Science Fiction - for Women?

"There is no reason for any individual to have a computer in their home." Kenneth Olson, President and founder of Digital Equipment Corporation 1977

Be wary of predicting the future. No one can. But it’s fun to try, and that’s why science fiction is a well-loved genre in fiction. But it’s a genre that doesn’t seem to appeal too much to women. Why not?

A well known science fiction blog has been talking recently about why the phrase ‘science fiction’ seems to be such a turnoff for women readers. Some reasons given were: there’s not enough romance in the genre. Or, women still harbor the notion that science isn’t for women. (Say it isn’t so!) But when I think of well known science fiction works – they are virtually all written by men, for men, and do not explore romantic relationships in any depth.

So, a reasonable question raised in the blog is - should there be a new name for science fiction with romance? Are there enough female writers publishing stories with a strong science fiction element and a strong romance at the core?

Since I’ve recently sold a story which I’ve labeled ‘futuristic’, this question is of great interest to me. And, I must admit, I never realized there could be so much controversy over the labeling of genres.

We have several authors on this blog who write paranormal, and that genre seems to be reasonably well established as the home of all things ‘otherwordly’, involving characters and circumstances which aren’t considered factually possible in our world. The fairy I show here, for example, could easily feature in a paranormal or fantasy story, but not in science fiction.

Science fiction, mostly likely because of the word ‘science’ seems to encompass stories where the non-factual elements could realistically happen at some point, though not today. It doesn’t seem possible that men will ever really shapeshift into wolves, but it does seem possible that we will travel in space to presently unknown worlds.

"[Man will never reach the moon] regardless of all future scientific advances." Dr. Lee Forest, father of radio and the Audion tube, Feb 25, 1967

I used the phrase ‘futuristic’ to describe the genre for my story, mostly because it is set in the future. I enjoy using settings other than our own because there is so much room for plot manipulation. In different worlds, you can have different customs, and make them believable. If you’re writing in the future, you can massage some of those pesky laws of physics and other sciences through new inventions. That’s why stories set in the future generally have some element of science fiction to them. It wouldn’t seem to be “the future” if science and technology were exactly the same as it is today.

"Everything that can be invented has been invented." Charles Duell, US Commissioner of Patents, 1899

Yet, I never thought of my story as falling within the science fiction genre because the romance is front and center. The ‘science fiction’ part is only as much scientific detail as I needed to support the plot.

There was some animosity on the blog towards romance in general, and alpha males and eroticism in particular. So the concept of ‘science fiction romance’ may be a hard sell. But I wouldn’t rule it out. I think you could find people fifteen years ago who said Anne Rice had covered the vampire world sufficiently well. Thousands of stories later…Never try to predict what people will like.

"[Television] won't be able to hold on to any market it captures after the first six months. People will soon get tired of staring at a plywood box every night." Darryl F. Zanuck, head of 20th Century Fox in 1946

So my question to you all is: Do you read science fiction? Do you care if it has a romance or not? Does the mere phrase ‘science fiction’ make you head for the hills?

But I want to end on this quote to inspire any aspiring author:

"We don't like their sound. Groups of guitars are on the way out." Decca Records rejecting the Beatles in 1962

Kilted Lover Excerpt & Contest Winners

I'm thrilled that Kilted Lover, my contemporary erotic romance novella (with a touch of paranormal) from Red Sage, is out now. This is one of my all time favorite stories I've ever written. Part of this has to do with the hero. Not only is he yummy-hot (see pic above) and wears a kilt, but he's also protective, sensual, alpha, caring and filled with internal conflict. He wants the heroine, but at the same time, having her goes against his own internal code of honor. What will he do and how will he resolve his conflicts?

