New Release!

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Get Lucky on the Lovestruck #BlogHop! #GiftCard #FreeStuff #Erotic #Free #BDSM Lite, #BBW

 
Hello and Welcome to my stop on the Lovestruck Blog Hop!
Thank  you to Under the Covers Book Blog for organizing and hosting this exciting blog hop event!
 
 

My blog prize will be a $5 Amazon Gift Card. This contest is open to all USA residents who have reached the age of 18 or older.
 
Please fill out the Rafflecopter at the end of this post to enter to win my blog prize.
 
 
 
Do you enjoy angsty, sensual MM romance? Check out C. Zampa's Honor C.
 
 
There were times I thought I would die from the pain of it and times I often hated myself because of the pain it caused for those I loved.

 
But if I had the chance to go back, to do it over again, would I still have done the same? Yes. Hell, yes.

 
—Honor Castillo


Description (from the DreamSpinner Press Product Page):
 
When Honor Castillo convinces himself he isn’t gay, he begins a new life. He ends his affair with his lover, Jorge Villagomez, and marries Rebecca to establish a life with her as a respected San Antonio businessman. They have a son and he tells himself he is happy.

Eleven years later, Jorge returns to San Antonio, and his path crosses with Honor’s once more. The flame of their passion never died, and neither did Jorge’s love for Honor.

When Jorge approaches Honor to design his studio, Honor believes he can walk the line between friendship and lovers. But when a sudden crisis threatens to take Jorge from him forever, Honor must choose between his duty and his heart. Most of all, he’s forced to decide what he’s willing to lose in order to be true to who he really is.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Are you looking for a MF Erotica Romance with Light BDSM and a Rubenesque / BBW Heroine?
 
HER MYSTERY DUKE ~ Regency
Historical ~ May-Dec ~ Novel Length, approx. 85,000 words.
 
 
 
 
What are other people saying about HER MYSTERY DUKE?

  

Five Stars From Salacious Reads


"This is another book I simply adored…Her Mystery Duke is another wonderful example of Natasha’s writing and in my humble little opinion historical romance at its best. She always has the right amount of everything going on in her stories, but mainly the base element which is erotica...it’s hot and downright sexxy... 

Her Mystery Duke is a well executed and thought provoking read. If you have a love of Historical Romances with an erotic twist to the tale…then ladies!…ladies, you have to read Natasha’s work. You will become a fan…I guarantee it."  To read the entire review,please click the button below:

 

Five Stars From The Lusty Penguin

"Her Mystery Duke, a well-crafted novel brimming with historical detail and entertaining and memorable characters, draws the reader into another stunning and charismatic erotic romance by Natasha Blackthorne.

Jeanne Darling, an aspiring writer and alone since her father’s death, fears her only worth is as a man’s plaything. David Somerville, a delicious alpha male, is a powerful Duke who falls for the much younger Jeanne. Their sexual chemistry is scorching hot from their first intimate encounter, which includes light bondage elements, and sets the tone for their future sexual liaisons...

Blackthorne’s skillful character growth and evocative scenes excite the reader and make Her Mystery Duke a delightfully seductive read." To read entire review, click here.



Five Stars From My Reading Obsession

"Her Mystery Duke is a fantastic historical romance, it is also an outstanding erotic romance together they are one of the better books out so far this year...

David is everything you expect from a Regency era Duke but so much more, he is aloof and demanding at the same time very protective and understanding. By allowing the characters pasts to be unfolded throughout the story we are drawn deeper into them and understand there motivations and fears...

We are treated to many extremely seductive sensual scenes throughout the book as we follow the relationship, political intrigue, class struggles as well as the forming of a unique bond between David and Jeanne..."  Click to read the entire review.

 

“Smokin' Hot Regency...” Five Stars

"Smokin' Hot Regency...The book shows a wonderful progression of an unusual relationship between Jeanne an David, especially with the social gap between them...The ending is a lovely one, and it doesn't tie up all the issues with a halcyon outlook. It's pretty clear they will still have challenges to work through, but together.

The sex was seriously erotic and totally appropriate. David was a very thoughtful and firm dominant lover to Jeanne's flowering and opening submissive. For me the best dominant is an observant and thoughtful one with, and a good BDSM story has to have this type of dominant man, in control of his own desires, highly aware of and responsive to his submissive's needs and cues, and insistent on honest communication of feelings from both sides. After reading A Measured Risk and after reading Her Mystery Duke, I had the same desire - I want a man like that for my own!"  ~ Reader review from Karen.

