Samhain Publishing

On Mother’s Day, my family took me to see The Avengers. I loved the movie, but I kept wondering where Wolverine was. Yes, I know he’s not technically a superhero…or is he?

Whether the superhero was The Hulk, The Iron Man, or Captain America, isn’t the main idea that he’s there when you need him? A superhero rises to the occasion, even when his heart may not be totally into it (Can you hear me, Iron Man?) or because his nature (Hello, Hulk) turns into an asset when aliens are attacking. But aren’t most supernatural romance men made of the same stuff, too? They have the right stuff, if you will.

All superheroes and supernatural romance heroes have one thing in common. Personally, it’s the thing that makes me, and I suspect a lot of women, love them even more. They all have a character flaw. Take The Hulk versus the Wolverine. Each man is strong with a bit of an anger management problem. But down deep, they’re both nice guys you can trust them to keep the world safe by grabbing the bad guy by the leg and bashing him around. Okay, Wolverine would’ve slashed Loki’s face off instead of bashing him left and right, but it’s all the same in the end. The good guys win.

I’d like to think the paranormal heroes in my books are superheroes, too. Maybe they aren’t saving the world, but they’re still the man the heroine turns to when she needs someone to help her through everything from trust issues to fighting the villain in her lif. My latest superhero is werewolf Tucker Manning in Betting the Moon (Cannon Pack, book 4). He’s not out to save the world or even to meet the woman of his dreams. But when he does meet her, he’s the one who saves her from the vampire bad guy. He’s flawed, but strong. He’s cocky, but sensitive when the heroine needs him to be. He’s a good guy mixed with an element of bad thrown in to make him interesting. So, yes,  he’s a superhero in my eyes.

So tell me. Who’s your superhero? Would you choose an Avenger or a supernatural romance hero?

Beverly Rae

www.beverlyrae.com

Woo-hoo! One of my favorite books (of mine) releases today. Sex with a Hex is the second book in my Magical Sisters trilogy and centers around Meg Tristan, the middle sister. Oh, yeah. She’s a witch, too, who just happens to have a sister who is a succubus-turned-mortal and a shape-shifting older sister who will do anything and be anyone to help her sisters. Meg is a freedom-loving, sexy-as-hell witch who loves men. But no man has ever caught her attention. Until Dr. Chance Dannigan.

Together the witch and the doc cook up a challenge that leaves them aching for more. More of each other, that is. It’s all in good, dirty fun…until the heart raises the stakes

Here’s a little bit about Sex with a Hex ~

Meg Tristan is spontaneous, spirited, outspoken and beautiful—and she enjoys every second of it. She can have any man she wants, with or without casting a spell. Too bad she hasn’t found one who can keep up with her non-magical sex drive, much less handle her hexual prowess.

When he’s not caring for his patients, Dr. Chance Dannigan spends his off hours getting acquainted with as many women as he can in his new town. None hold his attention—until he catches Meg’s flirtatious glance across the bar. One drink later, he’s sure he’s found the one woman who can stimulate both his heads.

Sensing a kindred spirit, he challenges Meg to a daring competition. Each must choose a random partner for the other, and the one who fails to seduce the target, loses. And to keep it honest? The opponent must witness the act.

Winning each round proves almost too easy. The ultimate challenge is figuring out how to handle their unexpected attraction to each other…and how to end the game without both of them coming out losers.

SEX WITH A HEX (Magical Sisters Trilogy, Bk 2) - (Kindle) or (Nook)

Beverly Rae – www.beverlyrae.com

Do you remember the popular phrase “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful”? Yes? Good. But let me change it up a bit.

Don’t hate me because I’m finished.

I know you’re wondering what I’m talking about. Have I finished my latest book? I have, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Besides, there’s always another book waiting right behind the last one. Have I finished cleaning my house for another week? Right again, but you’re still wrong, too.

I’m talking about the fact that I’ve completed all my holiday shopping. I know. Some of you are amazed, some of you are happy for me (thank you!), and still more of you are trying to hide your envy. Whichever group you fit into, don’t despair. It’s not too late for you to tie up the gift search early, too.

I learned a long time ago that the best way to enjoy the holiday season is to get the presents purchased, wrapped, and shipped before the first weekend in December. Do I miss out on sales by shopping early? Perhaps. But I also miss out on a lot of crowds and last minute scrambles for the elusive perfect gift. Do I miss running through the mall and checking out the decorations? Not really. Now I can meander through the mall at my leisure, take in the joyous sights and sounds, and return home to a tree with presents already under its lighted branches.

