Wishing you all a Very Merry Christmas!!
I have a few Christmas eve traditions. One thing I like to do with my family is watch A Christmas Story while eating Chinese food. Another thing we enjoy doing is tracking Santa. Every year NORAD had a Santa Tracker on their site so you can find out where Jolly St. Nick has been. The Santa Tracker countdown has begun and in a matter of only a few hours we can see Santa’s progress. I hope you visit the NORAD site and enjoy this tradition with your family this year.
This recipe is great for Christmas or New Year’s Eve. It’s quick and easy to make. You can prepare it overnight and heat in the oven the next day. If you prefer you can serve this with nacho chips or crackers too.
- 1 envelope onion soup mix, any brand
- ½ teaspoon dried oregano
- 1 container (16 oz.) sour cream
- 1 container ricotta cheese, (15 oz.)
- 2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese, separated
- 1/4 cup chopped pepperoni, I use the bite size
- 1 loaf Italian or French bread
- Preheat oven to 350°. In a large bowl combine soup mix, oregano, sour cream, ricotta cheese, 1 cup of the mozzarella, and pepperoni.
- Add to a pie dish or a 8X8 pan. Sprinkle with remaining 1 cup mozzarella cheese.
- Bake uncovered 30 minutes or until heated through.
- Serve with sliced bread.
Tips: I have found that the bite sized pepperoni works better than slices. It gives it a better texture
Can true love really withstand any test? Suffering from PTSD, Connor returns from war to his best friends. Are they the key to this Australian ex-soldier’s happily ever after? Ann Grech’s delectable MMF menage romance will take you on an emotional roller coaster through twists and turns leaving you breathless.
I owe Levi everything, so when I fell for his girl, I did the only thing a good mate would do. I left. Ran. Six years in the Army and I still couldn’t forget. But I couldn’t stay away any longer.
And now I’m realizing it wasn’t just her I’d fallen for.Levi
He left us to defend our country. While I was living in paradise, happy, and in love with my gorgeous girl, he faced horrors I can’t even imagine. It nearly broke me knowing he was there, and we were here. Twenty years we’ve known each other and we’re still inseparable. Now I’m beginning to understand how, in another life, we could have been so much more.
Levi’s the love of my life, my soulmate. And life is good. We’re so damn lucky… blessed to have found each other. But when Connor left, he took a piece of my heart and we’re incomplete without him. In limbo.NOW HE’S BACK.
By day Ann Grech lives in the corporate world and can be found sitting behind a desk typing away at reports and papers or lecturing to a room full of students. She graduated with a PhD in 2016 and is now an over-qualified nerd. Glasses, briefcase, high heels and a pencil skirt, she’s got the librarian look nailed too. If only they knew! She swears like a sailor, so that’s got to be a hint. The other one was “the look” from her tattoo artist when she told him that she wanted her kids initials “B” and “J” tattooed on her foot. It took a second to register that it might be a bad idea.
Out and proud Riley Anderson is dancing the night away at a private gay club when he first notices him. Dark, broad, and with muscles to drool over, it turns out he is UFC MMA fighter Craig “The Lion” Johnson. Passion quickly flares and neither can fight the chemistry between them.
After a couple of false starts, Riley and Craig set out to try this thing called dating for real, but clashes are imminent. Too many lifestyle differences make their relationship difficult, but for Riley, it’s hard to be kept hidden.
Can he endure being a secret lover? Or will Craig put aside his fears of losing his career and decide what is really worth fighting for?
Riley Anderson’s whole body froze when he first saw him. He was at Midnight Howl, an exclusive gay club located in the heart of Seattle. It was a members-only type of club, and in order to be accepted, a member was required to sign all kinds of privacy and nondisclosure agreements. It was forbidden to disclose any patron’s identity to any nonmember or to divulge the details of any sexual encounters witnessed or taken part in. Sure, Riley had been to a few other clubs around the area, but none came close to the amazing customer service provided at Midnight Howl. Plus the membership wasn’t actually all that expensive and, in Riley’s opinion, the fellow clientele were from a whole other league of good-looking men.
