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Showing posts with label Angelica Hart and Zi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Angelica Hart and Zi. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

CHOCOLATE OR PHEROMONES by Angelica Hart and Zi

CHOCOLATE OR PHEROMONES?
By:
Angelica Hart and Zi

A: So, what came first the chocolate or the pheromones?
Z: What?
A: (Between words, she munches on a nutty piece of chocolate candy) I'm interchanging the word chocolate for love.
Z: What? (Looking even more confused)
A: Love is like chocolate. Being in love is simply a fabulous feeling, like eating a piece of chocolate, but do people fall in love because of a chemical reaction that exists because of pro-creation? Or does the chemical reaction happen because one person is drawn to another person, and then bingo-bango, the pheromones go crazy?
Z: And we are talking about this cauuuussse???
A: It's nearly Valentine's Day, so why not? (Holds out a heart-shaped box with half the treats gone)
Z: Didn't your hubba-bubba just give that to you five minutes ago, an early V-day gift? (Indulges, hesitates, and takes another candy)
A: Maaayyybbbbeee.
Z: You are a certifiable chocoholic! (Scoops up two more sweets)
A: Hmmm, I believe this is a case of the honeypot calling the beehive sticky.
Z: Maaayyybbbbeee. (Pops a treat, muttering how he doesn't get the connection Ang is making between chocolate and love and alters the subject a bit) Answer me this and that, do you think a person can really be addicted to chocolate? Is love just a chemical reaction, or is there something more?
A: More...More...More....
Z: Explain.
A: (Holds up her empty candy box) I need to go shopping for more candy. We're all out. (With that, Ang flees the office)

Seriously, folks, what is that crazy little thing called love. According to science, our brain creates phenyl ethylamine when people are falling in love, followed by norepinephren and dopamine when people just think about that special other person. These chemicals are what helps us feel excited and fascinates us enough to want to kiss, touch...etc.

But why one particular person over another? Yes, there is that initial attraction, but in a crowd of equals whether it is the beautiful people or the average Janes and Joes, with no one singular person standing out, we would still be drawn to one person over another. Therefore, does love have more to do with emotion and that soul to soul thing? Is it magic? What?

Think about the first time you went gaga over someone. You could have been just a child. Out of the blue, the moon hit your eyes like a bigga pizza pie, to paraphrase a once popular song, and suddenly everyone else faded away. It could have been the gal on the swing in the playground or the boy snapping his gum in study hall, and as you grew up, the guy/gal across the room.

We believe, there is something to be said about our souls and spirits knowing each other better than we do, meeting and engaging in a different dimension, and something even more to be said about the need for one other, the constant yearning to have that significant special other. It is why there are romance readers. It is a way to continuously trigger the chemicals that make us feel so darn good...like chocolate.

Then again, what do we know except that Angelica is addicted to chocolate, and Zi has a secret stash he didn't tell her about.

What do you think, what comes first?

HAPPY VALENTINE'S MONTH

****

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at writingteamcw@yahoo.com (Write - Blog - in subject line) and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ SNAKE DANCE ~ CHASING YESTERDAY
CHRISTMAS EVE...VIL ~ Christmas 2012
www.champagnebooks.com


STEEL EMBRACE by Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane
August 2011 http://www.carnalpassions.com/


THE FABLE OF SIN-SIN CINDERELLA Series
angelicahartandzi.com


Tuesday, April 12, 2011

TATTLE AND WRYE APRIL 2011

FROM THE DESK OF
DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ.
AND
ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Greetings,

"Are you ready?" Tattle inquires as she enters the office, preening prettily in her Easter finery.

"For the Easter Champagne Books Hunt?" Wrye grabs his cane and top hat.

"Better than a hunt for eggs."

The dashing duo immediately dive into their Love of Literature Leap."


Immediately after arriving, Tattle fans herself with her bonnet. "Why is it so hot?"

Wrye loosens his ascot. "We're in the deep south, y'all, home to SEX, DEAD DOGS AND ME by Ed Williams.

"Oh my he is a rascal, for shure! So are his book, I laughed so hard, I looked happier than a flea square dancing on a pudgy dog." Takes Wrye's arm and does a twirl for emphasis.

"And this book is a true characterization of his younger years, in the sixties, fictionalized."

"Really?"

"Maybe...with Williams it could all be the truth so help me thirty-minute grits," Wrye says, plucking an colorful egg out of his pocket, peeling it, and then devouring.

"Ummm...what's he doing over there?"

"Checking his tires," Wrye provides and grins.

Tattle delicately pinches her nose. "It appears he had little too much chili."

Large hands fall over Tattle's eyes. "Don't look."

She peers through fingers. "Oh my! He's golfing with his barn door open."

"Yup, lost a bet and had to play a round with much exposed!"

"Oh, I need to read more."

"Try this," Wrye points out the chapter where he cheats on his girlfriend just to watch a special show on the gal's large-screened TV. "He's a trippin' down ole memory lane."

"And he is fast becoming a scholar, compares himself to Einstein." Preferring chocolate eggs, Tattle indulges before adding, "He sought the Brotherhood's guidance on whether or not he should focus on more than just sex, and brilliantly deduced, he should, to quote, 'Sin and learn.'"

"When it comes to humor, this book is all over it like flies on sh**!"

"Wrye!"

"Just sayin'!"

Disclaimer: Our southern accent is not real, but we think our drawl is finer than frog's hair. You can hear it, can't you?


The two appear next to a fence and two of the main characters from the romantic comedy Love Life And Other Disasters by Bernadine Darcy. "Oh my, see those sparks," announces Tattle, stroking a stuffed long-eared bunny, "and it's not from Shawn's hammer hitting nails as she repairs that fence."

"There is something quite alluring about a woman in tight jeans and a tool belt," declares Wrye.

Tattle moves around the characters, just a tad away from Bryan, a cool hottie that has captured the heroine's interest. "You have just paraphrased what Bryan has said about Shawn. Me thinks that he's is a bit more attracted to her than she realizes."

Wrye adjusts his yellow rose boutonnière and says, "Probably why he bailed her out of jail. Tsk, tsk, on our little miss getting herself arrested."

"Shawn is no little miss, my friend, she's has a don't-mess-with-me personality and she can out man any macho maniac this side of a sizzling romance. Besides, getting arrested was worth taking a baseball bat to her ex-fiancé's brand new Mustang."

"Ah, the one who left her at the altar before disappearing for two years."

"And the reason her high school sweetheart, Adam, was forced to arrest her."

"Which brings us back to Bryan...who she thinks treats her too much like a little sister, and considering she already has three assertive older brothers, she doesn't need another one."

"What she needs," holds up a hand as she rephrases. "What she wants, plain and simply is Bryan!"

"The question is will she get him, especially after he overheard her and Adam discussing their special night together?"

"Ooooh, this is certainly a must read."

"Later, m'little chickadee. We're off!" Wrye says in perfect imitation of W. C. Fields.



Can't wait to dig into next month's fabulous books, CLOSURE by Rie McGaha, CHANCE'S GAME by Eve Langlais and LISTEN TO YOUR HEART by Cindy K. Green.

Until next time, keep reading!


HAPPY EASTER!

Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq.
and Associate Wrye Balderdash
of Blather City, Wannachat

Created and written by
Angelica Hart and Zi

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ SNAKE DANCE ~ CHASING YESTERDAY
www.champagnebooks.com

STEEL EMBRACE by Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane
August 2011 http://www.carnalpassions.com/






Thursday, March 17, 2011

TOP OF THE MORNIN'

Z: (Mouth drops open when Angelica arrives in the office dressed in green with a sparkling green hat and a green face. But that isn't what promotes his drool, it's the box of Irish Potatoes.) YUM!
A: This isn't for you, it's for the doggies.
Z: (Disappointment mars his complexion) They can't have all that sugar!
A: It only looks like Irish Potatoes, it's really doggie treats.
Z: Woof...woof...any human treats?
A: Why, of course, m'bud, I have the real ones, too! And cupcakes...and we're having Irish stew for lunch.
Z: You made it?
A: Heck no! You're taking me to the Bit of Ireland Pub for lunch.
Z: So what else is new.
A: Treats for Champagne Books readers, Irish sayings and quotes and blessings, oh my!


May the enemies of Ireland never eat bread nor drink whiskey,
but be afflicted with itching without the benefit of scratching

I drink to your health when I'm with you,
I drink to your health when I'm alone,
I drink to your health so often,
I'm starting to worry about my own

May you never forget what is worth remembering,
Or remember what is best forgotten.

St. Patrick was a gentleman, who thru strategy and stealth
Drove all the snakes from Ireland, Here's a toasting his health
But not too many lest you lose yourself and then
You forget the good St. Patrick and see those snakes again

Here's to our wives and girlfriends:
May they never meet!

May you have no frost on your Spuds,
No worms on your cabbage.
May your goat give plenty of milk.
If you inherit a donkey, may she be in foal.
Don't walk in front of me I may not follow.
Don't walk behind me I may not lead.
Walk beside me And just be my friend.

There are many good reasons for drinking,
One has just entered my head,
If a man doesn't drink when he's living,
How the hell can he drink when he's dead?

May you be in heaven 1/2 hour before the devil knows you're dead.


May you be rich in blessings, poor in misfortune,
Slow to make enemies, quick to make friends.
But rich or poor, slow or quick,
May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields and,
Until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.


These were just a few of the many wonderful sayings and blessings we have found. We hoped you enjoyed them, and that on this St. Patrick's day whether you're Irish or not, may your world be an emerald isle bloosoming with your heart's desires.

***


We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at angeliahartandzi@yahoo.com and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ SNAKE DANCE ~ CHASING YESTERDAY
Champagne Books can be purchased at http://www.champagnebooks.com

THE FABLE OF SIN-SIN-CINDERELLA SERIES
Books can be purchased at angelicahartandzi.com




Friday, March 11, 2011

TATTLE AND WRYE MARCH 2011

FROM THE DESK OF
DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ.
AND
ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Greetings,

Dressed in ballroom regalia, already preparing for the awards event, Tattle announces, “We’re in for a treat. Our Love of Literature Leap is taking us into the books of three of the nominees for Champagne Books Author of the Year.”

Wearing his shamrock green suit and munching on Irish potatoes, Wrye grins, “Sounds tasty. Ready, m'Leprechaun-bud."

And they are off.


“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” quotes Tattle.

“Ummm, we never were in Kansas, and neither is Jared Bruin, the hero of the fantasy SHADOW FOX by Ashley Barnard. Although he was abandoned in St. Louis the story transcends from this world to another. Oh yeah, I’m likin’ it!” Wrye does a jig, in harmony to an Irish tune.

Tattle plucks cloverleaf, adding, “One can’t help but like Jared, despite that he’s a tortured soul, flawed, and an addict. There is simply something noble about him. He is lost in a world he doesn’t understand, unable to remember his early childhood, and driven to learn swordplay and old world combat skills.” Pretends the clover is a sword and attacks air.

Wrye jumps through chapters, urging Tattle along with him. “Then there is the lovely and mysterious Tarika.”

Tattle notices Wrye’s smitten look. “You’re starrrring.”

“Am not…well maybe…but look at her,” Wrye says, indicating the gorgeous woman. “However, she does have her secrets, many, mannnnny secrets, which in a strange way makes her perfect for Jared. They are kindred souls.”

“She also provides a link to Jared’s past. Maybe that is why his mentor told Jared about the opportunity to be her Master Swordman, well that and to put distance between Jared and his drug supplier.”

“Ah, see this lost journal,” Wrye points with a twisted cane, “it supplies many answers to Jared's past. He is from a different world, one that needs him to rise up and be a hero, but it is also a world that could destroy him.”

“Will he go to that world? Will Tarika follow him? And just what does she have to do with past? Is Tarika all she appears to be?”

That is what the reader will need to find out.



“I like the rain,” Tattle says, and swipes the wetness from her eyes much like Megan, a character who appears in the contemporary novel SHADOW OF GUILT by Michael Davis.

“I like umbrellas,” returns Wrye and opens a striped green and white golf umbrella to cover them both. “I also like weaving our way through Davis’ story. There’s Sean Paterson,” Wyre points out the hero as the duo suddenly find themselves in a café, “a man harboring hate, a need for vengeance, and across from him is Detective Christine Sheppy who’s coping with guilt, a guilt born from the simple need to survive.”

Tattle seeps further into the story. “Their lonely conscious ridden lives become entwined as they try to help an estranged teen and her child, who are lost and targeted.”

Wrye becomes lost in prose, his green carnation wilts as if agreeing with the sadness in Wrye’s tone. “The ache for something strong and loving between them becomes fragile and strained as the haunts of their past refuse to let go. Christine trusted with her heart once and ended up hurt. Dare she trust again? He believed in the magic of forever. Will he find his way back to that belief again?”

Sorrow furrows Tattle’s brow. “Sean knows he wants that sweetness of being with someone for a lifetime, but his hate, his need for vengeance and past shadows make him rash, ready to destroy possibilities.”

“Can either of them escape the endless grief? Can they win out over the depraved acts of malevolent men who prey on the helpless? Will their emerging love be enough to conquer all?”

“Read and find out!”


“Ah, you are in your element, Tattle, m’gal.” With a hand flourish, Wrye indicates the Castle Hamingur, the backdrop for Ciara Gold’s paranormal fantasy THE KEEPER OF MOON HAVEN.

“Oh yes, there is just something so appealing and romantic about castles, especially mysterious abandoned ones that could be haunted.”

“We’re not talking ghosts here,” Wrye says, “but fairies. Noreen Willshire, an impoverished daughter of an Earl refuses to marry for anything less than love and thereby is forced to be a governess. In this position she soon discovers a diary, an ancient book of fairytales that bridges her world to the world of fairies when she reads from the book to her charges.” Rubs his hands together, “This is getting interesting.”

“Especially so, when Villemore “Vil” a cynical wizard appears before her in his natural and quite hunky form.” Tattle fans herself.

“Tsk, tsk, m’voyeur lass.” Wrye covers her eyes. “Noreen decides it would be best if Vil takes the book back with him to the fairy world. But this can only be accomplished during the Hunter’s Blue Moon. In the meantime, Vil realizes that his world needs Noreen’s light, and that he just might need it, or more aptly expressed, her as well.”

“And she realizes that Vil is seeping into her heart. Yet danger haunts their paths, and barriers arise to keep the destined lovers apart.”

“Her promise to return the diary is soon at hand. She must decide on seeking a new life far from the fairy realm and Vil or to bridge the gap between Vil’s world and her own.”

“What will she do…what will she do…?”


Hope you enjoyed this month’s offerings! Next month, we'll journey to the land of romantic humor. MY LOVE LIFE AND OTHER DISASTERS by Bernadine Darcy and SEX, DEAD DOGS, AND ME by Ed Williams.

Top of the morning to you all!

Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq.
and Associate Wrye Balderdash
of Blather City, Wannachat


We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at angeliahartandzi@yahoo.com and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ SNAKE DANCE ~ CHASING YESTERDAY
Champagne Books can be purchased at http://www.champagnebooks.com

THE FABLE OF SIN-SIN-CINDERELLA SERIES
Books can be purchased at angelicahartandzi.com






Monday, February 28, 2011

AN EXCITING EXCERPT FROM ~~~ LAUREN GALLAHER'S LIGHT SWITCH See you next month!


Dear Party Goers,

This might be the end of February's Heart and Flowers party, but not the end of fun. Keep coming back to Champagne Books Blog and enjoy our authors and their offerings of excerpts, book trailers, gifts and more.


JOIN CHAMPAGNE'S BOOK BLOG TODAY AND BE ENTERED INTO A DRAWING FOR 2 PRINT BOOKS, 2 E-BOOKS AND A SURPRISE GIFT!



Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS
SNAKE DANCE
CHASING YESTERDAY
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

And, now, back to our scheduled author!

Title: Light Switch
Author: Lauren Gallagher

Website: http://www.loriawitt.com
Contact: thethinker42@gmail.com
GIVING AWAY 1 ELECTRONIC COPY IN YOUR CHOICE OF FORMATS. JUST LEAVE A COMMENT TO BE ENTERED INTO TODAY'S DRAWING.

EXCERPT:

I knew my relationship was over when I wore the lacy purple lingerie for my neighbor, not my boyfriend.

Pulling a pair of jeans and a plain sweatshirt over the garter, panties, and bra, I knew. Truth and guilt sank deeper into the pit of my stomach with every passing minute. Tonight was the night.

I went into the bathroom to fix my hair and put on a little makeup. Why I bothered, God only knew, but at least it was a way to pass the time before my boyfriend arrived. The antiquated clock radio on the bathroom counter said it was nearly seven thirty. Alec would be here any minute. With any luck and a little courage on my part, he’d finally be gone not long after that.

He’d be gone, leaving me with Matt.

Not that I had any intention of touching Matt. I’d entertained a few fantasies of taking him to bed, but I’d been with Alec since before Matt and I met. Whatever problems we had, I wasn’t about to fool around on Alec. No, I wasn’t going to touch Matt tonight. We wouldn’t even be in the same room.

In the two years that we’d been neighbors, Matt and I had never touched beyond the occasional handshake or hug. We’d become fast friends, but everything about our close friendship was strictly platonic.

When light and time cooperated, however, he watched me from his bedroom window, which was across the narrow alley from my own.

He looked at me. Alec didn’t bother anymore.

It had started innocently enough. A window shade carelessly left open. A change of clothes. A well-timed glance.

Eye contact and startled gasps from both sides of the alley had ended the moment as quickly as it had begun. For days, we were shy and coy, passing on the sidewalk without looking at each other, the accidental voyeur and unintended exhibitionist who’d been caught in the act.

Beneath the embarrassment, though, there lurked a part of me that found a delicious thrill in that momentary exposure. Perhaps I’d imagined the look on his face in that fleeting second before we’d both turned away in a panic, but I was sure his eyes had widened and his lips had parted with more than just the startle of seeing a random topless woman. Wishful thinking or not, I let myself believe he’d looked because he liked seeing me like that. It had been too long since someone had done so, and right or wrong, I liked it.

Had he been some stranger, I’d have been creeped out and probably invested in blackout curtains.

He wasn’t a stranger, though. He was Matt, and after a few days, I left the shade open again. It took almost a week for him to take me up on my unspoken invitation. One night, while I got ready for bed, surreptitious glances in the mirror revealed the ghost of a silhouette in his window, a dark profile against a darker background, and I knew he was there. He was there, and I wanted him to be. I wanted him to see.

I didn’t look. I didn’t even acknowledge him. But that night, and a handful of nights afterward, he was there.

Tonight, standing in my bathroom as I got ready to drop a long overdue bomb on Alec, I sighed. My shoulders fell, and when they did, the dark purple strap peeked out from beneath my reflection’s shirt. I tucked it away, meeting my own eyes and averting them when my cheeks turned pink.

If Alec noticed what I’d worn beneath my casual clothes, he’d turn up his nose and call it trashy. He wouldn’t see it, though. Even if I lost my nerve and let him stay like I had so many times in the last year, tonight would be like any other. In the best case scenario, we’d wordlessly undress ourselves in the dark so we could have silent, passionless sex before going to sleep a thousand miles apart.

At least, if that happened, there would be just enough light spilling in from outside for Matt to see.

I sighed and looked myself in the eye again. This had to stop. Though Matt and I never touched, nor did we ever speak about this in our friendly, unassuming conversations, the guilt was getting to me. This window-to-window affair of glances wasn’t right.

Holding my own gaze, I took and released a deep breath. Yes, I was going to do this. Tonight. Swallowing hard, I touched up a phantom smudge in my smoky eye shadow and fixed a strand of hair that was perfectly in place.

From down the hall, the crunch of a key and click of a deadbolt broke the silence. The front door opened.

I took another breath, shut off the bathroom light, and went out to meet Alec.

He was just shrugging his jacket off when I rounded the corner. With a quick, expressionless glance, he acknowledged my presence, then hung his jacket in the hall closet. “Sorry I’m late. Got held up at the office.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just gave me a little more time to get ready.”

The next look he shot me was a quick down-up sweep with his eyes, followed by a lifted eyebrow that said nothing if not “that is what you call ‘ready?’”

I shifted my weight, gritting my teeth. Keep it up, sweetheart. You’re making this easy for me.

He put his hand on my waist and kissed me lightly. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Another down-up glance scrutinized my appearance before he added, “I assume you want to stay in?”

I pursed my lips, resisting the urge to fold my arms across my chest. “Yes, actually.”

“Sounds good.” He smiled. “I think we still have a few DVDs to watch, don’t we?”

“We do.” I hesitated. “But first, I’d like to… talk.”

His eyebrows jumped. “About?”

“Us.”

“Us?” He shrugged with one shoulder. “Well, okay. Let’s talk, then.” He didn’t sound alarmed.

“How about in the living room?” I gestured down the hall and started in that direction without giving him a chance to object. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I think I’m okay, thanks.” He took a seat on the couch with his arm across the back of it, his usual invitation for me to sit beside him. The thought of that arm curling around my shoulders made my skin crawl.

Instead, I sat toward the middle, creating just enough distance to keep him from wrapping his arm around me. Turning to him, I pulled my knee up onto the cushion between us. His eyes darted to my knee, then met mine.

He cleared his throat. “So, um, what’s going on?”

Wringing my hands, I avoided his eyes. “Just, I…” Come on, Kristen, come on. You can do this.

He put his hand on my thigh, dangerously close to the telltale edge of the hidden garter. “Is this about moving in together?”

“Well, no. I mean, not exactly. It’s…” I wanted to scream with frustration. This wasn’t the first time I’d tried to have this conversation with him, and it wasn’t the first time I’d gotten tongue-tied.

Squeezing my leg gently, he said, “Look, if it's too much for you, it’s okay. We don’t have to do it right now.” His tone teetered between empathizing and patronizing, and I couldn’t tell which way it was intended.

Instead of looking at him, I stared at the subtle ridge my garter made beneath my jeans. “Listen, I don’t think we should move in together. At all.”

“You don’t?” At last, a hint of alarm crept into his voice. “But, why not? I mean, after all this time, wouldn’t it make sense?”

“It would, yes.” I swallowed hard and forced myself to meet his eyes. “If we were planning to get married, or—”

He laughed. “Is that what this is about? Well, if you want to start thinking about getting married instead—”

“No, no, it’s not that.”

He cocked his head. “Then, what?”

Wetting my lips, I whispered, “I don’t think we should move in together because I—” Come on, come on, just do it. Get it out there. “I don’t think we should stay together.” Before he even had a chance to react, the weight of the world slipped off my secretly lace-covered shoulders. Finally.

Alec blinked. “You, what?”

“I don’t think this is working.”

“You,” he paused. “You want to end this?” He gestured at me, then at himself.
“Yes,” I whispered.

“Well, I guess I can see now why you never wanted to move in together.”

I couldn’t blame him for the bitterness in his tone. We’d been discussing it for over a year, and I’d been sidestepping the issue because I’d been trying to work up the courage to tell him I wanted out. Without meeting his eyes, I nodded.

Alec abruptly stood. While I was relieved to have some breathing room, I was afraid he was going to storm out. As much as I wanted him to be gone, we needed to settle this here and now, not set ourselves up for a period of cooling down, followed by another conversation.
He didn’t leave, though. Instead, he paced between the coffee table and the television, running his fingertips back and forth across his stubbled jaw. “I don’t get it.” He shook his head. “After four years, you just want to up and quit?”

“It’s not exactly a conclusion I came to overnight.”

“Oh really? So when were you planning to enlighten me?”

I sighed. “That’s what I’m doing now. This isn’t something I went into lightly.”

“So what the hell is the problem?” he asked.

“I just don’t think we’re…” I trailed off, searching for the word. “Compatible.”

“Of course we are. We wouldn’t have lasted this long if we weren’t.”

And we shouldn’t have lasted this long. “Look, Alec, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you, but I’m not happy with things. I’m not happy—”

“With me?”

I sighed again. “Yes. I’m not happy with the way things are with us, and I’m ready to move on.”

“I don’t see how you can be unhappy.”

Of course you don’t. You would have to had to pay attention to pick up on that. “I am.” I struggled to keep my voice gentle and calm. “We want different things out of life. Half the time when we’re talking, we’re fighting.”

“We wouldn’t fight if you didn’t pick fights all the time.”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t pick fights because I enjoy it. If something’s bothering me, I tell you.”

He exhaled hard. “Yeah, and every damned thing bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“No. Not everything. But enough.” I wrung my hands. “I mean, look at our sex life.”

“What? What about it? We have sex more than most couples that have been together this long.”

“Yes, we do,” I said. “But we never try anything new. There’s no variety. It’s just the same thing, over and over and over.”

He set his jaw. “After this long, I think we’ve tried everything, don’t you?”

“No, I absolutely don’t think we have.”
“What else is there?”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to spice things up? Try something unusual? I’ve suggested a few things over the years, but you haven’t wanted to try a damned thing.”

He shrugged. “I’m perfectly happy with things the way they are.”

“To put it bluntly, I’m not.”

Alec blinked. He eyed me, shifting his weight. “So you’re bored with me, then.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m bored with our sex life.”

“And that’s enough to make you want to call things off?”

“There’s plenty more to it than that, but that was my first clue that things weren’t going so great. I want to try new things. You don’t. So I’m bored to the point of being miserable.”

“I can’t believe you’d end a relationship like this because of sex.” Alec shook his head. “Am I supposed to be some kinky porn star to keep you entertained?”

“Not at all.” I fought to keep my temper in check. “But it would be nice if you at least looked at me once in a while in the bedroom.”

“In the dark?”

“You could turn on the light,” I snapped. “And maybe when you’re done with that, try doing the same to me.” It was only when he stopped pacing that I realized I’d said the words out loud. My heart pounded. I hadn’t intended to go there, but there was no taking it back now.

“You’re unbelievable.” He threw his hands up. “If there was something wrong with us in the bedroom, why didn’t you bring it up a long time ago?”

“I’ve tried. Time and again. And quite frankly, I’m tired of it.”

“Oh, you have?” He folded his arms and cocked his head. “When? How?”

“Maybe all the times I’ve told you I’d like to try new things? I haven’t exactly kept a list of dates and times, but I’ve brought it up more than once.” I paused. “You either don’t want to talk about it, think I’m concerned about nothing, or turn up your nose at whatever I suggest.”

“Like what?”

“Well, how about when we went to Cabo last year? I suggested fooling around on the beach, on our balcony, on—”

“I’m not going to fuck you in public.” His lips contorted with disgust. “Jesus, Kristen.”

I rolled my eyes. “And what about the handcuffs we bought two years ago, but have never used?”

“We don’t need to use handcuffs,” he said with a dismissive gesture.

“We don’t need to do a lot of things, but I think it would be fun. That’s the kind of stuff I want to try.”

“So, what? Just having sex isn’t enough for you? Now you have to try all that freaky, kinky shit?”

“Why is it freaky?” I shrugged. “Some of it could be fun.”

“No, no, absolutely not.” He glared at me. “I think you’ve been listening to too many stories from that friend of yours.”

“Who? Scott?”

“The one who’s into all that weird crap, yeah.”

I scowled. “He’s told me a few things, yes, but—”

“See? You’ve just been listening to him.” Alec inclined his head, giving me that patronizing look I’d grown to despise. “Normal people don’t do that shit, Kristen.”

Fury coiled in my gut. “Then maybe I’m not normal.”

“Or maybe you’ve just been around that freak too long. I’ve never liked you hanging around him any—”

“I beg your pardon?” I stood, mirroring his defensive stance. “Now you want to dictate who I spend my time with?”

He gave a flippant shrug. “I just don’t like you hanging around that asshole.”

“Why? Because he’s into things you’re not?”

“Or maybe I just don’t like my girlfriend discussing sex with another man.”

“Oh, I can understand that,” I said through my teeth. “She might get ‘ideas’ in her pretty little head about how to fix a lackluster sex life, and she might even try to apply those ‘ideas’ to the relationship she’s trying to save.”

“Yeah, and—”

“Or, heaven forbid, she might just suddenly realize there’s more to sex than a little quiet missionary style in the fucking dark.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think I’m the problem, then.”

“Neither is Scott. I talk to him because he listens to me. Something you stopped doing a long, long time ago.”

“Fine.” He put his hands up. “You know, between that sick fuck and that friend of yours next door, I figured it was only a matter of time anyway.”

My jaw fell open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you suggesting that—”

“Are you denying it?” he snarled.

“I have never cheated on you.” Guilt twisted in my stomach. It was true, I hadn’t touched another man, but the temptation had been there. One of the first signs this relationship was in trouble was when I caught myself fantasizing not only about the wild things Scott told me, but Scott himself. Then came the voyeuristic tryst with Matt. Though I’d never touched either of them, the guilt was killing me just the same. I’d cheated in mind, if not in body, which was why this needed to end.

“Never?” Alec broke the lengthy silence that had fallen. “Somehow I doubt that.”

My face burned, no doubt making me look even guiltier than I was. “You don’t trust me?”

“Should I?”

I clenched my jaw. His constant suspicion and distrust were among the countless nails we’d driven into this coffin. Thank God we were finally going to bury the fucking thing.

“Look, I may be frustrated,” I said. “But I do love you, Alec. I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“But you’ll leave me?”

“Yes.” The word came so easily, so unflinchingly. “Yes. I need to.”

“You know what? Fine.” He glared at me again. “I’ll go, and you can have all the crazy, freakish sex you want. Mark my words, though. In a few months, after you’ve had a little fun and realize how sick it all is, you’ll regret this.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Our lackluster sex life was the wedge we’d used to finally cleave our relationship apart, but if it had failed to do so, we had plenty more that would have done the job.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” He shifted his weight. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me take my stuff before you kick me out?”

I nodded down the hall. “Go right ahead.”

With a sharp huff, he stormed past me. I followed him into my bedroom.

Now that he was moving, now that he was doing something besides standing there talking to me, his fury escalated, just as it always did. He jerked open the closet door and went about ripping shirts and a coat off hangers and throwing them onto the bed he’d probably expected to share with me tonight.

“I can’t believe you, Kristen,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re really willing to let all of this go because I won’t be a freak like whatshisname.”

“No. The sex is only part of it.”

He slammed a pair of shoes down and kicked the closet door shut. “Really? So what else is there?”

“Well, this.” I gestured at him. “Every time you get mad, you start throwing shit around, slamming doors, yelling at me—”

“Oh, so now I’m not allowed to get angry?” he shouted, turning on his heel and facing me. “Am I just supposed to sit here like a good little boy and let you tell me I’ve just wasted four years of my fucking life?”

I drew back, folding my arms to keep my hands from shaking. “There’s a happy medium between that and flipping out at—”

“I’m not fucking flipping out at you, Kristen,” he snarled, closing the gap between us. “You can’t expect to say this kind of shit and—”

“And what?” I stepped toward him, and to my great satisfaction, he shrank back slightly. “Am I tied to you for the rest of my life? Am I not allowed to move on if I’m not happy anymore?”

“After all this time, the least you could do is put some effort into fixing it instead of running away.”

I flipped my hands out, palms up. “I’m not going to argue anymore, Alec. I want out, I want you out, so just get your stuff and leave.”

He said nothing, but the rage in his eyes almost made me step back myself. At the very edges of my peripheral vision, he clenched and unclenched his fists. For the first time in four years, I wondered if he might just raise a hand to me, and I could neither draw nor release a breath until he muttered a curse and turned back to gathering his belongings.

On his way out, he stopped at the hall closet to yank his jacket off the hanger and put it over his arm. Then he jerked his key off the ring and tossed it on the table by the door.

“Looks like that’s everything.” He opened the front door. “Unless you had anything else you needed to say?”

I shook my head.

He sneered at me. “Not even good-bye?”

“I think we’ve already said that, don’t you?”

Cursing under his breath, he left, slamming the door behind him. I turned the deadbolt and went back into my bedroom, dropping onto the bed and releasing a long breath. Uncomfortable though it was, that conversation had needed to happen for a long, long time. We’d both made our mistakes over the last few years. We’d both caused our fair share of problems in this relationship. At least now, it was over. Thank God, it was over.

With another long exhalation, I looked at the clock. It was barely eight o’clock. Still plenty of time to go out and grab a drink, vent to a girlfriend, do something other than stay home in this silent apartment. With my newfound freedom came the long overdue ability to go out and take care of some of this sexual frustration. Maybe with someone who knew what he was doing. A one night stand had never been so tempting. I could go out. Or I could turn off the light and go to sleep.

I didn’t go out.

I didn’t turn off the light.

I didn’t go to sleep.

I just took off my shirt and hoped Matt liked purple satin.

Monday, February 21, 2011

THE PARTY CONTINUES

Good Morning!

This is week four of our festivities, and we still have more to share with many Champagne Book authors and even more GIVE AWAYS.

As on day one, anyone who joins the Champagne Book Blog today will receive a free e-book! If you leave a comment you'll be part of today's drawing for a free e-book. If you let a friend know about our blog and they join the blog, you'll both be entered into the end of the month drawing for two print books, an e-book and a surprise gift.

Now, for our blog, we offer for your reading pleasure a glimpse into our world.

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS

Some questions for the dueling duo:

Have the two of you being writing together long, and how many books do you have with Champagne? Does chemistry play a big part?

Z: Three questions, gotcha: 1) We have been writing for what seems to be a lifetime together, separately. There have been many titles published since 1996. B) KILLER DOLLS will be our first with Champagne, followed by SNAKE DANCE and CHASING YESTERDAY. This will be at least our eighteenth collaboration. Finally) As a chemistry major in college, I figured out early that the most entertaining of all experiments were the ones that were the most reactive. So, some days I'm the catalyst and others Angelica is.

A: Zi answered the first two, and I never did pass chemistry, so my response is, we can be combustible when we write together, just playing off each other until we believe we found the right formula that will tease emotion out of our readers.

Z: Angelica as a once Philly girl has an edge that bites but never cuts clean. Couple that with my analytical proclivity and we've a formula for sparks.

A: Sparks... sometimes outright infernos. If you'd always do what I said things would be smoother.

Z: Yes they would... but far less entertaining.

A: You got a point.

A: Zi?

Z: Yes.

A: You think she was just asking about how we got together?

Z: Naw, and if she was, it's a secret.

Another question:

Who has inspired you as writers?

A. In truth, Zi has been a great inspiration to me, and a procurer of seeing the truth behind the words, never compromising that truth, even in fantasy worlds there is a logic and theme that has to be recognized and respected. I owe this revelation to him, taming my creative frenzy when it becomes outlandish.

Z: Just read what you wrote... my response is... poppycock... it was not two days ago that you told me I couldn't spell hero if spotted H E R. No one believe her, she is spinning a tale. I work with her. I know her. She's evil in ways you don't understand. Having said that, I feel very fortunate to share writing with her. Thomas Fuller wrote, "When Fortune smiles, embrace her." Thomas must have met Angelica Hart.

A: You're so full of ca-ca.

Z: That's my story and I'm sticking to it. When the corn is ripe, pick it.

Final questions:

Not many authors of the opposite sex could create a world that both could live in for the length of time it takes to write a book. Tell us, how it happened and how do the characters feel about what you came up for them in one of your books?

A: (Blurts) Let's discuss SNAKE DANCE!

Z: Don't I have a say?

A: (Thinks) Mmmm, sure, but let's discuss SNAKE DANCE.

Z: (Does the eye roll, twice) Fine! (Takes a breath and begins) The creative meeting we had brainstorming the fantasy for SNAKE DANCE was an epic adventure in compromising our lack of a willingness to compromise. The world ultimately became a huge extension of Angelica's imagination. The trade-off was that the characters and the conflict reflected mine. Ahhhhh, if it was only that easy. Whereas, the story unfolded naturally and with simplicity, since we both found a remarkable fascination in the iconic tale. But the color, the facade, the tone and texture were occasionally a confounding task. We literally wallpapered our office with page after page after page of ideas and as we constructed the planet Starling we drew from what seemed to be an endless reservoir of cognitive subtext.

A: Did you tell them that we fought... and fought?

Z: Immmpliiiied.

A: There is a point of sexism that has been raised. The most beautiful component of this Angelica Hart and Zi collaboration is that we have a profoundly deep honor and respect for both sexes, and their place in the natural coexistence of relating. Yes, we see the differences, and adore them. We see the formidable instinctual tugs, and enhance them. So, I think I'm comfortable in saying that it's not the negative we feel but the awesome positive nature of a man and woman creating, they believing, truly believing that the world and the love in it have endless possibilities.

Z: One of the most important points of view I maintain is that every female protagonist is complex, strong, has heroine qualities, and can be the every woman. Mind you, this is hard in fantasy but the template is always in place. I will never agree to a mindless female. Furthermore, Angelica and I have agreed that the principle characters must, and I shall repeat, must have a reason to feel love before they do the horizontal snake dance.

A: As for the characters feel: Well, when they're lonely, they hate us. When they're being chased by the bad guys, they hate us. When we poke fun at them, they hate us. But when we arrange in the finale for them to requite the honest pursuit of love in that very special way, they put us on their Christmas card list.

Z: The depth and complexity of both the world and the conflict we placed in that world is the greatest gift we give each other as writers, for from that aforementioned depth, the characters can often and quickly reveal themselves more richly.

A: And occasionally more naughty.

Z: Duh! Why else the complexity.

In closing:

Z: Thank you for reading about us. As one armadillo said to the other while standing on the side of the road, "Be careful, the walk across could get you tired." It is always my pleasure to try to entertain and we hope we entertained you.

A: You actually used an armadillo reference? Have you no shame? We hope you enjoyed our interview. We want to thank anyone who has ever read anything that we wrote. We write for you.

****

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at angeliahartandzi@yahoo.com and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS
SNAKE DANCE
CHASING YESTERDAY
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

BOOKS can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com


Monday, February 7, 2011

KEEP THOSE PARTY HATS ON!

Greetings One and All,

We are into our second week of partying with Champagne authors. We hope you are having a fabulous time. Make certain you visit us each day, for you never know when we'll announce a GIVE AWAY. Like today! Leave a comment and you'll be entered into a drawing for an e-copy of CHASING YESTERDAY.

AFTER THE TEARS
a short story by:
Angelica Hart and Zi

~~*~~

She stood there for a long while, listening to the wind, the occasional eruptions of drizzle and eventually walked to the edge of the grave. She bent her head. “Bye Dad. I love you. I am already missing you.” Before she could move her head back, a tear rolled from her cheek and splunked upon the coffin surface punctuating the dirt cross. Everyone else had left, but she wasn't yet ready, she needed time with just Dad, just her and the man who had been her rock all of her life.

After awhile, she retreated about forty feet away but was still in view of the grave. She watched the caretakers lower his coffin, and then cover it with damp earth. She imagined him being welcomed home. Some of the soil splattered against the engraved name of Emily Watkins, Cyndy's mother. She had been passed before Cyndy could remember her. It had been just her and Dad.

Cyndy Watkins started at the graves and cried. Alone.

Would she always be so? Nearing thirty and being attractive, she had her share of dates, but she never clicked with anyone, never found that special love. Her dad threatened quite often to set her up with a blind date. He had a lady friend, who had a son, a real nice man with green eyes and a gentle manner. His friend had met Cyndy once, thought her perfect for her boy. Cyndy didn't remember the meeting, and would always manage to avoid any parentally arranged dates. Funny she thought of that now. Then again, while in the final stages of cancer, he had so worried that that she wasn't settled, as he put it. "Oh Dad," she whispered, and felt her chest tighten with the throbbing ache of emptiness.

Once the final shovel-full of earth was moved and raked smooth, the sun as if cued, began to push itself through the clouds slowly turning the dull pall of the mid-morn rain into a beautiful spring afternoon, almost magical, signifying a new beginning.

Cyndy continued to sob gently, sucking in shallow, painful breaths, allowing hurt to express itself.

Like the slow, intrusion of the sun a few moments before, a man’s voice encroached upon her grief. At first it was just a low murmur, then as if the wind had deliberately turned direction, it picked up the voice and brought it to her like a gift. She turned, surveyed the landscape but did not see anyone though she still heard it. The voice. Where? It danced upon the air. Playfully. Though obviously male, she could not discern what he was saying, just that he sounded happy with the buoyancy of an entertainer. Drawn, like a child to a puppet show, she moved toward the theatrical tones and intonations.

Back to her, he knelt there, right on a grave. She took a quick step sideways and hid behind a tall monolithic granite monument. Watching. Listening. A man, clad in a green slicker with the hood up rose, his face still hidden from view. He sat upon a green and white blanket that had been arranged neatly. He didn’t notice her. The blanket was perfectly square to the stone he faced. A brown wicker basket squatted to his left. Open. Food occupied two plates before him while adjacent the plates, she spotted two bottles of water. “A picnic?” she muttered, shaking her head, brows knitting.

An occasional laugh interrupted his loud speech. A gesture or two marked many of his sentences. Again, playful.

She thought, how inappropriate and insensitive. This was a cemetery, for goodness sake! What right did he have to be so disgraceful? So disrespectful? She moved closer with all intentions of saying something in a scolding Sunday school teacher way. She was just in the right mood to scold someone, even though a small voice told her she shouldn't. The closer she walked the more she began to hear even though the breeze kept distorting the intonations.

He sat Indian-legged with a leather-bound briefcase setting in his lap. He read from the case. Laughing. Teasing. Gesturing. Talking to the headstone as if it were a friend and loved one. Showing moments of seriousness. Stopping for emphasis. Sipping some water. Eating a grape. Looking down at his portfolio, studying a minute then talking again. Turning the pages slowly. Entertaining the stone.

His actions brought her pause. They were so wonderfully personal. Private. She felt the pull of embarrassment because they were so private.

She crouched behind another stone, listened to his stories, becoming engrossed when he talked about a baseball game he saw and the foul ball that bounced two seats away. A genuine heart-felt humanity emerged when he talked about a calico cat that got into his home and hid under his bed for two days, tormenting his dog. He finally caught her and found her a home, and he wished he had known her better. The ‘her’ she first thought was the cat. Then she realized it was the person buried. More tears emerged when she heard his voice crack under the abrupt intensity of emotion. “I truly miss you. I wish we had had more time. When it was just getting good, you were taken. I have been blessed to have you, but hurt that you are gone.”

New tears streamed down Cyndy's cheeks.

He rose. Collected his picnic. Kissed two of his fingers, touched the stone and said, “See you next year. Don’t go anywhere. Okay!”

Cyndy smiled at his humor remarking beneath her breath, “What a gentle, caring man.”

He walked away without ever looking in Cyndy’s direction. She waited until he was gone then curious, believing that it had to be his wife, approached the headstone. She read it and saw that the date of death was the same as today, but many years earlier. She calculated date of birth and death. It was his mother. A flash of bonding with the soul and spirit of the unknown man formed, a bond, born in the loss of a parent on the same date. Their date. This man she had been about to scold became a distant, even though unknown, friend. May 12th connected them. Forever.

Her tears stopped. Cyndy somehow didn’t feel quite as alone.

A year passed, she had forgotten about the man, but not about visiting her parents' graves. Unlike the day of the funeral, it was a glorious day, truly spring with the promise of summer. She knelt before the tombstones and began a long discourse about her work, her life, her lack of romance.

Suddenly a man's voice interrupted. "Care for some water?" He held out a water bottle. "My name's Charles."

She looked up into kind green eyes and remembered the voice, the tender modulated tones from the year before.

At that moment something clicked, something solid and right. "Thank you," she said, and instantly knew in a strange warm wash of certainty that she'd never be alone again.

In the heavens, Charles' mother and Cyndy's father grinned at each other. They finally managed the blind date their stubborn children had once refused.

****

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at angeliahartandzi@yahoo.com and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS
SNAKE DANCE
CHASING YESTERDAY
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

BOOKS can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com


Wednesday, February 2, 2011

TATTLE AND WRYE CELEBRATE CHAMPAGNE BOOK AUTHORS

FROM THE DESK OF
DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ.
AND
ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Greetings,

Dressed in an old-fashioned violet patterned dress, a huge picture hat, lacey gloves and a parasol, Tattle tosses out her arms and quotes with a sigh, "Love is smoke made with the fume of sighs."

"William Shakespeare," Wrye declares, "And how appropriate for this month of poets, hearts, and romantic stories."

"'Tis true, 'tis true," Tattle proffers her arm. "Hence, this is indeed the perfect time to embark on a Love of Literature leap into Champagne Books' romances."

Wrye stares at Tattle, mouth slightly agape in bewilderment. "You feeling alright, m'friend. Your speech is a bit..." Before he could finish, they vanish.


The duo fall into the pages of a contemporary romance FAKIN' IT by Dr. Kris Condi, Ph.D. Tattle looks about and frowns, "The heroine is so unhappy. It's simply not right to be this unhappy, spring is in the air, life should abound with possibilities."

Again Wrye offers Tattle a baffled look. "It's still winter. Snow. Cold. Nothing's blossoming except perhaps Spartan Fluey who has finally taken steps to disentangle herself from her husband, Goddard. Nearly thirty years in a loveless marriage, no wonder she is despondent. Even she can't figure out why she had stayed."

"Aye," Tattle says with another soft sigh. "Now, she only wants to find true love, something she never had, despite all those years she had invested trying to feel for something sincere for a chauvinistic, narcissistic husband."

Aye? Wrye mouths, and then, "Ah, but cupid's arrow could strike when she signs up for an escort service and meets...." A brow wiggle combines with a bellow, "Da da da daaaaaa, Benjamin Brennart, the man who might just ignite romance."

"A dream of a hunk who has his own torment. He lost his restaurant in Hurricane Katrina and still harbors love for his ex-wife." Tattle sniffles. "Oh such woe."

Wrye touches Tattle's forehead as if expecting to find a temp high enough to bring on delirium, finding her cool, he distances himself by running amuck through the pages, settling finally and declaring, "Something is flourishing! Passion and admiration and possibly lovvvvvvvvve, oh my! But...."

"But what?"

"Read and find out," he teased. "No time to dilly dally. Our next romance awaits."



As they enter the world of LUCKY IN LOVE by Stacey Coverstone, a western romantic suspense, Wrye dons a Stetson and chaps. Tattle proudly displays cowboy boots and changes her speech pattern from ole world to country drawl, "I do declare, Wrye, Jordan Mackenzie, who is so pretty she could make a hound dog smile, has her hands full with having inherited the Lucky Seven ranch from her aunt."

Mounting a horse he has discovered on the ranch, Wrye observes, "The good news is she decided to move from Colorado to New Mexico to start a new life on the ranch. The bad news is she's hurting from a horrific romantic breakup."

"Bless her pea-pickin' lil' heart. The poor thang discovers the ranch is a shambles and a nasty ole land developer is eager to take it off her hands." She pauses, grins and adds, "But then there is Wyatt Brannigan, hotter-than-the-hinges-on-the-gates-of-hell new neighbor and Cole Roberts, the oh-my-hunka-of-burnin'-love local contractor that shows he's more than interested."

"Is she?"

A mischievous smile lights Tattle's face. "That there gal is attracted to both!" The smile fades, "Only, she's still a-hurtin' bad over the breakup with her boyfriend."

"Meanwhile, the demented land developer will do any heinous thing to get Jordan to sell, even threaten her life."

"That man ain't got the dencency to die!" Tattle declares. "If I were a reader, I'd certainly want to find out if Jordan survives long enough to decide which cowboy will win her heart."



DANGEROUS DESIRE by Romona Hilliger completes Tattle and Wrye's journey, and they quickly find themselves intruding on a spat between the lovely married Amy Anderson and her seven years younger art teacher who has a girlfriend.

"I smell trrrrouble!" announces Tattle, her speech finally returning to normal as she scans the book's pages. "Her marriage is over except for in name, but her conscience is certainly pushing her away from this naughty attraction to a younger man.

"Jamie, the heart-tugger in question, doesn't think it's so naughty. He seems star-struck, and he is quite hurt by her rejection ."

"Amy hurts just as much." Tattle flips through several pages. "She believes what she is doing is wrong, but she also can't resist. Mmmm, such delicious pull-n-tug. Her hesitating, then giving into coffee dates...him pursuing...her refusing...him chasing...her remembering her dissolving marriage and that love often equates to pain...he being so different...her falling..."

Wrye puts up a halting hand. "I get it. I get it. She feels she should have learned her lesson about love, but as we can see...," he points to several paragraphs, "she's having a tough time keeping barriers in place."

"As is Jamie. He lost his family and his first love. He feels affection for another, but nothing resembling passion." Tattle places a finger on her heart and makes a sizzling sound. "Amy, though, done-gone and brought the heat back to his heart. He wants to push her away but can't seem to find the will."

They watch Amy and Jamie struggle, each tossing out hurtful words as their spirits dissolve in despair. Tattle says softly, "Will they ever be able to find a path to each other?"

"Perhaps not," Wrye returns, "but this is the month of romantic possibilities. So, read and be part of the character's passionate journey."


Hope you enjoyed Cupid's offerings! Next month, we'll sojourn into the worlds of a few of Champagne Books' nominees for Novel of the Year. THE KEEPER OF MOON HAVEN by Ciara Gold, SHADOW OF GUILT by Michael Davis, and SHADOW FOX by Ashley Barnard.

Happy Valentine's Day!


Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq.
and Associate Wrye Balderdash
of Blather City, Wannachat



Created and written by
Angelica Hart and Zi



Tuesday, January 18, 2011

TATTLE AND WRYE CELEBRATE CHAMPAGNE BOOK AUTHORS

FROM THE DESK OF
DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ.
AND
ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Greetings,

"I have only one New Year's resolution," states Tattle as she boxes up her tiara for the next New Year's Eve gala.

"And that is?" asks Wrye, placing his top hat in storage.

"To read more work from the Champagne Books authors, what else!"

"Ahh, then I say, let's get you started by seeing what's up with some of our favorite authors."

With a grin and a wink, Wrye leads the way into a Love of Literature Leap.



"This book certainly lives up to its title," states Wrye as he offers a bug-eyed look. "Olivia, the heroine, is oooh-la-la hot...hot...hot."

"And so is this contemporary romance, HOT COMMODITY by Linda Kage," agrees Tattle. "I really like how Olivia finally stands up to her mother, Vivian, and takes charge of her world."

Finding some left over hors d'oeuvres in his pocket, Wrye speaks between munching. "Only, it doesn't quite work out the way she expects."

Tattle skips through pages, her gown from the previous evening rustling as she moves. "Should we tell?"

"Oh do!"

"It appears while at a business convention in Las Vegas, Vivian had ordered Olivia to seduce Cameron Banks into marrying her. And, she's having none of it."

Wrye plucks a sparkling water directly out of the bar scene, and drinks thirstily. "So, she rebels, picking up the first hunka-hunka that she is certain mommy dearest will despise."

"Chutes and ladders she certainly chose a sizzling hottie," qualifies Tattle. "And he is also a little bit tipsy when she gives him the come-hither."

"But it's his quirky personality that gets her into his arms, and before you know it the two of them are more than an item."

"Take that mama Cruella!"

"Actually," Wrye explains, dapping his mouth with a handkerchief. "Remember things didn't work out as Oliva planned. The man that knocked her socks off, and, well, actually, her panties, too was none other than Cameron Banks!"

"No!"

"Yes."

"Ut oh!"

"Exactly. This is when the fun really begins."

"Gotta read this!"

"Later!"


Next, the duo find themselves in the romantic suspense LIAR, LIAR by J. L. McCale.

Wrye pops his Sherlock Holmes hat from a pocket and dons it as he gives his best impression of a gumshoe. "There is something afoot, and I'm not talking about sneakers, despite that we're sneaking around."

Ignoring Wrye, Tattle says, "Did you hear that? Whispers. Scrapings. Creaking."

"I hear nothiiiing, nothiiiiing," declares Wrye with a Sergeant Schultz accent, but then his voice becomes soft, serious. "Wait! Whatever it is, it has awakened Mia! It's the same sounds she had heard the night her husband had fallen to his death."

Tattle sighs elaborately. "Poor dear, she has stayed away from the mansion until now, the very place where her husband, Bill, had been murdered."

"Well, it doesn't help that the police don't believe he had been murdered."

"But now she is back, determined to find out the truth, why he had died."

"And, now, it is starting again. The sound of a door closing. A child's voice." Wrye pauses, head bent in the semblance of listening. "The same sounds she began to hear before he had died."

"Her husband had chided that she was insane."

"Was she?" Tattle asks, eyes bright and wide.

"She sometimes fears that. She tells herself that a house makes noises. It's just settling, but she doesn't really believe it. Yet, everything seems to be transpiring yet again."

"Then there is evidence of an intruder, and again a child whispers for her to run."

"She is all alone in her attempts to find the truth except for one detective who has a personal interest, and it's not just in her." Wrye says, wiggling his brows for emphasis.

"Wrye...?"

"Yes...."

"I think there is someone creeping up the stairs."

"I think it's time for us to say adios amigo!"


Hope you enjoyed! For the month of candy, flowers and hearts, we'll be visiting with the characters from FAKIN' IT by Dr. Kris Condi, Ph.D., LUCKY IN LOVE by Stacey Coverstone, and DANGEROUS DESIRE by Romona Hilliger.

Happy New Year!


Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq.
and Associate Wrye Balderdash
of Blather City, Wannachat

Created and written by
Angelica Hart and Zi