Humans Inferior to #Werewolves? Hungry Like the Wolf by @CadenceDenton #paranormal #FridayReads


Hungry Like A Wolf

 

Title: Hungry Like the Wolf (Wicked Palate Book 2)

Author: Cadence Denton

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Paranormal, Werewolves

 

Book Blurb:

With her racist rant going viral, Foodie Network star, Marla Sheen aka America’s favorite grandmother, was having a bad week. Marla didn’t know what the fuss was about. She’d only spoken the truth—humans are inferior to lupo manaren. The problem is the human world knows nothing about werewolves, red drinkers, or any of the other Shadowlands citizens. When her attempts at damage control blow up in her face, she decides that appearing on the Dr. Bill show may not have been the best move, but hey, what else can possibly go wrong?

 

A whole lot as it happens.

 

The Captain, her mate and co-Alpha, is challenged for pack leadership by a much younger male and winds up in the hospital. A prickly wizard is sent in by the Shadowlands Congress to make certain Marla doesn’t out the supernatural community, and a man-stealing Jezebel of an ex-best friend shows up at her door. And that’s just the beginning.

 

When Marla turns to her friend, Contessa, for help, she discovers the Contessa is a continent away and has troubles of her own.

 

Hungry Like the Wolf is Book 2 in the Wicked Palate series.

 

Midnight Delight is Book 1.

 

Extra Virgin, Book 3 Coming Soon

 

Extended Excerpt:

One

 

“Ready, Marla? In three, two…” the young man mouthed one and the Taping in Progress light came on.

I folded my hands on my lap, taking a moment to admire my fresh Pucker Up Pink manicure before I looked up, gazing into the camera’s lens. Pinching the tender web of flesh between my thumb and forefinger, my vision blurred with tears right on cue. Take note you show biz wannabes, this little trick works every time.

“I’m sorry, y’all,” I drawled, tears making my voice rough. Normally, America hears me laugh. To hear me cry would be something totally different. Hopefully it would tug on their heart strings.

I pinched harder, blinked, and felt a tear roll down my cheek. “Using…uh…language…that is…I mean…inappropriate language is…er…hurtful to…um…”

Dang it all, the tears were flowing but I’d forgotten my lines. Not what one would expect from a professional of my caliber, but it wasn’t really my fault. You might say my heart wasn’t in it. After all, I’d done nothing wrong.

“Cut! Cut!” my grandson called. At twenty-two, Eugene is my son Samuel and his mate, Hannah’s oldest and my self-appointed assistant.

He’s slender (like his mother) and tall (like his father), with shoulder length brown hair that swings with every twitch of his head. His chin is covered in a dark fuzz that he calls a beard and I call lint. Today he wore black skinny jeans, white Converse sneaks, and a gray cashmere sweater pulled over a black striped button down. Black horn rimmed glasses framed his bright cornflower blue eyes (a gift from yours truly).

“What is it now, Eugene?” I snapped, the tears vanishing like a Death Valley mirage.

“Did you even read the script, Nana?” He asked tugging off his glasses.

“Gosh darn-it, Eugene! Yes, I read the danged script but with all this…” I swung an arm wide and gave my head a toss encompassing the cameraman, sound man, and the other hangers on, “foolishness I’ve been a little distracted. I mean, what did I do that was so wrong? I didn’t fire a handicapped person. I didn’t bad mouth the President. Please tell me, what did I do that warrants me giving a world-wide apology?”

“Really, Nana? You were caught in the middle of a racist rant. Even worse, the video of your rant was leaked to TMZ and Radar Online and is playing non-stop on CNN and MSNBC.”

“Poo!” I said rolling my eyes. “I only spoke the truth. Compared to the lupo manaren, humans are an inferior race. Their senses of smell, sight, hearing, and taste are equal to a slug’s. Don’t frown. You know it’s true!”

He cast a glance over his shoulder, and said, “I know Nana, but the humans…”

“Are a nasty, smelly race,” I finished in my because I said so tone.

Eugene plowed both hands through his hair as though he wanted to rip it out and said through gritted teeth, “You’re angry because a human chef won the Culinary Arts Outstanding Chef Award.”

I growled—an involuntary reflex in a lupo manaro when threatened or sassed by a young pup that needed his pants dusted. He knew that was a sore subject for me. He also knew we were in mixed company and was thus safe from said dusting of pants.

Sniffing, I smoothed a wrinkle from my skirt. “The award should have been mine—Stuart Poser stole it from me. He bribed the judges.”

Eugene clapped a hand to his mouth. “He did?” He gasped.

“Well, he must have,” I hedged casting him a sullen gaze from beneath my lashes. “It was the only way he could possibly win.”

Stuart Poser was a human chef on the Cooking Today channel, a rival network. His shows, Stuart’s Sumptuous Sundries and Poser’s Pork, were in the same time slot as my own on the Foodie Culinary Channel. I consistently beat him in the ratings, but that was before my political correctness went off the reservation.

Eugene sighed, and in a tone that said he’d heard this more than once and that he was trying to reason with someone to who reason is an alien concept, said, “Yes. I know, Nana, but you must have proof to back up your accusation. The problem is that when you called Poser’s race filthy, talentless, and inferior the human press thought you meant his race-race.”

“Well, I did!” I exclaimed throwing my hands wide. “He’s a member of the human race, an inferior race. Mind you, he can’t help that he was born human and not lupo manaro, but… ” I shrugged. “…you can’t alter the facts.”

Another sigh. “That’s not… You don’t understand. Dammit, Nana!”

“You watch your mouth, boy,” I snapped, my slow, southern, cane syrup speech becoming weaponized, a rigid billy club to flatten any and all impertinence.

Once more, Eugene plowed his hands through his hair and spun around to face me. “Nana, they think you meant his ethnicity.” Ethnicity? What in the hell was the young pup talking about now?

At my blank gaze he continued. “You know, the color of his coat, er—his skin, not that he is of the human race.”

I frowned. “What the blazes does his skin color have to do with it? That makes no sense, Eugene!”

My grandson removed the horn-rimmed glasses with one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other, as though massaging away a headache. “Can you please concentrate on why we’re here? It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand, Nana. We’re trying to put out the fire you started. You know, do damage control.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine,” I sighed, drumming my Pucker up Pink nails on my lap. “Who cares what the humans think,” I grumbled.

“Not humans, Nana, the Congress. Remember them? The ruling body of the Shadowlands. Does that ring a bell?”

The Shadowlands Congress is the governing branch of the paranormal world and its citizens. Made up of red drinkers, lupo manaren, the fae, giants, wee folk, mer people, and others, the Shadowlands is the world hidden in shadows. It had to be. Every time humanity got a peek behind the veil, Shadowland citizens suffered. There was one unbreakable law that every Shadowlander learned from birth: Don’t expose the Shadowlands to humanity. To do so would result in anything from a slap on the wrist (which was always, always much more intense than the human version) to the ultimate punishment— death in some species, banishment in others.