In that moment, Riley’s heart beat faster than ever. From the edge of the dance floor, he ran his green eyes up and down the stranger’s form. Dancing in the most hypnotizing way, the man who’d caught Riley’s eye had his head back and eyes closed while he moved, as if he were in another world completely. Riley couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of the stranger. The man was just… so beautiful. Perfect really.
Under the club’s white strobe lights, the man’s dark skin caused him to stand out. African American, and at the height of at least six four, he had the shoulders of a linebacker. This godlike creature mesmerized Riley. Fantasies surfaced at the sight of his muscular arms and broad chest. One persistent image involved Riley gripping them for leverage as the man pounded into him. The exact position was quite immaterial. Against the wall with Riley’s legs wrapped around his waist. On a bed with the stranger on top of him. The list went on. The man’s arms also made Riley want to run his hands—and tongue—along all his dark, flawless skin. Wearing only jeans and shoes, the man was temptation at its best.
A slim five nine himself, Riley couldn’t help but try his luck with the man. He swayed his hips and noticed how the lights did different things to the much fairer skin on his arms. If anything, they emphasized his paleness. Gathering all his courage, Riley made his way over to the man with a few twirls and hip bops, and lightly tapped on the man’s bare shoulder. He hoped and prayed for a positive reaction.
Lowering his head and opening his eyes, the man stared down at Riley. With his face in full view now, Riley took a moment to take in the stranger’s features. He slid his glasses up his nose, amazed at such masculine beauty. His lips parted. The man’s eyes, so dark they could almost be called black, were surrounded by beautifully long eyelashes. A slightly bent nose led down to his full, pinkish lips. Oh, they definitely look yummy enough to nibble on! Although he was sure he’d recall the man if he’d seen him at the club before, there was something familiar about him. Riley was certain he’d seen him somewhere. The man’s thick, yet seemingly manicured, eyebrows furrowed while his dark-as-night eyes scrutinized Riley. Overall he was… “Perfect,” Riley heard himself murmur.
AVAILABLE FOR PREORDER
Kryssie is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate and 3 ebooks of Submission, Secrets, and the Soldier to lucky winners during the tour. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter. Remember there is a chance to enter every day, so please follow us along on the tour. You may find the tour locations here.
About the Boxed Set:
Kryssie Fortune’s holiday series, Heroes of Westhorpe Ridge, is now available in a convenient e-boxed set!
Marriage, Mobsters, and the Marine:
Abigail Montgomery, a small town schoolteacher with zero self-confidence, dreams of the Dickensian Christmas her family never enjoyed. Each month she attends a masked BDSM club, but her next visit will be her last. If she doesn’t marry within the next year, her brother won’t inherit Montgomery Hall. Desperate, she advertises for a husband.
Jared Armstrong, a former Marine sharpshooter and occasional Dom needs $125,000 to get his family out of a hole. His solution–to marry Abigail Montgomery for her money. His only regret is his wife won’t accept his spanking lifestyle.
Gradually, Abigail comes to dream of making their marriage real, but she promised Jared a divorce two years after their wedding. Can they share some Christmas magic as their relationship faces extortion threats, a kidnapping, and an attempted murder? Or will Jared break her heart when he walks away?
Sex, Scandal, and the Sheriff:
Jasmine Stewart (Jazz to her friends) falls for the blond stranger when he spanks and seduces her at a Washington soiree. Later, when she discovers her flatmate is trying to draw her into a spy ring, she goes to the authorities. The ensuing publicity costs her her job, her security, and her future. Starting over in Westhorpe Ridge is her only option.
Sean Mathews, former SEAL and Westhorpe Ridge’s sheriff, can’t forget the woman he spanked when he visited Washington, but he thinks she’s a spy. When she turns up in Westhorpe Ridge, he tries everything to make her leave town. Despite their misunderstandings, though, they can’t keep their hands off each other.
As Year’s Eve looms, the spy ring resurfaces. Jazz will need all of Sean’s SEAL prowess to survive. But because his wounded leg cost him his speed in the water, will it be enough?
Desire, Deceit, and the Doctor:
Twelve years ago, Mandy Devlin moved away from her friends and family–under threat. If she returned in the next ten years or told anyone who fathered her baby, her boyfriend’s great-aunt would bankrupt her family. She’s a single mom who dreams of her lost love and a good spanking. When she’s finally free to return to Westhorpe Ridge, the last person she expects to see is Adam–the man she loved and lost so long ago.
Dr. Adam Montgomery doesn’t know he has a son. Thanks to his great-aunt’s will, he has nine months to find a bride or he loses Montgomery Hall and the fifteen million dollars she left him. Although he seduces Mandy on his first night home, he still believes she betrayed him twelve years ago. No way would he marry a woman like her.
As Valentine’s Day looms, someone tries to kill Mandy. Is Adam trying to get rid of her? Or can Mandy trust him to protect them?
Note: All of the books in this set were previously released as single titles.
Kryssie’s pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.
Her books are all stand alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.
By Beverley Oakley
Two years ago, she missed their secret assignation and disappeared without a trace. Now the divine “Miss Hope” is in Felix Durham’s bed – a ‘surprise cheering-up gift’ sourced by his friends from London’s most exclusive brothel. Felix is in heaven – and he wants to stay there.
So does Hope, but she can’t.
Hope Merriweather lives by a code of honour – even if she’s a prostitute.
Having sold her soul, she’s prepared to sacrifice everything else to protect what she believes in.
Even if honour – in her eyes – comes at the cost of thieving and breaking hearts. Including her own.
If there was a name to tip Hope into the abyss of despair she was hearing it spill from Madame Chambon’s lips now as the older woman directed Hope to take a seat in the reception room, presumably so Madame could loom oppressively over her.
With her hands on her ample, expensively padded hips, Hope’s benefactress—procuress, employer and gaoler were other monikers—sent Hope a beetling look that needed no interpreting: Regardless of Hope’s true feelings, Hope must project the required show of warmth and delight at being the chosen one.
Madame patted the side of her faux curls. Years of hot irons had reduced her hair to the texture of wool but her crowning glory these days was supplemented by the lustrous locks of those girls who dared cross her – before they were thrown back into the street from where most had come.
Nevertheless, Hope had to make her resistance clear. Surely Madame who knew her history would understand her loathing for this man, above all others. “I shan’t do it,” she whispered. There was little evidence of the willful child and wild adolescent who’d been the despair of her family. “I won’t—”
Outside, the noise of the traffic rumbling over the cobbles and the shrill calls of competing vendors settled upon the tense silence. Madame Chambon’s other girls, ranged around the sumptuously appointed room on red velvet upholstered banquettes, watched the exchange with prurient fascination. Hope knew it had been a calculated ploy of Madame’s to conduct her interview in public so that Hope would serve as an example to them.
No one crossed Madame Chambon.
The shrill cry of a fishmonger caused Madame to look pointedly out of the window. With something between a smile and a sneer, she smoothed a Marcel wave. “Is that where you plan to return, Hope? The gutter?” Her nose twitched and in the sunlight that filtered into the room, the grooves chiselled between mouth and chin were thrown into harsh relief, highlighted rather than hidden by the thick powder she used to conceal her age.
Madame Chambon’s comfort, now and into retirement, depended on obedient girls. Hope knew that as well as anyone. She’d had to bury her rebellious streak just to ensure food in her belly.
The Frenchwoman raised a chiselled brow and began to pace slowly in front of her girls. A painter with an eye for beauty would have been ecstatic at capturing such a spectacle on canvas. The discerning young man about town who visited 56 Albemarle Street was frequently rendered ecstatic by the range of delights Madame Chambon’s girls offered in addition to the visual.
“You forget yourself, Hope. I put a roof over your head and deck you out as handsomely as Mr Charles Worth ever did for his most discerning customer.” There was acid in Madame Chambon’s tone. “But for me, you’d be starving and glad of the pennies you could trade for a grubby stand-up encounter in a dark alley.” Madame Chambon thrust out her bosom and breathed through her nose, her response a calculated warning to the other girls arranged in various languid poses about the ornately decorated reception room that intransigence would not be tolerated.
“Mr Hunt has requested you.” She paused and when Hope remained silent, though her stance and expression left no one in any doubt as to her horror regarding this enforced assignation, went on. “Remember what I told you—what I tell all my girls when they first come here? The past must be forgotten the moment you step over my threshold. You are reborn, remodelled, refashioned into the most exquisite delectation of womanhood. A marquess, a prince, is well recompensed for the tidy sum he hands over in order to enjoy your sparkling wit, to converse with you in French, or if he chooses, on philosophy…to enjoy your charms…and,” she added significantly, “your gracious hospitality and tender ministrations to his needs. That is our agreement and you are no different. If Mr Hunt wishes you, Hope, to attend him at his residence then you will go.”
Faith, one of the kinder girls, patted Hope’s arm in silent solidarity. Hope didn’t expect any of them to speak up in her defence. Not when they all relied on Madame Chambon as much as she did to provide them with the necessities of life. Anything more than that was part of a strict contract that indentured a girl for life unless she was able to secure a generous benefactor to settle Madame’s severance bill. The fine clothes were part of the charade, necessary to entice a more elite clientele. Hope’s exquisite wardrobe did not belong to her though she’d have forsaken all the dupion silk and Spitalfields lace for the freedom of the gutter and to be mistress of her own destiny – and her body – if she could only be sure of a plate of gravy and potatoes every second day.
Closing her eyes, she hung her head, the carefully coiffed curls that fell forwards brushing against her tear-streaked cheeks. It was as well that they not be in evidence. Tears, weakness, vulnerability were like a red rag to a bull where Madame Chambon was concerned.
“How long…do I have to prepare myself?” She was not so stupid she couldn’t admit defeat when there was no alternative. Obduracy was beaten out of one, but tears ensured a girl got the very worst next assignment. Their clients weren’t all marquesses and princes, though they did require a very fat pocket book.
“Tomorrow.” Hope repeated it in a leaden tone, and stared at her hands, clasped in her lap; white-knuckled. As white as the rabbit-fur that edged her fashionable black-and-white striped satin cuirass. Hope had the tall, slim figure suited to the scandalously tight tie-back skirts that were all the rage, the back flowing into a train adorned with elaborate swags and trimmed with bows. She’d turned heads the length of Oxford Street as she’d promenaded along the pavement following a walk through Hyde Park earlier that afternoon. In fact, for the first time in two years, she’d almost felt happy as she’d pretended a sense of freedom in the afternoon sun, blocking her mind to the prison to which she was returning.
She drew in her breath and forced herself to be brave, knowing the punishment she’d invite for daring to speak her mind. “Please tell Mr Hunt I will see him again under sufferance.”
Madame Chambon’s voice was surprisingly caramel. “Well then, now that you have made your objection clear, Hope, you will be pleased to hear that Mr Hunt’s desires are not only motivated by fond memories of your no-doubt mutually satisfying congress. I believe he wishes to acquaint you with news of your family.”
Hope hid her shock. “I have no family.” With care, she modified her tone so it was as leaden as before though emotion roiled close to the surface.
“Not even a sister?”
Hope raised her chin. Here was the chink and Madame knew it. The woman did her research.
Aware that the other girls who surrounded her were tense with anticipation, Hope struggled not to respond. Camaraderie existed at surface level but one never knew when it might profit one to have the dirt on a fellow prostitute. It was, clearly, another reason Madame Chambon had chosen to make this conversation public.
“Mr Hunt will see you at nine tomorrow evening,” said the so-called Frenchwoman who, it was whispered, was from the gutters of Lambeth, not Paris. “At his apartments in Duke Street. Now go and prepare yourself for Lord Farrow. Married to a monolith like the venerable Lady Farrow, he likes his girls vivacious and free-spirited. There’ll be less coin in your pocket if you sully the transaction with that long face, Hope.”