https://www.silverdaggertours.com/sdsxx-tours/focus-book-tour-and-giveaway

The sight of his sweaty, bulging muscles made my mouth water and I swallowed, unwilling to admit I found him attractive … er … yummy. I lied to myself that I admired him as I admired a particularly beautiful sculpture. 

My helper put his hands on me to help me with the correct position. He touched nothing inappropriate, but I felt his thumb swipe the soft inside of my arm a few times. 

“I’m Jason, by the way,” he said as I resumed pumping iron again. 

“Dana.” 

“You a new resident?” 

“No. Just visiting.” 

“Is he—” he jerked his chin toward Sam who’d realized I was no longer alone and glowered at us “—your boyfriend?”

​I snickered. “Hardly.” 

“Then you’re—” 

“Mine,” Sam snapped as he approached on my other side. 

Jason grinned at him. “That’s not what she says.” 

“She seems to be confused about whose bed she slept in last night.” 

My cheeks burned again at the implication of his words. “Sam!” 

He smiled at me, but fury blazed in his eyes. “Sweetheart, don’t mislead the boy.” 

I released my hold on the handlebars and the weights fell with a loud clatter. Leaning forward, I hissed, “Don’t even go there.” 

“Hot, hot, hot,” Jason commented under his breath. “She’s a wild one, dude. When you’re finished with her or if you want to share, let me know.” 

“Share?” I squeaked in outrage. “Finished with me?” 
​
“I don’t share,” Sam replied, his voice cool. 

I had the privilege and pleasure of an interview on The Brian Shepard Show on Tuesday, June 16. The session was scheduled to begin at 8:15 PM, so I logged in early to make sure that everything downloaded and operated properly. By 8:05 PM, I was "backstage" and waiting. Brian decided to begin the interview early.

It was planned to last 30 minutes. It lasted an hour and 20 minutes. When he finally closed the interview, we continued chatting for another hour. What a wonderful conversation we had!

I initially contacted Brian, whose assistant then responded with a message stating that he'd like to interview me and discuss The Barbary Lion. I replied that I'd hoped to discuss my two latest releases, Hogtied and Focus. "Of course, new releases take priority," came the reply. We set the date.

In our discussion, Brian asked whether I'd begun doing anything during the COVID-19 lockdown that I hadn't done before. I almost felt bad to disappoint him with a negative answer. My life really didn't change much at all; changes consisted more of not doing what I'd done before.

Brian shared that he'd begun reading romance novels, particularly paranormal romance. It was my June Book-of-the-Month, Tiger in the Snow, that caught his interest. He'd recently become fascinated with stories featuring vampires, shape shifters, and the like. I supplied the correct terminology: paranormal romance. That's often confused with fantasy romance.

Granted, the lines between fantasy and paranormal romance overlap. Then we get into urban fantasy and alien romance which further blurs the lines. Maybe there aren't any lines, just differences of terminology.

We talked about the genre in general and books that contain explicit content. Brian asked how I felt about including explicit scenes in romantic fiction. I responded that I was not averse to it--in fact, most of my books have explicit sex scenes in them--however, I try not to be gratuitous about the inclusion. If the story (or the characters) doesn't call for that kind of content, then I don't put it in. We also discussed what made for realistic sex scenes and what didn't, which led to some awkward phrasing in an effort to keep the show family-friendly.

So, we talked about my books and the genre, at which point I observed that a lot of people immediately associate the romance genre with pornography. That annoys me to no end. Enduring snobbery dismisses romance as literature not worth reading. It's "trash."

He let me harp on that for a bit, then we veered off to another topic.

The reason I bring that up is because, the next night, Brian interviewed a comedian. When Brian shared that he'd been reading romance, the comedian validated my assertion that romance gets no respect. The man instantly associated the genre with erotica: if it's romance, then it must be nothing but sex scenes.

Once again, I felt compelled to chime in, although that time via the comments: "Romance focuses on the relationship which may be spiced with sex. Erotica focuses on the sex with a little bit of story. It's a matter of degree." I wanted to post links to my western romances which contain nothing more explicit than a kiss, but decided that would have been in poor taste.

If you've read romance and don't care for it, I understand. That's okay. I've read BDSM romances and, frankly, don't care for them because I don't find humiliation, degradation, and abuse sexy. I go back to the sub-genre every so often to try again, to see if, perhaps, I've simply read the wrong authors or the wrong stories in that genre. Thus far, my distaste remains intact.

However, if you've never read romance, then don't dismiss it as deplorable or unworthy. Sure, there's a hell of a lot of garbage out there. But there's a lot of really good stuff, too, literature that's well written and engaging, literature that includes tidbits of information that informs or educates (yes, rabbits really do spit), and that satisfies our craving for a happily ever after.

I write romance and, no, I'm not ashamed of that.

Watch the interview on Youtube or on Facebook.

Buy Today at
https://www.amazon.com/FOCUS-Holly-Bargo-ebook/dp/B086JCWCZT/

https://www.silverdaggertours.com/sdsxx-tours/focus-book-tour-and-giveaway

​Sam and I sat through three half-hour television shows before I yawned. 

“It’s been a stressful day, Dana. I won’t think less of you if you go to bed.”

I accepted the graceful exit and made mine, heading for the guest bedroom.

“My bed,” he called out.

I stopped in my tracks. Without turning to look at him, I replied, “I’m neither frostbitten nor chilled. I’ll sleep by myself, thank you.”

His expression probably darkened, perhaps turned sour, but he merely grunted, “Have it your way.”

I did. I lay on the extra firm and uncomfortable mattress and pulled the covers over myself. I left the bedroom door open so Sly could come or go into the room as he pleased. He hopped onto the bed and curled himself by my ankles.

My mind raced for I didn’t know how long before sleep claimed me and I awoke with a start, sweating, and quivering with fear, my body twisted around the warm, furry lump that was Sly. A whimper oozed from my mouth as the lingering wisps of whatever nightmare had gripped me in its icy claws scratched at my mind. I gulped great lungsful of air and pressed the heel of one hand against my racing heart. My blurry vision slowly began to clear. At that point I realized a dark presence lurked in the doorway, limned by faint light. I whimpered again and felt every sphincter clench. Sly snored.

“My bed,” came the husky order.

The shadow moved from the doorway and an unseen arm wrapped itself around me, hoisting me to my feet. I stumbled, my feet cold and nearly numb. The solid shadow settled me on another mattress, softer than the one I’d occupied earlier. It dipped behind me as it climbed in and that big, strong arm once again wrapped around me. Heat seeped through the fabric of the oversized shirt I wore—Sam’s shirt, I remembered—and soaked into my clammy skin.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”