Dear readers!

My birthday is coming up in almost a week so, to celebrate, I’m going to give one lucky reader a present! Beginning with today’s Monday Musings, through Wednesday’s Karen’s Killer Book Bench,  and ending with Karen’s Killer Fixin’s blog on Friday, readers who comment will have a chance to win a digital (PDF) copy of my Valentine’s Day release, SATIN PLEASURES.  Comment on all three blogs for three chances to win! (Only one comment per  blog, please!)  I will announce the winner at 6 p.m. (CMT) on my birthday Sunday, March 18th.  Good luck!

If you enjoy series contemporary author, Janet Evanovich, you’re in for a treat with this tender, cute, and spicy story….

Back Cover Blurb

Bustiers, Birds, and the Blues…

Dan McDonald walked away from the American dream, a life full of money, glamorous women and power. Now nothing can lure him back into the corporate death trap. Except….

Dan’s scheming aunt snares him into opening a lingerie shop in Tess Emory’s shopping mall. Tess is everything Dan has vowed to avoid…sexy, smart, and obsessed with work.

Tess is determined to make her life a success and right the wrongs of her past, no matter the cost.

They’re both going to discover that true love breaks all their rules.

~~~~~~~~~

SATIN PLEASURES
Copyright 2012 by Karen Docter

EXCERPT

Chapter One

“Colby, if I’d had that brunette in my bass boat instead of you Aunt Mary would never have talked me off the lake.” Dan McDonald tore his gaze away from the view in the truck windshield to grin at his dog, affectionately named Colby, after the cheese the German shepherd loved so much. “Bet she doesn’t kiss like you…the brunette, I mean, not Aunt Mary.”

The dog whined, then attempted to wriggle his massive bulk into his master’s lap. Dan pushed his muzzle away. “Phew! Chances are she doesn’t smell like you, either.”

Colby bared his teeth in a grin.

Dan laughed. “You won’t think it’s so funny when we reach San Francisco and you get a bath.” He considered the stalled traffic. “That’s assuming we get across the bay.”

A fully loaded semi had jackknifed across both lanes of the westbound bridge and wedged in tighter than a cork in a genie’s bottle. The truck was to be dismantled for removal, the freight unloaded, and there appeared to be a debate as to which part of the process should be completed first.

He smiled at the speed with which the shock wave of information ran down the line of commuters. Many spilled from their cars to chat. A few lounged on their hoods, faces raised to the warm March afternoon sun. A pair of students in Stanford jerseys zipped a fluorescent orange Frisbee between the cars with all the ferocity of Kamikaze pilots.

Dan shook his head when he realized he’d pushed his old life behind him far enough to find amusement in the scene. He’d come a long way in the past year. Was it far enough? He’d been happy—well, content enough—with his solitary lifestyle…until his aunt tracked him down in Florida a couple of weeks ago.

She’d convinced him she and his mother needed him in California through June. However, he’d had three thousand miles to wonder if his temporary return to the rat race might prove to be the biggest mistake of his life. His impulse to turn the truck around had grown with each passing mile and he wondered if this traffic snarl was his last chance to save himself.

He certainly couldn’t complain about his first glimpse of San Francisco Bay. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The sun stirred bright color into the murky waves and streaked light across mirrored office buildings on the opposite shoreline. A light, salty breeze gave wing to a variety of raucous sea birds over his head and teased long tendrils of toffee-rich hair out of his brunette’s French twist.

His brunette.

Desire coiled deep in his gut as he watched her wiggle her bottom onto the hood of her car. With one hand resting on the driver’s side mirror on the open door, she

talked briskly into her phone, her expression hidden behind sunglasses. The straight lemon skirt and fitted jacket she wore accentuated her rich, dark hair, full breasts, and slender waist. Spiked heels showcased legs long enough to fuel a man’s fantasies for months. Her hand waving in emphasis to whatever point she was making spoke to Dan of urgent caresses and wild passion.

The blend of cool professionalism and hot sensuality fostered the illusion a man only had to peel away one layer to expose the passionate woman beneath. He’d never seen a woman who made him feel so needy, so primitive, with barely one look…which is why he hadn’t bothered to pursue a woman since Charlotte Betham opted for her career over him last year. He might have made an effort to change her mind if she’d turned his crank this way!

