HEISENBERG’S UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE
What it means to a provocative witch of the 21st century who dares travel to a brawny Scottish mathematician of the early 18th.
SPYING ON THE ELITE
For four years, Dawn Jameson, studying toward her doctorate at the University, has been posing as an unemotional and self-disciplined upper-class psychology major.
Now that she’s this close to earning a degree that would permit her membership in the collegiate upper classes, her attraction to Taylor Stephenson, an Olympic-class weight lifter, threatens to expose her as an emotional member of the underground hacker class.
SPYING ON THE DOWNTRODDEN
When Taylor is coerced by his revered upper-class brother to spy on Dawn’s past life regression classes, he risks his exposure as a less-than-objective academic. One second too many of Dawn’s mesmerizing regression techniques and he’s dreaming himself into the past, entangled with the smart and beautiful young woman in both the present and a past life he never knew he had.
Can Dawn be sure Taylor is more attracted to her than the unreserved Lily, her past life? Is he a typical upper-class jock to whom love is a word of convenience, rather than an emotion traveling to the very core of his existence?
Dawn and Taylor become the epicenter of a time quake, unable to escape their sexually obsessive past, until Taylor’s brother, a celebrity physicist (think Stephen Hawking), rescues them in his quantum computer.
With three ways into the past—past life regression, lucid dreaming, and the quantum computer—their timeline is in knots. Outside the tangled loops of time, one or the other might never have existed. For their love to survive, against all his beliefs, Taylor must allow the town of Musselburgh, Scotland to burn Lily as a witch.
Might there be a fourth and safer way out of the past?
Additional teaser:
It’s out there . . . if you want to know the truth.
Ever wonder why we only hear about great male scientists from the past?
Check out who did their funding and who did their alchemist grunt work.
Move over Mileva Einstein, you may not be the only great female scientist robbed of recognition.
Deleted scenes
Once upon a time, I wanted to write a prologue or first chapter that would grab the reader and place them in the middle of the class war between those who followed the philosophies of Rene Descarte, the Cartesians, the upper class, and those who followed the philosophies of David Hume, the Hume'ns, the lower class. Neither of the characters are the hero or heroine, but Frederick does show up later on the heroine's past life regression team.
21st Century, Boston, Massachusetts
What was she saying? Why should he care. She felt too good, that part of her constricting around him.
“Don’t stop,” he said, as she sat on him, moving her hips vigorously up and down. This sure beat self-imposed hand jobs, and tearful nights slaving away at his computer—alone—completing one gig or another for some secret hoity-toity, hypocritical Cartesian organization. Making half as much as a Cartesian for the same job.
And this know-it-all, his latest of girlfriends from the enemy camp
—riding his cock—didn’t she know when to shut up? Oh, he liked her just fine. She might even be the one, but her constant blathering was killing the mood.
No, don’t do it. He attempted to hold back his body’s intensifying reaction to her, but he wasn’t trained to keep as quietly disinterested as Cartesian men. His emotions would get the best of him. And she’d know. She’d know he wasn’t one of them.
She’d made him come, and he wouldn’t be distracted by her newfound lecture on the turgidity of his penis, how the muscles within it became engorged with blood, and how after his ejaculation, he’d statistically be ready to do it again within fifteen minutes.
How Cartesian women thought constant blabbering was a turn-on, he couldn’t fathom. If he could focus only on her sheath tightening down upon him over and over, that might be enough to take his mind off her elitist drivel.
But then her rhythm felt so good—his muscles tensed and he lost it. His eyes were probably watering, his face contorted as the orgasmic wave pulsed through him.
God forgive him—he couldn’t hold back his gasp of euphoria. “God, you’re great,” he said, and pulled her too him.
After, he cradled her in his arms.
They remained that way, spent, wet against one another until . . . She jerked away, pulling herself off him. “Fuck,” she said, “Tell me I haven’t been fucking a damn Hume’n all this time.”
She scampered into the bathroom. Then she scuttled out, pulling at her clothes folded neatly on the nightstand. “This is a nightmare!”
Still in a state of relaxed exhaustion, he’d thrown the sheet over the lower half of his body and lifted himself on an elbow. “A nightmare? I thought it was good. Wasn’t it good for you?”
“Good? I have to get up for class in a few hours and it’ll take me that long to rinse your stench from my body—inside and out. Then I’ll have to see my G.Y.N. to get the morning-after pill.”
“I thought you were on birth control. Isn’t that how all you Cartesians do it?”
“No condom,” she said. I should have known you were a Hume’n the first time I jumped into bed with you.”
He flattened his lips. Felt his eyes beginning to tear. It was always like this when they found out. “But I had you fooled for a while, until I shared my emotions. It was great to feel as if I were part of you, even for a moment.”
“Shut up. Just shut, the fuck, up! Okay, maybe if I stopped to think about it, it might have felt a little good, but we were supposed to be studying for our end of the week exam.”
He fell back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling and then closed his eyes, his lips turned up slightly at the corners. “I don’t think our professor had this in mind when he gave us that list of endocrine hormones to memorize.”
He turned back toward her. Was he still hoping she’d recognize the insanity of her ways and get back into bed with him? Of course not, but it might make a pleasurable twist to this nightmare of a relationship, one of his long line of pipe dreams.
Already in her business suit, hair twisted tightly on the top of her head in a bun, she placed her hands on hips. She was still beautiful, even when she hated him.
“You do know the University will have to be told,” she said. “You’ll be expelled.”
Did she have the balls to go through with it? He hoped not. Despite the fact that, at the moment, she probably wanted him dead, he had liked this one, had stupidly hoped, by some miracle, something would come of their intimacy.
He’d worked so hard to hide his feelings, to play her game. Tonight, he’d lost focus. Revealed his emotional self.
Damn.
“Well, aren’t you going to apologize?” she asked. “Oh, wait a minute. I forgot. Apology is not in the Hume’n vocabulary.”
“Come on, honey, you can’t be serious. We’ve been going out for months. You can’t just up and leave because I showed a little emotion.” He knew that wasn’t the only reason for her rejection, but he’d play this one out.
“Little? A little emotion? You’ve been fooling me. Fooling all of us at the University, haven’t you? You probably don’t even have a high school diploma.”
“That’s your conclusion? Just because we had sex and I enjoyed it?” He wasn’t the cruel sort, but, god damn it, he had just as much right to happiness as those stodgy academic types—her Cartesian brothers and sisters. And he did want to make something of himself, connect with others
—beyond the underground of the self-taught.
His Hume’n cohorts had figured out a way for him to go undercover at the University. Their plan had worked out; it always worked out until his emotions got the best of him, as he knew they would, as they always did— eventually. He’d end up moaning in an erotic frenzy, or holding her close after, and then in the middle of her anal-retentive yak-yak-yakking, she’d discover the truth.
“So what are you going to do?” he asked, suddenly serious, feeling the chill of history, of his future, changing—his academic hopes vanishing.
“I’m going straight to the Admin Building once I wash your Hume’n dirt from my body, so you’d better find another girl and another way into the University of Boston.”
Still with eyes closed, half in shock and not nearly ready to weigh his options, he said the only thing that came to mind. “How about if I give you another ride? For old time’s sake.”
She stomped her foot, howled, growled and huffed out, slamming the door behind her.
Someday, she might experience his pain, the kind of pain he felt after so many weeks of believing he’d found the one, the one Cartesian who wouldn’t turn on him, just because he showed her his softer side.
No matter. He held back the sadness of what he’d be forced to do now. That pretty coed, that holier-than-thou body of hers, would be expelled from the University by week’s end for not maintaining a proper GPA. It was so easy for him to adjust her records, to make sure the administrators knew they’d been hacked—she’d been hacked—literally. The University, the hypocrites they were, would prosecute her before they’d go after him.
They knew he could screw up their computer network big-time, if they pursued him. Administrators would sacrifice their own--Cartesian coeds stupid enough to get caught with a Hume’n. The Cartesian college community would have, then, paid their dues, given up their human sacrifice to the hacker gods and, hopefully, leave him alone.
He sighed. But of course, he’d have to find another way in, another way to reach his goal, to get a degree, to find a position, a platform on which he could help his community of downtrodden Hume’ns.
Maybe he’d take that job Marrick, CEO of MathMagics had offered.
At the software firm, he’d find a group of like-minded people. Cartesians didn’t mess with Marrick. True he was the penultimate Hume’n, but his money had a way of sweetening—what had she called it—the stench of their association with the man.
He laughed sadly to himself. She’d been awfully angry. They’d all been, all the young Cartesian women he’d mistakenly trusted. And knowing he’d pissed them off, knowing he could dish out pain as well as receive it, was solace in an otherwise unfair world where showing emotion, or creativity, or self-reliance labeled you, destroyed your chances in life, even if you possessed the talent, or genius, to succeed.
He brought his hand to his needy erection. She’d been right about one thing, it was fifteen minutes and he was ready for another go of it.
Deleted scenes
Once upon a time, I wanted to write a prologue or first chapter that would grab the reader and place them in the middle of the class war between those who followed the philosophies of Rene Descarte, the Cartesians, the upper class, and those who followed the philosophies of David Hume, the Hume'ns, the lower class. Neither of the characters are the hero or heroine, but Frederick does show up later on the heroine's past life regression team.
21st Century, Boston, Massachusetts
What was she saying? Why should he care. She felt too good, that part of her constricting around him.
“Don’t stop,” he said, as she sat on him, moving her hips vigorously up and down. This sure beat self-imposed hand jobs, and tearful nights slaving away at his computer—alone—completing one gig or another for some secret hoity-toity, hypocritical Cartesian organization. Making half as much as a Cartesian for the same job.
And this know-it-all, his latest of girlfriends from the enemy camp
—riding his cock—didn’t she know when to shut up? Oh, he liked her just fine. She might even be the one, but her constant blathering was killing the mood.
No, don’t do it. He attempted to hold back his body’s intensifying reaction to her, but he wasn’t trained to keep as quietly disinterested as Cartesian men. His emotions would get the best of him. And she’d know. She’d know he wasn’t one of them.
She’d made him come, and he wouldn’t be distracted by her newfound lecture on the turgidity of his penis, how the muscles within it became engorged with blood, and how after his ejaculation, he’d statistically be ready to do it again within fifteen minutes.
How Cartesian women thought constant blabbering was a turn-on, he couldn’t fathom. If he could focus only on her sheath tightening down upon him over and over, that might be enough to take his mind off her elitist drivel.
But then her rhythm felt so good—his muscles tensed and he lost it. His eyes were probably watering, his face contorted as the orgasmic wave pulsed through him.
God forgive him—he couldn’t hold back his gasp of euphoria. “God, you’re great,” he said, and pulled her too him.
After, he cradled her in his arms.
They remained that way, spent, wet against one another until . . . She jerked away, pulling herself off him. “Fuck,” she said, “Tell me I haven’t been fucking a damn Hume’n all this time.”
She scampered into the bathroom. Then she scuttled out, pulling at her clothes folded neatly on the nightstand. “This is a nightmare!”
Still in a state of relaxed exhaustion, he’d thrown the sheet over the lower half of his body and lifted himself on an elbow. “A nightmare? I thought it was good. Wasn’t it good for you?”
“Good? I have to get up for class in a few hours and it’ll take me that long to rinse your stench from my body—inside and out. Then I’ll have to see my G.Y.N. to get the morning-after pill.”
“I thought you were on birth control. Isn’t that how all you Cartesians do it?”
“No condom,” she said. I should have known you were a Hume’n the first time I jumped into bed with you.”
He flattened his lips. Felt his eyes beginning to tear. It was always like this when they found out. “But I had you fooled for a while, until I shared my emotions. It was great to feel as if I were part of you, even for a moment.”
“Shut up. Just shut, the fuck, up! Okay, maybe if I stopped to think about it, it might have felt a little good, but we were supposed to be studying for our end of the week exam.”
He fell back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling and then closed his eyes, his lips turned up slightly at the corners. “I don’t think our professor had this in mind when he gave us that list of endocrine hormones to memorize.”
He turned back toward her. Was he still hoping she’d recognize the insanity of her ways and get back into bed with him? Of course not, but it might make a pleasurable twist to this nightmare of a relationship, one of his long line of pipe dreams.
Already in her business suit, hair twisted tightly on the top of her head in a bun, she placed her hands on hips. She was still beautiful, even when she hated him.
“You do know the University will have to be told,” she said. “You’ll be expelled.”
Did she have the balls to go through with it? He hoped not. Despite the fact that, at the moment, she probably wanted him dead, he had liked this one, had stupidly hoped, by some miracle, something would come of their intimacy.
He’d worked so hard to hide his feelings, to play her game. Tonight, he’d lost focus. Revealed his emotional self.
Damn.
“Well, aren’t you going to apologize?” she asked. “Oh, wait a minute. I forgot. Apology is not in the Hume’n vocabulary.”
“Come on, honey, you can’t be serious. We’ve been going out for months. You can’t just up and leave because I showed a little emotion.” He knew that wasn’t the only reason for her rejection, but he’d play this one out.
“Little? A little emotion? You’ve been fooling me. Fooling all of us at the University, haven’t you? You probably don’t even have a high school diploma.”
“That’s your conclusion? Just because we had sex and I enjoyed it?” He wasn’t the cruel sort, but, god damn it, he had just as much right to happiness as those stodgy academic types—her Cartesian brothers and sisters. And he did want to make something of himself, connect with others
—beyond the underground of the self-taught.
His Hume’n cohorts had figured out a way for him to go undercover at the University. Their plan had worked out; it always worked out until his emotions got the best of him, as he knew they would, as they always did— eventually. He’d end up moaning in an erotic frenzy, or holding her close after, and then in the middle of her anal-retentive yak-yak-yakking, she’d discover the truth.
“So what are you going to do?” he asked, suddenly serious, feeling the chill of history, of his future, changing—his academic hopes vanishing.
“I’m going straight to the Admin Building once I wash your Hume’n dirt from my body, so you’d better find another girl and another way into the University of Boston.”
Still with eyes closed, half in shock and not nearly ready to weigh his options, he said the only thing that came to mind. “How about if I give you another ride? For old time’s sake.”
She stomped her foot, howled, growled and huffed out, slamming the door behind her.
Someday, she might experience his pain, the kind of pain he felt after so many weeks of believing he’d found the one, the one Cartesian who wouldn’t turn on him, just because he showed her his softer side.
No matter. He held back the sadness of what he’d be forced to do now. That pretty coed, that holier-than-thou body of hers, would be expelled from the University by week’s end for not maintaining a proper GPA. It was so easy for him to adjust her records, to make sure the administrators knew they’d been hacked—she’d been hacked—literally. The University, the hypocrites they were, would prosecute her before they’d go after him.
They knew he could screw up their computer network big-time, if they pursued him. Administrators would sacrifice their own--Cartesian coeds stupid enough to get caught with a Hume’n. The Cartesian college community would have, then, paid their dues, given up their human sacrifice to the hacker gods and, hopefully, leave him alone.
He sighed. But of course, he’d have to find another way in, another way to reach his goal, to get a degree, to find a position, a platform on which he could help his community of downtrodden Hume’ns.
Maybe he’d take that job Marrick, CEO of MathMagics had offered.
At the software firm, he’d find a group of like-minded people. Cartesians didn’t mess with Marrick. True he was the penultimate Hume’n, but his money had a way of sweetening—what had she called it—the stench of their association with the man.
He laughed sadly to himself. She’d been awfully angry. They’d all been, all the young Cartesian women he’d mistakenly trusted. And knowing he’d pissed them off, knowing he could dish out pain as well as receive it, was solace in an otherwise unfair world where showing emotion, or creativity, or self-reliance labeled you, destroyed your chances in life, even if you possessed the talent, or genius, to succeed.
He brought his hand to his needy erection. She’d been right about one thing, it was fifteen minutes and he was ready for another go of it.
Entangled
S.B.K. Burns
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Black Opal Books
Word Count: about 82,500
Cover Artists: Barbara Marker/Jonathan Cervantes III
Book Description:
She’s Hume’n, a member of the lower class, with a chance to change her life…
In an alternate, twenty-first century Boston, Dawn Jamison is a hair’s breadth away from earning her doctorate degree—a degree that would allow her entrance into the upper class, to become the unemotional and self-disciplined Cartesian she is now only pretending to be. To reach her goal, all Dawn must do is overcome her forbidden attraction to the Olympic-class weightlifter Taylor Stephenson who’s just crashed her lectures on past life regression. She must teach her group of misfit students how to travel back into their past lives—and, oh, of course, figure out how to save the great scientists of the early eighteenth century before they’re inextricably caught up in a time loop.
He’s Cartesian, a member of the upper class, and supposed to know better…
Coerced by his politically powerful, wheelchair-bound brother into spying on Dawn’s past-life regression classes, Taylor knows better than to give into his desire to claim Dawn as his own. But his past-life entity, eighteenth-century Colin, has no such inhibitions. When Taylor and Dawn meet up in Scotland in the 1700s, all the discipline he’s forced on his twenty-first century self is powered into the past, leaving only his overwhelming lust for Dawn’s past-life double, alchemist and witch, Lily.
Unable to escape their sexually obsessive past, Dawn and Taylor find themselves in a race against the clock at the epicenter of a world-altering time quake of their own making.
About the Author:
From an early age, S. B. K. Burns recited Shakespearean sonnets or snuck a read of a Broadway script from her parents’ theater magazine.
Having worked in the world of science—oceanography, biomedicine, and aerospace engineering—she brings these experiences to her sci-fi paranormals imbued with her idealistic philosophy that merges science with spirituality.
https://twitter.com/snrubnasus
October 7 Interview
Reading in Twilight
October 7 Spotlight
Claire's Book Corner
October 8 Guest blog
Roxanne’s Realm
October 8 Spotlight
Ramblings of a Book Lunatic
October 9 Interview
Pembroke Sinclair.
October 9 Guest blog
Fang-tastic Books
October 10 Interview
Author Leah DW
October 10 Spotlight
Sapphyria's Steamy Book Reviews
October 10 Spotlight
The Insane Ramblings of a Crazed Writer,
October 11 author interview
Eclipse Reviews
October 11 Spotlight
Book Worm & More,
October 11 Interview
Fantasy Book Addict
October 14 Interview
Dalene’s Book Reviews
Posts
2 comments:
Ah, Susan, Susan...you've done it again. I can't wait to read this in its entirety.
You've converted me back to being a romance reader.
Thanks, Chris.
Post a Comment