Sunday, June 30, 2013

Hot Wax Pain Sacrifice -Snippet Sunday

12:00 AM 1 Comments
~~This week's snippet contains ADULT themes~~

On Sundays, I share tidbits of my works in progress as part of 8-Sentence Sunday. This week's snippet is from my work in progress DISORDERLY COWBOYS, book 6 off my LONE WOLVES OF SHAY FALLS cowboy/werewolf/menage series.

Zane slid his free hand around Lanas waist as she leaned away, holding her breath to await his sacrifice. He tipped the candle slowly, eyeing her all the while, and the splatter landed right on her nipple. Her mouth opened to cry out in pain, but the fiery burn stiffened the bud instantly, shooting pleasurable stabs of need straight down to her clit. She arched over Zane’s arm and focused on the tingles of happy delight between her thighs.
The air thickened while sweat broke out on her brow, and images of spearing herself on Zane’s cock began derailing all thoughts of the ritual.
“I’m not sure that counted as a pain sacrifice,” she whispered after a moment.
“Why not?”
“Because I enjoyed it too much.”

Trailer for my LONE WOLVES series:

Find titles on Amazon, B&N, or here:

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For more awesome snippets, check out 


I'm J. Rose Allister, wife, working mom, and the author of over twenty-five books. Somewhere in between one and the next, I love hanging out here on my blog and over on Twitter. Give me a comment or follow-I love chatting with people!

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

The Road to Sacred is Paved by the Profane

12:00 AM 1 Comments
~~Excerpt has explicit adult content~~

On select days I'm proud to present special guests on my blog, and today I'm delighted to welcome Pauline Allan, who is here to talk about her Louisiana-based contemporary menage/BDSM tale, Gilded Lily. Welcome, Pauline! What was the inspiration for this book?

Many people ask me what was the inspiration for my new release, Gilded Lily. The story was built on a complex foundation of pain, growth, and fulfillment. My personal life shaped the words, bringing three people together to share the heartache of having what is just out of their reach. As I moved to redeem myself, my characters journeyed through the pages making this book my cathartic event. 

Gilded Lily is set in the heart of Louisiana. Baton Rouge was inspired by a fisherman. I was sitting in a bar off Bourbon Street in New Orleans when a man asked where I was from. I told him and he said he was from the red stick. I quirked my brow. In his Nawlins' draw he said, "Baton Rouge, the red stick." The setting was cemented into my brain and the story progressed.

Tony's character is an intense, broken man. His "voice" was inspired by a song. "Colorblind" by The Counting Crows hypnotized my emotions and embedded the melody of his life into my psyche. When I found a photo of the model Marco Dapper I knew I had found Tony.

Adam was a soldier I met in New Orleans. He was between tours in Afghanistan and struggling to find his peace in the civilian world. His eyes were shrouded in pain while his smile told me he  longed for something he would never find. Adam too had a song. "Broken Bridge" by Daughter Darling.

That brings me to Lily. My dear submissive found her way onto the pages through the ghosts of my past. I left my grandmother's funeral and locked myself in my makeshift office for three months. I grieved through the sound of my fingers clicking on my typewriter. Yes, a typewriter. Several years before the concept for this story developed I had visited a BDSM club and studied the participants. I knew how I felt and quickly realized it wasn't a mirror image of the people there. I knew the blackness that came with pain. I knew the loneliness of rejection. I knew the desperate need for discipline. I was a religious studies major in college and the concept of the sacred versus the profane always fascinated me. I threaded that theme through Lily's story. Her profane desires were redeemed because she is a woman. Sacred. Her song, "Tear in Your Hand" by Tori Amos pulled Lily's story through my heart.

My experiences are delicately laced through the story of three people winding along their paths as their journeys progress. Much like myself, redemption is needed, acceptance is elusive, and desperation lurks for these three characters who were gracious enough to live for a moment in my life.