Only a caveman would dream of ripping the phone from his lady’s hand. Only a cretin would throw it into the bay before he dragged her away to his cave for a year or two. Only a sex-starved man would allow such idiotic impulses to get out of hand.

“Maybe Aunt Mary dragged us back to civilization in time.” Dan scratched behind his dog’s ears. “Maybe I should go out on a date or two while we’re here. Take the edge off.”

Colby barked, and then rested his muzzle on the dashboard, pointing the way.

“No, it won’t be with my sexy brunette.”

The last thing Dan needed in his life was another career woman to tempt him back to the competitive edge like the one he’d ridden in Chicago. He’d leaped off that fast track without a backward glance—nearly dying did have a way of changing a man’s perspective, after all—but he could still spot a workaholic when he saw one. He’d lived with one all his life. First, his father. More recently, Charlotte and himself. And since he didn’t know yet if he’d beaten that particular inclination, once and for all, he wasn’t taking any chances.

The odd thing about chance, though, was the way it tended to come up and slap him when he wasn’t looking. Dan stared with consternation at the bright orange saucer veering out of control across his vision, aimed directly for his brunette. “Watch out!”

He jumped from the truck in time to see the rigid plastic disc slam into her right cheek with a sharp thwack, angle over her head and disappear over the bridge railing into the bay. Her cell sailed right behind it.

Dan sprinted in her direction but she’d fallen off the hood of her car and slumped to the pavement, her back settling against the front fender before he could reach her. Kneeling, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

She didn’t respond.

“I didn’t mean to hit her!” The Frisbee thrower squatted next to Dan and watched him remove her cracked sunglasses. “Oh, man, she’s out cold.”

Dan clamped a lid on his own spike of concern and thrust both hands into the woman’s silky twist of hair. In the time it took him to run from his truck he’d seen her fall against the side mirror on her downward slide, and then ram her head against the open car door. So, it came as no surprise when he located a sizable lump over her left ear.

He examined the welt rising on her cheekbone, his curse short, succinct. Her head cradled in his hands, he brushed his thumbs against her temples. “Can you hear me?”

The woman’s eyelids fluttered, lifted. “W-What happened? H-Harry? Where’s Harry?”

Who the devil was Harry? Dan gazed into cinnamon brown eyes fogged with confusion and experienced a surprising surge of possessiveness. He couldn’t drag his hands away from her fast enough. “If Harry’s the one on the phone, I believe he’s now conferencing with the sharks.”

“Oh. Oh! He’ll kill me!” She shifted, wrinkled her nose in obvious bewilderment at the sight of her legs stretched in front of her. “Why am I sitting on the ground?”

The student piped in. “My Frisbee hit you. You fell.”

“Frisbee? Fell?”

Dan frowned. A concussion wasn’t out of the question. Although her pupils didn’t appear unequal or dilated, there was a large goose egg behind her ear and a welt across her cheek that grew more red and ugly by the minute. He searched his brain for the standard questions used on concussion victims. “What’s your name, and who’s the President?”

“Tess Emory, and Stuart Webster.”

“One out of two isn’t bad,” he murmured. For all he knew, Tess Emory wasn’t her name either.

“Oh, man, she doesn’t know—”

Dan glared the student into silence, motioning the kid to her other side so they could both help her to her feet. “Which is which?” he asked, aware he needed to keep her talking.

“I’m Tess.” She wobbled on her spiked heels. “The president’s Webster.”

Dan quickly calculated the distance to the camper in the back of his truck. “I think we have a problem. Webster is not President of the United States.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. Wait. I thought you meant the president of my company!” She assured him she did indeed know her country’s president. “Now I know two presidents’ names and my own, but I don’t know your names.”

The student introduced himself and apologized for her injuries. He wanted to share his doctor’s phone number but, when she refused his assistance, he shrugged and walked off to rejoin his buddy sitting on the hood of their car.

Which left Dan where he shouldn’t be now that the danger had passed…overwhelmed by the appeal of toffee hair, cinnamon eyes, and spicy scent. Gasping for air like a wide-mouth bass in the bottom of his boat. Alone…with his brunette.

“And,” she said, “your name?”

