Peanut Blossoms and the Matchmaking Kitten

 

Peanut Blossoms and the Matchmaking Kitten

A Christmas Cookies Novel

by Claire Davon

Genre: Sweet Holiday Romance 

Oriana's first Christmas away from her family promises to be a lonely one—until a two-pound bundle of kitten trouble shows up! When the kitten's owner, her neighbor Jet, takes Oriana under his wing, she tries to tell herself that he would do this for anyone, but she can't help but hope for more.

Will she find her Christmas miracle at the paws of a mischievous kitten? Or will the holiday be as lonely as she anticipated? She expects the latter but wishes for the former. Anything is possible at Christmas.

Excerpt

“Meow.”

The grey and white cat rubbed against my leg and then tried to climb up it. His sharp claws dug into my calf. I bent down to remove him from my flesh at the same time someone knocked on my door.

“Who is it?” Scooping up the kitty I tucked him in the crook of my elbow as I went to the door.

I peered through the peephole and my breath caught. Standing outside my door was a delicious hunk of man. He had a tousled, distracted air and was sweaty. His sweatpants and sneakers suggested he had been running. I hadn’t heard him leave, but the apartments that direction were near a back staircase. 

“It’s Jet. Your neighbor. Sorry to be a bother. Your light is on so I’m hoping I didn’t wake you. I’m looking for a cat. Did you see one by any chance?”

Good looking men made great criminals. “Describe the cat.”

His smile even through the distortion of the peephole could have lit a hundred women on fire.

“The rascal is grey and white. Got a purr like a freight train and a bit of grease on his tail from where he was stuck in the car engine.”

Trusting strangers was how people died. “How do I know you’re my neighbor?” The cat wriggled and I let him jump down. He scurried to the kitchen and tried to leap onto the counter, but missed. He bounced and then straightened, shaking his body before he started grooming himself.

“I reckon you’re right. Can’t be too careful. Back in a jiffy.”

I glanced at the cat as his footsteps retreated and then returned. 

“Here.” Something slid under my door. A driver’s license. It bore an awful picture of the man I had seen in the peephole and identified him as Jethro Tallans, resident of my apartment complex.

“I guess you are who you say you are.” I reached for a spoon anyway, just in case. 

“Yes ma’am. Have you seen my cat?”

I kept the spoon at the ready and opened the door.

The kitty paid him no attention when Jethro stepped inside, but I did. All my senses roared to life at the incredible 6’2” specimen of man. His hair was brown with streaks of red and his eyes were the kind of color people called hazel. He had a marvelous body with wide shoulders that begged to be leaned on. His legs…well…I could imagine them on mine. 

I stared at him for a beat too long. A smile tugged at Jethro’s lips. He held out his hand for his license. I handed it back to him, my cheeks reddening in the quiet.

“Jet?”

“My uncle is named Jethro. I don’t cotton to the name. Been Jet all my life.”

He had a faint twang that placed him somewhere down south, but I didn’t know a Texas accent from a Louisiana one. I’d been told they were different. 

“Hi, Jet.” I put the spoon down and offered him my hand. “I’m Oriane. Is this your kitten?”

“Meow. Meow.” The kitty clawed at my ankle and I swooped down to grab him. Jet held his hands out for the cat and I deposited him in his hands. 

“Yes ma’am. This rascal’s mine, at least for now.” He gave the kitten a scratch and the loud purr that accompanied the caress rumbled through its small body. “Two days ago, I was at the mall and I heard meowing. He must have crawled into the pickup’s engine and fell asleep there. Guy who owned the car barely gave me time to get him out. He blazed out of there as soon as I freed the scamp.”

Good looking and he rescued animals. I had to fight to keep from swooning right then and there.

“How did he get into the hallway?”

Jet gave a rueful, lopsided grin that just about had me turning to mush. “He slipped outside when I was fixin’ to go on my run.” He gestured toward my front door. “Scared me to death when I came home and couldn’t find him.” His relieved smile told me that he was telling the truth.

“I’m glad he’s okay. You’ve got an escape artist on your hands.”