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When kilted caber-tosser Scott MacPherson tosses Leslie Livingston over his shoulder to rescue her from two armed thieves trying to steal her priceless amulet, they are thrust into a deadly but sexy adventure. Though Leslie already has a lukewarm, uninterested boyfriend, her attraction to Scott is white-hot and undeniable. She wants to lick this tall, muscular alpha male all over and explore the depths of eroticism with him. But will he want anything more than one night once the danger is behind them?
Read an excerpt or Purchase

Winners of the Under the Kilt contest are Lisa J and Sue QLady48. Congrats!! Please email me for details and prizes. nicole (at) nicolenorth.com

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To be entered to win more prizes (like books, Celtic earrings, or a calendar) during Nov. and Dec. please join my newsletter.

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Kilted Lover: Chapter 1 (excerpt)

“My amulet isn’t for sale,” Leslie Livingston said for the second time, wishing this line at the refreshment stand would move forward already. Every minute that the Charleston sun beat down on her was another step toward dehydration. And the jerk harassing her about the amulet made the situation twice as annoying.
“Come now, luv, I’ll give you a hundred US for it.” The gray-haired Englishman sipped his cola. Too bad she couldn’t have gotten in line ahead of him.
“No, thanks.” Her grandmother had given her the amulet years ago and she would never part with it. Even if it was worth only ten dollars, the sentimental value was priceless.
“Two hundred, and I’m being very generous.” The man beside her inched closer. His black dress pants and white button-up shirt seemed out of place at the Scottish Games.
She took a step back, hating close-talkers. “Nope, sorry. Why are you so interested?”
“I’m a jeweler and it’s an unusual piece. Two-fifty?”
Leslie sighed, though she felt like screaming. “No,” she said in a firmer tone.
“You’ve got to be joking. It’s only a peridot, for God’s sake. It can’t be worth any more than that.” His pale gray eyes took on a menacing quality.
Leslie was tempted to grab his drink and pour it over his head.
“Clearly it is, or you wouldn’t want it so badly.”
“How much did you pay for it?”
“It was a gift.” Move forward, people, she mentally shouted at those in line ahead of her.
“Three hundred, and you’ll be robbing me blind.”
“Leave me alone,” she said through clenched teeth. “Even if you offered me a thousand dollars, the answer would still be no.” The man’s hand shot out toward her chest and the amulet. She jumped back and slammed into a body so solid that it didn’t budge. Big hands caught her upper arms.
“What the hell are you doing?” The deep voice almost growled the words.
“I’m sorry—” Leslie began. But his eyes were fixed with malicious intent upon the British man.
“The lady said no. So beat it.”
With her back pressed against his hard chest, she felt his words resonate.
“Fine.” The Brit looked like he wanted to snarl, but he strode away, muttering about ignorant Americans.
Her rescuer released her.
“Thank you.” Leslie couldn’t help but stare up—way up—into his sexy face. His narrowed, sea-green gaze was pinned on someone far off to her left. The frown and clenched jaw emphasized his rugged, masculine bone structure. She noted his long, sun-streaked sandy hair, the white T-shirt stretched over his enormous chest, and the plaid kilt belted at his waist. A low-slung silver chain held a black leather sporran in place at the front of his kilt. Male earthiness emanated from his skin. But for the t-shirt, he might have been a fearsome warrior transported through time from the Scottish Highlands.
“No problem.” He fully focused on her, and the temperature climbed ten degrees. That made it around ninety in the shade, not unusual for September in the Low Country.
Music swirled from bagpipes in the distance. Voices mixed with laughter, and for an instant, she imagined herself far, far away with this luscious hunk. In Scotland? Chills and heat raced over her skin.
“That is an unusual amulet. What makes it light up?”
“What?” The large peridot encased in gold was indeed glowing.
She lifted the stone and the heat from it surprised her. “I have no clue.”
Though her grandmother had given it to her fifteen years ago, today was the first time she’d worn it. The story of its origins was lost in the mists of time. She’d always considered it gaudy and unfashionable, but she thought it appropriate today, a Celtic amulet worn to Scottish games.
“How old is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Now was he interested in it, too? Surely not. He didn’t look as if he would wrestle her for it.
“It’s your turn.” His attention lifted to her eyes and held her captive with the power of his stare.
Okay, that was just too sexy. Heat and awareness rushed over her. “My turn?”
He grinned and gestured toward the vendor.
“Oh, sorry.” She spun around, feeling a bit lightheaded, not to mention idiotic, and placed her order. Dear God, he was yummy. She had the mad urge to lick him.
That’s just stupid, Les. You’re a mature, responsible, respected veterinarian. You don’t have those kinds of thoughts.
Nicole North - Kilted Lover, Red Sage
Copyright © Nicole North, 2009
All Rights Reserved, RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

