"A Candle Loses Nothing By Lighting Another Candle" - Father James Keller

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

October Giveaway!!!

Each year as a paranormal author, I love the coming of fall and Halloween! 
To celebrate each year I hold an October Giveaway. So here goes... 

What Can You Win?
1. One Grand Prize (Winner Announced Oct 31): Hand-Knit by Author, Fall-Colored Ruffled Scarf

2. Many Second Prizes (Winners Chosen Randomly Throughout October): Winner-chosen Ebook (Titles To Choose From are Mystical Mayhem, Spelled, The Sorcerer's Songs, Working Out the Kinks, The Healing Spell, At War in the Willows, The Witches Beast, Mystic Stones or Rituals - Read more about them at http://www.kikihowell.com/2010/06/stories.html )

How Do You Enter?
1. Share something about my Newest Release and Best Selling Novel, Hidden Salem. Share anything about the book (all info below); anywhere you like (Facebook, Twitter, Google +, Your Blog, even Write a Review if you have read the book); and any amount of information (YouTube Video, Blurb, Cover, Buy Link, Excerpt, whatever). Of course the more you share the more entries you will get, and I will weigh entry amounts by work share took to accomplish :) Enter as often as you like with each new share too.  

2. Send An Email to howell.kiki@gmail.com 
Subject Line: I Shared Hidden Salem! 
Body of Email: Tell me where you shared and what ebook you would like to read if you win. If you are chosen, I will email you back to discuss the details as to how I can best gift you the book.

Remember, Many Will Enter and Many Will Win a FREE EBOOK All Month Long, but only One Will Win The Scarf At the End of the Month!


Amazon Top 100 Best Seller in 3 Categories: Paranormal, Suspense & Ghosts

Blurb: Intuition alone brought Makayla to Salem, MA in search of a story, but her research has her confronting more than she bargained for. With her empathic gifts stronger in Witch City, she physically suffers, landing her literally unconscious in the arms of both Noah Ayers, local cop and Dylan Baines, local history teacher. Yet, it is Lauri, a witch who owns a local shop, who teaches Makayla about who she is and what she can do.

Unfortunately for all of them, Makayla also stumbles upon a coven in the woods practicing a dark magic ritual. Now they are after her, threatening her life and the lives of those she has quickly come to care about. Immersed in things she never expected, like an old legend and necromancy due to residual hauntings, the race is on to stay safe from the coven and protect her heart from a certain sexy cop.

But, is Lauri correct in thinking Makayla might just have encountered the only real witch in Salem in 1692? And, do they share the same bloodline?

Genres: Contemporary, Paranormal, Romantic Suspense

“Richly vivid and captivatingly engrossing, Hidden Salem is a mesmerizing tale that blends an eerie historical past with a rather terrifying present. Kiki Howell brings the fasination of the witches of Salem - both past and present - to a brilliant level, adding liberal doses of sensuous love, suspense and murder to provide a hard-to-put-down, provocative and memorable story that you don't want to miss."  ~ April Pohren, Cafe of Dreams Book Reviews

“Kiki Howell spins a tale that will bewitch your heart and leave you wanting more." ~ Misty Rayburn - Top Shelf Book Reviews

"This book is filled with secrets, lies, love, death, and magic. You are taken on an adventure that would appease any adrenaline junky...  I would recommend this book to everyone. You won’t be disappointed."  ~Crystal, Romancing the Book

"I have read a lot of books about witches and ones about Salem witches. But I have never read a book that was anywhere near like Hidden Salem. Hidden Salem was unique in the way that it actually portrayed the witches. I mean that a lot of people could or maybe even can do the things that Makayla does..." ~ Nancy Allen, The Avid Reader

