Random Rant


I read a book recently that kinda annoyed me. I’m not going to name it or the author. The book was well written and for the most part I enjoyed the read. Except for this one thing that stuck in my craw.


We have a female character who takes exception to the constant parade of ‘bimbos’ who throw themselves at the hero. He was famous so these are groupie types we’re talking about. Okay, fair enough. I was even okay with her badmouthing these other women because who wouldn’t be annoyed if while on a date with a man some random woman tried to flash him her boobs?

Move on to the story. This woman went on to sleep with the hero anywhere and everywhere from the first day they met and onwards. She later agrees—nay asks—to have a group thing with him and his two hot friends. She spends the weekend getting drunk on tequila and taking it six way til Sunday from these three guys. Okay, fair enough. In real life I probably wouldn’t go that far but I wouldn’t judge anyone else for doing it. Whatever makes you happy and all that.

Now here’s the annoying part. Our hero, who was admittedly a bit of a douchebag, compares our heroine to a groupie because of all she’s done with him and his buddies. She takes offense, and I mean major offense. How dare he compare her to those ho bags! I’m nothing like them!

Except that she slept with the hero within hours of meeting him and then proceeded to fuck every one of his friends. How is that not kinda groupie-ish? Even, dare I say, slutty?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a fan of labelling women for their behaviour. I hate words like skank or slut or ho. What annoyed me on this occasion is that the character spent the first two chapters of the book labelling these groupies with just those sorts of words because they wore short skirts and made no secret of their desire to have sex with the hero. Then she put on a figure hugging tank top and banged not only the hero but his two friends, repeatedly. How is she not the same as the very women she criticises? And how are those women so much worse than the hero, who in the past freely took them up on their offers of casual sex? How come she had no problem with him?

Ah, that old chestnut. If a woman plays she’s a skank. If a man does it, he’s a legend. Like I said, this issue tends to stick in my craw.

So tell me, have you ever been annoyed like this by a novel? What are your pet peeves?




Okay, I know, I know, I’m a day late.

I promised to have a winner by Sunday, and now it’s already Monday. Still, I figure, better late than never.

First off, thanks to everyone who responded. And thank you for all the cool comments. (I just may have read them more than once.)


So, what I’ve done is taken all the names of commenters from my personal blog, International Heat and Down Under Divas and thrown them into a hat. Then I closed my eyes and picked one name.

And…the winner of the print copy of Three Of A Kind is:



Moran, if you can please email me at


I can get that book in the post ASAP!


A sweet treat in the mail (And a contest)


Don’t you love opening the door to that special delivery?

Seeing a big box with your name on it?

A slight thrill runs up your spine, because you have no idea what’s in the box or who sent it to you, so the possibilities are endless.

Now, I can’t lie and say that’s exactly what happened to me a couple of days ago. Firstly, I didn’t open the door, my hubby did. Secondly, I wasn’t even in when the delivery came. I arrived home to find a box waiting for me. And thirdly, I had an inkling what it was. Okay…so I’d been obsessively waiting for the delivery for weeks! But that didn’t stop the excitement. Believe me, I fairly ripped into the box.

Here it is. A photo sequence of my experience:

1) I open the box with shaky hands

2) I pull the flaps apart to reveal the hidden treasure within.

Yes, it’s my author copies of Three Of A Kind, the print anthology of Raising The Stakes and Full House.

3) I reverently remove one and hold it in my hand:

4) I insert it ever so tenderly into its designated spot on my bookshelf:

And baby makes 8.


So, now I have 9 spare copies of Three Of A Kind sitting in my office. What to do…what to do…?

How about…I give one away?

Tell you what. Just let me know which your favorite novella from the Three Of A Kind trilogy was and why, and I’ll randomly pick a winner and send you a book.

No worries if you haven’t read the novellas yet. Just let me know which one you most want to read, and why.

Here are your choices:

Going All In, Raising The Stakes and Full House.

