They say addictions are often hereditary. I am proof that is indeed the case. My grandmother taught me to fish when I was a little girl, because she was a fishaholic. Now, I am an unrepentant fishaholic too.
From my grandmother I also learned the valuable lesson that fishing is not all about catching something. It’s about sitting there watching the end of your pole and just thinking, reflecting and getting right in your soul. Yes, fishing was nearly a religion in my family, or at least a religious experience. We were in South Central Louisiana, the Sportsman’s Paradise, how could it not be?
Sometimes, it’s family bonding time too. I am proud to say that I passed on the same addiction to my daughter. She is probably a bigger fishing fanatic than I am, and for the same reasons. We both now reside on the Texas Gulf Coast, so we can indulge our addiction as often as we like, which is at least a couple of times a week. If you’re interested, you can see some of my fishing photos on Facebook at http://tinyurl.com/mqbxvg2. I always beat my husband at fishing by catching either the biggest or the most, and he pouts. Damn, I love it when that happens!
Today I still fish for the same reasons, but also I use fishing to untwist my mind when I hit a plot snafu when I write. Or develop new plots for upcoming books. “What if” is my favorite question, and it’s often answered while staring at the end of my fishing pole.
Recently, I had a few people down to fish in a tourney with me. We pre-fished the weekend before to scout out honey holes. I’m sitting at the front of the boat, and just staring. My friend who was with me goes, “I see your mind spinning up there. Are you plotting a book again?” My answer was of course yes, but I had no idea I had wandered off in lala land. I think that was when I was writing Trouble With the Law (#11, Texas Trouble), the latest release in my Texas Trouble series.
You can check it out and see what I came up with. Let me know what you think! My newest release is Just Shoot Me (#1, Cowboy Way) which is a spinoff from my novella Hope for Christmas, which was included in a holiday anthology with Sable Hunter, Desiree Holt, and Sandy Sullivan. Santa Wore Spurs is still available on Amazon for only .99, if you want to read the novella, before digging into book one of the new series.
I would love to hear what you think of my series, and get to know you too. I often run contests for swag and books on my Facebook Author Page at: www.facebook.com/beckymcgrawbooks. There’s a contest going on right now as a matter of fact for a Cowboys are My Krytonite t-shirt, a signed paperback of Just Shoot Me (#1, Cowboy Way) and a Cowboy Way/Texas Trouble keytag. You can find it here: http://tinyurl.com/n35r3k3
Below are blurbs and excerpts from Trouble With the Law (#11, Texas Trouble) and Just Shoot Me (#1, Cowboy Way). I hope you enjoy, and hope I see you soon on my Facebook page!
TROUBLE WITH THE LAW (#11, Texas Trouble)
Amazon US – http://tinyurl.com/mzgena5
Smashwords (Nook Format) – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/385176
Paperback US – https://www.createspace.com/4559669
BLURB: Criminal defense attorney Veronica Winters always wondered what it would be like with sexy former detective Trace Rooks. Even though he’s an ex-convict now, because of her, she still wonders. Ronnie has always felt damned guilty for recommending a plea deal that sent an innocent man to jail. When she finds out he’s back in jail and a friend asks her to question him about the situation, Ronnie thinks she might finally have the opportunity to set things right with him.
At the jail though, she finds a changed man she almost doesn’t recognize. The scars on the outside are nothing compared to the scars he bears inside. Instead of the charming, easy going man she represented four years prior, his attitude now is as hard as his body. But she finds out the new, edgier Trace Rooks turns her on even more than the man she knew before.
Trace Rooks, would love nothing better than seeing the Shark Lady get her due for sending him to prison unjustly. He would make sure Ronnie Winters eventually got hers, but at the moment, he had other priorities. Like taking down his corrupt father. The man who had paid off the woman touted to be the best criminal defense attorney in the state to help send him to prison.
When Ronnie shows up at the jail asking questions, Trace isn’t giving her anything except a hard time. He believes she’s there on his father’s behalf again, and there is no way in hell he is falling for her lines again. Trace was a man that learned for his mistakes, and trusting Ronnie Winters had been the biggest of his life.
But when Ronnie doesn’t get the answers she wants from him, she starts digging around on her own. Trace knows that can get him killed or sent back to prison again. He decides that the best thing he can do is heed his grandfather’s advice to keep his friends close and his enemies closer. He isn’t sure which camp Ronnie Winters falls into yet, but he’s going to keep her close until he figures it out.
