Tag Archives: Halloween romance

Halloween Romance: Devil’s Eyes (A Michael Myers Love Story)

Last year, my OKRWA writing chapter held a fun contest where participants were challenged to write a 500 word story with a ‘monster’ as the romance hero. I was coordinator, so I couldn’t enter the contest, but of course, I couldn’t resist writing a story anyway. This is the last of the Halloween Monster Romance Posts. Happy Halloween!!  

About the story…

I have always loved the Michael Myers Halloween movies. I saw my first one, when it was released in 1978,  in Moore, Oklahoma with my still BFF, Paige Warren. It was a spooky night all around.  I drove my parents’ station wagon (and of course, Michael stole and drove the hospital station wagon in the movie). After the movie, we were driving down 12th street (the local drag), and a girl stepped out onto the busy street and slowly walked across, without even looking around, like she was in a trance or something. We were freaked out, to say the least. Then, when I got home, my bratty younger brother hid in my dark room with his hand over my light switch and, when I went to flip the light on, I touched his hand and screamed.  So, yeah, that’s a night I’ll never forget. 🙂 When my kids were growing up, we all watched the movies together, and they LOVED them. They were never prone to nightmares, and if they did have them, they didn’t mind, because, like me, they loved to be scared. As twisted as it sounds, my girls and I think Michael is sexy. So…it was great fun to put him in a romance story. Hope you enjoy…


Devil’s Eyes

Haddonfield, IL 1992, Halloween Night

Brisk October wind bit into Doctor Phoebe Loomis’s flesh beneath her thin jacket. Dry leaves skittered down the sidewalk, sounding like cracking bones.

In the aftermath of the murders, the darkened neighborhood was silent. Along the street, houses were adorned with witches, goblins, and grotesquely smiling jack-o-lanterns. One particularly creative individual had transformed his yard into a cemetery, complete with headstones and an open grave with a ‘corpse’ lying next to it.

Red and blue strobe lights painted the faces of the officers leading the killer from the house. Michael Myers, wearing charcoal-gray coveralls and a blood-sprinkled white mask, towered above the two men.

Her pulse skipped, and she took a deep breath to still her racing heart. What was wrong with her? How could she be attracted to a…monster? Tonight, he’d killed five teenagers who’d been partying in his childhood home—thrill seekers, fascinated by the legend of Michael Myers. He’d taken countless lives since his escape from Smith’s Grove Sanitarium in 1978, where he’d been incarcerated for fifteen years after he murdered his teen sister, Judith, on Halloween—at six years old.

After her uncle’s death last year, Phoebe took over his psychiatry practice. Daily, she’d devoured Michael’s file.  Yes, Michael had committed atrocities. But atrocities had been committed against him too. A relative told of how Judith abused him. All these years, he’d been killing his sister over and over. His tormented soul cried out to Phoebe. She couldn’t explain it any more than she could explain sunrises. They simply were.

Tomorrow, she would meet with a man who murdered without conscience. And tonight, like many others, she would dream of his touch, his kiss…

She grimaced. If the authorities knew of her twisted fascination with Michael Myers, not only would they not let her near him, they’d lock her up as well.


The interrogation room door opened and Phoebe snapped her head up. Michael—sans mask, wearing an orange jumpsuit, hands and feet shackled—stepped inside. His eyes—her uncle called them Devil’s eyes—were black as a midnight sky. But unlike her uncle, she saw more than a soulless killing machine in their depths.

Michael eyed her warily and dropped into a chair. He was handsomer than she expected. Dark, tousled hair and, other than a jagged scar running along his rugged jawline, he was…beautiful

She offered a tentative smile. “I’m Sam Loomis’ niece, Phoebe.”

He rested his shackled hands on the tabletop. His dark gaze, so intent it stole her breath, locked onto her face. Tingles skated over her skin and she glanced away.

