Hi, everybody, Dorothy A. Bell here. I would like to thank my host for putting me up on her blog today. As an introduction, I thought I would give visitors a glimpse into my life so far.
I grew up in southern Iowa, moved to Oregon’s Willamette Valley at the age of eleven. I was in the sixth grade when I started school in Oregon. On my first day of school, I encountered the boy I would eventually marry. He kept pestering me, trying to kiss me. I held out until I turned sixteen, then I kind’a got the hang of the kissing thing. We’ve been married for forty-eight years, he’s still a pest, bless him.
I started out writing Regency Romances to entertain myself. I took writing courses, but I think I learned the most by submitting my work to publishers, editors and agents, and getting feedback. Laid low for nearly twenty-five years with arthritis, forced to use a battery-powered cart, I took up aquatic exercise and became an instructor. After two surgeries to replace my knees, I went to work on myself and lost eighty-five pounds, which I have kept off.
My husband and I live in Central Oregon with two West Highland White terriers, an energetic, longhaired Dachshund and one big, angora tuxedo cat. When I need a break from writing Oregon historical western romances, I work in the yard or my garden.
This year I am proud to announce the release of two Laura Creek romances “The Reprobate” and “The Cost of Revenge”, available on Amazon, http://www.amazon.com/Kindle-eBooks/b?ie=UTF8&node=154606011
Barnes and Noble, http://www.barnesandnoble.com/u/NOOK-Book-eBook-store/379003094 Good Reads, https://www.goodreads.com/ and Freya’s Bower, http://freyasbower.com as e-books.
The Cost of Revenge
A Laura Creek Western Romance
Quinn O’Bannon knows it’s time he settled down. He has two likely candidates, both sensible, attractive, young women. However, his fantasies keep straying to Tru McAdam, that thieving, sloe-eyed vixen with the grudge against the whole darn O’Bannon family.
Tru McAdam wants to believe the O’Bannons, all of them are rotten, heartless cheats. God help her, most of all she wants to believe the handsome, arrogant flirt Quinn O’Bannon is the worst of the lot.
When destiny shuffles the cards, strange pairs show up in the hand. Who can fight destiny, not the handsome, flirtatious Quinn O’Bannon, not the thieving, sloe-eyed vixen, Tru McAdam.
$5.99 to purchase e-book
A Laura Creek Western Romance
Fiddle playing, hard drinking Royce O’Bannon believes he’s worthless like his old man, no woman should have anything to do with him.
Music teacher Cleantha Arnaud, her virtue long spent, believes her life is over; crippled and barren, no man would want her. When these two outcasts become lovers, hopes and dreams blossom within their parched souls.
Royce’s vengeful daddy begins a campaign of retaliation against his traitorous sons and the town that gave them a second chance.
Driven by a fledgling sense of responsibility, Royce follows his daddy into the dark tunnels beneath Pendleton’s streets intent on putting a stop to the old man’s vengeful crusade. With a swift crack on the head, all of Royce’s newly found hopes and dreams could be shattered like candied glass. Who would miss a reprobate, a worthless man?
$ 5.99 To purchase e-book
Excerpt of The Reprobate
Music teacher, the crippled goddess, Cleantha Arnaud dared the reprobate, Royce O’Bannon to come to her, climb in bedroom window, and prove to her she could enjoy all the pleasures of the flesh.
Royce had reconciled himself to the idea that he wasn’t
here to satisfy his own needs. He knew how to pleasure a
woman, but he usually didn’t need to, most of the women he
bedded didn’t expect it. He paid to be pleasured, not to do
the pleasuring. So this wasn’t going to be easy—not easy at
all. He wanted to show Cleantha that she could feel, could
enjoy, could achieve pleasure.
Hell, her hands were everywhere, stroking, touching,
sending waves of desire through his body. Not using a
woman to satisfy his own lust, add that to the list of things
he’d never tried before. Cleantha had him doing all kinds of
things he never would have done in his past life. He couldn’t
bear the thought of hurting her—consideration for the
woman—that would definitely go on the list.
With no light he couldn’t see her scars, but with his hands
he’d found the long, rough trenches of thickened flesh on
each side of her body, from her waist down to the top of her
thighs. On the right hip, his fingers had traced the worst of
the scaring, the gash felt wider, the flesh rougher and more
sunken-in over her hip-bone.
He couldn’t take the chance of hurting her by putting his
weight on her, and yet the need to sink himself into her
warm moist slit undermined his resolve to take it easy and
slow, give her time, give Cleantha pleasure. He wasn’t sure
what he could do, but she wanted more. He had to do what
she wanted—he couldn’t go back now. She moved down the
length of his chest, her hot, wet tongue driving him crazy.
Her hands sought his erection, then her tongue ran the
length of his shaft.
He held on to his self-control—barely. He had to do
something, and do it now, or he would forget about her
pleasure and take his own. Raising himself up to a sitting
position, he took her by the waist and helped her straddle his
hips. With her hands braced on his shoulders, and his hands
on her hips to guide her downward, he slowly lowered her.
His shaft found the wet tunnel of her womanhood. She
hissed as he filled her.
Eyes closed, Royce held his breath. She folded around
him, warm, slick and hot. Perfect. Never in his whole life had
he ever felt this...perfection. They were a perfect fit—their
bodies melding together, creating the ultimate in pleasure
and satisfaction. He adjusted himself beneath her hips and
helped her to get her legs into a more comfortable position.
Leaning forward, she began to rock forward and back...up
a little. The need for release had him in a sweat as he fought
to hold himself in check. Cleantha wanted this—she wanted
to set the pace. When she giggled he wanted to weep, his
heart overflowing with some heady emotion that had taken
over his mind, ruling out all good sense.
She’d told him of her fears, told him that she didn’t think
she could do this, couldn’t enjoy this, and here she was in
control, making it happen. She tilted her head back. He could
see her, her glorious hair wild, draped over her white
shoulders, and he forgot his need for release, not wanting to
take his eyes from her face as he reached between their
bodies to find her aroused nub. His fingers slid in and out of
her flower with the rhythm and pace she’d set.
* * * *
Cleantha found the process excruciatingly slow but
intensely erotic. She experimented, flexing the muscles
within her core to grip his shaft. After a little practice, she
could increase the intensity or release the tension. Deep
within her, the embers of passion ignited. Instinctively, she
shifted her weight and found the perfect pressure point. No
longer thinking, her body taking her away, she sought the
ultimate pleasure. Royce let out a primal growl as he bucked
The heat between them exploded, and she felt Royce’s
seed fill her, hot and thick. The flow of primal lava took their
two crashing bodies and melded them into one great volcanic
eruption. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as her orgasm
reached its pinnacle. With her head thrown back, her teeth
clenched, she held on to Royce as they flew together beyond
the earth’s atmosphere, away from the pull of gravity, to
drift, weightless, in a sea of hot, sparkling pleasure