Coming Soon: Second Chance Inn!

Welcome to the Second Chance Inn! If you’re in need of a cold beer, pub grub, rock and roll, a game of poker, or a place to hang your hat, come on in and stay awhile. Be sure to ask about our B&B and Happy Hour Specials!   

In need of a new start, Bostonian accountant Mackenzie Chance arrives in Hawthorn, South Dakota determined to restore the rustic inn she’s inherited from her grandfather. She never expects world renowned rocker Ace Blackburn, her unrequited first love, to turn up at the door just as a blizzard begins. Much less the irresistible attraction they share when she welcomes him inside.

While the snow piles up, they bare their souls, soon becoming lovers as they plan to turn the Second Chance Inn into a place where employees, customers, and tourists can renew or reinvent themselves.

But when the storm ends, will they see their plans come to fruition, or lose everything when the past she’s left behind returns with a vengeance?

Chapter One

Second Chance Inn—Hawthorn, South Dakota

A cold, February wind bit through Mackenzie’s parka as she stood before the ramshackle inn that had become her home for the foreseeable future!

“Grandpa, did you really want me to save your bar?” she asked no one, looking up at the gray sky. The winds kicked higher, the howl in the distance through mountains, trees, brush, and the Cheyenne River seeming to warn her to turn back while she still could.

No, she was not going to be scared away from her new home. She was not going to turn back or overthink or let her maternal grandparents guilt her into returning to Boston because they’d never approved of Grandpa Gunnar.

In its heyday, the Second Chance Inn had been frequented by locals, bikers, truckers, hikers, veterans, tourists, and campers wanting a break from the road on their way to either Deadwood or Sturgis. Her grandfather had also offered lodging, hot showers, pub-grub at night, and the biggest grand slam breakfast in the county.

Now, it was hard to see through the years of age to the beauty of the yellow pine and oak facade. Modeled to resemble a combination saloon and hotel dating back to the Wild West, the original building was three stories high and expansive, with a balcony atop the front door and a boarding house added ten years ago.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled. The scents of pine and pending snowfall made her long for a warm fire and a game of checkers or chess with Grandpa Gunnar. Or, if it were warm, they’d sit on the front porch and talk about anything and everything.

Oh, the memories that washed over her from the times she’d spent with him growing up, especially the summer before she’d gone to college when she’d experienced her first love and heartbreak.

Where was Ace Blackburn now, she wondered? When they’d first met had not only been in college, he’d been destined for far greater things than the simple life in Hawthorn, South Dakota. If she’d known how famous he’d become at the time, she might not have crushed on him as hard. Or set herself up to disappointment when she’d stumbled upon him with a woman on a great big Harley.

Still, as she opened her eyes, finding herself looking up at dark, gray skies, she wished she was seventeen again. If she was, her parents would still be alive. Perhaps she’d have made better decisions, career choices, relationships, she didn’t know.

The bite of wind against her face had her looking back at the older-model Chevy conversion van she’d bunked down in during her drive from Boston. Behind the van was an enclosed trailer packed with everything she’d need to make the inn her home until she could reopen it to its former glory. 

In hindsight, it’d been a wise decision to sell her BMW to buy the van, trailer, and supplies outright. As she’d stayed at campgrounds, she’d been able to save on hotel expenses, got a month-to-month smartphone, and used cash to pay for gasoline.

It wasn’t that she’d done anything wrong or needed to avoid a paper trail. She’d simply wanted a clean break from New England. When she was settled and had the chance to look about the inn, she’d plan the next phase of her life. 

Looking way up to the roof, she laughed. Her grandfather had had a wicked sense of humor. After the First Chance Inn burned down, he’d moved way out in the middle of nowhere, turned to the community to rebuild, then had a gigantic sign placed as high as possible so truckers and drivers could spy it a mile off the main highway. Over time, it’d read SECOND CHANCE ‘N, as the I and the first N had worn away and he’d never had it fixed. Maybe she’d get a new one, maybe she wouldn’t, time would tell.

“I hope you’re up there in Heaven, Grandpa. If I take a wrong step, guide me to the right path, okay?”

       At that moment, snow began to fall. To her, it was a sign that Grandpa Gunnar heard her. There’d been nothing he loved more than winter and everything that went with it. 

***An Hour Later***

As she dusted the bar with Pledge, lifting and moving her electronics, making a quick pass with her Swiffer behind it so she could relocate her bags and bins from the middle of the floor, Ace Blackburn continued to sing, his lead guitar riffs second to none, keeping her company as the wind blew against the inn. Fortunately, the foundation was sound, she had food, shelter, warmth, and everything she’d need to wait out a snowstorm. As a native New Englander, she was more than capable of fending for herself during bad weather. 

