Contemporary Romance - A Test

Hello everyone! Thanks so much to HEA for having me as a guest here today. Seeing as how the genre we’re discussing lately is Contemporary Romance I thought I would talk about my upcoming release, Love Knows No Boundaries.

Having written only erotic romance I wanted to test my writing abilities and see if I could write a contemporary romance piece that wasn’t heavy on the extensive sexual scenes and a little on the sweeter side. So, I sat down to try my hand at it, so to speak. And then *poof* Love Knows No Boundaries was born.

I for one will be curious to see if everyone thinks I can do both with just as much effectiveness. While Love Knows No Boundaries isn’t due to be released until the end of August I thought I would give everyone a peek into what it’s all about. So, here goes and I hope you like it.





BLURB:

Isabelle first fell in love with Sean when she was fifteen years old. Six years her senior he saw her as a gawky teenager. While at college Isabelle has found the perfect boyfriend. Justin is patient, kind and a complete gentleman. Sean’s feelings for her have changed and he is tired of sitting by while she is with another man. Driven by desire and love he does everything within his power to win the woman that he loves.

Justin, the once perfect boyfriend begins to fall apart at the idea of losing Isabelle. In a moment of rage and desperation he does something horrific, effectively changing their future forever.

Will Sean’s love be enough to get them through the pain? Or will Isabelle walk away from Sean forever? And does love truly know no boundaries?

UNEDITED EXCERPT:

Whap! Sean’s head flew to the side. He rubbed his cheek as his head slowly came back to face her.

“Watch it, Izzy.” It wasn’t a threat, but clearly a warning.

Fire swept though her body, and not the good kind. “You watch it, Sean! You know, I didn’t think you could possibly hurt me anymore. But somehow you never cease to amaze me with your insensitive words. Sister, huh!” She turned to storm away, but he grabbed her before she could.

“It’s true, isn’t it? Your mother married my father. We’re related, honey, whether you want to admit it or not.”

She let out a mocking laugh.

“Admit it? Oh, you’re a fine one to talk about people admitting things, Sean.”

Oh, so the gloves were coming off then, huh? Fine, he could handle it. Could she?

“What exactly is it that you want me to admit?”

Oh no, he wasn’t going to humiliate her anymore. She might have groveled and begged before, but never again. If he wanted her, he would have to do something about it. But it wouldn’t be because she had forced the issue. Never again!

“It doesn’t matter, Sean. It did before, but no longer. I merely thought we could have a few parting words. I didn’t want my last words to you to be that I hated you.” She hung her head for a moment and then looked back up. “Because I don’t. I was angry, but I don’t hate you.”

The look she gave him was killing him. He knew she loved him and he had spent the last week pining over her. God, he wanted her so badly. He ached for her in a way that he didn’t know was possible. If he didn’t do something tonight, she would be leaving tomorrow. He told himself last week that separation would be good for them. But now, even though she was only going to be a few hours away, it was eating him alive that she was going off to school. There would be young, testosterone-ridden men there just waiting for a chance at her. Had she really meant it when she said she was going to turn to someone else? The thought of another man touching her sent chills down his spine.

She waited for him to say something, but of course he just stared at her. It made her so damn angry.

“Fine then, I’m going. Goodbye, Sean.” She said the last words as she turned to go.

She made it to the front door and had barely opened it when a hand reached over her head to slam it shut. She was startled. She could feel his body pressed up against hers and his breath against her ear.

“Don’t go.”

Was it a question or a demand? She wasn’t sure.

“Why?” she asked as she turned her head, making his mouth almost touch hers.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head on her shoulder. Could he do this? Should he do this? He would go to hell for sure. But the idea that she was going off to school with all of those men around was ripping a hole through his heart. He wanted her, but not just her body. He wanted to make her his. He knew it was wrong, he knew he would burn in hell for all eternity for it, but he wanted her love. He wanted to take her until she belonged to only him, until the idea of any other man repulsed her.

“Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer, Izzy. Just stay.” His voice was gentle. “Please.”