“I know.”

“What are you naming him?” I doubted he would keep the kitten but maybe he would find it a good home.

“I should call him hellion but I’m thinking Buster. I have a feeling he’s going to be busting a lot of things.”

We were winding down on small talk and I had to let him make a graceful exit. Even though I didn’t want to.

“Buster. You’re one lucky cat Buster. Jet, it was nice to meet you. I should let you get this crazy feline back to your place.”

Jet gestured to the cookie makings on my counter. “And I’ll let you get back to whatever tasty treat you have there. Nice to meet you, neighbor. Oriane. You know where to come if you need to borrow a cup of sugar.” His eyes twinkled and it was all I could do to keep from passing out.

“I suppose I do.”

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Claire can’t remember a time when writing wasn’t part of her life. Growing up, she used to write stories with her friends. As a teenager she started out reading fantasy and science fiction, but her diet quickly changed to romance and happily-ever-after’s. A native of Massachusetts and cold weather, she left all that behind to move to the sun and fun of California, but has always lived no more than twenty miles from the ocean.

In college she studied acting with a minor in creative writing. In hindsight she should have flipped course studies. Before she was published, she sold books on eBay and discovered some of her favorite authors by sampling the goods, which was the perfect solution. Claire has many book-irons in the fire, most notably her urban fantasy series, The Elementals’ Challenge series, but writes contemporary and shifter romances as well as.

While she’s not a movie mogul or actor, she does work in the film industry with her office firmly situated in the 90210 district of Hollywood. Prone to break out into song, she is quick on feet and just as quick with snappy dialogue. In addition to writing she does animal rescue, reads, and goes to movies. She loves to hear from fans, so feel free to drop her a line.

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Underestimate Me Excerpt and Review

 

Underestimate Me – That’ll Be Fun

by Furiosa

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GENRE: Non-Fiction

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BLURB:

This book is a collection of rants, opinions, and observations on random subjects that I scribbled while running away from and toward my true self.

I hope my words can show others that there is life after years of breaking rocks on society's conformity chain gang and that real empowerment is being yourself and not what others tell you that you should be. You cannot sit and read the book of your life as it unfolds. You must write the next page yourself. That is the way to growth and to peace and yes, you can be homesick for places you have never been.

Book description by my Inner voice: This is a chunk of at times incoherent ramblings on life and people one meets as they wander aimlessly on the internet and through the so-called real world... a shambolic, circumlocutious clustershtuck of a sometimes crap-infused, possibly drug-fuelled word salad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Exclusive Excerpt

Inner Voice

If your inner voice had a face, you would punch it

It almost never shuts up

It chains you to a reality that is defined by someone else

It filters your beliefs

It keeps you in your limited safety zone

It keeps you uncomfortably comfortable in a state of inaction, but to grow and learn you have to step out of the comfort zone. You have to be uncomfortable and push past it. 

It is better to regret what you did than to regret what you didn’t do because you were afraid. If you aren’t afraid once in a while, you’re not challenging yourself and you’re not growing. 

Sometimes you have to shut off the voice in your head and listen to your heart. Do not let your inner voice talk to you in a manner you would not use with your loved ones in or in a way that you would not accept from someone else. 

Inner voice: I am reality, Sugar. Maybe they should learn to deal with reality.

Furiosa: Maybe they don’t want to be chained to a reality whose limits are set by someone else! We already covered this. Try to keep up, Sugar!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Review

If you have a crappy inner critic that needs a hot steaming cup of STFU, this book may provide the encouragement you need to help you make that cup for her. For decades, my own inner critic has continued doing the work of the bullies who made my life miserable in school. Only now that I am closing in on 60 years old have I been able to start shutting her down. I don't want to spend the rest of my life listening to the garbage opinions of such a miserable bitch, and this book reinforces my need to fight against my own self-limiting inner voice.

