Not A Joke or Scam - $30,000.00 Reward for a Marrow Donor

Amit Gupta  the founder of Photojojo, a marketplace for photography gifts and accessories, truly needs to find a marrow match, or he will die. If you are willing to help and be tested, please do so. Also, don't be afraid to do more research on Amit. There are many in-depth articles regarding his situation and the efforts to find him a marrow donor. But if you do nothing else, please share this so as many people as possible can be reached. A matching donor exists... somewhere.
http://sethgodin.typepad.com/seths_blog/2011/10/eliminating-the-impulse-to-stall.html
http://technicallyphilly.com/2011/10/19/help-find-a-bone-marrow-donor-for-amit-gupta-startup-entrepreneur-with-philly-ties
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/13/30k-reward-offered-for-bone_n_1009659.html

Bryl R Tyne - Author of Immortal

Please welcome an outstanding author, Bryl R. Tyne.

Yeah. I'm a fan. =)
Oh. Hey! Bryl's giving away prizes. Keep reading to find out what.

IMMORTAL by Bryl R. Tyne

Blurb: Found abandoned as a child and taken in by the Nevsky clan, the man Ivis now feels the call of the water, the sea, but Sefton and his family, one of the most influential vampire bloodlines in Russia, isn't about to let Ivis go. As Ivis's powers grow stronger—powers unknown to him—Sefton's instructed to detain Ivis at all costs to tilt in his clan's favor the balance of power in an endless struggle between the Bogdanov water gods and Nevsky vampires. Sefton's left with a choice: power or love. Which is the greater desire?

Link to excerpt: http://bryltyne.com/excerpt-immortal-by-bryl-r-tyne

Buy Link: https://www.nobleromance.com/Authors/59/Bryl-R-Tyne

Bryl's web site: http://bryltyne.com/

Q) Has a neighbor ever inspired one of your character, and why?

A) Oh yes. I've turned neighbors into villains and main characters many times. Got one old codger right now who I'm using as the villain in my current WIP. His creepiness and wandering eye is playing a huge part.

Q) Briefs or boxers on your men? Why?

A) Though I most often go commando myself, I like a nice pair of boxers. Nothing says "dangly bits" better.

Q) If your soul mate cooked you the ultimate sensual dinner, what would be on the menu?

A) Melt in your mouth pot roast cooked all day in a slow cooker on low with a single bay leaf, creamy mashed potatoes, buttery and with loads of pepper, and cherry pie alamode.

Q) What have you had to sacrifice to become a writer?

A) My family life suffers the most. Other than that, I've given up online gaming. That's about it.

Q) Is being a writer as satisfying as you thought it would be?

A) More so. One never really knows satisfaction fully until accosted on the street by a complete stranger who say, "I'm sorry, but I just have to tell you... I love your writing. I love your books. I have every one of them! (followed by a squeal)"

Q) Do you implant subplots in your stories very often – a personal dilemma the hero or heroine has to overcome as well as the primary obstacle?

A) Since most of my "dilemma" is caused by the characters' personal problems, I'll say yes. Sometimes, I wonder if I don't take subplots and make them into entire stories.

CONTEST: Leave a comment to win a Bryl R. Tyne Swag-pack! One lucky commenter will win a signed copy of Bryl's novella, TREY #3, so be sure to leave your contact emails!

Continue the tour by clicking the Noble Tour button

Random Musing

Yes, if I was stranded on a deserted island and could only have one book with me I would want that book to be the Kama Sutra. Why? Because eventually that palm tree would look pretty darn sexy.

My True Identity

I'm me.
Deal with it.

My Son and His Bride's Unique Wedding

One of My Favorite Writers and People -- Margie Church

The irrepressible but always enjoyable Margie Church has graced us by appearing on my blog today.

For those not familiar with Margie and her work, let me assure you she is one extremely devoted and talented lady. Every page she writes is from her heart, and she mulls over each and every word until she believes she has given the reader her absolute best.

So, without further ado, Margie agreed to answer a few questions, and she even told the truth in a couple of them.

Q) As a writer, what is your ultimate goal?

I always want the reader to be glad they spent money and time on one of my books. And when they've read that book, they were so enthralled they hunted down my back list and recommended me to their friends.

Q) How do you juggle home, career, family, and writing?

Not well when I'm on a deadline. I'm sober most of the time, and high on caffeine a lot. LOL I write for a living and I always have, so my children grew up learning that this is what I do, how I am. I have to have some balance. I want my children to remember that I was active in their formative years and I want my husband to feel like I'm a real partner in the family dynamics (which are often volatile with teenagers in the house LOL). I volunteer for their most important activities (drumline and Boy Scouts) and go to all their events. Sleep is usually the sacrifice. I wish the whole family could learn that interrupting mom isn't like a disruption while reading a newspaper. Throwing me out of "character" really irritates the hell out of me.
  

