Showing posts with label MS Spencer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MS Spencer. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Author @msspencerauthor visits the blog today with Whirlwind Romance #Contemporary #Romance

Thank you so much for having me today, Nicole. I’d like to talk about my new release from The Wild Rose Press, Whirlwind Romance.

I didn't mean to write this story. I meant to write a nice romantic interlude set on Longboat Key, a lovely barrier island on the Gulf Coast of Florida. Even before I'd reached Chapter Two, however, things had taken a geographical turn and veered off into the western Caribbean. Even now I'm not sure how it happened, but everything started to go awry when Lacey Delahaye, my heroine, finds a bedraggled castaway in her mangrove swamp. Fine. Not a problem. He's handsome, injured, and clearly has a secret. Could he be a lost tourist? A real estate agent caught up in a Florida land scam? An environmentalist who's discovered that whales have become man-eaters? No, sir. With his exotic, dark looks (flashing black eyes, shimmering ebony hair, etc.), he hardly seemed the real estate agent type. And he has an accent. Therefore he comes from elsewhere. He eventually confesses to Lacey that…well, I certainly won't divulge his secret. I will say that he and Lacey find themselves in a remote, tiny, tropical paradise, which would be very romantic, except for the vicious serpent lurking there.

In the aftermath of a hurricane, Lacey Delahaye finds herself marooned on an island on the Gulf coast of Florida with a mysterious man. They are immediately drawn to each other, but before Armand can confess his identity, they are kidnapped and taken to a tiny island in the western Caribbean. With the help of her son Crispin and a cadre of loyal followers, she and Armand must face down pirates, power-mad ideologues, and palace intrigue, if they are to restore the once idyllic tropical island to its former glory.

Whirlwind Romance
Wild Rose Press, 8/17/2016, Champagne Rose imprint
Contemporary romance/Action Adventure; M/F; 2 flames
Ebook 89,905 words; Print: 358 p. 

Excerpt (R): Bath Fun
She turned on the taps and poured a few drops of rose water from a small flagon into the tub. Slipping off her shorts and shirt, she sank blissfully into the water. Armand came to the door. “You look happy.”
“At this point it’s the little things.”
“Yes. I have a feeling tomorrow will not bring good news. I wish you weren’t here, Lacey.”
“Well, thanks a lot.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
“You know what I mean. This is a very precarious situation.” He sat on the edge of the bath. “I never should have let you help me.”
“You didn’t have much choice, Armand. Besides, I couldn’t leave you in the mangrove swamp. It’s not done in my family.”
He shook his head. “And then I seduced you in the first five minutes of our acquaintance. I am a wicked man.”
Lacey thought back to that night—to the smells of sulphur, mud, and sex. She’d felt guilty then, believing it was her fault, that she’d thrown herself at him. Not the other way around. She looked up into Armand’s face. Black stubble covered his chin. His unruly hair, a little long now, matched his glistening black eyes. Might as well let him wallow in his ignorance. She reached an arm around his neck and drew him toward her. Just as their lips touched, his eyes went wide, and he fell on top of her.
Bathwater spilled out, leaving Lacey half exposed and shivering. “Ack! What are you doing?”
He struggled out of the tub, his clothes dripping. “It’s your fault. You pulled at me, and I slipped.”
“Well, I never. You leaned in and lost your balance.” She turned the tap on again. As the bath refilled, an idea crossed her mind. Her eyes danced. “Now you’re wet, you might as well get in. You could use a wash.”
He cast her a look from under the thick eyebrows. “Might as well.”
She moved over and he squeezed in beside her, then rolled her over on top of him. She felt gloriously sensual and rubbed her body over his, massaging the hard parts. He found the soap and lathering up his hand, inserted two fingers inside her. The scent of rosewater filled the room. She slowly rotated her hips while his fingers kept up their pressure, then pulled away, allowing them to slip out. Locking her eyes on his, Lacey lowered herself onto his cock. The soap lubricated her opening, and he slid in to the hilt. She began to rock, slowly, then faster, as he kept his hands on the tub’s sides to steady himself. She concentrated on the thick penis scraping the sides of her vagina, nicking the tip of her clitoris, nudging her orgasm into flower.
“Oh God, Lacey, don’t stop.” He closed his eyes, and she redoubled her efforts until she came to the tipping point. Shuddering, she collapsed on top of him. They lay in each other’s arms, water sloshing and bubbling around them.
Someone knocked on the outer door.