The author and I are alike in some ways but extremely different in others. She appreciates using profanity and snarkiness to shut down those who would place limits on us, including, and perhaps especially, that omnipresent Inner Ninny. I appreciate doing the same. She was raised Catholic, as was I. She likes music from bands like The Who, and that is my kind of music. I resonated with her on many of the things that she said.

The author has the courage to speak her mind. She talks about the ways in which modern "feminism" is undoing the work done during the second wave of feminism. I secretly declared myself a feminist in 1973 at eight years old after being told for the zillionth time about what girls "couldn't" do (anything fun or interesting) and having what girls are "supposed" to do reinforced. Basically, it boils down to "become a Stepford wife." I didn't know what a Stepford wife was when I was eight, but I knew what I didn't want out of life.

The author proudly wears Louboutin shoes and, at least in her promo photo, looks quite glamorous. I wear orthotic shoes and generally look like an unmade bed. I did insist on orthotic shoes that look like regular walking shoes. 

The only thing that I disliked about the book were the places where the author made what I feel are harmful generalizations about certain people. In one instance she mentions "women who sit home Saturday nights with their six cats, shoveling Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream straight from the bucket into their pie holes while complaining that there are no real men around anymore."

As someone who has lived through crippling depression and anxiety as well as sexual assault and who has been struggling with an eating disorder since I was twelve years old, I loathe this trope. I did have six cats at one point and I preferred their company to the company of men who were likely to abuse me because that was the kind of man I tended to attract. My self-esteem was extremely low and I had not yet learned to respect myself. Sometimes I starved myself and sometimes I binged. Someone who is doing that sort of thing isn't happy. 

Cats don't have anything to do with the eating disorder, PTSD, and self-loathing that I was dealing with. However, I do happen to like them better than I like people most of the time. I despise the "crazy cat lady" stereotype. The "crazy cat lady" is someone who is hurting badly and people should have sympathy for her.

When the author used the term "soy boy" I wondered what the heck that was. I thought maybe it was something similar to what I call a "wokebro," which is a guy who calls himself a feminist and then proceeds to scold women who speak out about their lived experiences. I also thought perhaps a "soy boy" might be a "Nice Guy (TM)",  a guy who pretends to be sympathetic to women so he can get in their pants. His true colors show when he gets "friend-zoned" and he starts calling the woman he was fixating on all manner of nasty names.

I learned that "soy boy" is a term meaning a man lacking any masculine qualities and this term tends to be popular with alt-right groups and incels, which left a bad taste in my mouth. I don't like reinforcing the idea that "effeminate" men should be targeted for bullying. "Soy boy" is a bit too close to "f*ggot" for my liking.

Overall, I appreciate the author's courage and the quality of her writing. I rate Underestimate Me four out of five stars.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Furiosa has been expressing her thoughts and ideas on paper, walls, and sidewalks since she could hold a crayon. Though she only recently published her first book, Underestimate Me. That’ll be Fun! She identifies as a bestselling author.  She wants you to know that being yourself is your superpower.  Furiosa loves autobiographies, classic old movies, all genres of music, chasing stars, and visiting far-flung places via roads less travelled.

CONNECT WITH Furiosa:

WEBSITE: https://furiosabooks.com/

FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/people/Furiosa-Jones/100073421539012/

GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21918421.Furiosa

PURCHASE LINKS : Underestimate Me. That’ll Be Fun!

AMAZON.COM- https://amazon.com/dp/0228855225

BOOKSHOP-https://bookshop.org/books/underestimate-me-that-ll-be-fun-9780228855224/9780228855224

INDIGO CHAPTERS-https://www.chapters.indigo.ca/en-ca/books/underestimate-me-thatll-be-fun/9780228855248-item.html

BARNES & NOBLE-

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/underestimate-me-thatll-be-fun-furiosa/1140324595

BOOK DEPOSITORY-https://www.bookdepository.com/Underestimate-Me-Thatll-Be-Fun-Furiosa/9780228855224

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mara of the League Excerpts and Giveaway

 

The Witches of Crannock Dale

Mara of the League Book 1

by Thomas M. Kane

Genre: Fantasy 

When an enemy army threatens eleven-year old Mara’s home, she makes up her mind to save her family, one way or another. But when the knights protecting her village arrest her favorite aunt for witchcraft, she discovers that the difference between friend and foe may not be as obvious as she once thought.