When his touch landed on her hand, she jerked her head up. Michael’s firm lips had softened—not quite a smile, but something…pleasant.

“Phoebe…” His gravelly voice sent shivers along her flesh. “I’ll tell you my story.” Relief surfaced in his ebony eyes. “Then maybe, I’ll find peace.”

She clasped her fingers around his and nodded, smiling through tears. “I’m here for you. As long as you need me.”


My Paranormal Romance, Soul Seducer:



She spent her entire life fighting death. Now she’s falling in love with him

As a nurse, Audra Grayson devotes her life to healing others. She realizes death is inevitable, but struggles every day to help her patients combat it. When she has a near-death experience of her own, she inadvertently opens a portal between the world of the living and the dead. Two Grim Reapers step through—Gaylen, bent on vengeance, determined to bring death to the innocent, even when it isn’t their time. And Dimitri—sexy and deadly, even though he’s just ‘doing his job.’ When Gaylen targets Audra’s patients, then her loved ones, she’ll have to conquer her fears to defeat him. But she can’t as easily conquer her feelings for Dimitri—she’s falling in love with him, and there’s no future with a man who exists in a world beyond the grave.


Sensing movement behind her, Audra whirled. In the shadowed corner of the room, she could make out the figure of a man, although she couldn’t distinguish his features.

Visiting hours weren’t until ten a.m. And even then, only family members were allowed in this wing of the ICU. Audra had met each of Ms. Chapman’s relatives, and this man wasn’t one of them. She could tell by his body type and height. The only male in Ms. Chapman’s immediate family was her son, and he was short and stocky.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice hushed. “You can’t be in here.”

He looked behind him, then back at her. “You can see me?”

She frowned in puzzlement. “Of course.”

“You saw me that night. Both those nights.”

Her frown deepened. “What nights?”

He moved from the gloom, drawing closer. Her instinct was to back away, but she forced herself to remain in place.

As he left the shadows behind, his features emerged, and part of her brain recognized him, but she wouldn’t let the terrifying thought solidify.

He wore faded jeans and a form-fitting black T-shirt. His pectoral muscles and biceps would rival a male model’s. They were tight and well-defined, not overly bulky like those of steroid-enhanced body builders.

Reluctantly, her mind acknowledged she’d seen him before. He’d been part of her hallucinations. Her worst nightmares were becoming a reality.

Somehow not as frightened as she should have been, she stared into his icicle blue eyes as he continued to move slowly toward her. She waited, holding her breath in expectation.

Why did she feel this tingly sense of excitement? This glimmer of anxiousness mixed with fear? Why did she feel like she might explode with anticipation?

He halted a couple of steps in front of her and lifted his hand, brushing it along the scar on her cheekbone, causing a shudder in the pit of her stomach. A current moved in the air, like a burst of electricity.

“The first time was the night you got this.” His words were a whisper along her skin, as was his touch…almost as if his caress was the hint of a sensation, but not actual contact. Her eyes drifted shut, and she swayed toward him. Her pulse raced, her skin tightening. She swallowed back a moan. She wasn’t even dismayed at her response to his nearness. It felt so right…so deliciously right. One slight move forward, and she could touch him, press her yearning body against his chest. Biting her lower lip, she just barely held back from giving in to the urge.

Softly, she murmured, “That night—I—you…” The only words she could form were incoherent drivel. Her heart pounded, her belly clenching with the strangest feeling she’d ever had. She lifted her lashes, staring up at him, wanting to lose herself in his glittering blue gaze. Wanting to feel his hands on her body…his full, sensual lips on hers. Wanting to be swept away in whatever madness this was. It felt so strange, yet at the same time, exhilarating, compelling, irresistible…dangerous.

Yes, dangerous. Gulping in a breath, she stepped back. His touch fell away, breaking the strange hold he had on her.

“You! It was you there that night. In the alley…” Her breath came in short gasps as the odd desire was replaced by fear. “Then again, at the hospital.” She shot her gaze around the room. “Where’s the other one? The blond guy? Who the hell are you?”