Buy Links:



About the Author:
Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents, the last thirty years were spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director, and parent. After many years in academia, she worked for the U.S. Senate, the U.S. Department of the Interior, in several library systems, both public and academic, and at the Torpedo Factory Art Center in Alexandria, Virginia.

Ms. Spencer has published ten romantic suspense and murder mystery novels. She has two fabulous grown children and an incredible granddaughter. She divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.

Other Books by M. S. Spencer:

Coming 2016:
Lapses of Memory

Contacts:

My calendar of events can be found here:

Monday, August 1, 2016

Murders, mistrust, misfits, and miscreants with @msspencerauthor #Romance #Suspense


Thank you so much, Nicole, for having Milo and Tristram visit again—today your readers will be treated to a new blurb and a new excerpt from my new mystery romance Artful Dodging: the Torpedo Factory Murders.

Murders,  mistrust, misfits, and miscreants—needlepoint artist Milo Everhart has her hands full. Can Tristram Brodie prove to her that love conquers all?


Brooding on both the death of her husband and the four needlepoint stockings she has to finish,  not to mention two mysterious murders, Milo Everhart is distracted by the handsome man standing in the pub doorway.


Tristram Brodie, hard-driving lawyer and former Marine, is focused on his plan to convert the Torpedo Factory Art Center into a box store. He is drawn to the beautiful woman watching him, but blocking the road to romance is his proposal to gut her beloved studio. 

As Milo and Tristram edge closer to love, they must find a way to overcome not only their differences but also the still painful memory of her loss.

Wild Rose Press, 7/20/2016; Imprint Crimson Rose 
Theme(s): Mystery/Cozy Mystery
Contemporary romantic Suspense, M/F, 2 flames
Ebook, 66,830 words; Print 268 p. 

A Bit About the Scene:

Just south of Old Town Alexandria is Mount Vernon and the Arlington Cemetery, where Milo and Tristram go to see the Christmas decorations. Mount Vernon was, of course, George Washington’s home, a delightful colonial plantation house overlooking the Potomac River. Built in 1735, Washington expanded it over the years to twenty-one rooms. An interesting fact is that it is actually made of wood that was beveled and painted with a mix of paint and sand to look like sandstone.

At Christmas, when Milo and Tristram visit Mount Vernon, the house is beautifully decorated and there is a fireworks show. Also in attendance is Aladdin the Camel. Washington paid to bring a camel to the house the Christmas of 1787, and the event has been reenacted every year since 2008.