This is a story of war and espionage, set in a low fantasy world. It is also about a child getting to know her mother and father in a new way.

Chapter One: Metasmart

A week and two days before my twelfth birthday, the church bell rang.

Up until then, it had seemed like a normal day. Mamma had told me to practice my arithmetic. At first, I shook my head so hard that my braids flew, but Mamma sighed at me the way she sighs at Pappy.

“Mara Elspeth Bennet, just yesterday your Grampy asked me whether you could divide, and I had to tell him no.” After that, I felt really small, so I let her write out some problems on my slate. 

I took the slate and two pieces of chalk down Crannock Hill to Grampy’s mill pond and tried to make a start, but I hated division, so what I really did was sit on a big rock and smell the grass and watch the water turn golden in the late afternoon sun. Division doesn’t make sense to me. You have to figure out how many times one number goes into another, and there seems to come a time where you just have to guess. So, I dug the side of my slate with a fingernail and thought about other things. I thought mainly about justice. Most of the girls in Crannock Dale learned their letters and maybe sums

and that was enough. I was the only one who had to keep on with numbers, and I didn’t think it was fair.

Just because Pappy went to school in Caer City is no reason. Once, I remembered, I said that to Mamma.

Mamma told me I had a choice—if I didn’t learn arithmetic, I could grow up to be a farmhand’s wife. When Mamma says you have a choice, she means you don’t.

Another time, I complained about numbers to Pappy. He told me that the reason why I had to study things other children didn’t was that I was smart. I said I wished I was smart enough to get out of studying arithmetic. He said that would be metasmart. I think that’s a word he made up, but I like it.

Anyway, while I was thinking about those things, the bell donged. And it was Nurnsday. My first thought was to be glad because it wasn’t division, and maybe there would be some excitement. The bell was supposed to ring on Yisday. First, the people in Minton Pass were supposed to ring their bell, and when we heard it, we were supposed to ring ours. Then the people in Merryhock and Glenet Bridge were supposed to hear us, and they were supposed to ring their bells to warn the villages farther down the valley. That was how we practiced spreading the alarm, so we would know how to call for help

if the Pure Men of Waan attacked.

Once, when Pappy and Mamma and I were having dinner with Grampy, I said that if I was Queen of Waan, I would invade on a Yisday, so that when the bells rang, people would think it was just for practice. Everyone laughed, even my grandfather, as if it was a joke. I laughed too, because I was pleased to have the grown-ups listening to me, but I thought I really would.

Now I wouldn’t, because now I knew that queens aren’t important in Waan. No one told me that. I found out for myself. My uncle Tate bought a broadsheet pamphlet about Waanish depravities. It was full of words which I’m not supposed to say, but he forgot and left it on a chair when my mamma took me to his house for a visit.

While the grown-ups were talking, I read the parts of the broadsheet that were facing up. That’s how I learned that kings in Waan have lots of wives, and that they keep them locked up. They also have concubines and catamites, who count for even less. So, now I would never be on their side.

After the bell rang, there were a few minutes in which nothing seemed to have changed. The paddlewheel was still splashing around in the stream, and the same growling noise was still coming from inside the mill. Then I heard another faint chime. This one came from the hills behind me. That meant the Minton bell was ringing after ours, and that the alarm was spreading from south to north. And we never practiced like that, because Waan was north of us.

That was when I realized that something real was happening. And that was when I got scared.

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The Rebels of Caer City

Mara of the League Book 2

Throughout five years at a strict boarding school, Mara has turned to her friend Annie-Rose for comfort. Now Annie has disappeared. Mara teams up with two other students – bold Gretchen and soft-spoken Ginny -- to find her missing friend. Together, Mara, Gretchen and Ginny take on a conspiracy involving some of the most dangerous people in their world.