The Better to Eat You With

Did Red Riding Hood get the story wrong when she said her grandmother had been eaten by a wolf? When Nicholas Wolfe surprises Elise at her lonely house in the forest, she decides to use him for sex like he did with her before he left years ago. They didn’t want the same things from life back then, but Wolfe is back to convince Elise to give him another chance.

THE BETTER TO EAT YOU WITH released from eRed Sage on November 1st. I had a great time writing this little twisted take on the Red Riding Hood story. I love reunion stories and I loved giving these lovers a second chance. I promise you'll never think about Grandmother and the Big Bad Wolf the same way again.

Excerpt:

She reached out her hand to him. “Come to my bed, Wolfe.”

He caught her gaze, held it, as if he was trying to read her mind. Elise thought she could almost read his mind, read the need burning there. He dove his fingers into her thick hair and grasped the back of her head, all the while studying her still. Silently. Intensely. She shivered, pinned beneath his gaze.

Then he crushed his lips to hers, demanding, claiming. She clutched his shirt and whimpered. Such a weak, foolish response. She tried to pull away, but he growled deep in his throat and changed the angle of his mouth, his lips moving roughly against hers, demanding her surrender. She melted against him then, opened to him, even though she knew she shouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She simply had no choice. He nipped at her bottom lip, then abruptly released her, leaving her dazed and needy.

Without a word, he stood and pulled her to her feet. He kept his hold on her hand and they crossed the yard together and walked into her house.

His gaze bore into her back as she turned and shut the door behind her, hotter than the sun had ever been. Before the click of the latch had even registered, he’d grabbed her by the shoulders and whirled her around to face him. His breathing was as rough as hers. Was his heart pounding as hard as hers too?

“Wolfe,” she breathed and stepped into his arms.

You can get your copy here.

Natasha
www.natashamoore.com

Hunks After Halloween--A Different Breed

Another Halloween is past. Last night I pondered what makes this holiday so popular, especially among readers. My favorite, vampires? Wolves? Werewolves? Warlocks? Ghosts? No matter what the entity, a creative energy flows within and without writers who weave those paranormal romance tales.

But what about another breed of hero—the rough-and-tumble rodeo guy. He commands attention wherever he goes. Fiercely protects his loved ones. Casts a powerful love spell over any heroine ready for a wild ride. Takes many a fall but manages to get back on his feet. Sexy whether the sun’s up or down.

Jack Dodson is such a hero. He lives as hard as he loves, and he’s not used to focusing on one female at a time. All of that changes when he reconnects with Kimberly Taylor and realizes how much and who he’s really been missing all these years.

Whenever Kimberly Taylor’s around her childhood friend—former champion roper and rider, Jack Dodson —the sexual tension between them crackles more than lightning in the Texas summer sky. But both have learned the hard lesson that business must sometimes come before pleasure. Jack’s now co-managing a local ranch and bent on getting his life back together after a series of upheavals, injuries and dead-end relationships. Western outfitter Kim wants to slay her sexual demons and find out if Jack can bring the satisfaction so many have promised but never delivered.

During her vacation visit with the Dodsons she uncovers a sex-slave ring operated by the man who may become Jack’s next father. Rabid curiosity clashes with criminal minds and escalates the drama in a small town where love and loyalties are harder won than any rodeo trophies.