"I’m a sucker for a great Witch story and this one has just jumped to the top of my list! ...I was hooked by Kiki Howell’s writing from the very first chapter. She took us on Makayla’s journey immediately, straight into visions and cops. I seem to enjoy books more that have action all the way through and I found Hidden Salem kept me turning the pages to see what was going to happen next. It has a great plot that I was addicted to and there are some romance scenes, but nothing too graphic. It was a fantastic paranormal/romance that I want more of!" ~Nomi’s Paranormal Palace

In the outer edges of my vision, the cloudless sky became as dark as night. A shroud of fog descended, an image only I could see, I knew, but for a moment blocked my present reality. Despite the sunlight that warmed my shoulders, shadows of rainclouds filled the sky. The juxtaposition between today’s reality and the glimpse I caught of the past were like a thousand icy fingers tapping down my spine.

I’d stumbled upon another piece of residual energy stuck in the earth, what some would call a place memory. Thus, a scene from the past played itself out for me. Nothing new. I’d long ago come to terms with the fact I’d grown up different. I’d not asked for these gifts, if a person wanted to refer to them as such. I managed to live with the fact I was empathic. With living people, that proved one thing, but I often had to deal with the emotions of the past ─of the dead─ as well.

Though the smells of brine and salt water still came with each breeze, the picturesque scene of Pickering Wharf blurred, changed shape before me. I’d longed to see Salem’s gateway to the sea, without any reason as to the strong yearning. Now, here I stood on the harbor in the year of 2011, but it looked like something straight out of a history book. I witnessed the place in both its present time and the way it appeared many years ago. The misty view of the past flickered before the real time images in front of me. I squinted, cocked my head, but I couldn’t make the scenery look as it had a minute ago. The edges of mud and rock along the water were no longer as formed by the elements. Instead, it expanded in spots, presented itself as it had once looked long ago, as if centuries of erosion had never happened.

A ghostly aberration of a woman, not of this time, appeared before me. My heart skipped a beat. She stood between the shoreline and me. Dense, pelting rain soaked her hair. I trembled against the thickness of the air. Her dress, a Puritan brown, clung heavily to her body. Yet I knew, as if we were the same person, more than material weighed her down. She hugged her flat stomach, arms wrapped in a protective squeeze.

The ghost-like image glanced back at a large, spectral ship. The old seaworthy vessel fluttered into my field of vision as quickly as it dissipated into the ether. The clanging of its bell marked its arrival and its departure. As if she’d been spooked by the same apparition, she took off on a run. My muscles jumped to do the same, but I tensed, defiant in my stance, frozen in place.

The woman was not a ghost, though. This I knew from research. I’d read books on the sly, so no one would know the secret of my gifts. I tried hard to appear normal more than any other thing I did in my life. If people were aware of what I could see and what I could feel, they would call me crazy, lock me up, and throw away the key. This I knew without a shadow of a doubt.

The idea that a place can hold a memory of past events that can be viewed or felt by people with certain sensitivities, people like me, is not a new one in the field of parapsychology. Studies had shown that in places where the human spirit had experienced intense feelings, a trace of their anguish stuck, engrained itself into the ground. It is that trace, that energy, which a receptive mind can pick up on, witnessing the past like a vague vision.

I kept all this in mind. I didn’t exist in this woman’s time any more than she did in mine. I stood firm, tried to ignore any apprehensions as she flew toward me. Her feet barely hit the ground. She appeared to look through me. A few seconds later, she stepped into me. I looked down at my body, unsure if I stood still or floated backward with the woman. Her lungs moved inside mine. I no longer had control over the air that entered and left my body. My ribcage expanded and contracted, forced by hers.

For a moment, fear seized me. My breathing stopped. She grew frantic. Her tension lifted my brows and tightened my jaw. I resisted the urge to curl over a nauseous stomach. She sighed, resigned herself to her fate, and then rebuilt her courage. The name Mary floated into my mind with a low hum of a sound, the timbre of a somber voice.

