When World's Collide, Passions Ignite
Check out this wonderful trailer The BookChick Designs created for That Pearly Drop!
What do the hounds of hell, time travel, a murdered girl, a coach ticket to Wye Castle, and a governess’ letter of employment have to do with waking up in 1763, the mate of wolf-shifter, Ian, the Earl of Wye? Emma’s about to find out.
Have a Merry Monday!
Cheers,
Jianne
For the next couple of days, today and tomorrow, I’m running a few contests over at The Romance Studio’s Thanksgiving Party. Drop by and meet new authors, read some smexy posts, and win prizes. Here’s the link: http://trsparties.com/ or click on the banner below:
Here’s the big prize!
Enter for a chance to win a $125 Amazon eGift Card! Deadline is midnight EST 11/26/13! Click here to find out how to enter!
Have a heckva Monday!
Cheers,
Jianne
So I’m sharing excerpts from Pearly (how my editor and I talk about the book) this week, and I figured the reason for the title should somehow be showcased- so here goes::
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law: Time travel is impossible—until it happens.
I jog-walk down the eerie, shadowed corridor muttering, “You can do this. You can. You’ve faced down oilmen, riggers, engineers. You have five older brothers.”
Door number one goes by.
“You’re from the twenty-first century. You graduated summa cum laude with a double major and a minor.” I pass door number two.
My footsteps slow of their own accord.
I chew the insides of my cheeks and force myself to continue.
“Go big or go home.”
Decision made, I stop in front of door number three, which stands slightly ajar. Raising my hand to knock on the solid wood, I shift and my boot catches on the too-long hem of Diana’s dress.
I snatch at the frame and manage to right myself.
My jaw drops at the scene revealed by the half-open door.
Behind a large, burnished desk stands a man who is the epitome of the Viking god Thor. Massive shoulders, chiseled pectorals, arms a logger would envy, a long, flowing, golden mane, and the profile of an immortal deity. He wears not a stitch of clothing, and the enormous erection he sports mesmerizes me. I can’t drag my eyes from his huge, engorged penis.
He doesn’t notice me, and I understand why when my gaze drops.
A half-naked woman lies sprawled on the top of the desk, which is located parallel to the far wall instead of fronting the doorway. She’s angled so I can see the profile of her face and body clearly. Her head’s half-resting on one elbow and her chin’s tilted back, exposing a slender, graceful neck.
I catch a glimpse of a blue pendant dangling from a thick-linked gold chain hanging to one side. A mane of glossy ringlets are spread in a perfect array around her head and shoulders.
She’s wearing a thin, transparent nightgown, which is scrunched above her waist. Her legs hang down from the desk, and a triangle of pale blonde curls at the apex of her thighs shimmers in the dancing flames of the candles attached to sconces on the opposite wall.
He cups himself.
Fascinated, I follow his tanned fingers as he strokes back his foreskin to reveal the reddened head of his penis.
A heated paralysis strangles my brain. I lick my lips when a thick, pearly drop oozes from the glistening slit in the center of the crown of his cock.
Lightning crackles. Thunder booms.
His head whips around and our stares collide.
Hope you enjoyed!
Cheers,
Jianne
Getting both excited and apprehensive. So I thought I’d share excerpts every day this week. Here goes:
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law: Time travel is impossible—until it happens.
I am certifiable.
Time travel is impossible.
For the kazillionth time in the last seventy-two hours, I squeeze my eyes shut, beg God to make things right, and lift one lid.
Nada. Zippo. Nil.
I am still in the same room in some freaking castle in Wales.
I am still in fricking 1763.
Hugging my knees, I rock back and forth and bite my lips, hoping the stinging pain will stop another mother-lode sob session.
My glance falls on the rusty-colored iron trunk, and I reach out and touch it.
Solid. Cold. Real.
In the gloom and shadows, the three gold coins lying on the lumpy cot twinkle at me. Unable to resist, I pick one up, study the engravings, and trace a finger over the year, 1763.
A guttural shout comes from beyond the lone open window in the room, and my heart races. One thing I’ve learned in the last two days—privacy is nonexistent in 1763.
How much time do I have before they come for me?
“Get a grip, Emma Maria Perez. It’s use it or lose it time.” The sound of my voice is somehow comforting and normal—not crazy. I hop up onto the spartan cot. The mattress sinks under my weight, and a cloud of dust tickles my nose. Ignoring the mini sneezing fit that follows, I loosen the leather straps on the trunk from the brass buckles and lift the domed lid open.
The trunk’s about three feet by five feet and about two feet deep. It’s metal and wood and heavier than the speedboat anchor I’m used to hauling up by hand in Lake Boca Raton. It’d taken me ages to lug it to the coach stop, but it had been more than worth the effort. I dig around to find my backpack, flick the combo lock, and retrieve the ballpoint pen and paper appropriated from The Ratfyn Inn two days ago.
I am the kind of person who needs lists. Ordinarily, I compose my lists on my iPhone. A strangled sound more like a sob than a snort erupts from my throat. Tears brim and I grit my teeth.
No more crying.
Time travel doesn’t work the way it’s portrayed in movies and books.