So take it from me. Shop early, shop online, do whatever you have to do to get the presents bought before the rush of the season. After all, shouldn’t we enjoy the real meaning behind the celebration instead of worrying about finding a cozy new robe for Grandma? Isn’t it more fun to go to the holiday parties and events without a list running through your head? (By the way, eBooks make great gifts and require no wrapping!)

Happy holidays, everyone!

Beverly Rae is the author of the paranormal erotic romances. Her latest release is CLAWED (Wild Things, Book 3). Check out her books at www.beverlyrae.com.

Was It Good For You?

Seriously, have you ever been asked that question after having sex? Frankly, I haven’t. So have my lovers simply been discourteous and uncaring about my pleasure? Granted, I’ve had one man for the past twenty years and he, well, he knows whether I’m satisfied or not. Ya know what I mean? But I’m still curious. Have you ever been asked “Was it good for you?”?

I’ve also heard the phrase “the sex was magical”. Along with everyone else, I always “ooh” and “ahh” whenever my friend spouts this review of her latest intimate encounter. I wonder, however, how the heck is sex ever magical? What would have to happen to make sex magical? What exact ingredients in a pairing would make it that special as to be supernatural? Is a cauldron filled with a powerful potion included in the night’s events? Does your lovemaking take you to another time and place? Does a sorcerer cast a spell over you and your bed buddy? I don’t think so.

Instead, I believe that most people say sex is magical when they don’t believe it’s true. They might as well say that the sex they’ve just had is awesome or amazing. But magical? I think not. Why do I say that? Because real magical sex comes about when you meet that one person who can see into your soul. Not only is it good for you, it’s incredible for both of you. Real magical sex happens when there’s more than a simply pressing of flesh to flesh. Real magical sex is when you can’t imagine ever having sex with anyone else. Real magical sex happens when the emotional transcends the physical.

You’ve got it now, don’t you? Real magical sex is when you’re in love.

Beverly Rae - www.beverlyrae.com  

My daughter is graduating from high school soon and her school has asked the parents to write letters to their student. The student will open the letters at school during Senior Day Breakfast. Hopefully, whatever the parents write will touch the student’s heart and stay with them forever. Yet, realistically speaking, most of the letters will probably be short congratulatory ones. Mine, however, should be much more because I’m a writer. Don't you think? I certainly hoped so.

I began by sitting in front of my computer and staring at the blank screen. Yet no words appeared. Instead, I saw my daughter’s beautiful face in the white page. Why couldn’t I write this simple letter? Any other day I could whip out thousands of  words with no problem. I could get the plot just right and know exactly what I wanted to say. But that’s just fiction. This letter, however, this moment in time captured on a piece of paper was more important than any book.

I wondered. How do I tell her how much she means to me? How do I tell her how much I love her when the word “love” can’t possibly convey all that I feel? Could a letter ever do our relationship justice? Would she understand that even our arguments were some of the best times of my life? Does she realize how terrific an artist I think she is? How do I turn all the emotions I’m feeling into simple black and white notations?

I’m not sure how I finally managed to write the letter, but I did. All I know is that I had a sniffling nose and tear-stained cheeks by the time I finished.

Then an amazing thing happened. Instead of drying my eyes, relieved that I'd completed the task, I began to write another letter. I wrote a letter to my mother. I wrote a letter to my father. My husband’s letter was five pages long. At the end, I had a lot of envelopes, a wastebasket of tissues, and a heart filled with joy.

So I ask you, who do you need to write to?

Beverly Rae – www.beverlyrae.com

I met my friend Linda for lunch on Valentine’s Day and the topic, naturally, turned to men and the special day. Both of us have been married for over two decades and knew the day would bring no surprises. As we watched men around us greet their ladies with flowers and candy, my friend and I shrugged off the gestures of love. Obviously these romances were fresh and still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. Sad, but true, Linda and I had given up expecting anything special from out hubbies.

Linda had no doubt what her husband would give her. After all, he gives her the same thing every year. And she’s happy (or at least accepting) with her yearly large bag of M&Ms. I smiled, recognizing how couples who have been together a long time get into routines. My husband would, based on the past, bring home a dozen red roses from the local grocery store. That and a quick “I love you” written on a card were always enough for me. After all, the man showed me his love throughout the year. Why would I need more? Still…

Surprise!

