Two Sirs, With Love up for pre-order

Two Sirs, With Love has been posted on Siren's website for pre-order!

I'm going to be madly preparing to drive home a new little Newfoundland puppeh while finalizing Two Sirs, With Love and finishing the first draft of Three of a Perfect Pair, so stand by for more updates.



My new puppeh's grandpa getting ready to fly from Missouri

New book cover for Two Sirs, With Love

I've got a new book cover for Two Sirs, With Love, due out from Siren on May 6th:

That title was just BEGGING to be utilized, wasn't it?  Here is the blurb:

Felicity McQueen, fresh from her Dominatrix lifestyle in Europe, isn’t supposed to mention her past when she arrives at her sister’s Triple Play Lodge in Utah.  Ian Lawson is a mild-mannered accountant.  The highlight of his year is extending a tax deadline.  He longs to bust out in a wild adventure like the commandos he works for.

When he sets eyes on the tigress Mistress Felicity, he knows she’s the one who can fulfill his most forbidden fantasies.  But Dr. Victor Reznik has the same ideas.  He’s in town to nab a sicko transporting illegal exotic animals, and the three band up in an undercover sting.

With Felicity’s pleasure chest of toys, she instructs the innocent men in the bondage arts. The men become play partners to satisfy Felicity—and themselves.  Will they learn to play nicely with each other?  Or will they throw down their toys and go home once the smuggler is caught?

 

I imagined Felicity looking like Christina Hendricks from Mad Men.  She'd make a great Domme, don't you agree?

 

The other two men need no introduction:

 

Excellent trio, I think.



 

 

 

Guest blogging at Laurie Roma's "Girl Power" Symposium

Today I'm guest blogging at Laurie Roma's Girl Power symposium.  We're discussing the sorts of heroines we most enjoy writing about.


KAREN MERCURY: You have to find the common thread in your characters. There’s always some underlying theme that you don’t notice until years later. It’s usually a reflection of who you are at the deepest level. For me, it’s the strange dichotomy of vulnerability and toughness in all of my heroines. They all seem damaged in some way, afraid to love, yet afraid not to love. These two characteristics can work side by side perfectly well. It’s the constant push-pull that goes on in all of us. Will she, or won’t she? I think the one thing all of my heroines have in common is that they’re trying to cover up their soft sides by acting tough. They use humor to deflect the pain. They’re all putting on an act to some extent. And it works better for some of them than for others. For some heroines, it’s a total failure. They’re all “Crap, that guy just noticed I’m faking it. He’s going to hate me now.” I think I love these heroines most of all.

Prim and proper doctor Sasha McQueen meets the dashing commando Rowan O’Shea at the scene of a terrorist bombing. Her best friend’s last words, “Tony Danza,” mystify them. When the bomber turns to stalking Sasha, he mingles with the fur-suited fans at the Triple Play Lodge’s Great Utah Furfest, and he could be anyone in a cartoon disguise.

Sasha’s heart is hardened as she recovers from a lousy marriage. She knows the grass isn’t greener on the other side of the fence. But when she spies on Rowan getting frisky with the sweet boy-next-door game warden, Perry Donovan, her determination to avoid men goes out the window. Their bondage and forced orgasm games open up a wanton, wild side of Sasha she never knew existed.

Assisted by undercover Furries, the trio stalks the bomber instead of waiting to be preyed upon. Together they discover love, security, and the answer to “what does Tony Danza have to do with anything?”

Ishmael Pequod, 2003-2013

I just had the worst day of my entire life.  I had to face reality, which I'm not very good at, and call the at-home vet to come and put my beloved Ishmael to sleep.  Her panting and wheezing meant that the tennis ball-sized jaw tumors were leaking the lymphoma into her lungs and it was heart-wrenching to listen to and see.  The tumors in her abdomen were like small melons, as were the ones on the backs of her knees.

Lymphoma affects dogs differently than people.  You could do chemo--which I totally would have done if she was 5 instead of 10--but it only buys them another year of remission. The 2nd remission is even shorter.  They don't get as ill as humans do, though, from the chemo.  Last year my younger sister went through breast cancer chemo/surgery/radiation and is still suffering from reconstruction complications.  Dogs don't lose hair or vomit--but then again, their lymphoma has a 100% fatality rate.  You're just staving off the inevitable if you choose chemo.

Ishmael was the love of my life.  I have no children so I think I had more time and love for her.  You know how everyone says their dog is the best?  Well, Ishmael WAS.  She never once rifled through the garbage can, picked up anything that didn't belong to her, or drank from the toilet.  We could leave cheese (CHEESE!) out on the coffee table overnight and she wouldn't even touch it.  I could never figure out how she got to be such a Good Girl.   My first Newfoundland, a black named Monstro, was pretty bad, actually.  She never learned how to walk on a leash and believe you me, those critters can rip your arm from the socket if they want to.  She would make the Big Escape at the drop of a hat.  I remember once in a duck preserve she got off leash.  She's out there splashing around having the time of her life and these two bird-watching ladies glared at me.  "Who would let their dog off leash in a duck preserve!"  There I was, screaming and crying, and those biddies thought I did it on purpose?

Anyway, Ishmael never made the Big Escape.  When she was very young a vet told me that one biscuit equals one Snickers bar for dogs, so I trained her to like radishes instead.  Or a wedge of raw cabbage, broccoli, or cauliflower.  I used to take her to my EDJ and once I ran out of cabbage so I gave her a hunk of lettuce.  She was fooled, but during the commute home she leaned over and politely vomited into my purse. No lettuce for her.  For 10 years she's been my chef's assistant, lying in the most inconvenient spot on the kitchen floor to eat any of the vegetables I toss to her.  Strange, she wouldn't touch raw hamburger. Maybe she was vegetarian.

She loved wearing costumes.  This lobster was an XXL and it still looks like a little cape on her.  She never ate a single plant--oh right, once when she was young, she ripped up some green tomatoes I didn't fence in.  I just laughed and made Green Tomato Chutney and put a label on it: "Karen and Ishmael Mercury."

I can't describe how empty it feels without her.  I work at home now and every time I turn around there's a giant nothing where her bed, doghouse, biscuit jar used to be.  Everyone, run over and hug your dog now.  There was a study done that dog owners live about 5 years longer than non-dog owners.  It's from the endorphin rush you get when you hug your dog.