“Daniel McDonald.” His fingers itched for more contact with her satiny skin, if only to shake her hand. He opted to tuck his hands in his pocket instead. “Now, you know five.”

“Five what?”

“Names. Two presidents, yours, mine, and Frisbee Killer over there.” He nodded at the student. “That makes five.”

“Six. You forgot Harry.”

As far as he was concerned, Harry could commune forever with the sea anemones. However, the reminder of this woman’s single-mindedness also tempered Dan’s lingering response to her. Not that he appreciated it. “Why did you say he’ll kill you?”

“That’s his phone resting at the bottom of the bay. I don’t imagine he’s too pleased thinking I hung up on him, either.” Tess tentatively touched her cheek, winced. “I need to call him back. May I borrow your phone?”

“I don’t have it on me,” he said thinking of where he’d last seen it. To break his final connection with the world he’d left behind, he’d tossed the phone into a storage box along with everything else. “Let’s take care of your injuries first.” Dan eyed the welt marring her delicate skin, the bruise already forming on her cheekbone. “How bad does that feel?”

“The way my head’s pounding, I guess I’m lucky to feel anything.” She peered at her face in her damaged side view mirror. “Sweet mercy, I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes! I can’t go in there looking like this!”

Dan hated to burst her bubble. “I heard on the radio it might be a couple of hours before this accident is cleaned up.”

“Please,” Tess straightened, “tell me you’re joking.”

The haunted look shadowing her eyes was familiar. He’d seen it in the mirror, millions of years ago, before he came to his senses and dumped his stressful career, pristine penthouse, and empty lifestyle. This woman was wound entirely too tight. It was only a matter of time before she snapped under the strain. “I’m sorry. We’re stuck here until further notice.”

“I’ve got six suits waiting for me.” She threaded her fingers through her hair and yanked pins out, stuffing them into her jacket pocket with all the intensity of a search-and-destroy mission. “I can’t be stuck here!”

He was surprised when she punctuated the last word with a stamp of her foot, and even more intrigued by the flush which bloomed under her skin when she realized what she’d done. He’d known his share of businesswomen with tempers, but businesswomen who blushed?

“I can’t believe I did that,” she said, faintly.

Bending over he quickly picked up her heel, snapped off her right shoe in her flash of temper, and then arched an eyebrow at her. “I’d be happy to jump up and down, too, if you think it would help.”

Tess ducked her head on a small laugh. “Thanks for the offer, Mr. McDonald. I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Daniel.” He barely touched her palm when he laid the heel in her hand, and a blast of sensual heat struck him so hard he nearly groaned out loud. “Call me Dan,” his voice rough, “since we appear to be neighbors.”

She looked in the direction he indicated where his pickup camper sat in the next

lane. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll like this one.” He hadn’t reached San Francisco yet but, if Tess was representative of the women he’d find there, he was going to be one happy camper for the next three months.

No!  He reeled in his runaway hormones.  You’re going to be pretty damned lonely.  No workaholics, remember?

As if able to read the rejection on his face, she looked away toward the wide, open space of the bay beyond the bridge. Then, she pressed a trembling hand to her forehead and swallowed convulsively. “You’ll have to excuse me. I need…to lie down. I feel diz—” Her knees buckled.

MONDAY MUSINGS: “I Quit” slugs it out with “Persistence”….

You must keep sending work out; you must never let a manuscript do nothing but eat its head off in a drawer. You send that work out again and again, while you’re working on another one. If you have talent, you will receive some measure of success – but only if you persist. ~ Isaac Asimov ~~~~

I quit! These were the words I wrote in my now defunct monthly newsletter (I do enjoying blogging more often) back in the summer of 2010. Oh, I wasn’t talking about not writing any more. In fact, after rereading the newsletter today, I have to say the sentiments and goals I shared then haven’t changed. Thank goodness!

I thought it might be fun today for you to read my original newsletter article. Then, I’ll share what I’ve learned and how far I’ve come in the past year and a half.  So pour a glass or cup of your favorite beverage and settle in because this trip down memory lane might be a tad longer than my usual Musings. (The trip is worth it though!)

