Cream Cheese And Jalapeno Wontons

This recipe makes  a great appetizer for any get together.  These are quite simple to make and can be fried or baked at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes too.  I love serving these with sweet and sour sauce, it takes the spicy bite way from the jalapeno.



1 package wonton wrappers

Pickled jalapeno slices, I use about 10, but you can use as much or as little per your taste

2 (8ounce) package cream cheese, softened

¼ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon pepper

¼ teaspoon garlic powder

Oil for frying



Dice your jalapenos and add to medium bowl with seasonings and softened cream cheese.

Mix until combined.

Take one wonton wrapper, wet the edges and add about a teaspoon cream cheese mix in the middle. Fold the wonton over and make sure it is sealed.

Continue until either wrappers are all used or filling all used up.

Heat oil to 350 degrees in a fry pan.

Add the wontons a few at a time, cook until both sides are golden brown.

When fully cooked place on a paper towel lined plate to remove extra grease.


Tips: you can use fresh jalapenos, you can also add ½ cup cheddar cheese to the mix.





Blog Tour: Breaking Down

Author: Megan Lowe

Title: Breaking Down
Series: Rocking Racers, Book 4
Genre: Contemporary Sports Romance
Release Date: February 6, 2018
Cover Designer: Claire Smith
 Add to TBR
 Available now! 

When a hot BMX champion butts head with a woman who could kick his arse, it’s only a matter of time before the gloves are off and the heat is on.
What happens when the unexpected flips your world upside down?
That’s the question Jax Ryan must answer when everything he knows and loves is tipped on its head. Adjusting to his new reality is not easy. Throw in the woman of his dreams, who won’t even give him the time of day, and Jax is out of his element.
Bentley La Roche is tough. She’s a fighter, literally. In her spare time, she can be found with the best MMA fighters on the Gold Coast. But she’s guarded and has no interest in getting involved with anyone, especially Jax Ryan.
But when things go from bad to worse for Jax, Bentley’s walls are no match for her desire to help him. Breaking down is easy. It’s the rebuild that’s hard, but so much fun.

 Available now! 



“This is Bentley and Harley, two of our fighters.”
We stand and watch as they spar, neither giving an inch. Just as I think neither of them is going to crack, the guy drops his guard. It’s only for a fraction of a second, so quick if you blinked you would’ve missed it. But that’s all it takes as the chick seizes the opportunity, hitting him with a nasty right hook and sending him to the floor.
“Holy shit,” I say as I adjust my rapidly hardening MIP in my shorts. That’s Most Important Part, in case you were wondering.
Bert chuckles. “Yeah, Bentley’s a firecracker.”
“Firecracker? She knocked that guy out,” I say, as trainers help him up.
“’Snot the first time. Come on,” he says, walking over to the stairs that lead to the cage, “I’ll introduce you.” I race after him, so eager to meet this firecracker of a woman it’s not funny. “Bentley,” he calls, “I’ve got someone here I want you to meet.”
She turns and almost knocks me on my arse. Stunning is not enough of a word to describe her. She’s tall, taller than me, which oddly I don’t mind. If I had to guess, I’d put her at five eleven. Her eyes are a gold colour, she has a hole in her chin where I’m guessing a labret piercing would usually go, and her arms and legs are a riot of colourful tattoos. Her lips are pink and full and I’d like nothing more than to spend all day kissing them. She takes off her headgear as she walks over to us, and a heap of platinum-blonde hair falls around her and down her back. Her body is a typical athlete’s body, toned and trim, but what it’s doing to me is anything but typical.
“Bentley, this is Jax Ryan,” Bert says.
Quickly I wipe my sweaty palm before offering it to her. “I don’t want to scare you off,” I say, “but I think you’re my perfect woman.”
She looks at me with disgust, and I let my hand drop to my side again. Unperturbed, Bert carries on. “Jax is a freestyle BMX rider,” he explains, “he’s got—”
“Eight Extreme Games gold medals,” she finishes.
“Ah, yeah,” Bert says, disappointed she stole his thunder.
A smirk crosses my face. “So you’ve heard of me?” I ask.
“I’ve heard of you,” she says as she takes the bindings off her hands. “I also saw your epic defence of your medals at the last games.”
I shrug and try to play it off. “Freestyle BMX can be dangerous. Every rider knows it. I know it. I’m not afraid of it.”
“No,” she says, crossing her arms over her small but adequate chest, “you just ate it in front of millions of people.”
Rocking Racers Series!
Book 1
 All buy links HERE
Book 2
All buy links HERE
Book 3
All buy links HERE
Megan Lowe is a lost journalism graduate who after many painful years searching for a job in that field, decided if she couldn’t write news stories, she would start listening to the characters whispering stories to her and decided to write them down.  She writes primarily New Adult/Contemporary Romance stories with Sport and Music themes. She is based on the Gold Coast but her heart belongs to New York City. When she’s not writing she’s either curled up with a good book, travelling or screaming at the TV willing her sporting teams to pull out the win.


