Friday, February 5, 2016

Out of my heart, into your soul

Out of my heart, into your soul
My passion for you is beyond my control
I ache for your touch, I ache for your kiss
In a crowded room, it is you that I miss

At night, when you're away, I curl in bed
Imagining you, my arms I spread
Nothing can help me, my heart is afire
Except for one thing: tales of desire


Lose yourself in a touch of passion. Whether it’s the beauty in a song or the magic of a kiss, the agony of heartbreak or the hunger of yearning, explore ecstasy and desire in these captivating full-length novels. Written by twelve bestselling, multiple award-winning, USA Today and NY Times authors, this boxed set has it all: Historical Romance, Contemporary Romance, New Adult Romance, Romantic Suspense, Victorian Romance, Western and Literary Fiction. These sensual tales of love with a strong female lead will leave you with a smile on your lips and music in your heart.

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And I kissed her



On their first date, Lenny visits Natasha in her home, and when her Mama finally lets them a moment alone, he asks Natasha to play something for him. 

The first notes came softly, tugging at my heart. They brought back long-forgotten Yiddish words, in the voice of my mother. “Bei mir bist du shein,” she sang to me. “Bei mir host du chein... Bei mir bist du alles oif di velt.”
Natasha closed her eyes, surrendering herself to the music. She started swaying slightly as she played and from time to time, tipped her head backwards, letting it wash over her face, her lips. Fascinated I found myself drawing nearer. By the rosy blush that spread up her cheeks I knew that she could sense my closeness. 
In her soft, velvety voice, she started singing, “To me you are beautiful, to me you have grace, to me you are everything in the world.”
From the direction of the kitchen, her Ma chimed in, singing, “I've tried to explain, bei mir bist du schoen.”
And in a sudden elation I hummed under my breath, “So kiss me, and say that you will understand.”
With the last notes still hovering in midair, she swung her knees around the piano bench and lifted her face to me. I raised her to her feet and gathered her to my heart. Then, as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, I felt the heat awakening from within, rising recklessly in both of us. 
Drawing me to her, Natasha leaned backwards over the piano. To the last vibrations dying in its belly I bent over her, over the reflection of the skyline of New York, which rippled in reverse across the polished, black surface around us, and I kissed her.

Lenny in The Music of Us 
[narrated by Don Warrick]



"Uvi touches us with a tenderness that unites her skill as a writer with her gifts as a visual artist and once swept into her fictional account of the 'us' of this book the story will long be remembered."
- Grady Harp, Hall of Fame Reviewer


★ Love reading? Get this series 
Still Life with Memories

Volume I & II, woven together: Apart from Love
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Volume I: My Own Voice
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Volume II: The White Piano
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Volume III: The Music of Us
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Separated from us by the innocence in her eyes

 

The old woman opened her mouth to answer, but before she could utter another word, three things happened all at once: her eyes fell upon me, the girl clapped a hand over her heart, and the master of ceremonies could be heard behind them, stepping out to the center of the stage. 
He bowed to the audience and cheerfully announced, “And now we take great pleasure to present the youngest star of our program, miss Natasha Horowitz!”
“Go, go, you go, girl,” said her mama. 
But to herself she mumbled, “Lordy Lord. Let’s hope these GIs have some taste for something classical.”
She reached over her daughter’s forehead to adjust the feather in the little draped turban, which was whimsically designed by knotting together a couple of scarves. On other women, especially of the working class, such a hat would seem practical, as it was easy to create at home and kept the hair in place. On Natasha it added glamor.  Impatient with all that fiddling over a feather, she removed it. 
Out of the hat cascaded the most gorgeous, shoulder-length red hair, with a curl at the end of it, the tips of which were wet from the rain. The girl shook her head so as to let the drops fly out, slipped out of her coat and stepped out into the spotlight, without her notes.
Meanwhile, her mama turned upon me. She set her fisted hands firmly on her hips and took a big gulp of air, letting her breath expand inside her as if she were a balloon. Then she looked up at me trying to stare me down, as if I were the enemy.
“Who’re you?” she asked, and without waiting for a reply she grumbled, “Go away! Go back!”
Up to that moment I had considered myself a fairly disciplined soldier, but the way she glared at me made me feel quite naughty, which on the flip side, compelled me to live up to a different reputation. 
So feeling an urge, a sudden, irresistible urge not only to make an impression on the daughter but also to spite the mom, I slipped forward through the opening, and came onstage striding ahead of Natasha. Facing the audience I blew my cheeks, rather theatrically, into an imaginary bugle, which gained me a round of applause, as everyone thought my act must have been part of the show. 
Then, with great flamboyance, I took the non-existent brass instrument out of my lips and clutched it to my heart, before making a spectacular leap offstage. While in flight, I totally forgot the injury I had suffered to my shoulder, only to be reminded of it, with a sharp shot of pain, upon landing. Stumbling onto someone’s lap I tumbled further down onto the floor, from where I raised up my eyes to watch Natasha. 
She came to stand at the edge of the stage, with a light from above focused upon her, which allowed me to see her clearly for the first time. 
Her light-pink dress hung just below the knees. It hugged her figure, which was slim and straight like a pencil, with barely any curves. Under the squared shoulders, which were then in fashion, her scrawny arms hung by her sides as if she didn’t know what to do with them, except for the long, delicate fingers that of their own, played in the air. 
And oh, her face! Framed by the lovely chestnut curls, it was pale, and so were the freckles on her nose. This kid could be no older than fifteen. She was separated from the rest of us not only by the height of the stage and the radiance of the spotlight but also by the innocence in her eyes. 

Lenny in The Music of Us 

"A powerful and poignant novel that will grip at your heart strings ... a love story that invites the reader into a romance..." 
- Chief, USN Ret...VT, Top 500 Reviewer 


★ Love reading? Get this series 
Still Life with Memories

Volume I & II, woven together: Apart from Love
EbookKindle  Nook ★ Apple  Kobo  Smashwords
PaperbackAmazon ★ Barnes&Noble
AudiobookiTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible

Volume I: My Own Voice
EbookKindle  Nook ★ Apple  Kobo  Smashwords
PaperbackAmazon ★ Barnes&Noble
AudiobookiTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible

Volume II: The White Piano
EbookKindle  Nook ★ Apple  Kobo  Smashwords
PaperbackAmazon ★ Barnes&Noble
AudiobookiTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible

Volume III: The Music of Us
$0.99 sale EbookKindle  Nook ★ Apple  Kobo  Smashwords
PaperbackAmazon  Barnes&Noble
NEW! Audiobook:  Amazon  Audible ★ iTunes

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

A diamond short, a decade late

A diamond short, a decade late
I come to stand outside your gate
Unlock and open, let me in
Forgive me, love; what is my sin?
I fled from you across the land
But now I ask you for your hand
A decade late, a diamond short
I can't imagine why you snort
My limbs are frail, my breath is cold
I must admit I may look old
I fall, I kneel, why
I implore

You are the woman I adore
I feel so weak, I feel so brittle
Don't touch! I may be impotent a little
You loved me onceor so I thought
Stop! Take your fingers off my throat


I painted Late Lover from the point of view of the girl he had left behind. She and you, the observer, are one, looking at this flamboyant skeleton. At long last, he claims to be yearning to come back to her. A blue cape is flung around his shoulders, which allows the eye to stay with him, rather than drift off to the background, seen in the spaces between his flimsy ribs. He lays withered flowers at your feet, and the ring being cast off your finger, straight onto his head. The words 'A diamond short, a decade late' are carved into the door frame, perhaps with your fingernails, scratching letter after letter over the long-drawn-out years of waiting, waiting for him in vain... 

Having painted him all day, the voice of Late Lover came to me at night. The next morning I wrote his poem down in a single breath, and never made any corrections, never replaced a word or adjusted the rhythm--because it came to me completely ready.


 ★ Inspired by poetry? Treat yourself to a gift 
Home
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"HOME is an invitation, a very personal one, and should not be passed over."
~Grady Harp, Hall of Fame Reviewer

Sunday, January 31, 2016

A TOUCH OF PASSION: Just in Case by ‏@emarxbooks

I attempted to wrangle my boot free again. I bent forward slightly, which drew Revell’s attention to my boobs again. I can’t tell you what he did, but a lot of snow rained down on my spine; it was so cold that it hurt like pin pricks and electrical shocks. Luckily, Revell caught me around the waist at the same moment. We were both covered in snow, but I don’t think either of us was cold: there was an icy awareness at precisely every point that our bodies touched that was burning hot.
“You are so incredibly beautiful,” he said, brushing some snow off my brow.

Here is a heartwarming story for cold evenings... Excerpt from Just in Case by Elizabeth Marx, included in A Touch of Passion


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Friday, January 29, 2016

What to expect in our party? A serenade for you

Can't wait for our celebration to begin...Can you? 
Come join


In the spirit of Valentine's Day, we have love stories to tell you
And audiobooks to give
Who will the winners be? 
It may be you!
Want to increase your chances to win? 
Then come to the party and engage with us
Like, comment, and share our excerpts!

Sharing our stories
Starts Friday, February 5 @ 3:00pm PST ✿ 6:00pm EST
Until Sunday, February 7 @  4:00pm PST ✿ 7:00pm EST

Grand Finale
Starts Sunday, February 7 @  4:00pm PST ✿ 7:00pm EST


Let's celebrate love by giving you our audiobooks!

Superb imagination displayed in "literary sculpture"

Just discovered this lovely review for my novel, The Edge of Revolt:

on January 27, 2016
Tremendous imagination. I never read the Scripture so clearly through the eyes of David. There was one major episode that was left out. King David's most important battle was NOT the victory over Goliath but the one he lost to the Philistine Ishbi-Benob (2 Samuel 21:15-17). Afterwards, his men refused to allow him to lead them into battle again. David was dismayed and turned to recording all of his life events. Some allege that David was a victim of Parkinson's disease and that is reflected through the scripture. That inclusion would have added even more to this wonderful text. Google King David and Parkinson's disease for more information; see the video as well.