With her tummy growling almost as loudly as her music, Kenzie picked up her dust mop. Promising herself to take a break for a late-day lunch and text her friend Payton, she walked to the far side of the room and began sweeping. 

Enjoying the rock music that accompanied her task, she completed the first pass of the floor. Though looking at the microfiber cloth, it was going to take several passes before she could break out the steam mop! With that in mind, she traced her way back to the kitchen for a fresh microfiber cloth.

Still singing along with Dead Man’s Hand, she jumped clear out of her skin when loud banging resounded from the front door. Who would be at her doorstep when it was snowing outside?

Why worry? It wasn’t as if Hawthorn was a hotbed of illegal activity. She was sure there was crime and troublemakers, but more than likely it was the town’s mayor or a neighbor checking in.

More pounding sounded at the door, this time met with a voice that she never, ever, in her wildest dreams thought would overpower the playlist on her laptop. “Hey, Mackenzie Chance? It’s Ace Blackburn. I used to work for your grandfather, remember? Can you open the door? Come on now, it’s freezing out here.”

No! No way. It was her imagination. He was not at her door.

“Mackenzie? You okay in there? Please tell me I don’t need to call for an ambulance or something.”

Certain she was going to find nothing but cold wind and a face full of snow, Kenzie took her mop with her. What she’d do with it, she’d no idea, especially as she heard a curious rumble outside. Was that thunder?

“Hold on a sec,” she shouted, uncertain it was necessary, though the howl against the windowpanes increased. As did the rumbling, rolling thunder. Holy cow, it really was thundering.

Quickly, she unbarred the door, cracking it open, only to discover that it wasn’t her imagination. Ace Blackburn stood in the doorway, his long dark hair and badass leather jacket covered in snow.

“Hi, you gonna let me in, sugar?” he asked in that sexy, gravelly voice that could tempt a saint to sin. “Or are you about to beat me with that stick?”

“What stick?”

“In your hand. What the hell is that?”

“It’s called a sweeper or a dust mop, whichever you prefer. I’ve been cleaning the floor.”

“Okay. You gonna open the door all the way or hit me with that thing? If you choose the second option, please don’t hit anything vital. Someday, I’d like to have kids.”

“What?” Completely stunned, she was certain he was some sort of an apparition made from a snowstorm that was, in fact blowing, howling, and sending icy flakes through the door into her face.

“Never mind, sorry. Please, invite me in, the storm’s getting worse. Swear, I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” she said.

“In that case, lower the sweeper thing and let’s make nice.”

“Not making anything with you,” she murmured, hoping the rush of wind and ice prevented him from hearing her suddenly pounding heartbeat.

Telling herself to calm down, she stepped back and let the door swing wide. In a flash, he was inside, the door closed and barred as he stomped snow off his boots.

“Let’s start over,” he said, sticking his hand out, the sleeve of his jacket riding up some, exposing an array of tattoos running from the back of his hand upward, beneath his sleeve.

Holy moly, did he have to be so hot, even when his straight shoulder length raven-black hair was dusted with snow? With his chiseled, devilish features and a seriously sexy well-trimmed mustache and goatee, she wondered if he hadn’t just fallen out of heaven itself. Even his deep brown eyes were molten.

“Nice to see you again, Mackenzie,” he went on, the ink catching her attention was the two black eights, two black aces, and unknown hole card, fanned out on the back of his hand. Known as poker’s dead man’s hand, the cards were supposedly held by Wild Bill Hickok when he was shot in Deadwood. Ow, hell, just when she thought she was going to handle this without freaking out, the lack of lunch and the heavy lifting made her feel dizzy. Next thing she knew, the world went gray, then black.

Ellora's Cave: It's Time to Speak Up

Greetings everyone! I know it's been a while since I've posted, but I hope you'll stick with me for a post that is certain to be long.

You may have noticed an uptick in former Ellora's Cave authors and/or staff speaking out about their experiences with a publisher that once rocked the mainstream publishing world with innovative, sexy, erotic, and adventurous oftentimes hardcore romances that broke the mold. For that alone, I say, bravo to Jaid Black, who decided not to kowtow to New York and write sexy stories about aliens from another universe, a result that launched EC into a huge financial success. Long before Fifty Shades of Grey, Jaid, along with many other erotic and erotica authors were venturing into sub-genres such as BDSM, Older Woman/Younger Man, Menage, M/M, and horror, just to name a few.

Many of those authors have gone on to become huge bestsellers on the New York Times, USA Today, Amazon, and B&N lists, and to them, I can only tip my hat.  Likewise, I continue to believe that Jaid's Trek Mi Quan universe is one of the most creative series I have ever read. Is it for everyone? Maybe not, but, again, props to her for writing what she loved, for sticking to her guns, and giving those books life through a lot of hard work and determination during a time when the concept of electronic books was as alien as her hot, sexy characters from a far away world.