I was balancing on the edge, just shy of crossing the line of exposure. The Shadowland Congress had taken an interest in my poor choice of words which seemed like overkill.

I’ve been told that when I get angry, my blue eyes become spooky, frightening even. It’s said that they look as though they’re not eyes at all, but living gas blue flames dancing in my eye sockets. Whatever. All I know is that when I settled my gaze on my grandson in one breath, possibly two, he was biting his bottom lip and nervously scrubbing the lens of his glasses with the hem of his cardigan sweater.

“If you think I won’t come over there and tan your bottom for you, just keep it up, Eugene!” I gave my head an angry toss then turned to Killer, a lupo manaro cameraman and said, “Who, in their right mind, would hang a name like ‘Eugene’ on a child, for the moon’s sake?”

Killer just smiled and shrugged. “My daughter-in-law wouldn’t budge, and believe me, we went round and round on that one,” I finished in a loud aside before turning back to my red-faced grandson.

“Dammit, Nana! You know I had no say in what I was named.”

“Why Hannah insisted on saddling you with that…” I paused waving my hand in a small circle as though to encompass the enormity of this injustice. “travesty is beyond me. I did not approve, but of course my son would back his mate,” I finished with a sniff.

With his face an interesting blend of red and white, Eugene stiffly set the glasses back on the bridge of his nose. “It’s a family name,” he insisted.

“It’s ridiculous,” I snapped putting my hands on my hips almost daring him to say anything else on the matter. What was it with young people nowadays? No respect. No manners. Full of sass and a bunch of know nothing know-it-alls. Well, I wasn’t taking it from any of the pack’s pups—not as long as Marla Sheen and the Captain were the Alpha’s of the Southeastern Lupo Manaren Conglomerate.

With ears standing out of his limp dark hair like a pair of red stop signs, my grandson squeaked, “Why don’t we take a short break?”

I looked skyward, like I could find the answers drifting around with the ceiling fan. I gave my head one solemn shake then snatched up a glass of iced sweet tea.

“Ms. Sheen?”

I glanced up over the rim of the glass and raised a quizzical brow to mask the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not her again. “You gotta problem with your hearin’, sugar? I told you no.”

The woman was slender to the point of emaciation. Her sleek, white suit clung to her like a second skin. Straight blond hair cut in a reverse bob, swung around high cheekbones, a wide jawline, and almond shaped hazel eyes. It was obvious to even the least observant that the woman was a Dr. Bill sycophant. She certainly espoused the good “doctor’s” dietary maxims. She was obviously human. No lupo manaro would look this frail unless she was ill.

The woman shrugged. “Surely you know Dr. Bill is a Texas cattleman. No isn’t in his vocabulary.”

I snorted. “I know he’s full of the bull he raises,” I muttered and took a sip of tea.

The woman backed up a step and positioned her hands on slender hips. “The Dr. Bill Show is the number one talk show in the United States. His goal is to reach out and aid those in need. He believes in keeping it real, and that being honest, if only to yourself, is best for maintaining healthy relationships and a healthy life. Naturally, he feels his show would be the perfect platform for you to get your side of the story out.”

“The perfect platform to put me on the grill and barbeque me like a side of ribs, you mean,” I said and grabbed a dish of banana pudding from a sideboard. Okay, so I’m a stress eater. I can’t help it and besides, my pudding is a blue ribbon winner.

“You misunderstand the doctor’s intent, Ms. Sheen,” the woman said her eyes narrowed as she tried to come at me from a different angle. “He wants to help you. It’s what he does.”

“Honey,” I said around a mouth full of bananas, vanilla wafers, and whipped cream. “Don’t bullshit an old bullshitter. Bill’s goal is to keep his ratings high, that’s ‘what he does’.” I made finger quotations before dipping up another spoonful of pudding and popping it in my mouth.

The woman scowled at me for a moment and then her face smoothed. “I understand how you must feel, how much stress you must be under, and can only assure you that the doctor truly has your best interests at heart.”

Oh, brother. I rolled my eyes and made a rude noise.

“Really!” she huffed.

I flashed her my million dollar smile (more like fifty grand, but that’s on a need to know basis) and said, “Now, let’s put on our listening ears. I am not interested today, tomorrow, or ever of being on the Dr. Bill show. So, why don’t you just toddle on back to that snake oil salesman and tell him…”

“Nana!”

Eugene seemed to spring out of thin air, one arm spinning like an airplane propeller. We both turned to him, surprise covering the face of the young woman, while I was filled with a mixture of relief and consternation.

“For the moon’s sake, boy, what has crawled up your shorts and bit your as—er—behind?”

“It’s an emergency!”

“I can see that. What happened, the store run out of your special shampoo?” I asked eyeing his long hair with an air of disapproval. I think a man should look like a man with a decent haircut and a clean shaved face.

“No. Not that. It’s Gramps…I mean the Captain. He’s been challenged…” He cast a quick look at Dr. Bill’s assistant who was listening in obvious interest then back at me with a guilty grimace. “I mean, there’s an emergency at the compound!” He finally finished, almost flinging the cell phone at my nose.

My face lost all feeling. Seriously, it felt like my body had been freeze dried and suddenly I felt every minute, every damn second, of my one hundred sixty-seven years. I was embarrassed to discover that I was trembling. Hey, I’m a tough old broad, but hearing that my husband was facing a fight to the death showdown would freak anyone out.

I grabbed the phone as though it was a live grenade and gingerly held it to my ear. Listening, my gaze skated over my idiot grandson and the silent crew, assistants, and friends to briefly land on Dr. Bill’s producer who, I couldn’t help but notice, watched me intently through slit eyes, a small flip notebook and pen in her hands.

“Stall them. I’m on my way,” I ordered and dropped the phone into Eugene’s waiting palm. I’m the co-Alpha of the freaking South Eastern Lupo Maneren Conglomerate. I’m accustomed to having my orders obeyed. They had better, by the Moon, be obeyed.

Thrusting the bowl at the nosy woman, I called for someone, anyone to help me find my damn purse and when it materialized like a David Copperfield magic trick, I sprinted for the door like Usain Bolt.

Somehow, Dr. Bill’s Stepford wife beat me to it and then positioned herself in front of the door, blocking my escape. I could think of nothing but getting to my vehicle and racing home.

Challenge. The word sent an electric spark down my spine that branched into questions I could not answer. Who challenged? Who effing dared to challenge? And, why now? More immediate, why was this human standing between me and my pack?

“I see you have a family emergency,” she said, her tone of concern offset by her calculating expression. “Perhaps we could book you for next Thursday’s taping instead?”

“What?” I asked, blinking in confusion. What was the fool woman talking about? Couldn’t she see I had to leave? Why was she blocking the door?