Adam's ferocious sexual appetite for submission has left him frustrated and alone.  He turns to the photo in his wallet. The woman's full lips smile with laughter. The yellow sundress hugs her soft curves. The beautiful muse. His elusive flower.

Lily has a dark secret. A submissive without a Dominant, her life had derailed with grief, solitude, and rejection. Until a mysterious stranger's erotic education led to unfathomable pleasure.

Tony knew Lily's training would be his last attempt to escape the void in his life. An experienced Dom with the very nature of his control shaken, he has to run. There's one last responsibility to take care of before he can leave.

Lily, his once timid sub, is testing her boundaries and craves more. A love he can never give.

Tragedy leads Adam to Lily's plantation in Louisiana. While packing his brother's belongings, Tony offers the one precious thing Adam could never deny. The submission of his elusive flower.      

The clock is ticking. Tony wants freedom. Adam demands total submission. Lily must choose. Does she cling to the safety of Tony's commands or risk the rejection of Adam's love?

Either way, a submissive's trust is a fragile thing. Once's lost forever.

Excerpt from Gilded Lily
            “See, you can't hit in the same place twice,” Tony said as Adam listened carefully to Tony’s detailed instructions. Tony pointed to the dark pink marks he’d just made. “And never on the front of her body; she doesn’t like that.”

            Adam nodded, accepting the instruction. Both men were kneeling on the bed, watching Lily as she squirmed underneath their inspection. Tony, naked, and Adam, with his cock still hard, methodically discussed Lily’s marks.

            “And you have to snap it. Let the leather do the work, not your heavy hand,” Tony said as he flicked his wrist and smacked the lash on her left buttock. “Check her. You’ll see this gets her wetter than anything. She craves it. Truth be told, I trained her to accept what she needs, and in her own subtle way, she taught me how to give her what she most desires.

            Adam slid his hand between Lily’s spread thighs and rubbed the soft flesh covering her clit. She rolled her hips and murmured her approval into the pillow. He explored the depth of her slick core, then looked over at Tony and smiled. The way Lily’s body responded so readily amazed him. She was a beacon of senses, acting on instinct and waiting to be pleased. The last thing he wanted to do was harm the one woman he believed could heal his soul. This—the taming of his beast—was something only Lily could do. If this was what pleased her, then he would do whatever it took to show her he was ready for the challenge of bringing her pure pleasure.

            Lucky for him, they had the same desire. He wanted to dominate every aspect of her body, teach her to find power in her submissiveness and find happiness in his arms. He vowed at that moment to keep her safe. He would wield the belt, the thin strips of the flogger, or the whisper of a feather to bring her strength in knowing that she was owned. She was safe to explore her desires without fear of judgment.

            He had to give her at least that. She brought him peace in her touch and compassion in her submission. He would never be able to repay that debt. He had to be diligent when opening himself up to her desires. Whipping was not a punishment, but an act of caring. Binding was not a force of power, but a way for her to find release in the safety of knowing she was wanted. With every part of his being, he wanted to bring her the things she cherished most.

            Adam took another breath and watched as the end of the belt licked the gentle curve of her lower back. He had begun to run his fingertips along the pink flesh when Tony pulled his hand away.

            “Stop—you don’t want her to come.”

Buy here:

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Chicken and Polenta Tartlets with Guest Em Petrova

12:00 AM 1 Comments
It's Too Yummy Tuesday!

On Tuesdays, I share recipes inspired by books or that are just plain good! Today I welcome special guest author Em Petrova. What do you have for us today, Em?

Today I’m cooking with my heroine Eva from UNTOUCHED. She’s asked to bring a special hor d’ouevres to a retirement party, and since she struggles to make ends meet, the extra ingredients are difficult to purchase. She stalls enough that her boss, a hunky logger with his own business, insists they’re going grocery shopping together, which only amps up the tension between them! Read on to make your own tartlets. They’re easy and yum.