Keep in mind, e-publishing has come a long way since the time of downloading files, printing them out or reading on a PC. With the advent of the Kindle, Nook, iPads/Tablets, buying eBooks is as easy as a 'click', and it's on your device in the matter of seconds. Self-publishing, of which I am now a huge fan of as a result of my last few years experience with EC, has become very popular and eBooks tend to be priced in such a way to make them affordable. Now, if I was J.R. Ward or Sherrilyn Kenyon, perhaps a reader would be willing to pay upwards of $6.99-$7.99, and at some third party vendors even higher, for a 100K+ novel on their iPad or Kindle. But generally, that's a lot to ask for a digital book.

That said, the following is my account and my experience with Ellora's Cave Publishing, and while it's not intended in any way to bash anyone or TPTB at EC, and I will not go into any contractual information that I have with them, I've had enough with the vitriol going on or being said about my fellow former EC authors and/or staffers and editors who are only telling their truths and their experiences. 

My first book was published with Ellora's Cave under the Cerridwen Press imprint, titled Seductive Persuasion, and was the first of an historical-paranormal four book series. Soon after the third book in that series, Sea Captain's Ghost, released, I learned that the imprint was going on hiatus. Eventually Cerridwen Press would become known as Blush. More on that in a bit. As I tended to write more sensual than erotic or explicit, this was awesome to me. But, I still had one book in the series left and wondered what would become of it. I debated turning it into an erotic story, however, given the time period it was written in, late-Georgian, and it just didn't seem to be right.

Instead, I set it aside and went back to a book I'd started a year before and stopped because it was 'out of my comfort zone', translation, erotic, featuring an older woman and a younger man as the heroine/hero. During an RT Convention in Columbus, Ohio, I'd attended an EC spotlight in support of my publisher and learned that older woman/younger man scenarios were selling very well, and, I immediately went home and wrote what would become Quarterback Blitz. To this day, that book is and continues to be very popular with readers, it won Best Erotic Contemporary from several online book review websites, and it launched a series of six books, a series titled Ink and Kink, Let me just say that I am proud of each and every story in that series, as well as those that I wrote separately or featured secondary characters in the Maddox brothers/Ink and Kink universe. In between, yes, I'd finally completed the Panthera series with Arrington's Claim for the Blush imprint.

Around the time the last Ink and Kink book was released, Switch Master, I'd begun tracking my royalty statements, primarily because sales dipped dramatically. I figured there were several causes, EC was releasing a lot of books, some re-releases, some in trade paperback per week. And, while that is their prerogative to release that many books in a given week, I also saw that more and more eBook publishers were on the rise, ditto for self-publishing, and the costs of those books were much more attractive to consumers than the pricey MSRP of my admittedly long stories. Yes, I write big books and I cannot lie. Yes, I think they are worth every penny, but I'd wished that the market would've been a bigger factor in the pricing.

The problem with the downturn in the market, therefore, my royalties, which were starting to come later and later, or in one case, a new release's sales figures were not accounted for, though quickly and professionally corrected within days, had dropped to the point that I could not afford to attend the Romantic Times Booklovers Conventions or many other conventions with the exception of Ellora's Cave's conference known as RomantiCon, and my local RWA chapter conference. I also couldn't afford blog tours. Book reviews declined dramatically and eventually stopped altogether.

All the while, royalties declined, and I thought, I'll write more books and establish a back list. EC started a few marketing campaigns, such as 1st books in a series free for two weeks, and, yes, this helped, some. But readers will rush to get a free book yet when the next book is priced so drastically above other books of similar genre and length, they move on. Now, some of this is taste, not every reader or reviewer is going to like my books, and that's their right and opinion. However, pricing and affordability makes a difference in a consumer's choice when money is tight.

With the last book in the Ink and Kink series, I'd started a new series based on some secondary characters readers had been introduced to already. Those books simply did not sell well and while I understand that opinions vary, I began to think about making some decisions about my future. My favorite genre, in all honesty, is Romantic Suspense, and I really, really wanted to go into mainstream fiction.

In 2014, many things were happening, my royalty checks were coming very, very late, and while contractually EC was to pay quarterly,they primarily paid monthly. Checks came at odd times, likewise, they were dated a whole month before they were actually stamped and mailed. In two cases, there was no date on the envelope. Authors were told this was due to a glitch in the accounting software program. I have no idea if this is true or not, that's what we were told via an author email loop.