 
Five Stars From Let's Get Romantical

"This classy, very well written tale brings you back in time.

 Its sexy, sensual and erotic...

I enjoyed the characters in this book. These 2 characters had chemistry. They were complete opposites in society but that didn’t stop them. The storyline was very engaging it had me glued to my kindle.

 I know I can depend on Natasha to always deliver a unique refreshing tale that has lots of passion, lust and romance.

This book is a must read, you will NOT be disappointed."  To read the entire review,please click here.

  
 
Five Stars From Author Patricia Green

"Her Mystery Duke is an excellent novel with a believable heroine and good plot development. I enjoyed the erotic aspects of the book, and found the characters to be human but romanticized in the best possible way...The hero is...masterful, experienced, and not quite perfect...Their erotic play is totally consensual, sexy and satisfying.


And never fear, there’s a happy ending waiting for you.

I love Natasha Blackthorne’s books. Her work stands out among historical erotic romance writers. I highly recommend this book." To read the entire review,please click here.
  

Five Stars from reader Lisa Jo

 " I just loved this book…I loved Jeanne Darling (she was a darling!)…I also love David Somerville, the stuffy, alpha Duke of Hartley who also turned out to be such a tender soul…

Tender moments, HOT BONDAGE, feisty heroine...Everything a good erotic historical novel should have." A review for HER MYSTERY DUKE by reader Lisa Jo.
 




Erotica Romance ~ Light BDSM ~ Rubenesque / BBW ~ Regency
Historical ~ May-Dec ~ Novel Length, approx. 85,000 words. For Adults 18+ Only.


Is he the answer to all her naughty dreams?


 

Excerpt from HER MYSTERY DUKE





Chapter One

London, England


January 1813

Indecent. The tall gentleman’s stare was the most blatantly indecent assault Jeanne had ever encountered. Deeper than intense. Intimate, as though he knew everything thing about her.


That penetrating gaze set her palms sweating and made her mouth dry. It was a direct threat. No one could possibly know her. She kept herself too well protected, hidden beneath layers of aloof disinterest. Yet she found herself unable to look away.

She just sat there and let that gaze burn her. Burn through the wall she kept between herself and the world. It even seeped under her skin and melted her blood into warmed honey.

A single pane of rain-splattered glass separated them. The thudding of her heart in her ears blocked out the sounds from the common room of the coffee shop and created a sense of isolation.

He wore no hat and his hair lay plastered like spilt black ink streaked across his high, broad forehead. Rain dripped over hard, chiseled cheekbones, down an aquiline nose and square jaw, over shoulders that were made even more impossibly broad by a dark blue greatcoat.
He was like something from a dream. A harlot’s very naughty dream.

Oh, really. A handsome, mysterious stranger, one who was intensely interested in her and seemed to know all about her? Her imagination was running away with her, taking on a life of its own. She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. The wine hadn’t been that strong as to make her conjure carnal fantasies in mid-afternoon. In public. She dared to look again.

The tall gentleman was gone.

There, see? An author of fairy stories couldn’t be fooled by a waking dream. And yet cold, heaviness sank through her insides, a feeling of loss. How utterly ridiculous.

Irritated with herself, Jeanne bent over her mug, inhaling the fruity, spicy scent of mulled wine, and listened to the low rumble of conversations around her. Mrs. Roberts had a new blue bonnet and she was preening like a peacock. Mr. Taylor announced to his friends that he’d just become engaged to Miss Smith and his companions were alternately ribbing and toasting him.

Once a week, she ventured from her garret to this coffee shop to be among people, as an observer. A customer, keeping a protective distance.

“Miss Darling.” The slightly nervous, boyish voice broke into her peace. “You usually come here on Saturday.”

She forced the irritation from her expression and looked up to meet his freckled face. “Yes, Paul, this week I decided on a change.”

She kept her tone cool and polite, as always.

Mr. Ratherford, her publisher, had sent a note, informing her that she should present herself at his offices in two weeks and bring the fairy tales he’d requested. As an author of children’s stories, she’d been working for months on the stories but she still had one more story to write, the grand finale in what she hoped would be a published leatherbound volume of the stories. However, she’d been unable to write for several weeks.

