In the Author Spotlight & Contest

Belinda McBride

CONTEST: For those who leave a post, please make sure to add your email; I’ll contribute a free download of any book from my backlist to a randomly drawn comment.

AL: Hi Belinda! Thanks for being in the “Author Spotlight” this week.

Belinda: Hi Ann, and thanks so much for having me!

AL: So, tell us what’s happening with you.

Belinda: Well, I’ve been returning to the dog show ring with my Siberian Husky Levi. He just had a nice weekend of wins, so that’s really cool. Also, it’s fire season again in Northern California, so we’re starting to get fire ready.

AL: Space, fantasy, sci-fi oh my! What do you have currently for us to dig our teeth into?

Belinda: My current release is Belle Starr, at Loose Id. It’s a space opera, described as a “futuristic paranormal with a Wild West kick.”

AL: You write in several genres. Which one is nearest and dearest to your heart? Why?

Belinda: Definitely fantasy. I love the freedom to construct my own reality, and my own rules. That’s where my love of reading and writing started, so I enjoy returning to that genre as often as possible.

AL: What do you feel is the most important thing that a first-time author should know?

Belinda: Know your craft. An editor will not take you seriously if you don’t put together a well written story. Also, don’t let criticism hurt you, but be brave enough to learn from it.

AL: Do you put any of your personality, or that of your loved ones into your characters?

Belinda: I don’t know how a writer can avoid that. Maybe I’m not Belle Oakley, but I’d certainly like to be like her. There is one character in particular, Rose Lee from Little Dragon…my late mentor Mo inspired her character.

AL: Fun stuff! What is the strangest source of writing inspiration you’ve ever had?

Belinda: Ahem. Well, it was actually something that happened that inspired Belle Starr in the first place. I’d decided not to do werewolf stories because there are so many excellent authors out there doing it. Well. One night, two of my Siberians broke out of their respective enclosures and got busy under my bedroom window. I was too late to prevent the tie, but still I sat out in the rain and mud making sure they finished the experience safely. During that hour or so, I watched the behavior of the other dogs, and how they worked in a protective unit around the breeding couple. In particular, the male (who was my alpha) was protected by a younger male. That inspired the pack structure in Belle Starr. About that time, I realized that I have so much experience around primitive dogs and wolf hybrids, that I really should try shifters on for size.

AL: Your Empress of the Space Station, describe your perfect man.

Belinda: Ah…do I have to limit it to one? I mean…I’m the Empress, right? Let’s see, I’ll order up the obligatory tall dark and handsome alpha male, but there’s got to be a raffish rogue to give him some humor. And a sweet young thing just to get the pot boiling…

AL: Best movie you’ve seen recently?

Belinda: Milk. I was in high school when Harvey Milk was assassinated, and it’s one of those memories that really developed some of my world views. They did an excellent job with that film.

AL: Star Trek, or Star Wars?

Belinda: I first saw Star Wars in an early morning matinee in Hollywood. It blew my socks off! So I’m a classic Star Wars fan.

AL: Please share a favorite quote(s) with us.

Belinda: Mo often said, “Time wounds all heels.” She was right, even when I happen to be the heel in question. And from Gandhi: An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.”

AL: Thanks so much for sharing with joining us this week, Belinda.

Belinda: Thanks very much, Ann!

AL: If you'd like to find out more about Belinda and her other works please visit:

www.belindamcbride.com

Featured Title:

BLURB:

Marshal Annabelle “Cowgirl” Oakley is the best law enforcement officer in Interstellar Coalition Enforcement. With her wolf Tucker at her side, Belle is clearly the best man for the job. Unfortunately, the job comes with hazards, and one of those hazards comes in the shape of tall, mysterious Armand.

Armand de le Croix is a werewolf with amnesia. He has no idea how he came to be living in Coalition space, he doesn’t know where his people are, or why his inky black hair is now snowy white. He just knows that the tall, dangerous redhead is all that he wants, and he means to have her. When they meet, it’s magic. When they part, its mayhem.

