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
The
Reprobate
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
beneath her.
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
Welcome, Dorothy! I love your books, and the covers are awesome.
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