Where can you find me:

www.nicolemorganauthor.blogspot.com
www.nicolemorgan1.webs.com
www.sirenpublishing.com/nicolemorgan/

Contemporary Freedom

They say write what you read or read what you write. I think because I grew up reading stories set in a time I could relate to it seemed only natural I'd write within that realm. Maybe for some it seems the easy way out and while many of my stories require research it's easier to find current information then it is for, let's say, the 1700's. I'm sure it's all a matter of knowing where to look and who to talk to, but contemporary romances hold a realism I can relate to. That's not to say I don't read others, I do.

The cool thing about contemporary romance is that it can cover just as many sub-genre's with fewer rules than others can. It seems when the twentieth century came, so did a new freedom that exploded and fought its way into the twenty-first century with a wild abandonment in the world of writing.

Changes in the genre specifications seem to have followed the pattern of the sixties and seventies albeit years later where sexual freedom began. Anything goes providing it holds to the basics of the ground rules set so many years ago.

Many of us want to break the molds and some of us manage it in many different respects. Those of us who refuse to stay within the narrow lines still hold the highest respect and hunger for the natural chemistry that draws together two people who are least expected to become soulmates. That's the joy of writing. I love the feelings my characters draw out in me.

When I started writing my first published story, A Psychic Hitch, I had no idea what it was going to be about, who the characters were going to be, much less how they were going to get together. I'd just come off NANO month where I'd done a very intense story and wanted something lighter, fun and different to do. It was December, cold and I think there was snow on the ground. Please, muse, take me someplace warm, I begged. And it happened. I ended up on a beach where I once vacationed. I worked pieces of it out in my mind while I drove and while I served tables for the next few hours. Once at home, I put it on paper so to speak. The story flowed and grew over time with the help of critiques and suggestions from an editor.



Blurb: Darius Markum, a man Cheri London meets online, agrees to help her conceive a child she wants. Darius sets out to win Cheri's wary heart, but before they can meet, she's injured and a rescuer named Allen comes to her aid. After a night of passion, Cheri returns home without meeting Darius...until she discovers Darius and Allen are one and the same. Read More

I think with contemporary characters, you can relate easier because their atttributes, their internal and external issues are things you know, you've been around, you've dealt with within yourself or someone you know. For me this is so much easier then trying to get into a mentality of an era I didn't live in.

When I wrote Last Glass of Wine, it was a totally different situation. It was really close to home; it caught me totally by surprise. I had no idea when I started it that I was writing the history of current events. No, it was really more than writing about current events and putting twists on them to make them into the story it was becoming, I was causing the events. It was rather offputting and scary. I'd write before I went into work and bam what I wrote that morning really happened that day. It went on like that for about a week and a half when I realised I needed to break that pattern. I did it, I stopped working on the story. Not writing didn't lesson the emotional turmoil and anger I felt over the whole situation, but it did stop things from roller coastering down a path that could have damaged my working relationship with my co-workers.




Blurb: Despite company policy, Cole and Lana are desperate to get their hands on one another, but when she believes he was fired over the one indiscretion, she has to have one night with him before he leaves town. Then she learns the truth. Read More



The differences between the stories while they are part of a series can be summed up in the one line review from Mark at Book Cove Reviews - “WITH BEKKI LYNN, YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN AT THE END, THAT’S HOW I WAS HOOKED AND I GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE TOO.” He'd read and reviewed both books and he liked that while I seemed to follow the predictible standard path of a romance, I put in little twists and turns that made them different as you neared the end. Many reviewers liked that I strayed from the norm. That pumped me up, because I was put in the same category of other writers who weren't afraid to step from the mold and put their own signature on their work.

Over a decade ago, I was given advice which I still hold onto it. "Don't let anyone tell you that you can't write the way you do. If they do, run as far away from them as you can get." A NY Bestseller told me this and another backed her up.

