Last night, after my brain had died for the day, I sat with the hubby and we flipped channels for a bit. I realized then that, despite having something like 200 channels, there was virtually nothing on. All my shows are over… American Idol won’t return until January, I think. (Chris was robbed!!) Survivor comes back in the fall. (Terry was robbed!!) When the heck is Dancing with the Stars returning??? I already miss Desperate Housewives. Did Mike die? Please say it ain’t so!

What do I get in place of all this lovely angsty worrying and wondering? Reruns. Retreads. Stuff I’ve never heard of. People I’ve never seen. None of it sounds gripping. Of course, it might have been more gripping if hubby had stopped flipping the channels long enough for me to watch more than a few seconds. *g*

So we ended up on HBO watching Big Love, the show about polygamy. Anyone seen that? Interesting. Different. Not sure I want to make it a staple in my steady TV diet. But definitely a glimpse into a different sort of life…

Bottom line: I’m taking suggestions on Summer TV. I’m trying So You Think You Can Dance. So far… Eh. Maybe later rounds will be interesting. Anyone with other recommendations?

Well, I can’t give you the whole book on a blog, but I can give you snippets. Here’s a little something to keep you occupied until the book releases from Samhain Publishing. Right now, the official release date is November 7, but my editor is going to ask if we can move it up. Yipee! I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, enjoy…

“Lauren?”

His voice haunted her… So deep it vibrated inside her, heating her libido up faster than anything requiring batteries. Low and controlled, like he was murmuring to a lover, making sure she knew everything he planned to do to her body. She could hear him now in her head.

I’m going to strip you down to your skin, sugar, and kiss you until you can’t remember taking a breath you don’t share with me. Then I’m going to test just how wet you are. With my tongue. Before I spend the night inside you, making you scream my name…

“Lauren?”

Oh, his voice… The man could make her wet with a simple hello. His killer voice had a hint of gruff that suggested he was coming off an all-nighter of sweaty, amazing sex.

Then again, maybe he was…with his endless string of twenty-something Barbie dolls.

“Lauren?”

She blinked, coming back to his cluttered office and her hour-old coffee. The recurring fantasies of Noah Reeves had to stop. She wasn’t his type–at all. At thirty-six, Lauren had given up on Miss Clairol and let her faux golden streaks turn a natural caramel. Her infrequent trips to the gym probably weren’t enough to keep her ass from spreading.

She sighed. Somehow, in the last ten years, she felt like she’d become Barbie’s frumpy Aunt Gertrude.

Men like Noah didn’t desire Gertrude. Or sleep with them. She needed a serious reality check if she thought for an instant that he’d seen her as anything but an employee for the past year, as a staff manager for the growing chain of upscale steakhouses he owned with four other men.

Or his old buddy’s ex-wife.

Too bad she was having a damn hard time thinking of him as anything other than a fantasy.

She glanced again at Noah. One little peek couldn’t hurt, right?

Big mistake. Sin on a stick. Calendar hunky with spiked dark hair, eyes somewhere between blue and gray, ruthlessly carved cheekbones, and shoulders so wide they induced drool. The whispered rumors about him did nothing to cool her down. She’d heard the man was a serious powerhouse in bed–big, built, and not afraid to use every inch God gave him. Dominant. Noah was seriously hot.

Once. Just once, she’d like to know what it was like to get down and dirty with a man like him. Wine-drenched fantasies of Noah ordering her to the bed, demanding she spread her legs, then becoming master of all he surveyed… Lauren could get off to that vision in about three minutes. She’d timed it.

The box I shopped home from the Romantic Times convention arrived today. Lots of books and goodies and giveaways. Business cards and excerpts and all kinds of fun things.

Along with THE PHOTO.

One look at THE PHOTO of the Ellora’s Cavemen and some fellow EC authors, and my hubby told me that I’d clearly been a very bad girl in Daytona Beach last week.

Honestly, does this suprise anyone?

From left to right: Sylvia Day, Jason, me (looking very tired–not drunk–I swear!), Bill, Brooks (peeking his head over the top), Tawny Taylor (in a gorgeous costume she MADE), Beverly Havlir, Jory Strong and CJ. Bobby K and Rodney, Mr. Romance 2006, are right up front.

We had a GREAT time!! Can’t wait to do it again next year in Houston!

I’d intended to regale everyone with a fabulous report about the Romantic Times convention in Daytona Beach last week. I still plan to…once I get over the flu. Since you all need SOMETHING to read, and people are asking for excerpts of STRIP SEARCH (beyond what’s available from the website), I’m posting little something below.

Before I do, though, a quick question… How do you feel about a once a week excerpt of either my work or others? I personally love excerpts. Teasing is the fun stuff. If you feel the same, I can do excerpts! Lemme know!

STRIP SEARCH ~ Berkley Sensation
On sale July 5th
ISBN 0-425-21109-6

“Bet I can guess how many pairs of shoes you have, give or take five.”

Challenge lit her eyes. “Bet you can’t.”

“You’re on. What do I win if I’m right?”

“The privilege of knowing you’re right.” She tried to put him in his place with a dismissive gaze.

Mark wasn’t about to let her.

“Let’s make this interesting. I want a kiss.”

Nicki tensed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Backing out?” he taunted.

He was betting a lot here, gambling that Nicki wasn’t the kind of woman to retreat from a challenge. If he was wrong…well, she’d likely throw him out on his ass, tell him to screw himself, and hire someone else to work in her club. He held his breath, waiting.

“I’m not backing out,” she insisted. “I’m being reasonable.”

“How is one tiny peck being unreasonable?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I get the feeling you’re a give-an-inch-take-a-mile sort of guy.”

Oh, she had him pegged. “I swear, one kiss. I won’t put a single finger out of line.” At least not right away. “Besides, you could always win. What do you want if you do?”

“For you to get the hell out of my office and stop shamelessly flirting.”

“You might get your way. All you’ve got to do is agree to play the game.”

Going home–or back to your hometown. Was it really impossible?

This was a question I pondered when I flew back to the Los Angeles area early this month to speak at a conference. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I hadn’t been to my hometown in 17 years. All I’d heard was how much it had grown.

The family and I flew in a day before the speaking engagement, but we landed at night and stayed near the airport, so I couldn’t yet answer the question. We drove the next morning to Anaheim and did some California Screaming at Disneyland and had breakfast with the animals *g* We had a blast!

But I kept thinking how different things were. The same in a lot of ways–the mountains and the smog, the traffic and the casual brightness of it all. Hubby and I both felt somewhat sentimental sitting in morning traffic.

The following morning, I spoke for about 4 hours all about everyone’s favorite topic: Love Scenes.

After a fun morning, we drove the 20 miles to my hometown. Oddly, I was nervous. I don’t know if I expected old friends or ex-boyfriends to just jump out at me and ask what the hell I was doing there. Maybe I thought my old house and neighborhood would be so changed that I wouldn’t recognize it. Or my favorite old restaurant to be shut down so I couldn’t enjoy that particular pizza I’d been craving for nearly 2 decades.

None of the above happened. Instead, we drove all over town, seeing the things that were still open, the places that had closed. As you can see, ur old high school is still standing, despite the Northridge quake in the 1990′s. We paused for a pic in front of the old auditorium. Even my old house looked much the same, with a few cosmetic changes. My bedroom was the one on the right.

After being assured that, while the town had changed, much remained the same–including that fabulous Chi-Chi’s pizza, the hubby and I both decided that the old cliche is true. Things just don’t feel the same so… you can’t go home.

As usual, I’ve been a terrible blogger. It’s almost a running joke, I know. But hey, I’ve been so busy, I’m surprised I haven’t gone Postal yet. And I’ve been out of town so much the last two weeks, my body hasn’t figured out what time zone I’m in. But the real culprit here…deadlines.

Just to give you an idea…
* I’m finishing up NAUGHTY LITTLE SECRET for Samhain. I almost hate to finish. Noah and Lauren are…twisted and funny. And boy does that man have some lessons to learn!! I need to have it finished by June 1.
* Immediately after, I’ll launch into my second Shayla Black book, which Berkley recently helped me title DANGEROUS AND DELICIOUS. It’s my first mostly menage book, and it’s so titled because one hero is ex Special Forces and a bodyguard. The other is one hot-tempered chef. And in the middle…one innocent young woman about to take the ride of her life. This book is going to be a blast to write. *Rubbing hands together in glee* That book is due by November 1.
* Then continuing with the menage theme, I owe DANGEROUS BOYS AND THEIR TOY to Ellora’s Cave. I haven’t negotiated a delivery date yet, but I’m going to desperately try to finish by the end of the year. Cross your fingers for me.

Where is all this leading? To the inevitable stammering excuses about why I’m not blogging more. Would you rather have blogs or books? If you’re going to tell me the former, don’t answer that *g*

Besides not blogging frequently, I’ve been one jealous bitch. My husband got a new “girlfriend.” I watch him stroke her, talk about her, fill her up. I just shake my head and grit my teeth…

So last weekend, my daughter and I decided that we’d had enough. After my husband made some typically male comment on Friday night, we got up early on Sunday morning and…decorated his girlfriend. You may think it just looks like a black truck. To the untrained eye (including mine) that’s true. We just don’t see all her…qualities. She can haul things I never could. She’s definitely faster than me. She gives a very comfortable ride. How’s a girl supposed to compete? I HAD to do something to win him back–or make the competition look bad.

Well, the funny thing is, when Hubby went into the garage for something on Sunday morning, he laughed. And laughed. Then made us clean it up. But hey, he got the message, and I got a little extra lovin’ inbetween.