Working Notes September 4 – An Assembly Line of Goodies

Cute cover, huh?  It’s the Japanese version of Forbidden, the first Anastasia Black erotic historical romantic suspense that Julia Templeton and I co-wrote, in 1993.  It was our first erotic romance for Ellora’s Cave, the first time I had ever co-written anything, and it was a huge success.  It was probably the only place a historical romance novel could have sold in 1993, too.  The bottom had just fallen out of the historical romance market, but erotic romance was huge.

Julia and I went on to write a sequel, Dangerous Beauty, as well, and both of them did really well, especially — oddly enough — in paperback.

The irony is that now, when BDSM, menage, and the most outr of extremes are becoming the norm in erotic romance, our two rather mild erotic historical romances could probably be sold as “just” historical romances these day because the market has shifted its perceptions so significantly.

But that is what I — and Julia — are working on right now.  We’re cleaning up and tweaking both books for reissue as our own author editions.  This time we’re re-issuing under our own names (we’ll squeeze them on the covers).

The Japanese cover, by the way, is so tiny and simple because even back in 1993, the major Japanese readership was on cellphones, so the covers didn’t need to be big.


As soon as I’ve got the two Ward Duology books out there, I’m going to be putting out a few out-of-print ex-Ellora’s Cave titles that aren’t earning their keep at the moment.  I’ll also be tweaking, cleaning, and possibly extending them, and issuing them as author editions.  They include Dead Again, Eva’s Last Dance and Dead Double. Eva’s Last Dance I’ll release under my own name, not Teal Ceagh.


Then…woohoo!  Beloved Bloody Time book 3!  I’m starting to twitch already over that one…


Excerpt from Dead Double.

Before she could question Jacqui, the woman had shepherded her out into the main room and shut the door discreetly behind her, staying in the bedroom.

Logan was standing at the table, reading one of the many information sheets she had been handed this long day, with his other hand in his pocket. He’d changed his shirt and now was wearing a crisp white one under another dark suit. This suit spelled cutting edge fashion. It was shaped and hung just so. He’d also trimmed off most of his stubble but left just enough to be interesting.

He looked up as Sahara stepped out of the bedroom and his hand fell away from the table. He kept on staring.

Sahara tugged self-consciously at the dress, only now realizing that it plunged down the front, showing flesh almost to the waist and dropped down to the top of her hips at the back. It felt like there were a couple of thin straps crossing over her back and she vaguely remembered tugging them into place in her rush to change. From the waist to her knees the dress clung. There was no room for modesty, every curve she had was framed in clinging stretch satin. Conversely, the hem of the dress touched the floor despite her towering shoes and she was completely decent from the knees down.

“Jesus Christ,” Logan whispered.

Sahara wet her lips. “Is it too formal?” she asked.

He pulled his other hand out of his pocket and turned to face her squarely. “Micky,” he breathed.

Micky. She heard Jacqui’s voice again. That’s the woman Logan fell in love with.

Sahara pushed aside the protest rising inside her. She had agreed to this, she reminded herself. “Then I’ll do?” she asked crisply. “I’ll pass close inspection from people who knew her?”

Logan blinked and turned away. “I guarantee it,” he said, his voice rough. He pushed the sleeve of his jacket up his arm and checked his watch. “The car is waiting. Are you ready?”

She lifted her purse. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Jacqui laid this out for you.” He pointed toward a stole that looked like a netting of sparkling gold threads and Sahara realized that he wasn’t going to bring it to her. He wasn’t looking at her at all. He stood with his hand on the door handle, waiting for her.

She walked over to the chair and picked up the stole and wrapped it around her shoulders. It provided a bit more modest a covering but in this heat, more warmth wasn’t needed.

“We’ll be in public, Sahara. You’re Micky as soon as we step out of this door,” Logan reminded her.

“I get the impression I’m already Micky. For you, anyway.”

He looked up at her then and there was a sharp crease between his brows. Pain was etched on his forehead. “Yes,” he said, his voice husky.



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