Q) There is so much that goes on behind the scenes in writing, such as rounds and rounds of editing. When you began writing professionally, what problems or bumps popped up that you never expected, and how did you adjust to them?

The first problem that popped up was learning I had a lot to learn! I made all the classic mistakes that new authors do. Fortunately, some to a lesser degree than others, so I chose my most egregious problems and made a plan to improve them, one at a time, with each book. For example, I was an adverb loving, head-hopper like you wouldn't believe. So I improved those on one book and mastered them on the next one. Then I moved down the list. After ten books, I've got a lot of the problems licked but I'm fine tuning all the time and some stuff I really think is dumb to have to do at all. LOL I pick my editing battles, but I just got a note from my editor today saying she noticed (again) how much I hate commas. *shrugs*

Q) Why did you choose to write under a pen name, and how did you decide what name to use?

Pat McCrotch was taken so I just went with the name on my driver's license. Sorta. 

Q) Describe what would be the perfect morning of the most perfect day in your life.

I'm pretty easy…I'd like to be enjoying coffee on the front porch of my mountainside home. The forest would be ablaze with autumn colors and an ocean breeze would usher in the morning sunrise. Notice I'm alone? That's kind of an odd thing about me. I enjoy my own company. Sometimes, too much.

Q) If your soul mate cooked you the ultimate sensual dinner, what would be on the menu?

Lobster with drawn butter, steamed green beans, homemade vanilla bean ice cream, cognac.

Q) What have you had to sacrifice to become a writer?

Sleep. Time outside. Vacations. Days off. Sleep. Outings with friends. Volunteering that requires a regular commitment. Sleep. Friendships with those who think I write smut. Ego. Sleeping in. Going to sleep early. I'm a Type A personality, so I'm driven to succeed. Writing is a very solitary profession and mentors are few and far between. I'm not going to succeed if I don't work my rear off.

Q) When you write, are you a character in your stories, or are you on the sidelines watching the story as it unfolds?

I write in third person because I find first person, well, too personal. To me, writing in first person makes me feel too emotionally vulnerable. I have a hard time separating who I am from what I do. Having said that, I know one of my trademarks as an author is being able to draw you into the story until you are living vicariously through it. I'm able to project myself into the story enough to take you there, but I end up feeling like the characters are people I know, not components of myself. 

Q) What's next for you? Are you considering new characters in a new setting?

I just contracted my next m/m romance, Krewe Daddy, with Noble Romance. This isn't exactly a sequel to Hard as Teak, but about a secondary character from that book, Drew,. This is the story about the love of Drew's life, Luis. When this book opens, Drew and Luis haven't seen each other for six years. The fires are still smoldering. The book takes place in New Orleans. Look for some great supporting characters, including a flaming, crossdresser named, Ronnie. I'm planning to be done writing this by 12/31.

I'm also partnering with Kb Cutter on a series titled RAZOR. The first installment in this BDSM romantic series is promised by 12/15.

Q) Which do you prefer to read – e-book or hard cover?

I've become a convert – eBook. I love my Kindle. I don't have a bookstore in town and I've read more books this year than I have in ten.

Margie's website and blog: www.RomanceWithSASS.com

Buy link: Noble Romance: https://www.nobleromance.com/Books?author=102

Amazon Buy Link (all my titles): http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Margie%20Church

I really want to thank Margie for sharing some of her time with us today, but I also want to thank each one of you who stopped by. I hope to see all of you again soon.

Brita Addams - Author of "A Minute After Midnight"

The delightful and talented Brita Addams is with us today. She appeared here once before, but wouldn't get naked then either. We'll keep trying.

Be sure to click the tour logo to proceed to the next stop on the tour.

Thank you for stopping by. We truly appreciate you spending some time with us today.

Q) Writing fiction, erotic or otherwise, takes a writer out of their everyday life and comfort zone. To go there, writers usually insert themselves in one familiar place. I know one author who actually does his best writing in Starbucks. Another rented a room above a garage two blocks from her house. Where do you write?

A) I write in my living room. I've commandeered 2/3 of the sofa and ½ of the love seat. It's quiet at my house during the day, simply ideal for a writer.

Q) For you, what constitutes a "good" day in your life?

A) Any day I spend with my husband. He is truly my heartbeat and I can't imagine a day without him in it.

Q) Has a neighbor ever inspired one of your character, and why?

A) We've lived in our condo for three years and we only know one set of neighbors, by name, and not much else. No, never. LOL

Q) Why did you choose to write under a pen name, and how did you decide what name to use?

A) I love this question. I decided to use a pen name because of my children and grandchildren. I thought they'd be happier not having my real name associated with my erotic romance.