Eva’s Chicken and Polenta Tartlets
(snitched from the Food Network Channel)

Total Time: 1 hr 5 min
Prep: 30 min
Cook: 5 min

4 to 6 servings


For the tartlets:

1 pound instant polenta (about 2 1/2 cups)
1 cup cream
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

For the topping:

2 cups shredded store-bought roasted chicken
1/2 cup store-bought pesto
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup dried cranberries

Special equipment: 2-inch diameter cookie cutter
For the tartlets:

Make the polenta according to package instructions. Just before the polenta is finished thickening, add the cream, salt, and pepper. Pour the polenta onto a greased, rimmed baking sheet. Set aside to cool and firm up, about 30 minutes.

For the topping: In a medium bowl, combine the chicken, pesto, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine.

To assemble: Using a 2-inch diameter scalloped cookie cutter, cut the polenta into tartlet shapes, about 24, and place them on a serving platter. Top each polenta tartlet with a spoonful of chicken. Top the chicken with a few dried cranberries. Serve.

Thanks for stopping by and to J Rose Allister for hosting me today. I’ll leave you all with a tray of tartlets and a short excerpt from UNTOUCHED!

 UNTOUCHED by Em Petrova

Raising his head, he gave her a look that curled her toes. “I told you not to move, Eva.”

He lashed his fingers around her elbow. She jerked, shock crossing her stunning features. Before she could react more, he towed her through the crowd. In the entryway he rummaged through a pile of coats until he found theirs. Then he bundled her into it and out into the night. 

The frigid air seared his lungs. He finally drew a deep breath. Getting her out of there had been one of the smartest things he’d done in his life.

“Mason, where are we going? Is something wrong?”

He stopped on the gravel driveway and spun to face her. Taking her hands, he stared down into her eyes.

She searched his face. “What—?”

He dropped his mouth by degrees. “Eva, I’ve been dying to do this all day.” In one swift motion, he claimed her sweet lips.

Em Petrova
~hardworking heroes—in bed and out~

Monday, June 24, 2013

The Scariest Thing For a Writer

12:00 AM 0 Comments
I hate moving. Seriously.

It’s not that I’m half bad at it—I can pack a house fast enough to freak my husband out. But it’s a task I deplore. Maybe it’s because my astrological sign is the crab, which makes me want to hunker down in my shell-house and stay put. Maybe it’s because of a time in my life when I didn’t have the security of a home. Or maybe it’s because like most people, I am reluctant to embrace change. Whatever the reason, tearing apart what I’ve spent years putting together does not rank on my top ten thousand favorite things to do.

Dreaming of a better life, on the other hand, is something I love to do. My husband and I have been known to talk all night about our dreams for the future and our family. Talk is great, but the time comes when one either has to live the dream or be okay with leaving plans in the dream world forever. So this past month, after years of wouldn’t-it-be-nice, we decided to pull up stakes in order to find a better living situation. And it occurred to me while packing boxes and clearing out junk that writing is a lot like moving.

So many people talk about that book they’ll write someday, or how they’ll finally take the next step and “get serious” about writing as a career. Bump into these same folks two years from now and most will still be saying “someday”. But there will be those here and there who will have shaken up their lives in order to see their writing dream come to pass. 

What's that got to do with moving? The process of taking that step isn’t necessarily any prettier than moving to a new home. The photo at the top of this post shows just one corner of our current chaos. Mayhem has ensued! It’s sad and more than a little stressful to have to disassemble all the things I’d arranged Just So. (Not to mention I managed to dislocate my shoulder in the process--ouch!) At different times in my writing career, I’ve had to make changes to further my goals. I’ve quit jobs, altered the type and amount of writing I produced, and yeah, began my “serious writing” journey by disassembling the house to make room for a writing area. Just like each of those times, I know that the end result of moving will be more than worth the pain and stress of our current upheaval. But that can be difficult to see when you’re standing at the front of the mountain, wondering how to tunnel a road through.