 

 Our school dresses were slate gray, at least there was that. No one walking by on the clifftops was likely to look down and spot us in the gloom. The sun was going down behind the cliffs, and shadows were reaching for the sea. A breaker swept toward us, crested, and fell back with a growl. My friends and I were, I noted with relief, the only people on the beach. 

Despite the darkness, I felt exposed, hemmed in between the surf and the cliffsides. The path up the cliffs was at least a quarter of a mile behind us. Ahead, the stony shoreline stretched on for perhaps three more miles. And if we continued to the end of the beach, I thought, and rounded Turnbow Head, we would come to the Caer City docks. That was hardly the place for three seventeen-year-old St. Alexander’s girls to be after dark. 

Gretchen led the way, splashing through a tidepool. Ginny hesitated. Then she lifted her skirts to her knees and followed. I took the rear, pausing occasionally to glance at the clifftops, and at our route back to the path. 

“Here we are, people.” Gretchen stepped up on a seaworn boulder and faced us. Masses of seaweed clung to the stone beneath her feet. My father had been a sailor, and he once told me that the kind of seaweed grasping at our feet is called knotted wrack. I thought of knots, and of the rack. I was in that kind of mood. 

Gretchen looked at me. “Well, Mara, you said you wanted to see the place for yourself. What do you think?” 

All of us turned and gazed at the limestone precipice to our west. The cliffs rose to a peak a good two hundred feet above our heads. A lone tree stood at the top of the cliff, its leafless branches sloping back from the sea. The smell of knotted wrack hung in the air. 

Ginny shuddered. “I don’t like it.” 

“If Annie jumped here, that was the end of her.” Gretchen shook her head. “Holy, heavenly Belthor.” 

“If she jumped here, it would have killed her.” I felt a horrible lump in my throat. “But . . . but look at that.” I turned my head to glance at the sea. “The water is a good twenty yards from the cliffside. And the tide was full when we got to the beach. Mistress Franklin said she jumped at dawn. The tide was out then—there’s an almanac in the school library—I checked.” 

“So, what are you saying, girl? 

“I’m saying there’s no way she would have ended up in the ocean. She would have hit the rocks, and the city watch would have found her body.” 

“You say that girl—” Gretchen gazed at me for a moment. “Maybe she lay there for a while and the tide came in?” 

“No. I mean, not if Headmistress Franklin told us the truth. The headmistress said the clamdiggers saw her while she was still alive. It was dawn then, and the watch started looking for her right afterward.” 

“So . . . what do you think happened?” To my ears, Gretchen’s voice had taken on a needling tone. 

“I have no idea.” I felt as if Gretchen had been trying to force me to confess that, and I was cross about having to gratify her. “But I think the headmistress lied to us. I think Pastor Avery lied to us. Everyone is lying to us—" 

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The Hideous Garden

Mara of the League Book 3

After surviving a fiery assassination attempt, the League’s honorable new ruler resolves to end a twenty-five-year war. Mara, now director of the League’s spy service, warns that he is walking into a trap. As Mara argues for increasingly ruthless policies, she must ask herself whether she likes the person she has become.

This is a story of intrigue and military strategy, set in a low fantasy world. It is also a story of a political marriage which could be more.

“If I may, Your Righteousness . . .” Mara adjusted her glasses. “Permit me to say your plan appears promising. The Vale of Skells looks like an ideal place for a raid. More than two hundred of the Claimant’s men are wintering in a fortified manor house belonging to the Laird of Skellrig. For once, we know where to find them. They’re on low ground, and their walls won’t stand up to modern gunnery. They’re vulnerable.”

Orlando let out his breath, relieved that Mara was not going to argue with his decision.

“My greatest concern is that this raid is only that, a raid. Losing Skellrig Manor is not going to hurt the Claimant very much—”

“I’m sorry, I thought you understood.” Orlando raised a hand. “We are attacking Skellrig Manor for political purposes, not military ones.”