When I told my children, all grown, about my first contract, they were shocked about the fact that I'd chosen another name and didn't see the reason.

The name I chose really was almost a given. My middle name is Brita and my husband's middle name is Adam. A little addition of a 'd' and and 's' and voila, Brita Addams was born.

Here's the blurb for A Minute After Midnight:

A fateful decision haunted Logan Chalmers for years. A high school reunion brings Reid Wright back to the old hometown, but will Reid even remember Logan or has he moved on to the bright future they were to share?

Following the rejection of the man he'd loved for most of his life, Reid moved away to seek his fortune. The hurt and anger allowed him to move on, but years later, only thoughts of Logan could bring him back for the reunion – that, and timeless desire.

A Minute After Midnight can be purchased at: https://www.nobleromance.com/Books/338/A-Minute-after-Midnight

An Evening at the Starlight is available at Noble Romance.

Email address: britaaddams@gmail.com

Website URL: http://www.britaaddams.com

Blog URL: http://www.britaaddams.com

Twitter: @britaaddams

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/britaaddams

Goodreads Page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4093476.Brita_Addams

JS Wayne - Author of Ancient Magic and Dancing on Flames

JS Wayne is graciously spending some time with us today.

Be sure to click the logo to advance to the next stop on your tour.

Thank you, JS, and thank you all for dropping in today.

Q) How do you juggle home, career, family, and writing?

A) *Laughs* Writing is both day job and passion for me, so I can scratch half that list off the bat. I’m lucky in that my wife takes care of the house so I can focus on my work.

As far as family, well . . . I’ve gotten a couple of emails and messages asking if I was still alive. Writing’s a business, and I treat myself as a small business owner, which means brutal hours and almost complete isolation while I create the stories my readers want to see.

Q) Silk or satin sheets? What color? Why?

A) I’ve always found black or purple silk to be the sexiest thing to sleep on. Put on some candles around the room so that the sheets gleam like wet ink or the surface of a deep pool and your lover’s lying there, pale against the dark silk . . . mmmm. A glass of wine, a slow seductive kiss, with the smooth fabric against your skin; doesn’t get any better than that!

Q) What have you had to sacrifice to become a writer?

A) There’s an old saying: “You can have ambition, or happiness. Not both.” I’ve sacrificed my leisure time, a few friendships, and my family often wonders if I’m still alive. Just about every waking moment of my day is consumed by getting words on paper and getting my name out in front of the reading public. When I’m not doing either of the above, I’m plotting and planning more ways to get the attention of potential readers.

Writing is a career, and every writer who wants to be successful at it is an entrepreneur in their own right. That means long hours, long days, and cutting down on anything that’s not essential to getting the word out. People, when they read a writer’s work, often don’t realize just what goes into the actual WORK of writing. If they did, pirate sites would dry up overnight. It’s a hard, solitary career, but I’ll tell you right now: If you’re strong enough, it’s worth it.

Q) Is being a writer as satisfying as you thought it would be?

A) In a lot of ways, yes. I have to admit, I hoped to charge in and set the publishing world on fire, and to date that hasn’t happened. *chuckles ruefully* But anything worth doing is worth doing all the way, and I take the bad with the good. On the upside, I’ve got awesome readers and a small but fiercely loyal fan base, which is a damn good start by my reckoning. For the rest? All things to he who waits, works, and prepares for them.

Q) When the day arrives you have to stop writing, what's the one thing you hope your readers will remember?

A) When that day comes, I won’t even realize it, because there’ll be a tag on my toe. But I hope that my readers will have learned to believe in love, magic, and things that can’t be explained, but exist anyway. And I hope they will remember me as one of the writers who taught them to believe. I can’t imagine a better or more fitting tribute than that.

Ancient Magic

More than two decades have passed since the Hodans invaded the peaceful kingdom of Jurav. In their zeal for conquest, they have mercilessly rent the Juravian national character asunder, starting with the temples of their gods.

Varath's uncle raised him to one day assume his father's mantle—command warden of the Temple of Noradi, the most beloved goddess of the Juravian pantheon and the deity of heart, hearth, and the fires which burn in both.

Melody would have been High Priestess to Noradi, and her own family has groomed her with equal care against the day when the Hodan hordes will be expelled and she can assume her rightful place as the most powerful figure in the entire nation . . . and as Varath's bride.

When Varath departed to serve in the Hodan army, Melody saw it as an unconscionable betrayal.

Now Varath has returned to take his father's place as the sole guardian of a temple where no one dares enter, and he has made overtures to claim the other half of his bequest: Melody herself. But can Melody see past the deceptions and lies his rebellion has forced and learn to love the man who seems to have turned his back on his own people?

Dancing On Flames

In the aftermath of a raid on a band of child slavers, Russell and Ion of the Chosen of Fenrir find themselves baring their hearts and souls—and their bodies—to one another. In doing so, they violate one of their Clan’s most sacred laws: Look not to your own kind for love.

Now, one will lay his life on the line on the Path of the Flame Dance, where the Mother Earth will judge whether the love they have is worthy—or a betrayal of their own blood. The other must watch as his lover walks the fire, or perishes in the attempt.         

            Stand or fall, the two warriors will never be the same. . . .

Buy Link: https://www.nobleromance.com/Authors/155/JS-Wayne
JS's Blog: http://jswayne.wordpress.com/

Sins of the Sparrow - by KB Cutter

Once again KB Cutter displays his unwavering ability to draw the reader into a dark and sensual world.
I hope you enjoy this quick look at his latest short story.

Two women from diverse backgrounds cross paths. One finds unexpected love and the other comes face to face with her dark destiny.

Nothing is ever what it appears to be.
Buy Link
KB's Web Site

Excerpt:

"I am dying."

impossible." The girl said, voice low, whispering.

She could hear a gasp escape from the girl's throat. A muted cry that would have sent shivers up her spine; nipples pebbling, heat blossoming in her loins.

If she still drew breath.

"That is . . .

 

'Yes, Governess, I am aware of your power.'

The woman traced her tongue over her lips, her eyes shone as if oil

aflame.

'Aware? How droll. You should be afraid, very afraid, my tight bodied fuck toy. The only reason blood still courses in your veins and I have not drained every drop of it is your talent.'

The Governess arched a brow. Her gaze lingered on the generous swell of

the girl's breasts.

'

Aside from the endowments of your flesh, my sweet. However, your body only pleases me so much; your blood can only satiate my hunger for so long. My need is great, ravenous as my appetites, of both the sanguine and carnal. You have been complacent. That is not wise. I may not be dying in the sense of the decomposition of the body, but of the spirit. Of the black energy, that sustains my existence. I am poised to transform into an Ancient Immortalis. However, I shall not go gently into the Eternal Slumber. I do not wish to relive my past through dreams, awaiting the Epoch of Resurrection.'

The woman savored the girl's reaction, running her tongue over her teeth,

gaze roaming the girl's lithe body. Bare thighs trembling, skin goose fleshed. She knew her voice caressed the nubile girl's ears with warm velvet sensuality. The words spoken fire in her mind, molten heat in her sex, fear raised her flesh as desire ached in her body.

The woman smiled.

It was a grin devoid of mirth. This she knew, innately. All from the girl's scent.

"My sweet, breathtakingly dense play thing, your intellect is compromised

by your humanity, as is your sexuality. I can effortlessly invade and manipulate both."

The girl shivered. Her breasts swelled, bits of pink flesh became daggers.

She whirled around with disconcerting agility. The girl blinked, taking a

step back, the neurologic synapses slowly registering the fact the woman was now facing her, only a hair's breadth distance between them.

Catherine's Toys III - by KevaD

Oh, yeah. Weirdness and crazy abound in the third installment of the Catherine's Toys serial.


Thanks to everyone who has followed this dark, erotic, and psychotic tale.


Catherine suspects Larry the security guard knows she's the one sexually assaulting hospital patients.

Casey just wants to have sex with somebody. Please? And if he gets to kill that "somebody" afterward, all the better.

Catherine comes up with a plan that will take care of both of their needs.


Excerpt:


Casey gagged on his bite of pepperoni pizza. The heat of the ground peppers he'd scattered over the extra cheese didn't come close to the burning in his ears. He gulped a swig of soda to clear his throat and quickly glanced around the pizza parlor for any gawkers staring at their booth. No one seemed to have noticed, but he kept his unwelcome surprise to a whisper. "What'd you say?" Catherine really hadn't just publically outed him, had she?


"I think that hospital security guard, Larry, has a crush on you." Catherine's voice contained an unnerving mix of taunt and mockery. "Why don't you call him up and invite him to join us." Her tone plunged to wicked sneer. "He's got a really nice looking tush. Maybe I should let him play in my toy box."


Anger bubbled in Casey's belly amongst the gas pockets from the pizza. He opened his mouth—and belched.


"Oh!" Catherine scrunched her face like a pug dog. "You are so gross." She waved her hand as if to fan away the varnish-stripping stench. "And you wonder why I won't fuck your fat ass? Good God! You'd probably fart in my face if I gave you a blowjob."


"Bitch," he growled, once again looking around the room for any voyeurs to this conversation he'd never hoped to have, but the scant few other patrons' focus seemed riveted on their meals. Odd, he'd thought there more customers when he'd arrived. "You stay away from Larry."


Her brown eyes glowed eerily in conjunction with the devil's smile that curled the corners of her lips.