The harder she tried to create a story, the less she liked anything she wrote. Today, that note had put her into a state of desperation. She’d come here to try and stimulate her mind. It had worked a little too well judging from the daydream of the handsome, mysterious stranger.

“A special occasion?” Paul’s words cut into her thoughts again.

Oh bother! She took a deep breath and struggled to find more patience. Once Paul Cook started, he never let up. But he was just a boy, and a kind one at that. She bit back an impatient response.


Her concentration, her peace, however: they were gone. Never mind. The wind was howling with more intensity outside, and the winter’s day was growing dark far too early. It was time to leave.


As she reached down to retrieve her reticule, the odor of wet wool intruded on her senses, mingled with the citrus-soapy scent of a gentleman’s shaving lotion. A body close to hers. Too close. She jerked her head up and faced her waking dream.


His greatcoat was opened to reveal a fine, silk, embroidered waistcoat that encompassed a broad chest, which narrowed into a flat-as-boards stomach. Water dripped from his hair, leaving wet spots on his hopelessly crushed cravat. He didn’t seem to be aware of his dishevelment.

She met his eyes. His gaze intensified, turning to brilliant, intimidating greenish fire, like an emerald catching the sunlight. Thick, dark lashes and heavy black brows made the color appear even richer.

“Thérèse.”

His voice was deep yet hushed and utterly masculine. It sent another curl of heat through her, stronger, penetrating all the way down from her chest to her navel and into her womb. However, it was the note of despair that made her catch her breath.
Pressure swelled in her throat, a pang of sympathy. Sympathy for others was the most dangerous emotion of all. It could lead one to make painful, unwise sacrifices.

She’d never had such an immediate reaction like this to any man. Tingles raced from her midsection to her toes, not arousal this time but an urge to run. He was dangerous.

And Thérèse? Clearly he was grossly mistaken. Or foxed.

She stood, then took a deep breath, released it, and raised her brows in a haughty mask. “Pardon me, sir?”

His expression sharpened. He took her arm, harshly. “Don’t toy with me.”

She pulled back and he tightened his grip. His hand was large. His hold stronger than any gentleman she’d known.

He leaned so close she could have brushed her lips against his. “Don’t pretend that you don’t know me!”

His deep, hushed voice sent pleasurable shivers through her but Jeanne pushed the sensation aside. As his hot breath wafted over her, she inhaled deeply but couldn’t detect any odor of spirits. Nor were the pupils of his eyes dilated, as they might be if he were under the influence of some strong drug. Prickles raced over her scalp like a thousand needles.

Perhaps the gentleman wasn’t in full control over his mental faculties. Dear God.




Just like Papa. She’d spent her youth caring for her father in his varying stages of insanity. Life with him had become a prison. Since his death, she had lived in fear of the

unbalanced. Another series of prickles raced over her scalp.


She met the stranger’s gaze levelly. “What’s your game?”


“Thérèse, don‘t be this way.” His whisper, laced with steel, was so low, that she unwittingly leaned closer. “We needn’t make any dramatics here. We’re going home.”

This near to him, Jeanne noted the glassiness of his eyes. Again, she sniffed. No hint of alcohol. But then again, having experienced all of Papa’s variances of sanity, she had an instinct for spotting others who were likewise afflicted. This man was definitely afflicted in his mind.

This was the exact situation she always dreaded. Since her girlhood, she always watched others, seeking any sign of madness. She’d had to cope with Papa, that had been her duty, but she was always careful to keep others who showed any inkling of mental instability at a safe distance. How stupid of her to have let herself be distracted by this man’s masculine beauty.

Angry at herself, she jerked her arm, trying once again to free herself. His grip remained relentless.
“Thérèse!” Again, the low steely whisper. “Behave yourself.”

How unwise of her. An insane person could react unpredictably. She ought not to provoke him. Yet she knew it was important to present a strong, confident front.

“Sir, I am not your Thérèse and have no wish to be. So please unhand me.” Her heart was hammering at her chest wall so violently, she had trouble keeping her voice even. She lifted her chin and stared at him steadily. “Now.”


“You are deliberately pushing me, Thérèse. I don’t appreciate it.”


Boots sounded on the floorboards. The sound drew her attention to how quiet the public room had become. She glanced around. The other patrons were staring.


“Miss Darling, is everything all right?”

The tall gentleman turned to Paul and regarded him with an icy, haughty stare. “The lady is a friend. Please go back to your counter and mind your business.”

At the velvet over iron tone, the young man’s eyes grew round. He took one step backward and then another, then stood looking uneasy.

“Are you having a spot of trouble here, Miss Darling?”
Jeanne turned to face the shop owner, a large, barrel-chested man.

The stranger exhaled long and loud. A sound of complete exasperation. “As I told the boy, the lady is a rather close friend. I would appreciate a little privacy.”

The shop owner turned to her. “Miss Darling?”

Her heart froze and her chest constricted. She placed a hand to her throat. She didn’t know what to say.

“The gent don’t look right to me.” The owner’s wife squinted at the stranger.

Jeanne glanced at the gentleman’s handsome profile and the proud jut of his jaw. He gazed at her sideways and she caught her breath. There was something about that brief gaze. A lost, disorientated air. Just like Papa when he had been in one of his worst spells and he was trying to hide it by acting arrogantly assertive.

But she had seen. The stranger was truly not in his right mind.

He swayed then braced his large hands on the back of the chair and caught himself.

Arrogance fell over his face like a mask.

Jeanne’s throat ached. He was so vulnerable. So alone.

Mrs. Cook motioned to the chair Jeanne had vacated. “Sir, you better sit.”

The gentleman stared at the matron—well, rather he glowered down his nose at her.




“If you please, the lady and I have some personal business to attend to.”


His eyes jerked from side to side. At the alarming motion, Jeanne started. He seemed to lurch forward. She looked down and saw his hands gripping the chair back.


The knuckles were white. The ache in her throat increased.


“Paul.”


Jeanne glanced back at Mrs. Cook. The woman wrinkled her forehead. “Go fetch Dr. Miller.”

Paul walked to the door.

“Quickly now.” Mrs. Cook’s voice carried urgency and she made a shooing motion.

A doctor.
Memories rose in Jeanne’s mind. Her father screaming, his face contorted in torment as the doctor painted yet another mustard plaster on his skin in an attempt to draw the

poisonous humors out. The endless purges and emetics. The excruciating blisters on his skin and the agonizing dry heaves. None of it did anything to cure Papa’s mad fits and mental lapses. And then finally, the insane asylum.

It is how they would deal with this obviously touched gentleman. As though her

stays had suddenly shrunk, her chest constricted. No, no, it wasn’t her place to step out of her way to aid this gentleman. He wasn’t her responsibility. She owed him nothing.

Her breathing came shorter, faster. It wasn’t safe to stick one’s neck out. And yet the words rose. She tried to hold them back but they burst out, “There‘s no need for a doctor.”

Mrs. Cook frowned deeper. “But he called you Thérèse. That’s a French girl’s name, not yours.”

“He is calling me by my middle name.” Jeanne held her breath and waited to see if this lie would be accepted.

Mrs. Cook blinked several times. “You have a French middle name?”

“Yes. My mother’s mother was French.” Another lie.

The matron’s eyes narrowed. “Just how does this gentleman know you? He seems very well off to be on familiar terms with a decent girl from around here.”

Jeanne caught herself biting her lip. She quickly released it and gave the first answer that came to mind. “He’s my cousin, on my mother’s side, twice removed.”

Again, Mrs. Cook blinked a few times then her mouth twisted until she looked like she’d just tasted a particularly sour lemon.

“My cousin is not well.”

“Apparently. More likely drunk as a lord.” Mrs. Cook’s tone became sourer than her expression. “I don’t like this.”

“Pardon me?” Jeanne tried for genteel outrage.

Mrs. Cook’s tone became sharper. “I have known you since you started coming here on Saturdays with your Papa. I always thought you were such a dedicated daughter. A good girl. But I don’t like having fancy pieces courting trade in my shop.”

“Mrs. Cook, this man is my cousin.”

“A wealthy relation who didn’t help you when your dear Papa was ill?”

“My cousin was out of the country at that time—he was in India, making his fortune.”

Mrs. Cook looked from Jeanne to the gentleman and back. Several times. “I don’t see any family resemblance.”

Jeanne swallowed against a tightening throat. Could everyone hear the pounding of her heart? “I favor my father’s side. He—he is my cousin.”

Her voice came out so strained that she cringed internally.

The matron’s expression hardened. “I think you met this gentleman under less than respectable conditions. Perhaps in a place where you’re known by a false name, a fancy French name to make yourself sound more interesting to wealthy gentlemen.”

Jeanne’s mouth dried and anxiety twisted her insides. “That’s not how it happened.”

“I’d appreciate if you took your cousin and left. I’d also appreciate if you never









came back. I run a decent shop here, not a place of disorderly assignation.”


Jeanne sucked in a deep breath. That had hurt. More than she wished to admit. This

was her place of comfort and respite when her isolation became too much. And she was a horrible liar. But what else could she have done? Consigned this poor soul to Bedlam? Oh God. She’d known he was dangerous. Why hadn’t she listened to that inner

voice?

She glanced up at the gentleman. He was gazing at her with an odd, confused expression. Might he be ill, instead of insane? Surely, if he were that ill, he’d be in bed.
She reached a hand to him. “Let’s leave.”

The gentleman released the chair then took her hand and laced his fingers with hers as naturally as though he’d always done so. “Come, Thérèse.”

They walked sedately out of the coffee shop, just like that, with their hands intertwined.

The rain had let up yet the wind still gusted. With her free hand, she readjusted her scarf. His hold remained firm on her hand until they had traveled a block away. The strength of his grip sent prickles of fear darting into her. He could easily overpower
her, if his insane whim so dictated.

He stopped just as they were about to turn the corner, and he looked down at her. A slight smile softened his mouth. “My darling.”

Dear heavens, he was such a gorgeous man. But he was still a madman. Dangerous,utterly dangerous. Any sensible person knew well to be frightened of the insane, she more than anyone. She returned his smile but only to placate him.

“Are we headed in the proper direction for the mews?” he asked.

“Yes, we are. They are just down this street and to the right.”

“Esau has the carriage there.”

Well, there it was. She’d done her part keeping him out of the clutches of an overzealous doctor. God and this Esau fellow would have to watch over him now. She wasn’t about to get anywhere near his carriage and risk him shoving her bodily into it.

She offered another, hopefully warm, smile.

She must have succeeded for he relaxed his grip on her hand and they resumed walking. As they rounded the corner, she slipped her hand from his.

And ran.

“Thérèse!”

Her heart pounded and she ran faster.

“Stop, please. For the love of God!” His tone was hollow with desolation. Her sympathy panged her yet again. Unwittingly, she glanced over her shoulder.

Wind whipped the gentleman’s dark forelock. He leaned against a street lamp, one hand holding his side. He appeared to be panting for breath, his expression a mask of loss and despair.

Just like Papa. She’d seen those emotions on her father’s face too many times. But

the expression appeared so out of place on such an arrogant, masculine face. Her heart constricted. She turned back to face the direction she was running and put all her energy into it.

Something came between her foot and the pavement. She lost her balance and fell forward. As the bricks rose to meet her, she threw her hands out to brace her fall. She cried out then reeled from the fall. Her arm began to burn like fire. She knew she wouldn’t be able to run easily for much longer.

She hauled herself to her feet and scanned the shop fronts.

Mrs. Mason’s Bakery.

Relief washed over her. Mrs. Mason had always been friendly. She had even given her day-old bread on days when she couldn’t pay.

She darted into the shop and the scent of baking bread and spicy cinnamon and apples comforted her.

“Good day, Miss Darling!” Mrs. Mason sang out. “What shall it be today?

“I think I’ll have whatever smells of apples and spice.”

“You sit and I’ll bring it right out.”

Jeanne sank into the nearest chair. Moments later, Mrs. Mason brought hot tea and apple pie. But Jeanne found the pie tasted like ashes and could only manage a few tiny bites. Unable to stop twitching and fidgeting, she kept catching herself glancing back at
the window.

She jerked her head away.
No, don’t look. He is not your affair.
She forced herself to focus on Mrs. Mason’s steady chatter. The wind made a long, low, threatening howling sound. Such a dreadful day. What about—
No, he isn’t your responsibility.
A loud crash seemed to rumble through her body and shake her bones and resound in the pit of her stomach.

What happened? An accident? A carriage trying to avoid a disorientated pedestrian and yet hitting them all the same?

She jumped to her feet and rushed to the window. Some crates had blown over. Men were shouting and running about. The sky had grown darker.

Against all her caution, her gaze was drawn back to the direction whence she had come.

Oh God, there he was, staggering down the street in a wavering pattern. For such a stalwart-looking man, the gentleman walked so oddly, so slowly. Had he been in the war perhaps and suffered some irreparable head injury that had left him this way?

Almost completely in front of the shop, he glanced up. He had that lost, desolate look.

Her throat burned.

His gaze sharpened. Homed in on her.

Oh, damn. How stupid of her. Of course, he’d seen her at the window. She stepped back several paces. But it was too late. He began walking toward the door.

“Isn’t it just awful weather, Miss Darling?” Mrs. Mason exclaimed. “My Ben can take you home in the gig later, if you like. Come sit back down and have a chat.”

Jeanne didn’t answer, her gaze was fixed on the gentleman as he reached for the door. He was coming in. And he looked absolutely furious, in a cold, controlled way that was all the more frightening. Her hand flew to her mouth to stop the cry of protest that sprung from the depths of her and she backed away from the window.

The tiny bell tinkled as he entered, an incongruously gay herald. His eyes blazed into hers. She gave a little squeak and took several steps backwards until her bottom hit one of the display cases.

 

 
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27 comments:

  1. So far, it's been great, reading lots of new books and finding lots of new authors. Thanks for sharing the hop and the giveaway. evamillien at gmail dot com

    ReplyDelete
  2. As sad as it sounds, I'm looking forward to school!

    ReplyDelete
  3. The cooler weather.

    Kassandra
    sionedkla@gmail.com

    ReplyDelete
  4. Pumpkins! I love anything Pumpkin . I also enjoy watching the seasons change.
    sbfugate@bellsouth.net

    ReplyDelete
  5. The colors of the Leaves.Deb P

    ReplyDelete
  6. Halloween. Love dressing up and being crazy :)

    Thanks for the giveaway!

    ReplyDelete
  7. Halloween time at disneyland :D

    ReplyDelete
  8. My summer was just not the best this year. I am looking forward to fall starting.
    debby236 at gmail dot com

    ReplyDelete
  9. More new releases in books!

    Janhvi
    justjanhvi at gmail dot com

    ReplyDelete
  10. Cooler weather omg! dying of the heat and humidity on the East Coast US!

    ReplyDelete
  11. Cooler weather and the changing colors of the leaves. Except our Fall has the hottest weather imaginable. LOL Thanks for being part of the hop and for the chance to win. <^_^>
    reneebennett35 (at) yahoo (dot) com

    ReplyDelete
  12. Being able to open the doors and windows and let the cool breeze in.Thanks for the giveaway.

    e.balinski(at)att(dot)net

    ReplyDelete
  13. Just the cooler days.

    marypres(AT)gmail(DOT)com

    ReplyDelete
  14. The leaves changing and apple cider. Thanks for the giveaway!

    ReplyDelete
  15. I love going for walks through the woods looking at the changeing leaves.

    ReplyDelete
  16. I enjoy the cooler weather and the colors of autumn.
    jmcgaugh (at) semo (dot) edu

    ReplyDelete
  17. I love the cooler weather and fall rain storms.

    ReplyDelete
  18. Reading a lot of new books as there are so many good ones lately.
    Thanks for the hop and giveaway.
    koala571(at)msn(dot)com

    ReplyDelete
  19. Cooler temps and a lot of good books releasing in the later part of the year.

    kareninnc at gmail dot com

    ReplyDelete
  20. I'm looking forward to the cooler weather here in Texas. Watching the trees and plants change...

    caiidynsmommie at gmail dot com

    ReplyDelete
  21. I am looking forward to cooler weather! It is too darn hot in central Texas. :-)

    Thank you for participating in this hop!

    karen(dot)arrowood(at)sbcglobal(dot)net

    ReplyDelete
  22. To releasing my first novel. Thanks for the giveaway.

    queendsheena@hotmail.com

    ReplyDelete
  23. Looking forward to the holidays.. just not the SNOW. lol

    vals_hemi at yahoo dot com

    ReplyDelete
  24. I would say cooler weather, but since I live in Florida, it doesn't change much. I look forward to the holidays. :)
    trb0917 at gmail dot com

    ReplyDelete
  25. I like the fact it will be a bit cooler to ride my horse out and about. ;)

    Thanks for giveaway ;) erikalrhodes at gmail dot com

    ReplyDelete

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