Maybe he could get the answers he’d been looking for the last three years. If not, he could at least get his pound of flesh from the mouthy, leggy redhead every man in Texas was afraid of. Trace wasn’t afraid of Ronnie Winters, but he quickly finds out he isn’t immune to her either. When that leads to thinking he might just have misjudged the beautiful redhead before, and perhaps there was more to her than met the eye, Trace knows he’s in deep trouble.
“You want answers, Veronica?” Trace ground out, his eyes hard and dark. His arm shot across the table, and she flinched. He laughed and grabbed her pen then leaned back and dropped it under the table. Lowering his voice, he leaned forward again to growl, “Let me tell you what I want, then you decide if you still want those answers.” He drummed his fingers on the table.
Tingles of alarm coursed through Veronica traveling with the excitement already buzzing along her nerve endings. Something wasn’t right here. Trace Rooks wasn’t right. Three years in prison had warped him, changed him into a man she didn’t know. One who scared her a little. And that was saying a lot. Because men didn’t scare her—ever. She was the one who scared them.
Veronica stiffened her shoulders, and her spine to sit up straighter in her chair. She was The Shark Lady, the best damned criminal lawyer in Amarillo, and he better damn well remember who he was talking to.
Trace shoved his chair up under the table, and the sound grated through her. He slouched in the chair, and drummed his fingers on the table again. “What I want, Red, is for you to get under that table, and pick up that pen,” he drawled, his eyes glittering with purpose. The scar on his cheek deepened when his mouth twisted into a travesty of a smile. “While you’re under there, I want you to unzip my pants and suck my dick. If you do a good enough job of it, I’ll give you your answers.”
Ronnie snorted, and leaned back in her chair crossing her arms over her chest. “Dream on, big boy.”
He was out of his mind if he thought she was going to do that. Her eyes involuntarily traveled to the camera mounted in the corner. Not that the camera mattered, there was no way she was going to do what he wanted even if there wasn’t a camera. But the thought of it made her wet. The possibility of getting caught, the probability of getting away with something so daring.
“I’m not dreaming,” he said smoothly. “You’re the one who came here to get answers from me. That’s the only way you’re going to get them, Veronica. I haven’t had sex in three years because of you. You owe it to me. Bet mine doesn’t taste any different than Leland’s did.”
Three years? Trace Rooks had only served two years, and had been out of prison for six months. Before he went to prison, Trace Rooks didn’t have trouble finding a willing woman. She couldn’t believe getting laid wasn’t near the top of his priority list when he got out of prison. While she worked on his case, Veronica knew of at least two women he was with when he was out of jail pending court hearings. One of them had even been in the courtroom, bawling hysterically when he was sentenced.
Either one of those women would probably do just what he asked. Veronica wasn’t those women. And she absolutely was not getting under that table to suck Trace Rooks off.
His eyes narrowed and a smug smile kicked up the corner of his firm mouth. “You asked me back then why Leland wanted me in jail. What if I told you?” he asked with a lifted brow. “Would you suck my dick for that information? How far would you go, Veronica? Would you swallow when I come in your mouth too?” Trace sucked a breath in through his teeth and moved one of his hands under the table. “God, I’m hard just thinking about it.”
Her eyes focused on his mouth. Firm, full lips that spewed his venom, issued his dirty challenges. “Stop being vulgar, Trace. You’re just trying to shock me. Just talk to me. I’m trying to help you here.”
“Help me, help you. Isn’t that what you told me when you said I should accept that bogus plea deal, Red?”
“I was trying to help. Taking that deal was in your best interest,” she said leaning back in her chair again. She glanced under the table and the pen taunted her.
Trace laughed harshly. “You helped me right into three years in prison. Now I’m going to help you get your answers, right after you give me a blow job.”
She snorted, and lifted a brow. “Keep screwing with me and I’ll get under that table and bite your dick off,” she threatened.
He leaned forward on his elbows, and met her eyes directly. “You bite me and when I get out, I’ll tie you up and spank your ass until you beg me to fuck you.” Trace wasn’t kidding. His dark eyes were focused on her, and he didn’t blink, not once. A dull throb started at the apex of her thighs, and she uncrossed her legs to press her knees together.
This was ridiculous. Ronnie didn’t like kinky sex, had never had a partner who was into it either. Why was she getting so turned on then by his naughty suggestions?
She shook her head to clear it. This wasn’t getting her anywhere. She also realized she wasn’t getting anywhere with Trace Rooks, and considering his mood, she wasn’t going to. Veronica scraped her chair back, then reached down for her briefcase.
The black pen near his foot taunted her again. He used the toe of his boot to slowly shove it to one side, then the other, and she felt his gaze hot on the side of her face. Back and forth, he moved it, teasing her. But he said nothing.
There was no way she could leave that pen there. It was a very expensive Mont Blanc. A pen she had been given by her attorney father when she graduated from law school. A memoir of the only time in her life he’d ever told her he was proud of her. So what if he’d only said it on the card that came with the pen, and he was a thousand miles away in Northern California handling a big case at the time. He had finally said it.
“Do it, Red,” Trace urged in a low growl, as he edged the pen with his toe again. She dropped to her knees beside her briefcase and crawled under the table. She saw Trace’s hand resting on his crotch. He stroked himself, and she saw the hard ridge of his large penis outlined under his jeans. Her mouth watered, as she contemplated doing what he asked.
She had always been curious what the big draw was with him. Why women were always after him. Policewomen and attorneys alike, even the female criminals fell prey to his charms. Hell, she’d even heard he’d done a judge and a female senator, while he was a detective. He must be one hell of a lover is all she could come up with. Curiosity about him is what had her so hot and bothered when she was representing him.
Trace unzipped his jeans, and she saw his thick erection straining at the top of his tight white underwear. She bit back a groan, as her hand closed around the ink pen. His foot landed on top of her hand to trap it.
“You know you want to do it, Veronica. You’ve wanted to do it for years. Since you first met me,” he suggested softly. “Now’s your chance, Red. To get your answers and satisfy your curiosity.” His sexy, tempting voice sent a chill down her spine.
JUST SHOOT ME (#1, Cowboy Way)
Tina Montgomery needs to find her Texas Tomcat. Her promotion and livelihood depend on it. That promotion could mean a new life for her, her sister and her niece. It’s a big risk however, because if she fails in her bid to head up a new menswear line at her company, she could lose everything. That’s why finding the perfect model to represent the line has become her sole focus. At the point of thinking she would …never find that man, one with both experience and attitude that shows in his face and eyes, she meets Dean Dixon. His gorgeous eyes tell a story she definitely wants to hear and the man has more attitude than any she’s ever met. Physically he’s perfect for the job. But that attitude she thought she wanted in her cowboy quickly becomes her biggest downfall when she tries to convince the sexy, but hard-hearted rancher to help her.
Dean Dixon is done with women. His cheating ex-wife has shown him just how untrustworthy women are. He has a ranch to run, and a son who might not be his to raise alone. That’s more than enough for any man to handle without dealing with his sister-in-law’s friend who is determined to convince him to model for her company. He has seen what that industry has done to his brother. Dean is a rancher, not a model, and he isn’t about to abandon his family or fall into the same trap his brother had. He stands his ground, until his sister-in-law tells him why Tina needs the promotion she’s wanting so badly, and asks for his help. Hope had bailed him and his family out when they needed her the year prior. How could he refuse to help her now?
Dean laid the clothes on the vanity, and pulled the jeans off the hanger then unbelted the robe he was wearing and let it drop to the floor. He inspected the jeans and decided they were a little heavy on the fancy stitching on the back pockets, but might be something he wore for special occasions. He surely wouldn’t be working outside in them.
At least they were bootcut and not those damned skinny leg jeans that men were wearing these days. He had no idea how men wore those damned jeans. He’d feel like he was in a sausage casing. One thing was for sure the men that wore those type of jeans like Paulo, didn’t wear cowboy boots with them. Boots would never fit under the tight legs.
Dean put his legs in the jeans then pulled them up. To get them buttoned he had to suck in and lean back against the vanity. Before he zipped them he had to rearrange things to make sure the zipper didn’t catch anything important. God if a man got excited in these jeans, there would definitely be trouble, he thought, as he finally got the zipper up and looked down at himself.
They were too tight, he decided, patting his ass and not feeling an inch of give in the material. He ran his thumb along the waistband and there was no room there either. Surely, that woman Belinda had brought more than one pair. Tina had sent a tailor out Wednesday to take his measurements, but the guy must’ve gotten the numbers wrong. Dean shoved his undershirt into the waistband of the jeans, put on his boots then opened the door. He walked back down the hall to the living room of the bunkhouse. Belinda was talking to Hope and Tina, so he just walked over there.