I’m gonna post this to my blog and to International Heat as well, and I’ll choose a winner on Sunday.


Three Of A Kind releases on the 5th of June, and is available now for pre-order at Samhain Publishing, Amazon and Barnes and Noble


Here’s to Firsts


Yesterday was the 21st of May, a date which marks exactly 3 months until the release of Erica’s Choice, a book that represents a lot of firsts for me. It was the first long novel I’ve written, the first one I penned in a really, really long time (I mean I really penned it, the first draft was on pen and paper. I wrote it when I was reminding myself who, and why, I started writing in the first place). It was also the first time I wrote anything featuring male/male interaction. This book has been a long time coming for me and I’m enormously proud of what I managed to achieve with it.

So imagine my excitement to have the book up for preorder at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Yay!!!! I’m so looking forward to August.


One three-alarm night ignites a firestorm of complications…

High school teacher Erica Shannon isn’t a one-night stand kind of girl. Pair that with an aversion to relationships, and she’s resigned to no love life at all. Then one horrifying discovery propels her off her take-no-risks path, and into the arms of the stars of her midnight fantasies.

When his friend and fellow firefighter threatens to make a move on Erica, Corey figures he’d better get over the notion that she’s way out of his league—fast—before he has to stand in line.

Griff never thought he’d get the chance to introduce Corey to the combustible delights of multi-partner play, until he senses the sheer volume of sexual energy surging beneath Erica’s repressed exterior.

A blazing night of passion has unexpected consequences. Corey is surprised to discover the woman of his dreams, and that he doesn’t mind sharing her—or himself—with Griff. But Griff finds his heart pulled down a romantic path he vowed he’d never venture again.

Erica? She’s got a problem on her hands. Hold two hardwired-to-rescue firemen at arm’s length—and away from her heart—until she’s fought and won a battle that may well destroy her.

Warning: One tortured woman and two hunky Aussie firemen indulging in three-way love. Scenes of the male/female, male/male, male/male/female and male/female/male variety (whew!). Also includes anal sex, mild spanking, cussing, phone sex, fire trucks and tearjerker moments.


Corey Wachawski watched as the woman of his dreams took a book out of her large black shoulder bag, opened it to a dog-eared page and began to read. It was a big book, the kind he’d never get through if he had a year to kill, which only reminded Corey how out of his league the pretty redhead with the big brown eyes truly was.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out with us, Corey?” Madison purred the invitation into his ear while she stroked a fingernail up and down his forearm. “Vibe is the hottest club in the Valley right now. We’re going to have the best time.”

It was clear from her tone that the club wasn’t the only thing offering a good time. It would be easy enough to take Madison up on it, but Corey found girls like her a little intimidating—and a lot scary. He got the feeling if he went home with her he’d wake up naked, tied to a bed and minus the one credit card he owned. “No thanks. I’m going to have an early one tonight.”

Madison stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “They work you boys way too hard.”

Corey wasn’t about to tell her work had nothing to do with his refusal. He simply didn’t want to spend the night with Madison.

The woman he did want to spend some quality time with was sitting across the pub right now with her nose in a book, her silky straight red hair sweeping down to conceal her face, as out of reach as the moon. She probably thought he was some kind of man-slut because every time she came in here some random woman slipped him her phone number, or even her panties. Jeez. What did girls think he was going to do with a silky pink G-string?

Madison finally gave up and left. Corey’s sigh of relief was audible and beside him Griff laughed. “That was piss weak.”

“She isn’t my type.”

Griff remarked with a lopsided smile, “With an ass like that she doesn’t need to be. Besides, you might as well dip your wick somewhere. You won’t do anything about the girls who are your type, either.”