In August of 2014, the wheels fell off and my eyes were opened. While on a family vacation and very concerned because I'd not received royalties in a while and an email inquiry as to whether my check was lost in the mail or sent at all went unanswered, and in the midst of content edits for what would become the last book I've published with Ellora's Cave word was sent to the private author email loop that many EC staffers, including freelance editors, mine, too, were being let go due to a downturn in the market and blame seemed to be placed on Amazon. In my opinion, Amazon is a powerhouse in the eBook world and will remain so, and most of the sales I'd been making came from that vendor. I was devastated, not only for myself, but for the editors, especially my editor, whom to this day is one of my favorite people on the planet and continues to be my editor for my self-publishing ventures. For many reasons, I've chosen not to include her name in this post, though I'm sure she knows that I've the utmost respect for her. I'd also like to thank her for taking a chance on a newbie and helping me through the publishing process.

Within an hour, maybe less, of the announcement sent to the authors about the layoffs, an unknown party shared that same message on a public forum. I saw and read it on Absolute Write, but it was shared elsewhere and within a very short time, I received countless messages from readers and authors outside of EC sharing their concerns for the stability of the publisher. I had them too, but I wanted to believe it would be okay. My editor graciously finished the last round of edits for Pleasure Trove and the book received a release date within two weeks of the books final draft and FLEs, Final Line Edits, were done in a rush. Guess what? Despite blogging and doing as much promo as I could, the book tanked, I couldn't get it to sell, no matter what. A few of my faithful readers were concerned that I wouldn't receive the royalties and asked what they should do. I didn't know and did NOT EVER ask anyone not to buy the book or any of my titles. I still haven't done so. However, they have graciously purchased my self-published title, UnMAsKed, and are eagerly awaiting the next, also a Romantic Suspense titled Lipstick and Camouflage.

In September of 2014, I was attending a weekend writer's workshop in Connecticut. It was a great weekend, especially as I was able to get away from the stress of what was happening with EC. I had finally received a check dated in late July 2014 that arrived in my mailbox a month later, at the tail end of August. I was grateful. Yes, my checks were coming later and later, but they did come eventually. The problem was that EC became radio silent on our private loop, primarily, I believe, because private messages were being shared on public forums. For the record, I did not like that private emails were being made public and felt that this was hurting authors more than anything else going on. Again, my opinion.

I started talking to my husband about what I should do going forward. Okay, actually, we'd been talking about this for a long time but things were heating up. Should I ask for rights back based on contract terms? Let it go and hope checks come as they were supposed to? But then at that same writer's workshop, everything got drastically worse. NOT because one of the ladies at Dear Author had written a very long 'writer beware' type of article titled The Curious Case of Ellora's Cave. That article is on DA's blog and I'm not going to go into specifics, except to say that the blogger corrected a few details recently, yet the majority of it remains.

What alarmed me and so many authors and reviewers and bloggers, as well as readers, was EC's decision to sue the writer of the post. I was familiar with Dear Author and similar sites, yet, I'm honestly not a frequent visitor or reader of it, primarily because it's a little bit 'mean girl' for my tastes. That said, the blogger had every single right to write what she substantially believed to be true, she'd researched court cases, looked at tax liens accrued against the publisher that are on public record, and listened to author accounts of not receiving royalties. That's called FREEDOM of SPEECH. It's part of our Constitution, the Bill of Rights. And, Ellora's Cave turned around and sued a blogger in what appeared to be a SLAPP suit. From there on the Streisand Effect took root. Readers and reviewers boycotted. The vitriol that resulted since steamrolled, more readers bailed on EC's books out of concern that we weren't getting paid, royalties came later and later and that all meant to me that the publishing company was in serious financial trouble.

A few months ago, EC also launched a new website. I didn't care for it visually, but I'm not a web designer by any stretch. Some say it's more user friendly, some say otherwise, and there appeared to be more than a few glitches that needed to be fixed. What I know is this, during the change something happened to all of the blurbs on my books on EC's site. They're not only missing commas and punctuation, they appear amateurish. Therefore, I have not asked my web guru to change the links on my website that directs readers to purchase my books from the publisher's site, nor have I any plans to. It seems to me that the responsibility for hunting down and correcting typos and punctuation errors is on whoever maintains that site.  

Honestly, I've no idea what the financial status of EC is. I'm not going to guess or take a jab at the ownership or current staff members, other than to say, that I absolutely believe the authors who say they haven't been paid or that their payments are way late or breached. At the time of this blog post, I have not received a check since February 2015's sales that came in September of 2015. Could a check arrive this week? I hope so, we were informed via the private loop that we would receive payment for three months in one check, yet even if it arrives they are still months behind. I hope they really do catch up, authors worked hard on their books and deserve to get paid.

Let me say that up until the last year or so, I've enjoyed my experience as an EC author. I loved RomantiCon and the friends I've made through the convention, both authors and readers. I adored the Cavemen models who danced for us, and I will miss Angelo forever. He was incredibly charming and charismatic and appeared on the cover of Field of Play, not only signing my cover flats to help the book to sell, but also one for me that's now framed and in a place of honor in my office. For those who don't know, Angelo was tragically shot and killed (for the true story I recommend the documentary produced by Joe Manganiello, from True Blood/Magic Mike, titled LaBare). To this day, my fellow EC authors and former editors remain my friends, people I respect, admire, and trust. They are speaking up, they are telling their truths. If they're asking readers not to purchase their books, respect their decision. It is not because their books are poorly written or they are ashamed of it. Despite what's being posted on social media by an EC principle and a few EC authors who are in her corner (that's their right, too), those who are speaking out or speaking up are not liars, they are not misogynists, Bad Apples, or bullies. To sick a very nasty troll after a group that follows a Twitter hashtag known as #notchilled, the same person probably best known for GamerGate, is, by my measure, very low and irresponsible and an another attempt to 'chill free speech.' That's the purpose of #notchilled, not to malign EC, but to come out in defense of a blogger's and anyone else's right to write what they believed to be substantially true.

It is because of the lawsuit that I have chosen not to write for Ellora's Cave any longer. Yes, the case settled, and there's a sense of letdown by all parties of interest, but an attempt to stifle free speech did not sit well with me, and still doesn't. That's why I made the decisions I have since August of 2014. I'll continue to write and publish mainstream Romantic Suspense, and I'm venturing into paranormal again. When or if I get the rights returned on my back titles, I'll heavily revise, re-title, re-cover, and set prices according to what is most affordable for readers. If I go with a mainstream publisher, who knows what's down the road, you can be certain that I will never sign a contract without a lawyer and hopefully an agent's assistance.

Please note that this is my experience, another author or staffer's story may vary. It is not intended to sling mud, there's already too much being thrown around by both sides of the situation. Frankly, I hope the bullying on Twitter from sock puppets and trolls ends. I hope the vitriol stops and business-like discussions resume. I do not hope EC goes into bankruptcy, there are authors, staffers, publishers, artists, copy editors, you name it, who depend upon this publishing house. I do not wish ill upon Jaid Black, Patty Marks, or anyone else involved with Ellora's Cave, nor do I seek to cause trouble for them or create further chaos. It was simply time to speak out.

To authors who remain supportive of EC, I wish you success. To authors who have chosen to speak out or request readers not to purchase their Ellora's Cave titles, whether it's a business decision or something more personal, I support you unconditionally. To my readers, I hope you will continue to support my self-published titles, UnMAsKed is available at Amazon, B&N for Nook, Kobo, and iBooks. For information on this, hit me up in the comment section or check out the following page: http://www.francesstockton.com/romanticsuspense.html#unmasked           

Until the next time,
Frances Stockton

  
     



   

Pleasure Trove Available Now at EC, Amazon. ARe and Google Play!

Greetings! I'm thrilled to let you all know that my newest release, Pleasure Trove, Ellora's Cave Moderne, is Available Now directly from Ellora's Cave, Amazon, ARe and Google Play/Books for Android tablets!

While these links will be available on my Bookshelf page on my website http://www.francesstockton.com I wanted to update my blog with the links as well!

I'll also add a great excerpt if you're interested in getting a glimpse of a standalone Contemporary Erotic Romance with a HEA.

Pleasure Trove Links:

Ellora's Cave: http://www.ellorascave.com/pleasure-trove.html
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Pleasure-Trove-Frances-Stockton-ebook/dp/B00N971GZY/ref=sr_sp-btf_title_1_11?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1409758446&sr=1-11&keywords=Frances+Stockton
ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-pleasuretrove-1612155-340.html
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Frances_Stockton_Pleasure_Trove?id=g5lmBAAAQBAJ

Excerpt:

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.

An Excerpt From: PLEASURE TROVE

Copyright © FRANCES STOCKTON, 2014

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

“Oh hey, you’re the new girl,” Hardy said, grinning at her.

“I’m Calysta MacIntyre, the PA,” she answered, wondering how long it’d been since anyone called her a girl. She’d turned thirty a month ago. “Can you lend me a hand? I don’t want to spill anything on my first day.”

“Sure, sure,” Hardy replied, reaching out to take one of the carryout trays. At least the trays were divided and each cup had its spot. Still, they’d been heavy and awkward. “You’re mighty pretty, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you, that’s sweet of you to say.” Callie lifted her head, hoping her long wild light-auburn hair remained twisted up at her nape with the aid of a strategically placed pencil.