“Can I tell Dr. Bill that taping the show next week is better for you?” she purred.

“Show,” I repeated, uncomprehending.

“You probably should do the show,” Eugene said slowly. “It might help to clear up this mess.”

I sighed. I couldn’t care less about the humans and their prickly sensibilities. They could do with a little more tough love and a whole lot less molly coddling, but still, it might be better for the pack if I made an appearance on the good doctor’s show. I exhaled, and fearing it was a mistake said, “Fine. I’ll do it.”

I was desperate to get home to my mate’s side. The thought of my gruff, roly-poly mate facing a challenger for pack leadership was shocking. Only blood members could challenge and I knew of no one who wanted the headache of taking up the pack’s reins.

Besides, my husband wasn’t in any shape to face a challenge. The pack’s doctor had been warning the Captain about his diet and the need to put down the knife and fork and get on a treadmill, but the man loves my cooking and, God help me, I love to cook for him. What scared the be-Jesus out of me was the niggling thought that maybe my cooking would impact his fighting skills. You know, slow his reaction time, hinder his movements. Maybe my cooking would really kill my mate.

 

 

Grab Your E-Copy Now:

Universal Link https://www.books2read.com/u/3G0KOm

 

Cadence Denton

 

Author Biography:

I’m an odd mixture of one part dreamer, one part realist, and two parts stubborn–which can be a positive thing if you’re a writer. Not content to write in just one genre, I write dark paranormal romance, time travel, light science fiction, romantic comedy, and gritty romantic thrillers. Told you I was stubborn (that and a little crazy!). Besides, doing the same thing day after day can become boring and we can do with a little less boring, right?

 

Visit my website for more information on all my series and upcoming projects. You may not find everything to your liking but you won’t be bored.

You can reach me at cadencedenton@cadencedenton.com

 

Sign up for Cadence’s newsletter at http://cadencedenton.com  for the latest news, great giveaways, and sneak peeks at new projects.

 

 

Social Media Links:

You can find also me on Facebook Instagram Pinterest Twitter TSU Independent Author Network ASMSG

“Is it too late for second chances?” The Rebel’s Redemption by @JacqBiggar #romanticsuspense


JacquieBiggar_TheRebelsRedemption_800px

 

Title: The Rebel’s Redemption (Book 2 Wounded Hearts Series)

Author: Jacquie Biggar

Genre: Romantic Suspense

 

Book Blurb:

Is it too late for second chances?

 

Jared Martin left Tidal Falls a hotheaded youth. Eight years in the military has turned him into a cynical, disillusioned man.

 

Then he returns home to find out he’s a father.

 

When an old enemy follows and causes mayhem in the small town, can Jared overcome the odds to protect the woman he’s always loved and the child he never knew?

 

Or is it be too late for them to have a second chance?

 

Excerpt:

Jared’s world narrowed down to the little black barrel of the gun pointed at his chest. Funny, in all the years of being in the SEAL teams he’d never been in this situation. Not to say he hadn’t dodged his share of bullets. It’s just they’d always erupted like a hailstorm, out of nowhere. This was somewhere. The back alley of his mother’s freaking café in freaking America to be exact. What the hell?

 

If he wasn’t so pissed off at himself for getting into this situation, he might have laughed. Eight years overseas off and on, and he was going to get shot in his own backyard. How’s that for ironic?

 

“Look man, why don’t we talk about this?” Jared forced his gaze to focus on Sergei’s steely gaze instead of the muzzle of the semi-automatic.

 

“The time for talk is past,” the Russian said. “You ignored my advice and instead made a fool out of me with that stupid trick you performed.”

 

“Advice? You call beating the livin’ shit out of me, advice?” Jared ground his teeth together, and fought to keep a level tone. “You can’t blame a guy for wanting to retaliate.” A crash by the garbage caused both men to crouch into a fight stance. A tabby cat raced away. Jared straightened, his heart knocking against his ribcage, as desperate to escape this mess as the animal. He needed to defuse the situation before someone came upon them; please God not his mom.

 

“Okay, you’re right. I shouldn’t have set off alarms or caused those slots to pay out. But seriously dude, you can’t go around acting all KGB, we’re in the good old USA now.” Jared kept a careful eye on the guy’s trigger finger and cursed his loose tongue. What part of defuse couldn’t he figure out?

 

Sergei tipped his felt hat back on his bald head like an old time gunslinger. His hand holding the gun never wavered. “You have big mouth.”

 

Yeah, I’ve heard that a time or ten.

 

“Why don’t we handle this like two adults? I’ll call your boss, tell him I screwed up and it’ll never happen again…” There was no doubt on that, if he ever went near a casino again he’d kick his own ass. “And then you can go back to ruling your little kingdom far, far, away.”

 

Click.

 

Buy it at your favorite retailer for only $1.00 USD (other countries are slightly higher): https://books2read.com/u/bpGwPJ

 

 

Enter to win fun prizes every month: https://jacqbiggar.com/giveaways/

 

Jacquie Biggar

 

Author Biography:

JACQUIE BIGGAR  is a USA Today bestselling author of Romantic Suspense who loves to write about tough, alpha males who know what they want, that is until they’re gob-smacked by heroines who are strong, contemporary women willing to show them what they really need is love. She is the author of the popular Wounded Hearts series and has just started a new series in paranormal suspense, Mended Souls.

 

She has been blessed with a long, happy marriage and enjoys writing romance novels that end with happily-ever-afters.

 

Jacquie lives in paradise along the west coast of Canada with her family and loves reading, writing, and flower gardening. She swears she can’t function without coffee, preferably at the beach with her sweetheart. 🙂

 

Social Media Links:

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Charlie’s Family Secret Omnibus Edition by @CharJGordon #books #womensfiction


Charlie's Family Secret

 

Title: Charlie’s Family Secret Omnibus Edition

Author: Charmaine Gordon

Genre: Romance/Suspense

Publisher: Vanilla Heart

 

Book Blurb:

3 Charmaine Gordon Novels in 1 Volume!

Reconstructing Charlie
Charlie Costigan has a secret. Home life gone from bad to the worst when she protects her mother from another vicious attack by her drunken father. Midnight. Clothes thrown into an old suitcase, she races for the bus with a letter to an unknown aunt and uncle. “This is my daughter. Embrace her as if she were your own.” Determined, Charlie begins again. Alone with her secret.

Sin of Omission
A twist of fate intervenes when Shelley keeps a secret that threatens to break apart the Costigans and her future. A mysterious client, Deanna Rose, enters Haven, victim of a savage beating under strange circumstances. Shelley investigates and finds Ms. Rose has an unsavory past. With the reputation and safety of Haven at stake, Shelley is at risk to lose everything and everyone she cares about.

