Launching Romance into the stars.

Saturday, March 31, 2012

How to bag and tag a muse.

Okay, so I’ve listened to too many of my husband’s hunting shows while I work on my laptop. The other night I had a dream. Yeah, woke up saying, “that was freaking weird.” So, I just had to share. It’s strange what influences us sometimes, even subliminally.
Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Today were hunting the big game, the elusive Terran muse. Now there are all kinds of techniques you can apply, but for now, we’re going to go over the basics of muse hunting.
Your mind is blank, you can’t pen a word. Many authors have found themselves mired down in writer’s block, desperately trying to find inspiration. It doesn’t have to be like this. Any author can capture a muse with a little know how. And today on Hunting Fiction, I’m going to show you how.
The first thing you need to do is slip into some hunting clothes. Today, we’re hunting special game and I’m decked out in camo with combat boots and a Rambo-style bandana, employing a little limp to my gait.
Now depending on what you’re looking for, you might want to switch up your hunting gear. Sexy shorts and tank tops will also help if you’re looking for the erotic variety of muse.  I’m hunting dystopian muse today, so I didn’t trim back the fabric, but feel free to go skimpy if that’s what you’re targeting. Accessorize, whatever. But for God’s sake, lose the bathrobe and sweats. You’ll scare them away looking like that.
*Clutches breech-loading, pump action shotgun to chest* A good weapon also helps. The sound of this sucker loading, will draw the game to you. Remember, our girl chases zombies and won’t be able to resist. Hand to hand combat also works. I recommend a little UFC. You need to call to the muse’s baser desires. In this case, our girl craves the double tap—and Twinkies. No, scratch that. I always mix up Woody and my dystopian muse. No Twinkies.
 Now if you’ve been sitting a while and you haven’t seen any sign of muse, a good idea is to use a call. In this instance, a death rattle works wonders. Moans can also draw our muse out into the open, but you need to be on the proper hunting ground, or they’re not going to hear you. Doing it in public can also get you into trouble, so be sure you’re alone when you start calling your game to you. You know what they say. Location, location, location. So follow me while we move to a more suitable environment. *Starts off toward the woods.*
There are a number of snares you can employ. *Suddenly ducks behind tree and lowers voice to a whisper* Look over there, skipping through the field of flowers with a harp, and wearing a toga. Now that’s a classical muse. The best lure I can think of is golden apples, re-runs of 300, and Gerard Butler. She’s not the game we’re looking for today, but if you want to bag a classical muse, those lures are pretty fool proof. Come on, let’s not attract her attention. *motions with hand for you to follow*
With dystopian muse, I find doomsday preparation shows to be great bait to set your trap. Nothing like thinking about the end of the world to draw a zombie hunting muse into your sights.
*raises finger to lips* Look over there, clumped against the barbwire fence watching the cowboy on the horse. Those are Western muses. Now they like leather, Stetsons and cow shit. Sorry, that smell kind of goes hand and hand with cowboys. Never fear, you can always toss them in a shower and soap them up. *Clears throat.* The cowboys, not the muses, and stop thinking about soaping cowboys up in the showers. *Cocks thumbs toward fence.* We’ve got their attention and that’s the last thing we need right now. Come on, let’s get out of here before they decide to move closer. There’s too many here to handle on our own. When multiple muses attack it’s never pretty. You end up with a lot of unfinished manuscripts.
Oh the stories I can tell you about cowboys.  I once got lassoed by a cowboy. *Glances back.* Run. *Hauls ass into old barn and up into the loft, pulling up wooden ladder.* That was close. You need to clear your mind, or we’re not going to catch the muse we’re looking for. *Looks around* Now this is excellent hunting ground. Go over into the shadows and start moaning. I’ll keep watch.
No, no, no, not that kind of moan. You’re working the Western muses up again. They think we’re having an orgy up here in the hay. *Points down to over excited muses dressed as saloon girls jumping and trying to reach the loft.* Put less sex, and more pain in it. That’s it. Get your zombie on. Look over there. *points out window. See her? She’s in black, sticking close to the buildings. Wait for it. *raises hand and pumps shotgun with single hand. Muse begins to run toward barn.* Hold. Not yet. Let her get closer. And... Now! *Drops steel cage on muse*
Booyah!  Look at that one. We got us a real tree-shaker. A beauty. Whooeeeee! Dat un will be good writing.
*Starts whispering and sets 12 gauge to the side.* So, it was a great hunt today. We saw a variety of muse, but we got what we come here for. *Guitars begin to play in the distance. Muse in cage is now wearing saloon girl clothes and carrying a sword. Turns and looks back. * What did I tell you about thinking about soaping up the cowboys in the shower? Now we’ve crossed genres. Oh well. I guess we’ll have Old West, zombie-hunting cowboys.   
Just one parting bit advice I’d like to share before we wrap up our hunting excursion today.  If none of these techniques work for you, you can always relax. A muse can’t resist down-time. Take out your beach towel, sunglasses and a drink. I guarantee she’ll be right there, screaming, me, me, me.
Next week I’ll show you techniques for the proper preservation of your wild game. Until then, have fun bagging your muse.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Rebel Souls