For her early-morning interview with Sven Erikson, she wore a light-green and rose-flowered print maxi dress that flowed prettily to her ankles. Trendy sandals were on her feet. Normally, she’d wear a business suit or slacks to work and her hair would be straightened or sedately braided. Admittedly it’d been nice not to fuss with it this morning.

Fortunately, Sven hired her shortly after the interview began, as it’d been the third since they’d first met. At the time, she’d been certain she didn’t stand a chance, as she had no actual studio work on her resume. Her saving grace had been a long-standing stint as a theater technician and a background in creative writing and plays.

“Sorry for the delay in getting to the door,” Hardy said, breaking her train of thought. “I was tied up elsewhere when you returned. Come on, follow me.”

“I understand, I hope I didn’t come across as impatient,” she replied, entering the building and making a quick right into a small sitting room before moving through it into another short hall and the depths of the studio. The entrance reminded her of a maze.

During the interview process, she’d learned that Pleasure Trove Entertainment had two primary locations, this one in Hollywood and another smaller one on Catalina Island that was used for outdoor shoots. Most of the movies, however, were shot in this gigantic converted warehouse and the director’s office was located here.

“No worries,” Hardy explained. “The crew is putting the finishing touches on the set now. Mr. Erikson will have plenty for you to do shortly.”

“I’m grateful he’s giving me a shot. I’m hoping to learn about screenwriting, but my experience is primarily in theater,” she admitted, silently thanking her former college roommate’s agent for helping Callie get an initial interview with Sven Erikson.

Callie knew from her experience as an investigative reporter that when it came to going undercover, it was best to stick as close to what you actually knew than make up a false identity on a resume.

During her initial interview with Sven, she’d been honest with him as to her identity, explaining that she’d been placed on a two-month furlough from her job as a copy editor at Bingham and Hardwick Publishing. On the chance that the job would be cut permanently, she’d started sending out resumes.

When pressed further, she told him the small publisher had been bought out and the new ownership began cutting positions and furloughing employees due to economic reasons. What she really hoped to accomplish by coming to LA was to find a job as a screenwriter, she’d told Sven.

She’d also admitted that the publishing company produced pamphlets and textbooks on Maryland history, local magazines and small-town newspapers. While her role as the Phantom Reporter had been anonymous, it was possible that someone doing a background check could find out the truth.

As simple as the title of her former column had been, she’d insisted on anonymity due to the nature and sensitivity of going undercover. At the beginning her articles had been well-received until the paper she’d written for was placed online and became more fluff than informational.

So far she thought her Phantom column was safe from discovery. Otherwise, she doubted Sven would have called her back for a second interview and requested a copy of the play she’d written as part of her master’s degree in English lit.

During that interview, she’d been able to shine. Sven asked about her experience in technical theater, something she truly loved and believed was the reason he hired her. He didn’t ask a thing about Bingham and Hardwick and she’d been grateful.

It’d been then that she asked if she could be known around the studio as Calysta MacIntyre, her pseudonym. He’d agreed and was hired on a trial basis.

Callie had been relieved. Her aunt and uncle’s pain was immeasurable. If she could give them some answers as to how their daughter could be lost for so long only to become a porn star and then be discarded as if no one cared one iota for the loss, she’d do whatever it took to make that happen.

She wasn’t at Pleasure Trove to write a story or a tell-all. But if she found proof that the director or anyone in power at the studio knew about Laura’s stint in underage porn or was even responsible for it, she’d turn it over to the detective who’d first notified her aunt and uncle about the death of their daughter.

From what Callie knew, Detective Morrison had investigated her aunt and uncle’s concerns about the black-market DVDs, but they’d found nothing to implicate Pleasure Trove as responsible for producing illegal porn or they’d have rightfully closed them down.

Regardless, this was Laura’s last known place of employment and this was where Callie needed to be. She honestly didn’t know who produced the illegal movies. But it was possible someone on the inside knew. Someone had sent those movies to her family. She hoped to find that person and see what he or she knew about who produced Lola Lane’s older movies.

“Mr. Erikson saw something in you that he liked or you’d have never made it past his office,” Hardy was saying, bringing Callie back to the task at hand.

“Well, I certainly know my way around set building and stage managing,” she assured. “I’m also great at striking sets, prepping flash pots, creating fog, running sound and light boards and helping actors change costumes in record time.”

“What kind of theater were you in?”

“Community, non-union, not that I begrudge someone for joining one,” she answered.

“Ever act?”

“Only as an extra in big musicals for fun and experience,” she said.

“Then you can move,” Hardy remarked. “You’re certainly pretty enough to be on camera, should you ever consider trying.”

“I’ll stick to what I know, tech work. Give me a power drill to fix something or gaffer’s tape to keep cables from becoming a trip hazard, I’m good,” Callie commented.

Walking carefully as she carried her tray, she refrained from asking too many details about the studio itself. Now that she’d been hired, she had to show everyone she belonged.

Hardy continued on. The guard was at least six foot five and broad-shouldered with a lot of pumped-up muscle, yet the cavernous size of the building made him appear small.

Along the walls were heavy-duty shelves stacked with lumber, windows, doorways, canvas flats, tools and props. A U-shaped second floor above them looked to have a dozen different production rooms or small offices. The ceiling beams were made of metal with industrial lighting.

A little afraid they’d never reach their destination she picked up her step, nearly colliding with Hardy when he stopped in front of a red-velvet curtain with gold ropes. Pulling on one of the ropes, he drew the curtains aside.

Lights were up, a crew was scurrying about fixing this or that and a handful of models in skimpy lingerie and super-high heels huddled together on a big sectional sofa off to stage left. On a platform in the center of the enormous room was a tropical-island set, complete with white sand, palm trees and a bamboo shelter with an enormous round bed.

Four men in tight bathing suits held palm fronds in their hands, practicing waving them up and down. They were good-looking with dark hair, lean muscles, and judging the fronts of their bathing suits, endowed, their tans as artificial as Hardy’s.

In one corner, a tall, leggy brunette with an ultra-trim waist and huge breasts wore a short see-thru beach robe over a barely there crimson bikini. Judging by the conversation she was having with the director and someone behind a screen, something had irked the actress.

“Mr. Erikson, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve brought your coffee orders,” she said to the director, silently reminding herself that she’d left Callie in Baltimore. “Where should I place them?”

Right here, right now, she needed to be Calysta MacIntyre, calm, cool and professional. That was until Sven Erikson moved away and a man stepped out from the screen and she momentarily forgot who she was.

Resembling a beautiful blond Greek god, he didn’t have a sprayed-on tan. Oh no, he was taller than Hardy by at least two inches, broad, built and sculpted with gorgeous wavy shoulder-length hair left wild and unbound.

Wearing nothing but bathing trunks, he filled out them out beautifully. His face, perfection, chiseled perhaps by the gods themselves.

Trembling nervously, Callie caught herself, waiting for the director to tell her what to do when the actor’s eyes met hers from across the room. He smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth and sending a sharp pang of sensation low in her belly.

For the longest time, they stared at each other, both seeming unwilling to look away. Tiny butterflies took flight within her, her heart thudding. This wasn’t just any actor, somewhere in her cluttered thoughts, she recognized him as Pleasure Trove’s leading man, Maksim Steel.

Pleasure Trove, Ellora's Cave Moderne! Blurb and Excerpt

Greetings everyone!

It's almost the end of August and I'm excited! Tomorrow Pleasure Trove, Ellora's Cave Moderne, releases and I wanted to share as much information as I can. After the book's release at EC, I expect it to be available through Amazon, ARe, Google Play/Books, and Barnes and Noble/Nook. Prices will vary and you might find the best price through Ellora's Cave directly and if you have a Kindle, yes, they have the right format for you to read, ditto for Nooks and iPads/Android devices.

http://www.ellorascave.com/pleasure-trove.html

Right now, I'd love to share a little background about Pleasure Trove, a blurb, an excerpt and the link. I'd also like to introduce you to Maksim Steel and Callie Andrews aka Calysta MacIntyre. Callie, a former undercover reporter for a small press newspaper in Baltimore, travels to Hollywood looking for answers regarding the mysterious death of her long-missing cousin. Her search takes her to adult film company Pleasure Trove. She never expects to meet charming and charismatic actor Maksim Steel, much less that she'd become his fluffer and the scorching hot affair that follows.

Maks has a secret! Many in fact, and he guards them zealously, even as he suspects that PT's new production assistant is far more than others may see. Still, he can't deny his attraction to her, or the fact that the 'rest' of him responds to her in ways that seasoned porn stars haven't been able to muster lately. Taking Calysta on as his fluffer, he quickly seduces her but warns not to expect fidelity or true intimacy. He never plans to fall for her.  For more, here's a blurb and a glimpse into their first meeting!

Pleasure Trove

Frances Stockton

Troubled by the death of her cousin, former undercover reporter Callie goes to Hollywood to find some answers. Her search takes her to adult film company Pleasure Trove.

Callie never expects to meet charismatic actor Maksim, much less become his fluffer! She’s quickly seduced, but he warns not to expect romance or fidelity. Despite the risk of heartbreak, Callie is drawn into Maks’ world of sin and seduction, engaging in sexual experiences she’d never dared before.

Soon, however, their affair strengthens, hinting of love. But when danger grows and Callie’s old column is cruelly exposed, they must face their demons, or risk losing everything.