The Catch
Tom Donnelly, once known as The Catch – every woman’s dream guy, has fallen down every rung of the ladder he once worked so hard to climb. On New Year’s Day, he realizes just how far he’s fallen, and makes a list of resolutions to change his life. He vows to regain the trust lost from his family, his law firm, and his friends – and maybe even find the right woman this time.

 

Excerpt:

“I need you, Jimmy Costigan”

Words he’d heard since childhood chilled him. Not again. Oh please, not again.

Strong hands gripped the tall cowboy and spun him around and he wasn’t an easy man to spin. In high heels, Shelley Jackson faced him eye to eye,

“Just when I was makin’ a clean getaway,” he said. “Whatcha need now?”

“You. I’m alone with hostage survivors and no one to help me.”

“Hostage?”

“Didn’t your sister tell you or maybe you weren’t listening.”

“Whoa.” He held up a calloused hand. “What happened?”

“How are you with small children?”

A profound pain hit him in the gut. “The best,” he said.

“Great. see if they’ll confide in you.”

 

Giveaway:

One commenter will win an e-copy of Sin of Omission. All you have to do is answer this question:

 

What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when seeing this title: Sin of Omission? Creativity encouraged.

 

Open Internationally. Comment below from May 24 – May 29. Winner will be picked by Charmaine Gordon on May 30th and the winner will be contacted via email.  

 

Buy Links:

Nook

Kobo

Kindle

Apple

Scribd Subscription  Service

Inktera

 

Charmaine Headshot for Author Central

 

Author Biography:

I write books about women who Survive and thrive. My motto is take one step forward and leave your past behind to begin again; a lesson learned from the loss of my first love.

While working as an actor for many years, I didn’t realize I’d become a sponge soaking up dialogue, setting, and direction from Mike Nichols, Harrison For, Anthony Hopkins and more of the best. I even had one day on Saturday Night Live with Robin Williams. When the sweet time ended because I lost my voice, creative juices flowed and I began to write.

 

Social Media Links:

Twitter @CharJGordon

Facebook http://facebook.com/charmaine.gordon

 

 

Viable Threat by @JulieRoweAuthor #romanticsuspense #books #newrelease #TuesdayBookBlog


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Title: Viable Threat

Author: Julie Rowe

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Publisher: Entangled Publishing

Book Blurb:

Special Forces soldier and medic Walter River would give anything to snatch more than a few seconds of down time to see if he can rattle the no-nonsense and incredibly hot Dr. Lloyd he’s protecting, but dodging explosions, snipers, and student radicals who’ve unleashed a lethal bio-engineered microorganism have made that almost impossible. Maybe he’ll get a chance—if he can figure out how to keep them both alive.

CDC microbiologist Ava Lloyd races to find a cure for a bio-terrorism organism sweeping El Paso. The few stolen moments with her very hunky bodyguard River have been explosive, but no matter how alluring he is, she can’t afford to get distracted. The clock is ticking, people are dying by the hundreds, and once this crisis is solved, they’ll both be off on their next assignment, thousands of miles apart.

Excerpt:

She rested her head against the back of the seat and gave him a strange sort of sad smile. “You know what I’d like to do right now?”

He grunted and wagged his index finger. “That is a trick question.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He liked seeing the smile on her face. He liked seeing her face, period. “Tell me, Mouse, what would you like to do right now?”

She waved him closer, and he leaned toward her. She did it again, then put a hand on his shoulder and pulled herself up so she could whisper in his ear, “I’d like to take that respirator off you and kiss you, silly.”

She let go of him and resumed her previous position on the seat. He sat perfectly still. It took just about everything in him to not rip the mask off and grant her wish.

“I’m sorry,” she said, with as close to soundless as a voice could get. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

He looked at her and realized she thought he was embarrassed or some shit like that.

“I’m uncomfortable,” he murmured. “Because I’ve had a damned hard-on since I bandaged you up.” Her pupils widened, and her mouth dropped open. “When this is over, you can kiss any part of me you want for as long as you like, just as long as I can return the favor.”

“Oh,” she breathed out. When her tongue licked over her lips, he had to chain his hands to his sides to keep from grabbing her.

Though a blush heated her cheeks, tears filled her eyes until they spilled over and tracked down her face. “Chances are, that’s just a dream.”

It just about killed him to see her so sad. “Hey.” He couldn’t keep the growl out of his voice. “No Negative Nancys allowed on this trip.”

“I’ve got a headache, River. A fever can’t be far behind.”

“That happy bastard Henry is going to come up with some kind of magic potion that will kick this bug’s ass.”

“If that were possible, we’d know.”

“We’ve been so busy blowing sh*t up, we might not have been told.”

She slanted a disbelieving glance at him. “You just spoke with our boss. I think she would have mentioned any magic potions, if they’d been available.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Could you work with me, Mouse? We’ve got a mass murderer to catch, and I need you ready and able to help reel in the son-of-a-bitch.”

“Ah, I see what you’re doing. Trying to put me in a good mood.”

“Jesus f**k, woman, you think I’d tell you how much I want you just to put you in a good mood?” He leaned down, grabbing the top of the seat on either side of her head. “Do I look like a motivational speaker?”

She studied him, her gaze flicking across his face and uniform. Covered in dirt, debris, and blood, he looked like a walking nightmare. “You look like a soldier on a mission.”

“That’s true, but not all of it.” He whispered, “I’ve got another mission. A personal one. You.”

Buy Links:

Entangled Publishing
iBooks
Kobo
Amazon Kindle USA
Paperback at Amazon USA
Amazon Kindle Canada
Paperback at Amazon Canada

julie rowe

Author Biography:

Julie Rowe’s first career as a medical lab technologist in Canada took her to the Northwest Territories and northern Alberta, where she still resides. She loves to include medical details in her romance novels, but admits she’ll never be able to write about all her medical experiences because, “Fiction has to be believable”. Julie writes romantic suspense and romantic military thrillers. Her most recent titles include Viable Threat, the first book in the Disease Control and Enforcement series, and Viral Justice, book three of the Biological Response Team series. You can find her at www.julieroweauthor.com , on Twitter @julieroweauthor or at her Facebook page: www.facebook.com/JulieRoweAuthor

Social Media Links:

www.julieroweauthor.com

Twitter: @julieroweauthor

www.facebook.com/JulieRoweAuthor

Escape From Behruz by @judymeadows44 + Help Choose a Character Name and Win! #romance #TWRP


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Title     Escape from Behruz

Author    Judy Meadows

Genre     Contemporary Romance

Publisher The Wild Rose Press

 

Book Blurb

Rashid will escort Olivia and the baby through the mountains to Iran in order to escape the violence in Behruz, but he won’t let Olivia near his heart. Not again. Not after the way she trampled it two years ago.

 

 

Olivia accepts his help, but she has no interest in his heart. She’s never forgiven him for abandoning her when she needed him most. Still, she has to be careful. He mustn’t learn that the baby the world thinks is heir to the Behruzi throne is actually her son. And Rashid’s.