Excerpt (R): Mt. Vernon Bliss

“Magical.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
On the other side of the river the lights of Fort Washington dotted the water with pinpricks of phosphorescence. Behind the couple on the bench the strings of silver bulbs outlining George Washington’s home shone brightly, casting long black shadows across the lawn. Two heads nestled together. Milo purred.
“Are you cold?”
“A little.”
“You want to go in?”
“Not yet. I’m too content to move.”
She heard the chuckle in his voice. “It’s been a…nice day, hasn’t it?”
She snuggled closer under his arm. “Very.”
He kissed the top of her head tentatively. “Do you mind?”
“Uh uh.”
He pulled her chin toward him and softly kissed her lips. She was too relaxed, too happy to argue. Tristram peered at her. “I can’t see your face. Are you smiling?”
For an answer, she reached up and pulled him to her. A few minutes later he placed a gentle hand on her breast and tickled the nipple through the layers of fabric, making her heart spin.
“Let’s go home.”
The familiar words brought her back to reality. “What about Ursula?”
“Ursula? What about her?”
“Don’t you live together?”
He paused. “No.” The unspoken words were clear. No more questions.
On the drive back, her tranquil state gave way to anticipation. Tristram whipped his Jaguar in and out of the sleepy parkway traffic, never overly reckless, but enough to get her heart beating faster. He didn’t speak. For some reason, his silence aroused her even more. What is he thinking? Is he going to make love to me or drop me off like so much used tissue?
They pulled up in front of Tristram’s townhouse on Lee Street. The last time they’d been together, the surroundings had paled before other, more pressing needs. Now, as he handed her out, Milo paused to survey the park that lay between them and the river. The sky opened up here, a change from the tall, impendent row houses and narrow streets of Old Town. Stars flashed in the Milky Way, and the moon grinned at her as she shivered in the chill breeze.
Tristram took her arm. “Do you think we’ll have a white Christmas this year?”
The question first hit her as so unromantic, she worried her little dream would dissipate into the night, but then the words took on a cozy kind of comfort, like the chitchat of an old established couple. “I don’t know.”
He sniffed the air. “Smells like snow. Come on, Milo.”
She followed him, stifling both the disappointment and her desire. He’s going to offer me a drink and send me home. And that’s okay. I’ll be fine. Oh, but look at that butt and those shoulders. Is he sexier in Armani or L.L. Bean?
He closed the door behind her, ran his arms around her middle, and kissed the back of her neck. The little hairs rose to meet him. Electricity shot through her like a high-tension power line. He touched the top of her head and slowly spun her around to face him. His eyes burned into hers, and her mouth went dry.
“Milo?”
“Yes, Tristram?”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Um…your house?”
He grinned. “Just checking. You didn’t remember much about our last…encounter, and I want to make sure you are conscious during every single minute you spend here.”
Yeah, right. Forget the small talk and take me to bed, you big gorgeous lug.
“Okay.”
Oh my God, I said that out loud! Shit.
It was too late to take back. He didn’t appear to be listening anyway. He dropped her coat on the floor and lifted her, taking the stairs two at a time. Translucent shafts of light from a recessed panel illuminated the California king that took up most of the room.
Tristram lit a tall, white candle on the bureau and touched her shoulder. “May I?” One hand went to the buttons on her blouse, which he undid carefully.
Why did he have to be so polite? Why didn’t he just rip her clothes off like he did the last time? Not that I remember. She let the blouse fall, her breath coming in short gasps. He reached out and cupped one of her breasts, encased in delicate azure lace. He pulled the lace down with his index finger, allowing the nipple to lift its hungry head. He flicked at it until it stood up hard and ready for something more substantial. Obligingly, he leaned down and licked it. Then he gently unhooked the bra and licked the other nipple. Milo didn’t think she could stand much more.
His hand moved to the button of her jeans. She tightened her abdomen as he unzipped them and let his hand reach in and cup the mound. She fought the urge to press against it but gave in when he started to knead.
He pulled the jeans off and knelt before her. His fingers wormed their way under the panties and tickled her yearning lips. Her mind emptied of everything but the aching in her vagina. He rolled the bit of lace off, tossed it in a corner, and began to suck. Slurping and swallowing, he twisted the sensitive flesh and sent his tongue to palpate her clitoris. Milo spread her legs wider, riding his mouth like a rodeo cowgirl. The candle flickered, shimmering on his desire-glazed eyes. She shouldn’t have looked at his face—it brought her to instant orgasm. She held a hand to her mouth to stop the scream. He pulled away from her, dribbling wet kisses down the inside of her thighs.
Then her lover moved lightning fast. He tore his clothes off, pushed her onto the bed, and moved up to close with her. His cock, hard and healthy, inserted itself into her. She folded her legs around his back and began the delectable climb to climax. He slid in and out, his penis scratching the itch inside her vagina. There. Almost there. Almost…arggggh.
He collapsed on top of her.

Buy Links:

About the Author:
Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents, the last thirty years were spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director, and parent. After many years in academia, she worked for the U.S. Senate, the U.S. Department of the Interior, in several library systems, both public and academic, and at the Torpedo Factory Art Center in Alexandria, Virginia.

Ms. Spencer has published ten romantic suspense and murder mystery novels. She has two fabulous grown children and an incredible granddaughter. She divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.

Other Books by M. S. Spencer:

Coming 2016:
Lapses of Memory

Contacts:

My calendar of events can be found here:


Friday, July 22, 2016

The new mystery romance, Artful Dodging: the Torpedo Factory Murders by @MSSpencerAuthor

Thank you so much for having me, Milo and Tristram on your blog today. My new mystery romance, Artful Dodging: the Torpedo Factory Murders, is set in Old Town Alexandria, an historic cobblestoned city on the Potomac River. Winter there can be quite dreary, but my hero and heroine manage to make their own heat.

Murders,  mistrust, misfits, and miscreants—needlepoint artist Milo Everhart has her hands full. Can Tristram Brodie prove to her that love conquers all?

It’s just before Christmas, and Milo Everhart has two needlepoint stockings, a cross-stitch purse, and three canvases to finish for her clients. Waiting out the rain in a pub, she is captivated by the handsome man next to her, but blocking the road to romance are two mysterious corpses who turn up in the tower of her Torpedo Factory Art Center. As if that weren’t enough, a second crisis erupts—a proposal to gut her beloved Art Center. 

Tristram Brodie, hard-driving corporate lawyer and former Marine, is focused on his plan to convert the Torpedo Factory into a box store. He is drawn to the beautiful woman sitting next to him, but their mutual attraction will be frustrated by both the murders and his intentions. As they edge closer to love, they must find a way to overcome both their differences and the still-fresh memory of her late husband. 

