xmlns:og='http://ogp.me/ns#' Kryssie Fortune: June 2015

Sunday, 28 June 2015

Hands up if you’d like to attend a show here.

Does it look Roman to you? A place where the legions gathered to watch gruesome entertainments? Think again. It’s the brainchild of one remarkable, 20th-century woman—Rowena Cade.

Born in 1893 Rowena was the second child of a Derbyshire mill-owner. Her great, great grandfather, Joseph Wright painted haunting images of 17th-century life. I guess the artistic streak ran in the family. It certainly surfaced in Rowena.

After the First World War, Rowena and her widowed mother moved to Cornwall, and Rowena discovered a love of costume designing for the local amateur dramatics. When she produced A Midsummer Night’s Dream the action took place in a local meadow.

Her next play was Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Rowena decided Cornwall’s cliffs would make an amazing backdrop. She looked across at Minack gully above Minack Rock and wondered if she could make a stage there.

The answer was yes.

For six months, Rowena and two Cornish craftsmen struggled to carve a stage and some seating from the rocks. It would have been hard work anytime, but working on an exposed cliff in the depths of a Cornish winter took guts and determination.

I couldn’t resist standing on one of the balconies and declaiming Juliet’s famous speech “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo.”

My husband laughed. I guess I wasn’t cut out to be an actress.
As Minack Theater’s fame spread, Rowena realized she’d have to separate the theater from her garden. She helped build the walls surrounding the place, just as she’d helped build the seats and balconies spread out below.
Imagine how devastated she must have been when World War Two saw the place fall into ruins.
This gusty woman dusted off her overalls and rebuilt. One of Minack’s joys are the Celtic designs that Rowena drew in the concrete before it set. Another is the names and the dates of the shows carved into the front rows of seats.

In 1976, Rowena gave the theater to the charitable trust that runs the place now.

During my visit, I enjoyed a late lunch in the tearooms. One of the waitresses told me she worked in the best place in the world. “Where else can you look out the window and watch a basking shark while you’re working?”

In 1993, the trust started to landscape the Cliffside gardens. Here’s what BBC Garden’s Illustrated Magazine said about the result. “Niall & Jill Milligan have created a pioneering garden worth of Rowena Cade’s own imaginative leap: a feast of succulents, cacti and other drought tolerant species, interspersed with vivid blasts of bulbs and herbaceous perennials.”

 Perhaps the waitress was right. It is one of the most beautiful places on earth. On a sunny, spring day, I certainly thought so.

Thursday, 25 June 2015

Five Facts Thursday - please welcome Rosemary Morris

Five facts about myself.

I met my Hindu husband, who was born in Kenya, in London when he was reading law at Middle Temple.

When our eldest son was a newborn, my husband’s father died so he rushed back to Nairobi to support his mother and 11 brothers and sisters. 

A year later I joined him, but although the country is beautiful with glorious beaches and national parks where I saw wildlife, I pined for Europe.

Years later, after an attempted coup d’etat I went to France with four of my five children, and lived in an ashram where I studied the Bhagavadgita As It Is by A.C.Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada and other ancient Sanscrit texts.

Today, I live in England, happy writing novels and with my organic garden which supplies fresh food for my vegetarian cuisine.

Buy Links and Author Links

www.amazon.co.uk and www.amazon.com False PretencesB009YK1MFO, Nook and other online retailers.

False Pretences

By Rosemary Morris
Traditional Regency Romance

Five-year-old Annabelle arrived at boarding school fluent in French and English. Separated from her nurse, a dismal shadow blights Annabelle’s life because she does not know who her parents are.
Although high-spirited, Annabelle is financially dependent on her unknown guardian. She refuses to marry a French baron more than twice her age. 
Her life in danger, Annabelle is saved by a gentleman, who says he will help her to discover her identity. Yet, from then on nothing is as it seems, and she is forced to run away for the second time to protect her rescuer.
Even more determined to discover her parents’ identity, in spite of many false pretences, Annabelle must learn who to trust. Her attempts to unravel the mystery of her birth, lead to further danger, despair, unbearable heartache and even more false pretences until the only person who has ever wanted to cherish her, reveals the startling truth, and all’s well that ends well.

False Pretences

By Rosemary Morris

“I have good news for you, Annabelle,” said Miss Chalfont, the well-educated head mistress and owner of The Beeches, an exclusive school for young ladies.
Seated on a straight-backed chair opposite Miss Chalfont’s walnut desk, Annabelle clasped her hands tightly on her lap. “Has my guardian told you who my parents are?” she asked in a voice quivering with excitement.
Regret flickered across Miss Chalfont’s face before she shook her head. “No, I am very sorry, he has not. For your sake I wish he had. In fact, I do not know who he is. I receive instructions from a lawyer in Dover. To be honest, for no particular reason, I have always assumed your guardian’s identity is that of a man, but it could be that of a woman.”
Dover! Annabelle thought. The town where she had lived with her nurse before a nameless elegant lady, with a French accent, brought her to The Beeches. Time and time again she had wondered if the lady was her guardian or whether she was a stranger ordered to bring her here. She had no way of knowing, for the lady had not answered any of her questions.
Annabelle looked into Miss Chalfont’s eyes. “Who is the lawyer, ma’am?”
“I do not know for he does not identify himself. He merely arranges for your…er…upkeep, and sends me your guardian’s instructions.”
No clue to the mystery of my own identity, Annabelle thought and gazed down to conceal her disappointment. “Has the lawyer given you permission to tell me who my guardian is?” she asked, despite her suspicion that he had not.
Miss Chalfont looked down at a letter. “No, your guardian, whom I have no doubt has your welfare at heart, still wishes to remain anonymous. But, my dear child, you are fortunate. Your guardian has arranged for you to marry Monsieur le Baron de Beauchamp.”
Annabelle looked up with a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and intense indignation at the arrangement that took no heed of her wishes. “I am to marry a man I have never met?”
With restless fingers, Miss Chalfont adjusted her frilled mobcap. “Yes, your guardian has arranged for you to marry Monsieur le Baron tomorrow.”
Annabelle stared at her kind teacher as though she had turned into a monster. “Mon dieu!” she raged, reverting to the French she spoke when she was a small child. “My God! Tomorrow? My guardian expects me to marry a Frenchman tomorrow? Miss Chalfont, surely you do not approve of such haste.”
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.” Miss Chalfont tapped her fingers on her desk. “My approval or disapproval is of no consequence. Your guardian wishes you to marry immediately so there is little more to be said. A special licence has been procured and the vicar has been informed.” Miss Chalfont smiled at her. “You have nothing to fear. This letter informs me that Monsieur speaks English and lives in this country.”
Annabelle scowled. Her hands trembled. For the first time, she defied her head mistress. “Nothing to fear? My life is to be put in the hands of a husband with the right to…beat me…or…starve me, and you say I have nothing to fear, Miss Chalfont? Please believe me when I say that nothing will persuade me to marry in such haste.”
Not the least display of emotion crossed the head teacher’s face. “You should not allow your imagination to agitate your sensibilities. For all you know, the monsieur is charming and will be a good, kind husband.”
“On the other hand, he might be a monster,” Annabelle said.
Miss Chalfont ignored the interruption and continued. “At eighteen, you are the oldest girl in the school. It is time for you to leave the nest and establish one of your own.”
“Twaddle,” Annabelle muttered. “My education is almost complete and I suspect you wish to be rid of me.”
Miss Chalfont smoothed the skirt of her steel-grey woollen gown and looked at Annabelle with a cold expression in her eyes. “I beg your pardon? Did I hear you say twaddle? As for wishing to be rid of you, child, that is not true. However, I will admit that in recent months I have worried about your guardian’s future plans for you. But I need not have worried. As a happy bride, I daresay you will go to London where those pretty blue eyes and long lashes of yours will be so much admired that Monsieur le Baron will be proud of you.”
At any other time Miss Chalfont’s rare compliment would have pleased her. On this occasion it only served to increase the fury she tried to conceal. Losing her temper would be pointless. Before Annabelle spoke, she took a deep breath to calm herself. “It is unreasonable to order me to marry the man without allowing me time to become acquainted with him.”
“Do not refer to your bridegroom as the man. I have told you his name is de Beauchamp.”
Rebellion flamed in Annabelle’s stomach. “What do you know of my…er...bridegroom-to-be, ma’am?”
Miss Chalfont looked down at the letter. “He is described as a handsome gentleman of mature years.”
“One would think the description is of a piece of mature cheese or a bottle of vintage wine.”
Miss Chalfont frowned. “Do not be impertinent, Annabelle, you are not too old to be punished.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but please tell me how mature he is,” Annabelle said, her eyes wide open and her entire body taut with apprehension.
“Monsieur le Baron is some forty-years-old.”
“How mature?” Annabelle persisted with her usual bluntness.
“He is forty-two-years-old.”
Annabelle stood, bent forward, and drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk. “Please be kind enough to inform my guardian that I will not play Guinevere to an aging Arthur. I would prefer to build my nest with a young Lancelot.”
Miss Chalfont’s shoulders heaved as though she was trying not to laugh. “Regardless of your preference, you must marry according to your guardian’s wish.”
“Dear ma’am, you and your mother have always been kind to me. I cannot believe you approve of—”
“As I have already said, my approval or disapproval is of no importance. Your duty is to obey.”
Annabelle’s anger boiled and she felt somewhat sick in the stomach. Now that she was old enough to leave the seminary, it seemed that unless she refused to co-operate, she really would be disposed of without the slightest consideration for her personal wishes. Simultaneously afraid to obey her guardian and furious because not even Miss Chalfont seemed to care about her dilemma, Annabelle straightened up. She looked around the cosy parlour, with its thick oriental rugs, pretty figurines on the mantelpiece, and a number of gilt-framed pictures on the wall, one of which she had painted. “I will consider the marriage.” Annabelle looked down again, in case rebellion revealed itself on her face. But she had not lied. She would consider the marriage proposal, but not in the manner Miss Chalfont expected, for she would find a way to reject the elderly baron.
Miss Chalfont stood, walked round her desk, and patted Annabelle’s shoulder before resting her hand on it. “My dear child, there is little for you to consider. I dread to think of the consequences if you disobey your guardian. You could be cast penniless from here with only the clothes on your back. After all, your guardian does have complete power over you.”
Annabelle wanted to jerk away from her uncaring teacher’s hand but forced herself to remain passive. She did not want the woman to suspect the nature of her rebellious thoughts and have her closely watched. Inwardly, she seethed and decided that whatever the cost, she would escape the fate in store for her. An image of her former nurse, with whom she corresponded, flashed through her mind. With it came a sense of security and purpose.

Thursday, 18 June 2015

Five Facts Thursday - please welcome Jean Joachin

Five Facts about me:

1. Although a New York City resident for thirty years, I escape to a small town upstate, with a population of 1500, every summer to write. 

2. I adore black licorice and can't resist a piece of cake lurking in my refrigerator.

3. I have a rescued pug named Homer. He is my muse and we are inseparable.

4. I have two grown sons who are the light of my life. 

5. My grandfather was the sheriff of Bisbee, AR, many, many years ago. 

Buy links:

BARNES & NOBLE - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/buddy-carruthers-wide-receiver-jean-joachim/1121655138?ean=2940151875486

ITUNES - https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/buddy-carruthers-wide-receiver/id987365024?mt=11



 Known for his record-breaking stats and womanizing ways, wide receiver, Buddy Carruthers, would give it all up for one chance to win the only woman he ever wanted, Emmy Meacham. Hard-won games, and traveling half the season kept Buddy from pursuing his secret passion. Even if he managed to corner her for a moment, would she still care?
Now a rock star known as Emerald, Emmy lived her life on the road with no time for love. In her dreams, she longed to turn back the clock and spend another night with Buddy. But lies and deceit had kept them apart for five years. Would a chance meeting wash away those years or cause old wounds to resurface? Could two lives traveling in opposite directions make room for love or would they continue to spin, out of sync, and always alone?