 

 

Can they make it through the trek, sharing a tent each night, without giving in to the attraction that has always drawn them together? Can Olivia hold in the secret that could destroy her?

 

 

Excerpt:

When the meal was over, the women helped her put on her nomad costume. They wanted to do everything. Their hands were all over her, pulling at her sweater and trying to open the snap and zipper of her jeans. They giggled and exclaimed when they saw her small, pale breasts, but the biggest source of delight turned out to be her lacy briefs. She was relieved when they covered her with the new clothes.

 

“This reminds me of a wedding,” Fatima said when they all stepped out of the tent. “When a Qashami girl gets married, the women all help her dress in her wedding clothes and then they escort her to her husband’s tent.”

 

Walking toward the tent of her “husband,” Olivia felt like a bride. The mantle framed her face and fell down her back like a bride’s veil, and the long skirt swayed with every step. Rashid stood in front of the tent talking to Saddiq. He was wearing a long shirt and a wool vest like those worn by the other men. Time stopped for several heartbeats when his eyes fell on Olivia. He seemed to straighten up, to become taller, and everything about him became very still.

 

She met his gaze boldly. The petticoats swished around her legs when she walked. She felt the swing of her arms, the sway of her hips, even the slight bounce of her breasts. All the women stood behind her, waiting for Rashid’s reaction.

 

“Spin around again like you did for us in the tent,” Fatima whispered to Olivia.

 

Rashid’s nomad clothes made him look primitive and very male. His eyes were intent on her, like the eyes of an animal watching its prey. He was motionless except for a slight quivering of his nostrils.

 

Olivia lifted her arms slowly, and the women stepped back away from her. Then she began the pirouette. She moved as if in a trance. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. But still the skirt rose, its colors blurring as she spun, and she felt dizzy and flushed when she stopped. She gave Rashid a smile that came from some new knowledge.

 

“You are a temptress,” he said in English. His eyes were dark pools that beckoned her to tempt and be tempted.

 

“The ladies are waiting to see what you think of their handiwork.”

 

He stepped toward her and reached his hand up to touch her face at her temple. Then he slid it down until it cupped the nape of her neck. A shiver of response rippled through her, but she didn’t move.

 

“She is very beautiful,” he said in Farsi. “The costume is perfect. She is perfect.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. The speculations and remarks of the nomads hushed. A crow cawed in the distance, and then it was silent too. She was mesmerized. She felt possessed.

 

 

Help Me Name a Character: Win a Prize:

I’ll award a free e-copy of the book based on a drawing to be held this Saturday (May 20th) at noon PST. To be included in the drawing, help me name the hero for the third book in the Behruz trilogy. The name has to be Middle Eastern, sexy, and pronounceable. (The reader’s pronunciation may not be strictly “correct” but the reader finds it easy to pick a pronunciation and go with it.). Choose among the following options or tell me one of your own:

 

Mansur, Malek, Rahim, Ahmad, Javad, Darius, Hamid, Jafar, Majid, Saman, Kamran, Zakar.

 

There’s no “right” answer. The drawing will be random among those who “like” my Facebook page and leave a comment. https://www.facebook.com/Judy-Meadows-Romance-Writer-1556763401023522/?fref=hovercard

 

 

Buy Links

The Wild Rose Press – http://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-titles/4978-escape-from-behruz.html

Amazon – http://a.co/eaA3uUi

 

Judy Meadows headshot

 

Author Biography

I grew up and went to college in Minnesota but now live in a small town in Oregon with my husband, Jim. I love to travel, read, hang out at the beach, cook, and play with grandchildren. I’ve always loved cats, but sadly find myself catless at the moment. Our 20-year-old Simba and 17-year-old Tinker Bell both died last year.

 

 

I worked as a systems analyst for IBM when I finished college. I interrupted my career in that field to take a year-long trip, traveling by Landrover, from Europe to India, Sri Lanka, and Nepal, and I returned to Iran several years later, with my husband, to work as a computer engineer in AT&T’s effort to modernize the Iranian phone service. The fictional country of my novel, Behruz, is based on the cultures of Iran and Afghanistan as I saw them then (before political unrest and war disrupted both countries).

 

 

When we retired from computer work, Jim and I bought a farm in northern California. We grew apples, Asian pears, and raspberries for ten years before retiring again, this time to Oregon.

 

 

When our son was a senior in high school, we adopted a 10-year-old girl from a Russian orphanage. I spent two weeks in Moscow finalizing the adoption and then came home to start the parenting thing all over again. When our Russian daughter was settled into the family, I trained to become a doula and began a 20-year career as a doula and childbirth educator. So far, I’ve helped 460 women in labor. (see www.doulajudy.com and www.mexicanmidwives.com)

 

 

I’ve just finished Midwife in Behruz, a sequel to Escape from Behruz and am beginning to plot the final book in what will be a trilogy of stories set in Behruz.

 

 

Social Media Links

Website: www.judymeadows.com

Email: judymeadowsromance@gmail.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/judymeadows44

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Judy-Meadows-Romance-Writer-1556763401023522/?fref=hovercard

 

Lady of Sherwood by Molly Bilinski @MollyLouise10 #YA #fantasy #amreading @XpressoTours


Lady of Sherwood
Molly Bilinski
(Outlaws of Sherwood #1)
Published by: Clean Teen Publishing
Publication date: April 24th 2017
Genres: Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Young Adult

Robin of Lockesly was neither the son her father wanted, nor the daughter her mother expected. When she refuses an arranged marriage to a harsh and cruel knight, the deadly events that follow change her destiny forever.

After a night of tragedy, Robin and the few remaining survivors flee to Nottingham. With a newfound anonymity, they start to live different lives. There, she and her band make mischief, robbing from the rich and giving to the poor. But charity isn’t the only thing she wants–she wants revenge.

As the sheriff draws his net closer, Robin’s choices begin to haunt her. She’ll have to choose between what’s lawful and what her conscience believes is right–all while staying one step ahead of the hangman.

Lady of Sherwood is a unique young adult retelling of the beloved Robin Hood legend. Filled with action and romance, this new series follows a teenage heroine through her fantastic, yet dangerous adventures.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

EXCERPT:

Other girls—some of the youngest ones from the kitchen—came from the brush. Smoke clung to them like a shroud, and tears had run in rivers down soot-stained cheeks. Ginny, the youngest at six, ran to Jemma and attached herself like a limpet to the older girl’s legs.

“Where is everyone else?” Robin asked, glancing between them and then back at the flaming manor. “Where is—where’s—” Her face heated even as the rest of her body grew chilled, and she stuffed her first in her mouth to muffle her scream.

“We are the only ones.”

Robin looked up at Kitty, surprised to find herself on her knees in the damp grass. She curled her shaking fingers into fists, and then rested them on her thighs. “How—what happened?”

