Thursday, January 27, 2011

Deep Indigo

The final chapter in The Orion Series debuts February 15 from Samhain Publishing. Catch it on pre-sale now.

I've had so much fun creating the alpha males and feisty heroines who inhabit the world of Orion. In a way, I've saved the best for last.

I always thought Spock was the most intriguing character in those fab old reruns of Star Trek--all that intellect and power, held in check with such superb control, passion seething under that chill exterior. Love the way his story was brought to the forefront in the new Star Trek movie, don't you?

In a way, Deep Indigo is a tribute to Spock. Ah, space opera. Hokey as you were, with cardboard sets and plastic masked aliens, we loved you.

Here's a taste of the story. You won't find this excerpt anywhere but here ...

" Navos led her into his stateroom, only his years of training controlling the desire flaming inside him. He knew that after a battle, soldiers often found themselves in the grip of lust, the less honorable among them committing rape.

He and Nelah had just won a deadly battle, although fought with empathic power. And now this slender, naïve young woman had him ready to shove her up against the nearest wall and take her there.

He’d nearly done so in the elevator—he had the access codes to shut it down and blank all surveillance. And knowing she wouldn’t stop him inflamed him. However, he was damned if he’d behave as a mere human male.

He had a thousand years of Indigon evolution in at least half of him and he meant to make sure that half remained uppermost, even in what promised to be a heady liaison. He might be throwing his rules about sex with passengers out the escape hatch, but he was still Indigon.

As the hatch slid shut behind them, he led her across the few steps to the large bed waiting in the shadows and turned her toward him. He wanted nothing more than to unwrap her like a gift and enjoy her tender body with slow care, but he had little time.

They both needed sleep. She would have it. He must go and aid in the investigation now beginning. Whoever the dead man was, whoever had been controlling him, he’d been acting as a terrorist. The Orion was obviously not rid of her tormentors.

But before Navos did the work at which he was so skilled, divining the patterns and motivations in a crisis situation, he desperately needed an outlet for the sexual flames fanned by their mind meld.

He sent his power twining about her, silently urging her close to him. She shivered visibly, her plum-like breasts rising and falling quickly as she fought for breath. Her eyes rose as far as his mouth, then her own lips parted on a shuddering sigh of surrender and she swayed toward him like a lovely, slender reed.

Triumph surged through him. She was so attuned to him. He spoke to her silently once more. Would she hear him, or had their earlier communication been a fluke, forged in the fire of urgency?

“Touch me.”

Her hands settled like birds’ wings on his chest, slipping up over the sleek fabric of his flight suit. She found the fastening at his throat, baring a long vee of flesh.

His hands curved around her tiny waist, urging, guiding. She swayed closer, first her moist breath and then her soft lips brushing against the column of his throat.

Every cell in his body thrilled.

“More!” He had to feel that torturously delicate exploration move up his throat, then down, across the smooth hardness of his chest, her eager hands pushing his flight suit back until her fingertips found his nipples. A hard shudder arrowed through him as she traced them.

She was trembling in his hands, a fact that filled him with savage delight. He wanted her shaking, wanted her desperate for him.

He pushed his loins against hers, rocking his erection into the juncture of her thighs as she tasted his skin with the tip of her silky little tongue. He hung on the feathered edge of orgasm. His nostrils flared, jaw clenched, as he fought the urge to let go just from the graze of her mons on his straining phallus.

But no, he wanted every bit of her, wanted to be deep inside her before he put them both out of this delicious agony.

He traced just the fingertips of one hand, so large against her delicate frame, up the sleek front of her flight suit, over one pebble-hard nipple thrusting underneath, up under her chin, tipping her face toward his. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, dazed. Good.

He nipped at her lower lip—hard. “Open your suit to me.”

She fumbled with the fastening under her chin, her eyes drowning in his. It parted under his waiting fingertips. He slid his fingers down with hers, so under his tutelage she unfastened the garment clear to her belly. Her skin was unbelievably silken, shivering at his touch.

His mouth hovering against hers, he stroked the suit open farther, until his fingertips found the firm mound of her mons. Ah, like a velvet peach and a few inches farther, the luscious juicy center of the fruit, the sleek folds of her vulva. Indigons had only the faintest traces of hair around their sex. It gave the women a delicate, vulnerable beauty.

She whimpered some incoherent plea against his lips, her hips tilting forward to meet his touch.

“Yes,” he breathed into her mouth. “Give yourself to me.”

“I already—have.”

... visit the Samhain site for more excerpts, and to buy the book.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Paty Jager Visits Today!

Cathryn, Thank you for having me here today.

I'm Paty Jager, a hardcore Oregonian who enjoys living and writing the western lifestyle. My eighth published book and second contemporary western romance, Bridled Heart, released last Friday. While it can't be slatted as the book of my heart, it is a story that I felt compelled to write. One reviewer said it should come with a warning even though it isn't graphic. The warning would be this book is about one woman's strength and belief in herself to overcome childhood sexual abuse.

I didn’t write this story as a downer in any way. I wrote it to give women who have had a similar experience in their life to know they can make a change and they can be happy.