From the straight contemporaries, I went to contemporary paranormal. I've always loved the supernatural, and yes, I do love the show - who wouldn't love watching two hunky brothers take down demons. Anyway, my latest release was actually started while I was working on A Psychic Hitch. An Apache hero, Peridot and an American Girl, you had to know something spiritual had to be involved. I believe in ghosts, I believe there are powers that weld your life with and without your permission. I also believe that your ancestors can affect your life in ways you may not see, ways you may never understand. It could be things they've passed on, things they foresaw. Who knows. My great-grandmother was Blackfeet therefore I think a lot of acceptability I have is natural. So, this storyline was easy to write, fleshing it out and actually envisioning what the characters wanted wasn't. I'm glad I took the time to let them work it out for me. Jewel of the Sun's BLOOD DESTINY won't be the only ghostly paranormal you'll get from me.



Blurb: Cassandra Jones’ night are filled with exploits of passion she’s wanted, but never experienced. It began when she’d received gems she never ordered. Elan Takoda collected his peridot, unknowing his path was set the moment he touched them. Too late, he learned things were more complicated than what their grandfather’s concocted. Read More


None of us can foresee our future or predict what we'll write and I think that's half the fun. I love not knowing what I'll do a year from now. I think it's fun to explore genre's and their subs.


My books can be purchased at:

Bookstrand
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
All Romance Ebooks
Fictionwise

Bekki
http://bekkilynn.net/

Temptation - Patricia Pellicane

Welcome to Happily Ever After Contemporay Week!

We're starting the week off with Patricia Pellicane. She's going to tell us how she came to write contemporary romance and give us a behind the story look into her latest release, Temptation. Welcome, Patricia! We're to have you here.

***

Why do I write Contemporary Romances?

For years I wrote only historical romances for Pocket, Zebra and Avon books. I enjoyed doing them. Each story was special to me and I expected to stay in that one field forever.

One day my editor at Zebra told me the company was opening a new line called Lucky in Love. I was one of its launch authors and delighted but nervous to try my hand at something other than historicals. As it turned out, I enjoyed writing contemporary romances at least as much as an historical. Actually I think they were hotter because you didn’t have to follow an unspoken rule about getting the heroine into bed too fast. For instance, you couldn’t take a woman from an Elizabethan era and put her in bed with the hero within a chapter or so. It was unlikely that something like that might have happened in those days, at least not with a decent woman. So the sexual tension was always at its highest, but the actual sex was farther into the book.

My books are character driven. So whatever they do it has to ring true to the time period.

Contemporary pieces are much more modern when it comes to sex. It can be and sometimes is almost instant, most especially with erotica.

Now I mostly switch from one to the other. I think it keeps my writing fresher and my stories more interesting.



Where did I get the idea?

Most of the time the ideas for my books come to me while I’m doing something mindless, like doing the dishes and cleaning my kitchen. Not this time. “Temptation” a contemporary romance begins with a woman sun bathing topless. A construction crew owner comes across her, never realizing she’s topless until he’s standing at her side, because she was facing away from him.

Years ago I lived in Vegas. While there I sunbathed all the time. No one realized in those days the damage that could be done to a woman’s skin. At least I didn’t and if I was told I managed to ignore the warnings. A tan looked great. During the day while the kids were in school, I sun bathed topless.

We lived in a mobile home park before we got our house. My neighbor next door was a huge, quiet guy, who never spoke a word to me, never even said hello, until he came home early one day. Obviously he saw me, not all of me, because I was sitting with my back to his place, but apparently he got the idea. A half hour later, I had my top on again, and breathed a sigh of relief that I had because he was suddenly standing at my side talking to me as if we were long lost friends.

My days of sunbathing topless came to an immediate end that day and surprisingly enough so did any conversation with my next door neighbor. Although on occasion he did wave and call out “Hello”.

Here's an excerpt from Temptation:

“Jesus!”

Maggie frowned and blinked her confusion, as the low guttural groan dragged her from the edge of sleep. For just an instant, she thought she’d imagined the sound, but a turn of her head immediately proved the notion to be false. A man stood at her side. A strange man! Remembering her half-naked state, she gasped and lunged to her feet, putting the lounge chair between them. Her shirt, grabbed on the way up, was crushed in her hands and covered little more than her nipples as she pressed it tightly to her bare breasts.

The man grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move that fast before.”

Maggie frowned and shook aside a moment’s dizziness. “What are you, an Indian? How come I didn’t hear you?”

He laughed. “Actually, I am. Just a small part, I’m told. You want to know which part?” He shrugged when she did not respond to his teasing. “You know what they say, if you hear an Indian…”

Maggie glared her annoyance.

“And you didn’t hear me because I walked on the grass.”

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” she asked tightly, knowing a slight sense of alarm at being caught sunbathing, alone, behind a deserted mansion. There wasn’t a soul around, should she find the need to cry out, and she didn’t expect anyone for hours.

“Name’s Jeremiah. Russo sent me over. My crew is starting here tomorrow.”

Feeling slightly more at ease at his explanation, she sighed a derisive, “Great, and you came a day early just to make sure you wouldn’t be late?”

Jerry grinned at her sarcasm. “I came to look the place over, to see what I’m going to need in the way of supplies.”

“Far be it for me to tell you how to do your job, but if you needed to look the place over, why were you standing here, looking me over instead?”

Even as she spoke, he continued looking her over with some obvious appreciation, from her black hair that curled past her shoulders to her plumped up breasts, to the bottom of her string bikini, to her long, tanned legs and finally, to her polished pink toenails. “I saw you when I came around the corner of the house. I didn’t know you were topless until I reached you, what with you facin’ the ocean and all. I wish I could say I’m sorry, but…”

“But you’re not,” she said finishing the sentence for him, her tone clearly unhappy. Her hair moved gently with the soft breeze coming off the water, just beyond a distant line of trees.

He couldn’t hold back a low, wicked chuckle. “I came around back ‘cause no one answered when I rang the bell. Thought the place was empty, maybe the back door was open.” He gave a slight shake of his head and bit his bottom lip just before saying, “Damn, but you’re somethin’.”

Maggie decided not to ask exactly what he meant by that statement. She watched him for a long moment and thought he maybe had five years on her. He was tall, but so was she, and she thought only four or five inches separated them in height. His body… She shook her head. She was better off not thinking about his body and immediately knew the folly of that notion. She might not want to think about it, but there was no denying the man was gorgeous. No other word fit so perfectly. He wore cut-off jeans that hugged his sex just a bit too tightly, the hems torn and straggled came to his knees. His clean T-shirt, was punctuated here and there with holes, the neck and sleeves torn away. He looked ragged, rugged and dishevelled.
Her mouth watered.

His dark hair was too long, his cheeks and jaw in need of a shave. God, even that appealed. She’d seen hundreds of men dressed the same but couldn’t remember one so startlingly handsome, with eyes so incredibly blue, with thick, brown calves and arms that bulged with sinew and muscle.

His gaze was filled with amusement. Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes as he watched her long, slow perusal. Her heart fluttered. Damn. This one was just too tempting, and she didn’t want to get involved. It had been a while since she’d broken off with her ex-boyfriend, Andy. Still, she thought she might never be ready for a man like this one.

“Turn around,” she said and waited for him to do as much.

He did, with some obvious reluctance, his gaze alive with humour. “You should know you don’t have to go to any trouble on my account. I’d be perfectly comfortable if you left the shirt off.”

“Right,” Maggie muttered. She turned as well and shoved her shirt over her head. Quickly, she pulled it into place and slipped her feet into her sandals.
* * * *

Maggie and Jeremiah finished looking over the third floor. At the moment, he stood just inside Maggie’s bedroom door and watched with a frown as she casually pulled cut-off jeans over her bikini bottoms, even as she continued their conversation.

“I like the feel of this place,” she said. “If possible, I’d like to keep as much as I can of the Victorian flavour. I don’t want new and modern except for the kitchen.” She was buttoning the jeans into place as she led him from the room. “I want claw-foot tubs in all the baths. Pedestal sinks and old fashioned mirrors. I’ll pick them out, but you get the idea?”

He nodded.

Moving along the wide hallway, she opened each door as she indicated her needs. “Each bedroom on the both floors will have its own bath. There should be enough room on the third floor for three suites, maybe two of them with sitting rooms. I have some rough drawings in my briefcase. This floor, the second, will have five bedrooms, all with sitting rooms. We’ll look my plans over together, and you can tell me if I’ve left anything out. You’ll need to check with the building department about fire escapes.

“Down here,” she continued as they descended the wide staircase, “there are a few rooms on the opposite side of the kitchen. I’ll need them modernised, new bath and,” she shrugged then waved her hand, “whatever it takes. I’m using one of them for my office right now, or I will be once a desk and a few office supplies get here. They’ll be the manager’s private quarters.”

“Have you a place of your own somewhere?”

Maggie offered a questioning glance. “In the city. I’m not there much. Why?”

Jerry shrugged. “Just wondering where you keep your things. Your bedroom,” he nodded towards the ceiling, indicating the large room she’d take for herself, “doesn’t hold much in the way of personal stuff.”

She frowned again. “What do you mean? What kind of personal stuff?”

“Books, CD’s, TV.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, just things.”

She nodded. “I don’t have much with me. I’ve books in my car, and I’ll buy whatever else I need as I go along.” She shook her head. “There’s no point in a TV until the cable is set up. By the time that’s done, I’ll be ready for my next project.”

She changed the subject as they entered the kitchen. “I’m going to need all new appliances in here. I’ve done commercial kitchens before so I know what’s needed. I’ll give you a copy of my list in a minute. The town’s inspectors will have the last say, but you should know the building codes.”

He nodded as he continued to mark a small pad with indecipherable scratching. “You aiming to run this place after it’s done?”

Maggie shook her head. “I don’t run B and Bs. I create them, put them in the hands of a management group and eventually sell.”

“And you’re living here in the meantime?”

Maggie shrugged. “It’s comfortable enough.”

“Sort a big and lonely though.”

“Not lonely. Quiet. I like quiet.”

He looked around the kitchen as they spoke. “You should do this room first. It will take the most work.”

She nodded her agreement and turned. “Most everything looks good in the dining room except the floor all the woodwork needs to be refinished. I’d like to keep as much of it as possible, but it needs to be stripped and repainted. Oh and I want French doors that will lead out to a huge patio and gardens beyond that.”

“Wait a minute,” he said as she moved to leave the room. “There’s a lot to do before we start on carpentry and refinishing woodwork. If I have more than two crews working at once, they just get in each other’s way.”

“How many men are in a crew?”

He shrugged. “Depends. I can get one on the roof and one to gut the kitchen, while the plumbers start on the bathrooms.” He checked his notes. “They’ll have to stop once the kitchen is ready for them.” Again, he looked at his notes. “And we’ll need to take some of the storage space for the third bath on the top floor.”

“Take what you need and close off the rest. Have one of the plumbers draw up the plans, and I’ll okay them.”

He nodded. “I’ll draw them up.” Again, he looked the room over. “All these cabinets have to go. Dry rot,” he said as he opened one of the bottom doors and watched a quarter of it crumble to dust in his hand. “I’ll order a dumpster.”
Maggie nodded. “One will be here tomorrow.”

“The stove, too,” he said with a frown. “It looks like it’s been here since the turn of the century. I wouldn’t try lighting it.” Then he added, without even a glance in her direction, “What are you doing for dinner?”

“What?” she asked with a frown, for his question in the midst of a conversation centred solely on construction and plumbing was totally out of place.

“You have to eat don’t you? And you can’t cook here. So…”

Maggie watched his grin and oddly enough felt a flutter in her chest. “Does that smile always work for you?”

His grin grew wider. “It should. My folks spent a fortune on an orthodontist.”

“I hope you thanked them.”

.



Patricia Pellicane
for romance that sizzles
http://www.patriciapellicane.com/
Temptation
Total-e-bound 7/5/10
Heat Wave
Resplendence 7/14/10
Tell Me You Love Me (In Print)
Total-e-bound 6/14/10

The Romance and Passion of Fireworks

Fireworks: Grace Kelly and Cary Grant in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1955 "To Catch a Thief"

This bloggie is late? Why? Technical difficulties beyond my control. The USB ports on my computer turned into bad boys and not the kind you want to love. As I said in my personal blog at Kougar Kisses, I’m blaming this on Retrograde Uranus in Aries.

Because of the Fourth of July, as it’s popularly known, or the real name: Independence Day, I recalled the *firework’s kiss scene* in the 1955 Cary Grant movie, To Catch a Thief.

Originally, I saw the movie on late-night TV when I was an older teenager. The film made such a huge impact on me I’ve never forgotten it, lo these many intervening years. In a way, everything about that movie ~ the actors, the passionate romance, the action/suspense plot, the way it was shot/edited, the jewel-intense color, and the fabulous witty dialogue ~ has acted as a romance-story archetype for me ~ one of many. If you’ve never seen this highly sensual and suspenseful silver-screen movie, check it out!

Since the ‘fireworks’ in romance are never over, and for fun... oh, and to simply indulge myself, here’s my writerly take-off on the firework’s kiss scene.

To Capture a Cat Burglar

The instant Sherissy entered the hotel’s sky lounge, Dolan set his drink down. Surreptitiously, he raked his gaze over the gorgeous woman who had him captured, lock, stock and hard-as-a-rock. The dark ironic joke on him, though, he was supposed to capture her. That is, if he wanted to collect the insanely large private bounty on her.

The big catch, it was only collectible if he could prove Sherissy, aka the Wildcat, had stolen the socialite’s rare gem collection.

From a booth near the back wall, he watched her move toward him, her saunter a unique combination of grace and athleticism. The style of her evening gown enhanced her sleek shape, yet displayed her sensual curves, especially her thighs.

With the utter confidence of a pantheress, she eyed him as he stood to meet her. The smoke-black taffeta of her evening gown subtly glistened in the soft illumination, a perfect foil for the bronze-red shade of her hair and the golden ivory coloring of her skin.

Resisting the urge to finger the blue diamond tucked deep inside his jacket pocket, he didn’t resist lingering his gaze on her face. Intentionally, he let the Wildcat know he found the angular beauty of her feline features utterly enchanting.

“Dolan.” Her throaty voice teased him without mercy. He liked it that way.

Sweeping her palm beneath his lips, he pressed a long kiss in the center, and felt her slight shudder. With his own ardor rising like a tropical heat wave, he straightened, then released her hand. “Sherissy, my stunning beauty.”

“Mmmm... the fireworks have already begun. Good.” Her smoldering gaze traveled the length of his body. Damn, but her thorough perusal had him standing ‘at attention’.

“There are certainly sparklers in your eyes, darling. Is it the view?” Dolan offered his arm as his wildcat burglar arched her brows.

“Did I notice... a bulge?” She smiled, slow and seductive. “In your jacket pocket?”

The lissome turn of her hips and the swish of her gown as she moved beside him, then took his arm, was a siren song that played him just right. “I need your opinion on a rare gem. My expertise cannot match yours.”

“Why do you say that? As you can see, Dolan.” With a feline’s light step, she twirled before him. “I have worn no jewelry.”

Her fingers, with their sharp, golden-sparkling nails, traced the bare swells of her bosom. He stared at the enticement she offered, then blinked as she pivoted beside him, once again.

Regaining a portion of his rational mind, he led her toward the lounge’s exit. “Admit it, darling. I know you advised Countess Ralinskova recently on the purchase of a tiara.”

“Did I?”

Smooth and cool as an ice cube, her voice, while the brush of her thigh against his, despite her gown and his trousers, had him blazing with the need to capture her against him and find her mouth with his.

“I have it from the Countess’s own lips.”

He escorted her within the private elevator that would take them to the suite he’d reserved. Once he pressed the panel button, they faced each another. For an instant, their gazes locked. Her jade green eyes flared reminding him of cat’s eyes in the dark.