“That man,” the girl went on, absently twisting her skirt in her hands. “The one who’d been courting you… he came for you in the night. When he couldn’t find you, he gathered everyone in the great hall.”

“Except you lot?” Jemma inquired.

“He was hurting her.” Kitty’s eyes took on a glossy quality. “He had Maggie by the hair, and he was hurting her. She had Ginny behind her, protecting her. I—I hit him over the head with a candle stand.”

“We went through the old tunnel,” another voice piped up. Maggie slipped her hand into Kitty’s. “Me and Kitty and Ginny.”

“And my—my mother?” Robin took a deep, shuddering breath.

“She kept her secret. We heard ‘im, shouting. He wanted to know where you was.” Ginny, this time. She wandered away from Jemma, and Robin opened her arms for her to nestle into. She’d helped Jemma look after the younger servants on the sly for years. Whether they’d been orphaned at birth or left to the streets, Jemma had brought them each back to the manor, and she’d given them a home and a hope the rest of the world didn’t offer. “She didn’t tell, Robin. She didn’t tell him where you was.”

“I heard Charlotte say you were gone,” Maggie said quietly. “She’d gone to your mother’s chambers to tell her. Miss Jemma was gone, too, and so was your bow.” She shrugged, a delicate lift of her shoulders. “We all thought you had gone to the field.”

“And she said nothing?” Robin’s heart beat hard against her ribcage.

“Lady was very brave,” Ginny murmured.

“She was,” Robin agreed. “Like you are. You all.” She looked at each of the other girls, who stared back, clearly waiting.

It hit her then—they were waiting for her. With the only survivors of the manor in front of her, and her mother dead—God rest her soul, God hold them all in His hand—it occurred to her in that moment. She was the Lady of Lockesly.

Author Bio:

Molly is a 2013 graduate of William Smith College with a bachelors in chemistry. She puts her science powers to use by day and is a novelist by night (and weekend…and any five minutes she can find). When she’s not writing or working, she’s scoping out coffee shops, exploring her new city (Buffalo, NY), taking day trips to Canada, and putting together puzzles.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

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A Man With a Pure Heart by Linda Tillis @Linda34434 Spotlight #historicalromance #TWRP


AManWithaPureHeart_w11269_750

 

Title: A Man With A Pure Heart

Author: Linda Tillis

Genre: Historical Romance/Inspirational

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

 

Book Blurb:

“Samuel Hinton learned at the tender age of fifteen just how violent some men could be. But now, in 1910, as he investigates the murder of a schoolteacher, even he is shocked by the brutality.

 

Kathleen Campbell travels to rural Florida to seek justice for her sister’s death. What she finds is an instant and unexpected attraction to the handsome Investigator who swears he will find the killer.

 

As another murder fills Samuel with a sense of urgency, he struggles with the depth of his feelings for Kathleen, the conflict of knowing he intends to kill the man he seeks, and how that killing will clash with his own Christian beliefs.”

 

Excerpt:

Hamish lay in the back corner of the windowless building. His head was at an odd angle, and there was a look of surprise on his tired, old face.  Samuel held the lantern high and searched the floor. It was not terribly dusty and there had been at least two people inside since the killer had left.  He was unable to distinguish any shoe or boot marks, or moccasins, for that matter. He squatted by Hamish and set the lantern on the floor. He spotted a sliver of something white under the body. Samuel gently rolled Hamish to his side and extracted a piece of crushed paper from under him. He turned it over and immediately recognized Edith’s flyer.

 

“So, old man,” Samuel whispered, “you tried to warn him.”

 

Samuel gently closed Hamish’s clouded, green eyes. He hesitated, his palm resting on the old man’s forehead.

 

He whispered, “Hamish, Hamish, you should have told me. What can you tell me now?”

 

Samuel was completely motionless, staring into the dark corner. He closed his eyes, and after a time he envisioned Nash, standing in a small clearing, his head thrown back and his mouth wide open in a scream.  There was a small building with one high window.  Nash stepped to the doorway, and Samuel could see the inside of the one room cabin. There was a bed with a broken length of chain attached.

 

Ahh. So, the big man has lost something, or someone.

 

Samuel stood, and looked down at Hamish one last time.

 

“I hope you knew the Lord, old man. I hope he is welcoming you now.”

 

 

Buy Links:

Amazon –  http://amzn.to/2qrsVzl

 

The Wild Rose Press –   http://bit.ly/2pQGbk3

 

Barnes & Noble  –         http://bit.ly/2pBBvxB

 

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 Author Biography:

Linda has been fortunate to lead a varied life. She was born in Appalachia, Goody, Kentucky to be exact. You know, coal mining country. Her mother moved her to Cleveland, Ohio when she was a small child. She had the best of both worlds. In the summer, she ran bare-foot through the mountains, drank from a cool, sweet, well…and yes, used an outhouse! But during the school year, she attended concerts and art galleries. She lost her mother to cancer when she was ten years old and moved to Florida to live with her father and his new family. She read voraciously during her high school years. In fact, at lunch on Thursdays, she would make a couple of dollars writing book reports for others.

She worked in the garment industry for eighteen years, then changed careers in 1986. Really changed careers. She went from fashion to forensics, and spent the next twenty years with the local Police Department as, yep, you guessed it, a CSI. After so many years of brutality, death and general mayhem, her wonderful husband helped her realize it was becoming detrimental to her health. So, she retired. She spent a year re-acquainting herself with the “real” world. She took up nature photography and sold a couple of articles with photos to the Florida Wildlife Magazine.

She went back to the workplace as a 911 dispatcher/calltaker, and for another seven years her Southern drawl spread over west Florida’s airwaves. During that time, her husband convinced her she should write a book. So, she did. She is now retired, and can devote her full attention to a writing career. She is a member of the Sunshine State Romance Authors, Inc. which is a local chapter of the national Romance Writers of America, where she achieved PRO status in 2015 by having a publisher request her full manuscript for consideration.

 

Social Media Links:

Website – www.lindatillisauthor.com

 

Twitter –  https://www.twitter.com/Linda34434

 

Facebook  –  https://www.facebook.com/linda.tillis.5

 

 

What starts as Girl’s Night Out ends in murder: The Baron’s Cufflinks by @pjmaclayne #mystery


The Baron's Cufflinks

 

Title: The Baron’s Cufflinks

Author: P.J. MacLayne

Genre: Women Sleuth, Mystery

 

Blurb:

What starts as Girl’s Night Out ends in murder, and Harmony Duprie is a suspect.

 

She’s innocent, of course, but with no alibi, the sheriff’s department won’t remove her from the list of suspects. It doesn’t help when a waitress from the bar gets beaten up and the only clue is a slip of paper with Harmony’s name on it. Throw in a rookie deputy dead set on building his reputation and Harmony must tread carefully.