Roughrider -- Dirty secret is discovered

Shawna Moore | MySpace Video





Excerpt from ROUGHRIDER –


Another morning, another empty place beside me in bed. I stifled a yawn. Jack sure knew how to keep a woman awake and lull her to sleep. Each stretch of my arm and leg brought only a cool, dry sheet. Not a trace of body heat. I forced open my bleary eyes and looked around the room.

Jack had long since gone and taken his radio.

Less than three hours ago I’d drifted off connected physically and emotionally to a man for the first time in my life. Galen had always pushed me to my side of the bed. Told me I got too hot and kept him from resting.

And that lying, cheating bastard had kept me from exploring my truest passion for two years. Can’t run a business to save my life? Since kicking his ass to the curb I’d opened a second boutique featuring The Cowboy’s Connection’s brand of Western wear. Profits were up at both boutiques.

The gnawing in my stomach intensified. Skipping meals or eating like a bird could lose me a couple pounds of excess body fat but I couldn’t hope to make it through another day only on reserves.

The red numbers bored into my brain. Six thirteen. At this ungodly hour I craved two things—Jack and a tall glass of orange juice.

I sank onto the pillow. Orange juice or another hour’s sleep? Orange juice to wash down one of those crisp pastries Sue fried up and placed in the cow’s head canister. More rumbling. Damn. Why wouldn’t my body let me alone for a change?

From the cedar chest, I claimed the sleep shirt that never made it past my head last night. I tossed it back down. No. That thing was as sheer as the lacy curtains in the front room. Instead I slipped into a pair of jeans and grabbed the pink, clingy t-shirt from the chest of drawers. No bra was necessary for breakfast alone. Shame on me maybe, but if anyone hadn’t ever seen a braless woman they didn’t get out much in the world.

Or eat at The Lone Star.

The lime green flip-flops stayed in hiding so I padded barefoot toward the bedroom door. A turn of the key gained me access to the hallway and I plodded ahead, one foot in front of the half-numb other.

Voices carried up from the lower level. A man’s tone came louder and harsh enough to strip lacquer from every floor in this farmhouse.

“You don’t know where she went yesterday? Well I have a pretty damned good idea, Gloria.”

“Stop shouting or you’ll waken her.” Each word came out as though wrung from Gloria’s throat.

“I’ll do more than wake her when I find her. She has no right prying into other people’s business.” A masculine cough.

My heartbeat lodged in my throat. Paul Westcott. A cupboard door slammed. I hurried into my room, closed the door and locked it. Reaching the window, I shoved it the rest of the way open and worked myself out, feet first. A gust of warm wind slapped my face and upper body.

Click here for more information

Click here to watch another video and read a more explicit excerpt

Happy day-after-Halloween and reading,

Shawna Moore
TO HELLE AND BACK AGAIN -- Ellora's Cave
TORMENTED -- (Recommended Read) -- Ellora's Cave
ROUGHRIDER -- Ellora's Cave
HELLE IN HEELS -- Ellora's Cave
Shawna's Myspace
Helle's Myspace

A Spooky Story for Halloween

I’ve never seen a ghost, goblin, or witch...well, maybe a few witches...but I live in Los Angeles and we have scary stories of another kind here. Kenneth Bianchi and Angelo Buono – the Hillside Strangers, Richard Ramirez – the Nightstalker – those are the kinds of monsters that really chill my blood. Because they’re real.

I’m typically a pretty cautious person, but these days as a wife and mom I’m not in as many dangerous situations as I was when I was young, single, and stupid. I think one of the scariest situations I ever encountered was when I first arrived in L.A. at the tender age of 18.

I grew up in northern California, but decided to go to college at UCLA. Both of my older sisters were already living in L.A., one a senior at UCLA and the other working. The summer before I started at UCLA, I attended the freshman orientation. I was taking an English class at the local community college to get it out of the way and discovered that another girl in the class was also going to UCLA in the fall. We hit it off immediately and decided to fly down to the freshman orientation together. Our plan was to fly in the day before the orientation started, where we would be staying at the dorms, and spend the night with my sister in her apartment.