EXCERPT: (Warning NC17 - Sexual Situation)

“Do you have rooms?” She almost didn’t recognize her own voice; it was that husky and sexed up.

The bartender’s eyes raked over her body, and then shifted up to the next level of the bar. “By the hour and by the day.”

She nodded, noting that his eyes were on her lips. A spike of arousal shot through her cunt. She normally didn’t think of her body that way, but she was like a bitch in heat and was pared down to her most primal. Part of her wanted to pit the men against each other, winner take all.

Better yet, first come, first served. Line ’em up, Lucky.

Belle paid for three nights and pocketed the key. Her long coat swishing around her ankles, she rose from the bar and headed for the doorway to the stairs, taking her beer along for the ride. Belle turned, leaning in the doorway, surveying her choices. From across the room, she could smell sour sweat on the big dark man. He’d have to shower first, and she wasn’t in the mood to wait. Her glance fell on the blond. They made eye contact, and he straightened, setting down his cards. And then he picked them up again, returning to his game. He pointedly ignored her.

What the fuck?

She was so distracted that she missed the movement in the dark hall to her back. An amateur’s mistake.

Without warning, a hard body pressed up against hers, a pair of hands circling around to cup her breasts. Warm breath feathered her hair, sending shivers up and down her sensitive flesh. His fragrance was wild and heady, and his cock was hot and hard when he pressed it against her bottom. A Were, fully aroused. Her heart dropped. Her pussy cheered. Her beer slipped from her hand. He caught it, lifting it to take a long drink.

“Slumming, bébé?” His voice was gravelly, harsh. His head dipped down to her neck, and he took a deep breath. “Ah…you’ve been exposed to Matruscan ladies… Their scent has brought your own ripe time. Poor little bébé.”

What was his accent? Belle carried a southern American accent courtesy of her family. His was not French, not southern. Cajun? It was a dead culture, but that’s what it sounded like.

“You looking for a male to slake your needs?” He was fully against her body now, his hips still pressed against her bottom, moving in rhythm with his hands as he kneaded her breasts through the leather.

She should kill him right now. Spin and plant her knife… God…she could feel the heat of his body through the leather coat! Her eyes fluttered, and lust shot through her system, making her dizzy and weakening her knees.

“I come with you to your room now -- forget those ones. They’re boys, can’t take care of a woman like you.” His hands were under the coat, wandering, exploring. She could smell him; he was clean male, his own pheromones calling to hers. Her eyes dropped closed, and her lips parted. Without letting her turn to face him, the stranger walked her backward to the staircase, one step at a time.

He was taller than she, and stronger. The knowledge gave her goose bumps, triggering a primal, thrilling fear. Few men, if any, were stronger than Belle. It was just her genetic code. It was what made her good at what she did.

He swung around behind her, following her up the stairs. She still hadn’t seen his face, but his scent was melting her body. She felt her arousal slip from her channel, smearing between her thighs. He stopped her on the stairs and pushed aside the skirt of the coat, pressing his cheek into her buttocks.

“Oh, bébé, you smell so sweet, and it’s for me, isn’t it?” His hands were up the short skirt, fingers trailing through her moisture. He dropped the skirt of her coat, allowing her to move forward again. A few more steps and they reached the landing. Her hand trembled as she inserted the old-fashioned keycard into the door.

He followed her in, placing a hand over hers as she reached to switch on a light. He paused and scented the air. She should have known she’d draw a Were; even on a good day, they seemed to find her. Normally, she’d avoid them, but he was exactly what she needed.

The Were turned her to face him, and she studied him in the filtered light of the room. He was well made, handsome, and strong featured. But the Were generally were an attractive species. What surprised her was his age. His face was youthful, but not young, and his hair was silvery white, cropped close to his head, lying in artistic disarray. She wondered how long it took in front of a mirror to create that look. His eyes were vivid, arctic blue. And he was tall.