It was the summer of 2010…

I quit! The sentiment has been on my mind a lot recently. No. I won’t quit writing, although I will admit I considered it…for about 2 nanoseconds. The moment the thought escaped its bounds, my brain stood up, pushed its way to the bully pulpit and shouted in my head, “Hi! My name is Karen Docter, and I’m addicted to writing. It’s been six months, four days and ten minutes since I last wrote my last full chapter! ”

Yeah, not only is my brain entirely too independent for my peace of mind but it’s stubborn as well. It’s a good thing we do love to write together. Most of the time. 🙂

For those who don’t know me well, I’ve been at this awhile. This meaning working toward a career in writing. Awhile translates to when I joined RWA in the latter part of 1991. That’s when I began to think my writing could become my career. Who doesn’t want to make a living out of something we love? I wish we all had the ability to get paid to do what makes us happiest. The world might be a better place!

Sorry. I digress.

And that’s what this Musing is all about. I wish I could say I’ve been walking hand-in-hand with Persistence during all of those intervening years. I did well until after the new millennium kicked in. I was writing traditional and short contemporary full time. I had seven books under my belt and had generated interest in my writing with New York and Canadian editors, even if the projects weren’t quite what were needed at the time. I can write well. I even had an agent who believed in my projects as much as I did.

Then I got hit with several whammies. The publishing lines toward which I’d aimed my projects kept shutting down, forcing me to evaluate my goals and my genre. My agent closed her doors around the same time. I started a personal relationship with debilitating medical issues. My writing hit a long dry spell. While many authors can write through anything, I discovered my threshold didn’t match my yearning. Persistence rolled off the wagon beneath just about everything else.

Yet I’m still not prepared to give up my writing career. Why?

Persistence has been whining in my ear for months now. Every morning she’s right there as I brush my teeth whispering schedule changes in the mirror. “Take 20 minutes between lunch and organizing online classes to review the two prologue versions for KILLING SECRETS.” Persistence is there when I take a break from teaching a class, tugging me toward my laptop. “Kick up your feet to ease the pain and, oh, by the way, take a minute to finetune the victim’s emotional distress after she’s kidnapped.” Persistence accompanies me into the kitchen when I throw dinner into the microwave at 9 p.m. after I’ve shut down my desktop with the intent to decompress from 14 hours of computer work. “Come on! You can at least read through what you wrote last week for IN DANGER’S SHADOW so you’re ready to pick it back up in the morning…after I’ve whispered tomorrow’s schedule changes into your ear!”

Persistence has become…persistent. I’m not quite sure what kicked her in the backside. I can’t say I even noticed it much until she became downright ornery. But, clearly, she’s been sneaking up behind I quit for months and wearing her down.

Hey! You don’t have to hit me up the side of the head twice! Wait. Yes. Evidently you do. But this writer’s getting the message. So I quit.

I quit fighting the inevitable. I quit allowing other things to get in my way, even if my friends throw puppy dog eyes at me to get me on board with a project. I quit dwelling on my health to the detriment of my writing. If I have to go through two surgeries to fix the problems, so be it. I quit pushing my writing, the one thing besides my family and friends that means the world to me, to the back burner of my life. I quit because Persistence is a lot stronger and she’s going to keep kicking my butt until I quit quits.

So. I’m back. Did ya miss me?!

It’s now February 20, 2012….

A lot has changed in the last year and a half. When I wrote that original Musing, I launched back into my life and career with a completely different mindset. I’m now taking better care of me. I split my genres. And last, but not least, I’ve taken my career in my own hands and published my first book.

• Taking better care of me was an imperative first step. In addition to some serious health issues I was not cognizant of or simply ignoring, I had run myself into the ground trying to juggle too many balls. The ball with the word write on it wasn’t even in the air much of the time. It sat on the ground looking up at me with reproach until I picked it up and tried to juggle it with all the others. And my health suffered.