Shit. He'd screwed up big time. Now Catherine knew that even though Casey loved her, he'd found something in Larry that interested him enough to want to keep the attraction a secret from her.


Catherine ran her soft, plump hand up and down Casey's trousers-covered thigh. "I'm only teasing. Relax."


A crisp pang of disappointment jabbed the back of his skull. "You mean Larry doesn't like me?"


She moved her hand to his knee where she massaged each bump and depression. "You really do have a thing for him. Well, well." She finger-walked her way up the inside of his leg. Her words came throaty and harsh.
"Ever got a hard-on thinking about him, Casey?" Her hand stopped at the top of his thigh.


With a finger she traced the outline of his penis; the slight pressure awoke his fantasies—Larry naked and chained to his bed.


 "What about right now? What if Larry was here, would you get hard if this was his finger on your little dick?"


Arousal was imminent, blood rushed into his soft cock, and his growing erection shifted position. Casey pushed Catherine's hand away and nervously looked around the room for the third time, but the patrons' and the staffs' attentions were glued anywhere but toward Casey and Catherine.


"Stop it. Somebody will see and throw us out of here."


"Who are you worried about?" she asked in a snicker. "The teenage waitress with the perky tits? You like her tits, Casey? Maybe I should grab one when she walks by our table next time. She might like it. We'll never know if I don't try. Do you think the little bitch has a hairy cunt? I've never fucked a woman. Would you like to watch me eat her pussy, Casey? Maybe you'd like to suck her clit with me?"


"You're disgusting," he hissed between his teeth. "Knock it off. I'm not kidding."


"Ohh," she moaned, and cupped her hand over his groin. Catherine roughly slid her hand back and forth over his cock. "You're turning me on. I didn't know you could get so angry. I kind of like it." She gripped the fly to his zipper and tugged it open just a tad. "I think I'd like to fuck you. Right here. How about it, Casey? All these people watching us? Mmm. Let's fuck, right here in this booth. Come on, let's do it." She yanked his zipper completely open and maneuvered her fingers through the opening of his shorts.

Buy Link

Desire Damned - by KevaD

"Desire Damned" is an erotic MM historical paranormal tale, and became available to readers today from Noble Romance Publishing as part of their Timeless Desire Line.
I hope you enjoy this quick look at this dramatic story.Buy Link

Satan wants the warrior Taka to bow before him. But Taka bows to no one except his gentle lover Har.

For thousands of years the two men have been doomed to a life of torment. While one walks the earth, the other suffers under the devil's lash. Their only respite is an occasional night; a random, beautiful, love-filled night, knowing that with the dawn one of them must die in battle and return to Satan's wrath.

On the war-torn fields of Gettysburg, the two lovers are reunited once again. But this time something beyond Hell's reach has happened. Something so wondrous, Satan may finally get his wish.


Excerpt:

Chapter One

Glory could not be found in death. Taka chuckled sadly. For him, not even death could be found in death. How long had it been this time? He pulled the blanket tight around his neck and kept his eyes closed. The blanket stank of sour sweat and damp wool.

What new ways have they found to kill each other by now?
He'd learned with each new age he found himself in, war was nothing more than the testing ground for technology, an incubator for new-fangled ideas. Men died, war ended, only the inventions remained to tell the tale. People soon forgot the lives destroyed, but enjoyed the innovative toys and the comforts spilled blood produced.

Taka rubbed his head over the soft grass. So many wars, so many battles. So many times he'd died, only to awaken in the midst of another opportunity to be killed.

There was one good thing about war though, for a day or two, Taka wouldn't suffer under the devil's lash. Insects wouldn't crawl in and out of festering wounds, gnaw at his eyes and lips. And if he was lucky—very lucky—he might even live until the next war. He sighed heavily. To live meant Har had to die and suffer the unrelenting torment, the inextinguishable pain. And he would never allow Har to suffer, not as long as he held the strength to die and keep Har alive.

Har. How he missed him. Hopefully, they would find each other. His heart thumped at the thought. Har in his arms, their lips meeting, their bodies entwined. How joyous the time shared would be . . . before one of them died and submitted to the hellish torture inflicted on their immortal bodies.

An odor of beef and boiling potatoes drifted past. His empty belly rumbled in want. Clothing rustled. Men groaned and moved. Metal buckles clicked. Rifle hammers snapped back, clapped shut. Low conversations started, faded. The voices were tired and broken, not hopeful and filled with excitement.

Wherever he was, whatever war this might be, hadn't just begun.

In the distance, cannon fire shattered the stillness.

"Fall in! Form a line, recruits."

Taka puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. That would be him, a recruit—one of the new men, not known to the rest. He tossed off the blanket and sat. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Leafy boughs of trees sheltered him from the sun. A tree grove. Shade surrounded him. Elms and walnuts mixed their odors to provide a façade of serenity.