Okay, it's not out yet, but I really, really wanted to talk about it. Now the cover has three characters on it and the first thing I want to say, is it's not a menage. I do have menage stories, but this is not one of them. So why did I ask to have three characters on the cover? Because both men play a pivotal role in the heroine's life in this story.

First you have Brodie Mark. An orphan who was raised on the streets, later roamed the Blue District with packs of feral children. As he grows up, he rises through the ranks of the Nexian Resistance to become leader of the underground. In this short excerpt, you meet Brodie at twenty, already a force to be reckoned with.


“Come with me, Duchess.”

Ava snapped awake and stared into the lapis depths of Brodie Mark’s eyes.

“We’ll make history today.” He straddled her hips with his hands pressed into her bunk on each side of her head, leaning in with his lips inches from hers.

“I’m not dressed and if that was a pass, it was really bad.” The New Xieran summer had been hotter than usual and the scorching afternoon baked the air in her cabin, forcing her to strip to the thin T-shirt and her skivvies. Sometime during her nap, the sheet had worked down to her knees, exposing the naked flesh of her thighs and her belly, where her shirt had bunched up.

“Not a pass.” His smile started as a twitch in the corners of his mouth and quickly spread to his whole face. Jewels twinkled from around her hips and navel, reflecting in Brodie’s gaze. “And it’s more than obvious you’re not dressed, Duchess.”

“Brodie,” Ava gasped and grabbed the sheets. She yanked as hard as she could in an attempt to cover her body. Best friend or not, he didn’t need to see her nearly naked. “You’re not supposed to be here—when I’m alone.” She shoved his shoulder, pushing him back. “Uncle Theo will kill you if he finds you in here.”

Brodie shrugged, knowing there was little chance of that. Her uncle had left for a meeting and told Ava to stay put. She’d soon grown bored and dropped into sleep only to be woken by the twenty-year-old, heartthrob.

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I know,” he said. “But you’re always safe with me. And when you’re not with me….” He pulled a medallion on a long chain from his pocket and dangled it before her. It spun around, glinting in the light pouring through her cabin’s portal window. “I have a surprise.” He dropped it on her chest between her breasts and leaned back in, pressing closer, until Ava’s breath caught in her throat. “Today is special—monumental.”

“It is, is it?”

His tangled hair hung in a mass of dreadlocks around his face and dirt smudged his left jaw. It didn’t temper his devastating looks. Many an innocent girl lost her virginity to Brodie at the crook of a finger, and Ava was determined not to be one of them.

She tugged her gaze from his and stared at the open door to her quarters, anything to get her mind off him. “You need to get out of here before my uncle comes back.”

“I will if you come with me.”

Ava turned back to him. “My uncle will kick my ass if I leave the ship.”

“What is it the Terrans say? Damned if you do—damned if you don’t?” He cocked his head and gave her a wicked grin. The muscles in her thighs clenched and her heart began to race. Two years older, Brodie had been the leader of a pack of feral children. Now a man, he’d joined the resistance and had quickly climbed the ranks. Taller by a foot and twice as strong, he could easily force Ava to come along, but instead, he asked with excitement beaming from his eyes. “You know you want to.”

