Tiger in the Snow 
nKindle Price: $0.99 
nBuy on Amazon

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n n nn n n n

n nHealing from a deserved drubbing at the hands of Atlas Leonidus, Siberian tiger shifter Dmitry Alkaev travels from Cairo to Virginia. The strange compulsion leads him to his mate and a fearsome rival. Faced with a modern woman’s determination to remain independent, Dmitry unleashes charm and ruthlessness to claim her and, he hopes, redeem his honor. n nTessa Hart’s romantic Valentine’s Day weekend ends in utter disaster. Fate drops her into the arms of two big, handsome men who both assert their ownership over her. She wants to remain independent, but finds herself inexorably drawn to Dmitry. He’s tall, sexy, overbearing, and absolutely certain that she belongs to him. The choice, eventually, is hers. Accepting him means the end of life as she knows it and the beginning of a life she cannot fathom.n n nBuy Today  n​https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01D1Y4O62n n

n

n

n

n

Excerpt – ​Chapter 3 

n

nTessa Hart supposed she should be grateful that none of her bones was broken, but coming to consciousness at the bottom of a steep embankment while vehicles roared along the highway above didn’t inspire a sense of gratitude. It was official: her romantic Valentine’s Day weekend sucked. 
n
nShe picked herself off the ground, wincing at the various aches and pains that lingered from having been shoved down the embankment and crashing into various rocks and small, woody plants before coming to rest against the somewhat sturdier trunk of a tree. She looked up. No how, no way was she going to be able to climb back up to the highway to hitch a ride. The only way forward was to go deeper into the woods. The theme from Deliverance echoed in her brain. 
n
nShivers wracked her body. Frigid temperatures numbed her fingers and toes. She slipped and slid and tumbled on a slick mixture of snow and general forest debris. Her clothes were soaked through. At least it wasn’t windy. She wished she had kept her coat on in the car, but the interior of Derek’s Lexus was so toasty and comfortable she hadn’t needed to wear it. 
n
nThe thought of Derek brought the welcome warmth of rage. Their last conversation ran through her mind. They had stopped, taken a quick step outside the car to take advantage of a scenic overlook. The romantic proposal she had anticipated never happened. Instead he made her proposition which resulted in an even quicker argument about her unsuitability as a wife. She’d yelled and slapped him. He shoved. She’d stumbled and fell and tumbled down, down, down… Damn the Virginia Department of Transportation for not installing a fence or guardrail there.
n
nTessa looked upward at the dimming sky. Considering that the winter sun had shone brightly overhead when they stopped, several hours had passed while she lay unconscious. Derek had wasted neither time nor energy calling for assistance. 
n
nThe rat bastard had left her there to die. Since she had refused to be his mistress, he would find her disappearance convenient. She clenched her jaws and hoped for the gratifying opportunity to get her hands on him so she could throttle the jerk. Her shoulders drooped as righteous anger evaporated. The likelihood that she really would have the opportunity to exact a little vengeance looked pretty remote.
n
nShe shivered as cold sank bone deep and chilled the warmth of outrage. She was lost, freezing, hungry, and so damned tired.n

n

n

nn

n

n

n

nn

n n

n

n

I go into every business relationship with an attitude of trust. In short I give my trust; it doesn’t have to be earned. However, if the client breaks that trust, then it’s gone never to return.

That happened last week. The warning signs were there from the get-go, so I wasn’t entirely surprised when the whole gig fell through. It began with a solicitation for a ghostwriter to write a romantic short story. It morphed from “short story” into 20,000-word erotic novella.

Some people don’t understand the difference between “short story” and “novella,” so I let it slide.

The project then expanded into a 100,000-word story split into five 20,000-word installments. Um, buddy, that’s a serialized novel and way beyond “short story.” I proposed an alternative: I’d write five 20,000-word novellas all connected within a series, each story being complete in and of itself. The client agreed, then asked for a synopsis of the story. I asked if the client wanted to review the work chapter-by-chapter as content was developed; he replied that he’d prefer to receive a draft of the entire thing. OK.

I hadn’t included the synopsis in the original scope of work, but I cobbled one together for the first book in the series. The client asked for an outline. I replied that he’d requested a synopsis–outside the scope of work–and I would provide that. He backed down. I submitted the synopsis. He approved it.

I began writing.

A week later, the client asked for a status update. I sent him the link to the drafted content. He asked for completion within a week. Hah. I reminded him that I had not and would not agree to that.

When I completed the draft, I notified him with a link to view the content and asked if he had any changes. He sent me a document my computer could not open, much less read. The ensuing communication asking for clarification could have been aired on The Office. The changes he requested were with regard to adding copyright, disclaimer, and the author’s pen name–nothing to do with the drafted story.

I requested additional feedback, because–hey, I’m an editor, too–I know that no rough draft is suitable for publishing. Crickets. I pulled down the file, sent an invoice, and requested payment. Our agreement stated invoicing would occur upon submission of the draft. I help up my end of the deal, no question about that.

The client hemmed and hawed. The upshot is that I declined to give the client the manuscript without receiving payment for my work. So, I had a 20,000-word novella on my hands. I decided to publish it myself.

As the genre of the novella isn’t in my usual wheelhouse, I adopted a new pen name. If you read back a few blogs, you’ll know my thoughts on that. The book’s been uploaded for around a week (e-book format only). As of June 9, two copies sold. I doubt it will make money, but better those few pennies go into my pocket than to the slimeball who tried to steal my work.

If you’re truly curious about the book–and I have every intention of completing the series–then send me a message. I’ll send you a link to the Amazon page to buy it (just $0.99). Be reminded, it’s erotica, lots of sex with a little bit of story. Not my usual stuff.

Oh, and the whole “playing chicken” part? That can be taken literally, too.

I got five more chickens last week, including one rooster, a handsome bird. He’s also a nasty-tempered brute. He played chicken with me and I won. He no longer lives here. A family who wanted a Buff Orpington rooster to make chicks with their Buff Orpington hens adopted him.

In a way, I’m sorry to see him go. I feel like I failed him. However, I didn’t like being attacked every time I went out to feed livestock, so he had to go.