I’ve since learned that Wonder Woman is a comic book hero and I just can’t wear her tights with any panache at all. Many of us, as women, overextend ourselves in some misguided attempt to be the perfect mom, wife, girlfriend, sister, friend, and writer and, the truth is, there’s no such person! If I were to encourage you, writer or reader, to take anything from what I’ve learned it’s to give yourself permission to not be perfect at everything. You’re not doing anyone a favor by killing yourself with unrealistic expectations.

• Splitting my genres gave me room to be truly creative once again. I wrote traditional and short contemporary novels for a long time. I loved the books I wrote. I did well even though I didn’t actually sell for one reason or another. But line closures and my growth toward romantic suspense told me I needed to move on. At the time, it was a good decision but with the recent industry changes, I realized I’d thrown the baby out with the bath water. Moving on to romantic suspense didn’t mean I had to give up on my contemporaries. Besides, my romantic suspense has taken a much darker tone than expected and I find the cute contemporaries are the breath of fresh air I need to offset the darker suspense. Splitting my genres was the best thing I could have done for my creativity.

• Taking my career into my hands and publishing my own projects, quite honestly, had never been on my radar. I didn’t want to go with a digital publisher. Not to diss any of the wonderful digital publishers out there or to the great authors who publish with them, it was impossible for me to see me going that route. I’m “old school” and I had my heart set on print. Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!

Sweeping changes in the industry with the Kindle, Nook, and other self-publishing digital formats, changed my mind quite recently. Like late last fall recently! My critique partners were encouraging, okay, pushing me to finish my current suspense project to take advantage of the new publishing opportunities. I wasn’t ready to push my unfinished baby onto the world. Their response? “So publish one of your contemporary romances. They’re great and readers will love them, and you can take a break from serial killers once in a while.”

I love my critique partners! I have no doubt part of their reasoning was that they had started to get as buried in the darkness of my psychological suspense as I was, but they do know me and my writing. And as they so often are, they were right. That next day, I split my genres, tweaked my website to accommodate two genres, and pulled out one of my favorite contemporary romances – a finalist in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart contest – and got to work.

That leads me back to the Isaac Asimov quote I pulled from the internet a year and a half ago. I’ve come full circle. Persistence has finally K.O.d, knocked out and obliterated, I Quit winning the championship round on Valentine’s Day, February 14th, the day I published my debut contemporary romance novel, Satin Pleasures. Since last week, I’ve been feeling like Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky, my hands thrown high as I pump the air with my fists at the top of the stairs in celebration.

I know this is only the beginning. I’ll have to go through the entire process with the next book and the next, and the next after that because I want you, my readers, to get the very best stories I can write for you. I have six brothers in my upcoming romantic suspense series, Thorne’s Thorns. I plan to have the first brother, Patrick Thorne’s story out this summer.

I’m still learning – we won’t even discuss how I’ll add promotions and blogging and reviews, etc. to the balls I’m now juggling — but as long as I keep company with Persistence, I just may see my way clear to recapturing a bit of the Wonder Woman in me.

Nah! Never mind. That’s just so wrong…I still can’t fit into her tights!
~~~~~~~~~

[If you’re interested in reading an excerpt of SATIN PLEASURES, I’ve posted one on my website at www.karendocter.com. The book is now available on Kindle at http://www.amazon.com/Satin-Pleasures-ebook/dp/B0078VSY6G/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1329777162&sr=8-1 and Nook at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/satin-pleasures?keyword=satin+pleasures&store=book for only $3.99.

~~~~~
 ANNOUNCEMENT: Yesterday, at noon as promised, I randomly pulled one of the names from the five (5) comments on my February 13th blog post. I’m happy to announce the winner of the #FREE digital copy of SATIN PLEASURES is Gerri Bowen! Congratulations, Gerri! I’ll contact you privately to get your email address so I can send your PDF copy. Thanks, everyone, for commenting!