For a moment, her vision became mine, the harbor as it had looked centuries ago. The muggy air, rank of horse droppings and dead fish filled my nose. The silent, dark street became eerie, intensified by the rhythmic lap of the the water’s movement and the men who worked behind her. A forlorn warning, that told her prospects were bleak.

Sudden grief strangled me. Her fear punched me in the gut. The tang of blood from where I’d bitten my lip soon replaced the sour taste in my mouth. Her husband had died on the trip over, but somehow she knew she carried his child. The questions as to how she would live in this place and take care of her child filled her mind, and thus mine. The urge to hug almost made me extend my arms to comfort her. I knew that action impossible. No woman, ghost, or spirit actually stood there.

About such occurrences, there’d been arguments among the sciences as to whether some sort of ether or medium existed, a non-tangible matter read by the subconscious, a pseudo-haunting if you will. Even though she appeared ghost-like, transparent, and unstable, this Puritan woman from another time didn’t dwell here in the present with me. This moment played on a loop, repeated for anyone sensitive enough to see it.

Yet, to me, and only to me, she appeared so real at the moment. Her feelings mixed with mine, getting all stirred up in the pot of emotions boiling in my stomach. I couldn’t distinguish the difference between her reactions and mine—a common plight for an empath.

My mouth dried. Air caught in my throat. Chills ran over my skin despite the heat. Rays of the October, late-afternoon sun infused my clothing. Tears stung my eyes as I fought the dizziness that threatened my frail grip on the reality I knew.

I admonished myself. She no longer walked this earth. On any plane of existence, she didn’t exist. No ghost stood before me, just a strong unwavering mixture of memory, energy, and emotions stuck forever in a plot of dirt. Whatever tragedy had stricken this woman from the past had been profound enough to charge this spot of land for several hundred years.

To prove I didn’t need to be wary of this—well, let’s call her an apparition for clarity’s sake—I forced my feet a few steps forward. As if she’d read my mind, she left. The fact that I’d read hers shocked me the most. It took a minute for my vision to become lucid, as I returned to the present day and watched the sunlight glisten on the soft ripples in the water.

This day, this basic Wednesday in my modern world became clear again. Yet the year 1752 went through my brain, as if I’d recalled a fact for a test. 2011, undeniably, spread out before me again. I looked behind me, glared down at the spot where the energy of the eighteenth century remained stuck, as if I would see a sign or something mark it for me. Of course, only I would see that sign too. A lunatic? Crazy? Me? Perhaps. The proof, half of me wanted to step on the spot again, and the other half of me, the one I most often ignored, wanted to flee. Curiosity killed the cat would probably be etched on my gravestone one day.

I moved a shaking foot and wobbled off-balance. An unwelcome stone caught in my sandal. Distracted, I stumbled through a half-kick to dislodge the intruder. I sighed as I watched the pebble skitter back among its friends. Their multicolored surfaces glittered, outdone in their illustriousness only by the boats that glistened in stark white contrast to the vast blue water. 

Dots of bluish-white light swam in my vision. Reality, present day clearly emerged again. With a mixture of relief and disappointment, I said good-bye to Mary. I sighed, head down, not quite ready to face today or real people. My muscles weighed heavy inside my limbs. I longed for a nap, to close my eyes over the growing throb in my head.

“Are you okay, Miss?” A gruff baritone voice covered me like a heavy blanket that offered warmth. The sound of it proved intimidating, yet seductive.—deep and direct, yet smooth and sexy. Still, I grappled between reality and consciousness, questioned the reality of the voice I heard. I shook my head in an attempt to leave behind my previous experience. While I often experienced emotions that lingered in the earth, I rarely found myself privilege to images or voices. My mind reeled because I’d felt her physically inside of me. My body fought to recover from her sentiments. Thoughts that belonged to someone else ran rampant in my mind. The full on headache that had now formed beckoned me to close my eyes.

Instead, I turned in the direction of the voice as a man in a police uniform put his hand on my shoulder. A dry fire ignited in my chest as every nerve ending came abruptly to attention. Both hindered my already impaired breathing. My vision blurred, and I fell.