The scariest thing for a writer is to veer off the easy path and go down the road to fulfilling that dream. What if people don’t support your choice? What if you work your heart out and the book fails? What if you never earn enough to replace the income from that day job? Those fears can keep us rooted in place, just like our fears of the unknown in moving to a new place kept us in a bad situation for years. Instead, fast forward and picture yourself already at the goal line, and work your way backward to determine how to get there. Then make a promise to yourself to do it! Not “someday”. Set a date on the calendar and go for it.

What are your goals for writing right now (or a current pursuit you enjoy)? What do you do to give yourself that push onto the scary road?

On Mondays I gab about, well, pretty much whatever I want!

I'm J. Rose Allister, wife, working mom, and the author of over twenty-five books. Somewhere in between one and the next, I love hanging out here on my blog and over on Twitter. Give me a comment or follow-I love chatting with people! And if you enjoyed this post, consider sharing with friends and subscribing for updates.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Sex Isn't Part of the Ritual -Snippet Sunday

10:54 AM 2 Comments
~~This week's snippet contains mature themes~~

On Sundays, I share tidbits of my works in progress as part of 8-Sentence Sunday. This week's snippet is from my work in progress DISORDERLY COWBOYS, book 6 off my LONE WOLVES OF SHAY FALLS cowboy/werewolf/menage series.

Zane reached into his pocket as his jeans slid down, and he came up holding a foil packet.
“Somehow I think you have other motives for getting into my magic circle,” Lana said with a shudder.
“I can’t help how my body responds to you, darlin’. But you won’t get a shot at channelin’ a bigger surge of werewolf magic than on a turnin’ moon.”
Her pulse sped to the increasing rhythm of the tribal drums. “Sex isn’t part of the ritual.”
He held her gaze while he tore the edge of the foil wrapper with his teeth. “Maybe it should be.”

Trailer for my LONE WOLVES series:

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For more awesome snippets, check out 


I'm J. Rose Allister, wife, working mom, and the author of over twenty-five books. Somewhere in between one and the next, I love hanging out here on my blog and over on Twitter. Give me a comment or follow-I love chatting with people!

Friday, June 21, 2013

Why I Turned a Bounty Hunter Hero Into a Male Stripper

12:00 AM 3 Comments

~~Excerpt contains adult themes~~

As a writer, there are moments when a random suggestion or encounter will spark a burst of creative excitement. There are also times I like to experiment with things that are a topic of conversation with my colleagues or editors. Both types of inspiration collided for my On the Hunt book, Nature's Bounty.

What's not to love about an exciting, powerful character on the hunt for their prey? So the second someone mentioned Ellora's Cave wanted bounty hunter stories, I knew I had to jump on board. With a whole bevy of tales centered around that theme, however, I had to explore the layers in order to make the character unique.  

Rewind to edits I'd recently gotten on a title whose heroine is an exotic dancer. There was concern her vocation wouldn't sit well with readers unless done with obvious reluctance and necessity. While that was true in her case, the editor wanted that made clear Right.From.Page.One (literally). I made the changes while reflecting on another of my titles, one that featured an actual streetwalker. Yet the editor on that book hadn't asked for any changes. Both involved sex-related occupations the characters didn't enjoy. Then it dawned on me that the hooker was a male. I started to wonder whether there is
 a difference in reading about sexy men exploiting their bodies. The thought brought a wicked smile and a promise to experiment someday.

That might make it sound like I deliberately set out to test the theory with Nature's Bounty, but those edits were far from my thoughts when I started envisioning my On the Hunt concept. Nevertheless, when I was researching how bounty hunters might seek disguises to blend in a crowd, my devious muse stepped in. I decided Nate would do the opposite. He would get close to his quarry not by blending in, but by standing out. He would become the object of hot, sticky female lust, a fantasy triggering unapologetic sexual advances that would kick his romance with the heroine straight into full gear. 
The very idea excited me so much that I couldn't wait to write the scene, and I felt like I had a partial answer to my question about sexy men in sexy occupations. 

