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Hi everyone! If you’ve followed a link and landed here, chances are great that you are participating in the Brain to Books Cyber Convention. My name is Gem Sivad. Nice to meet you. Since I’m only one of many authors Romance Blog Hopping during this event, I’m posting my media links all over the place so you can find me later in case your visit is short. By entering the Rafflecopter Giveaway you can make your visit sweet, as well.

Broadway Basketeers Gift Tower of Sweets

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And now for the good stuff.  I’m sharing snippets from my new series, Smoke, Inc. with you this weekend.

Smoke, Inc. #1: Taboo Frequency Available Now:  “Maybe we can help each other,” Kiley said looking up at him. He didn’t know what she had in mind but listened to find out.

“I’m a single mom. I don’t have a steady man because I don’t want one hanging around my two kids who are right now with my mom. She doesn’t babysit often and aside from Marcie, I don’t leave them with anyone else. I have a full-time life that includes a job and no time for a relationship. ”

“And?” He squeezed her shoulders, urging her to make an offer he wasn’t going to refuse regardless of what it was.

“And—I have certain biological needs I’d like to satisfy with something other than plastic.” She closed her eyes, her blush denying the intimacies they’d just enjoyed at the same time her hand stroked his thigh, promising more.

“Well as to those biological needs—seems like we can find a way to get them satisfied. When you’ve got the time, I’ll find the place.” He pulled up next to her car and put the truck in park, idling in front of her sister’s house, waiting for Kiley’s answer.

When she remained mute, he decided coaxing was in order.  “You do the calling,” he said, switching on his truck’s overhead light to search in the glove compartment for paper.

“I’d just as soon the whole town not know we’re carrying on,” Kiley murmured, her blush turning her pink cheeks to ruby.

“Carrying on?” After the uninhibited fucking they’d just engaged in, her old-fashioned description made him smile.

His quick rummaging turned up no paper, so before shutting off the overhead light, he held her hand and wrote his number on her palm. “If you change your mind and don’t call, it’s okay. I’ll not bother you. If you do call, I’ve marked your number a TF.”

“TF?”

“That’s military speak for taboo frequency—a contact too important to miss. You call when you’re able to get free and I’ll make sure we get together.”

He let her get half out the door before he added his last addendum to their deal.  “As to the plastic, you might want to bring it along for a ride or two. No sense in letting it feel neglected.” He liked a little variety in the sheets and he figured he’d let her know up front, he wasn’t all vanilla. He had a feeling neither was she.

Smoke, Inc. #2: Cowboy Burn Available now:

I eased my eyelids open. Ouch. Oh God.My head. I must have moaned.

This is awkward. Stealthily I eased my hand lower, investigating my state of dress. My fingers touched silk camisole, found no bra, but after squirming I was reassured I still wore panties.

“Something wrong?” From next to me, Gable reared up on his elbow.

“Uh. I don’t remember too much,” I admitted, staring at his chest.

“Is that right? Might have been those Moscow Mules you were throwin’ down.” He ran his finger from my arm to my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his.

“You want to ask me something?”

“What did I forget?” I closed my eyes guiltily.

“You don’t remember kickin’ Cheryl’s ass?”

My eyes flew back open. “I don’t know a Cheryl.”

“You called her Yeehaw Girl.” Gable was clearly enjoying my misery way too much.

“I fought her?” I didn’t remember that. I might have poked her shoulder. But…

“You don’t remember downin’ three more Moscow Mules after that, dancin’ until everyone left, then draggin’ me back here to bed?”

“I… I…” I gnawed on my lip, trying to remember.

“You don’t remember strippin’ down and bumpin’ uglies with me until we both passed out?”

Bumpin’ uglies? No. I most certainly did not remember that. Gable didn’t have an ugly spot on his body.

I managed to wrinkle my forehead in a frown and glare at him although the gesture hurt like hell. “None of that happened, did it?”

“Nope.” Wearing knit boxers stretched by a prodigious morning erection, he rolled out of bed and strolled to the bathroom.

I admired his backside and assured myself there was nothing significant about Gable climbing from bed wearing a hard-on.

As soon as he closed the door, I scrambled up and pulled his gray flannel shirt over my New Year’s Eve sexy underwear. I needed coffee. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, I was sipping from a mug and had regained my wits.

He tossed a bottle of aspirin my way, filled his own mug, and said, “Gotta check the furnace.”

I nodded and stared into my cup, avoiding his gaze until he did the chin thing again, lifting my head until I had no choice but to look into his eyes.

“Trust me, Harley-Jane?” he asked.

I took a moment to admire the way my full name sounded when he got serious, then nodded.

“Of course I trust you.”

Taking the cup from my fingers, he set it on the counter and moved into my space, sucking most of the oxygen from my brain as he covered my lips with his. When the kiss ended, I blinked, trying to reorient myself and find reality.

He brushed his thumb over my mouth as he growled, “Trust me on this, sweetheart. When we do, do it, and that will commence happenin’ soon, there won’t be anything ugly between us, and you sure as hell won’t be forgettin’ what we do.”

Smoke, Inc. #3: Rhythm Available May, 2017:  I had the unusual experience of tilting my head just a bit as he frowned down at me. Dark brown eyes topped by unruly brows met my gaze. Sun lines marked his wide forehead. A shaggy lock of hair dangled there, missed by him when he’d shoved the rest away from his face. I resisted the urge to tidy him and examined the rest of my dance partner. I have to admit, his physique impressed me more than his costume.

The pecs under the pink shirt bulged as he flexed his arms. He was an incredible hulk. I scrunched my toes inside barely-there sandals, wishing I had more protection between me and his gray suede shoes.

Did I mention his height?  At five foot eleven barefoot, I didn’t often gaze up at anyone. At six foot three in the strappy four-inch silver heels Roger had insisted I wear, it should have been even less likely. And yet, there he was, looming above me, my own personal dancing bear.

Without a word of greeting, he led me to the official starter table and registered.

“Good to see you Marty.” The guy at the table beamed at him, barely looked at me, which was good. Okay. I could do this. I gritted my teeth and winced as I surveyed his feet.

“Size fourteens,” I muttered. He heard me. I know because one curly brow went up.

“Fifteen,” he grunted without looking at me. “Wide.”

I was saved from further embarrassing dialogue when the DJ announced us.

“Jones and partner, Team One for Smoke, Inc.” Though the audience was meager, a smattering of applause and a few cheers from the balcony greeted us. It surprised me. He had fans.

Gable and Harley-Jane-soon-to-be-Matthews followed behind us, registered, and were announced as Smoke, Inc. Team Two.

“Let’s get this show on the road.” My dance partner frowned down at me as if I’d kept him waiting. His scowl deepened as he reached for me. “I’m Marty Jones.”

Couples surrounded us on the dance floor. Whether I was ready or not, Marty snagged my hand and deftly swung me into the Beatles singing Twist and Shout.

“I’ve been ready,” I answered, tartly, taking control. My partners until now had been shorter than me so I always navigated. I expected to do it again. Marty didn’t see it that way.

“Well, Miss-I’ve-been-ready, in case you don’t understand. I lead, you follow. I’m boss.”

Really? His grunted declaration made me defiant. I said I’d dance. I didn’t say I’d take orders. I wiggled my rear, and looking over my shoulder, gave him a shrug and an exaggerated Marilyn wink.

Someone in the balcony hooted at my antics which of course encouraged my insanity. I hoped my Marilyn lashes wouldn’t stick together as I batted them at him, put my hands on my hips, and delivered my answer.

Thanks for stopping by!

gem

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Weekend Writing Warriors

Hello out there. Ahhh, yes… Remember my *happy dance* anticipating the seasonal change? I can confirm. Spring is really, really, really here. For those of you like me afflicted with allergies, think positive. Summer is just a sneeze or three away. 🙂

Find more Weekend Writing Warriors  here.

           And check here for  Snippet Sunday Facebook writers.

Another snippet from Rhythm, Smoke, Inc. 3:

No, no, no… Holly’s good mood evaporated as Marty left the bathroom and advanced on her, carrying a box in his hand.

 

“Explain this to me,” he growled,displaying one of the three home pregnancy kits she’d used and discarded.

 

“First of all, don’t snoop through my trash,” she answered grimly.

 

Judging his expression more belligerent than repentant, she continued,”In case you don’t understand the mechanics of reproduction, I’ll speak slowly. Remember the night of the dance when  we had sex? Your sperm got loose, my eggs came out to play, and they tangoed.”

 

“I wore a condom…” he stuttered looking shell-shocked.

 

“Well obviously your brand sucks. It came off inside of me; not that you’d remember since you fell asleep as soon as you finished.”

Series Title: Smoke, Inc.

Unofficial Blurb:

Marty Jones: I’ve got to be honest. I’ve always prided myself on my self-control. I even held it together when my wife, business partner, and the love of my life, died. But recently, I’ve felt myself unraveling, though I don’t know why. Smoke, Inc., the company Kit and I built together, is doing well. In fact, better than well since changing government policies offer new ways to make money.

Some opportunities are legal, others, the high paying jobs, possibly not. I’m dealing with it day by day, but being responsible for keeping the Smoke crew employed, paid, and alive, is taking its toll. I’m thirty-seven, feeling more like seventy three. I guess that’s why I signed up to participate in a charity dance-a-thon.  Now all I need is a partner who knows how to shuffle her feet.

Holly Smith: I admit I have hermit tendencies. My two besties, and an almost aunt are the only three people standing between me and complete anonymity; but really, how many connections does a human being need? I work two or three jobs at a time to support my passion–remodeling my house. Right now I’m refreshing my kitchen, but the cost of new sink hardware has halted my project.

Lucky for me, Aunt Maxine ask for a favor. Her client needs a dance partner and she thought of me because, according to her, I can dance to the sound of two pennies bouncing on a floor.  I’m not comfortable with being billed as one of Maxine’s Baby Doll escorts but it’s just a dance, and I’ll get paid enough to buy my fancy faucet, hopefully suffering nothing more than sore feet.  What could go wrong?

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Taboo FrequencyCowboy Burn– Rhythm

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 Thanks so much for stopping by.

Have a great week!

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