   Thanks, Kiki

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Silent Auction, in Honor of Shane Willis


Please join the Silent Auction, in Honor of Shane Willis, Photographer and Design Artist for Naughty Nights Press

On the 31st of August, Shane Willis, owner and photographic visionary of RadAct Photo, and book cover artist for Naughty Nights Press (NNP), passed away at the young age of forty-three.

Shane was a huge inspiration so many of people.

Gina Kincade, CEO of Naughty Nights Press, its authors and friends have put together a Silent Auction of eBooks and Print books.

This auction is to raise money for Shane's family in honor of the great friend, co-worker, and big-hearted man that he was.

We will miss you, Master Shane Willis!

Direct donations are also welcome and can be made through the auction site.

Thanks to the following people for their amazing support.

Saturday, September 7, 2013

RIP Shane Willis

I didn't have the privilege of knowing him personally, though I'd heard numerous stories of his big heart and his humor through fellow authors and friends, but I was so blessed by his talent for photography & book covers. My condolences go out to his friends and family in this horrible time of loss - a wonderful person taken far too soon.

When Mystical Mayhem released Shane made me this cool wallpaper, wasn't asked, just did. 

Shane, you are missed by so many for so many reasons.
Please check out his Photography website at http://www.radactphoto.com/

Gina Kincade, CEO of Naughty Nights Press and its authors are putting together a silent auction of eBooks to help raise money in honor of Shane for a donation to his family. If you would like to be involved, please stop by 

Monday, May 13, 2013

HUGE Summer Beach Read Sale

Check out my Etsy Store 
where all books are only $5.00 for a very limited time, and 
each purchase comes with one free gift which could be 
a book mark crafted by me, a beach tote bag or even a t-shirt. 
This sale includes my currently out-of-print Hidden Salem novel,  
along with a couple of my currently released titles
 that I happen to have a few extra copies of laying around after book signings.
They will not be available at this extremely hot, low price for long.
Get them while supplies last! 

How about a hot, and by hot I mean erotic, summer flash fiction story to get you going?

All Summer Long

We were not in Alabama and far from seventeen. But, as Kid Rock screeched All Summer Long on the radio, I got ideas. Sweat beaded on my husband’s reddish-tan chest, running over tight abdominal muscles, soaking into the band of his paint and dirt covered work shorts which hung low on his waist. He caught me looking. 

Smiling in a rather crooked way, he huffed, “The yard can wait.” 

He turned with a grunt, grabbed the ice water I’d gotten him and disappeared behind the one closed garage door. 

When I stepped inside, he grabbed my arm and turned me into him, his hand covering my mouth. As I struggled for air, his free hand worked around my tank to pull my bra free. After it fell, I felt the cold rush of his ice water over my chest. 

My screech was stifled by the tight grip of his hand. Backing up on instinct, I felt his erection hard against my ass. The heat of the day radiated from his skin against my back as I watched my nipples pebble under my white tank top. 

“Cooled down?” His voice was deep, his breath hot across my ear. I shivered. 

I could only nod. 

He grabbed at my breasts. Desire pooled deep in my stomach. 

“Bend,” he demanded. I obeyed, laying over the front of his car. His free hand yanked my shorts and panties down over my nearing sun-burnt thighs. Then, I heard his pants hit the ground as well. Seconds later, I felt his knuckles and the head of his cock at my wet opening. As I imagined his big hand tight around his erection, my inner walls expanded around him.

A door slammed in the distance. My heart started hammering even harder.

“Come,” he hissed. The sudden invasion coupled with his anxious pace and fear of being caught, built the tension inside me from a fire to a near explosion.

His fingers moved between me and the car. Separating my folds and gathering my moisture there, they finally landed on my throbbing clit. Rapid thrusts pushed my engorged nub hard against the pads of his fingers. My taut inner muscles gave way to sparks of release, like fireworks shooting through my body. His hand at my mouth silenced my scream of pleasure. His chest fell to mine, and I heard his own quiet groans in my ear. His hot seed spilling into me set off another round tremors inside my body.