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HOWING FOR MY BABY (Cannon Pack Romance, Book 1) introduced the Cannon Pack werewolves and told Jason Cannon’s story of how he and Sydney survived her hunter father. Then DANCE ON THE WILDE SIDE (Cannon Pack Romance, Book 2) took readers on a fun ride with Devlin Cannon who, after a night of carousing, woke up in an animal pen and met his so-to-be mate, veterinarian Tala Wilde.

Since the first two books released, I have received many emails from readers wanting to know about Daniel, the third Cannon brother. Writing the third book in the series took a bit longer than I expected with life and other books getting in the way. But Daniel and his tale of love lost then love found rumbled around in my head, demanding to be written. Although I try to avoid listening to all the voices in my head (Ha-ha!), I couldn’t ignore Daniel’s. The result? RUNNING WITH THE PACK.

When hunter becomes hostage, the only question is: Death by bite, or by bullet?

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When I finished writing Long Time Gone, my fourth Konigsburg book, I was a little melancholy. I’d run out of Toleffson brothers, and unless I discovered a long-lost cousin somewhere, I was going to have to either end the series or find some new heroes. Deciding not to end the series was pretty much a no-brainer. I wasn’t ready to leave Konigsburg yet, and I got the feeling other people weren’t either. But finding a new hero took a little more thought.
Not that there weren’t lots of guys in town to choose from. There was Nando Avrogado, the hunky cop with an eye for the ladies (particularly Kit Maldonado) and his brother Esteban, the apprentice winemaker. There were doctors and nurses at the hospital who’d looked after the Toleffsons in their various misadventures. And I haven’t yet begun to wade through the hotel and bed and breakfast businesses in the area, or the musicians. I suppose I could even try to rehabilitate Otto Friedrich from Wedding Bell Blues, but that might be a bit of a stretch.
Still, the more I thought about it (and the more I thought about Konigsburg’s real-life counterparts in the Texas Hill Country), the more I wanted to explore a little more of the nightlife that flourishes around the region in any number of honky tonks, roadhouses, and just plain old bars. Enter Tom Ames.
Tom’s name comes from a song by Steve Earle called “Tom Ames’ Prayer” (I’ll be saying more about that on several blogs next week). Earle’s Tom Ames is an outlaw facing his final gun battle. My Tom Ames isn’t quite that extreme, but he’s a man with a slightly shady past and a flourishing bar, the Faro. The Faro has a shady past too since it used to be a place you wouldn’t want to visit without a burly escort, but Tom has cleaned it up, plus adding music and a colorful group of employees. He’s dead set on making the Faro work, and making it work on his own terms. He wanted his own bar, and he wants that bar to be as perfect as he can make it.
Into this perfect bar walks our heroine, Deirdre Brandenburg, who had a one-sentence mention in Wedding Bell Blues. She’s Docia Toleffson’s cousin and she needs a job. Tom’s looking for something to attract local customers, and Deirdre seems to be a good possibility. But of course, Tom’s just as attracted to her as the locals are. Many adventures ensue.
Tom is a different kind of man from the Toleffson brothers. I wanted a hero who had a dark side, but not someone as troubled as Erik Toleffson. I wanted a hero who hadn’t always been on the up-and-up, but who was an honorable guy deep down. I wanted a hero who was trying to make it in a tough job, but who had the skills and the will and the deep-down desire to make it happen. I wanted Tom Ames. As I said, he’s not a Toleffson—he doesn’t have the good Midwestern values and the solid family support. But he has a different kind of support system, a ragtag “family” he’s created from a disparate bunch of people who all call the Faro something like home.
So come join us on December 7. Have a drink at the bar. Listen to the music in the beer garden. Spend some time with Deirdre and Tom. See what else is going on in Konigsburg now that the Toleffsons have all been accounted for. Here’s the blurb:

If any man wants more than a dance with her, they’ll have to get past him…
Konigsberg, Texas, Book 5
Deirdre Brandenburg has an MBA and a dream to become the coffee supplier for Konigsburg’s growing restaurant industry. What she doesn’t have is money, courtesy of her billionaire father’s scheme to make her come home. All she needs is three months until her trust fund kicks in. Until then, she needs a job.
Hiring the new girl next door is a no-brainer for ex-gambler Tom Ames. He’s already succeeded in making his bar, The Faro, a growing tourist draw. Deirdre’s beauty will pull in the locals—particularly every red-blooded male in the Hill Country. As he watches her transform from tentative business wonk to confident, sassy barmaid, he realizes he wants first crack at her heart.
When Big John Brandenburg sends Deirdre’s ex-boyfriend to drag her home, the plan backfires, leaving Tom’s bar in shambles and Deirdre kidnapped by a band of loony Texas secessionists.
Things are looking pretty bleak—except the good people of Konigsburg have no intention of giving Deirdre up, either. Even if it takes every Faro employee, every last Toleffson, and one cranky iguana to give the honky-tonk lovebirds a chance at forever.
Warning: Contains dirty dancing, hot summer sex, a honky-tonk makeover, and one nippy iguana.

I grew up in Oklahoma surrounded by real, honest-to-goodness cowboys who rounded up cattle and rode steers. These men (and women) worked their ranches and loved the life they led. And, although my brothers and I grew up in the city, my father raised quarter horses as a hobby and my oldest brother grew up to own and operate a cattle ranch. In fact, his wife was a rodeo queen. So I think I can safely say that I know a cowboy when I see one.

Now that I live in a major Eastern city and rarely get back home to Oklahoma, I have wonder. Are cowboys like the cowboys I once knew? Do they still wear cowboy hats and spurs on their boots? Do they even still wear boots? And are they just as rugged as I remember? Or have I romanticized them from movies and novels?

Today, many of my relatives run cattle and ride horses. They break broncos and participate in rodeos. But do they still wear the accoutrements of the trade? Aside from the occasional public display like parades, they rarely wear cowboy hats. Instead, they opt for a baseball cap. Sure, they wear jeans (doesn’t everyone?), but I’ve never once seen them wear the plaid shirt most people associate with cowboys. Gone is the string tie. As for spurs, they tend to shun them as unnecessary and cumbersome. And, although they have their favorite worn boots, they wear running shoes as much as they can.

But do these changes mean the real cowboys are disappearing? Sheesh, I hope not. And I don’t think so. Although the cowboy of today may carry a Blackberry as much as he carries a rope, the most important attribute of the cowboys of my past remains unchanged. They’re just as strong, honest and fiercely loyal to their lifestyle as they ever were. Thank God for that.

Speaking of cowboys…

Check out WILD CAT (Wild Things, bk 2)

Beverly Rae

As a writer sitting at the computer and staring at a blank screen, I sometimes ask myself why I’m writing. Sure, there’s the money involved, but I could be doing other jobs that pay better. Or at least they’d pay the same amount on a consistent basis. But here I sit, scowling at that huge space of white and wondering how I ended up a writer instead of becoming a doctor, lawyer or roadie for the latest teen sensation. After spending a few hours hating my computer, I’ve come up with a few of the reasons why I write.

I write because I have to spill my guts. That’s the truth of it. Authors of fiction, especially, get their mind stuck on a “what if” situation and have to purge it from their brains. I am no exception. If I don’t get it out, I obsess about the story, forgetting children and husbands as well as anything else that doesn’t directly relate to the plot.

I write because I like the recognition. I admit it. I love it when I meet a reader and hear them exclaim about how much they loved my book. I smile when I can fill in the employment box on a form with “published author”. And I absolutely adore it when my parents introduce me as “our daughter, the author”. Don’t we all want approval of some kind? And trust me, recognition for your work is a super method of approval.

I write because writing beats the heck out of other jobs. Granted, a different job may offer financial consistency, but few other jobs give a person the freedom to work in their jammies and not worry about traffic. Then there are the added perks of making my own schedule and having a finished product that brings me pride and others entertainment. If my child needs me, I’m there. If hubby invites me along on a business trip, I can go and have fun. Being your own boss if great. After all, who wouldn’t rather be sitting in a cozy office on a wintery day than schlepping to work in a traffic jam?

But the main reason I write is because I love it. Aside from all the perks and recognition, the joy of telling a story well just makes everything else pale in comparison. Although I may hate the white screen at the beginning of a book, I love both the process and those final two words at the bottom of the last page that read “The End”.

So tell me? Why do you do what you do?

Beverly Rae
www.beverlyrae.com