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Halloween Romance: Elvira Meets the Prince

Last year, my OKRWA writing chapter held a fun contest where participants were challenged to write a 500 word story with a ‘monster’ as the romance hero. I’ll be sharing a few of those on my blog between now and Halloween.  Enjoy!


Back in the day, I loved the treat of a scary movie late at night. On weekends, an oh-so-entertaining horror host came as a big bonus. For years, The Mistress of the Night, Elvira, and Count Gregore were staples. Their wise-cracking style brought out the fun, campy side of horror. Around Halloween they pulled out all the stops. I especially loved Elvira’s over the top, sexy persona, complete with witty double-entendres.

But the years flit by, and as they do, taste and programming evolves. Demand for horror hosting seems almost nonexistent these days. How might Elvira cope?

What if, late at night around Halloween, she were to have an uninvited guest who might suggest an unusual solution. One, he could say, to help them both. She likes it, but wants a little tweak. Hmmm.

I hope you enjoy my ideas about how the Mistress of the Dark might play this out. ~~TS


Elvira Meets the Prince

            Elvira stared at her uninvited guest. Seduction personified, he was tall and built, with dark smoldering eyes, and glossy longish black hair. She was due back on set at midnight, and it was already 10:30. Another production delay, and the project would be scrapped, taking her career with it. Not a high demand anymore for horror hosts.

            Lust rolled off him, heating the air. She crossed and uncrossed her legs. Damn — the man was a sexual magnet — or was he a man? Vampires weren’t really her thing. What had he just said? “Chupa what?”

            The corners of his sexy-as-sin mouth turned up in a smirk. “As Mistress of the Dark, you seem to have little knowledge of chupacabras.”

            The mellifluous, rich timbre of his voice added to his allure. “Dude — your pet goat suckers? Ewww.” One of her feet tapped the floor, a sure sign of her sexual attraction. “Uh, sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

            “You can call me Prince.”

            “Oh. Like the name formerly used by the singer.” Was he looking down his nose at her?

He waved a dismissive hand, one finger adorned with what must be a five carat stone. “I never gave him permission to use the name. However, he was quite reasonable once his error was pointed out.”

            Suddenly, they sat hip to hip — knee to knee. How did he get right next to her? Less than a minute ago, he’d been at the other end of the small couch. He exhaled, blowing hot breath on her neck. It warmed her to the core, and headed south. None of the undead had so much heat. Was there a trace of Sulphur in the air? Her nose must be out of whack. She visualized her dungeon. He’d be on his knees, maybe in chains. Clad in little more than her thigh high stilettos, she’d strut before him, whip in hand. Mistress indeed . . . She blinked, and shook her head. The temptation to act on her fantasy was too dangerous at the moment. Making him keep his distance was the last thing she wanted, but what else could she do? There was no time. “I never gave you permission to come this close, Prince.”

            He inclined his head and moved an arms’ length. “Actually, my dear, I didn’t come here to talk only about my pets. I think we can help each other — in many ways.”

            “Go on.”

            His eyes became iridescent and glowed red. “A new film project — one that can start a new cinematic horror theme. I believe it’ll replace vampires and the zombie apocalypse.”

            His enthusiasm was infectious. “Do you mean?”

            “Absolutely. Chupacabras — the new horror craze.”

            It would give her career a boost, in the bargain. “I think it’s a winner.” “I have to be on set in twenty. Come with me. I’ll introduce you to someone who can make it happen.

           “But let’s step downstairs first. I want you to see something.”




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Halloween Romance: The Reaper’s Kiss

Last year, my OKRWA writing chapter held a fun contest where participants were challenged to write a 500 word story with a ‘monster’ as the romance hero. I’ll be sharing a few of those on my blog between now and Halloween.  Enjoy!


