Blue Paradise Release Today!

Yay! It's release day for Blue Paradise~~Number Five of the Mystic Valley series! This is Mali, Jonson and Poussé's story.

Blurb:

When ex-soldier Poussé receives an unexpected job offer from the mysterious Waterloo Group, she doesn’t question the providential timing. Twelve hours later she wishes she had when she’s captured by two sexy blue-skinned warriors—Jonson and Mali of Mystic Valley.

Mali and Jonson make her an offer she can’t refuse—become their bond mate. Positive she can use the new relationship to escape, Poussé accepts, but she doesn’t count on the physical changes the bonding creates or her constant desire for Jonson and Mali. Their tender touches, hot kisses and even hotter sex get under her skin—which is turning blue! As they pursue other escaped team members, she learns real love and desire have no color barriers and carnal games are best indulged in with two hot bond mates.

Excerpt:

“Place your hands on the ground above your head,” a deep voice murmured in her ear. A rash of goose bumps pebbled her neck when his warm breath washed over her cold skin.

Poussé mentally shuffled through several options as she muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute here. You’re squashing me.” The man was too heavy for her to dislodge and his position, sitting squarely on the center of her spine, left her with no leverage to work with.

He knocked her snug cap to the side. With one hand twisted in her shocking blue Mohawk and the other one still pressing the knife tip to her neck, he scooted down until he was seated on her butt.

“Move. Toss the weapon away too.”

Just for a second she considered trying to turn beneath him, but decided the risk of a slit throat was more than she was willing to bargain. Pissed off at the way he had captured her, she shoved her rifle away and stretched out her arms above her head.

With swift, blurred movements, he yanked her hands down and cuffed her wrists, winding some furry material around them and knotting it. When she lifted her head up, trying to look over her shoulder at her captor, he shoved her head back down, shifting so his body was stretched over hers from head to toe.

Her cheek was ground into the dead leaves and dirt and the scent of decaying plants tickled her nose. She clenched her teeth, desperately fighting the urge to sneeze. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Protecting you, woman.”

“Protecting me? Are you crazy? Get off me and give me back my rifle! Achoo!” The sneeze exploded with such violence her face slammed into the ground, with her nose taking the brunt.

“Quiet.”

Her eyes watered as searing pain spread across her cheeks but before she had time to complain, she was distracted by the unmistakable pressure of his hard cock pressing against her ass. “Listen, buddy. I’m not interested in that kind of action,” she protested, suddenly wriggling fiercely as she tried to throw him off.

A spicy unfamiliar scent drifted past her nose when he nipped her ear with his teeth. “Then be still or I might get the idea that you are interested. I find your ass very attractive.”

She froze, barely breathing, snuffling softly through the trickle of blood that dribbled from her nose.

He leaned forward, his cock pressing harder in the crevice between her legs as his heavy muscled chest flattened her on the ground. With a low grunt, he reached for the rifle.

Her heart stopped and stuttered before racing into a pounding gallop. The hand that touched the rifle was blue. Not tattooed. Not blue-tinged, but blue. Slowly her gaze moved up the muscular arm attached to the strange hand. Blue. Unmistakably blue. What kind of alien had captured her?

“What is this place?” She whimpered breathlessly.

A shrill whistle came from the right and he leaped to his feet, easily hauling her up by one arm to face him. “Welcome to Mystic Valley.”

Want more? Check it out at www.jasminejade.com

anny

Surprise Christmas

The end of 1964 was an incredibly turbulent time. In November on my fourteenth birthday, President Kennedy was assassinated. It was in the beginning years of the Vietnam War. The Cuban Missile crisis was not long before that. Uncertainty was everywhere. So herewith, the story of Christmas 1964.

Christmas 1964. That was the year that Christmas wasn’t going to bring even one gift…we thought. It was a poor financial year. I didn’t exactly know that we were poor. We had plenty to eat. We had clean, warm clothes. We had a warm, sheltering apartment in Chicago that my stepmother, Maxine, worked hard to make a haven for us.

As a parent now, I realize how difficult it must have been then for her to sit us down a few weeks before Christmas and explain that there wasn’t any money for gifts. If all the money she had managed to save was pooled, we could have a special Christmas dinner.

Solemnly, we considered the dilemma, and then one by one, we agreed that a special dinner was the best use for the money we had. Once that was settled, we put it behind us and life went on.