Wild Rose Press, 7/20/2016; Imprint Crimson Rose 
Theme(s): Mystery/Cozy Mystery
Contemporary romantic Suspense, M/F, 2 flames
Ebook, 66,830 words; Print 268 p. 



Although Milo has misgivings about betraying the memory of her dead husband, she allows herself to get a bit carried away in this scene.


Excerpt (R): Milo Takes a Hand

All right. Fine. I can see I have to take a hand. So she did. One finger crept down her thigh unobtrusively and walked itself over to the still bobbing cock. She tickled the tip then drew her finger down the shaft to his balls. He said nothing, but from the deafening stillness, she knew he concentrated all his synapses on her finger. He’s not even breathing. She added three more fingers to the mix, two on each side, squeezing and tugging. Tristram arched his back and stared at the ceiling, pretending he hadn’t noticed. Oh yeah? We’ll see how long that lasts. She ran her palms down to the root and bowed over his abdomen. Her tongue flicked out, barely brushing the crown, licking up the drop of semen that had escaped the hole.
Tristram let out a soft “Uhhhh.”
Milo smiled. I’ve got him. She kept a tight hold on him and began to lick up and down, squeezing gently whenever she reached the top and releasing as her fingers slid down the shaft.
Tristram writhed. “Milo, Milo. Don’t—”
She pulled away. “Don’t what?”
He grabbed the back of her head and urged her back down. “Stop. Don’t stop. God, you make me crazy.” She obediently began to suck. He pressed into her, molding her lips. She could feel the pent-up pressure growing. Finally he shouted, “I’m coming, I’m coming!” They both heard a yowl and a bang as Pinkie hit the floor.
Milo rolled onto her back and started to giggle. “Poor Pinkie. This is not what she bargained for when she signed on.”
Tristram straddled her, an arm on either side of her face. “She’ll get used to it. At least she doesn’t stare at us like the dog does.”
“Speaking of, have you returned Yum-yum yet?”
“Uh uh. I’ve been too busy. Besides, I like having him around. He’s so cute and fluffy.”
“I’m not enough for you?”
“Well, you’re cute. But you’re not fluffy.”
“I suppose I could wear a pink satin bed jacket and have my hair permed. Would that help?”
He dropped his head and kissed her hungrily. “No. I don’t want you fluffy. I want you naked. And I want you now.” He kissed her neck and started down the path that led to orgasm. Milo lay back, soaking in the sensation. He reached her vagina and, lips still on clitoris, inserted a finger and rolled it around. She raised her hips to get closer. Taking one last taste, he raised a face suffused with desire. He murmured, “More?”
“More.”
He inserted one more finger. She didn’t know whether to react or lie there and revel in the glorious, slow-moving ascent to climax. He kept pressing in and out, in and out, his fingers palpating the soft inner flesh. She felt deliciously stuffed, like a warm yeast roll wrapped around a nub of melting butter. The pungent scent of sex filled her lungs. Oh baby, oh baby, gimme more. Take me there. Her body took over, and she bucked uncontrollably.
As she ground against the pulsating fingers, she could hear him whispering, “Come on, baby, come to me, let it go, let it out. I want you to come till the stars burst.” The words—echoing her own thoughts—dragged her to a height of passion she’d never known. Her body lifted off the bed and she drove herself onto his fingers, losing all control and demanding satisfaction. While she dangled in mid-air, panting, praying for the last step over the edge, he pulled the fingers out.
“Oh, my God. Tristram! Arrgggh. I’m so close. Let me finish. Please, honey, please.” In answer, he thrust her back on the bed and let his thick, hard, long prick find its harbor. He began to pump, staring into her face, love and desire etched in it. She met him, and they rode the crest like surfers, embracing the churning waves before finally rolling over and over in the soft sand. She lay, sated and complete. As she savored the peace, she rolled on her side. Tristram had fallen fast asleep.



Buy Links:

About the Author:
Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents, the last thirty years were spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director, and parent. After many years and several degrees at institutions of higher learning, she worked for the U.S. Senate, the U.S. Department of the Interior, in several library systems, both public and academic, and at the Torpedo Factory Art Center.

Ms. Spencer has published ten romantic suspense novels, and has three more in utero. She has two fabulous grown children and an incredible granddaughter. She divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.

Other Books by M. S. Spencer:

Coming 2016:
Lapses of Memory

Contacts:

My Pinterest Page:

My calendar of events can be found here:

Author Pages

The Wild Rose Press:

Amazon Author Page: