A glance at Jessica Jefferson, author of 'Compromising Miss Tisdale'

Get to know author Jessica Jefferson a little better with this brief glimpse into her personal life.

Which mythological creature are you most like?

My husband answered Medusa when I read this question aloud. What the heck? I think I’m more like a unicorn. Or at the very least, a horse with a party hat (is that mythological?).

What are four things you can’t live without?

Let’s get family out of the way. That should go without saying, but makes the answer far less interesting. So, soda is my number one. I’ve tried, but to no avail, I can’t quit soda. Then there’s my Kindle. It crapped out on me a few months ago and my husband practically had to peel me off the ceiling. Black sweat pants. I have both a casual and fancy pair – the fancy I reserve for trips to Wal-Mart and the like. And finally, I could not go anywhere without chapstick. I use it religiously. Looks like I’ve been kissing a pork chop, but I still think I need more.

What is your favorite television show?

Housewives of anywhere. It’s so wrong, and that makes it oh-so-right. I also love anything British, but only if it’s campy. None of that Merchant and Ivory business, I’m talking Ab Fab or Are You Being Served.

What is something you’ve lied about?

How I met my husband. I told everyone I met him at college. There were several versions of the story, but the most common was that we met while we both attended main campus Purdue. Close, but still a lie. We met online. Not even a classy site like match.com, but rather a chance meeting in a Yahoo chat room. I’m still not certain I’ve ever told my parents the truth. It’s one of those unwieldy lies that grows legs and you forget just whom and what version you’ve told.

COMPROMISING MISS TISDALE
By Jessica Jefferson
BLURB: 

Ambrosia Tisdale is the very picture of propriety and the epitome of what a respectable young lady should be. Haunted by a memory and compelled by her family, she pursues perfection to a fault.

The Earl of Bristol, Duncan Maddox, has returned to London after years of familial imposed exile. As the second son, he has led a life filled with frivolity, leisure, and a healthy dose of debauchery. Now his older brother has died, leaving the family’s flailing legacy in Duncan’s unwilling arms.

At the behest of his uncle, Duncan is advised to do the one thing that could provide instant fortune and respectability – he must marry. But there is only one prospect who meets the unique requirements to solve all the Earl’s problems – the lovely Miss Ambrosia Tisdale. But securing the prudent daughter of a Viscount’s hand proves to be more challenging than this scandal ridden second son of an Earl has bargained for.

With scandal, extortion, treachery, and even love itself threatening to keep him from his goal, will Duncan succeed in compromising Miss Tisdale?

Read an excerpt:

Duncan spun her around the room with a grace that was unprecedented, despite her extensive experience. She was suddenly very aware of her own awkward steps. Ambrosia raised her eyes to look into his, taking note of just how many lines crinkled at the corners when he smiled – which was often. He smiled much like her sister Tamsin – unadulterated, as if no care in the world can dampen their spirits. She was often jealous of her sister’s easy joy, but as she basked under the light of his, she too felt a bit more carefree.

And that was what attracted her to this wicked man - the expectations of society, of her family, and herself were made lighter by proxy.

The music coming from the orchestra drowned out the other couples and the spinning made her feel as if she were in some sort of inebriated state, despite only indulging in only two cups of ratafia. Ambrosia was by no means a dainty woman, but in his arms she felt as if she were light as air.

Duncan appeared cheerful, but not nearly as heady as she felt. “I hope you find my dancing agreeable. It is somewhat an area of pride for me. When I was younger, my uncle insisted I learn to dance well, and years later I am eternally grateful for the skill. In fact, I’ve been told many times that it is certainly the best thing I do . . . on two feet.” The gold flecks in his eyes flashed with the wicked innuendo of his statement.

AUTHOR INFORMATION:

Jessica Jefferson makes her home in northern Indiana, or as she likes to think of it – almost Chicago. Jessica originally attended college in hopes of achieving an English degree and writing the next great American novel. Ten years later she was working as a registered nurse and reading historical romance when she decided to give writing another go-round.

Jessica writes likes she speaks, which has a tendency to be fast paced and humorous. Jessica is heavily inspired by sweeping, historical romance novels, but aims to take those key emotional elements and inject a fresh blend of quick dialogue and comedy to transport the reader into a story they miss long after the last page is read. She invites you to visit her at jessicajefferson.com and read her random romance musings.

Jessica will be giving away a $50 Amazon or BN.com Gift Certificate. Enter the Rafflecopter below and follow the tour for your chances to win! a Rafflecopter giveaway

'Yeoman's Curse (The Kirsoval Scourge Book 2)' by T.C. Archer

Blurb

Some things lost are too dangerous to be found.

Some call her a pirate, but Destiny calls herself treasure hunter. When she and her lover Shane Richards happen upon a derelict Kirsoval harem slave ship, the Yeoman’s Curse, they chance a salvage operation that could be the bonanza of a lifetime…or a lifetime of horror. But when it comes to Kirsoval treasure, there may be no one better suited than Richards to face the dangers. His dark violet eyes are the only hint of the Kirsoval blood that flows through his veins—the very thing that might save them, or pit Destiny against the man she loves…

Read an excerpt:

He stepped into the hallway and down the ladder to a sealed hatchway. The door to the cargo bay slid open and Destiny’s heart jumped at the sight of the cages and crates that nearly filled the space. The hold had to be about fifteen meters tall and thirty wide, but it was hard to tell from the video. She put the length at about fifty meters with a whitish light at the far end—probably the passage to the bridge and slave master’s quarters. The walls of the cargo hold had the typical honeycomb structure—several levels offset from each other for cells that housed slaves.

The Kirsovals’ genetically modified intelligence averaged the same as normal humans, but had a wider spread. Some could be very, very, smart and others dumb as a toad. Rumor was, they ate infants with below average intelligence. Destiny shivered. Nobody knew what went on in a Kirsoval hive. No one had ever gotten out of one alive. Richards was one of only thirty-seven registered humans with Kirsoval DNA. The doctors had traced his ancestry in a direct line to a distant great-grandmother. That made him one of the six of that thirty-seven who got their Kirsoval blood from a direct descendant. The others inherited Kurse DNA from one hundred percent human ancestors who had been genetically altered.

The center alleyway of the hold was open and littered with individual cages and ploy-plastic shipping crates common to the Kirsoval. Excitement tingled deep in her belly and she straightened in her seat. What valuable technology and trade goods might be inside those crates?

“There’s still gravity,” Richards said. “How can that be without some kind of electromagnetic emission?”

“Kirsoval technology, maybe, or something well shielded.”

“Damn, Angel. Who’s to say there’s not a lot more going on behind that shielding?”

“Do you see anyone?”

“No. Nothing on the heat sensors either. I’m taking my helmet off.” The picture jerked, panned, and tilted at the deck. “Hello? Anyone here?”

Destiny held her breath. The only sound that came over his link was a clicking noise like a relay that kept rhythm with the flickering lights.

“Did you hear that?” Richards asked.

“Hear what?”

“A whisper.”

“One sec.” She rewound the recording that replayed the sound. “Nothing here.”

“I heard a whisper that sounded like ‘There you are.’”

Her pulse skipped a beat before she remembered that Richards was a superstitious man. It was strange in a man as big and tough as him, but he believed in ghosts, the afterlife, and generally things that went bump in the night. She teased him mercilessly about it, but he never budged an inch in his beliefs.

“You’re just being—”

His video feed flickered and cut out.

“What the—Richards?”

No reply.

Her heart went into hyper-drive. “Dammit. Get back here. It’s a trap.” Destiny poised her hand over the cutting lasers. Could she cut a hole and grab him in the tractors as he and the air blew out of the hole? “Richards!”

“What?” came his voice.

“What happened? I lost your video feed.”

The sound of him smacking his helmet came over the audio. “Duh-know. I’m fine.”

Destiny blew out a breath. “Time to come back, Mister.” Sending him in—stopping to investigate—had been one colossal mistake. Near silence stretched over the audio link, clicking, clicking, clicking. “Richards? Do me a favor and put your helmet back on.”

She shouldn’t have allowed him to take off his helmet. She’d have to cut, grab, tractor, and get him onto the Pale Dawn fast. If she opened the outer lock door and left the air valves open, he’d get oxygen quicker. He still risked a blown eardrum, or two. Maybe an aneurism.

“Richards!” She drew a mental circle on the Kirsoval ship where he was likely to be without her hitting him with the beam. “Richards. Answer me.”

“Looks like—what the—”

“What is it?”

The sound of him drawing his weapon came over the link. “There’s someone here.”

She scanned the sensor displays. Nothing showed except him. No radio wave activity. Thermal looked stable, cold as hell. No subspace or warp bubble activity. “Sensors show no life signs other than yours aboard. Put on your helmet, you fool.” She scooted closer to the cutting lasers. Damn him for taking off his helmet.

“I don’t know what, but something is here. Can’t see him, but I can feel him.”

“Him?” she echoed.

“Just saying, not thinking.”

What the hell did that mean? He was losing it. Despite his superstitions, she had never known him to show fear or dread. That was part of the Kurse. Especially when he was outnumbered, like he’d been by those pirates, he was cool and collected, almost detached like a machine, and that freaked the hell out of everyone else, including her.

So what now? Destiny looked at the sensors. There was nothing unusual about the ship except for the fact it was intact, a slave ship, still had gravity, life support, no signs of damage or foul play, and what else? What the hell else did she need? That was way too many coincidences. The long-range sensors showed quiet space all around. The sooner they cut the thing up and got out, the better.

A sharp intake of breath came over the audio.

“What happened?” Destiny set the laser on low and centered the beam on the Yeoman’s hull. At low power, the laser wasn’t cutting, but was drawing a wide circle where she wanted to cut. She kept the tractor beam poised and on automatic in readiness to grab him as he was expelled along with the air inside the ship.

“The lights went out,” he said.

Her heart pounded. “I heard a gasp. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. So you’re getting back here, right?”

“There is only one light on now. I think whoever’s here wants me to go to the bridge.”

“There’s no one aboard, dammit. The lasers are warmed up. We’ll cut this tub from the safety of our ship. Get back here. Now.”

“Yeah,” he replied, but she didn’t feel any better.

Book buy links

Also available at All Romance

Bio—

T. C. Archer is comprised of award winning authors Evan Trevane and Shawn M. Casey. They live in the Northeast. Evan has a Ph.D. in electrical engineering, and Shawn is a small business owner. Their collaboration began on a lark with the post WWII film noir story The Pickle My Little Friend, and has evolved into over a dozen works, which includes their new series The Phenom League, and Daphne Du Maurier winner the romantic thriller For His Eyes Only.

A chat with Qwillia Rain, author of the 'Diablo Blanco Club' Series about BDSM misconceptions

Author Qwillia Rain returns to Books to Light Your Fire for a little chat about the misconceptions about BDSM. Feel free to leave your own comments and questions below!

*Looks at the list of subjects. Heavy sigh. Peers over the page, blinks* You want me to talk about misconceptions in BDSM in *gulp* less than 750 words? *mutters under my breath* Oh my, you are a brave soul. *Takes a deep breath, grabs a Dr Pepper, plops down in a comfy chair, and motions for readers to take a seat* I’ll try to keep this short, but I make no promises.

Disclaimer: While I don’t practice BDSM, I have done research, interviewed people in the Lifestyle, and attended a conference with BDSM related demonstrations.

Since the publication of my first novel, Santa’s Elf, six years ago, I’ve encountered quite a few misconceptions about BDSM during conversations with writers, readers, and editors. The top three conversational nuggets that grate on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard are:

BDSM is all about sex

Doms (always men) control everything, and subs (always women) are spineless doormats

BDSM novels appeal to a niche audience and have no place in the mainstream market

*Sets down my soda, drags over a soapbox and steps onto it* BDSM is a lifestyle. A choice. A philosophy predicated upon honest, open communication between partners. Expectations and consequences are established up front—clearly stated, discussed, and agreed upon—which establishes a foundation for a healthy BDSM relationship and grounds it in mutual respect and trust between partners. It allows safe exploration and experimentation that supports and celebrates the expression of one’s true nature.

In a nutshell:

BDSM is about total acceptance of one’s self and partner.

*Putting away my soapbox and returning to my chair* Now, about those conversational nuggets:

“BDSM is all about sex”

Honey, sex has nothing to do with BDSM and BDSM has nothing to do with sex. *Raising a hand to stop the deluge of comments* Hold on. Let me clarify. Married people have sex, right? But sex isn’t the reason people get married. In that same vein, there can be sex in a BDSM relationship, yet it isn’t the purpose of the relationship.

Takeaway point here:

BDSM is more mental than physical. It’s about trust, respect, and power exchange between equal partners.

“Doms (always men) control everything, and subs (always women) are spineless doormats.”

*Hand up* Raise your hand if a picture of some domineering asshat in a leather thong, swinging a riding crop and yelling, “Call-me-Master” just flashed through your mind. *passes out the brain bleach* First off, not all Dominants are men and not all submissives are women. There are even some—called switches, like Ben Murphy and Vance Justiss, my characters in Under Control—who like taking on both roles—Dominant and submissive—depending on their partner or the situation.

As for Doms having all the power—not true.

In BDSM, Power ≠ Control; Submission ≠ Subjugation; Dominance ≠ Domineering. (I have to admit this is my biggest pet peeve.) A Dominant doesn’t force the submissive to cede control over to him; she chooses to give him control. She also establishes the terms of the transfer, and the Dominant respects her decisions. A Dom can propose what will happen in a scene, the sub is the one with veto power. She can say no to the scene outright or use her safe word to end it.

For the uninitiated, in BDSM a safe word is a word you don’t say on a daily basis. Mike and Lyssa in Rite of First Claim used “dragon”. *Looking at the suspicious expressions* Think about it. How many times have you been, ahem, in the moment and chanting “no, no…” while in your head it’s “please, don’t stop”. You definitely don’t want the fun to end.

With a safe word a sub can chant “no” or “stop” until the cows come home and her Dom won’t stop. She pops off with “Sacagawea” or “platypus” it’s over. In short, a safe word = veto power.

Bottom line:

A submissive isn’t subjugated, and a Dom may be in control, but it’s conditional.

“BDSM novels only appeal to a niche audience and have no place in the mainstream market.”

This one is often delivered in an ‘I’m telling you this for your own good’ tone.

*Snort. Snicker. Cough* First—what the heck is a niche audience? I’m thinking they mean people who practice BDSM. Yeah, right. Wouldn’t all those readers of Fifty Shades like to know they’re a niche audience. Regardless of whether someone did or didn’t like the trilogy, I recognize that it tapped into readers’—male and female—primal and instinctive craving to relinquish control. Yet, in my humble opinion, what Fifty Shades missed is:

BDSM relationships are built on mutual trust and respect between partners.

Now that I’ve said my piece, I would love to hear from readers. What questions do you have about BDSM? What appeals to you? What don’t you like?

DIABLO BLANCO CLUB

By

Qwillia Rain

BLURBS:

Diablo Blanco Club: Unfair Advantage

Publisher: Downtime Press

ISBN: 978-1-939171-00-9

Genre: BDSM Erotic Contemporary

Length: Novel

Cover Artist: Lindsay Breen

Price: $4.99

Eight years of waiting hadn't effected Dominant Bryce Halsey the way the last seven days had tested his control. Matie Lawrence, his perfect submissive, stood before him unaware of her potential, ready to be tutored in the lifestyle.

Battles will be won and lost between them, but the war for a Dominant's heart is a war Mattie is determined to win.

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal sex, bondage, domination/submission, toy play.

Excerpt :

A master controls no one if he cannot control himself. The saying floated through Bryce’s mind in the interval following Rick’s comment. He split his attention between Rick’s grumblings and the couple across the room while he consumed the delicious prime rib dinner before him. He was working on an after-dinner coffee the waiter had poured when he spotted the first touch. 

It had been subtle, just the slide of Victor’s hand over hers, but Lawrence’s body stiffened, and she eased away from the man the tiniest bit. Hackles rising, Bryce leaned back in the booth, his focus on the pair across the room. “Well, what have you heard about him?” 

“He’s the perfect gentleman until he feels it’s time he doesn’t have to be anymore.”  

Rick cursed beneath his breath as Victor tried to stroke his hand down his date’s arm. 

Again she stiffened and moved away, her chair lurching slightly as she nudged it farther right. 

“You’re not going to do anything about this?” Rick met his gaze. His gray eyes were disbelieving, almost accusatory. 

“Why should I?” 

“You’ve spent the last eight years waiting, Bryce. Are you going to let another man take what you’ve been preparing?” He shook his head and scraped his fingers through his neatly styled brown hair. “Hell, I haven’t been able to figure out why you just didn’t claim her when she first showed up.” 

“She wasn’t ready.” The tension in his neck eased as Bryce recalled the anger and defiance dancing in Lawrence’s brown gaze. In many ways, she’d been wise beyond her twenty-two years, but in the most important ones, she’d been far too young for what he wanted.

Available on Amazon

Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control

Publisher: Downtime Press

ISBN: 978-1-939171-01-6

Genre: BDSM LGBT Erotic Contemporary

Length: Novella

Cover Artist: Q. Williams

Price: $3.99

Vance was used to facing death and confronting terrorists in war, but when it comes to confessing his act of betrayal to the man he loves, Vance finds it impossible to keep his feelings Under Control.

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal sex, bondage, domination/submission, toy play.

Available on Amazon

Diablo Blanco Club: Rite of First Claim
Publisher: Downtime Press
ISBN: 978-1-939171-02-3
Genre: BDSM Erotic Contemporary
Length: Novel
Cover Artist: Q. Williams
Price: $5.99

What's a Dom to do when the submissive he wants runs from the feelings between them?

From the moment he met Lyssa Lawrence, Mike Halsey knew what he felt was love -- not lust. Convincing her has been an uphill battle even after the two steamy hours they'd shared at the Diablo Blanco Club four years earlier.

Lyssa Lawrence wished the man who claimed to love her wasn't so damned appealing. Eight years of denying the pull of her submissive nature almost went up in smoke four years ago, but she'd gathered the nerve to tell him 'no' when he asked for more. She'd have stayed away for good if her biological clock hadn't hiccuped, threatening her dreams of motherhood.

In the same way she'd strategized her success in fashion design, Lyssa worked out a plan to get the baby she wanted. The Diablo Blanco Club's annual Midnight Masquerade would provide a number of potential donors to choose from. What she hadn't bargained on was Mike's interference through an arcane Club rule.

When Mike invoked Rite of First Claim, Lyssa finally became his. Now, he has one month to prove that the role of his submissive was one she was born to play.

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: BDSM theme and elements.

Available on Amazon

Diablo Blanco Club: Santa's Elf

Publisher: Downtime Press

ISBN: 978-1-939171-04-7

Genre: BDSM Erotic Contemporary

Length: Novel

Cover Artist: Lindsay Breen

Price: $4.99

After four years of unrequited love, and steamy fantasies, Elfina "Elf" Jeffries has just about given up on gaining her boss's attention. How was any self-respecting woman supposed to seduce a man who was oblivious to her cues? Then the first gift arrived...

Every Santa needs an Elf, and Dayton Kringle is no exception. His offer for a temporary affair, just long enough to get from Christmas Eve to New Year's, will satisfy a four-year craving.

His is a simple design:

One beautiful Elf

Twelve sexy gifts

A little spanking

Some light bondage

And ten days of no-strings sex

make one very satisfied Santa. But when the ten days are up, will he be able to give up the Elf of his wildest Dominant dreams?

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal sex, bondage, domination/submission, toy play.

Available on Amazon

AUTHOR INFORMATION:

Born in California but raised in Las Vegas, Nevada, Qwillia Rain embraces fully the independent spirit of the West she grew up in, even if she currently resides in North Carolina.

Qwillia has worked at a diverse mix of jobs including casino change person, bill collector, book store and video store clerk, and computer teacher to Kindergarten through 8th graders, but writing has always been part of her life.

In 2007 her first book (recently revised and self-published) Santa's Elf, was published, opening a whole new world where she can play with her characters and get paid for it.

Links:

Website: www.authorqwilliarain.com

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/Qwillia

Fan Page:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Qwillia-Rain-Fan-Page/234065069968987

Twitter: @Qwillia
Blog: http://authorqwilliarain.blogspot.com

Qwillia will be awarding a grand prize of a messenger bag, pens, post-it notes, and a key-chain wallet (No geographical restrictions) as well as three Amazon gift cards: $20, $10 and $5 to randomly drawn commenters during the tour. Follow the tour for more chances to win!