Saints and Sinners for St. Patrick's Day

With St. Patrick’s Day two days in the offing, here are some interesting tidbits:

WB Yeats, Irish poet, won a Nobel Prize in 1923
Jonathan Swift wrote one of the most-beloved children’s novels, Gulliver’s Travels
Bram Stoker, author of Dracula, was born in Dublin
Scarlett O’Hara is the Irish heroine of one of the most celebrated novels and movies, Gone With the Wind
On St. Patrick's Day, Chicago dyes its river green. Savannah dyes its downtown fountains green
Boston has celebrated St. Patrick’s Day since 1737
You may get pinched if you’re not wearing green

Many Irish immigrants settled in New York City, particularly in the Five Points district. As I’m fond of studying the Jazz Age and the social climate in New York City at that time, I wrote the erotic romance novel, SAINTS AND SINNERS. SAINTS AND SINNERS became my first published novel and will always have a special place in my heart.


A flapper falls for a gangster's nephew and lets down her garters and inhibitions. Shopgirl Moira Monaghan longs to leave Manhattan's Lower East Side behind. Clothier Reilly Dunne desires an honest woman for his wife. Temptation abounds, and they explore their passion amidst a backdrop of Prohibition parties and police raids. The saint in Moira brings out the sinner in Reilly, but love soon delivers their destiny.

Click here for more information

In celebration of the upcoming holiday, I’m posting an excerpt from this published novel.

Greenwich Village, 1923

“Just realize, you’re about to make a deal with the Devil and there will be no turning back. I pray for mercy on you and your soul, Moira Monaghan.”

Concentrating on Helen Flynn’s words as opposed to where she walked, Moira collided with something much sturdier than the wooden counter at Bainbridge’s Department Store. The boxes in her hands shifted and threatened to spill. Oh, to be sure, the man’s blazing blue eyes could hold her captive for the rest of the afternoon. Or the rest of her life. No. Now wasn’t the time to waste on matters of the heart. If she didn’t stop dawdling and concentrate, she’d never get the window display completed.

“Here, let me help you with those.” A tall, flame-haired man flashed her a smile. His hands, rough from work, played against hers as he steadied her. His Irish whiskey voice caressed her.

She shivered at the contact with his body. Her loins flooded with warmth.

Despite her tightening grip, various and sundry empty boxes scattered over the floor.

Moira swallowed several improper words. If one of those prettily wrapped packages were damaged, the owner, Horace VanMuir, would deduct it from her wages.

“Thank you,” she said, still mesmerized by the man who’d set her heart hammering. If she managed to get the window display finished before lunch, it would be no small miracle.

Gallant to a fault, he picked up the packages and carried them to the front window. “Over here, right?” He balanced the boxes one atop the other.

Dry-mouthed and unable to do more than nod, Moira followed him. Only two steps into her journey, her worn garter gave way. Of all times. She should spend her money on a new garter belt instead of rouge and face powder. Soon her stocking would slip down her to her ankles, revealing more than was proper.

She sought refuge beside a display counter. From here, no one would see her dilemma. Moira inched her hand underneath her hemline. Her fingers trembled as she quickly rolled the stocking around itself and the overstretched garter for support. The fact her hemline rested a few inches above her ankle would buy her time. She looked up and met his hot gaze. Too late for high hopes.

“Reilly Dunne. Pleased to meet you. Moira, is it? Let me get that for you?”

His husky tone set her on edge. What did he want to get? The boxes? Surely, not her garter that had come unfastened? Had he noticed it? Her fingers froze over a spot above her knee. There. That should conceal the stubborn thing until I can escape and adjust it in private. She looked into his face. His eyes the color of a cloudless summer sky shone with mischief.

How did he know her name? “Yes, Moira Monaghan. I can fix it myself.”

As he bent and swept his arm toward the floor, she noticed her earring and heaved a sigh of relief. Time to fix the clasp on that one. Reilly wasn’t interested in her garter belt but wanted to retrieve that silly bauble. Or did he? He winked and passed her the piece of jewelry.

“Some women prefer to do things for themselves,” His smile widened. “Doesn’t hurt to have a man around in case you change your mind.”

The honeyed tone of his brogue washed over her, and her thoughts became even more muddled. His nostrils flared with each breath he took. Like a wild beast, he was.

What type of heart beat beneath his striped linen shirt and gray woolen vest? Lusty? A sort who devoured women like a pot of Sunday stew? Or did he savor them slowly like a glass of fine wine?

Click here to read reviews and another excerpt

Wear your green and smile. Here’s hoping you find a shamrock or two. Sláinte!

Wishing you all many happy reading moments,

Shawna Moore
TORMENTED -- Ellora's Cave (MUST-READ from Dark Angel Reviews)
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora's Cave Exotika
TO HELLE AND BACK AGAIN -- Coming soon to EC Exotika

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