True, Nate didn't actually become a stripper, and he found reasons why it wasn't exactly an ideal occupation for him (such as the discovery that wearing a thong was akin to dental flossing his crack). Still, he exploited his undeniable sexuality for the sole purpose of getting what he wanted, trapping his female prey like a spider catching a fly. I can't pretend I didn't enjoy every single second of his charade.

Your turn: As a writer, do you ever experiment with concepts or turn random snippets of conversation or things you see into story ideas? And readers, do you enjoy seeing a strong man use naughty charms to have his way?

Nature's Bounty by J. Rose Allister


“Well, hello there,” Lydia said, licking her lips to punctuate the seductive greeting. A particularly dirty thought cropped up while Nate watched her tongue moisten those plump lips.

He just stood there, holding his bag and balloons.

“Oh my, Val,” she said into the phone, “you have no idea how completely and utterly you have outdone yourself.”

Her eyes did things to him he could barely describe while they slid over every inch. His spine tingled under that gaze, and damn if her nipples didn’t stand up and salute after her visual tour. Something lower on his body began saluting as well.

She laughed at whatever response she got on the other end. “Have I told you that you are my absolute best friend in the whole world?”

There was no mistaking the sloppy rush to the words, a slur that told him she had started celebrating her birthday quite some time before he had arrived. That could either make his job easier or more complicated, depending on a number of factors. Drunks were unreliable at best, and quite often, they kept on going even after they got knocked down.

His quarry clicked off the call after kisses and thanks, and she opened the door wider. “So, do you have more for my birthday than just a ripe, round bunch of balloons?”

If she only knew what all he had. Starting with a ridiculously ill-timed boner and ending with the handcuffs in his pocket. Two things which, at the moment, didn’t necessarily strike him as mutually exclusive. This was bad. All kinds of bad.

“Oh yeah,” he said, going for a fuck-me tone while he met her gaze straight on, although the stab of heat in his stomach made him wish he hadn’t. “There’s a whole lot more to this gift than meets the eye.”

A delicate eyebrow lifted. “Good, because I definitely approve of what’s meeting my eye.”
She reached out and ran her hands over his chest, and he stiffened without thinking. That probably wasn’t what strippers did when handled by a hot female customer. Fortunately, Lydia didn’t seem to care about that, but when she gave his shirt an aggressive tug and nothing happened, she pulled back with a frown.

“What’s this?” she asked. “You’re not wearing standard-issue stripper wear. Where’s the Velcro, stud?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I believe in offering authenticity with my costumes.”

“And I believe in easy-on, easy-off.” She winked. “But I appreciate the dedication to my entertainment.” However, she glanced suspiciously at his duffel. “What’s in the bag?”

And what was with the twenty questions? Why wouldn’t she let him inside? Maybe she wasn’t totally buying his act, despite calling her friend to confirm that she had, in fact, hired a stripper.

Then again, he didn’t have to keep the game going. She’d opened the door, and that was good enough. He could just drop the charade right now and force his way in, but something told him to play this one cool. Win the fly over with honey rather than vinegar.

He offered a slow grin while he unzipped the bag and held it open. “A change of clothes and a portable stereo. You know, for the music I need to do my routine.”

With a smile, she reached over and took the balloon strands from him. “Here. Why don’t you let me pull your strings?”

She turned her back on him then, and his heart lurched as she sauntered away carrying her pretty pink balloons like a naughty girl. Below a slender back and perfectly curved waist lay the hottest, roundest bare ass he had ever beheld, courtesy of the surprise thong on her bikini bottom. He wasn’t the only one flossing his crack, and what it did for her sent a throb of need through his already pulsing dick. Fuck yes, she was a very naughty girl. One in desperate need of a spanking.


Check out more bounty hunter hotness by visiting other On the Hunt authors!

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I'm J. Rose Allister, wife, working mom, and the author of over twenty-five books. Somewhere in between one and the next, I love hanging out here on my blog and over on Twitter. Give me a comment or follow-I love chatting with people!