One day, a couple of weeks before Christmas, Mum told all of us to hurry home immediately after school, as there would be a surprise. Friends of the family planned to bring each of us a gift and wished to be present when we opened ours. So on this day, I slung my books into my locker at school and rushed home. Pounding up the stairs to our second floor apartment, I eagerly flung open the door—and froze in my tracks.

Every level surface in both the dining and living rooms was covered with gifts. Beautifully, lovingly decorated gifts. A tree twinkled merrily in the corner. The melodies of familiar Christmas carols filled the air. Unexpectedly, Christmas had come to our home.

I could not imagine what had happened. Certainly, we hadn’t gotten rich overnight. I walked around the room gently touching the lovely boxes. Mum, more excited than I had ever seen her, urged me to look in the kitchen. Two boxes of groceries, a ten-pound ham, fifty pounds of potatoes, and a five pound box of chocolates. A special Christmas dinner indeed!

A little later we opened the gifts. Of all the Christmases in my life, this is the one I can remember every single thing I received. Not because I was a greedy kid, but because they were all gifts of sacrifice from strangers. Our family friends were a minister and his wife with a church in Indiana. One of their church families approached them, seeking a family that wasn’t going to have any gifts for Christmas. The parents and children of this church family voted to give up their Christmas gifts so that a family, unknown to them, would have a special Christmas.

The minister and his wife undertook the responsibility of obtaining clothing sizes and special needs, plus transportation and delivery of the gifts. And they delivered our heartfelt thank you letter to the anonymous family.

As Christmas grows closer, whether we are rich or poor, I look back on that Christmas and know that we are blessed because we are together. Every year I remember the blessing of being loved unconditionally by strangers.

A miracle.

Anny

First Christmas

Christmas 1967. We were married nine days. It was our big family Christmas that year in Gary, Indiana (as opposed to the family Thanksgiving which was on opposite years). My new husband and I traveled down there with my parents and brothers.

Dad had a Volkswagon van that the heat never worked in. My feet froze the entire way--coming and going--even though we sat in the very back of the van right on top of the heater. It was a typical Chicago Christmas. Cold, windy, and white.

By the time we reached my aunt and uncle's house, I was more than ready to warm up!

In our family, until you "officially" left home--either by marriage or military service or some such means--you ate dinner at the kids' table. So that was the first year I sat at the adult table and I was very conscious of the fact at eighteen I was now considered a grown woman. It was a lot of changes in a short time.

The hunk had no idea what he was getting into. His family consisted of him, his parents and his sister. My family gathering usually averaged around thirty to thirty-five people. Suddenly he was surrounded by a bewildering array of people who all peppered him with questions in their quest to make him feel at home.

Actually, we were neither fish nor fowl that first Christmas. Newly married (and very young), we certainly weren't part of the older generation. On the other hand, as the first one of my generation that was married, clearly we weren't quite part of the cousins' generation either. It was an odd, uncomfortable gulf.

He had no experience with the type of Christmas we celebrated in our family. His family watched television and had a cold-cut platter for dinner after they opened their presents.

My family served a sit-down feast in the basement, then gathered around the tree to sing Christmas carols and listen to my grandmother read the Christmas story from the Bible. Then Uncle John handed out presents from under the tree. Regardless of the number of family members attending, there was always at least one present for every single person.

I never figured out how they managed that.

By the next family Christmas, other cousins had married and we had a new baby. It was never again quite like that first awkward, grown-up Christmas where I felt a curious kinship to Mary and Joseph, launching into the unknown seas of married life.

This year, for the first time in quite a while, we will be alone--something new and different for us.

anny

Chat Reminder!

Tonight is the October chat at Love Romances Cafe. There will no doubt be an occasional mention about RomantiCon and the Cavemen. In between excerpts.

Come one, come all. If you're a published author bring your excerpts. Door forfeit is to post at least one excerpt! If you're a reader, aspiring author, or just want to hang out, come and read and chat! See you then!

anny

Tropical Depression Nicole

Water. Lots of water everywhere. Flood watches. Tornado watches. And rain. Unremitting rain today. Fortunately, there isn't much wind.

That being the case, my plans are to stay indoors and work on revisions (which was my plan yesterday but that didn't quite work out). Some days the brain just refuses to work.

Now that might have been because I was waiting to hear from my daughter who was busy having a baby. I'm happy to report that Simeon Christopher, all 7 lbs 5 oz. of him, arrived at 4:38 pm EST, healthy and well. This is my fourth grandchild and Simeon evens the numbers--two girls and two boys.

Let's see...there's not a lot else to report at Chez Anny. What about you? What's up where you are?

anny

Trickle Down

Some things never change.

anny

RomantiCon

Next month--October 7-11--I'll be attending RomantiCon in Akron, Ohio. All sorts of things are planned, including dress-up dinners. This year the theme is 1920s. Now since I'm roughly shaped like that fellow up there in the picture, you can imagine what I would look like in a flapper dress...It doesn't quite compute, ya know?

Last year the theme was the 1960s. Think mini-skirts and go-go boots. I went as a hippie. It was much safer. But three women showed up in the identical dress. That's the difficulty with ordering off the internet costume pages.

When you think of the 1920s, of course, the flapper is the first image that comes to mind. But flappers were actually a very small percentage of the population. So I've gone in search of the other 1920s woman. They wore drop waist dresses. And Marijane heels. And cloche hats. Or big picture hats. That's more my style.

If you'd like more information on RomantiCon, just click on the word. It will take you to the RomantiCon registration page. Cindy Spencer Pape and I will be giving a workshop on Creative World Building. There will be a book-signing on Sunday. If you're going to be in the area, please come and see us!

anny

Blue Paradise

Look what I have! The cover for book five of the Mystic Valley series, Blue Paradise. I don't have a release date yet, but I'll let you know as soon as I do. In the meantime, enjoy the eye-candy!

Happy Labor Day!

anny

Parlez vous Francais?

Last night I dreamed in French. That wouldn't have been bad, but my four years of high school French are more than forty years behind me.

I had an apartment in France (Paris?). A man dressed in a yellow striped soccer shirt invaded my apartment. I hit him with something, knocking him out. Then when I tried to convince other people in my apartment to call the police, they refused. Eventually, I opened the door and yelled for help. And while I was trying to summon assistance, he escaped out the back door.

So far, the dream was surprisingly coherent.

Then the cat ran out the door. Not my cat. Just a cat.

After that, the dream fragmented. There was a scene in a restaurant--or cafe. It mostly seemed to be about a crusty loaf of bread? Again, the entire conversation was in French.

And there was another scene when I was running down the street. Was I chasing someone? Or was I escaping from someone? I don't know. Clearly, I was in a foreign city and my internal senses identified it as a French city.

Then I woke up. What's interesting is all conversations, signs, etc., were in French. I had no problem understanding the language. And I haven't spoken or read French for many years. I've never been outside the United States. Certainly, I've never been to France. So we'll chalk this one up to some really weird subconscious stuff going on!

anny

Pickup lines...

Why do men need pickup lines? And how well do they work? I was introduced to the house hunk on a blind date so he didn't have to try out his repertoire, but I have to admit I've never been impressed by the lines I've seen in movies.

So how is a guy--or girl--supposed to develop that quick introduction that captures the target's attention? And why does it have to be clever? Why not just "Hello, I'm John. You're reasonably attractive and I would like to have sex with you." No?

It occurs to me such an approach would cut through all the baloney sausage but it probably doesn't meet the standards for the woman. Women want more romance. Even if it's fake. And then they complain that men are false. It seems to me they can't expect to have it both ways.

Romance is a female invention. Men just want to drag you off to their cave and mate. Romance is what they do because it's against the law to drag you off to their cave. Now they have to lure you to the cave.

So the pickup line is actually at the behest of the female. Hmmm.

What's the best pickup line you've ever heard?

anny

Hunks in wet shirts...sigh.

Yes, they are pretty, aren't they? This is actually a picture of guys in the Air Force doing rescue training. And yeah, I have to say it--they may rescue me anytime, any place. Go Air Force!

Hmmm. Other news in the Anny Cook universe? I have a release date for Alpheli Solution from Resplendence Publishing! October 20, 2010--Just three more months! Yay! This is my first vampire novel and I'm excited about Julian, Danamara, and Pierre's story!

Also, for those of you who love the Mystic Valley books, EC has just offered me a contract for the next one, tentatively titled Blue Paradise. This book has a sassy heroine named Poussé and two hunky blue dudes to keep her in line. When I have more info, I'll post it!

Now I'm off to write! I have 20K more on Phantom's Rest, a story set in a longterm RV park, replete with ghosts, assassins, spies and some of the liveliest retirees you've ever met.

Have an excellent day!

anny