I don’t know about my friend, but I felt very important and grown-up. My sister picked us up at the airport and brought us back to her place, a small apartment in a so-so area of the city. That night we ordered pizza and sat on the floor of the living room with its thin blinds on the windows. We chatted late into the night, and I was loving my first taste of freedom away from my parents.

We were still laughing and talking at about one o’clock in the morning when we heard a knock on the apartment door. We all froze and stared at each other. My sister didn’t have a boyfriend at the time and nobody had called earlier to announce a late-night visit. The knock sounded again, louder this time followed by a man’s voice, “Hey, do you girls want to party?”

I was so scared I think my heart stopped. My older sister, who was just 23 at the time, jumped up and rushed to the door. Of course, it was already locked, deadbolt and all. She yelled back at the intruder through the closed and locked door with her toughest voice, “Get the f*** away from my door or I’m calling the police.”

We all held our breaths, and then we heard the man’s footsteps clumping down the stairs. Why hadn’t we heard him walk up the stairs before? How did he know a group of women was in the apartment with no male companions? Had he been watching the outlines of our bodies through the thin blinds? Had he been listening to our voices? From where? These thoughts tumbled through my mind, scaring the heck out of me.

The stranger’s intrusion put a damper on our little party, and we went to bed soon after, but I fell into an uneasy sleep. The bright sunlight and my excitement about the orientation changed my mood the following morning. We all agreed that it was pretty creepy, and my sister suspected the man might be a neighbor across the street.

The orientation turned out to be a blast, and that girl and I stayed friends throughout our four years at UCLA. During that time, I went to frat parties, studied late at night on campus, walked to a campus job at 5:30 AM, parked my car in deserted parking structures, was propositioned by a pimp (long story), rode on the back of my boyfriend’s motorcycle with no helmet. After graduation I lived the life of a single girl in the big city—clubs, bars, parties, one-night stands—in short, putting myself into all kinds of risky situations. But nothing really was ever as creepy as that night before my freshman orientation when a lone man tried to gain entry to an apartment with three single women at 1:00 in the morning.

THOSE are the kinds of Halloween stories that shiver my timbers.

Puttin' on the Ritz for Halloween

 Would you like to do your trick or treating in the neighborhood where the owners of the Tootsie Roll Company live?

There’s where we found ourselves the first year we went out for treats in the town we now live in. Don’t get the wrong idea. We live in a nice, ordinary neighborhood. But we border a very fancy neighborhood, which is part of our school district. The whole district is walkable, even for small children. So we do it all when trick or treating.

My husband goes with a couple other dads, and takes one or two of the kids and their friends. So that first year, hubby was going with a friend who lived in the fancy neighborhood. They set off, expecting to gather a pillowcase full of finger-sized candy bars and a few bucks for Unicef.

He arrived home, somewhat shell-shocked.

“I got a Cuban cigar!”

“I got invited in for glasses of wine, and one person even brought the wine out to us!”

“The kids got movie theater size candy bars!”

Let’s see, booze, smokes and junk food. What’s missing? Well, if he got offered a lap dance, he didn’t tell me about it.

The kids were overwhelmed with the humongous candy bars. That became their new standard for a good haul. (Fortunately, they don’t eat most of their candy and I find it months later, stashed somewhere that even they forget about.)

We soon discovered that a family whose money originated in the Tootsie Roll Company actually lived in that neighborhood. They always gave generously (yes, Tootsie Roll products). Occasionally, I would find myself at the house (a very nice home). Several years ago, there might be a few extra people at the door, but no crowd. Then the word must have gotten out. In subsequent years, a crowd started growing, until finally they had to hire a policeman to handle things. I stopped going at that point, though my husband continued to take the kids who insisted. About five years ago, Tootsie folks sold the house and moved out of town. But, I guess most people don’t realize they’re gone. The new owners still, to this day, have to hire a cop. People don’t want to give up the fantasy, I guess.