Ava snorted and fought the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Brodie Mark, you’re likely to get me into trouble.”

He sat back on his heels and laughed. “I am trouble.” Brodie was as tough as a seasoned soldier and twice as lethal. He’d been forced to fend for himself and had killed to survive since the age of five. Brodie had very few things he valued, and those few things governed his honor code. That code meant he’d never harm a Rebel, or those that served the cause. Most of all he’d never harm her. Going with him should be safe.

She’d first met him on the street as he’d followed a target when he was twelve. She’d tagged along, wanting to get a closer look at his blaster rifle. Brodie told her to go away, but Ava had been persistent, dogging his heels until he’d spun around and knocked her flat. “Not this time. It’s too dangerous for little girls. Someday when you’re older.”

“I’m not a little girl. I’m ten.”

His eyes swept over her as he stared down. “You look like a baby.”

“I’m a Frost, not a baby.”

Brodie’s eyes had popped wide. He gave her a curt nod. “Be safe, Duchess. Go home. You can come another time. I promise, I’ll come and get you when you’re ready.”

It had been the first time he’d called her that, his pet name.

It had taken her years to realize it wasn’t a nickname, but a title, one she’d hold if her mother hadn’t murdered her husband and run off with her father.

“Well, are you coming?” Ava pulled out of her memories and stared Brodie in the eyes. She bit her lip, debating whether it would be worth the trouble she’d get into. Seeming to sense her indecision, he gave her his best pouty face. Ava’s heart skipped, and she fought the giggle. Puppy dog eyes looked ridiculous on the dangerous Rebel. She should tell him.

“Well, Duchess?” Charm, charisma, and heat rolled off him.

He knew she couldn’t say no.

Brodie disappears for several years after an attack in the Blue District and Ava fears her friend is dead. While smuggling a shipment of fissile materials for the Resistance, Ava slams head on into Commander Seth Reynolds of the Fleet Regulators. In this encounter, Ava knows he isn't good for her and hanging around with him could be dangerous to all the resistance has accomplished, but like that forbidden chocolate bar, she can't resist taking a bite out of him. But Seth just might be more than she can handle.

The way she’d fingered his uniform ignited every cell in his body. She touched it as if she stroked skin, and somehow he’d gotten harder. He held her gaze as he reached around her and snagged his com off a shelf. “I’m never off duty,” he said.
She raised a brow. “Pity. I’d like to know you when you aren’t all business.”

He dropped his gaze to her mouth. Her lips were luscious, her teeth perfectly kept. This woman wasn’t meant to be a smuggler. She was born to warm a man’s bed and heart.

“Is there something you want, Captain Reynolds?”

Yeah, and she was a micro-moment from finding out. “No.” He grabbed her hand and pressed his com into it. “Contact a shuttle. I’ll escort you to your room. It’s not safe for a woman to travel New Xiera Port at night on this side of the city.”

“The Blue district?” She gave a soft laugh. “I’m half Nexian. If you didn’t notice, it’s a Nexian neighborhood. Now you, on the other hand….” She tossed his com on the bed and slid a hand up his chest. “A big strapping Regulator like yourself might get some second looks, especially dressed like that. Who goes to the beach dressed to work?”

He pushed her hand away. “I’ll escort you.”

The corner of her mouth curled and an impish dimple appeared. “What’s wrong with hanging out here?”

Seth frowned. “This is my room.”

“I see that,” she said, though she hadn’t taken her gaze off him.

“I don’t understand.” She couldn’t be insinuating….

She rose up on her toes and slid her hands into his hair. She pulled his face down to hers. “Then let me explain it.” As her mouth made contact with his, jolts of energy shot through his body. Seth didn’t resist. Should’ve. The woman was bad news. If he had any common sense left, he’d throw her against the wall and cuff her, not kiss her. But he couldn’t. He’d fallen victim to Frost’s charms, and he could do nothing but give in and let it happen.

