Word games are always interesting, but sometimes they’re not really about words - or not only about words.

Click the banner to go the Free Rice site where you can play a vocabulary game and donate rice to the hungry at the same time.

How does it work?

For every word you get right, FreeRice donates 20 grains of rice through the UN World Food Program to help end hunger. Here are some facts from their FAQ.

FreeRice has a custom database containing thousands of words at varying degrees of difficulty. There are words appropriate for people just learning English and words that will challenge the most scholarly professors. In between are thousands of words for students, business people, homemakers, doctors, truck drivers, retired people… everyone!

FreeRice automatically adjusts to your level of vocabulary. It starts by giving you words at different levels of difficulty and then, based on how you do, assigns you an approximate starting level. You then determine a more exact level for yourself as you play. When you get a word wrong, you go to an easier level. When you get three words in a row right, you go to a harder level. This one-to-three ratio is best for keeping you at the “outer fringe” of your vocabulary, where learning can take place.

There are 55 levels in all, but it is rare for people to get much above level 48.

NOTE: I’ll say! I hovered for a few exciting minutes on the dizzying heights of 50 - and then I fell. Ker-lunk! On the other hand, I donated about 1500 grains of rice.

The interesting bit was how useful I found the Latin and Greek roots I did at school a million years ago. No longer part of the curriculum here. *sigh* Though I admit, I did do a bit more Latin and Greek at university. I wasn’t bad at Latin, but Greek? Hah! I was hopeless, something to do with the Greek alphabet I think..

Who pays for the donated rice?

The rice is paid for by the advertisers whose names you see on the bottom of your vocabulary screen. This is regular advertising for these companies, but it is also something more. Through their advertising at FreeRice, these companies support both learning (free vocabulary for everyone) and reducing hunger (free rice for the hungry).

Who distributes the donated rice?

The rice is distributed by the United Nations World Food Program (WFP). The World Food Program is the world’s largest food aid agency, working with over 1,000 other organizations in over 75 countries. In addition to providing food, the World Food Program helps hungry people to become self-reliant so that they escape hunger for good. Wherever possible, the World Food Program buys food locally to support local farmers and the local economy. You can visit the United Nations World Food Program to learn more about their successful approach to ending hunger.

Will the rice I donate make a difference?

The rice you donate makes a huge difference to the person who receives it. According to the United Nations, about 25,000 people die each day from hunger or hunger-related causes, most of them children. To a mother or father watching a loved child die in their arms from hunger, the rice you donate is more precious than anything in the world.

Give it a go - you don’t have to tell us how you scored. Because it doesn’t matter really, does it? You’ve done something for world hunger and improved your vocabulary at the same time.

What was you favourite word? I became rather fond of azygous. Unfortunately, my brain is now so addled I can’t recall what it means. I’m sure you’ll do better.

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Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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Note my trembling upper lip, the brave way I choke back the tears. Mr Gorgeous was pipped at the post in the Book Cover of the Year contest - by a pod of sexy orca whales! They make a truly beautiful cover. Oh woe, oh woe is me… Mr Gorgeous came second.

To see all the place-getters, pop over to Erin Aislinn’s website. Then come right back so you can hold my hand.

You’ll remember Mr Gorgeous was February Book Cover of the Month? There’s the award, on the left. All hail to Syneca, Goddess of Ellora’s Cave covers, who created it. She’s an amazing artist.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for voting. You’re all wonderful!

I decided a little excerpt would make me feel better. It’s emotionally exhausting being gracious, you know.

A gentle fist took Anje’s loins and squeezed. Holy Mother, she’d never had a man Brin’s size! Two heartbeats later, the full sense of what he’d said caught up with her and for an instant, all the strength leaked out of her knees. She stumbled and Brin steadied her.

“We?” Her voice cracked. “What do you mean, we?”

“Exactly what I said. Ah Trey. Good.” Trey laid a rough bar of soap and a clean shirt on the rock. Brin moved behind her and untied her hands. Over his shoulder, he said to the other man, “You start at her feet. I’ll meet you in the middle. And scrub!” He sounded amused. “How long since you had a bath, scout?”

“Look, you wouldn’t—” Anje lunged away in mid-sentence. Two steps later, she was sprinting. The forest was the Mother’s. It would hide her.

But before she could really hit her stride, a long arm snagged her elbow and spun her around to smack into Brin’s powerful chest. Clucking his disapproval, Trey knelt and grasped her ankles, fumbling with the laces on her boots. He was bare already, the sunlight sparkling cheerfully on the knobs of his spine, on firm, creamy flesh.

Ah, Mother help her! Anje kicked hard with her heel, putting all the strength of thigh and hip into straightening her leg and catching him viciously on the collarbone. He disappeared with a muffled curse and a splash.

Abruptly, her legs were swept out from under her. She landed in the shallows with a tremendous, smacking splash and a mountain fell on top of her.

She swore, bucking like a fellwolf in a trap, squirming against the weight of Brin’s body. He had her caged, pressing her into the soft sand, his chest spreading her breasts beneath him. His huge hands were wrapped around her throat, the fingers set firmly against her thundering pulse. The threat was clear, but the pressure was not at all uncomfortable.

“Listen to me, scout.” He trapped her legs under his, the wet leather of his trews slick and slippery on her thigh. He wasn’t even breathing hard. “I may have been a little blunt.”

“Blunt?” She glared, wondering why the heat of her rage and terror hadn’t boiled the blood in his veins.

Inky lashes swept over his eyes. When he looked up, she lost her train of thought for a second. “We won’t hurt you, I swear. We can’t. Lufra’s Law does not permit it.”

The water lapped cool over her limbs, kissed the back of her neck.

Trey’s voice came from beside her, cajoling. “Think how good it’ll be to be clean. Come on, sweeting.”

“Lufra’s Law?” she croaked, her gaze still tangled with Brin’s.

Slowly, he peeled his body away, his dark face impassive. But she thought he was well pleased with himself. “Show some sense, scout. You’re more than outnumbered and I’ve given my word we won’t hurt you.”

“Gods! How stupid do you think I am?” Her face twisted with scorn, while her heart galloped like a runaway vran. She’d never felt so small, so helpless.

So very, very female.

“For the last time, we won’t rape you!” Brin’s lips thinned. “What is it about Feolin honor you don’t understand?”

“Feolin honor…?” Words failed her. Carefully, she sat up.

“Lufra’s Law does not permit a woman to be taken against her will.” Brin showed his teeth. “Lufra is a goddess of pleasure, of love. The use of force in the act of sex is sacrilege to the Feolin.”

“But you said you were going to…” She had to drag in a breath. “…fuck me.”

The tension went out of his shoulders. He enveloped her wrist in one hand and carried it to his lips. “And we will.” His tongue drew tiny circles over the flutter of her pulse. “With great pleasure. Yours too.”

“But you said—”

“Without before within,” said Trey. He rubbed his shoulder against hers, like a temple cat.

“For the Mother’s sake, speak plainly! What do you mean?”

“Plainly? Very well,” said Brin. His voice was deep and dispassionate. “The Law of Lufra states that no man may take his pleasure inside any part of a woman’s body, unless she has offered to the Goddess first. Each time, every time. Without before within. You see?”

“Offered to the goddess?” Anje stared. “Oh.” Comprehension dawned. “You mean if I don’t come, you can’t fuck me?”

“Crudely put, but true. Lufra cares only for pleasure, freely given.” This time, he did smile—a crooked smile, true, but devastating for all that. She wondered if he knew what a lethal weapon he had. Hah! Of course he knew, the calculating bastard.

Anje looked from one grinning face to the other. The tide of her panic receded slightly, allowing her to breathe. Inside her, a sliver of dark arousal tangled with the fear and fury. Ruthlessly, she stamped it out.

The arrogance of them, the smug, unmitigated… To hold a Child of the Mother and expect her to— Men serviced her, not the other way around.

“Go to hell!” So furious she was panting, she snatched up the clean shirt.

Brin actually chuckled, a dark and wicked sound that made her belly clench. “Mind you, the Law of Lufra is not fussy as to ways and means.”

He lunged.

The scuffle was short and sharp, and she had the satisfaction of hearing him grunt when she elbowed his inner thigh, perilously high. But the end was inevitable.

“Come on, scout.” She ignored the seductive whisper. “You’re safe as long as you control your…urges. I give you my word.”

Trey scrambled closer and took her hands. “You might as well get clean, darling. We aren’t letting you go.”

Brin stood and tugged at the laces of his trews. Anje looked away, but not before she caught a glimpse of a nasty bruise, riding low on one hard hip. He chuckled.

Trey removed her boots and pulled her down until she was reclining on the sandy shelf. As he arranged her feet on his thigh, she heard splashing and Brin settled behind her. A big, muscled arm slid beneath her neck. “Lean your head back, scout.”

For an instant longer, she held firm. Ah Mother, Trey was right, it would be wonderful to bathe properly. Among the Children, a warrior’s word was her bond. Why it should be she couldn’t fathom, but instinct told her she could trust the Feolin to be no different.

She knew she couldn’t expect them not to push Lufra’s Law to its limit—and hers. Gods there wasn’t anything she’d put past them! Nonetheless, this body was hers to control. She could be strong.

And after she was clean and fed—it had been hours since she’d eaten—she’d be on her way with the precious map. They had to sleep sometime. Through half-closed eyes, she caressed Trey’s shoulders with her gaze. She might even arrange a meeting later, on her own terms, between clean sheets.

But which man? How…piquant.

Feeling confident for the first time since Brin’s hard hands had grabbed her on the hilltop, she relaxed and let herself be held.

The water felt wonderful on her scalp, Brin’s fingers unraveling her braids and swishing her hair back and forth, sifting and stroking. The soap smelt spicy, astringent, a masculine smell. She liked it.

“Good?”

Anje groaned. Trey rubbed the soles of her feet and worked lather between her toes.

She allowed herself to drift. Ah, Mother of the world, she was tired. Three months was a long, lonely time. The relaxation pulled her under, turning her limbs to honey. A warm mouth whispered over her cheek, traced her eyebrow.

So very tempting. No pressure. As long as she didn’t climax, she could relax and enjoy being pampered. The Children had no time for pampering. What utterly wicked luxury.

“What’s your name?” Brin murmured in her ear.

“Anje,” she said and groaned again, this time with disgust at her own stupidity.

Read the first chapter of Gift of the Goddess , or buy the book (print or electronic).

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Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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As love at first sight stories go, Michael Caine’s is a beauty. Apparently, Caine saw his future wife, Shakira, in a TV commercial - and fell like a ton of bricks. “She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen,” he said. “I fell madly in love with a girl who I did not know and might never find.” But of course, he did. They’ve been married 35 years and she’s still beautiful, IMO. Those bones… *sigh*

Now they’re doing scientific research on love at first sight. A study of 700 students at three British universities showed that one look can be enough to gauge whether a long-term relationship is on the cards or just a one-night stand.

According to the research, subtle signals emanate from the shape of the jaw, nose size or narrowness of the eyes. We already know humans can judge a lot about another person from their face, including things like health and even some personality traits. But Ben Jones, from the University of Aberdeen’s Face Research Lab says, “…this really is the first study to show that people are also sensitive to subtle facial signals about the type of romantic relationships that others might enjoy.”

Lynda Boothroyd from Durham University’s psychology department adds, “…preferences for different types of face were actually quite strong. This shows that these initial impressions may be part of how we assess potential mates when we meet them.”

An earlier study at Ohio State University suggested that three minutes is all you need to make a good judgment about potential partners. Researchers paired off students and followed the progress of their relationships. They found that in the majority of cases, those who became closest had known that would be the outcome soon after meeting.

Okaay…I’m not sure I believe in love at first sight. Yes, I believe in incredibly strong attraction at first sight, serious liking at first sight, total lust at first sight.

But - I know I want to spend the rest of my life with this person at first sight?? Hmmm…

When I first met My Beloved, I was attracted immediately. He was cute, funny, intelligent and more than a little drunk. (There’s something highly significant about that sentence. I must have had a premonition.) He also had a girlfriend - nice girl but a bit horsey looking. Meowowow. What was particularly exhilarating though, was that he “got” me - he laughed at my jokes, for instance. Millions of men in this world don’t. I can’t imagine why.

But marry him? Have his babies and grow old together? Nu-uh, not at once, not in those first few minutes. Conversely, I’ve definitely had intense dislike at first sight experiences. The best example being a woman who was as nice as pie to my face, but for some reason I knew she hated me, though all my other friends said I was nuts. And I was right. *sigh* She did.

What’s your experience? Do you believe in love (not lust, liking or attraction) at first sight - real, true committed love? I would be so delighted to hear it happens - and that it works Happily Ever After! Perhaps it’s just a matter of degree?

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Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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Now playing: Robert Cray - Right Next Door (Because Of Me)
via FoxyTunes

Introducing the Passionate Ink Cyber Circuit: We’re a group of writers who belong to the Passionate Ink chapter of Romance Writers of America and write erotic romance. (See the links in the sidebar.) Once or twice a month our members will tour a recent release, so you get to find fabulous new authors for your TBR pile!

It’s my pleasure to introduce our next author out on tour - Barrie Abalard

The Book:

Exes Patti North and Dylan Decker adore each other. Her problem? He cheated. His problem? Her temper. Fixing things will take more than spankings and hot sex, though that’s a good start.

HOT TO TROT, set in the often funny-weird worlds of Boston high-tech and equestrian hobbyists, tells the story of two exes who still adore each other - and still annoy each other-more than any other twosome on the planet.

Available from Loose ID

Read an excerpt

The Interview:

This is the bit where I get to ask all those cheeky questions. Nosy? Moi?

Tell us about your hero and give us five descriptions of his personality.

Dylan Decker is complicated, arrogant (but in a good way), funny, iconoclastic, and sweet.

The odd thing about Dylan is that I had absolutely no one in mind when I first imagined him. Usually some small aspect of someone I know will inspire a character, but Dylan sprang fully-formed from the place my muses live. (Barbara Samuel calls them “the girls in the basement”, and that’s how I think of them, too.)

Dylan has a brilliant mind for software, is tall, dark and handsome, has a great sense of humor, and also has the amount of ego necessary to found a company and be one of its officers - in other words, a lot of ego. I spent many years in high tech as a technical writer, but I never met anyone quite like Dylan.

However, he has a sensitive side - he likes to wear silk undies, he adores horses, and he’s emotionally a very complicated man. That last personality aspect was borrowed from my husband. I rather like complicated men. Continue reading »

It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

 

Chapter 7
A Wager Claimed

The story so far:
Jack’s giant First Mate, Duka, reduces the Duchess to a quivering bundle of submission with an expertly administered spanking on her bare bottom. Jack gives the order to set sail for the pirates’ island home. But where is it?

You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

Kate stood, blinking, in the centre of Jack Cavanagh’s cabin on the Brazen Hussy. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a combination of luxury and order. Lord, this had to be the fruits of years of raiding. The rich patina of polished wood was everywhere, from the bunk - wide enough for two - to the magnificent antique mahogany desk beneath the porthole. Antique? What a joke! She was living in an antique dealer’s wet dream.

Wriggling her toes, she dug them into what had to be a priceless rug, all cool silk pile under her soles. It felt at least six inches thick. Above her head, hung a pair of lamps in a fretted, Moorish style. Gazing at the soft brassy lustre, she wasn’t at all sure they weren’t pure gold.

Everything was scrupulously clean and polished, the papers on the desk arranged in two tidy piles, with a sextant and conch shell to hold them down. And he had an eye for colour as well as quality, Jack Cavanagh, because he would look beautiful in this space, she just knew it. She could imagine him lounging against the jewel-toned pillows heaped on the bunk, the vibrant colours enhancing his tigerish eyes, highlighting his auburn hair. And what they would do for his naked golden skin!

Keerrrist, yes! muttered one of the Hormone Harlots. Kate shook her head, puzzled. She’d never been able to differentiate between them before. They’d always been a duet. This voice was deep and a touch husky, contralto.

“Like it?” Jack leaned against the door, smiling that dangerous smile.

Her stomach doing flip-flops, Kate glared. She swept out an arm, indicating the furnishings. “Is this your booty, pirate?”

Unperturbed, Jack grinned, sauntering closer. “Indeed it is, pretty Kate.” He stroked a finger down her bare arm and she shivered, jerking away. “And so are you.”

“I’m no one’s property.”

Jack considered that, his head to one side. “Your heart and soul, that’s your own. No one can take what you won’t give. But your sweet little body, now…” He drew her closer, firm gentle hands on her upper arms. “About the kiss you wagered…”

Kate stared, mesmerized.

“You know, sweetheart, I haven’t been so intrigued for a long, long time.” He stroked her nose with a long forefinger and she felt her eyes cross. Hissing, she batted his hand away. Jack chuckled. “There are you, you see? You’re all fire and quick wits, Kate. A challenge.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me, you thief!”

“I’m not.” Jack’s gaze grew intent. “I mean to have you, Kate, I’m going to fuck you every way I want, whenever I want and with whom I want. And more.” When she gasped, reeling, his elegant mouth quirked in the neat beard. His slid one hand up under her hair to cradle the back of her neck. “Never fear, it will be what you want too.”

Kate clenched her fists. She mustn’t hit him, she mustn’t. She couldn’t afford to antagonise the man who had such power over her. Such power, sighed the Harlots, giving her clit surreptitious tug. Kate set her teeth against the surge. “You’re very sure of yourself, Jack Cavanagh,” she said.

Jack’s eyes twinkled. “Some have called me arrogant,” he agreed. “But I never underestimate an opponent. You’re worthy of my steel, Kate.” His teeth flashed. “So to speak. In fact…that’s the whole point. I can’t be entirely sure of your heart and soul, but I can be sure of this.”

He bent his head and fitted his lips to hers.

Kate held herself rigid, not helping. Which didn’t seem to bother Jack at all. He was taking his time, drawing it out, exploring one lick and nibble at a time. Oh God, her lips were tingling and her entire traitorous body yearned to shift forward an inch, to press up against all that muscled hardness and warmth. Everywhere they touched, little fires sprang up under her skin so that she trembled with the effort of ignoring them.

Jack murmured, “That’s my girl, fight it.” His lips curved against hers. He was smiling, the bastard!

Show him, screamed the Harlots in chorus. Go on, show him how it’s done!

Want more? You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

Want even more than that? Join my newsletter - see below.

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Now, in case you don’t know how it works…
You and I are participating characters in these adventures, one every month. Cool, huh? By joining my newsletter list, - http://groups.yahoo.com/subscribe/deniserossetti - you get to make the decisions about our heroine’s love life (via a Yahoo Poll), and you receive each chapter a month in advance of the website. Majority rules and our girl does what she’s told. Though I have a funny feeling about Kate…I play god(dess) which pushes all my evil-type buttons, and sometimes newsletter readers get to create characters and situations. It’s all good healthy wicked fun and occasionally, there are prizes. Oh, and lots of hot, kinky sex. Yeah!At the end of every newsletter chapter, you usually find three choices or a contest question with prizes. Subscribers to my newsletter get to interfere with Kate’s love life. Sign up to join the fun! http://groups.yahoo.com/subscribe/deniserossetti

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Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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These nifty neologisms make me chuckle with their sheer wit, but they also fill me with admiration. Some people are incredibly clever. They also have too much time on their hands.

For many years now, the venerable Washington Post has run a contest asking readers to submit new definitions for existing words. (I don’t think it’s still going.) Here’s a selection, ones I particularly enjoyed. It’s followed by a foolish attempt at a neologistic story. If such a thing exists…

Coffee (n.), a person who is coughed upon.

Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight you have gained.

Abdicate (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

Willy-nilly (adj.), impotent

Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightie.

Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp.

Gargoyle (n.), an olive-flavored mouthwash.

Flatulence (n.) the emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are run over by a steamroller.

Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.

Testicle (n.), a humorous question on an exam.

Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified demeanor assumed by a proctologist immediately before he examines you.

Circumvent (n.), the opening in the front of boxer shorts.

Frisbeetarianism (n.), The belief that, when you die, your soul goes up on the roof and gets stuck there.

Bustard (n.), a rude bus driver.

Semantics (n.), pranks conducted by young men studying for the priesthood.

Spatula: n. A fight among vampires.

Perplexed: adj., lost in a movie theater.

Population: n., that nice sensation you get when drinking soda.

Racket: n., a small pair of breasts.

Nincompoop: n., the military command responsible for battlefield sanitation.

Ineffable: adj., describes someone you absolutely cannot swear in front of.

Pimple: n., pimp’s apprentice.

Discussion: n., a Frisbee-related head injury.

Ozone: n., area in which the G-spot is located.

Flattery: n., a place that manufactures A and B cup brassieres only.

“Thit!”

Running his tongue over the jagged edge of his left fang, Armande the Awesome lymphed hurriedly down the street behind Nocturnal Emissions, the vampire nightclub.

Fading into the shadows, he shoved an anxious hand under the waistband of his oh-so-elegant tailored slacks. Slipping his fingers into the circumvent of his French silk boxers, the ones with the cute little bats on them, he heaved a sigh of relief. Thuper. Everything still there, though he was going to be willy-nilly for a few days.

That bitch Hortenthe sure packed a high kick. Just because he’d said she had a nice racket. Thit, you’d think the girl could take a compliment! But no, she’d jeered at his balderdash. Thilly bitch. He’d gone straight for the throat.

What started as a hissy fit had escalated to a full scale thpatula. Uh, spatula. Every vamp in the joint had weighed in. He should call a flatulence, but he was…too…damn…tired.

No, he was going home to gargle with gargoyle. Bugger Hortenthe.

Nethxt time.

Hmm, I think I may write a vampire thtory - sorry, I mean story - after Kate is finished. I’m very pleased with Nocturnal Emissions, the vamp nightclub. We could have a lot of fun there…

Which of these neologisms is your favourite? Which is the cleverest?

If you feel like it, write a mini-story using the neologisms, but no pressure. It actually feels a little odd, using familiar words in such an unfamiliar way. Use our friends Armande and Hortense if you want. Or try your hand at creating a neologism. It was beyond me!

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Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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Doin’ the Happy Dance at Rossetti Towers.

TAILSPIN is a finalist in the 2007 Passionate Plume Contest!!! Yay!!!

It’s run by Passionate Ink, a Special Interest Chapter of Romance Writers of America for erotic romance writers.

Let me tell you, I am absolutely deelighted! To be in a final with all those fine writers is such a blast. And what’s even better - the winners in each category are announced at the PI luncheon at the RWA Conference in San Francisco and I’ll be there. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!!!

And I get this neat little logo to put on this blog and my website, so I can brag properly. heh heh

I’ll return to our normal program tomorrow with a Wordplay post, but I just had to tell you. The email came at the best time. I’ve just finished the edits for THE FLAME AND THE SHADOW and I was deep, deep in Editing Hell. Didn’t know up from down, Arthur from Martha - whether I was making the damn thing better or worse. Actually, I still don’t know, but it’s gone now - out of my hands. Whoosh! to my editor.

To celebrate, I thought we’d have an excerpt - Ah, Mirry…

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Mirry slid his palm from her shoulder to her hand, lingering over the caress. He grasped it and drew it up slowly, over his knee. Higher.“You may as well look, you know. It won’t go away while you’re touching me.” His voice was so absolutely toneless, she knew he must be amused by her naivety. But when she glanced into his face, there was nothing to be seen but calm and concentration.Nonetheless, the suspicion he was laughing at her lingered and the sting of it gave her courage.She let herself look.And made a startling discovery. “Lufra! There’s no hair on your body.”“Only feathers,” he agreed. “Except on my head.”

Something tugged her closer and she realized his tail was snugged around her waist, the feathered end of it brushing her belly. But that was a peripheral consideration. She leaned forward, enthralled, and his hips rose slightly off the bed.

She’d never cared much for testicles, though Veryl had been inordinately proud of his. They’d been big enough for manliness, she supposed—she had no grounds for comparison. But they’d been wrinkled and hairy and pendulous, not round and rosy-gold and tight like ripe gaeta fruits on the vine. Bare and smooth.

All the air in the wagon evaporated. She couldn’t suck enough of it into her lungs.

When she licked her lips, Mirry made a purring noise deep in his throat. His…his… Lufra, she had to brace herself to form the word, even in her head. His cock reared over his ridged stomach, a golden column. The broad head flushed a deep amber and a pearl of moisture glimmered on the tip, gilded by the light of the lantern. As she watched, he took it in one hand, running his thumb over the satiny skin with casual competence. His chest rose and fell, the gilded nipples fiercely erect.

Shameless, he was absolutely shameless.

“True enough.” He chuckled and her sex contracted with greed at the wicked, masculine sound. Gods, she’d spoken aloud! Either that or he’d read her mind.

“Fledge.” Plumage rustled as he tilted his head, holding her pinned with the intensity of his raptor’s gaze. Suddenly, she had an insight into the mortal terrors of small tasty creatures like bunrats. “Touch me.”

There was no room for choice in his tone, nothing but imperious demand. Fledge froze, immobilized by longing, paralyzed by fear.

The seconds stretched. Finally, Mirry sighed. The strange, tufted brows drew together. He lifted his fingers away from hers, uncoiled his tail from around her waist. Without the warmth of his flesh, a chill slithered down her spine.

He tucked his hands behind his head, revealing more russet-colored, wispy down, this time in the hollows under his arms. The sight affected her strangely, made her chest hurt.

“Please,” he said. The word seemed dragged out of him. Even as his hips lifted and his cock quivered, his sculptured lips compressed in a thin line of displeasure. Fledge knew that expression. She’d angered him. Gods. Her spine stiffened while her stomach roiled. Imperceptibly, she withdrew and Mirry sighed. The silence stretched, but he made no further move toward her and finally, she was able to raise her eyes to his.

She drowned in the topaz depths. “I’ll never see you again,” she husked. “I know that.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged and feathers whispered across her pillows. “Perhaps not.”

The moment he’d set her free, perversely, she wanted to be held. She shook her head, amazed at herself. Her brain must be disordered by such unadulterated beauty. He’d hypnotized her.

“No?” He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. A muscle at the corner of his jaw knotted. “Ah well, I’ll not force you.” He sat up with a wince, a tawny angel shining in her shabby wagon. “I’d better go.”

“No! You can’t! I mean—” She swallowed, conscious her voice had risen to an undignified squeak. “Your wings. I have to— They’re still filthy and your wound…”

“Don’t worry, little Fledge.” He trailed his knuckles across her cheek. “I’ll be fine.

He was really going. Really. Forever. All sense left her. The seconds tiptoed by, rich with the strange and varied noises of the Ten Nations Fair at night. A man whistled tunelessly in the distance. Harness jingled in a cheerful counterpoint, one of the vranee whickered.

“You could close your eyes,” she whispered.

In the warmth and the lamplight, the silence seemed endless. A night wind swept over the campground, making canvas flap and timber creak. The little wagon rocked the slightest bit.

Finally, Mirry said, “So I could.” Every movement graceful and deliberate, he took the bowl from her nerveless fingers and laid it on the floor. Then he lay back against the pillows, reached out a long arm and drew her down to his chest. He tipped up her chin with one hand, tilted his head and fitted his mouth over hers.

Her first gasp was one of surprise, her second a moan of pleasure. Ah Goddess, he kissed as though time was an irrelevance, nibbling lightly at her lower lip, running his tongue gently over the curve of it. There was no rush, no slobbering or pushing, just an ocean of gentle delight, of satin smooth and tingling texture, wet and hot and firm. As it went on and on and he showed no sign of impatience or dissatisfaction, Fledge allowed herself to relax, to sink into the intoxicating depths of it, a fraction at a time.

Mirry still held her hand in his, his long fingers laced through hers. When the other flailed about, he caught it and skimmed it over the good side of his chest, brushing her palm over the fine feathers. They were soft and cool, tickling her skin, the way she imagined the breast of a bird might do. But underneath was a wealth of smooth, warm solidity.

Shyly, she let her tongue creep out and play with his. Mirry made a humming sound of approval and drew her closer, spearing his fingers into her hair and dislodging the tie she used to keep the curls from swinging in her face. He deepened the kiss, luring her on until she was so lost in sensation, she would have crawled right inside his skin if she’d been able. His elegant fingers cradled the back of her skull, his big body was hard and furnace hot beneath hers and his tail clamped around her waist, a girdle of silk-clad muscle. Simultaneously ravished and comforted, Fledge moaned into his mouth.

He took his time, but finally, infinitely slowly, he let her surface, brushing his lips across hers, kissing her eyelids, the tip of her nose, laying a trail of nibbles along her jaw. Under her clutching fingers, his shoulders were rigid, as hard as marble, belying the tenderness of his lips. At last, he pulled back to stare into her face.

For an instant, surprise swam in his eyes, but before she could work out why that might be so, he smiled and Fledge lost her mind. It was a grin of unabashed boyish delight and it lit his face with an unholy beauty. Reeling under the impact, she gurgled, as stunned as if he’d hit her with his fist.

“Sweet,” he murmured. “So pouty and soft. Like a little cushion.” He rested the flat of his thumb on the center of her lower lip. “Just here.” His voice dropped a register. “Gods, the things I could do with your mouth…”

*sigh*

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Is he not gorgeous?

Is your heart going pitter-pat? Did your mouth fall open so you could yell PHROARRRR!!!

I’ve been blessed by the Cover Fairy, no doubt about it. This cover, by Syneca (Goddess of the Ellora’s Cave Art Dept), has already won the Romance Writers of Australia 2007 Cover Award for Long Title.

Now Mr Gorgeous is up for another 2007 BOOK COVER OF THE YEAR award - the one run by Erin Aislinn. He was February boy, but now it’s crunch time.

And you need to vote! Click here to go straight to the voting page.

Voting closes 15th April - yes, that’s TOMORROW!

And what do you get? This is what Erin says -

Select your favorite among these beautiful book covers, click on the e-mail link for your choice, and you will be automatically entered to win the book with the MOST votes, whether or not you voted for the winner.

I still cannot believe how incredibly fortunate I was to get this beautiful cover for my very first book! I’m certain Mr Gorgeous has sold a whole lot more copies than my purple prose.

Personally, I don’t see how you could go past him, even though the other covers are lovely. But perhaps I’m peculiar and out there all on my own? You think? heh heh

And if you want to know more about Gift of the Goddess, no worries, there’s a yummy excerpt on my website. Go enjoy yourself with Brin and Trey! Guilt-free - especially when compared with chocolate.

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Okeydoke, who pushes your buttons, hmm? Many authors put up photos of actors or models as inspiration for their characters when they’re writing. I never do that - I can’t. I have to admit, when readers ask which actors I think could play my characters, I have to say I simply…cannot. There’s something about trying to put a real face to my imaginings that brings me right down. It destroys the magic of the perfect fantasy.

 

Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t don’t use bits of people, just bits. Trey’s (GIFT OF THE GODDESS) beautiful red-gold colouring was inspired by a gorgeous girl modelling sexy lingerie in a magazine. Surprised? She had the most glorious hair and skin. Then I added a dash of David Wenham, just for me. (An Aussie actor, he was Faramir in Lord of the Rings and he’s worth a whole post all by himself. The Thinking Woman’s Crumpet. *sigh*)
But there isn’t a man in the world beautiful enough to measure up to my mental image of Jan, let alone Mirry.

Have a look at this selection (not mine) and tell me what you think. Mind you, I adore Johnny Depp, but that’s as much for the person he is as for the looks. He’s just so interesting, you know? In a totally cerebral kinda way. (And I have a bridge to sell you.)

Johnny Depp and Pierce Brosnan make Romantic Novelists’ hearts throb

Members of the Romantic Novelists’ Association have voted Johnny Depp as the
Number One Perfect Romantic Hero in a poll to mark Valentine’s Day.
According to these authors, a romantic hero should be gorgeous, deliciously sexy, intensely masculine and have a commanding presence.

‘We should be qualified to judge,’ one writer commented. ‘After all, we
create these heroes on paper every day.’

The top ten male celebrities voted the Perfect Romantic Hero were:

1. Johnny Depp

2. Daniel Craig

3. Sean Bean

4. Richard Armitage

5. Hugh Jackman

6. Colin Firth

7. Alan Rickman

8. Pierce Brosnan

9. George Clooney

10. David Tennant

A second poll, taken by members of the RNA bravely admitting to being ‘over a certain age’, voted for male celebrities over fifty who’ve ’still got it’. Remarkable for his appearance on both polls, Pierce Brosnan took the crownfor the over fifties by a huge margin.

The top ten Over-Fifty Perfect Romantic Heroes were:

1. Pierce Brosnan

2. Harrison Ford

3. Ranulph Fiennes

4. Bill Nighy

5. Liam Neeson

6. Sam Neill

7. Sean Connery

8. Peter O’Toole

9. Clint Eastwood

10. Omar Sharif

What do you think? Did they leave anyone out?

PS You only need to look at the pictures to see who does it for me!

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Here’s the second lot of anthologies you recommended, again, in no particular order. Thanks guys! I really enjoyed Mysteria. First time in ages I’ve been able to turn off the Picky Bitch editor in me.

And yes, there are still more to come… Another post…

If you’d like to go back, here’s the link to your first list of anthologies.

BTW, in case you’re wondering - no, I haven’t forgotten the Wordplay. But I’m hip deep in edits right now and feeling a trifle, um, stressed. Can’t do it justice just yet. Later…

Right. Ignore my whimpering and click any image for a buy link. heh heh Thanks so much to everyone who contributed. Oh - and you’re welcome to suggest more or tell us why a particular anthology appealed.

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Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards. Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

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