Useless tools follow you in time, mocking you because you can’t use them. I have an iPhone that doesn’t work, a Kindle that won’t power on, and a set of remote keys for a rental car that no longer exists.
“Make a doggone list.” My death grip on the pen makes my fingertips burn. After flexing my hand a few times, I start to write.
Facts:
1. I am in Wye Court, Wales.
2. It’s November 2, 1763.
3. I left Boca Raton, Florida, on October 30, 2013.
A stomach cramp hits me, and I double over and wait the convulsions out. For two days, all I’ve had to eat were the three packs of freebie peanuts from the transatlantic plane ride. Temptation surges, my mouth waters, and I stare at the backpack. Shaking my head and clenching my jaw, I set aside the idea of eating one of the four Mars bars purchased while waiting for Heathrow’s airport train to take us to the car rental station. I’m a hoarder by nature, and I’m afraid to eat all my precious food until I know for certain I’ll be fed regularly.
I read what I’ve written and want to howl my frustration, my anger, my sheer terror. But I can’t because they can come for me at any moment, and I have to be prepared.
Hope you enjoyed and there’s more to come.
Happy Monday!
Cheers,
Jianne
I’m so excited about the release of That Pearly Drop, my first time-travel paranormal.
Here’s the tagline :
What do the hounds of hell, time travel, a murdered girl, a coach ticket to Wye Castle, and a governess letter of employment have to do with waking up in 1763, the mate of wolf-shifter, Ian, the Earl of Wye? Emma’s about to find out.
Blurb: Emma knows time travel’s impossible. So, the only other explanation for her going to sleep on Halloween night in 2013 and waking up in Wales in the year 1763 is that she’s insane. There’s a murdered girl, a coach ticket to Wye Castle, and a letter of employment to be governess to the Earl of Wye’s daughter. What’s a gal to do but go with the flow?
Wolf-shifter Ian, Earl of Wye, recognizes Emma as his mate instantly and senses she’s in danger. He knows Emma’s harboring a deep, dark secret. But, no matter what he does, she won’t confide in him. Then he finds Emma wounded and rambling about nine white gorgons who attacked her. The hounds of hell are Ian’s nemeses, and the fact they’ve reappeared in the mortal world after centuries of banishment can only mean one thing…
And here are Murphy’s first 36 Laws of Time Travel:
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #1: Time travel is impossible—until it happens.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #2: It doesn’t matter if it’s in the past, present, or future—the first person to fall into a pond is always the one who can’t swim.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #3: It doesn’t matter what century you’re in—sometimes you simply have to close your eyes and jump into the frying pan, or in this case, the murky pond.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #4: Colloquialisms will trip you up in every time (pun intended).
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #5: High society women eat like humming birds in every fricking century.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #6: Honesty is the best policy except if you’re in the wrong century.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #7: Playing a character in the past is harder than it looks in the present on TV, or is that the future if you’re stuck in 1763?
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #8: In 1763, thinking on your feet isn’t as important as thinking in your bed.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law 9: Lust clouds your thinking in any century.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #10: Unreality is preferable to believing time travel is possible if you’re trapped in the wrong century.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #11: There are no returns in time travel, so it’s best to avoid buyer’s remorse.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #12: Silence is your friend, but time travel gives you verbal diarrhea.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #13: An orgasm in the past is lost in the present and never achieved in the future, but the here and now orgasms rock!
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #14: A lie in the past can get you into just as much hot water as a lie in the present, which in this case happens to be in the past.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #15: In any century, if there’s an old biddy in the room, she’ll sharpen her claws on you and find some flaw to improve.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #16: Even in the past, eavesdroppers never hear any good about themselves.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #17: You don’t want to play truth or dare when you’re pretending to be someone else in any century.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #18: In any century, you have to cover your tracks when you assume someone else’s identity.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #19: Total amnesia is better than memories that aren’t true.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #20: While living in the past, if you used to live in the future, you really don’t want your future told.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #21: In any century, nursery rhymes are no solace when you’re confronted by blood-spewing monster-gorgons.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #22: Boob-pinchers are the scum of the planet in the past, present, and the future.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #23: The word boob fascinates all men in all times.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #24: Trying to find a win-win solution in the past should be easy if you’re a time traveller because you know the future, but if you’re in the past, are you in the present? Corollary: Will the past/present affect the future that’s already happened?
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #25: The other woman is a bitch in any century.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #26: Tea for two, and two for tea, sweetened with lies of the past, present, and future can only result in utter disaster.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #27: It’s impossible to predict who’ll shoot whom in any time.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #28: Rakes have preyed on women in the past and the present. Corollary: It’s Powerball odds they’ll continue to do so in the future.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #29: EpiPens are a gal’s best friend in any century.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #30: In any century, when you’re battling zombies, hobgoblins can be your best allies.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #31: Betrayal hurts in any century.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #32: When three coincidences collide, evil’s afoot in any century.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #33: Pinky swears are valid in the past, the present, and the future.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #34: Maggots, it turns out, are your friend in any century. Go figure.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #35: In the past, a gift duchess is worth more than a gift horse when you’re accused of witchcraft.
Murphy’s Time-Travel Law #36: Can a beginning that takes place in one century be felt or known in another?
Hope you got a chuckle out of at least one of them!
Cheers,
Jianne
