sounded, in a single week she’d gotten inside of him, stripped him to the marrow and, in the end, left him with a bitter ache that, even four years later, he hadn’t been able to shake.
What he needed from her was closure.
How had she landed herself in this mess, Bianca wondered as she shifted her gaze around what had become a cage of dark mahogany panels disguised as an office with modest furnishings. Now she would
have to find a way to tame the lion behind the large oak desk long enough to escape before the claws came out.
“That was uncalled for. I apologize—you cold?”
Taken aback by his apology, she hadn’t noticed she was scrubbing her damp palms off on her arms. “No, I’m…I’m fine. I skipped lunch. Always get twitchy when I miss lunch.”
When he rounded the desk, she had the urge to dash for the door, but held her position.
“I could order something in while we discuss our terms. Chinese or Italian?” He ran his large hands up and down her bare arms and her heart backflipped.
She could deal with his anger. She could deal with his indifference. What she couldn’t deal with was his tenderness.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It…it just isn’t.”
“That’s not a reason.” His hand traced from her shoulder, up her back, slid beneath her hair and curved around her nape. The pad of his thumb stroked just behind her ear. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose and the walls she’d erected to protect her heart crumbled.
He leaned and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I don’t remember you ever being this disagreeable. I’m sure a proper flogging would change that.”
Her panties flooded and knees wobbled.
“Please, don’t do this…it’s bad enough we have to work together.” She encircled his wrist with weak fingers but hardly tried to pry his hold off.
“Do you have a Master?”
Her nipples instantly stiffened and scraped against the inner wall of her corset with each labored breath. “W—what?”
“I’ll rephrase.” He pushed her back and leveled his intense gaze at her. “Are you fucking anyone?”
She wasn’t startled by his blatant approach. He’d never been one to evade the point and, until today, neither was she.
“I don’t see how that’s your concern.”
“You’re right, it’s not.” He withdrew and propped a lean hip on the edge of his desk.
A vacant chill poured all the way to her toes the moment his fingers left her skin. She wished to God he’d touch her again. Nothing had ever felt as good as his touch.
“What if I made it my concern?” He casually fingered the rim of his coffee cup. “I have a proposition for you.”
“What type of proposition?”
“Well, it’s pretty damn obvious you’re uncomfortable with the thought of us working together. What if I turn down the job?”
A ray of hope.
“I find myself in unfamiliar territory. When you cut our ties, I admit being left with unresolved issues.”
“I see.” Her heart turned over in her chest. Was there a possibility she hadn’t been the only one who’d lost sleep over their parting of the ways? She wanted to jump and click the heels of her boots together at the thought. Instead, she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to feign a neutral expression.
“Chambers wants my answer by Wednesday but what I want is…closure.”
She searched his quiet eyes. Closure did sound wonderful—a single day without wondering what might have been, a night without closing her eyes and seeing his face, imagining his hands on her body, remembering the rich taste of his mouth while lying in bed alone. In four years she hadn’t been able to work him out of her system.
A jolt of electricity rocketed through her and shot all the way to her toes. She quickly touched three fingers to her lips to suppress a nervous giggle before clearing her throat. “You’re serious?”
“Entirely. After the five days are up, I turn down the job and you never have to see me again.”
A pang of resentment ricocheted inside her chest but it wasn’t enough to drown the excitement. He was offering her five days of pleasure, and an attempt at closure. There was a good chance time had manipulated her memory into believing things between them had been better than they actually were, creating a fantasy in her mind no other man could compare to, in order to protect herself from duplicating the pain of past mistakes. She’d already tried getting over him the old-fashioned way—casual dating, throwing herself into her work, yoga. None had worked.
Maybe a more unconventional approach was just what the doctor ordered. Maybe she could screw him out of her system. But was it a good idea becoming that intimate with him again? “Why this?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“I suppose I do.”
“It’s simple.” He contemplated her a moment then tilted his head. “I want you.”
This time her low sigh did escape, and she couldn’t ignore the flash of satisfaction in his eyes.
And who was she kidding? She wanted his hands on her, his mouth on her, his thick cock pounding her. More than anything, she wanted to feel the bond his dominance would provide, even if it were only temporary.
