Enter to win a signed copy of our new release, Ruthless! The Goodreads contest will open on August 6 and run through September 19.
After a sting operation goes horribly wrong, police officer Jackeline Raelston (Jacks) swears off the force and turns to private investigating.
with guilt over the death of her partner, Jacks is determined to keep
her heart and herself safe from danger. But that’s before she’s hired to
find missing Southampton heiress, Cassandra “Cassie” Wainwright.
search for Cassandra pulls Jacks into a world of intrigue and espionage
where things aren’t necessarily as they seem—including the sexy and
flirtatious heiress. The more time the two women spend together, the
more Jacks becomes entangled both personally and professionally.
But which is more at stake? Jacks’s heart or her life? And is she willing to gamble on both…
We hope that you enjoyed Sculpting
Anna. Some readers have written to ask us about the future for Lexy, Anna,
Jennifer, and Andy. Well, there might just be a sequel in the works. So, stay
Our next project, due to be published by Bella Books in the summer of 2016, is a romantic thriller, called Ruthless. Ruthless is the story of Jacks, an ex-cop private investigator,
hired to track down a missing Southampton heiress, Cassandra “Cassie”
Wainright. Mix in a sexy, horse-riding, knife-throwing womanizer named Sahar, a corrupt pharmaceutical company, a lot of twists and turns, and of course a steamy romance, and that's the book in a nutshell.
We love to hear from readers! In fact, we’re thinking of you when we develop our characters, plan
our plots, and craft our stories. So, please tell us what you liked, what you
loved, and even what you hated. We’d love to hear from you! You can write us at
firstname.lastname@example.org and/or visit
us on the web at http://venusreising.com.
Lastly, we’d like to ask you for a favor. If you’re so
inclined, we’d love a review of Sculpting
Anna. As you may have gleaned from the lesbian romance novels
for sale on Amazon, reviews can be tough to come by, which is disappointing since honest reviews can really help other readers
find the books that will speak to them—books that will satisfy or entertain them.
To post a review of Sculpting
Anna on Amazon, go to the book page,
scroll down to the Customer Reviews section, and select “Write a customer
review.” You don't need to have purchased the book through Amazon to write a
review. You just need an Amazon account.
To post a review on Goodreads, navigate to the book page and select the number of stars you would like to assign as your rating. Then, you'll be given the option to write a review.
Thank you so very much for reading Sculpting Anna and for spending time with our characters and with us!
D and I read Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City series and loved the fact that there were several different relationships and plotlines--a bouquet of mini subplots--that shared little in common except for the fact that they all originated in Mrs. Madrigal's house at 28 Barbary Lane. So before we'd even typed a word of Sculpting Anna, we decided that we'd try to do something similar--weave together multiple plots that share the same soil and perhaps a bit of sun but little else--each having a life of its own. And yes, we knew that this was dangerous territory we were entering. We wouldn't be, as lesbian novelist Cari Hunter so eloquently said, "toeing the lesfic line." Many of the heavy hitters in the world of lesbian romance have ventured into the murky waters of unconventional plots, and quite a few of them have been successful at it. But let's face it, we weren't heavy hitters. We were guppies. No, we were tadpoles praying that we didn't get sucked into the pool filter (a little Florida humor). And this book was our very first conversation with readers.
Can you remember the first time you were granted the privilege of sitting at the adult table on Thanksgiving? Like me, you were probably told to "be quiet and polite and pick your silverware--salad fork, dessert fork, etc.-- by watching what everyone else does." Well, D and I didn't do that. We just wrote a story that we think we'd enjoy and fervently prayed that we're not the only ones.
Sculpting is out there now on people's nightstands--the place their owner's eyes closed marked with a napkin, a torn magazine page, or, if they're like me, some random receipt they found in the pocket of their jeans while separating the laundry. And we're anxiously waiting to hear what those readers think and whether they'll invite us back to the adult table next year, even if we might use the wrong spoon for the soup, laugh a little too loudly, and drop some gravy on our blouse or mashed potato on the floor. I mean, the dog will get it, right?
So I'm sitting in the Toyota service waiting area for the beginning of *apparently* a two-hour marathon of annoying commercials singing the praises of the newer model cars that I don't have but find that I suddenly want as I wait for my airbag to be repaired so that it doesn't...um...kill me. And I can't help but watch as countless technicians with their Toyota-branded red polos tucked neatly into their pressed chinos tell unsuspecting customers that the x, y, and z in their vehicles need to be replaced for a *gulp* obscene amount of money. And if they don't sign on the dotted line and hand over their plastic, the smiling, neatly tucked technician explains, they will likely get stranded in the middle of the highway, be subsequently run over by some semi tractor trailer, and have to be scraped off the pavement like a salted slug.
Thirty eight minutes and I'm growing anxious ... worried that every red and tan clone with a name tag is coming to tell me that my 84,000-mile hunk of junk needs repairs that will require a second...or even a third mortgage. "B...but..." I imagine myself saying through a quivering lip and chin. "I just came in for the recall."
"It's imperative," he will say, his voice confident, his brow furrowed in fatherly concern, "for your safety." And whatever defenses I have will crumble faster than a sand castle in a tornado.
-----twenty minutes later----
Miguel, the clone assigned to me, just left. The diagnosis? A cracked drive belt, a leaking water pump, a dying battery... And what little I had (or expected to have) in my bank account has magically vanished. <poof> Did you know there were live magic shows in the Toyota dealership waiting room? Me neither. After the disappearing bank account trick, perhaps Miguel will pull a rabbit out of the fly of his chinos or turn a Camry into a flock of canaries.
Alas...I am defeated. Broke, tired, and hating Miguel. Of course I realize that my anger is misdirected, but I hate him and his rabbit filled chinos nonetheless. I'm not proud.
And here I sit drinking complimentary coffee and suppressing the urge to pull a Michael Douglas in Falling Down when this little girl -- imagine pigtails, sun freckles, and a Hello Kitty Band-Aid on her tiny sandaled foot -- seated two seats to my right suddenly says, "Did you see my bufferfly?" She holds up a crayon drawing with more colors than I remember existing in the largest box -- the one with the sharpener on the back.
"That's beautiful!" I say, and she flashes me an impressive toothy grin that instantly melts my anger and fills me with joy.
The thought that people will soon be reading Sculpting Anna is at once exhilarating and absolutely terrifying. As soon as I flipped the calendar page to August, my stomach filled with that roller coaster feeling of slowly chugging along toward what you suspect is the drop off, although you can't know when the floor is actually going to be yanked out from under you or even see what is on the other side. All you can see is blue sky up ahead. So each day, my cart inches toward the precipice at a painfully slow and agonizing rate, and my fingers tighten around the safety bar.
D's in the cart with me, of course, but, unlike me, she's got her hands up in the air, her seat belt unlatched, and a wide and silly grin plastered on her face. She's ready to fly. She's fearless. And I'm just slightly, perhaps manically, panicked. Yes, I'm that rider. You know the one--with her eyes shut tightly, her knuckles white from squeezing the bar, and her brain racing with questions like When was the last safety inspection of this coaster? or Will being flown from the seat and falling seven stories to my death meet the life insurance company's criteria for accidental death benefits?
But, regardless, we can't stop it now. There's no getting off. We just have to wait for gravity to do her thing.
Look at what was waiting for me when I arrived home from work today!