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Straight From the Character's Mouth: Hygiene & Hair Care in History with Carley Bauer and Lynette Willows

12:00 AM 20 Comments
 I'm hosting special guests today! Welcome to Carley Bauer and Lynette Willows, co-authors of the historical novel No Gentleman is He.  Their character, Cassandra Courtney-Brooks, has graciously agreed to take us back in time to shed light on colonial era beauty routines. And you can enter to win one of two prizes in their tour giveaway! One will win a lovely pair of colonial era earrings (U.S. only, please, due o shipping constraints). The second winner will receive a $100 Amazon gift card. Follow the tour for more entries and greater chances to win!

 Take it away, Carley and Lynette! 

Hygiene & Hair in History

May I introduce Cassandra Courtney-Brooks, a very intelligent, independent woman, love interest to Colton Rolfe, and the lead character in our novel, No Gentleman is He.

Cassandra, there has been a great deal of confusion about how women took care of their personal hygiene in your time, especially their hair. I mean, I don’t think you have shampoo, did you? Can you tell us all about personal hygiene in 1775?

Cassandra: How very nice of you to invite me here, and the kind words. First of all, I’m afraid I do not know what this “sham-poo” is. Rather a strange name for a woman’s toilette article, don’t you think?

I always thought so too. Did you use soap?

Cassandra: Oh, heavens, no! Since soap is so caustic with lye, it’s no wonder women do not want to use it on their hair. It leaves hands red and rough, so one can only imagine what it would do to hair. I’m afraid soap is only used to wash clothing or if our bodies were extremely dirty. In my case, I had my cinch cut by a villainous man who worked for Colton Rolfe, the owner of Varina Farms plantation. I landed in the mud and got exceedingly dirty, not to mention a few unflattering bruises. It was most decidedly not the way to treat a lady of high birth, don’t you agree?

It’s no way to treat any lady, no matter her social status. It seems there was very little in written records concerning hair care and hygiene in general during those times, and as a result many writers have skipped over those parts, and as a reader it’s frustrating too.

Cassandra: I’m not surprised future people would not know of such facts if you have a different way, since women would not want to have such intimate procedures on record. We are quite modest in what we discuss, even in private. In fact, I very much doubt it would even occur to us. But hair is washed far less than it is in your time if what Lynette Willows and Carley Bauer tells me is true of your time, with running water all the time whenever you want it. How magical it seems to me.

Regardless, imagine all those thick, long locks and how long it takes to dry in front of a fire, or outside in the sun. Many women of my acquaintance adopt elaborate and up-swept fashions that serve to conceal oily and scraggly hair. Most styles involve braiding or knots and covered by dainty caps or bonnets.

You must understand that this is highly improper of me to speak about. We simply do not discuss such things in polite mixed society. However, my creator informs me it is perfectly acceptable in the future, so I relented to her request and will explain.

Thank you for going against societal expectations and being candid with us.

Cassandra: Oh, not at all. As you probably know from reading my story, I was not one to stick to rules as I should.

Most times we use plain water and scrub our head vigorously. In fact, we save rain water, though most of the affluent families have wells from which we draw our water. Colton’s plantation is quite progressive, you know, having a ready source of water in the yard. Rain water, when it’s attainable, leaves hair shiny and silkier. Water from ground wells tend to be harsher, though we are not sure why. Perhaps in the future they will have reasoned why.

We have, but I won’t burden you with that knowledge. But how could plain water work?

Cassandra: Oily hair is naturally resistant to water, as we all know when trying to wash a greasy pan or get grease off your hands. However water, if worked with vigor on scalp and hair strands, can be quite effective on getting dirt from the hair. The natural oils, when left behind, actually made the hair softer, shinier and easier to manage.

But another problem is the smell of wet hair, which can be unpleasant indeed. So rose water or other scents are used if a lady wanted to be fragrant. Some men even use “pomades” to scent hair and clothing. Some popular rinses are rosemary tea or apple cider vinegar if they didn’t have rose water available.