No sooner had our heat crescendoed than he pushed me down to kneeling behind the car—my wet nipples pressed against my hot thighs, my shorts still around my ankles, his legs against my bare ass. I heard his zipper seconds before I heard my neighbor’s voice.

“You got any energy left to help me a minute?”

I bit my lip not to giggle as the evidence of our moment trickled onto my thigh and I plotted future summer sexcapades.


A Few Summer Drink Recipes Just For Fun!

Sex in the Driveway. This version includes 1oz Blue Curacao, 1oz Peach Shcnapps, 2oz citrus vodka in a ice filled collins glass, where you then fill up the remaining space with Sprite. I'm not a big peach person, but I did enjoy my first drink with blue curacao on a recent cruise.

The Blue Ocean sounds like a better summer drink to me. The Blue Ocean contains 1oz vodka, 1/2oz Blue Curarao, 1/3oz grapefruit juice and 2 splashes simple syrup poured over ice. Thinking this might have to go in a Cool Blue Gatorade bottle to disguise it at the lake this summer. Don't tell our lifeguard! LOL

So, ready for summer?

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Come See Me at Booth #54 at the Oddmall Sat. May 11th!

The Gist of the Thing

Oddmall is a wondrous celebration of weird arts and crafts brought to you by Mutha Oith Creations, the fine folks behind Con on the Cob and other bizarre enterprises, featuring gobs of amazing vendors, crafters, artists, live music, magic and assorted oddities.
6625 Dean Memorial Parkway
Hudson, OH 44236
(330) 653-9191
Saturday May 11, 2013
Open to the Public: 10AM - 6PM
Oddmall is open to everyone and admission is absolutely FREE!! If you are a crafter, artist, performer, or purveyor of unusual goods we want you to participate.
Because it’ll be fun and you’ll get to see some really awesome stuff.  …maybe even take something special home with you..

I'll be at Booth #54  - Kiki Howell (Author) & Barbara Quinn (A Paper Hoarder)
I'll have out of print copies of A Hidden Salem, new copies of my At War in the Willows trilogy, etc. Each book comes with handmade bookmark or bookthong. My mom, Barbara Quinn will be selling her beautiful, one of a kind, scrapbooks.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Brita Addams - Guest Post and Giveaway

Tarnished Gold Virtual Book Tour
To celebrate the release of my old Hollywood era novel, Tarnished Gold, I have embarked on a virtual book tour.

  (  Ebook giveaways at each stop. Random commenter's choice from my backlist (Tarnished Gold excluded)
 Signed 8x10 glossies of Jack Abadie

Grand Prize is a Kindle, along with the winner's choice of five (5) of my backlist titles, sent to them by email.

Easy. Leave a comment at one or all the stops. At each stop, a random commenter will be selected to win their choice of backlist book (Tarnished Gold excluded.) This selection will be made daily throughout the tour, except where blog owners wish to extend the eligibility. Be sure to leave an email address in your comment. 

All names of commenters and their email addresses will be put into the drawing for the Kindle, even if they have won the daily drawing. The more comments you make the more chances you have to win.

Other prizes include five (5) 8x10 glossies of Jack Abadie, signed. The winners will be selected on April 10, from all the commenters at all the stops, and notified by email.

The Grand Prize winner will be selected on April 10th and notified by email. Once I have heard from the winner and obtained a shipping address, I will order the Kindle and have it shipped directly to the winner. They will also be eligible to select five (5) of my backlist titles and I will email them to the winner.

Contest valid in the United States.

Full schedule for the Tarnished Gold Virtual Book Tour

Guest Post:
How much of me goes into my books?

I'm often asked if some of my books have any hidden biographical elements to them. The question got me thinking about how much of me I actually do put into the characters and the stories.