“I am not sure one can make a sharp distinction between politics and war.” Mara’s expression darkened. “The raid on Skellrig Manor would make more sense if we followed it up with additional attacks on a larger scale, and if we left garrisons to hold the territory we recaptured. We need to stop letting the Claimant’s men use western Brynmaer as a sanctuary. Otherwise, whenever they’re in danger, all they need do is fall back a few miles and shout ‘olly-olly-oxenfree!’”

“There are broader considerations.” Orlando cultivated the same reasonable tone he occasionally used with Deborah. “We’re trying to prod Ganbataar to negotiate. If we push too hard near his borders, he may turn stubborn. Besides, we have our own people to think about.  One foray will be controversial enough. If we launched a whole series, can you imagine the protests there’d be?”

“The protesters make everything harder.” Mara paused for a moment. “Which is, of course, their job. But strange as this may sound, I share the genuine protesters’ concerns. At the moment, we’re not really fighting the Claimant’s men at all. We are but playing a cruel game of tag with them in our allies’ country, and games of this sort can go on forever. All of us are taking losses, and the worst suffering is falling upon Brynish farmers caught in the middle. I would like to change this, and although I do not expect antiwar activists to agree with my methods, I am, like them, trying to save lives.”

“I might have known. I choose the most aggressive strategy my most generals dare propose, and your response is that I haven’t gone far enough.” Orlando smiled at the irony.

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The Rending of the World

Mara of the League Book 4

“Give me the summer and I will give you the continent.”
--Un-Jargal Boyan, Supreme Commander of the Waanling Host

Chief spy Mara Bennet's worst fears come true when the Commonwealth of Waan invades her homeland. To complicate matters, Mara and her country's ruler are stranded in a remote northern realm. The two of them must outrun enemy warships on a perilous sea voyage home. Meanwhile fourteen-year-old Princess Deborah finds herself unexpectedly on the throne.

Can Deborah learn to rule in the midst of treachery? Can Mara use her strategic skills to turn back the Waanling onslaught? Will pillaging armies reduce the land to famine? Find out in The Rending of the World.

Rending features seven maps detailing battle plans and troop movements. Its author has eighteen years experience teaching strategic studies at university level. He has published eight non-fiction books on international relations and war.

Horseshoes rang against rocks. Jason saw his lead rider, Coulson, on the far side of the summit. Coulson was turning his horse, as if to canter back to the main group. Horsemen in the felt caps and brown coats of Waanling light cavalry emerged from the trees on the distant side of the hill. The Waanlings had m-shaped bows, and one put an arrow through Coulson’s breastplate. 

Coulson listed in his saddle. Another of the Waanlings fired an arrow skyward. The second arrow screeched as it rose. Jason’s eyes focused, not on the noisy missile, or on the dying man, or even upon the oncoming attackers, but on the hills beyond. 

Jason saw the silvery ribbon of Whit Brook as it flowed through the craggy landscape below. He followed it with his gaze for perhaps five or six miles to the northeast, where it issued from the gap between a pair of dark mountains. Those mountains, Jason knew, marked the southern end of Minton Pass. Beyond them lay Waan. The town of Minton, he presumed, was hidden behind the pine-topped ridge to his left. 

Woods covered the hillsides, but the low ground was in pasture. When Jason dropped his eyes to the grassy lowlands, he saw movement. It was as if ivory-colored gnats were swarming southward. Jason perceived that the gnats were distant sheep. The sheep ran in ragged mobs, but their numbers dwindled as the rearmost vanished into a flood of advancing cavalry. Riders surged down Minton Pass from Waan, spreading out through the valleys like meltwater in spring. 

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Thomas M. Kane is a fantasy author living high on a wooded hilltop. He taught international relations at a British university for close to twenty years and brings his insights concerning real-life war and politics into his fiction. He takes a character-based approach to writing, paying attention to his protagonists' personal relationships and inner lives.

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Wicked Wednesday Extravaganza: The Journeyman's Trial Guest Post with Excerpt

 

New Release!