"I said, fall in, goddamn it!"

English. He'd heard English before, but never spoken the language. Each new war brought another tongue to add to his growing list. Satan seemed to have a fascination with tongues and dialects and always made sure Har and Taka mingled well. Ojibwa had been his last voice, the one prior. He'd fought nearly naked alongside Frenchmen in grand, colorful clothes. Running through the forests, his skin free to breathe, had reminded him of his earliest days when few men walked the earth. Before he'd disobeyed Satan and incurred the devil's unrelenting anger. He shook off the memory. Today, he lived once more. No need to waste a moment on the past or the future.

Taka stood and combed his fingers through his thick hair. Then he ran his hands over his clothing. The shirt was a pullover of discolored white cotton, the material soft on his skin. Dark gray trousers of wool scratched his legs. Braided suspenders held the pants on his hips. He wiggled his toes inside brown leather boots. Cotton covered his feet. At least he had on socks. The boots were a bit tight, a tad too small, but not all that uncomfortable. When the opportunity presented itself, he'd take a bigger pair from a corpse.

Taka grabbed his blanket from the ground. A folded paper fell out. He retrieved and opened the parchment. Enlistment papers. His name was Sanford Rawlings, and he'd been drafted into the Army of Virginia, whatever that was. Not that it really mattered. Finding Har was his only goal, and his love wouldn't be in this army—he'd be a member of the opposing force.

He stuck the paper inside his shirt and took his time rolling the blanket.

Heavy steps tromped toward him.

"Did you hear me, boy? I ordered you to fall in!" The voice was thick with a drawl and full of raw domination. A sergeant of some sort, no doubt. Officers didn't waste their valuable time with individual soldiers.

Taka/Sanford Rawlings placed the blanket next to an elm's trunk and turned to face the man huffing anger on his neck.

The bearded man planted the edge of the black brim of his drooped front forage cap against Taka's forehead. Brown eyes flamed. "You don't want to cross me, boy. I'll be the weevil in your cotton, you want to mess with me."

This man, this overconfident rabble, defeat the warrior Taka? Hardly. He tried to stop the chuckle, but the minute laugh slipped between his lips.

"You think I'm funny?" The voice climbed two octaves. Sallow cheeks burned red. Bushy brown brows lowered. Spittle splashed on Taka's lips.

Better to leave this annoyance alone and get started finding Har. "No, I don't. Sorry. Didn't mean nothing by it."

"Sergeant," the man growled. "Didn't mean nothing by it, Sergeant."

"Sergeant. Sorry, Sergeant."

The sergeant's eyes shifted their gaze back and forth. "Best be. Now fall in."

Taka slipped around the man clad in gray from throat to pants bottom. Large stripes blazed yellow on the man's woolen waist-length coat. Sweat dripped down his dirty neck. A wide, black belt cinched around the jacket. A leather holster with button flap dangled from the right side of the belt; a sheathed bayonet on the other.

The uniform was soiled, but not with fresh dirt. The sergeant hadn't seen combat in at least a few days. Cannon continued firing from a distance too far for Taka to accurately judge. Could he be among reserves maybe? Troops not involved in the actual fighting, but at the ready for a moment's call should the battle sway in the wrong direction for either side. Which, since Taka was here, probably stood a very good chance of happening. Add that to the bayonet—an infantry weapon—on the sergeant's belt, and a charge into the enemy's ranks had to be on somebody's agenda.

Taka walked out of the grove into a lush pasture of grass dotted with the white petals and thick scent of sweet clover. A black and yellow bee nonchalantly buzzed past. Heat pressed his face. The sun beat down from behind. Summer. Had to be. The fiery orb sank almost imperceptibly. Afternoon. Four o'clock or thereabouts. The sun sat in the west. That meant the cannon fire, and possibly the bulk of the fighting, was north of his position.

Har would instinctively know he had arrived and make his way to the farthest end of the battle sometime after dark. Undoubtedly to Taka's right—south. Lifetimes ago, they had agreed to always seek out a small river or stream to meet. Trees and thick foliage would hide their all too brief time together.

"Move your ass." The sergeant brushed past Taka.

At the bottom of the slope lay rows of small canvas tents extending east, interspersed by an occasional, larger tent with the sides drawn up and tied. Uniformed men milled about the larger tents. Command tents. Men shuffled about a quadrangle of stone-ringed fires. Two cows hung on spits over a pair of the fires. Kettles boiled over the others. Supper.

Small groups of soldiers led by sergeants in waistcoats practiced marching with rifles held waist high. More evidence of an upcoming assault. But the marching aspect dictated there would be a lot of ground to cover before the actual call for the charge.

The cannons boomed.