 

But caution isn’t Harmony’s middle name and she plunges head first into danger to defend her honor.

 

What she finds is a web of half-truths and suspicions implicating several law enforcement agencies, with Jake, her ex-lover, stuck in the middle of it all.

 

Can Harmony rescue Jake and find the real culprit before she becomes the next victim?

 

Excerpt:

In this scene, Harmony Duprie, my heroine, gets the first inkling that her carefully scripted life is about to go off-track again.

 

“I’m Deputy Theo Nelson. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” The impossibly young man’s starched uniform crinkled as he moved.

 

Instinct had me reaching for my purse then I remembered the lessons Freddie had drilled into me about dealing with officers of the law. “I’m going to get my phone out of my purse to make a call,” I told him. “If that’s okay with you.”

 

“Can it wait? I need to ask you a few questions concerning the incident last night. May I?” With a wave of his hand, he indicated the chair.

 

Instinct and experience told me to tell him no, but I found myself nodding.

 

He adjusted his duty belt, took a seat, and pulled out a small notebook. “For the record, I understand that you and some of your friends were at The Dog House last night?”

 

“Yes,” I said curtly, planning on keeping my answers short and to the point. I wasn’t comfortable with the situation, but couldn’t deny the truth.

 

His monotone delivery of the rest of the night’s event made it seem boring. I answered each statement with either a curt “yes” or “No.” Mostly.

 

“One witness said Mr. Foard hit you.”

 

“The witness is wrong. He pushed the waitress but was so drunk that when he tried to grab me, I avoided him with no problem. The bartender put an end to it and one of his buddies offered to take him home.”

 

He scribbled a few notes then looked up at me. I recognized the technique—he hoped the silence would make me uncomfortable and I would say more. It didn’t work. I waited. He sighed.

 

“How long did you stay after they left?” he asked.

 

“Only long enough to pay the bill.”

 

“Can anyone corroborate your story?”

 

“Besides the staff and other customers? Talk to Detective Thomason. He met us there.”

 

“Fred Thomason?”

 

“Yes, do you know him?”

 

“By reputation. Can Detective Thomason vouch for your whereabouts the rest of the night?”

 

“No. He was on duty. Once we were safe, he took off and the four of us headed home.”

 

The deputy closed his notebook, pulled a card out of his pocket and dropped it on the table. “Thank you, Miss Duprie. If we need anything we’ll be in touch.” He tapped the card. “That’s my number if you remember something else.”
“Deputy,” I said. “What’s this about?”

 

He paused as if considering what he could reveal. “Mr. Foard was shot last night.”

 

“Is he going to be okay?” Even if I didn’t like the man, I wished no ill on him.

 

“He’s dead, Miss Duprie.”

 

Buy Links:

Apple https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1232223538

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072P6CD3D

Kobo https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-baron-s-cufflinks

Books2read Universal Link https://www.books2read.com/u/b5OVGp

Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-barons-cufflinks-pj-maclayne/1126317718?ean=2940157511692

 

PJ MacLayne_4-17

 

Author Biography:

Born and raised among the rolling hills of western Pennsylvania, P.J. MacLayne still finds inspiration for her books in that landscape. She is a computer geek by day and a writer by night who currently lives in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains. When she’s not in front of a computer screen, she might be found exploring the back roads of the nearby national forests and parks. In addition to the Free Wolves’ stories, she is also the author of the Oak Grove series.

 

P.J. MacLayne can be reached on: 

Facebook https://facebook.com/pjmaclayne

Twitter https://twitter.com/pjmaclayne

Google + https://plus.google.com/u/0/+PJMacLayne/posts

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/P.J.-MacLayne/e/B00HVE8WZI

My Blog: http://pjmaclayne.blogspot.com/

 

Blaque Beauty and the Billionaire by @ErinLeeDaniels1 #romance #books #amreading


Blaque beauty and the Billionaire

 

Title: Blaque Beauty and the Billionaire

Author: Erin Lee Daniels

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Publisher: Charenkin House Publishing

 

Book Blurb:

Marlee Winters is on top of the world. With a devastating relationship well behind her and her interior design career in high gear, Marlee is thrilled when her firm lands a contract with billionaire developer Marc Ross. But when she discovers that her passionate, mysterious new lover is none other than the boss, himself, will Marlee lose everything, including her heart?

 

Billionaire real estate magnate Marc Ross is used to getting what he wants and he wants Marlee Winters. Caring, quirky and confident, she is nothing like the spoiled heiresses and supermodels he is used to dating. But convinced he has at least 4.6 billion reasons to hide his true identity, Marc rolls the dice and hopes for the best. But a vindictive ex -wife and an epic snowstorm are in the cards, threatening to destroy a future Marc didn’t even know he wanted until Marlee walked into his life.

 

Will deception be the deal-breaker or is happily ever after written in the fine print?

 

Excerpt:

They rode in silence. Marc wanted to say something, anything that would get her to respond or at least listen, but the words wouldn’t come. They were dammed up in his chest like ice, and he couldn’t work past the fear he felt when he looked at her closed face.

 

He had held out hope at first – that once they were alone in the car they could talk. When she first saw him standing in the Pritchard’s living room, her face had remained blank, but he saw something flash in her eyes. Relief? Anger? But it was gone just as quickly, and after an emotional goodbye to Jan and Paul, Marlee had gathered her things and followed him dutifully out to the Jeep, closed off and silent. Damnit.

 

No one who knew him, who had ever known him, would be able to reconcile how he had behaved with who he really was. He had certainly never been the type of guy who lied to women to get what he wanted, and yet, here he was with Marlee, her pain so evident, so palpable, it was like a third person in the car. He remembered how she had felt in his arms just the night before, warm and laughing, looking up at him with dark, beautiful eyes. His heart suddenly felt heavy in his chest.

 

Special Giveaway:

Now through May 15 subscribers to my newsletter will receive a free copy of my upcoming novella Blaque Beauty and the Rancher. Subscribe at www.erinleedaniels.com/subscribe

 

Buy Links:

Amazon US https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B06WP9BVVR

Amazon CA https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B06WP9BVVR

Amazon UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B06WP9BVVR

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34341926-blaque-beauty-and-the-billionaire

 

Erin Lee Daniels

Author Biography:

Erin Lee Daniels is an editor and romance author. After receiving a degree in Political Science and International Relations Erin Lee worked in the private sector before pursuing her lifelong dream of authorship. She lives in NYC and enjoys travel, cooking, collecting fine china, keeping a handle on her American Girl addiction and spending time with family and good friends.