I wrote The Reaper’s Kiss as a short story for the contest. After I read the story to my husband he kept asking me questions about it. The answers to those questions led to my outlining a YA trilogy. I’ve finished the first draft of the first story and hope to have a final draft ready to submit in a few months.

The Reaper’s Kiss

The Grim Reaper stands outside my window. I don’t have to peek through the white eyelet curtains next to my bed to see his shrouded form. I don’t have to open my eyes and look for the shadowy outline made possible by the not quite full moon.

I don’t have to look for him because I can hear him.

His skeleton finger taps on the cold glass.

Local legend says that if you carve your name in The Reaper’s Tree—once known as The Hangman’s Tree and site of an accident that killed five people in the fifties—The Reaper will come for you before the next full moon. My boyfriend Daley and I carved our names there on Halloween night. Three nights later Daley’s brother heard a thud in the middle of the night. He went into Daley’s room and found him lying dead on the floor.

Tomorrow is the full moon.

I lie on my bed, eyes clamped shut. Now The Reaper taps on my window. His icy breath reaches me through the glass. I won’t look.

“Ivy.” I think I hear Daley’s voice. Impossible. I stood next to his grave this morning, tossing a single red rose on top of his casket.

“Ivy.” An icy finger traces my outer ear the way Daley used to.

I keep my eyes closed, shivering in the November chill as the blankets are tugged from my shoulders, sliding down my body.

A cold hand creeps beneath my t-shirt, the chill of it bringing my nipples to attention.

“It’s me, Ivy. I love you. You promised I was the only one.”

The cold vanishes, driven away by my first love. My only love if the reaper comes for me tonight.

I remember Daley’s touch, his fumbling, yet gentle hands; warm hands on a warm September night tugging my t-shirt over my head as we stretched out on his twin bed.

“I have protection,” he whispered, tugging at the snap on my jeans.

“Where’d you get a condom?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “You said I was your first, too.”

“I stole one from Jonah.”

I wanted to laugh, but didn’t want to draw the attention of his brother or parents.

My jeans slid over my hips. Daley’s hand stroked the inside of my thigh.

Warmed by the memory I give myself to my lover’s touch. He tugs my panties down. I kick them free. My legs begin to open, ready to welcome him.

It’s the touch of ice on my lips that make my eyes spring open. I stare into Daley’s sweet brown eyes; eyes now set in a skeleton’s grinning face.

Wrapped in my lover’s touch, The Reaper has come for me.


Check out Tamrie’s romantic suspense short story:



Daira Gleeson gave her heart and her virginity to Rory Trent when they were in high school. Twenty years later–reeling from her mother’s suicide and the death of her cheating fiance–Daira finds herself in possession of a cursed scrimshaw doll.

Now, Rory is back in town, wanting to pick up where they left off. But not only is Daira afraid he’ll break her heart, the doll’s curse has already caused harm to those close to her. If Rory leaves her again, he could pay with his life.

Someone is after the doll and willing to kill to possess it. Can the curse be broken in time to save those Daira loves…and to regain the true love she lost a lifetime ago?


Daira jumped when her front door opened. Rory stood there for a moment, then stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“You should keep your door locked.”

“You’re supposed to wait for someone to open it.” Her words lacked the scorn she had intended.

He crossed the room, then took her shoulders in his hands and kneaded them gently. “You sounded frightened on the phone.”

“I’m fine. I told you, it was just a mouse.”

He looked at Lemon, sitting on the arm of the couch, washing a white paw. The corner of Rory’s mouth twitched. “The cat mustn’t be doing its job.”

He studied her with those sexy brown eyes. Tiny flecks of gold and green encircled the pupil. His fingers flexed, settling on her shoulders more firmly.

Why couldn’t she look away?

He leaned closer. She pressed her hands against his chest and turned her head to the side. His kiss landed on her cheek. His lips moved to her ear, taking a little nip. She drew in a deep breath as her nipples responded.

“High school was a long time ago,” he said, amusement threaded through his voice. “When are you going to give me another chance?”

She turned to look at him. His nose was an inch from hers. She struggled to keep her eyes from crossing. “You think I don’t want you to kiss me because you dumped me twenty years ago?”

“You mean there’s another reason?”

“Yes! You’re little more than a stranger, now. I don’t go around kissing strange men.”

His smile deepened. He leaned closer, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of her ear. She shivered.

“I’m not a stranger, sweetheart.” His hands slid down her arms and moved to her waist. “I’m the man who took your virginity in the backseat of my car.”

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Tamrie Foxtail is a librarian, and the wife of a Federal Agent (now retired).  Raised in Florida, and now living in the Sooner state, she’s still searching for the beach in Oklahoma. 



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Halloween Romance: Portrait of Love (The Picture of Dorian Gray)

Last year, my OKRWA writing chapter held a fun contest where participants were challenged to write a 500 word story with a ‘monster’ as the romance hero. I’ll be sharing a few of those on my blog between now and Halloween.  Enjoy!


The Picture of Dorian Gray is my favorite book. I love Oscar Wilde’s unmatched wit and timeless storytelling. Funny, heartbreaking, terrifying—the tale has it all. And I find the story’s premise so intriguing: Lord Henry, a twinkle in his eye, corrupting an innocent young man for his own amusement. Destroying a beautiful life filled with promise—just to see if he can. The creepy portrait, riddled and oozing with Dorian’s sins—while he stays young and gorgeous—is the icing on the cake. So it isn’t any wonder that when I imagine the perfect monster, I always “picture” Dorian Gray (sorry, couldn’t resist).

Please enjoy this twist on my very favorite monster tale of all time, The Picture of Dorian Gray. After all, the scariest devils are the ones painted on the inside.

Portrait of Love

Dorian stepped to the easel, pulled the drape from the canvas, and turned to face the mirror on the opposite wall. Comparing himself to the portrait was an activity to which he was well accustomed. He’d repeated the habit several times daily for the past hundred years. However, today the reason behind the ritual was quite different. Instead of seeking out changes with his usual morbid fascination, Dorian searched the grotesque features for consistency.

He scrutinized the portrait alongside his reflection. The murky eyes, glazed with the film of unatoned sin hadn’t resembled his own in years—but had they changed since yesterday?

He squinted, expecting to find a new cataract on one milky iris or a fresh boil on the surrounding wrinkled skin. He found nothing. The same brown blotches marred the gnarled fingers. The same arthritic bend stooped the back. For the first time since its creation, the painting hadn’t changed one iota.

Dorian checked the time. Seven p.m. Lydia would be there any moment. Exquisite Lydia. Down in whatever cancerous sliver of soul he had left, he knew she was the reason behind the painting’s sudden refusal to alter. After a century-long quest for pleasure, Dorian had found what his hardened heart searched for all along. Love. He adored Lydia, and tonight he would tell her so.

Footfalls echoed on the stairs. Dorian sucked in a breath, snatched the sheet from the floor, and flung it over the portrait.

“I let myself in,” Lydia said, dragging her eyes over him. “Mmm…don’t you look tasty.” She wrapped her red-tipped fingers around his tie. “Mr. Gray, this suit reminds me of another Mr. Grey whom I’ve read a great deal about.”

He pulled her close. “Perhaps we should stay in tonight. You can compare our…techniques.”

She nibbled his ear, stopping abruptly. “What are you hiding?”

Dorian’s heartbeat stalled. “Hiding? Nothing—”

“What is this?” She pulled away, touching the draped canvas.

Her movement shocked his heart like a defibrillator. “It’s—a surprise. You mustn’t see until it’s finished.”

“Surprise? Is it painting of me?”

“Patience, dear. Soon you’ll see.” He led her away from the portrait, making a mental list of artists he knew. He could surely commission one to paint his beautiful Lydia.

Halfway down the staircase, Lydia touched her throat. “I left my scarf in your room.” She kissed his cheek and dashed back upstairs.

A scream exploded above. Dorian bounded the stairs and burst into his bedroom.

“Is this a joke?” Lydia shrieked, staring at the portrait. “This is how you see me? An ugly old hag?”

“Let me explain.”

She threw the canvas to the floor and stomped it with her stiletto heel.

Grimacing, Dorian clutched his chest.

“What’s happened to your face?” she cried. “Dorian, you’re a monster!”

Dorian collapsed. He clawed the floor, searching for the portrait.

“I love you, Lydia,” he whispered as his hand stilled upon the torn canvas.

From between his gnarled fingers, peered the innocent blue eyes of youth.

Check out Anna’s spooky romantic suspense short story:



An ancient scrimshaw doll–does its gypsy magic protect? Or destroy?

As a child, Darcy Vaughan cowered beneath the malice of her twin sister, Scarlett. Now, Scarlett is back and Darcy hopes to establish the sisterly bond she’s always longed for. Instead, Scarlett tries to destroy Darcy’s life–and her new relationship with the town doctor.

Dr. Cabin Creighton returned to his hometown near Lake Chickasha, Oklahoma to take over his father’s practice. One look at Darcy and Cabin wants nothing more than to love her forever. But a guilty heart and memories of his deceased wife are holding him back.

When someone from Scarlett’s past reappears, bad things start to happen. Darcy and Cabin struggle to keep their love alive, but as danger draws closer, Darcy finds herself once more at her sister’s mercy, with nothing but the yellowed bones of an ancient doll to protect her.


In the center of the doll’s chest bloomed an intricate rose. Cabin explored the flower with his fingers, fascinated by the small carving which held more detail than all the doll’s other attributes combined.

“So, it just pulls out a magical Tommy-gun and blasts the person it sees harming you?” he asked, pointing the doll’s arm at a lamp on the end table.

Darcy smiled and shook her head. “Not quite.”

“What is it, then? Is the doll psychic?”

She frowned. “I think it’s more like karma, in a way. It discerns the aura of the betrayer…feeds on the negative thoughts. The betrayer has to knowingly betray the doll’s owner, or at least have intent of wrongdoing. Some trace of malice the doll can pick up on.”

Intent of wrongdoing. Cabin thought of Samantha, how he’d watched her waste away, nothing but skin stretched over bones at the end. How he hadn’t done anything to help her. He shook away the thoughts, but couldn’t shake the guilt.

“And what sort of…things happen to the betrayer?”

“Oh, it can be anything from a mild annoyance to…worse, depending on the level of betrayal.”

“I’d better watch my step around you,” he spoke to the doll as he straightened its dress. He turned and looked into Darcy’s eyes, haltingly bringing his hand to her face, tracing her features. She closed her eyes. He wanted her, wanted to feel alive again, even though he didn’t deserve to.

“Only true love breaks the spell…” she murmured.

Cabin jerked his hand from her cheek. The movement knocked the doll from his lap, tumbling it onto the hardwood.

Darcy’s eyes sprung open. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How stupid of me to say that—”

A rough bang on the front door caused Darcy to gasp and widen her eyes. She jumped up, scooping the doll from the floor as she crossed the room.

Cabin followed, standing close behind her. She cracked the door open.

“Really? This is how you treat your sister? Your twin?” Scarlett pushed past Darcy, into the living room.


“You promised to check on me. I had a coughing spasm and very well could have died in that house all by myself.” She shook a cigarette from her pack, looked around the room, then slid it back in.

“May I intervene?” Cabin asked, his piercing gaze aimed at Scarlett. “You’re perfectly fine. I would have sent you to the hospital if I’d thought otherwise. As for the coughing spasm…you can blame those cigarettes for that.”

“Thank you, Dr. Drew. I’ll check into Celebrity Rehab right away.” She cackled, her breath reeking of alcohol. She turned to Darcy, snatching the doll from her hand. “Where did you get this?” she demanded. “How many crap-filled Dumpsters did you have to dive into before you found the ridiculous thing? They should’ve buried these dried up bones right along with that crotchety old bat’s.” She pumped the doll’s legs in a suggestive manner and laughed, holding it from reach as Darcy grabbed for it.

Cabin circled Scarlett’s wrists with one hand, twisting the doll free with the other, and handed it to Darcy.

“My, you are a strong one.” Scarlett batted her lashes over bloodshot eyes. “I can certainly see why my sister…my twin sister…has such a bad case of Cabin fever.” She turned on her stilettoed heel and staggered through the doorway, onto the porch. “I hope you can remedy that, doctor.” She laughed as Cabin shut the door.

Darcy nestled the doll’s face into her neck, stroking its hair. “Scarlett makes it so hard. All I want to do is help her. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to be around this again.” She motioned from herself to the wall separating her house from Scarlett’s.

“Well, that would screw up my next move.”

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Other Books by Anna:





Anna works as a middle school secretary in her beloved hometown of Anadarko, Oklahoma, where she resides with her high school sweetheart-turned-husband, Tim. She has written for as long as she can remember. She still has most of her tattered creations—leftover stories she was unable to sell on the playground for a dime—written in childish handwriting on notebook paper, bound with too many staples. Her love of storytelling has grown throughout the years, and she is thrilled her tales are now worth more than ten cents.

Contact Links

Anna Kittrell Amazon Author Page/Books http://alturl.com/bchbw

Facebook author page https://www.facebook.com/AKittrell

email kittrellbooks@gmail.com





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Halloween Kisses ~ New Release by Susan R. Hughes

I love Halloween and I always look forward to Halloween stories each year.

Please help me welcome my guest, Susan R. Hughes and her new release, Halloween Kisses…Love the cover!



One kiss can change everything. Dulcie has had a secret crush on her co-worker Rowan for ages, but she’s too shy to let him know, and preoccupied with raising her rebellious teenage sister. When she bumps into him in the darkness of a haunted barn, she can’t resist stealing just one kiss.

That kiss enchants Rowan. If only he could figure out the identity of the woman whose kiss haunts him. While running from a troubled past, he may find that the woman he least suspects could lead him out of the dark forever.

And now, let’s get to know Susan…

Where did you get the idea for Halloween Kisses?

When I decided to write a Halloween book, I knew I wanted a scene at a masquerade ball. This led me to the idea of a very shy woman who wears a metaphorical mask every day, hiding herself and her feelings in order to shield herself from rejection. Halloween is the day she finally finds the strength to shed her mask and show the world, and the man she loves, who she really is.

Do you have another occupation, other than writer? If so, what is it and how do you like it?

I’m a professional editor. I find it very rewarding to take a good piece of text and polish it up so it shines.

What’s the main thing that you could get rid of in your life that would give you more writing time?

My kids – but of course I wouldn’t want to get rid of them! Well, maybe just for a few days…

What do you want readers to come away with after they read Halloween Kisses?

I would like readers to feel that they’ve gotten to know Dulcie and Rowan, and cheer when they find their way to each other. One reader told me that a particular scene made her cry. What more could I ask for?

Would you rather have a bad review or no review?

No review. Bad reviews are crushing. No review gives me something to aim for.

What genre have you never written that you’d like to write?

Historical fiction in the Tudor era. But the research involved has held me back so far.

What is your favorite quote?

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans” – John Lennon

susan bio

Susan R. Hughes writes contemporary and historical romance novels set in Canada. She lives in Ottawa, Ontario, with her husband and three children.

Website: http://susanrhughes.weebly.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Susan-R-Hughes/150348171749025

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Susan_R_Hughes

Book link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B014UA6XPQ


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