Gigantic. In bare feet, Belle measured six feet three, minimum. Add the stiletto heels she wore, and she towered over most men. She liked it that way, generally preferring men of lesser height. Belle was honest with herself; she was a little more on the Alpha side than not. But this man was looking down into her eyes. His shoulders were not bulky, but much wider than hers. His hard, hot cock rested against her lower belly, where he gently rocked against her, firing up her instincts.

Without a word, he lowered his head to kiss her, hands coming up to the back of her skull, one wandering to her face, stroking her chin. Her lips parted eagerly, and he stroked his tongue inside of her warm mouth, exploring her teeth, coming back out to lick her upper lip, nipping before kissing it gently. She watched his face, seeing the lids drop blissfully over his eyes as he nuzzled into her hair, trailing warm kisses down her throat, up to her ear.

He found that sweet spot on the back of her neck that made her legs buckle when he stepped around behind her and slipped her coat to the floor. The dress came next, and she dropped her head back to his chest as first his hands and then his lips explored her arms, her waist, the valley between her breasts.

Without warning, he grasped her arms tightly, raising them over her head, and he bit, bearing down hard into the soft skin of her ribcage. She jerked, moaned, and sighed as he gently licked the spot.

“I’m sorry, bébé. The wolf wants domination. You are very powerful; we want your surrender.”
Wolf. She’d hoped he’d be wolf, although she wasn’t sure why. He was at her neck again, whispering words she didn’t understand that raised goose bumps on her skin. His hands came up, cupping her breasts, circling the nipples into full erection until she cried out with the sensation, her body jerking away.

“You will stand still while I touch, bébé.” The warning came as a stern but gentle whisper. His head dropped to her neck again, and he pushed her head forward, placing his teeth threateningly over the nape of her neck. He bore down, and the pain was exquisite, bringing a moan to her lips. He suddenly dropped to his knees and bit again, this time on her buttock, causing her to cry out. But she didn’t move.

He stood, towering over her, controlling her. His big, rough hand skimmed over her bottom, then around to her belly, pulling her against his groin, grinding his cock between her buttocks.

“I smell another man on you, chère. Did he make you feel good? Did he make you feel like this?” His voice sounded like gravel wrapped in velvet. It frightened her. Thrilled her. Took her breath away.

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“Do you want to feel me against you? My skin against yours?”

She nodded.

“I didn’t hear you.” He pulled her tighter against his body.

“I want to feel you. Please.”

Who was that? Surely that wasn’t her voice, husky and moaning, pleading.

He pressed his mouth against her shoulder. “Turn around, bébé. Take off my shirt.” She swiveled in his arms, slightly unsteady on the heels. He wore a high-necked shirt, skintight. She could see every muscle, every curve and valley beneath the jet-black fabric. The sleeves stopped at the midpoint of his muscular biceps. Belle tugged the shirt from his denims and slipped it over his head. She gasped. His broad, muscular torso was the stuff that dreams were made of. Wet dreams, anyway. A wide scar skated over his ribcage. Another rested low on his belly, near his hip. She wanted to taste it. She wanted to rub her face against it, losing herself in his scent.

“Take off my boots and pants.”

She knelt, and he helped with the boots, toeing them loose. She stood again to unbutton the tight, black jeans. When she lowered them down his lean hips, his cock sprang loose, hard and ready.
Belle didn’t think of herself as a connoisseur of male sex organs, but his was beyond nice. It was beautiful. The head was long and flared gracefully, and his erect cock curved upward to his stomach. It was not quite human. It wasn’t straight, it curved, and the thought of what it would do inside of her…

While there was little hair on his body, the nest around his penis was thick and dark, an unusual contrast to the silver hair on his head. Once he stepped out of his jeans, she moved close, letting her fingers trail over his cock, down to his heavy balls. She was wet. She was ready. She was more than ready…but before they got down to business…

CONTEST: Remember, for those who leave a post, please make sure to add your email; I’ll contribute a free download of any book from my backlist to a randomly drawn comment.