One of my kids last year was allowed to go out with friends of hers from another town. She returned home all excited because a couple of Red Sox players who live in that town were actually giving out candy. She said one guy (a top player) was sitting on a chair at the end of his driveway passing out candy. Needless to say, it’s thrilling for the kids, and I give the guys a lot of credit for doing it.

But maybe they’re just like me (except for several millions). I love giving out candy on Halloween. I love seeing the neighborhood kids and the friends of my own children. I enjoy guessing who’s behind the elaborate costumes. Of course, I also love going door to door with my children. Which always presents a problem as you can’t do both at the same time.

I’m not a fan of the ghost houses. In fact, they scare me, no matter how amateur they may be. So I tend to go out with my daughter who won’t even walk on the side of the street where there is a haunted house. She won’t go in iParty during the month of October. My kind of girl.

This year I’m noticing more yard decorations than I’ve ever seen before. Some rival those Christmas houses that become neighborhood attractions (or eyesores, depending on your perspective). My neighbor puts up these huge balloon monsters that require electricity to pump air into them. In the morning, she turns off the air and they lie sadly on the ground, all deflated and looking more like trash than anything scary.

So, what do you think? Is Halloween growing more elaborate?

Debut Novel, Secret Vegas Lives, and a Contest!

By Laura Breck

Thank you, Fierce Romance, for having me here today. I'm fascinated by the awesome concept of a fierce romance. It brings to mind a love so deep, so intense, that it's almost overpowering. That's what I seek to write in my books. A romance that's spellbinding, and emotionally charged.

Modern couples face incredible challenges, and I want to show that romance can survive and grow between loving, committed couples, despite family interference, character quirks, and judgment errors. In my debut novel, Secret Vegas Lives, Antonio and Valerie are two strong people who are looking for the perfect person to share their life with, but end up falling in love with flawed, enigmatic, difficult people. But in fiction, as in real life, nothing worth keeping is easy to attain.

Here's the story: Best selling fiction crime writer Antonio Daniato leads a secret, decadent night life, but someone knows about it - and is blackmailing him. When he sets a trap to catch the blackmailer, psychologist Valerie Kane gets stuck in Antonio's web. Their attraction is immediate and intense, but neither trusts the other. Especially when evidence surfaces that feeds their doubts. When they learn to trust their hearts, they must still struggle through obstacles set by her snobbish family, and emotional pain caused by his hair-trigger anger, in order to find a fierce love. But when Antonio's outrageous secret is revealed, Valerie has to fight for him against an addiction that might be stronger than their love.

This book was a pleasure to write. Antonio is native to Italy. I've always loved men with dark hair and olive skin. And Italians are so romantic: the country, the lifestyle, the language. And at the time, I was learning Italian, so my books have a little bit of Italian-sweet-nothings in them. I absolutely adore Antonio, he's a bad-boy, Harley-riding, womanizer. The man every woman wants to tame and keep forever. And I made him very naughty, which makes sweet Valerie want to let loose with her wicked side.

Another gorgeous Italian man is Antonio's brother, Dante. He's an artist, and the hero of my second book, Scandalous L.A. Desires. Dante is notorious in L.A. for dating the most beautiful, famous celebrities. Lindsey Beauden is the president of her family's charitable foundation. When she gets an anonymous letter informing her that the inner city youth art project she's funding is being taught by an infamous womanizer - Dante - she sets out to meet him, and decide for herself if Dante is as bad as everyone says he is. (And he is!) Scandalous L.A. Desires will be released in 2010.

Okay, back to Las Vegas! I lived there for three years, and it's a wild place to visit, but a surprisingly conservative place to live. Many things are legal in Nevada that are illegal elsewhere, and making them legal requires a great deal of regulation and oversight. Antonio's wicked night life happens to be one of Sin City's favorite addictions, and I have to admit, I partook a few times myself while I lived there! Valerie, my heroine in Secret Vegas Lives, volunteers at a shelter. Since each of my books is partnered with a charity in the city in which it's set, in Las Vegas, a portion of the proceeds will be donated to The Shade Tree Shelter, a shelter for women, children, and their pets. Read more about this fabulous refuge on my website.

