I love reading. I read everything. The receptionists in the doctors’ offices I patron all know me as the woman who will pick up free flyers, after magazines, after newspapers and sit away from the patients and read. And, I bring my kindle with me. (Well, I usually take the free flyers home with me.)
More than once, people have nearly stumbled over me in the aisle at B&N because I will just sit on the floor and search for the perfect book to take home with me.
My dear husband has given up on telling me that I don’t need the free real estate booklets that are found at the exit of the grocery store, or the free local ‘What’s Happening’ county papers. Hey, there is interesting stuff in there.
And, BTW, I read the register tape on the way home.
Reading is an addition I tell you. There I’ve said it. And it’s not one I’m looking to get rid of. EVER!
I thank my mother for reading to me. I thank my teachers for helping me learn to read. I thank the librarians who offered up wonderful suggestions and fueled my desire to read, and continue to do so. I thank the storytellers that brought adventures beyond my wildest imagination to my world. I hope someday someone will think of me in the same way.
With that said, I think I’ll buy the grandchildren new books today, gift a book to a follower who has been a supporter of my work and continue to write the next book.
And for anyone (over 18) who leaves a comment along with their email addie this week (Feb 25 - March 3, 2012), I'll enter you into a contest for an e-copy of Obsessed By Wildfire. If you don't feel comfortable posting your email address, send it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org and put blog contest in the subject line. I'll announce the winner on March 4, 2012 by 6 pm EST. Good luck and please pass the info on. WINK
Review for Obsessed By Wildfire
My-oh-my, do they make things hot in Wayback or what? This isn’t my first journey to the Texas town, and you can guarantee after reading the newest story, Obsessed By Wildfire, it won’t be my last.
Due to mind-blowing chemistry and fantastic dialogue, the sex scenes positively sizzle. You’ll laugh, you’ll wriggle and squirm, and when things get dangerously hot, you’ll hover on the edge of your seat.
To read the entire review go to: http://www.longandshortreviews.com/LASR/recentrev.htm
Excerpt from OBSESSED BY WILDFIRE By Autumn Jordon
(copyrighted material do not duplicate)
Her fingers curled around the leather strap in her hand. In the morning, she wanted to walk out on her front porch—the one that still needed a dozen or so floorboards replaced—look out over the hundred fifty-seven point eight acres she’d inherited from her Gran, sip her morning cup of tea and see anything but yellow wood siding. There still was no promise of rain in the forecast and a brilliant full moon hung over Wayback. Chicky could paint in the dark.
White would be good.
She kicked up small puffs of dust as she rounded the truck’s front end.
Prickly pear green would be good.
“You know, you should be more careful.”
The late-night-radio voice stopped Isobel’s right heel from stomping the Blue Bug’s step. She turned. If it wasn’t for the fact her blood pressure was already at a dangerous level, it would’ve shot there staring into the cornflower blue eyes of this stranger. He was a good six inches taller than her five foot eight, broad at the shoulders and chest, trim at the waist and hips and from what she could tell by the stretch of his jeans, his package was where he got the gumption to face off with her while she was in a hellish ass-kicking mood.
There was no doubt he was a Yankee. He wore sneakers. No Texan would wear running shoes to go dancing. And his scent wasn’t leather, hay or old horse. She lifted her chin a notch, just a little, to let him know what he was about to take on. “Who are you?”
“Warner Keyson. You?” He folded his arms across his chest. His muscles bulged from beneath the rolled back sleeves of his white dress shirt. She’d seen bigger forearms—on a few NFL players.
“Well, Ms. Trinidad, you could’ve caused some damage or killed someone the way you barreled in here.”
“The last time I heard, Raleigh was Wayback’s chief and you’re not one of his officers. Besides everyone’s inside.”
“There could be a couple or two in the backseat of those cars. You know, enjoying the night.”
Warner Keyson’s warm caramel gaze drifted over her and Isobel’s legs buckled a degree before she roped off her reaction. Refusing to look away, she wrestled the urge to step closer and touch the cute dark lock that curled behind Mr. Keyson’s right ear. “Were you peeking in windows?”
“Nah, not peeking.” His full lips pulled up the tiniest bit.
Looking pass him, she scanned the cars. Had he been in the backseat of one of them?
Had one of the local girls already run him down and claimed him?
“So what do you have in mind with that whip?” He broke her musing.
“Whip?” She’d forgotten she still had it in her grasp, and the reason why.
Chicky. Her fire to kill the devil with a paintbrush had taken a new direction. This blaze was much more alluring, but she had a ton and half of chores to do this weekend, starting with thrashing Chicky. She couldn’t be distracted by a weekend fling, not this weekend.
“I’m going to use it on a man who doesn’t listen. So if you don’t mind—”
He chuckled. “Not at all. You’ve got business to tend to and so do I.”
He took a step back and Isobel’s psyche tickled with disappointment. Was his business a half-naked woman waiting in his car? Longing for his strong arms to pull her close, feel his large hands travel over her body and help to unwrap his package?
“Goodnight, Isobel Trinidad.”
He’d said her name again, like he meant to remember it.