He ran his hands down her back, stroking bare flesh under his fingertips. They traveled over her hips and around to her ass. Ava Frost had a figure. She had flesh and softness to her frame, wasn’t boney and hard like many of the women around this sector. He loved her curves and filled his hands with them in the manner he’d dreamed about for most of the day.

Ava pulled her mouth away and looked him in the eyes. Spontaneous combustion. Nothing could cool the inferno raging inside him…well, almost nothing. Not a good idea. If he buried his cock inside her, the League would bury him. Seth knew better, but his body wasn’t listening. He’d seen that look before and knew what it meant. “This can’t go any further,” he said.

She smiled and shoved him onto the bed, following him down. As he landed on the mattress, she straddled his legs and reached for his buckle. “Let’s get you into something a little more comfortable.” He snagged her wrists, not sure he could let this continue and keep his pride intact. This wouldn’t buy her way out of trouble, or get her off for any crimes she might have committed.

Ah so two men, one dead the other very much alive and a bit resistant. But what happens if one of them isn't dead and he comes back to claim the woman he'd been secretly protecting?

Hence the love triangle and the reason you see them both on the cover. Who will win her heart. Who will lose?

Friday, March 23, 2012

New geeky find

Last night I geeked out. Remember when a boat ride in Venice was a romantic trip? Well, we can't afford that. What can we do? How about sit in front of your large monitor and take a Google Street View ride down the Amazon. No. Really. Gorgeous pictures and I took a walk down a path right before I typed this up. Now maybe we can get people to want to save this gorgeous place by innovation. Happy Geek Day! Graylin

Thursday, March 22, 2012

The Pleasure of the Senses - Guest Post by Diane Dooley & Giveaway!

The Pleasures of the Senses

No, not for me the stormiest pleasures of the senses, Voluptuous enjoyment, overwhelming frenzies...”                                     Alexander Pushkin, 1830

To each his own, I guess. I rather enjoy having my senses overwhelmed. Just the other the day I was as happy as the proverbial clam: the kids ran through the house waving light sabres and yelling lines of Star Wars dialogue, while I cranked AC/DC as loud as I could bear it and the  spicy scent of a chicken curried simmered on the stove, as I opened all the windows in the house to the first sunshine of spring and cool breezes wafted over my skin and through the house. I finished washing the dishes and applied some delicious vanilla-scented hand creme. Total sensory overload - and I loved it.

But what if a cool spring-scented breeze was completely alien to you? What if you were so used to eating  freeze-dried nutrition bars that the mouth-watering smell of curry spices were completely distracting?  What if the pleasures of the senses were so unusual to you that you found yourself being overwhelmed by their effect on your sensory systems?

This is the problem faced by Makiko Dolan, the heroine of my recently released story, Mako’s Bounty. She’s a bounty hunter who spends most of her life in her beloved little spaceship, a Zebra 180. No chicken curry for Mako; she subsists on pre-packaged, perfectly nutritious dried food. No springtime for Mako; she’s a spacer for whom planets are a strange and alien experience.  Her first experience of Earth is trying to adjust to the heavy pull of gravity, while hoping that she won’t have to encounter that completely unnatural phenomenon known as “rain.”

Under usual circumstances, Mako, who is an adventurous type, would take her time to study,  enjoy and internalize these new sensory experiences, but she doesn’t have the time. She’s on Earth to capture the space pirate she’s been chasing for nine long months. She needs to be on the top of her game, not entranced by the mind-boggling flavors and sensory jolts of ice-cold, freshly-squeezed fruit juice. Mako will find that Vin Sainte, her bounty, fully intends to use her sensory system against her.  She’ll discover that Vin, in and of himself, is a sensory experience that she will be unable to handle or refuse. Poor Mako *grin*

How do you think you would handle being in Mako’s grav boots? Are you the type to enjoy the stormiest pleasures of the senses? Or  do you find them too distracting? I’m the former, obviously. Why, even now, the scent of the product I use to control my unruly hair is making my nostrils twitch. My feet are laughing in happiness at the feel of softest cotton. My ears are complaining about the weight of my glasses. Sometimes I wonder, in this constant barrage of sensory stimuli, how I ever manage to get anything done!