Inside Scoop: Callie’s new career path leads to some interesting times, including participating in a hot ménage or two, complete with female/female sexual exploration.

A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

 “Mr. Erikson, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve brought your coffee orders,” she said to the director, silently reminding herself that she’d left Callie in Baltimore. “Where should I place them?”
Right here, right now, she needed to be Calysta MacIntyre, calm, cool and professional. That was until Sven Erikson moved away and a man stepped out from the screen and she momentarily forgot who she was.
Resembling a beautiful blond Greek god, he didn’t have a sprayed-on tan. Oh no, he was taller than Hardy by at least two inches, broad, built and sculpted with gorgeous wavy shoulder-length hair left wild and unbound.
Wearing nothing but bathing trunks, he filled out them out beautifully. His face, perfection, chiseled perhaps by the gods themselves.
Trembling nervously, Callie caught herself, waiting for the director to tell her what to do when the actor’s eyes met hers from across the room. He smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth and sending a sharp pang of sensation low in her belly.
For the longest time, they stared at each other, both seeming unwilling to look away. Tiny butterflies took flight within her, her heart thudding. This wasn’t just any actor, somewhere in her cluttered thoughts, she recognized him as Pleasure Trove’s leading man, Maksim Steel.
Okay, so she’d watched several of his movies on her trip to Los Angeles. Each time she stopped at a motel for a couple hours’ sleep, it was simply a matter of popping in a DVD in her computer. She’d told herself it was for research. Plus, he was a sexy, virile man with the biggest cock she’d ever seen in her entire life.
Holy cow, just like that, she was aroused simply from the memory of how well he’d performed in those flicks. The problem was the longer they stared at each other, the wetter she became. Shifting, she felt the telltale dampness of her panties even as her clit pulsed as if she’d gotten herself off.
No, oh no, she did not have a mini-orgasm simply because he smiled at her. That’d be too embarrassing for words.
“Ah, there you are, Ms. MacIntyre. I trust you found your way to the café?” Sven greeted. He was a good-looking man in a GQ kind of way, his sandy-brown hair neatly trimmed.
“GPS is a miraculous thing,” she said, steeling herself as the director came up to her. “Once everyone’s been served, is there anything else I can do for you? I’m quite handy with a hammer or finding props, though I may need someone to give me a tour later.”
“Be glad to assist, Ms. MacIntyre,” Hardy offered, grinning as he set his tray of coffee on a table near the sofa.
Frances Stockton
10
“Hardy, shouldn’t you get back to your post? I’ll have someone give Ms. MacIntyre a tour when there’s a break,” Sven said, stepping in closer than she expected. For a fraction of a second she thought his blue eyes scanned her from head to toe in a way he hadn’t done during her interviews.
“Shall I place this with the other tray?” Callie asked after Hardy left, intending to move out of the way when the brunette made a sudden beeline for the coffee tray in her hand.
“I hope you remembered to tell the barista to only use soy milk in my latte,” the actress sniped, managing to tip the tray so that it fell toward Callie, icy coffee splashing down the front of her.
The chill cut straight to the bone, stealing her breath. Miraculously, the lids on the hot coffees remained intact until the cups hit the floor and liquid went everywhere.
“Look what you’ve done!” the actress shouted upon realizing her short robe had been splashed. “Have you any idea the cost of this outfit?”
“I’ll be more than glad to have it cleaned for you or pay for a new one,” Callie offered, shivers setting in just as Maksim came charging up to yank the tray from her hands.
“Don’t concern yourself with Felicity. Are you burned, honey?” Maksim asked as he checked for damage, his big hands brushing up and down her bodice and coming a little too close to her breasts.
Sucking in a deep gasp and hoping he thought she was reacting to the cold drinks, she tried to catch his hands. The hell of it was she liked how he made her feel with the simplest of touches.
“I’m fine. It’s…cold more than anything,” she answered huskily, wondering where that voice came from. At five foot eleven in flat shoes, she was equal in height to the brunette, though Maksim’s size and height made her feel tiny, feminine.
“What the fuck was that, Felicity? You’re lucky you didn’t burn Ms. MacIntyre. Is that right?” Maksim asked Callie directly.
“My name’s Calysta,” she answered. “Please don’t fuss. I’m not hurt.”
“Sven, get Felicity out of my sight or I’m doing this scene with Veronica,” Maksim commanded, his vivid-green eyes narrowing, his lip curling in disdain.
“What!” Felicity screeched. “Sven wouldn’t dare cut me out of a scene for someone who’s barely elevated from fluffer status, Maksim.”
“It’s…okay, really, don’t change your scene. It was an accident,” Callie insisted, amazed that Maksim cared. No longer searching for injury or burn marks, he stroked. It felt so good she didn’t want him to stop.