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Blog Tour: The Accidental Elopement + GIVEAWAY

The Accidental Elopement
Scandalous Miss Brightwell Series (Book 4)
By Beverley Oakley

Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate to on lucky winner. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other stops on the tour. You may find those locations here

About the Book:
A seven-year secret. A tragic misunderstanding. Can love outwit fate in this twisted tale of misadventure and thwarted dreams?

Earl Quamby’s niece, Katherine, and Jack, a foundling home lad adopted by a local family, have been loyal friends for as long as they can remember.

As Jack is about to leave England to make his fortune and Katherine is being courted by two eligible suitors, they unexpectedly realise their friendship has blossomed into passionate love. A love, they are warned, that has no future.

Despite a brave attempt to defy the forces keeping them apart, tragedy results and the pair is separated.

When chance throws them together seven years later, Katherine, newly widowed, is being pressured into a marriage not of her choosing to avoid scandal and Jack feels he must honour his pledge to the worthy Odette whom he met in India and whose father is dying.

Katherine knows that revealing a long-held secret may win Jack to her but she also knows conflicting obligations from past and present may tear him apart.

Can master matchmakers, Fanny, Antoinette and Bertram Brightwell, outwit fate in its latest attempt to keep these star-crossed lovers apart and deliver them the happiness they deserve?

This is Book 4 in the Scandalous Miss Brightwell series but it can be read as a stand-alone.

Amazon Buy Link

Order The Accidental Elopement now for the special price of $2.99 and you’ll get an ecopy of Scandalous: Three Daring Charades in the Pursuit of Love. Just send a screen shot of proof of purchase to beverley (at) and she’ll send you the link for your free book. 
Amazon Buy Link

In this excerpt, Katherine is hiding in a dark corridor to avoid dancing with someone she has no wish to see during her first ball as a newly arrived London debutante. She then receives a rude shock!

No one had thought to light a candle sconce and this second corridor turning she’d taken was as black as a dungeon. Katherine couldn’t even see her hand but she wasn’t frightened of the dark. No, Katherine was not fainthearted.
Yet she did squeal when, taking another step, her progress was impeded by a very large object and, with no warning at all, she found herself flying through the air, landing with a painful jarring of her wrists upon the cold, hard flagstones.
“Good Lord!” came a disembodied young male voice in the dark before a groping hand located a piece of Katherine – namely a hank of hair – which caused her to shriek even louder when it was quite unnecessarily tugged. Whether this was to establish who or what she was, she had no idea – and perhaps neither did the tugger for immediately a profound apology was issued before the groping hand was operating with complete abandon in the dark.
This time it found Katherine’s breast just as the voice said in tones of utter mortification, “Forgive me! Are you hurt? Here, let me help you. That’s what I was trying to do, I promise. I didn’t realise you were on the ground? Take my hand. Really, I can’t apologise enough.”
Katherine had made one unsuccessful attempt to stand but it was a struggle in her flounced skirt and multiple corded petticoats. She swatted away the supposedly helping hand and hissed something unintelligible – somehow unladylike language seemed less of an offence when she couldn’t see to whom she was speaking.
But when the disembodied groping hand entered her orbit once more – in fact, brushing the bare flash above her garter and getting in a good squeeze of her thigh flesh, her temper which had never been one of her strong points, snapped and she lashed out with a sharp slice through the inky air.
A loud yelp made her realise she’d perhaps been a little peremptory and certainly too violent in this unladylike action and even though she felt disinclined to apologise she did say, ungraciously, “I’m sorry I hit you but a lady can only take so much of all this groping in the dark. I mean…what were you doing?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” came the response, now at ear level. In fact, she could feel the soft whisper of breath against her cheek which made her step back, saying, “I asked first.”
“I was chasing a cat. Bending down in fact. And then something crashed into me. Or on top of me.”
“That was me.”
“Yes, of course it was you. There’s no one else here, is there?”
Katherine bridled at his tone. She was unused to being spoken to as if she were at fault when, in this case, she most certainly wasn’t. “I think that’s a very rude response,” she told him. “Just as it was very thoughtless of you to crouch down where anybody could simply trip over you.”
“Anybody – or rather, anybody else – would be carrying a candle. I think I have every reason to be deeply suspicious of the motives of anyone who is not.”
“Well, you don’t have a candle. And I would suspect the truth of anyone hiding away in the dark, claiming they were crouching over an imaginary cat,” huffed Katherine. “In fact, I’d wager there was no cat here at all. I would have heard it. No, you were sneaking away from something, weren’t you?”
“And if I was, what business of yours? Whoever you are.”
Katherine could not imagine the audacity. “You certainly are no gentleman to speak to a lady in that fashion.”
“Since that lady hasn’t bothered to declare herself, I think I could be forgiven.”
“A gentleman would have declared himself first,” Katherine said hotly. “What were you sidling away from? There’s a noisy ball going on in the next room. If you were a gentleman, wouldn’t you be gallantly asking the ladies to dance instead of hiding in the dark? Perhaps there’s someone you’re afraid of seeing? A lady who has expectations of you behaving towards her as a gentleman.” Katherine said this triumphantly before elaborating on her theme. “My guess is that you’ve given some poor young lady the idea that you’ll dance with her all night and now you’ve changed your mind and are sneaking away.”
“Since you put forward the idea, I’d suggest the reason you’re here is exactly the same. You’re trying to sneak away from a gentleman to whom you’ve already promised two dances. Meanwhile he, poor fellow, is searching for you vainly in the ballroom while you’re here making a mockery of him.”
“He can do that all by himself,” Katherine sniffed. “But I never promised him anything and I never will.”
“Ha! I was right.” The voice sounded very pleased with itself. “Well, I feel sorry for this fellow without even seeing what you look like, miss. Poor fellow!”
“Poor fellow, indeed. George can pine til the cows come home. I’d even suffer talking to you than have to spend another five minutes with his sweating hands squeezing mine and his moon eyes boring into me…and his horrible, putrid breath choking me and his—”
“Poor George! I was just starting to feel sorry for him until you described the exact George I, too, am so at pains to avoid tonight.” The voice became more confidential and the mood relaxed.
Katherine crossed her arms and waited for him to speak again for she was rather interested in his George and then quite amused when the voice began to describe the very George against whom she railed.
“Well, you have described my cousin to a very fine point,” she laughed. “And if you are as well acquainted with him as you seem to be, then you obviously know exactly why I am here in the dark.”
There was a small silence. And then, “Your cousin?”
“In my family there are two Georges: Young George who is the son of my aunt and her husband, Lord Quamby, and Odious George who is his uncle, George Bramley.”
“Then we’re talking about the same George!” The voice sounded stunned.
A quick gasp from both of them was followed up by a delighted cry in unison.

Other Books In The Series: 

Rake’s Honour (Book 1) 
Beautiful, impoverished Fanny Brightwell has a few scores to settle—and a heart to win—before she can secure the wealthy, aristocratic husband her ambitious mama demands.
Pick up a free copy here!
Rogue’s Kiss (Book 2)
Would a potential suitor be bolder if he were told the lie that the maiden he desires has only six months to live?
Amazon Buy Link

Devil’s Run (Book 3)
A rigged horse race – with a marriage and a lost child riding on the outcome.
Amazon Buy Link

About the Author: 

Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first her 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Unfortunately drowning her heroine on the last page was apparently not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.

Twenty-six years later Beverley was delighted to receive her first publishing contract from Robert Hale (UK) for a romance in which she ensured her heroine was saved from drowning in the icy North Sea.