Mako’s Bounty is an e-book, available from Decadent PublishingAmazon and all the usual online retailers. You can read the opening here.

Bio: Diane Dooley was born in the Channel Islands and grew up in Scotland. After many years of moving and traveling she finally settled down in Upstate New York where the summers are short and the winters just might kill you. She lives with her best friend/husband, who can’t fix a damn thing, and two obstreperous boy children in a falling-down farmhouse in the sticks. She is very happy.

You can check out her previous and upcoming publications on her blog, Diane Dooley: Writing, Stuff and Nonsense.

I’m giving away a pdf copy of the story. To enter the giveaway please answer this question: What is your favorite thing to smell? Contest ends Friday, March 23 at midnight EST. Please leave your email address in the comment so that Diane can contact you if you win. Contest is international.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Recharging the Batteries.

Shutting off the computer and phone.
Doing nothing this weekend.

Have a good weekend.

See ya on Monday,


Friday, March 16, 2012

Dangerous vs. Gentle Alien Descriptions

This is for @Lexcade who requested this post for last weeks blog.

Crafting a believable alien in written form starts with the point of view. If the POV is coming from a human or pre-established non-human character, their view of the alien is what the reader needs first. Even if it differs from the writers knowledge of the alien character.

For example, if the alien comes across as gentle and non-threatening to the main character those are the characteristics that are highlighted in the description. A full description leaves less to the imagination and complete descriptions lend to the assumption that there is nothing to hide.

If the alien is seen as threatening then a limited number of threatening features are highlighted. Leaving more up to the readers imagination increases the intensity of the scenes (i.e. not seeing the shark in Jaws or the full Alien in the movie right away). Describing a haunting gaze with a gravely voice allows the readers to pull their own fears and nightmares into the story and connecting with it on a level that would be difficult to achieve otherwise.

I wrote a poem a while back that walked the line between the two.

Shadow Guardian

He lurks around corners
in the background
where no one will notice
eyes piercing the darkness

His presence is felt
seen only in glimpses

He is a shadow himself

Watching smirkingly
he guards those who walk in gray
who are as much light as dark
who balance between seen and unseen

He keeps us from falling into blackness
and gently pulls us from the blinding light
His presence first met with fear
is now reluctantly welcomed
even needed

A shadow guardian
lives a lonely existence
on the fringe of society
that survives
because He is there

© Graylin Fox 2010

Saturday, March 10, 2012

What I'm working on this week.

This week it's about big band, brass and sass, as I've been working on a 1NS story that has a WWII era swing party.

Which begs me to ask you. Can trumpet players be hot?

It wouldn’t be easy. Grace had lost a lot. George died while serving, and perhaps she was afraid to get attached for that reason. But he wasn’t her brother, and he wasn’t in Special Forces, out on the risky missions. He was Sergeant Frank Winters. Army trumpet player. Nice guy. Stubborn man, and crazy about his dead friend’s twin sister.

If she didn’t think he’d come after her with everything he had, she was mistaken. He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes and went over every option available. He may be a trumpet player, but he wasn’t a sissy and he sure as hell didn’t back down. George knew he was right for her. Frank knew he was right for her. Now he just had to convince Grace they were meant to be.

Four hours later, he glanced at his watch and blew out a breath. Tired, running on fumes and dreams, it was time to go after what he wanted. Frank Winters never walked away from a challenge and he sure as hell didn’t walk away from something he knew could be the best thing he ever had. Frank grabbed his trumpet, asked the hotel to give him a ride to her house, where she should be by now.

As the limo pulled up to the curb at Grace’s home, Frank noticed the crowd of elderly women gathered across the street. At least a baker’s dozen. They could prove to be just what he needed to draw her out. If he had to, he’d make a scene.

Several of the women had donned forties style dresses and one woman wore an old Women’s Army Corp uniform. Frank couldn’t help but grin. Grace had mentioned the old lady across the street liked to gossip. He was about to give them enough material to talk about for months. As he got out, they started clapping. Frank turned around, waved, flipped his cap up on his head and headed up the walk.

Show time.

The blinds cracked open and snapped shut.

“I know you’re in there, Grace. Come out and talk.”

She didn’t answer.