Corey didn’t pretend ignorance. His gaze once again strayed to the corner booth and the woman sitting there. She wore an ordinary grey skirt, black heels and a plain white blouse, the collar trimmed in lace. Her haircut was of the sensible, I’m-not-the-type-to-primp variety, a chin-length bob that framed her high cheekbones and wide brown eyes. She exuded none of the glamour of a woman like Madison yet she fascinated Corey on a level that went beyond appearances. He wanted to get to know her better, had since the first time she’d come in a few months ago.

But the idea of approaching her made his palms sweat, so he’d settled for watching her from across the room, waiting for… something. A sign maybe. Some kind of magic that would make everything click into place.

He offered Griff his excuse. “She’s really into that book.”

“She’s alone. Nobody comes to a noisy pub to read. She’s probably dying for you to go over and talk to her, dickhead.” At Corey’s skeptical look, Griff insisted, “Look, she doesn’t even have a drink. Go buy her one before somebody else does.”

Corey scowled. “Who’s going to buy her a drink?”

“Maybe I will.”

Corey wouldn’t have been more surprised if Griff had punched him in the gut. “You wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“She’s not your type.”

Griff laughed. “And that means?”

Corey didn’t know how to express what he meant without dissing his friend’s usual taste in women. Eventually he settled for, “She’s delicate.”

Griff raised a brow. “I like delicate. I like soft women. Hell, I just like women. Matter of fact, I’m talking myself into it. I’m going over there.”

“No.” Corey stood at the same time Griff did. They met eye to eye, Griff’s hazel irises twinkling with amusement. Corey figured his own expression was less jovial. His voice came out sounding threatening, which surprised him more than it seemed to surprise Griff. “I mean it, Griff. Don’t you hit on her.”

“What’s to stop me?”

“The guy code,” Corey said. “I saw her first.”

Griff chuckled. “You’ve gotta actually do something about it in order to activate the guy code. Sitting here with your thumb up your ass does not constitute staking a claim, so stand back and start taking notes. I’m about to show you what a move is.”


Hope you enjoyed!


Sandy The Dragon (the Beginning of My Journey as a Writer)

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I’ve been asked quite a few times how I became a writer. I’ve always laughed and said something flippant like “I’d go crazy if I didn’t write” and while that is true, there’s more to it. Much more.

At six, I decided I wanted to be a writer. My mother bemoaned this fact for two reasons: one, it meant the piano stool was never next to the piano but rather being used as a writing desk in front of my funky little chair my grandfather had made me. And two, the dining tablecloth was always a mess after dinner because I would hurry through my meal so quickly so I could go and “write my book” that food pretty much ended up everywhere.

A little backstory to understand why my first ever piece of literary mastery was the twisted, tormented tale of pet abduction it was.

I grew up with two older brothers who loved Doctor Who. Loved it so much that they insisted their little sister watched it too. Apparently by the age of four I was well and truly a Whovian much to my poor suffering mother’s chagrin (it was her that had to deal with a petrified child suffering from nightmares after watching an episode where faceless machine men captured people and turned them into faceless machine men after all, not my brothers who slept through all my tears like the sleep of the innocent). By six, I had moved on from watching Doctor Who to wanting to write about Doctor Who. My father, who abhorred the idea of his little girl writing something so unoriginal as a Doctor Who story, insisted I write my own story. That story was a quaint little two page tome called Sandy the Dragon.

Sandy was a little girl’s pet dragon from “out of space”. Some faceless men came and took Sandy away from the little girl. The little girl went and took Sandy back. As the little girl rode away on Sandy’s back, she instructed her beloved pet to “insinerat” the faceless bad men (I know I spelt it this way because my dad still has the story. The thing that cracks me up the most is all the i’s in “insinerat” have tiny flowers above them). So Sandy the dragon insinerats the faceless bad men and the little girl and her dragon fly away happy. So happy, Sandy the dragon from “out of space” laughs and insinerats a whole forest on the way home and then says “oobs” (I’m assuming I was trying to write oops, but Mum tells me I was most put out when she attempted to correct my spelling).

It took me a week to write Sandy the Dragon. Seven evenings of dedication, lip-chewing and pencil gnawing after my hastily consumed dinner to put together the words needed to tell my tale. Suffice to say, I was in heaven. I loved it. Writing that story is, for me, one of the strongest memories of my childhood. I can still feel the hard wooden stool under my butt. I can smell the cedar polish of the piano stool-cum desk. I had never produced something of such importance and worth. I took it to school after a week of my heart being poured onto the pages (after adding an illustration of the pivotal faceless men execution scene over the weekend, of course), handed it to my teacher and was promptly told, “Oh, you shouldn’t be writing things like this!”

I never handed any story I wrote to that teacher again. But I didn’t stop writing. I couldn’t. The stories in my head wouldn’t let me. My brothers wouldn’t let me. And, regardless of the state of her dining table after dinner, my mother wouldn’t let me.

At six, I decided to be a writer. It just took a few more years for me to figure out what kind of writer I was going to be.

(Next Week: Stephen King’s involvement in my writing career. Seriously *grin*)

Life and the wisdom of wisdom teeth.


It’s Friday of a very long week for me as a mother. Actually, it’s been a really, really long month. *sigh* First both the Princesses developed nasty chest and throat infections and while suffering the illness of the damned both had to have wisdom teeth extracted. Princess One’s procedure was quite simple. One tooth. Princess & the Pea however had to have all four of hers removed so we chose to do it under a general but as she had a throat infection……yeah, that was put off until yesterday. Which went exceedingly well and today she’s in a little pain but honestly the girl either isn’t suffering that much or has one hell of a pain threshold. Mean while, not to be left out, The Kid was playing tug-of-war last week at school. With a stick. You know as parents we tell our kids not to play with sticks because they might poke an eye out but did you ever consider what other calamities may occur? I certainly hadn’t but leave it to The Kid to show me the possibilities. After a short game he took a trip to sick bay who of course rang me and I immediately took him to our doctor. Three stitches later……we went home. Seven days later the stitches were removed to find the finger hadn’t fallen off in spite of the disgusting smell of his bandage and the wound had in fact healed perfectly. The Kid of course is constantly ‘checking out’ his new scar. I swear, if The Kid had of been the first he’d have been the last. Lucky for the other three. 🙂

So today I’m exhausted. EXHAUSTED!! I can’t find the energy for anything. Including blogging. So I’m gonna give you some pix for the weekend instead.

Oh man. There’s something to be said for a good set of abs…….*fans self*

Rhian Cahill


Barnes And Noble…I love you


You might read this title and think the reason I love Barnes and Noble is because last year, while in the States, my family and I spent a wonderful fall afternoon whiling away the hours in the B&N on 5th Ave in New York. We hadn’t intended to spend the afternoon there. We just popped in to look around and find a few books for the kids to read, and three hours later we found ourselves sitting in the coffee shop, all of us reading and enjoying a drink, with no thought about leaving anytime soon. Perhaps the afternoon was so enjoyable because we just don’t have book stores like that in Sydney anymore Not since Borders closed down. Now when I book shop I do it on the net. So an afternoon in my favorite kind of store, doing my favorite things was indeed a treat. Anyway, you may think that’s my reason for declaring my undying love for B&N, but you’d be wrong.

You also may think I appreciate this major bookstore because it provides competition for Amazon. Yep, I’m pretty unimpressed with Amazon at the moment. Now that they have all those millions of readers using Kindle, they seem to be having NO problem putting up the prices of their ebooks. Seriously, I never thought I’d say this, but it’s becoming too damn expensive to buy an ebook there. So yay B&N for having consistently lower prices. Now, if you could just import your Nooks and books here to Australia, I’d be ecstatic. However… no matter how ecstatic I’d be, this isn’t the reason I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with B&N.

No, the real reason I love this bookshop is because…Office Affair is flying out of their doors. Last week a miracle of kinds happened. Office Affair hit the B&N Nook bestseller list. Much to my stunned surprised, it crept into the Top 100. Hello? The top 100? That is freaking awesome. Some of my books have hit bestseller lists on Amazon, but I have never had a Top 100 on Nook.

Then something even more amazing happened. Office Affair hit the Top 25 at Nook. Um, hello? My book in the top 25? Not possible. Then…the IMPOSSIBLE happened. It hit the Top 15. May I just state that at this time I was unable to breath. In fact, since the book hit the Top 100, my lungs have been acting funny. I haven’t gotten an adequate breath of oxygen in a week.

Here’s the astounding part. Not only did Office Affair hit a high of No 12 on the site, it was also featured on the Nook Home Page…UNDER FREAKING BESTSELLERS!!! And that just blows my mind.

As I write this post, Office Affair is spending (what I suspect) is its last day (maybe even hour) on the home page. It’s fallen now to now 26. (Yeah, I refresh the darn page every hour. I am that obsessed.) But may I just say, this has been the ride of my life. I’m okay with not breathing properly, especially if this is the cause.

Thank you to Barnes And Noble Nook Books and thank you to all you readers who have bought the book. You have made me a very happy, albeit very teary, writer.


A Day in the Life of… You


So today I was plugging away at my day job, wistfully wishing I were home writing and I had a profound thought. Day jobs suck. Yes, profound I said.

The best movie about office work EVA

Don’t get me wrong, mine is actually pretty good, as far as jobs go. By that I mean I’ve had way, WAY suckier modes of employ in the past. Oh, God, so many terrible bosses out there. So, so many crummy menial tasks that some poor sucker has to perform. I’ve been there, I’ve done menial and the job I have now is a big improvement. My current boss is reasonable, the hours suit me, the atmosphere is usually cheerful and I get paid a lot better than I used to for tending bar all those years ago, which was much harder on my feet. All in all, I have it pretty decent.

Still, there are days like today when I just don’t want to be there. Not the greatest thing to say in the current climate where so many people would love a job like mine, so guilt does abound. But that didn’t stop me spending the majority of my day checking twitter and yahoo on my phone, which was surreptitiously concealed beneath my desk.

And I got to thinking: I don’t know what anyone else’s day job is. When we’re in Romance Land, we just want to be in Romance Land, so rarely do authors or reviewers or readers discuss that other place that takes us away from where we’d, in a perfect world, be spending every single minute of our time. Right? So tell me everyone… What do you do for a crust? (Oz-ism lesson number 43. Translation: How do you earn your living?).

Do we have any lawyers, doctors, police officers, sanitation experts or tap dance teachers among our readership? Stay at home mothers (the hardest working women in the world), stay at home dads (rarest gems in the human kingdom), or budding authors?

Please tell me how you spend your time away from Romance Land!



Paging Doctor Love. Paging Doctor Love


Okay, that’s a crummy title, but I’m sick. Really sick. I have the flu and it won’t leave me. I’ve had it for over a week now. I’ve lost my voice, my throat feels like it’s lined with burning sandpaper and my body has moved beyond aching to that place professional marathon runners go when they reach the 49th mile.

So for today’s post, I’m giving you pictures of sexy doctors. Cause that’s what I wish I was seeing. Instead of my normal grumpy one.






(And no, I don’t think that last man is a doctor either, but seriously, who cares? *grin*)

Change is as good as a holiday.


So what to you all think of the new look? Sami did a great job. The rest of us Divas that her. Actually we’re all really grateful she decided to do it herself. 🙂 As Sami mentioned earlier in the week my schedule was a nightmare for blogging on Tuesday’s so we swapped. Of course it’s now Saturday and I swapped for Friday……..yeah, yeah, I know. I suck. 😆 But here’s the thing. I’ve got nothing to blog about. 😦

Oh wait! I’ve got a release date announcement!

Yep. My editor informed me that Spin The Bottle will release September 25. Yay! *happy dances* I don’t have office blurb or cover art or excerpt….but here’s the ‘unofficial’ blurb and an unedited ‘unofficial’ snippet. 🙂

Spin The Bottle: Party Games Book 4 – Available Sept. 25

Lillian McDermott has it all. Money, looks and a career most women would kill for. But the one thing she really wants doesn’t even know she exists—Mackenzie Harris. Her brother’s best friend, Mac sees her only as a surrogate little sister. After years of waiting Lil has had enough. She’s going to rock Mac’s world until he can’t ignore her ever again.

Mackenzie isn’t blind to Lilli and he never has been. But no best mate screws around with a little sister. No matter how hot she makes him. No matter how much he wants to be the man on her arm. This time she’s gone too far and he won’t back away from what she’s started.

With one spin of the bottle these two friends will become lovers and everything they ever believed about each other will change.


Lillian knew who it was the second he touched her. Mac. The familiar feel and scent of him were imbedded in every cell of her being, branded like the signature of a master painter, only no one else could see the mark. His arm slid around her waist from behind and yanked her back against him. Lil sucked in a breath as warm air rushed over her neck and his lips brushed the outer curve of her ear. She shivered. A delicate quake that shimmied from her head to her toes.

“You’re not getting away from me this time, Lilli.” He wrapped his other arm around her middle and spooned her body with his.

“Mac.” Lillian straightened her spine, tried to put space between them but Mac tightened his grip keeping their bodies pressed together.

“Watch the game. Things are about to get interesting.” His words, whispered against her ear, sent a shower of warmth down her back.

Heat radiated off him and soaked all the way through to her bones. She couldn’t stop her muscles from softening, couldn’t prevent herself from melting into his embrace. Lil focused on the game in front of her but she didn’t really see it. The room and people filling it faded out as her mind zeroed in on the pounding of Mac’s heart as it beat a steady tattoo along her back. Each thump hammered home the knowledge that this man could ask for anything and she’d be powerless to refuse.

He took a step backwards, tugging her with him as he moved to the rear of the crowded room. They could still see the game but Lil no longer paid attention. How could she when Mac’s fingers were stroking her flesh through the thin material of her dress? The silky cloth sliding over her skin added to his sensual caress and fired starbursts of sensation through every nerve ending. His hand slid higher until his fingers brushed the underside of her breast. Her nipples pebbled and goose bumps sprang up, like waves on sand, the tiny mounds of awareness rippled back and forth as Lil’s body flushed with arousal.

Mac dipped his other hand lower. He palmed her hip before inching his way to the hem of her little black dress and slipping questing fingers up the back of her thigh. Lil’s knees shook as he teased her with a barely-there touch. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip to stifle the moan bubbling in her throat. His fingertips skimmed over the seam between her arse and leg, the stroke light, her reaction anything but. Her hips bucked, drove her buttocks into the cradle of his pelvis and the hard ridge of his cock pressed between her cheeks, the material of their clothes not hiding the evidence of his desire.

Lillian whimpered when Mac thrust forward. He cupped her breast and tweaked her nipple, the hard pinch turning the nub into a throbbing point of need. The hand beneath her skirt pushed higher, his fingertips probing the crease between her legs from behind. Moisture soaked her underwear, the thin strip of her thong no barrier to the flood of arousal he was drawing from her core. Mac nuzzled the side of her neck, his lips and tongue dancing on the sensitive area below her ear.

His grip on her breast tightened and the hand beneath her dress grew more daring. With ease, Mac pulled aside her underwear and strummed the slick folds of her pussy. Lil gasped as her body jolted with the electric touch. He probed deeper and she shifted her feet to part her legs. Her hands came up to grip his forearm and her elbow jabbed the man beside them. The sudden reminder of where they were—that they weren’t alone—worked better than a bucket of cold water dumped over her head.

Rhian Cahill


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