"Ohh," Taka moaned. Cannon and men marching on open ground. An inevitable bloodbath. Whatever time had passed, man had learned little in the spans.

Men, some as young as thirteen and others as old as dirt, formed four staggered lines of ten men in length. Taka stood next to a tall, man-child clad in trousers of flax and a faded, red cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A strand of blond hair lay sweat-glued to his forehead under a wide brimmed straw hat. The youth's face held strikingly handsome features. Lean and muscled, the man-child was not an unpleasant sight to behold.

"What's your name?" Taka whispered.

"Tobias T. Toler, sir." The child's voice was husky, but meek, dusted with fear.

"Ta . . . ."—he gulped the mistake—" Sanford Rawlings, pleased to meet your acquaintance."

"Quiet in the ranks!" the sergeant shouted as he paraded back and forth. "Supply tent's the fourth major tent down. Pick up your uniforms and rifles and ammunition there. Find an empty tent, eat some vittles. We'll be sending them Yankee dogs back north where they belong in the morning, so get you some rest. Y'all in the Army of Virginia. General Lee's personal army. Our commander's none other than Major General George Pickett himself. You do him proud as he do the South. Fall out!"

The sergeant strode off. The newest members of Lee's army straggled behind. Taka walked beside Tobias T. Toler.

There was no fire or hardness in the youth's eyes. "You ever killed a man?"

Tobias thrust back his shoulders. Pride led the flurry of words. "I'm a crack shot. Only one better marksman in the county than me, and he's the one what taught me to shoot. My father. Clemons Toler."

A chuckle tangled in Taka's belly. "Your father, eh? He the one let you come to the war? Where is he anyway? A man, a real man, would not allow his child to fight in his stead." Taka never would. He'd die, like he had so many times, and suffer more than he had already to keep his children safe.

Children. The word, the dream, hung like an oasis's desert mirage. The damned couldn't have children, but could freely carry the emptiness.

Tobias spun on a heel. Now his eyes flamed. "Don't you talk that way about my father," he snarled.
"You don't know nothin'." His hands balled to fists. A vein in his scrawny, suntanned neck pulsed.

Taka crouched and swept a leg against Tobias's ankles. The young soldier dropped flat on his back. A thud, a crunch of the hat brim breaking, and an oomph, and the non-fight was over. Taka straddled the heaving torso and offered Tobias his hand.

Tobias blinked rapidly. "You move pretty quick."

"Lots of practice. I meant no offense. Take my hand." The youth raised a limp arm. Taka grabbed the offering and pulled Tobias to his feet. "Where is your father? He fighting in this war, too?"

Tobias stared at the ground and shrugged. "Yankee patrol took him some time back. Not a word since. Our farm were up by the state line. Father didn't want to fight. Said he wanted to sit this one out. Said he wanted to see me grown and on my own afore he fought again."

Taka placed his hand on the youth's bony shoulder to steady him as they walked. "Fighter, huh? What other war did Clemons Toler serve in?"

"I don't know. Father never said as much." He looked at Taka with eyes as round as the setting sun. "But the stories he'd tell. Father's a great man, sir. He knows a lot about fightin'." A smile broke through. "And about peace. Nothin' he can't grow. Taught me how to raise crops and live off the land when there taint nothin' else to live off. And he taught me the value of life. Don't never kill unless it's for survival."

A memory took kindle and glowed. Har cradled an injured rabbit. Taka smiled. "Your father sounds like a man I know."

"Good man, sir?"

"The finest it's ever been my honor to spend time with." He glanced toward the sun. Soon he'd be with Har. An ache stabbed at his chest. Soon together, too soon parted. Guilt flooded his brain. One of them would die tomorrow, one would live, alone. One would be lashed by the devil until the next time they met on a battlefield. The other would wander life aimlessly, brokenhearted. He sighed. Life or death, in the long run, didn't much matter. Torture was torture. But this last bout under the lash had nearly broken him. He'd almost surrendered what few strands remained of his will.

His gut wrenched in agony. He didn't want to go back to hell. But he didn't want Har to have to return there either. Still, one would.

"There's the supply tent." Tobias pointed ahead.

At a table, a scruffy man who stank of whiskey and urine handed Taka a Lorenz rifled musket, a flask of powder, and a pouch of shot . . . and a bayonet.

A green-teethed grin creased the man's face. "From what I hear, you a goin' be needin' that pig sticker."

"What about a uniform?" Taka asked.

"Check around. They be plenty on the ground you want to play dress up. Where you think that rifle come from?" The man staggered away.

Taka and Tobias walked along the rows of small tents just large enough for two men to squeeze into. Toward the end of the rows, near where they'd started, they found one with a lone bedroll.

"You take it," Tobias said. "I can sleep fine without a blanket."

Taka smiled. The boy had manners. He'd been raised right.

