Icy Snow Blackstone

Welcome Icy Snow Blackstone:

BIO:

Icy Snow Blackstone was born in1802, in northern Georgia where her father, English emigre the Reverend John Blackstone, was prominent in local politics. Two hundred and seven years later, her great-great-great-granddaughter began using her name as a pseudonym for her romance novels. The present Icy Snow Blackstone lives from her Southern roots in Orange County, California, where she is associated with the South Coast Writer's Association. More about Icy Snow's writing can be found at http://www.tonivsweeney.com/



JERICHO ROAD, available from Lyrical Press, April, 2009

BLURB:

Returning from Vietnam, Wade Conyers' heightened sense of racial equality, engendered by his relationship with an Afro-American soldier in his outfit, immediately clashes with his father's bigotry and prejudice. The specters of that war also threaten his recent marriage to Marcella, a South Carolina socialite. His sister Lindsey's romantic involvement with Logan Redhawk, a part-Mohawk doctor proves the catalyst that uncovers a tangled story of secret lives, adultery, and ultimately murder, as both families learn how one man's hate can defile and destroy the lives it touches.

WARNING: contains subject matter some readers may find objectionable--profanity, graphic sex, homosexuality, adultery, miscegenation.

EXCERPT:
Lindsey looked up at him. "Is it true that your mother's folks don't speak to her just because she married an Indian?"
"Of course not, and it’s Native American," he corrected gently, "not Indian."
"What's the difference?" She frowned slightly and he thought it the most endearing little expression he'd ever seen.
"A lot! Indians are from India. The people of the Six Nations aren't!"
"The Six Nations. Is that what they call themselves?"
"That's what we call ourselves. We‘re the Kanienhehaka."
He expected her to make some other comment, about his siding himself with just one people when he was part of both but she didn't.
Instead, she shrugged and looked at the photo again and said, "Well, I think it would be a stupid way to act! Why, I'd be proud if someone in my family married an Ind--a Native American! Or if I were mar--"
She stopped and looked up at him and blushed slightly, "I mean--" and stopped again.
Neither of them said anything, just stood there, looking at each other.
He was standing too close to her, ought to move away. He could see the quick rise and fall of the tiny breasts, realized that one hand was brushing her hip. He looked down at her, thinking how utterly small and innocent she looked.
And white.
"Well?" Lindsey said softly. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"
Logan didn’t move.
“You’ve been wanting to do it for about three hours now, haven’t you?”
He shook his head. “Four.”
He put his arms around her, pulling her slight body against his, almost lifting her off the floor. He felt her rise onto tiptoe and waver toward him before she regained her balance and then the slender arms were around his neck and she was pressing against him, mouth touching his in a very childish, very chaste closed-lip kiss.
He pulled away long enough to mutter, "Lindsey, maybe we'd better--" and she touched his cheek and whispered, "Shh--" and he kissed her again, thrusting his tongue against her lips, feeling them part and welcome his invasion eagerly.
One hand moved to touch one tiny breast, feeling the nipple quiver into tautness against his fingers. She made a little protesting sound and raised her hand to push against his wrist but as it met resistance let it drop again. Gently, Logan's fingers encircled the soft little mound.
He couldn't know what she was thinking, that abruptly, Lindsey realized that here was a man and not one of those silly awkward boys who were all gropings and heavy breathing. Here was someone who knew exactly what he was doing and what he wanted and frighteningly, he wanted her. She knew she ought to stop him--she could stop him with one word--but his hands felt so good touching her, making hot little shivers generate inside her in places she'd never felt them before.
Just a little longer, she thought. I'll let him touch me just a little longer and then I'll tell him to stop. But she never said the words, not even when Logan picked her up and without taking his mouth from hers, carried her into the bedroom.