Chapter One

Buddy slowly tore out the page in Celebs ‘R Us magazine. He smoothed his hand over the gorgeous photo of the stunning rock star, Emerald. Why aren’t you here with me? After a glance at his watch, he pushed to his feet. Trotting through the hallway, he made it to the locker room with ten minutes to spare.
“Whatcha got there, shrimp?” Bullhorn Brodsky asked.
“None of your fuckin’ business,” Buddy said, plucking the paper from the meaty hand of the linebacker and laying it on the shelf in his locker.
Before he could close the door, Brodsky, six four, two hundred and thirty pounds, shoved the five foot ten player aside. The big man stuffed his massive paw in the narrow space and snatched the photo back. He held it high, so Buddy couldn’t reach it.
“Lookie, lookie, a pin up of Emerald. In a bikini, too.”
The players hooted and hollered.
“Like she’d ever look at you, shrimp. Jack off material?”
“Shut the fuck up, you fat asshole. Gimme that,” Buddy snarled.
“Who you callin’ fat?” Strong fingers crumpled the page.
“The guy with three inches hangin’ over his belt, dickwad.”
Bull’s eyes widened as he went for the nimble runner.
Griff Montgomery, starting quarterback, stepped between the two men. “Come on, guys. Give Buddy his picture, Bull.”
The big man handed it over. “I hear she’s gonna pose for Playboy. Now that’d be jack off material.”
Buddy got sick to his stomach at the thought of Bull leering at a naked Emerald while jerking off. He flew at the linebacker. His fist connected with his teammate’s nose.
“Hey! Hey, break it up!” Griff tried to get between them again. Trunk Mahoney and another large linebacker entered the fray and pulled the men apart. Buddy’s nose was bleeding. So was Bull’s.
“Somebody’s got a crush,” Bull teased, in a sing-song voice.
“Shut the fuck up,” Griff said. “Assholes. You could get fined for this. Both of you.”
“The way he’s actin’, you’d think she was his girlfriend.” Bull gently touched the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah? Wouldn’t you be surprised,” Buddy muttered, grabbing a towel and his shoulder pads. After wiping off his face, he finished getting suited up to play. But his thoughts were far from the gridiron. They were squarely planted in a bus station in Willow Falls, New York, five years ago, where he said goodbye to the girl they now called “Emerald.”
Emmy Meacham, her name before she became famous, had been Buddy’s girlfriend in college. Though they had parted ways before she hit it big, his love for her had never died. She looked the same, except for a streak of bright green in her now-short hair. His blood heated simply looking at her petite, well-endowed frame.
Her mischievous smile practically winked at him off the page. Her eyes glowed with promise, promise that she and Buddy had fulfilled in college. His fingers tingled at the memory of her soft skin. He’d slept with a mountain of women in the last five years, but none could compare to Emmy.
Still miffed that the badly wrinkled clipping wouldn’t be worth saving, Buddy decided to reorder last month’s issue, so he could get a pristine copy of the amazing photograph.
When he remembered that she had dumped him immediately following their tender goodbye, his jaw stiffened. She had turned her back on him the minute she left. He hadn’t heard from her since. Now, little Emmy Meacham was Emerald, a big rock star. The wound, still painful after five years, refused to heal.
“Focus, Buddy. We’ve got a game,” Griff said, patting his pal on the shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Buddy put his feelings for Emmy into the cold storage section of his heart and turned the key. After a deep breath, he shook out his arms, twisted his neck to loosen the muscles, and knocked off a bottle of water. Griff tossed him a jersey with number fifteen on the back. He smiled. “Ready, Griff.”
The warmth of understanding in his friend’s smile made Buddy uneasy. He didn’t want anyone to know about Emmy. Only his mother knew of his heartbreak. The team all thought he was a womanizer with a heart of stone. He liked it that way. Fewer questions, fewer lies, and he kept his secret well hidden.
His teammates joined the others heading for the field. They lined up and stopped. Standing next to Tony Harrison, back-up quarterback, Buddy rested his hand over his heart, like his
mother had taught him, waiting for the National Anthem. Harrison looked like he didn’t know what to do. What the hell? What did he do at the million college games he played? Buddy nudged the young recruit and motioned the boy to follow his lead. The newbie grinned. Little asshole is relieved he knows what to do. Buddy gave his head a shake.
A sexy female in very high heels trotted out onto the field, and the crowd went wild.
Buddy rubbed his eyes. His brow creased. He stared in disbelief. “It can’t be.”
* * * *
Emmy had never sung the Star Spangled Banner in public as a solo before. She was nervous singing such a challenging melody. She glanced toward the left and saw The Kings in their dark turquoise and white uniforms. Those are the best colors. The opposing team was clad in dark blue and white. So unoriginal.
She waved to the fans as they cheered her, but her eye kept perusing the Kings’ players, searching for Buddy. He’s gotta be there. Isn’t this why you told Stash you’d take this gig? Two military men raised their trumpets, and Emmy began to sing. She transformed from sweet Emmy Meacham to Emerald as the emotion behind the song gripped her guts.
When she finished, the spectators went crazy, cheering. She took her bow and raised her arms. The players put their helmets on, destroying her chance to catch a glimpse of her old boyfriend.

Saturday, 13 June 2015

How a McDonald's Pickle Solved a Murder.

My next heroine’s a hedgewitch / healer, so when I saw a talk on bioforensics, I was the first in the queue for tickets.  
Since the lecture took place in Dig, in York, England, I thought it would be about ancient plants and medieval murder. Instead, the speaker blew me away with her first few sentences.
“It’s March and you find a murder victim’s grave. Inside are some decomposing remains, a couple of meadowsweet flowers and some seeds. What does that tell you?”

I’d had a hard day at work, and my brain wasn’t working. At least that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.   I knew Meadowsweet was one of the three herbs sacred to druids—probably because it contains salicylic acid (Aspirin to you and me) and they could use it to ease pain. Apparently I was way off beam.
Okay. Here goes. Meadowsweet flowers from June to October which means the victim was buried during those months.
Hang on. The flowers had seeds. Meadowsweet forms seeds from August onward. That narrows the time of death even further. On its own, the Meadowsweet can’t make a case, but it can eliminate suspects who weren’t around during those months. All that from a flower and a few seeds.

So, how did the forensic scientist find the grave?
A woodland burial creates a mound of earth. Even if the murderer spreads the excess earth about, as the corpse decomposes the ground sinks. I think Mother Nature hates a murderer since she marks the grave for anyone who really looks.
For the first year after the makeshift burial, only annual weeds grow over the spot. Long term the hollow will be full of lush vegetation as nutrients from the corpse leach into the ground.

Anyone out there writing a murder mystery? Here’re a few more ways nature marks the grave. Snowdrops will not grow back evenly. Instead they multiply from the outside in, clearly marking the grave’s outline. Nettles take two years to return, and Dog’s Mercury takes five.

Jill, our speaker, told us about a corpse that was discovered in a hedge of golden privet. The post mortem showed a golden privet leaf in her lung.
So what?
So a corpse doesn’t have a swallow reflex so the victim was alive when the murderer dumped them in the bushes.

Another victim had bramble scratches running vertically down their calves. I must have had my stupid head on because I didn’t get this one either. If someone wades through a patch of brambles the scratches run horizontally around the legs. Vertical scratches mean the victim was dragged.

And that brings me to the McDonald’s gherkin.
Our speaker sometimes analyses the contents of a corpse’s stomach. Yech!
 One time, those contents showed the lady victim’s last meal was the sort of burger they sell in McDonalds or Burger King. That was a start. Then she found a piece of gherkin. Get this. McDonalds pickles are straight cut, and Burger King’s are crinkle cut. The piece she found had straight edges, so the victim had eaten at a McDonalds not long before her death.
When the police questioned workers in the local Mcdonalds, one of the servers remembered her. A quick check of their CCTV and they spotted her eating her last meal with her ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t proof positive, but it put him in the right place at the right time. Further investigations proved he’d killed her.

Murder solved by a piece of pickle. 

Sadly, there aren't many burger bars in world of Werewolves Witches and Fae. Not that it matters. My geeky night out was a million times better than I expected. Plus, if I ever write a murder, I've got a few ideas.

Thursday, 4 June 2015

Five Facts Thursday -please welcome Jane Leopold Quinn

Five facts about Jane's latest book

My research for Ancient Ties was the most I ever did for a book. Most of my books are contemporaries and three westerns. This is the only time travel, and it takes place in one of my favorite, most fascinating eras of history. Ancient Roman Britain, 161 A.D. to be exact.

I read many books from school texts to children's' books that describe ancient life from clothing to food to school life. I lost myself in books about the gods and goddesses. I'm not an expert by any means, but their history and evolution from the Greek and even older civilizations fascinated me.

I decided to give Mars, the god of war, and Venus, the goddess of love, strong parts in Ancient Ties. My hero Marek is a career Roman soldier who has a breakdown in battle. When Janney appears in his life, he believes she's his gift from the gods. Venus has a big hand in helping Janney and Marek find the love of each other even as Mars does his worst to keep them apart.

Meanwhile Mars and Venus bicker with each other while lusting after each other at the same time. They live in the clouds above ancient Britain watching everything going on below and trying to manipulate human lives to godly ends.

I hope they bring some celestial humor to the story.


Sensual fantasies were locked in my mind for years until a friend said, "Why don't you write them down?" Why not, indeed? One spiral notebook, a pen and the unleashing of my imagination later, and here I am with more than a dozen books published. The craft of writing erotic romance has become my passion and my niche in life. I love every part of the creative process—developing characters, designing the plot, even drawing the layout of physical spaces from my stories. My careers have been varied—third grade school teacher, bookkeeper, secretary—none of which gave me a bit of inspiration. But now I'm lucky enough to write romance full time—the best job in the universe! And I'm fortunate enough to have found my own happily ever after husband.


Nursing a broken heart, Janney Forrester flies to England for a much needed vacation. She gets one—and much more. A drive through the countryside and the sight of a mysterious heavy gold bracelet found nestled against ruined walls draw her across the crumbling stone threshold of an ancient villa where she beholds a Roman room in perfect historical detail. To add to the unreality, there's the most gorgeous, masculine man she's ever seen, her every sensual fantasy personified. Confusion by what's happening to her vies with attraction when Janney is thrust two thousand years into the past.
Roman soldier Marek Benin Verus considers the woman suddenly appearing before him as a gift from the gods. Zeus knows he needs one! Battle fatigued and emotionally scarred after fifteen years in the army, he's on a leave of absence and has all the time in the world to devote to seducing this beautiful woman into his bed. He doesn't plan on the powerful and dangerous emotions she inspires in him.

Marek's hard, muscular body is too luscious to resist. Janney decides to risk the comfort of her safe life and carpe diem—seize the day. Marek seizes her body and takes her to the edge—and over—to an ecstasy she never knew existed. Can a new world for her, timeless desire, and a loving exploration of each other's bodies forge a passion that survives centuries of separation?


Aquae Sulis, Mensis Iunius, AD 161

"Welcome, my dear girl."

How odd. The sensuously potent female voice danced through Janney Forrester's mind.

"Your destiny awaits."
Mt. Olympus

"Well, that takes care of that," the goddess of love chirped, gleefully dusting off her palms. Venus reclined on her chaise with a self-satisfied expression on her dazzling face.

       "What takes care of what?" The god of war reluctantly turned his concentration from the current battle being waged against Parthia.
"I brought the woman back from her time to his."
"Whose?" Mars asked.
"Marek Benin's."
"Why in all the heavens would you do that?"
"Because I have the power." Venus always enjoyed having the last word over Mars.
Mt. Olympus
"I know what you are trying to do, Venus mine," Mars sneered. "You had him years ago, and you have always wanted him back."
"Dearest Mars," Venus murmured in a deceptively innocently sweet voice. "You reveled in his exploits all these long and bloodthirsty years. Now, it is my turn to see him soppy and starry-eyed again." She reclined, stretching sinuously on her chaise lounge cloud. "Go find yourself another young warrior to play with, and leave my Marek alone."
The god of war relished the sight of the opulently voluptuous love of his life, but this was business. War business. "He is not your Marek, my dear love." As besotted as Mars was by the beautiful and lush Venus, he did not like her to realize the extent of her power over him. "Anyway," he continued gruffly, "why do you find him so fascinating? He is not anything special, not special enough for a goddess. He is just a mortal. I, on the other hand, am your love, your promised one." His voice rose to a thunderous boom. "I am your master!"
Mars watched as Venus, feigning disinterest, held her hand up against the sun and perused her long sharp fingernails. "My Marek," she purred apparently ignoring Mars's attempt to control her. "He was mine before he was yours. He is no longer happy as a soldier." Venus sat up, then dropped to her hands and knees and crawled like a salacious cat toward a hapless Mars. "I like this young woman, this Janney Forrester. She will be good for my Marek."
"They do not even speak the same language," Mars complained.
"Poof! Nothing to it," Venus crowed triumphantly. "If I can circumvent the time barrier, then a difference in language is not a problem."
"Did you plan this, my love?" Even though he knew her tricks and suspected one here, he watched eagerly as her lovely luscious body slithered toward him.
"No, of course not." Venus did not sound convincing. "As a young man he fell in love with the lovely Mellona. When he lost her, Marek went willingly with you back to war. But it is time now. He wants to love again. He needs to love again. Do not interfere, my lord. You have many more soldiers to guide." The hand of Venus crawled over the hard-muscled thigh of the god of war.
"Well," Mars rasped, reaching for the round soft breasts displayed so temptingly by his goddess. "I suppose I could let you have Marek Benin," his words died away, his senses addled. "For a short time anyway," he added softly, temporizing as he moved over her and blew his god's breath on a stray tendril of soft hair lying across her breast. Even Mars could not resist the allure of Venus as his lips covered hers, and he pushed her back on the couch.
Triumphantly Venus relished the weight of her consort as he settled urgently, heavily over her body. But she would not allow her overbearing mate to deter her. She was a goddess, daughter of Jupiter, king of the gods. Yes Mars was also a child of Jupiter, but that just meant they were equals in the heavens. No member of the pantheon of the heavens was more important than Venus, the goddess of love. Men might fight battles, might tear each other asunder, but even the strongest of mortal men became weak as kittens when faced with a woman. A woman with her soft features. A woman with her body molded into curves and valleys made just for a man's hands and lips. A woman with eyes to melt his fierce heart, lips to soothe or arouse him. A woman with sweet-smelling silky hair to twine in his fingers. No doubt about it, a man is at the mercy of a woman when she chooses to take control.
Venus set her sights upon the godly chest of Mars, upon his full lips. He could lead men into battle with an order from those lips and turn her limbs weak with his kiss. Great Jupiter in the heavens, but I wish he would stop arguing and make love with me.

Before Venus willingly succumbed to the wonderfully strong talented fingers of her lord Mars she whispered into Marek's ear, "This beautiful Janney Forrester, she is what you have been craving all these years. Love her…"