"How old are you, Tobias?"

"Fifteen my father says. But I can hunt, farm, and shoot better than most men older than me." His tone contained that tint of pride again. "Father says I can have my own place when I'm seventeen."
A warmth embraced Taka. He liked the boy. Boastful, but not so much he was annoying. "You're pretty proud of your father, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir. He's a good man. I never knew my mother. Father raised me best he could by himself. Taught me all he knew." He scuffed the ground with a toe. "Hope I see him again."

Taka patted Tobias's back. "Me too. I've got a blanket back there in that tree grove under an elm. You take this bedroll—"

"I'll get it." Tobias was on the run.

A chuckle rattled in Taka's throat. Then he nodded. If there was a way to keep Tobias T. Toler alive, he'd do it, and hope the boy got to see his father again someday when this war ended.

"Looks like the sergeant's gonna break your mustang for you." A vine stench of tobacco, whiskey, and stale beef lumbered past Taka's nose. "Wouldn't mind a little of his backside when you're done. I still gots some corn liquor left in a jug. Trade?"

Taka focused on the tree grove. The sergeant who'd mustered the recruits slunk across the pasture, shifting his gaze from side to side. Taka turned. The man who'd issued him the rifle stood wiping drool from greasy stubble with a sleeve of his shirt. A sheathed knife hung from the man's belt.

In one swift move, Taka had the knife, and the man's throat under the knife's blade. "I see you again, I'll gut you like a boar." He pulled the knife away and sprinted for the grove of trees.

Mergers & Acquisitions - by Lillian Grant

Accountant, Emily Armitage is stuck in Sydney for the weekend, working on the numbers for a hotel sale while fighting off the unwanted attention of her boss.  However, things begin to look up when she steps on her balcony and meets the man of her dreams. When her new neighbor delivers room service, along with a shoulder massage, delicious foot rubs, and easy charm, she succumbs to their obvious attraction.

Having spent a passionate weekend together, Monday morning brings an unwanted revelation.  Randy’s been keeping secrets that could change her life. Suddenly uncertain, she is forced to make a choice between her career and a man who adds up to perfection. Should she stick with the hotel acquisition or take a chance on their passionate new merger?

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On October 22nd Lillian will give away a copy of her new book. Here's the link for the info: Contest

Excerpt

Emily rubbed her cheek against his chin. “They do say you’re never too old.”

Randy wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, nuzzling her cheek with his lips. “I thought the expression was you’re never too old to learn.”

Emily tipped her head back as he showered her neck with kisses. “I’m sure I could give you lessons.”

Randy chuckled and pulled back. “In what?”

She stared into his eyes. She seriously couldn’t take much more of this teasing. She was desperate to taste his mouth, but he seemed determined to keep up the torture. Her mouth was dry, and her heart pounded. Should she make the first move? No, not yet, she wanted to see where he intended to lead her.

“Whatever you like.”

He grinned and returned to kissing her neck, causing her to moan.

Finally, when the torture was about to become too much, he kissed his way along her jaw and gently pressed his lips to hers. When he moved back, so their lips were barely touching, she tried to steal the kiss she longed for, but he refused to give in.

Instead, he rested his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes. Emily smiled at him. “Tease. You do know you’re the best date I ever had?”

He smiled back and pressed his lips gently to hers. She felt, more than heard, his reply as he mumbled it against her mouth.

“But you haven’t had me….yet.”

Suddenly the playing turned to something more. His soft tongue gently touched her lips, and she gladly accepted the passionate kiss she had been longing for all evening. They clung together. She fisted his hair to hold him to her as he slid his hands up her back, pulling her closer. His lips took possession of her. His tongue danced in her mouth. He tasted just as she imagined—smoky, spicy, and warm. The sensation of her breasts pressed to his firm chest, the growing bulge in his jeans digging into her abdomen, and the magic of his mouth, left her breathless. Her nipples hardened, her pussy throbbed. She thought she would pass out, but she never wanted it to end. She could stand on the balcony kissing him forever.

He finally broke the kiss, leaving her with a couple of playful nips of her bottom lip. She took some deep breaths, trying to get her pulse to slow down before she had a heart attack.

He grazed her face with his fingers. His dark eyes drilled into hers. “How would you like to watch the sunrise with me?”

His voice was a purr of barely contained lust sending a bolt of passion to her heated core. Emily swallowed slowly. Oh, my God, he wanted to spend the night. She wanted him to spend the night. In fact, she never wanted to spend a second without him.

She whispered her response. “I would love to.”

Randy planted a kiss on her cheek, trailed one hand over her hip, and entwined his fingers with hers before leading her inside. He pulled the balcony door shut behind them, and she expected him to lead her to the bed, but instead he walked toward the room door.

“Where are you going?’