The Journeyman’s Trial

The Toymakers Guild Book 2

By Lisabet Sarai

Steampunk Erotica, MF, MM, FF, MFM, FMF, etcetera…

92,000 words, 321 pages

Smashwords and Amazon KDP

ISBN (Smashwords): 9780463505649

ASIN: ‎ B09MQV4Y86

Hashtags/Keywords

#Steampunk #Menage #Lesbian #Bisexual #Dominance #Submission #Homoerotic #Bondage #Discipline #FemDom #VictorianEra #SexToys #Feminist #Revenge #Tattoos #AltHistory

Long Blurb

If she builds it, will they come?

Technically brilliant and thoroughly wanton, Gillian Smith has found her vocation: designing innovative erotic devices for the Toymakers Guild. Lust is a lubricant to creativity at Randerley Hall. But what happens when two Toymakers fall in love?

The Guild’s tribe of talented, uninhibited engineers has embraced Gillian as one of their own. Edward Thorne, the perverse genius who founded the Guild, undertakes to train her in the skills she’ll need as a journeyman, from practical mind-reading to transcendental orgasms.

As Gillian labours to impress the charismatic Master, her enigmatic fellow journeyman Rafe both entices and frustrates her. Their passion seems to go beyond mere appetite, but in Randerley’s promiscuous and permissive environment, does love make any sense?

When the Toymakers receive a commission to equip London’s most exclusive brothel with the latest sexual technology, Gillian has the chance to demonstrate her formidable abilities as well as to help Rafe exorcise the demons of his past. She doesn’t realize she’ll be forced to choose between Rafe and her future in the Guild.

If you like intelligent, lusty women and kinky steam punk sex toys, pick up a copy of The Journeyman’s Trial.

PG Excerpt

At the foot of the stairs, she almost collided with a lean, dark figure. If he hadn’t grabbed her by both shoulders, they both might have tumbled to the floor.

“Why, hello, Jill!” A cocky smile lit the young man’s aquiline features. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.” He held on to her for considerably longer than was necessary to stabilise them. When he let go, she continued to feel his hands, heating her skin through the fabric of her garment.

“Good afternoon, Rafe.” She brushed some imaginary dust off her somewhat wrinkled lab coat. It was true that she’d barely spoken two words to her fellow journeyman since he’d rescued her on the moors two weeks before. Half the time he hadn’t even been at the dinner table. She’d wondered if he was travelling again. “I’ve been occupied with learning my new duties. The Master has been training me.”

His eyebrows arched. “Training, hmm? I’d like to know more about just what that entails!” He ran his fingers through his unkempt black locks. “I never got any sort of training from the Master. Of course, he hasn’t been around much. If I recall, he left Randerley only a few weeks after I joined the Guild.”

“When was that?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about the brash, forward young man who’d stolen a kiss within half an hour of her meeting him. Well, perhaps stolen wasn’t exactly the right term, but still, he seemed to have quite familiar manners.

“Two years ago last Christmas. Seems like a lifetime.”

“And before the Guild?”

His expression darkened. “I don’t really want to talk about that. Anyway, I’ve got an appointment with the Master in two minutes.”

Gillian stepped back to give him free access to the stairs. “You mustn’t keep him waiting, then.”

“But I’m really delighted to run into you.” He chuckled at his own jest. “Care to go riding with me tomorrow afternoon?”

“I’ve got quite a lot of work—”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday. Even that slave driver Featherstone takes Saturday afternoon off! Come on, Jill. Say yes!” His hand was back on her shoulder, casual, warm, maddening.

“Well... I grew up in the city, so I’m not much of a horsewoman.” She had to admit to being curious about Rafe. With his loose-limbed grace and easy smile, he was definitely attractive. Shouldn’t she be focused on her training, though?

“We’ll put you on Dorothea. She’s a sweet, biddable mare who won’t give you any trouble. And Samson likes her.”

“I don’t know...”

“I’ve got to go!” He squeezed her shoulder briefly and ran his fingers through her curls, then bounded up the stairs. “Meet you at the stables tomorrow at three,” he called out as he climbed out of sight.

“But...” There was no one to listen to Gillian’s excuses. In any case, why should she object? Rafe was a fellow member of the Guild. It was only fitting they should get to know one another – perhaps intimately.