Please excuse me if this next part is indelicate, but I feel for the sake of information I must include it. There is another treatment applied to ensure hair remained lice and pest free and maintained its healthy appearance and feel. My mother instilled in me, as most mothers do, that “100 strokes a night” before bed is vital because it not only de-tangles long locks but also distributed the natural oil of hair to the ends.

I also have long hair, and my mother also taught me this.

Cassandra: Then you were taught well. As women know, preventing excessive oiliness at the roots and dryness at the bottom also cuts down on split ends. If a woman has an excessively oily scalp, they will vigorously rub the scalp to “wipe away” any excessive oil right after washing. Fortunately, I do not suffer from this malady.

What about tangles? Long hair is can be quite difficult to brush.

Cassandra: Recently, a new discovery has come to us which I find most fortuitous. It is called “co-co-nut oil”. It was discovered quite by accident, but I’m afraid I must delve into a bit of recent history that may embarrass Colton and others in the American colonies, so I hope they will forgive me.

I’m sure they will. But why embarrassing?

Cassandra: Well, it involves the most unsavory tradition of slavery, of which my mother country, England, had recently outlawed. The trade in human lives was recently recognized as a crime against humanity and God. To prevent the recent embargo on slave ships entering English ports brought about a few short years ago, Americans started to ship slaves directly to Southern areas like Florida, Brazil, Columbia, Guiana, Venezuela, and the Caribbean, most destined to work on sugar and coffee plantations. However, some were bought by slave traders from these southern areas and transported by land north, to be purchased by tobacco plantations and large farmers. When some of these slaves came north, they brought with them this “coconut oil”.

In South America, coconut oil is plentiful, but it was commonly used for cooking and frying. It was also discovered by the slaves to be perfect for softening the skin and used as a moisturizer. The black people started to liberally use it on their bodies. Shortly after, they also discovered that the oil and milk from this strange fruit made the hair shiny and healthier, and it was even reported that older slaves delayed greying of the hair by using it regularly. For most of us white women, it was slow to catch on, most seeing it as a “black” beauty procedure. They believed that coconut oil would result in their skin becoming darker. Quite ridiculous, of course, for an enlightened woman such as myself, if I may be so immodest. But since white skin is a sign of beauty and prosperity, they stayed well clear of it for a long time. Instead, they stuck to their arsenic and mercury laden cosmetics that ended up killing a good many women, as I recently discovered.

However, I and a few other women in the Americas implemented the same toilette regime, delighting in softer skin and using it in our hair to tame the elaborate hair styles, as well as enjoying vibrantly colored hair that the oil accented. It also helped to reduce the effects of sea salt for those living on the coast, which often dried the hair and caused a straw-like consistency.

And there you have it. I hope this is some help to you and your readers.

It is indeed, and thank you again for your candor and your visit.

About No Gentleman is He:

Young, adventurous and widowed in a new land, Cassandra Courtney Brooks finds her dream of raising a superior breed of saddle horse slipping away with the death of her husband. Left with four horses, living in a tavern attic, and her scant savings depleting, she resolves to see her vision through to fruition by accepting the scandalous position of steward at Varina Farms.

Born in the image of his native ancestry, Colton Rolfe’s savage blood runs through his veins. Scorned by his father, Colt grew into a man of ill temperament whose only interest is the wild equine beasts on his plantation. His desire to breed his horses with the superior Thoroughbreds of the newly widowed Cassandra Brooks leads him to abandon societal rules. Colt’s growing resentment toward the Crown and his assistance to Sons of Liberty missions is complicated by the discovery that Cassandra’s father is a titled English nobleman.

Cassandra is soon forced to question the wisdom of her decision when she finds herself enamored with her employer. As fiery passion grows between them, Cassandra realizes her own spirit of independence, love of the land, and the savage man who is so much a part of it.
As the threat of war comes ever closer, wills are tested through gunfire, treachery, danger, and kidnapping. Does Colt dare trust Cassandra with Sons of Liberty secrets? More importantly, can he trust her with his heart? And will Colt ever trust Cassandra enough to love her as she longs to be loved?