Since 2009 Beverley has written more than thirteen historical romances, mostly set in England during the early nineteenth century. Mystery, intrigue and adventure spill from their pages and if she can pull off a thrilling race to save someone’s honour – or a worthy damsel from the noose – it’s time to celebrate with a good single malt Scotch.

Beverley lives with her husband, two daughters and a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy the size of a pony opposite a picturesque nineteenth-century lunatic asylum. She also writes Africa-set adventure-filled romances tarring handsome bush pilot heroes, and historical romances with less steam and more sexual tension, as Beverley Eikli.

You can get in contact with Beverley at:

website | Facebook | Pinterest | Twitter | Goodreads

a Rafflecopter giveaway



Title: Out of the Penalty Box
Genre: Gay Romance
Series: Game On Collection
Hockey player Aidan Lefèvre’s professional and personal life is on ice. Recovering from an injury and traded to a new team, Aidan is attempting to prove his viability to his coaches, fans, and teammates. Just when he believes he’s succeeded, another accident during the playoffs threatens to unravel all of his progress.
Having relocated away from family and friends, Aidan turns to his extroverted team captain, Christophe Fontenot, whose jovial nature lifts everyone’s spirits. But when Aidan discovers his attraction for Christophe changes the meaning of “body checking,” Aidan questions more than his hockey skills.
Should he deny what he feels or come out of the “box”?



Aidan opened his eyes, urgently needing to relieve himself in more ways than one. Rolling from his side to his back, he landed with a thud, both his head and right calf striking a solid object. Pain splintered throughout his body. Squinting, he attempted to bring his dark surroundings into focus and decipher what was happening in his spinning world. A narrow stream of light shone through a window. Okay, he was inside somewhere with shag carpet. Reaching, he felt a soft, solid object to his left. Pillows. Leather. Ah, a couch. To his right, he felt wood, metal, and cool glass. A table. Piecing it together, he determined he was wedged on a floor between a couch and table. But where? He didn’t have a table in front of his couch. He fumbled to remember. The last thing he remembered was talking with that loudmouth reporter, Toby Harrelson, from XJJ.
Oh shit! What had he said? Later. Now, he needed to figure out where the hell he was. He maneuvered his twisted limbs to sit erect. A bright light clicked on, and Aidan squeezed his eyes shut.
“You okay there, pretty boy?”
Christophe. Okay. Aidan could rule out being abducted by aliens. Well, maybe not. This was Christophe, after all.
“Why am I on the floor?”
“How the hell should I know?” Christophe chuckled. “I deposited your drunken carcass on my sofa. It must not have suited your Sleep Number needs.”
“I feel like roadkill.”
“I imagine so, the way you kicked them back.”
Slowly, Aidan opened his eyes to view Christophe standing at the edge of the table, all rippling abdomen muscles, golden skin, and powerful thighs, wearing nothing but cotton boxers with a noticeable bulge in the front. It drew Aidan’s attention to his own physical state, and he grunted. He’d no time for this type of foolishness at this time of night… morning.
 Available now! 


Genevive Chamblee lives in the bayou country in the deep south where sweet tea, football, good music, and colorful family is gospel. When she is not writing, she can be found attending SEC football games, playing with her dog, sightseeing, or spending time with family.

Genevive writes contemporary romance, erotic romance, fantasy romance, the occult, Creole culture, and southern drama.

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Blog Tour One Night In Havana + GIVEAWAY

One Night in Havana 
#34 in the City Nights Series from Tirgearr Publishing
by Kathleen Rowland

Kathleen will be awarding 3 lucky winners a $10 Amazon Gift Certiticate. Winners will be chosen randomly with Rafflecopter. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.

About the Book:  

A desperate competition and sizzling attraction leads to dangerous desire.

New York Marine biologist Veronica “Roni” Keane is attending the Havana Bay Conference in Cuba. Tomorrow only one grant will be awarded which will provide the winner with professional recognition, resources for a project, and living expenses for two years. She hopes to continue her deceased father’s work, but smooth operator, Carlos Montoya, has won many grants in the past.

Carlos, a freelancer for the Havana Port Authority, works to help protect Havana’s reputation as a bastion of safety. As international travelers flock to the island, attracted by its 1950’s time-warp and colonial architecture, the drug business is running rampant, particularly on Roni’s cruise ship. Something’s not right, and when her scuba tanks are tampered with, Carlos brings in the military police to investigate. For her safety, he keeps her close, but he craves her body.

Their attraction leads to a fun night with a bit of kink. But Roni finds herself in more trouble than she bargained for when the criminals blame her for alerting the military police and come looking for her. Can Roni trust Carlos to protect her? Will she stay in Havana if Carlos wins the coveted grant, or kiss her lover goodbye?

An erotic romance with mystery. 

Amazon Buy Link


— Chapter One

“Why, Veronica Keane.” A voice heavy with a Spanish accent drawled from behind her. “A dive bar?” A taunting tsk. “What do we have? A slumming New Yorker?”
She stiffened and closed her eyes. She knew that voice and its owner, Dr. Carlos Montoya, a finalist like her, competing for the same damn grant at the biggest Cephalopoda conference of the decade. Her heart pitter-pattered against her ribs. To turn toward him would intimate distress, or worse yet, weakness. She wouldn’t fail to win this grant, not when she was a final contender. “I like this funky little place.” Sia Macario Café, smack in the center of Havana, allowed her to observe locals and their daily lives.
“You need to eat with all the mojitos you’ve downed.” The big tease wasn’t  counting. This was her first drink, but his rumbling, sexy timbre hinted at all kinds of dark, hot promises. She’d rubbed shoulders with the Cuban scientist all week. This splendid specimen of Latin male brought on a physical ache that punched low.
A flare-up stirred fear. For her own good, she needed to resist. “I ordered camarones enchiladas.” By now she knew the menu on the chalkboard by heart. She tipped her head back to whiff grilled shrimp soon to arrive in sofrito sauce with fried sweet plantains.
“The flan is good. Just like my abuela makes.”
“I bet. Your grandmother would be happy to hear that,” she said, knowing he brought out the best in most people. Two days ago he’d invited her and a handful of others scuba diving. The chance to ogle him had been one of the perks. He’d worn nothing but swim trunks, his bare chest on display. Every glistening muscle was finely etched. Not a drop of fat on him. Since he’d not given her the time of day, she’d checked him out without him noticing.
The hard-bodied host had led the way toward habitats of soft-bodied creatures. To find where invertebrates lived was never an easy task. Octopuses squeezed into narrow passages of coral for protection and gave females a place to keep their eggs. She’d discovered the remains of a few meals nearby.Octopuses scattered rocks and shells to help them hide.
 This grant meant so much to her and no doubt to him as well. Veronica mindlessly toyed with the gold necklace around her neck, but anxiety crackled through her brain. Unlike this man of action, she lacked the flamboyant personality necessary to talk people into things. Carlos had that ability. He’d made friends with judges on board while she’d conversed with an older woman about a box of scones made with Cuban vanilla cream.
That day the wind had picked up to a gale force, and this woman named Bela with Lucille Ball red hair needed help walking to her home. The half mile down the seaside promenade, The Malecón, had provided her with time to practice her Spanish. Turned out Bela was Carlos’s grandmother. She’d worked as a maid when the Castro government came to power. When private homes were nationalized, titles were handed over to the dwelling occupants. Bela owned a crumbling home in the respected Verdado district and rented out rooms.
What Veronica detested about Carlos was his abnormal level of talent for schmoozing. Not that he wasn’t charismatic; he drew her like a powerful magnet with emotions hard to untangle. Why was a self-assured woman who ran her own life thinking about a man who commanded everyone around him?
She inhaled a breath and turned around on the barstool, caught fast by a gut punch of Carlos Montoya in the flesh. She sighed and surrendered to the tendrils of want sliding up between her thighs.
Tall and muscular, his lush dark hair curled to his collar giving him a wild, roguish appearance. His face was lean and chiseled. His mouth full and tempting. His eyes the smoky-gray of a grass fire and fringed with black lashes as dense as paintbrushes. He smiled. A faint hint of mockery curved his mouth, a sensual mouth she imagined to be either inviting or cruel. Or both at the same time when he leaned over a woman with a diamond-hard gleam in his dark eyes while she drowned with pleasure. She fought a fierce desire to run her hand across his broad chest, tip her face upward, and…
His breath tickled her face.
Not going there. She blinked and forced her mind to focus. Carlos Montoya was not the kind of man you lost focus around. But that image of putting her mouth full on his and peeling away his shirt once introduced in her mind was impossible to expunge. Pointless even to try.
He was an intimidating blend of intellect and sexy danger. Both qualities had her leaning back against the bar’s edge. If it weren’t for him, she’d have a chance at winning the grant.
His lips twitched. “You’re staying on one of the cruise ships, am I right?” He rolled up the sleeves of his linen jacket to reveal a dusting of manly hair.
”Yes.” Her cabin served as her hotel room while attending the January meetings with perfect high-seventies temperatures. His eyes locked with hers. She willed herself to move and yet she remained seated, clutching heat between her legs, a wetness so intense that her breath stalled in her chest while her heart hammered faster. Soon she’d return to freezing New York City.
“So, Bonita, give.” He slid onto the bar stool next to her. “What brings you down from a lofty ship to grace us lowly Cubans with your presence?”
Bonita. Pretty lady was not an endearment coming from the mouth curved in a taunting smile, but not a slight either. Not with his deep, melodic voice speaking words as if he knew secrets about her. What secrets did he know? Would he pry into her personal life? She doubted this bad-boy college professor acknowledged boundaries.
“Just drinks and dinner.” She scrambled for composure. “Aren’t we attending a world-class conference? I find the local population to be friendly and kind. That’s not slumming.”
The bartender set down a saoco. “Hope you like it, senorita.”
“Gracias,” she said. “Very nice, served in a coconut.”
“Ah, the saoco,” Carlos said. “Rum, lime juice, sugar, and ice. The saoco,” he repeated, disbelief heavy in his words. “Um. Wow. Once used as a tonic for prisoners of the revolution.”
“Medicinal?” She couldn’t help it. She chuckled and sounded as if a rusty spoon had scraped her throat raw, but it was genuine. The warm glow in its wake was welcome and needed. .
He leaned an elbow on the bar, his beer bottle with the green-and-red Cristal label dangling between his fingers. “Be careful with that one.” He dipped his head toward the front door as if he needed to go somewhere soon.
That fast, the glow snuffed out. She cleared her throat and gripped the fuzzy surface of the coconut container.
He placed a five-peso coin with a brass plug on the counter and whirled it. The spinning motion mirrored a dizzying attraction going on in low parts of her belly.
She cleared her wayward mind and nodded toward artwork on the opposite wall. “I plan to buy a painting tonight.”
“Don’t buy anything unless the seller gives you a certificate. You’ll need one to take art from Cuba. Artists deal in euros in case you don’t have pesos.”
She’d come prepared but said, “Thanks for the info.”
His coal-black eyes widened as he gazed from her head down to the tiny straps around her ankles as if she wore high heels and nothing else. “You give off a Barbie doll image,” he replied and stood up.
“Where’s Ken, anyway? Kenneth Morton. He came with you to the talks in Antarctica. Five years ago.” He grinned, and the mortification in her belly gave way to a longing which she had no business feeling toward her competitor.
“Ken and I broke up.” She hesitated for a moment. “You have a gift for remembering names. Like a salesman.”
“A person’s name is, to that person, the most important and sweetest sound. Back then I introduced myself to Ken in the men’s room.”
“I remember now. Didn’t you give a talk on a specialized pigment in the octopus?”
“Ahh, si.” He splayed his fingers over his chest. “A pigment in their blood is—”
 “—called hemocyanin. Turns their blood blue and helps them survive subfreezing temperatures. Were you awarded something?”
“The antifreeze protein grant? No. It went to a deep-diving photographer. He wasn’t chicken about getting lost or trapped under the ice.”
She slid from her stool and strutted around, jutting her chin in and out like a chicken. “Bock, bock, bock, bock, bock, begowwwwk.”
He chuckled. “Cute chicken dance. Very cute in that skimpy black dress.”
Her cheeks heated, and she clutched her necklace. He’d seen plenty of women in body-fitting attire. In Cuba, women wore dresses to meetings. If she’d harnessed sexier mojo, she’d have livened up presentations. Her presentations with an abundance of dull data went south. She slid back against her stool and clutched her purse to her stomach as if the small satin bag could calm the nerves playing deep down kickball. She belonged in her tidy New York office filled with computers, modems, and research manuals. Not in this softly lit café where passion oozed from a man’s pores, and artists displayed their canvases. Here was where Havana’s trendsetters congregated, and Ernest Hemingway wrote about desire.
“Good luck with your purchases, Veronica Keane.”
Okay, so they weren’t going to pretend they were going head to head for the grant.
As if he had more to say, he grinned at her, his perfect white teeth flashing.. “Do you find us different, like apples and oranges?”
“What am I, an apple or an orange?”
“Hmm. You’re an apple.” He was doing that sexy voice thing which made her brain shut down. Heady. 
It started with an unexpected spark, an instant attraction, the jolting jab of oh-I’m-feeling-something. Something like a flashfire in her belly, but now they were talking. “Am I the apple of desire? Want to take a bite out of me?” She pulled in a breath. Had she really said that?
Bonita, do I ever.”
“Tomorrow is the final ceremony.” Would she watch him walk to the podium to accept the grant? 

About the Author: 

Book Buyers Best finalist Kathleen Rowland is devoted to giving her readers fast-paced, high-stakes suspense with an erotic love story sure to melt their hearts.  Her latest release is One Night in Havana, #34 in the City Nights series.

Kathleen also has a steamy romantic suspense series with Tirgearr Publishing, Deadly Alliance is followed by Unholy Alliance. Keep an icy drink handy while reading these sizzling stories.

Kathleen used to write computer programs but now writes novels.   She grew up in Iowa where she caught lightning bugs, ran barefoot, and raced her sailboat on Lake Okoboji.  Now she wears flip-flops and sails with her husband, Gerry, on Newport Harbor but wishes there were lightning bugs in California.

Kathleen exists happily with her witty CPA husband, Gerry, in their 70’s poolside retreat in Southern California where she adores time spent with visiting grandchildren, dogs, one bunny, and noisy neighbors.  While proud of their five children who’ve flown the coop, she appreciates the luxury of time to write.

If you’d enjoy news,  sign up for Kathleen’s newsletter at

Chocolate Reese’s Pieces cookies

This recipe is my go to recipe for Family Movie Night.  My movie recommendation E.T..



Chocolate Reese’s Pieces cookies

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 3/4 cup baking cocoa
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1-1/4 cups (2-1/2 sticks) butter, softened
• 2 cups granulated sugar
• 2 eggs
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 2 (4oz.) boxes Reese’s Pieces

Heat oven to 350°F.
Stir together flour, cocoa, baking soda, set aside.
Beat butter and sugar in large bowl with mixer until fluffy. Add eggs and vanilla; beat well. Gradually add flour mixture, beating well. Stir in Reese’s pieces. Drop by rounded teaspoons onto ungreased cookie sheet.
Bake 8 to 9 minutes. (Do not over bake) Cool slight, remove from cookie sheet to wire rack.
These are a great chocolate cookie, you can switch out the Reese’s pieces for peanut butter, mint, white chocolate chips or even M&M’s.

Buffalo Cauliflower Bites

Most everyone loves Buffalo wings, but we don’t love all of the calories, here is a great alternative.




1 large head of cauliflower, cut into bite-sized pieces

1 tablespoon flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon pepper

¼ teaspoon garlic powder

2 tablespoons oil

¼ cup Franks Red Hot sauce

1 tablespoon butter


Pre-heat oven to 450 degrees.

Place foil in a cookie sheet and spray with cooking spray, set aside.

In a large bowl add cleaned and dried cauliflower along with 1 tablespoon of flour mix well to coat cauliflower.

In the same bowl add 2 tablespoons oil and coat evenly.

Place cauliflower on cookie sheet in a single layer.

Bake 10 minutes.

While baking clean & dry the bowl you used for the flour & oil mix.

In the now clean bowl, microwave franks hot sauce and butter for 30 seconds, if butter is not melted mix in hot sauce until it melts. Add spices.

When cauliflower has cooked for 10 minutes, remove from pan & place in sauce bowl mix very well to coat.

Place cauliflower back on cookie sheet, bake 5 minutes.

OPTIONAL: Serve with ranch dressing or blue cheese dressing and celery.