“Interesting, indeed, Dolan.” Her hand smoothed up his tie. “I am excited by the very thought of watching fireworks with you tonight. The white-hot explosions. The savage passion of colorful fire against the black velvet night.”

“The celebration of bombs bursting in air. Sound and fury all around us.” Trapping her slim hand, Dolan lifted it to his lips. He grazed her fingertips, and the claw-like tips of her nails, over his lips until the elevator halted.

She spun from him, lithe as a puma he’d once observed in the wild. The alluring sway of her hips had him gawking like a youth on his first date. Still, he pursued his quarry. “The tiara was once stolen by the cat burglar known as the Wildcat.”

“Is that so? I had heard she retired from her law-breaking ways.” Twisting at the waist, she smiled in a manner that beguiled him. “Has this Wildcat returned to her nefarious profession?”

“Let’s find out.” Dolan moved toward her, the woman he wanted to capture beneath him. The woman he wanted exclusively for himself. To hell with the damn bounty. Still, he had to know the truth.

“How do we find out?” She lifted her shoulder, her posture a taunt.

“Aren’t you burning to touch it? To hold it?”

“Am I burning... to hold it?”

Her whisper scorched him. He stood so close to her their bodies nearly touched. Their breaths rushed and joined and danced like wind-carried mist.

“Tell me the truth, Sherissy.” Taking hold of her hand, he flattened it over the blue diamond. “Don’t you want to see it gleam and sparkle in your palm?”

With an ache that threatened to blow him apart as if he were a fireworks factory struck by lightning, he waited.

“Show me. Show me, Dolan.” Stepping back from him, she held out her small hand.

The bitterness of disappointment almost drowned him. In the following instant, as he drew the blue diamond out his jacket pocket, he didn’t care. The truth for him. All he cared about was her. His Wildcat woman. Only she wasn’t his. Not yet.

Dolan dropped the gem in her palm, where it glittered like a piece of summer sky. As she held it up, closely examining the blue diamond’s interior, the fireworks display lit up the lavishly furnished room. Spectacular flashes of color added to the sheen of her upswept hair and reflected from the gem’s faceted surface.

“Magical.” Drawn to her as if she’d cast a gypsy love spell on him, Dolan closed the short distance between them.

“No, it’s not magical. Your blue diamond is flawed. Almost worthless.” She pressed it into his palm. “Is that what you wanted to know, Dolan?”

He let the gem fall to the carpet, disturbed because he couldn’t read her emotions. Her eyes shone, flawless and enigmatic, on him. “That was only a test, darling.”

“Am I only a test?” Her low sultry tone bewitched him. “Or, more properly spoken, Dolan, am I only one more conquest?”