While I can say that I have never visited a sex club, I can also say that I've read a lot about them. In that research, the Sapphire Club was born. The series is set during the Regency era, just outside London, on an estate where the well-heeled can go and let their hair down.

Other than adopting some names from my family tree – Lucien, the owner of the club, was named for my husband's great grandfather, and Damrill came from my father's family tree. Prentice Hyde, the subject of Lord Decedent's Obsession, possesses many characteristics of a young man who was in my father's Boy Scout troop – affable, always smiling. Prentice does bear a striking resemblance to Tyrone Power, as Lucien is very much Clark Gable to me.

Do my personal thoughts of morality enter into the creation of situations? I'm not sure. I'm a live and let live person, and usually scoff at strictures that make no sense in our time.

Relative to my writing, I recently had to admit to myself that I write with the hero in mind, rather than the heroine. Therefore, when I write a woman, it doesn't occur to me to write her as myself. I'm not nearly as brave or feisty as any of my heroines are, nor do I aspire to be.

I grew up in a time when premarital sex wasn't as openly discussed as it today. In high school, what I knew about sex fit into a thimble, with room for a finger. It wasn't discussed, at least in my world.

Even in historical romances, the couple eventually get around to having sex, and most likely, without the benefit of marriage. I've read some reviews where readers ridicule such a premise, but my internal answer is, this generation didn't invent sex, no more than mine did. Debauchery existed long before any of us.

I have to suppose that if I examine each character I've created, there must be some of me in them, but I would say that it is more the me I'd be if I didn't have the experience and years behind me. In other words, braver.

When I was eighteen and just out of school, I ran away from an oppressive home and moved to Boston. I look back at that time now, and wonder where I got the guts to plunge myself into the big city, when I had lived in a small farm town in Upstate New York all my life. I found a job at an insurance company and I strutted the streets of Bean Town like I owned the place, until I was accosted one Friday morning. Nothing happened but a tussle and my insistence that I could carry my suitcase by myself (after work, I was going to visit friends for the weekend.) I shudder when I think about it, because another girl in the boarding house was raped the next day, in the very same spot that I had managed to shuck away and dash for the subway. From that day on, my boyfriend met me in the morning and in the evening and walked me back to the house.
That experience, and that of my friend, shaped the way I raised my girls, and my son. They are all vigilant people today, my son the first one to defend someone in need.

My heroes are composites of those close to me, possessed of qualities I most admire—steadfastness, kindness, ambition, caring for others. They are smart, and always handsome, as beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder. Often, they are ambivalent to their parents, most often their father, because that is me. I had a terrible relationship with my father and while I might make my hero a good father (like my husband,) the main character's relationship with his father is usually flawed.

I am very close to my siblings, as are my characters. My sister, though we are six years apart in age and physically, hundreds of miles away from each other, remains one of my closest friends. My stories often reflect sibling closeness.

Tarnished Gold reflects my deep interest in early Hollywood. My father was enthralled by movies and as though genetic, I am too. I love the glamour, the affected speech, a product of elocution coaches when silents died in favor of talkies, the "always on" manner that the stars had at that time. No going out in raggedy clothes and hair mussed. They were stars through and through.

This interest extended to ravenous reading. I've read biographies of every movie star that held my interest. For years, I've steeped myself in culture of old Hollywood, a place that was quite different these days.
As a boy and a young man, Jack Abadie, my character in Tarnished Gold, spends hours in the darkened balcony of the Prytania Theater in New Orleans, watching Wallace Reid on the screen. He dreams of one day becoming a star. With his head in the clouds, he goes to Los Angeles, much as I went to Boston, not knowing where he'd live or work, but knowing he had to be there.