Agreeing to his terms would give her time to discover whether or not her feelings for him were merely an illusion fashioned by a seductive setting, or mutual attraction, or fantastic sex. At the same time, she might discover what she felt for him wasn’t an illusion at all. If that happened, Bianca winced, she’d be back at square one, alone and with even more memories to torment her at night.
She forced herself to stop fidgeting with the sapphire pendant dangling from the thin gold chain strung around her neck and swallowed hard. “When exactly would we start?”
SKY: Delicious! However, there’s nothing quite like a sweet ending at this time of year. If you could leave ONE of your tales under your reader’s Christmas tree because it’s your personal favorite, what is it and why are you leaving it? If it’s the same story as your steamin’ hot story, I’m sure we all agree, that’s okay too! .
RYNNE: I’m not sure I have a personal favorite—all of them have a special place and are unique in their own way. If I’m going to leave one under the Christmas tree, I’d probably leave Reflections because it’s a story more focused on “wishes coming true”. Since I’ve already left an excerpt for Reflections, how about I leave a word from my hero, Rykel Deveau.
My name is Rykel Vincent Deveau however, I have been given several other titles over time—legendary lover, untamable rake, the master of seduction…but you darling, may use whichever you wish.
Adventure and women, is there possibly a more beautiful combination? Ah, I'm glad you agree. That is what persuaded me to begin documenting every one of my sexual exploits in a personal journal until the night my rakish ways brought a blasted curse down upon my head to suffer like no man has ever known—to experience solitude in the deepest sense of the word.
Two centuries have passed and here I find myself trapped in a house with a bloody mad woman. Her attire is hideous beyond anything ones imagination might concoct and on top of that, she sits in night and day pining away over a man who didn't deserve her attentions in the first place. I'm nearly at my wits end. Of course it wouldn't bother me so much if I weren't drawn to her in such a bizarre way. Oh, I want her. The only problem is, she has no idea I exist.
SKY: Sweet! Thanks so much for joining me this holiday season!
RYNNE: As always, it was a pleasure to be here. Sometimes once I write a story, my return visits to them are far and in between. Thanks so much for coming down memory lane with me. Until next time, then. Have a wonderful holiday season and please be safe ringing in the new year.
SKY: You bet Rynne, it was my pleasure!
Learn more about this fabulous author, where to purchase her books and what she's working on now! Visit Rynne at her Website. OR, type Rynne Raines into my handy blog search bar and learn more about Raines at A Writer's Mind glance.
Don't forget, Rykel Vincent Deveau mentions he's been given several titles over time. Pick one and share with us why you chose it in a comment at this blog for a chance to win!
ALSO, there will be a second winner (third in this case) drawn from every post now through December 24th. On Christmas day all winners will be announced and given a little something extra. My treat!
Wishing you a very Happy Holiday filled with a bit of both Naughty and Nice!
Award-winning New Hampshire native, Sky Purington writes a cross genre of paranormal/fantasy romance heavily influenced by history. From Irish Druids to Scottish Highlanders many of her novels possess strong Celtic elements. More recently, her vampire stories take the reader to medieval England and ancient Italy. Make no mistake, in each and every tale told you'll travel back to another time and revisit the romanticism history holds at its heart. Sky welcomes feedback from readers and can be contacted at Sky@SkyPurington.com.
Contest winners are selected by me using the random generator shown below. Each commenter who follows the rules given each week-whether it's to answer a question or simply comment-is assigned a number according to when they left their comment. For example: Jane comments first, then Sue, then Maria. Jane becomes #1, Sue #2, Maria #3. If the contest requires an answer to be left and Jane and Maria answer it, Sue does not, then Jane and Maria have entered the contest. Therefore, Jane is #1 and Maria is #2. Make sense? All numbers are then entered into the Random Generator. The number selected is therefore the winner. Make no mistake, I welcome those of you who choose not to enter the contest. Kind comments are always well received by visiting authors! Thanks so much. ~Sky
Are you a blogger with tons of giveaways? Want more people visiting your blog? If so, check out...