“These pants are too tight,” Dean complained and all three women swung around to face him. He figured they must’ve realized it too, because as a group they gasped and put their hands to their chests. He even heard a whimper from over by the sofa that had to come from Paulo. “I’m gonna bust out of these if I breath too deeply. Get me another pair,” Dean said shortly.
Tina broke from the others to walk over and slowly circle him, inspecting him like she would a side of beef. That’s exactly what he felt like right then with the petite brunette’s hot eyes on his body. Uncomfortable, Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“They’re perfect,” she said softly, as she stopped to face him.
Her gray eyes made it up as far as his mouth and lingered a second, before her gaze tracked back down his throat, moved slowly over his chest down his legs to his toes. “Perfect,” she repeated. On the return trip up his body, her eyes lingered for a moment at his crotch. That look he’d seen in her eyes the other day when she was moving the car came back. Interest. Desire.
Dean quickly found out that he was right about the lack of stretch in those jeans. Tina might as well have actually touched him there considering his reaction. That thought made him harder. “Get me another pair of damned jeans!” he demanded as he turned away quickly before anyone noticed his problem.
He strode back down the hallway, and slammed the bathroom door behind him. Leaning back against it, he shut his eyes. He’d had a fucking hard on since he met that woman. Her staring at him like that when he hadn’t had sex in three fucking years wasn’t helping his problem. He hadn’t taken the edge off in a long time either.
Why did his damned sex drive have to come out of hibernation now? And why because of a woman he did nothing but argue with? Because even though his mind might resist the idea of being attracted to the tiny spitfire, his body was definitely there.
Big time, he thought looking down at the straining zipper on the jeans.
He kept feeling her soft skin against his palm when he took off her boots, and wondering if the rest of her shapely body was just as warm and silky. Wondered if the tips of her perky breasts were dusky pink or coral colored. And how they would taste. The tip of his tongue tingled, and Dean got so hard, he really did think he might break the zipper out of those jeans.
And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. This photo shoot was about to go to hell in a handbasket. Dean was about to be humiliated too. He knew someone would probably be knocking on that door soon, expecting him to come back out there. When he did, the whole crew was in for a surprise. Unless he did something to fix the situation himself.
Dean unzipped the jeans, and shoved them down his legs, grabbed the hand towel off the rack beside the sink, then shuffled over to sit on edge of the tub. He jerked his underwear down and fisted himself. Sitting sideways he leaned back against the wall, straddled the tub edge and closed his eyes. He gripped his painful erection, and stroked himself, as he pictured Tina Montgomery using that beautiful mouth of hers on him. Dean held back a moan, his breathing hitched, and his heart beat an unsteady rhythm in his chest.
With each stroke, each fantasy he indulged, the tension inside him ratcheted up. Pleasure built, his balls tightened and he moaned, damned close to coming when the bathroom door opened. A soft gasp followed, and his eyes flew open to see the woman he was fantasizing about standing there, looking as embarrassed as he felt right then.
God, he wished someone would just shoot him. Put him out of his misery. His face felt like it was on fire as he threw the hand towel over his lap and sat up.
“Um, I was just coming to see what was taking so long,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She waved her hand, put it to her cheek, then shook her head and dragged her eyes toward the toilet. “You just, ah…finish up…and I’ll be out there,” she said without looking at him. Tina crawfished back out of the door and pulled it shut. Dean just sat there with his heart pounding in his ears, more embarrassed than he’d ever been in his life.
Thanks for reading!
Find Becky McGraw:
Amazon Author Central: www.amazon.com/author/beckymcgraw
Becky McGraw is a married mother of three adult children, and a Southern girl by birth and the grace of God, ya’ll. She resides in South Texas with her husband and dog Abby.
A jack of many trades in her life, Becky has been an optician, a beautician, a legal secretary, a senior project manager for an aviation management consulting firm, which took her all over the United States, a real estate broker, and now a graphic artist, web designer and writer.
She knows just enough about a variety of topics to make her dangerous, and her romance novels interesting and varied. Being a graphic artist is a good thing for her too, because she creates her own cover art, along with writing the novels.
Becky has been an avid reader of romance novels since she was a teenager, and has been known to read up to four novels of that genre a week, much to the dismay of her husband, and the delight of e-book sellers.
She has been writing fictional short stories and novels for fun, as well as technical copy for her jobs for many years. She was a member of the Writer’s Guild on AOL during her last venture into writing romance, as well as a founding member and treasurer of the first online chapter of the Romance Writers of America, From the Heart Romance Writers. Currently, she is a member of both organizations.