That part of Jack is from my early experience of setting out into the world, unsure as to what I'd find at the other end, but knowing that I couldn't stay planted in my small hometown. Jack's manner is very much like people I know, having lived in Louisiana for many years. Cajuns use cher (dear in French) all the time, as does Jack with Wyatt. While his speech and accent were scrubbed for the movies, Jack never lost his Cajun roots. He hires a woman from Louisiana to cook for him and amid the pretention of Hollywood, he favors the foods he grew up on—gumbo, etouffee, and over-sweet iced tea, the Southern cure-all drink. I know people who have the stuff running through their veins.

I dreamt of stardom in those early days, but strictly from the standpoint of the glamour I so adored in the old films I watched regularly. Sassy broads and macho men—yes, that made for heady watching on those early mornings when I'd curl up on the sofa and turn on what were old movies even then. I suppose, in some way, I lived out that dream through Jack.

My belief that love is love is deeply embedded in the text of Tarnished Gold. Dreamer than I am, I hope one day, we can have marriage without labels and love without fear.

Here's the blurb for Tarnished Gold:
In 1915, starstruck Jack Abadie strikes out for the gilded streets of the most sinful town in the country—Hollywood. With him, he takes a secret that his country hometown would never understand. 

After years of hard work and a chance invitation to a gay gentlemen's club, Jack is discovered. Soon, his talent, matinee idol good looks, and affable personality propel him to the height of stardom. But fame breeds distrust. 

Meeting Wyatt Maitland turns Jack’s life upside down. He wants to be worthy of his good fortune, but old demons haunt him. Only through Wyatt's strength can Jack face that which keeps him from being the man he wants to be. Love without trust is empty. 

As the 1920s roar, scandals rock the movie industry. Public tolerance of Hollywood's decadence has reached its limit. Under pressure to clean up its act, Jack’s studio issues an ultimatum. Either forsake the man he loves and remain a box office darling, or follow his heart and let his shining star fade to tarnished gold.

Read an excerpt and purchase the Tarnished Gold ebook or print, signed by the author (if one of the first twenty sold.)

I also have For Men Like Us, which takes place during the Regency in England. You can find it at Dreamspinner Press. Just click the title to be magically transported.

Blurb for For Men Like Us:
After Preston Meacham’s lover dies trying to lend him aid at Salamanca, hopelessness becomes his only way of life. Despite his best efforts at starting again, he has no pride left, which leads him to sell himself for a pittance at a molly house. The mindless sex affords him his only respite from the horrors he witnessed.

The Napoleonic War left Benedict Wilmot haunted by the acts he was forced to commit and the torture he endured at the hands of a superior, a man who used the threat of a gruesome death to force Ben to do his bidding. Even sleep gives Ben no reprieve, for he can’t escape the destruction he caused.

When their paths cross, Ben feels an overwhelming need to protect Preston from his dangerous profession. As he explains, “The streets are dangerous for men like us.” 

About Brita Addams:
Born in Upstate New York, Brita Addams has made her home in the sultry south for many years. Brita's home is a happy place, where she lives with her real-life hero, her husband, and a fat cat named Stormee.

She writes, for the most part, erotic historical romance, both het and m/m, which is an ideal fit, given her love of British and American history. Setting the tone for each historical is important. Research plays an indispensible part in the writing of any historical work, romance or otherwise. A great deal of reading and study goes into each work, to give the story the authenticity it deserves.

As a reader, Brita prefers historical works, romances and otherwise. She believes herself born in the wrong century, though she says she would find it difficult to live without air conditioning.

Brita and her husband love to travel, particularly cruises and long road trips. They completed a Civil War battlefield tour a couple of years ago, and have visited many places involved in the American Revolutionary War.

In May, 2013, they are going to England for two weeks, to visit the places Brita writes about in her books, including the estate that inspired the setting for her Sapphire Club series. Not the activities, just the floor plan. J

A bit of trivia – Brita pronounces her name, Bree-ta, like the woman's name, and oddly, not like the famous water filter.