This story is upbeat and leads the heroine, Gina Montgomery, on one more self discovery. That she can have a normal life after all she's been through. And the kicker- it's with a rodeo cowboy of all people. Having a stereotypical image of cowboys, she comes to learn that people can't be put into categories and you never know who can come along and change your outlook on life.

Gina is a stickler for rules. Ones she makes for herself. Holt Reynolds, bareback bronc rider, is all about knowing when the rules should be broken. He realizes there is something special about Gina and also a sadness he was too busy to see in his suicidal sister.

The most fun I had writing this book was interviewing four-time and reigning PRCA World Champion Bareback Rider Bobby Mote and his wife Kate. They have a wonderful family and were very open and forthright in answering my questions about the rodeo lifestyle.

Do you like reading romance books about sensitive subjects?

If you visit my website ( and click on the Contest page you could win a copy of this book by answering the question and sending your answer to the contest link. You can also read excerpts from all my books. Stop by and visit my blog, I update it three times a week.

Here is the blurb and excerpt for Bridled Heart.

A specialized placement schedule and self-imposed vow of celibacy keeps ER nurse, Gina Montgomery, from getting too close to anyone. Music is her only solace and release from a past laced with abuse. But when that music draws the attention of a handsome bareback rider, her chosen solitary life—not to mention her vow—gets tested to the limits.

Holt Reynolds let his younger sister down when she needed him most. With the similarities to his sister far too evident in Gina, he can’t get the woman out of his head, or her poignant music out of his heart. But how can he find a way to free her bridled heart before the past resurfaces to destroy their one chance at happiness?


“Why do you help with this event?” He laced his fingers together resting his hands on the table in front of him. His coffee-colored gaze held admiration.
She dropped her gaze and picked at her napkin. His interest was flattering, and he hadn’t attended the event just to inflate his image. If that had been his agenda, he would have stayed to be photographed with the person who purchased his art. She peered into his smiling face. He waited so patiently for her to answer. By this time most men would have given up on her and moved on to someone else. She searched his eyes. He seemed genuinely interested.
She took a deep breath and hoped she wasn’t going to regret divulging more. “I see so many children in the ER rooms who…” she turned her head and chewed on her cuticle. When they arrived needing her care, she put aside her emotions and did the job, but afterward, she always broke down. How could a parent do that to a child? She knew how it felt to grow up feeling different.
He placed a hand over the one on the table. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. I can see their plight affects you.” He squeezed her hand. “I could tell when you were playing the piano your heart is filled with sorrow.”
She stared into his eyes. The sincerity of his words and the acceptance of her pain, even though he thought it was all for others made her want to weep. She hadn’t had anyone care about her in so long, she didn’t know how to act.
Jerking her hand out from under his, she stood. “I have to go.”
“Wait.” He snagged her hand as she grabbed her coat from the back of her chair. “Do you have a phone number?”
He held her firm but gentle. Warmth spiraled up her arm and settled in her chest. Why didn’t she feel frightened or invaded by this man? She shook her head. She didn’t want to see him again. If she did, it would be hard to remain faithful to her vow. He’d started to seep into the empty cracks created over the years.

Buy link:
You can find me on Facebook and Twitter.

Monday, January 17, 2011

January: Time for the Perfect Me to Emerge

This time of year, I pick up print periodicals or open one on my computer, and I'm bombarded with hints and tips to get the Perfect New Me to finally emerge from my all too human persona.

The perfect diet! The perfect exercise program! The perfect mental health regime! They're all there, if I just buy this magazine! Wow, cool!

Whoa, Cathryn. Metaphorical slap up-side the head, here. I don't diet anymore. Courtesy of the fabulous, I-can't-say-enough-good-things-about-this-woman Genene Roth. Google her, right now, if you're already exhausted and heartsick at the thought of one more $%@#* New Year's Diet That Will Finally Work.

Exercise? It's already crucial to my mental health. Writers spend an awful lot of time in our heads. Hey, amazing things are happening in here! You should see and hear what I've got rolling in the amazing technicolor movies in my head. Oh, wait, you've already read some of them--courtesy of Samhain Publishing, and the Free Reads on my website, grin.

As a reader, I spend time in my head, too. And usually in a chair of some sort. Either way, whether I'm spinning stories or enjoying others', I'm sitting.

My perfect antidote? Exercise. I'm hooked on the endorphins--those little happy pills that are released into my system when I take my golden retriever for a walk, dance around to loud music, pump iron at the gym, or ride my bike.

When I need to walk away from the tension of characters who will NOT behave, or how to get my new website to the best position on Google, or any of the other problems of steering my second career, I can. And I return refreshed and relaxed, and ready to have fun doing what I really want to do ... spin those technicolor fantasies into stories on the page.

'Cause I'm already close enough to perfect. Which is to say, not at all. I'm not supposed to be. That's not why God put me here. And no turn of the calendar, no diet, no exercise program can do it for me.

So excuse me, I hear a perfect fantasy calling! Gotta go get it on the page ... as well as I can, anyway. See you there!