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Hot and Deadly Heroes

12:00 AM 14 Comments
I'm part of the Hot and Deadly Blog Hop! I'm giving away an ebook copy of Displaced Cowboys to one random commenter. (For rules, see below.) Be sure to visit other hop blogs for chances to win other prizes!

Hot and Deadly Heroes
One of the things I love about romance tales is how the arrival of the hero can be deadly to the heroine's current situation. Her thoughts, her plans, everything she believes about how her future is shaping up can be derailed in an instant, killed stone dead when she meets the man who is about to change everything. And in paranormal romance, when the heroes are something other than human, this element of hot-and-deadly can go a step farther to become quite literal. Maybe that's why I love writing them so much.

In Displaced Cowboys, Terra meets not one, but two men who quickly prove themselves dangerous to her safety as well as her life at home--and they will be downright fatal to her innocence. Not only are these cowboys-turned-werewolves hot and deadly companions, but they attract a deadly villain who is willing to use Terra in her hunt for revenge.

Connor Darach- Terra knows better than to pick up a hitchhiker, but the onset of a strange fever blurs her good sense. Even while fearing the stranger might harm her, his deadly charm and the transformation in her body renders her helpless to resist:

I can’t blame you for bein’ nervous,” Connor said. “A woman alone would be crazy not to think twice about pickin’ up strays in these parts.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Of course I’m nervous. I’ve never stopped for a stranger before. You might be planning to kidnap or rob me.”

He slid his hat higher on his head. “Well, now, I’d be lyin’ if I didn’t admit a man would be crazy not to want to keep you. But I wouldn’t rob you of a thing you didn’t happily hand over.”

Nash Walden- Found bleeding on the roadside, Terra has no idea just how dangerous the injured cowboy truly is. She tends his wounds in a motel room, both unaware that the rising full moon is about to transform him into something wild:

“Let go of my arm, Nash,” she said, her eyes growing wary. “You’re hurting me.”

I’m hurtin’,” he said, relaxing his grip but not releasing her. “Inside.” His dry, warm hand pulled hers up against the center of his chest. “My heart’s hammerin’, my skin is on fire, and I hunger like a starved animal.”

The evidence of that hunger she’d already seen in his expression, and with him pressing her palm against his sternum, she could feel the heat of his flesh and his frantically pounding heart. She swallowed and willed her own fluttering pulse to still.

Yeah, I'll admit it. I love the danger, the thought that the heroine knows she's in peril just by being around her heroes--and yet she can't stay away.

What do you love about hot and deadly heroes? Share your thoughts in the comments below and you'll be entered in a random giveaway for a free eBook copy of Displaced Cowboys!

About the Lone Wolves of Shay Falls series:

They are cowboys torn from their livelihood after a fateful bite changed their destinies forever. When their pack is disbanded by a new alpha, the lone wolves are forced to roam the woods of Shay Falls with no way to return to the ranch life they once knew. Each must find a male pack mate of their own—and a female mate to hold that bond together. 
J. Rose Allister is the author of more than twenty-five books, primarily romance and erotic romance. A former editor and submissions director, she now works as a mild-mannered hospital secretary by day, naughty writer by night. Connect with her on Twitter or Goodreads. She loves talking to people!

Giveaway rules: 18 or older to enter. Void where prohibited. No purchase necessary to win. Prize to be awarded at this blog stop: one ebook copy of DISPLACED COWBOYS in winner's choice of digital format.  Odds of winning dependent upon number of entries. Enter by adding a comment on this post before midnight PST, Sunday, June 23, 2013. Make sure valid Email address is included in the comment or your profile. Winner selected at random and notified/prize delivered by email. Winner must respond to notification email within 72 hours or prize will be forfeited and an alternate winner selected at random. 

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