Online Excerpts

PG-rated:

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2021/11/sneak-peek-journeymans-trial-out-next.html

X-Rated:

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2021/12/a-message-of-paradoxical-pleasure.html

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/618-the-journeymans-trial-the-toymakers-guild-book-2/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09MQV4Y86

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09MQV4Y86

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1118032

Barnes and Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-journeymans-trial-lisabet-sarai/1140567579?ean=2940165096259

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-journeyman-s-trial-the-toymakers-guild-book-2

Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59740783-the-journeyman-s-trial

Series Blurb

Defying the repressive morality of the Victorian era, the Toymakers Guild uses advanced technology to fabricate bespoke sexual artifacts for the discrete pleasure of select clients. Its members are not only brilliant engineers but also sexual renegades seeking freedom from the prudish society that surrounds them. These are their stories.

Special deal! Get The Pornographer’s Apprentice, The Toymakers Guild Book 1, for only 99 cents during the tour! Buy links here:

https://www.lisabetsarai.com/pornographersapprenticebook.html

Rave Reviews for The Toymakers Guild Book 1

There are many more plot points, but I don't want to spoil your enjoyment of this book. It has varied and steamy sex scenes that will take your breath away, a plucky heroine who doesn't always come out on top (ahem), but who always prevails in her quest to be accepted as a Toymaker. ~ Fiona McGier, Goodreads

With thoughtfully written characters, hot sex scenes, and a well-paced and interesting plot, the Toymaker's Apprentice leaves you asking only one question....when is the next book in the series coming out? ~ The Phantom Tollbooth, Amazon

[A] fast paced, hilarious, and thoroughly entertaining story as Gillian gets intimate with the staff and technology, only to find that there is a plot against the Guild that she takes on to save the day. I can’t wait to read what happens in the next book! ~ Arthur Royo, Amazon

The Pornographer's Apprentice is on my Roost Select list. Read my five-star review of the book here.

https://ornerybookemporium.blogspot.com/2021/01/sexy-saturday-pornographers-apprentice.html

Victorian Nerds

Greetings. My name is Lisabet, and I’m an engineer.

In the so-called real world, I design and write computer software. I also manage development projects and mentor other engineers. I’m surrounded by smart people who enjoy the puzzles of technology and who like to make things work. It’s a challenging but exciting environment, an environment in which solving a tough problem can be as satisfying as... well, maybe even as satisfying as an orgasm. In a different way of course.

In The Journeyman’s Trial I’ve indulged myself by bringing some of that excitement into the story. The Toymakers Guild is basically a group of young Victorian nerds. Archie’s a genius with electricity. Rafe’s a chemist as well as a creative mechanical engineer. Jia excels at clockwork artifacts and optics. My heroine Gillian has skills in all these areas, but what fascinates her most is mathematics and computation. In a world where computers don’t really exist yet, she’s trying to create them and figure out how to make them work.

Then there’s the Master Toymaker, a genius who not only knows how to design and build physical devices, but who also has a deep understanding of human thought and emotions.

The novel includes pseudo-technical descriptions of the outrageous sexual artifacts the Guild produces. I suppose that some people might get impatient with my flights of engineering fancy, but for me, that has been part of the fun in writing this series. I love imagining how innovations that are commonplace today might have been realized in the Victorian era, given the technical limitations of the period.

Is the book realistic? Well, yes and no. I’ve taken a lot of technical liberties, but in fact the second half of the nineteenth century was a time of great progress and innovation.

And what about the sexual insatiability of my characters?

I’ve known, and loved, a lot of nerds in my life. Contrary to the stereotypes, really intelligent people are often very active sexually. They have a richer, more elaborated understanding of desire and the many ways it can be fulfilled. None of the characters in The Journeyman’s Trial is based on a real person, but I’ve been involved with quite a few brilliant individuals who had similar attitudes – open-minded, experimental and focused on giving and receiving pleasure.

Just like Gillian and her uninhibited colleagues.

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh