Lace Daltyn lives in the shadow of the majestic Mount Rainier in the Pacific Northwest, where she writes sensual stories about fantasies fulfilled. She settled down with a man whose first words to her were "Save me a dance." That's all it took. Four little words and she was a goner. Twenty years later, she still remembers that first kiss, standing beside his very cool Ford Mustang. That kiss, and the future love it represented, is the reason she enjoys stories filled with romance and emotion. And dancing. Always dancing.
If money were not an object, where would you most like to live? Alaska. Maybe around Fairbanks. There's something about the idea of hibernating, but still having enough civilization around to keep me human, that I love. :)
What song would best describe your life? That's easy, since I just listened to it again the other day. Poems, Prayers, and Promises by the late, great, John Denver. ""I have to say it now, it's been good life all in all, it's really fine to have a chance to hang around.""
If you were on a reality show, what one would it be? Amazing Race. I'm hooked on that show and would love to chase around the world. Of course, I'm also a bit, um, impatient, so I'm not certain how far I'd make it.
If you were stranded on a tropical island, who would it be with? You can choose any living, deceased or mythical figure. Aragorn. Definitely. I like the tall, dark, and quiet types. :)
If you were a tool, what would people use you to do? I'd be paper and pen, and people would use me to organize. I'm a huge list-maker and organizer.
Ebook or paperback? Both. I love traveling with my eReader, but also love turning the tech off sometimes with a paperback. Both work for me.
What is the one question you wish an interviewer would ask you? Do I have any pets? Yep. One. A 17-pound cat named Dude who rules the house and kicks me out of my office chair for his naps.
Lace Daltyn released Masquerade (Secrets, Book 1), an erotic contemporary romance, with Evernight Publishing in May 2014.BLURB
Book One: Masquerade
Frigid bitch. The words seep into Beth Ritmour's soul, no matter how hard she tries to deny them. A year after her divorce, they still haunt her. So when a mysterious benefactor offers a solution to her problem, Beth takes a vacation from her job as a dental hygienist and follows a cryptic note to Chicago, where she’s soon ensconced as a waitress at Club Masquerade. Although how she’s going to prove she’s not frigid is hard to figure out when the boss makes it very clear that sex, or any precursors to sex, with patrons or employees is strictly taboo. It’s not an easy rule to follow, especially when one deliciously hot bartender keeps very, very close tabs on her.
The world is full of secrets...
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EXCERPT
Beth rung the piece of paper in her hands like it was a rag she needed to dry, wondering for the umpteenth time what she had gotten herself into.CONNECT with Lace Dalton
As the train slowed in equal measures with her heart’s increasing speed, she spread the note out on her lap, trying to iron the wrinkles out with her hands, and read again what she had committed to memory.
Take the 08:30 train to Chicago. Tickets await you at the on-call window. It is important that you take only this train. Missing it will end your journey before it starts. Upon arrival, make your way to the address listed on the front of this card. Arrive promptly at 1600 hours.
Further instructions await you there.
Beth twirled an escaped tendril of auburn hair around her finger as she searched the simple missive for clues, and then turned to look out the window. The city was a far sight different from the small community she had come to love. Her apartment looked across the Mississippi River to plains filled with knee-high corn this time of year. Here, concrete towers looked angry and foreboding, and the heat of summer only made them shimmer with sinister intent. It seemed different from when she’d lived here. Was it the city or her that had changed?
The screech of train brakes, along with the pervasive smell of diesel-fueled engines and heated steel rails reminded Beth the train had almost come to a stop. The urge to stay, to let the train carry her through the turn-around and back to her home, cemented her to the seat more effectively than sweaty summer skin on leather. This wasn’t like her. She didn’t take off for parts unknown without a single idea what would happen at the other end. Beth clutched the paper to her chest. It would be easy. Just sit here and let the train take her home. Home was safe.
Frigid bitch. Her ex-husband Steve’s words flash-froze her intent to flee. She wasn’t frigid. She knew she wasn’t. Still, like she’d written on the application that had kicked off this journey, if you hear the words often enough, you start to believe them. She’d thought him wrong for the longest time. Before Steve, there had been a brief moment filled with passion she couldn’t seem to recapture. The flash of bodies, of dark hair trailing after liquid kisses in a frenzied moment felt branded in her mind, yet her body no longer registered even the slightest reaction, only the lingering pain of loss.
Beth stared out the window, trying not to remember. The only way to prove her ex wrong was to get off the train. They were in the station. She could hear the passengers around her shuffling through the process of gathering their belongings.
She wiped her hands on her new body-hugging jeans and reached for her luggage, walking off the train on unsteady legs into the humid July heat of Chicago.
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