Here's a short excerpt from Secret Vegas Lives:

Antonio took her hand and rubbed circles on her palm, looking at her with those beautiful brown eyes. "It will be good, Valerie. We will be fabulous together. Say yes, baby, and I'll have you moaning for hours."

She was lost in his gaze, could barely draw a breath. Her womb tingled with anticipation, her mind befuddled by the image of her lying under him. Moaning for hours.

She had to snap out of it. She raised an eyebrow. "Does that line really work?"

He released her hand. "None of my lines work on you, do they?"

She sighed. Did he honestly have no idea that his smoky glances and wicked suggestions turned every inch of her body into a tingling time bomb?

"Not really," she lied and steered the conversation to the blackmailer.

They compared his and Betina's lists of suspects and came up with possible scenarios. For the next hour, Valerie didn't notice the waiter frequently refilling their wine glasses, until she started slurring her words. She was tipsy.

He must have realized she drank too much and moved their glasses to the edge of the table. The waiter walked by, and Antonio said, "Two cappuccinos, please."

"Thank you." She fanned herself with her napkin. "I didn't realize how much I drank."

"You're a lot of fun when you loosen up."

"Loosen up? Thanks. Makes me sound like an uptight bitch."

"Whoa, bella, let's keep this pleasant, okay?" His smile was teasing.

"I don't usually drink this much."

He stared at her.

She asked, "What are you thinking?"

He rubbed his chin. "I'm going to use this scene in my next book. Two people, drawn to each other sexually, but kept apart by their suspicions of each other."

She shook her head and regretted it when she felt the room spin. "Your books are not romantic at all. You should introduce a love interest for your cop-hero."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Everyone's a critic. Okay, Doctor, how should I make my books more female friendly?"

She looked at him; his face seemed to float in and out of focus, just like in her dream. A light bulb went on in her brain, and she leaned forward. "I have an idea."

"I do, too, but we'll have to go back to my place -"

"Uh uh. About the book. You could make it more romantic by having the cop dream about one of his female co-workers. Then build a romance from there."

"Might work. What would he dream?"

Her own dream replayed in her mind. "She's in her office, and he barges in wearing riding leathers, sunglasses, boots..."

"Go on."

This was dangerous, but she didn't care. She smiled seductively.

"She watches him take off his sunglasses, his leather gloves and jacket. He's wearing a white shirt, jeans, and leather chaps."

His eyes held a serious look, and he shifted in his seat.

She leaned closer. "She gets up from her chair and saunters toward him, wearing nothing but a slinky black -"

"Stop." His brows drew together. "For God's sake, Valerie." His hand fisted. "You push me too far."

She sat back, sobered by his warning. She closed her eyes. What was wrong with her? He was intensely into her, and yet she deliberately enticed him.

With the wine spinning her brain, she'd allowed desire to launch her out of control.

She couldn't meet his eyes. "I...I'm going to the ladies room." She jumped up out of the booth - too quickly. The room shifted. She blinked to focus, walked hesitantly to the back of the restaurant, and found the dark hall leading to the restrooms. As her hand touched the women's room door, an arm came around her and pulled her back against a solid wall of muscle.

"You are poison." Antonio wrapped his arm beneath her breasts. He pulled her backward into an empty meeting room and closed the door behind them.

Stop by my website, read the first chapter, and view the video book trailer. And I've got two great contests going on right now. LauraBreck.com. I blog every Wednesday at RosesOfProse.blogspot.com, and my e-book, Secret Vegas Lives is available at RedRosePublishing.com.

Thanks again to Fierce Romance for allowing me to talk about my writing today. I would like to give away a goodie bag of my promotional items to one lucky commenter. My question for you is, What makes a romance 'fierce' - and not just average, or mild?

I look forward to reading your answers!