He seized her against him, his mysterious cat woman. Swooping toward her lips, Dolan possessed her mouth with a long punishing kiss, born from the primal fires she ignited in him. Like a rosebud about to burst into bloom, Sherissy opened to his desire for her. Surrendering her soft svelte body against him, she looped her arms around his neck, and offered the impassioned fierceness of her kisses.
~~~~~~

May your summer romance reading dreams come true...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

He Called It Macaroni

Yankee Doodle went to town,
A-Riding on a pony;
Stuck a feather in his cap,
And called it macaroni.

Macaroni? He named his feather after pasta?

I'm American, and I've sung this song all my life. But I never understood what Yankee Doodle's feather had to do with spaghetti.

The verse sounds odd to our ears, but made perfect sense to English people in the mid 1700's, when the song was written.

At that time, a "Yankee", from the Dutch Jan Kees, or John Cheese (see dictionary.com definition here), was an inhabitant of New England, a pejorative name bestowed by the urbane New York Dutch on their rustic, Puritan Connecticut neighbors, and by extension, to all Americans.

The word "doodle" first appeared in the seventeenth century, from the German word for "simpleton" or "fool".

From my last post, "macaroni" was an extreme of English male dress, circa 1760. The style's most salient characteristic, a large, ungainly wig, caused "macaroni" to become a synonym for foppishness. Put the two words together, and "Yankee Doodle" was a derisive term for a backwoods American fool so unsophisticated he thought decorating his cap with a feather was the height of fashion.

Historians generally credit Doctor Richard Shuckburgh, a British Army surgeon, with creating the song sometime during the French and Indian War (1754-1763). The date is in dispute, given in various places as 1755, 1756 or 1758.

The New York State archeologist, Paul Huey, believes he has narrowed the date to June, 1758. At that time, a large British force had mustered at Fort Crailo near Albany, New York, to prepare for the attack on Fort Ticonderoga. The ragged, ill-equipped and ill-trained New England militiamen who joined the expedition provided a stark contrast to the well-dressed, well-drilled British soldiers. Dr. Shuckburgh wrote the first set of lyrics mocking these ragtag troops. The tune apparently comes from the nursery rhyme Lucy Locket.

Something about the song resonated in colonial America, and Yankee Doodle took on a life of its own. Many sets of lyrics exist. If you’re curious about all the verses (and there are a lot of them), you'll find a list here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yankee_Doodle

Everyone sang Yankee Doodle. British soldiers often sang it as a marching song. The American colonists sang it, too, but with different lyrics.

As the tension between England and America escalated, the Americans took up the ditty, complete with feather and macaroni, as a badge of honor. By the time of the Battle of Concord and Lexington (1775), the Americans had claimed the song as their own.

Yankee Doodle lives on to this day.

Archibald MacNeal Willard's most famous painting, The Spirit of '76 (c. 1875), (picture above) is popularly called Yankee Doodle.

Yankee Doodle Dandy, a version of Yankee Doodle, is the tune to a famous song-and-dance sequence in the 1942 James Cagney film of the same name.

And last, but not least, Yankee Doodle is the state song of Connecticut. I'm from Connecticut (yup, a real Connecticut Yankee), and I didn't know that.

Today is the Fourth of July, Independence Day in the United States. On this Yankee Doodle-est of days, here's one Yankee Doodle saying "Happy Fourth of July" to all my fellow Yankee Doodles.

Thank you all,
Linda
Linda Banche
Enter My World of Historical Hilarity
http://www.lindabanche.com

Macaroni! And I Don't Mean Pasta

Every era has its extremes of dress. The Sixties had micro-minis. The Roaring Twenties had flapper dresses. Georgian England had macaronis.

Although today most fashion is geared toward women, the macaronis were men. "Macaroni" or "maccaroni", from the Italian word, maccherone, which literally means a boorish fool, described the height, and often the extremes, of male fashion in the mid 1700's.

Brought from the continent by idle young men on their Grand Tour, macaroni dress took the standard male wardrobe of wig, coat, waistcoat, breeches, stockings and shoes to absurd lengths. The express purpose was to shock people. And shock they did. Coats were tight. Huge buttons decorated short waistcoats. Narrow, dainty shoes sported buckles almost larger than they were. And copious amounts of lace, ribbon, ruffles and whatever other outrageous decoration took the wearer's fancy trimmed the outfits, with everything in gaudy colors and showy fabrics like silks and satins.

Perhaps the most obvious feature of macaroni fashion was the wig. As in these pictures, macaroni wigs were excessively elaborate and tall, and, by contrast, crowned with a tiny hat that literally could be removed only with the point of a sword.

Macaroni clothing was never mainstream. While the fashion provided a wealth of fodder for caricatures, most people laughed it off as the blatant posturing of immature males.

The word remains in the vocabulary, although today its definition has constricted to pasta. But several vestiges of its original meaning linger to confound us.

The Macaroni Penguin, a large crested penguin native to Antarctica and the southern tip of South America, owes its name to the Georgian macaronis. English mariners in the Falkland Islands, off the coast of Chile, named the bird. With its flamboyant, colored head feathers, the penguin reminded the sailors of the macaronis back home.

And Yankee Doodle "stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni".

Next time, Yankee Doodle and macaronis.

Thank you all,
Linda
Linda Banche
Enter My World of Historical Hilarity
http://www.lindabanche.com

Happy Fourth of July

Have a safe and joyful weekend!

Bekki

http://bekkilynn.net