Please visit me at any of these online locations:

Twitter: @britaaddams

Friday, January 25, 2013

Guest Post with Phoenix Johnson

Thank you for having me here today, Kiki. So thrilled to be dropping in!

Today, I’d love to talk about my publishing debut with the paranormal erotic trilogy Wolf Smitten. Mostly, the first novella, The Wolf in the Neighborhood. This steamy, suspense-woven gem first came to me when I was drifting off to sleep one night. Instead of losing yet another idea, I grabbed my phone and jotted down a note. The next morning it took off, and the story pretty much wrote itself. I had lots of fun exploring the story and was so thrilled when it got accepted by Naughty Nights Press.  They’re a great team of people, working hard to polish each story before they go out. I’m sure you also appreciate all their hard work. You’ve done quite well with your fantastic At War in the Willow series. Congrats, by the way, about it going to print!
So what is The Wolf in the Neighborhood about?

What do you do when your past comes back to haunt you? 

Could a dark secret revealed by a new lover be something you could overlook just to have him?

What kind of secrets could you learn to live with for true love? 

Krissy has a hunky new neighbour with a dark secret; Derek is a vet with an interesting past. They hit it off quickly but when Krissy’s abusive ex, James comes to town, Derek shows a side Krissy never could have guessed. James, however, refuses to give up.

Can Derek’s secret save them, or will James have his revenge?

Here’s a teasing little snippet…

As Derek heaved a sigh, his burden lightened;  Krissy was left wondering, why stay in the States? She chewed her lip for a few minutes until she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “But why stay in America? You have the chance to move back to England and go back to Aubree.”

“That was my first thought, so I called her up to see how she was doing. Turns out our seven years together didn’t leave as big of a hole in her heart as it did in mine. She’s already moved on – with the new vet apprentice no less. What can I say? Aubree is a beautiful, intelligent, young woman. She shouldn’t be expected to wait around for goodness knows how long until I came back, so she didn’t wait. That’s ok though, I guess. I was getting a little sick of all the tea and biscuits.”

Krissy laughed, trying not to spit coffee everywhere and failing. Derek snorted, and they both started laughing as they grabbed napkins and cleaned the liquid off the table and wiped their faces.

The Wolf in the Neighborhood is available for purchase at Naughty Nights Press, Amazon and Amazon UK, Smashwords, All Romance eBooks, and coming soon to Barnes and Noble and Apple.

Reviews are welcome!

You can find me at my blog, on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads and at my site. You can also view the video trailer for The Wolf on Youtube.

Phoenix Johnson is an Australian author who has always had the passion for the written word. She had her nose in at least one book ever since she could read and would even scrutinize the back of the cereal box every morning at breakfast. It was only natural she take up writing.

Phoenix has multiple works in progress, and her favourite writing genres are the same as her reading genres; erotica, romance, paranormal, thriller and a combination of these.

Having started out reviewing, Phoenix was nominated for the 2011 Xcite Best Reviewer Award. She has also participated in her first NaNoWriMo in 2012 and successfully completed the challenge with a day to spare, despite also juggling a home life and full time study.

She currently lives on the sunny Gold Coast, Queensland, with her partner, their daughter and cat Flash.
Thank you for having me here today. Best of luck with the journey in to print!

Youtube Trailer http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUczfWcf3NA

I'm also excited to be doing my first giveaway. I know they're normally done sooner, but I prefer to space everything out so that people haven't been flooded with my debut.

So what do you have to do for your chance to win? Derek has a secret that Krissy has to learn to live with if they're to stay together. Do you have something that your partner/potential partner has to learn to love to be with you? A random answer will be picked to win a copy of The Wolf in the Neighborhood, currently sitting on Naughty Nights Press's Bestselling list!

In accordance with the new FTC Guidelines for blogging and endorsements, Kiki Howell of An Author's Musings, would like to advise that in addition to purchasing my own books to review, I also receive books, and/or promotional materials, free of charge in return for an honest review, as do any guest reviewers.