Well, there was more than one way to skin a cat. Frank lifted the trumpet to his lips and began to play Schubert’s Trumpet Serenade, the sexiest and most romantic piece of music he could think of. If she wouldn’t come out, he’d stand on her doorstep and play until she did.

The blinds cracked again.

Friday, March 9, 2012

It used to be Science Fiction

If you grew up in the 80's like I did, then you remember the warnings about solar flares. To us it was scientists trying to describe things we had only seen in crappy graphics in movies and television. Something that would mess up communications on those crazy futuristic things the guys in Star Trek used to call each other. (BTW: beepers were the only things available when I was in high school and only drug dealers and doctors used them.)

And then last night and tonight on television I had flashback. Here we are in an age with cell phones that are COOLER than Kirk's communicator but the sun can still screw us up.

Reality outshines imagination a little today. And these pictures of our sun show us why.

Science is cool! 

Graylin Fox 

P.S. My first published short story, Coming Home, is FREE on Amazon right now. It's Urban Fantasy, just in case you would be interested.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

"Would You Like to Swing on a Star?"

I don't just write sci-fi romance, but alien romance. Whether I have two aliens from different species, or an alien and an earthling, I like to show that love supersedes all differences.

But where did this interest in aliens begin? I could say Star Trek, Star Wars, or even Alf. Sure, I watched those shows regularly, but there was another show that captivated my imagination. What would it be like to fall in love with an alien? And what would children born of this union look like? Would they have any special powers like Superman (my fav superhero)?

And the show that started it all...

"Out of this World"

Summary from Wikipedia:
The series revolves around Evie Ethel Garland (Maureen Flannigan), a young girl who discovers on her thirteenth birthday that her father is an alien named Troy Garland (Burt Reynolds - voice), from the planet Antareus, who married her mother, Donna Garland (Donna Pescow) and "merged lifeforms" to create Evie. Evie's half-alien heritage gives her superhuman abilities. Most of the episodes revolve around Evie misusing her powers and causing some trouble, which she spends the rest of the episode trying to fix. Only Evie and her family know about her alien father and her powers, and many episodes depict Evie trying to hide her secret from other characters. The series ended on a cliffhanger in the Season 4 finale, where Troy came to visit and Donna took his place by accident and ended up in Antareus, leaving Troy stranded on Earth.

Yes, it's a typical 80's show, but I tried not to miss any episode. It was on NBC from 1987-1991.

Are there any lesser known sci-fi shows, movies, or books that inspire you?

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Irony--Get Ya Some

So, I was driving down the interstate, following a truck that left a cloud of thick black exhaust behind it. Unable to take the smell, or see clearly, I decided to pass. When driving by, I discovered it was a recycling truck, the wrap on the side said, "Save Mother Earth. If you don't care for the environment, who will?"

While I was coming home from work one night, I saw a giant crow hop across the road with a bag in his mouth. The top was rolled down and he carried it like takeout. On the side of the bag. McDonalds--I'm loving it. "Quoth the raven, never more."

While going into the local mart to pay for gas, a big strapping biker, hopped off an impressive hog. Dressed head to toe in leather, bald with a full tat covering his scalp and neck,a man that could scare anyone in a dark alley, or light alley for that matter, unzipped his jacket, pulled out a Pomeranian and began to walk it on the lawn. "The need to own a small dog because I'm feelin richer effect."

My friend's husband had a heart-attack and needed surgery. The surgeon told her that the healing process took time, but that it shouldn't be too bad, because he used a bone-friendly saw on his breastbone. As opposed to what? An unfriendly one?

My son joined the Army. While trying to pick his MOS, occupational skill, they tried to talk him into EOD. (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) Their argument--Disarming bombs has gotten much safer.

While my husband was out hunting last year, a moose came up to our living room window and peered in. Good he's not home--let's party.

Two days after I paid my car off, free and clear, the computer in it went. Cost to repair? $2,500.00, cost for trade in $2500.00. The look on my husband's face as we had to take out another loan--priceless.

Ever feel like you're having one of those days?

Friday, March 2, 2012

We Owe Ellen Ripley

Growing up the only science fiction women I saw were the stereotypical damsels in distress. Princess Leia started to break the mold by being smarter than the guys saving her but she still ended up in a metal bikini chained to a slug.

Go women?!? Not yet.

Then Alien came out. Sigourney Weaver as Ellen Ripley was smoking hot, smart, and deadly. She gave us a woman you *know* would never wear F-me pumps to run in when chased by the monster of the week. I was a teenager when this came out and I was so scared I think I was under the seat in the theatre. But I was also proud. I now had someone on screen with a smart mouth, a hot bod, and brains. I had my heroine and I'll never forget the pride I felt.

Thank you to Dan O'Bannon and Ronald Shusett for writing her. We owe you.

Graylin Fox

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Read Sci-Fi Romance For A Cure

Starting today, and for the rest of the month, Celestial Seduction is the Read For A Cure selection over at Decadent Publishing. Therefore, ALL publisher proceeds from Celestial Seduction during the month of March will be donated to the American Cancer Society's Relay For Life program.


At the end of his obligated commitment to the Space Service, Frey Berger decides to stay on Earth to further experience human emotions rather than return to Ginnun where his intended has already mated with another. Looking for real love and someone to accept him for what he is, Frey enlists in Madame Evangeline’s popular dating service. Although he does not understand the concept of a one-night stand, he hopes to find his perfect mate.

Carrie Cooper’s husband divorced her for someone who could provide him with children, leaving her with little self-confidence and no desire to let a man hurt her again. Her best friend convinces her to join a dating service, claiming Carrie needs to get laid, while not winding up with a broken heart since her date requires no commitment after the night is over.

Although several misunderstandings nearly derail them before the date has even begun, Carrie and Frey end up becoming closer than they ever believed possible. Still, Frey will need to convince Carrie that her perfect mate isn’t human at all, and that one night can lead to a forever love.


“What do you mean, you want to stay?”
Frey balled his fists and watched the Mission Commander’s face turn from blue to purple to red. But he refused to step onto the ship. “Exactly that. I don’t want to return to Ginnun. I’ve spent one rotation around the sun here, established myself in their culture, and lived like one of them. And I’ll continue to do so. This is my home now.”
“One rotation is hardly long enough to call this place home. Besides, you’ve sworn your life to the Space Service.” As his MC’s eyes hardened further, Frey noticed all the wrinkles in the man’s once again blue face. His white hair stood up straight on an oversized head. If he remained with the Space Service, the stress of the job would age him exactly the same way.
“This is my last mission. I’ll be discharged when I return.” Frey wouldn’t receive any compensation for this mission, but Space Service credits were of no use on Earth.
“The only way to get out of the Service is to apply for mating. Won’t Tandee be waiting for your return?”
His stomach clenched upon hearing her name. “On the day we left, she confessed to already mating with Brand, my supposed best friend.”
The Commander only raised his eyebrow. Frey didn’t expect any compassion from him. “Ouch! So that’s why you failed to keep your emotions in check on the trip to Earth.”
He looked away. Even after his time on this planet, the memory of that day still stung. She’d flaunted her admission without a hint of regret.
“There are many other females on Ginnun who would take you as a mate.”
Frey looked back to the Mission Commander and shook his head. “I don’t want an emotionless relationship. When I choose a mate, I need to want to be with her. I want a mate for more than just procreation. I want to love.”
“Emotions just get in the way of your life.” His MC slammed his fist against the ship. “You’re our best field informant! If you’re leaving the Service, you could easily find yourself on the High Council. You don’t want to throw away your future for the overly sensitive women here on Earth.”
“It’s not just the women. I have friends here, not just acquaintances, as everyone is to me on Ginnun.” Many people he’d trusted on Ginnun wound up stabbing him in the back, as in his best friend who slept with his intended without any guilt. Returning to a planet of long-dead emotions held no appeal after living on Earth. He refused to hide his feelings again, and there were so many more he wanted to experience.
The Mission Commander signaled to the pilot to start the engines. “Stop this nonsense and get on the ship.”
“No.” He grabbed his sack and without remorse, turned his back on his Ginnunian heritage.

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