 

Social Media Links:

Website www.erinleedaniels.com

Twitter https://twitter.com/@erinleedaniels1

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/Erin-Lee-Daniels-394137567588303/?ref=br_rs

 

 

 

 

 

Heartstone: The Drowned Tower by @NicholasRinth is Riveting! #epicfantasy #fantasy


Drowned Tower, The - Nicholas Rinth

 

Title: Heartstone: The Drowned Tower

Author: Nicholas Rinth

Genre: Epic Fantasy

 

Book Blurb:

“If the future was bared before you, would it still be yours?
If the past could chase you, would you run from it?
If the world crumbled tonight, would you carve your own?”

 

Freedom is out of the question for practitioners of the Institute, and any supporters otherwise are dealt with violently. A system Sylvie Sirx neither refutes, nor endorses—born from an enviable family, talented in her skills, and entirely too content with her position, her path has always been a straight one… until now.

 

Her qualifications backfire when an elder from the north descends upon her home for a Choosing. He calls upon the Drowned Tower’s most sought after practitioners for a simple job that ends in blood, and then Sylvie’s blissful world erupts. She finds herself in the company of the Elementalist, Jacques Dace, an insufferable but deadly enthusiast of personal reform. Together, they’re swept into a spiral of powerful magic and ancient grudges. Where truth bends, stones whisper secrets of the past, and their home lies at the heart of what could very well be Ferus Terria’s next recorded war.

 

And for once, she is forced to choose a side, learning for herself what it means to master fate.

 

Excerpt:

Come to me, the voice beckoned.

 

Jack’s eyes burned. He clutched his face and groaned in pain.

 

“What’s wrong?” Tiv asked.

 

Jack tried to respond, but the words died in his throat. They were replaced by a scream that had Tiv dropping down to his haunches and shaking Jack in worry. As he doubled over at the sensation of heat erupting from his sockets. His eyes didn’t melt. But they might as well have.

 

He gnashed his teeth together and muffled a scream. Hot tears trailed down his cheeks. They clouded his vision and only made his pain worse.

 

Jack’s blood boiled. It was too hot.

 

He heard voices. Men, women, children. They echoed in his mind, bouncing around as if they belonged there. He heard the clank of chains and burning fire. Children’s screams thrown into the mix like muffled background noise. They cried out to him. Their voices were pitiful whines. But what could he do?

 

Stop it! Jack dug his palms into his eyes, sorely wishing that he was a Healer. Go away! Leave me alone. I can’t help you!

 

This was his body. His. They had no right to play in his head. They could cripple him from pain, but he wouldn’t allow them to invade his mind. His thoughts were his own, and he’d sooner die than relinquish the reins that governed him.

 

“Enough!” Jack bit out, clawing at his throat. His magic burst forth out of instinct. His hands radiated a pale blue, before he conjured fire. The blaze encircled his form, spreading warmth over worn limbs and encasing him in a ball of scorching heat that distorted the air.

 

Tiv stepped back, his black eyes filled with confusion. He’d almost been burned.

 

“Jack! What’s going on?”

 

“I said, enough!”

 

And as if listening to him, the pain ceased.

 

Jack clutched his head for a tick longer. As the sparks of his magic died down. His head pounded with a vengeance that matched the erratic beat of his heart.

 

For fuck’s sake, was Jack’s first thought, what just happened?

 

His eyes were still sealed shut, and his mouth was clenched in frustrated silence. The tears left wet trails down his cheeks. They stung. But he made no move to wipe them.

 

Tiv squirmed a distance away. He took a cautious step forward. Close enough to assist, but far enough to run should Jack decide to sheathe himself in another circle of fire.

 

“Jack,” Tiv called, hesitant. “Are you alright?”

 

“Do I look—” Jack recoiled, just as Tiv flinched.

 

Black clouded Jack’s vision. He frantically looked around, trying to shake off the hazy tendrils obstructing his periphery. Despite the added darkness, his sight was unnaturally clear. Colors were enhanced. Lines more pronounced. The world flowed. Seamless. A harmony of utter perfection. It was almost too bright.

 

Jack heard a gasp and turned to see Tiv point a trembling finger at him.

 

“Your eyes…” Tiv stepped back in sudden fear. “What happened to your eyes?”

 

Buy Links:

The Drowned Tower is Available for Purchase Here:
|
EBOOK MASTERLINK|

PAPERBACK:
BARNES&NOBLE (USA) !NDIGO (CA) BOOKTOPIA (AU)
AMAZON: |
USA | UK | FRANCE GERMANY JAPAN | BRAZIL | ITALY | SPAIN |

 

Nicholas Rinth

 

Author Bio:

NICHOLAS RINTH lives lakeside in the southern graces of Savannah, Georgia. Where he spends his time fantasizing about other worlds and working on his next novel.

 

Social Media Links:

Website | Instagram | Twitter | Tumblr | Amazon

Mike and Hannah (West Coast Soulmates #2) by @carlakrae is a Heartfelt #Romance! #books


Natural qualitative texture. Close up.

 

Title – Mike and Hannah

Author – Carla Krae

Genre – Contemporary Romance

Publisher – Willowick Publishing

 

Book Blurb —

Takes place after COMPLETED and DYLAN AND JEN.

 

With most of the band coupled up now, Mike is the seventh wheel. Realizing he hasn’t cultivated a life outside the band in years is a lonely epiphany. When a young woman mistakes him for someone else, the awkward encounter turns into a possibility for something real. Something lasting. Something like love.

 

Hannah, a recent arrival in L.A., is looking for a connection in her new life. Despite meeting Mike under less-than-ideal circumstances, she accepts his invitation to a Memorial Day BBQ with his friends, never expecting them to be famous rockstars with hearts of gold. Mike couldn’t be nicer and sparks are flying, so when he insists on taking their time to get to know each other, part of her is flattered and the other side is frustrated he won’t get naked. How far can she tease him before he gives in?

 

Settle in for a sweet and spicy romance in the My Once and Future Love Revisited universe where finding yourself means finding true love. This story is intended for readers over the age of 18 due to adult language, sexual content, and adult situations. West Coast Soulmates book #2.

 

Excerpt —

Choose to be the new girl in town at your peril.  I get now why Mom never lived farther than twenty minutes from the house she was born in.  Looking around my empty living room, the balloons in the corners mocked my solitude.  The food on the kitchen table sat untouched, a chocolate cake still pristine in the center.

 

Someone knocked on the front door.  Thank God.  I checked my watch and opened the door.  “Marcy!”  Fifteen minutes late, but at least someone showed up.

 

She shoved a present into my hands.  “Hi, Hannah, sorry I can’t stay, but I wanted to give you this so you wouldn’t think I forgot.”  She smiled, ran back down the driveway to her Honda, and zipped away, waving through the window.

 

Wow.  Even my best friend—rethinking that title now—couldn’t stay for my birthday.

 

Hannah, she’s your only friend.

 

I placed the small gift on the table and put the food back in the refrigerator.  Didn’t want to poison anyone, should they ever show up.  Hadn’t invited a lot of people—there weren’t many I knew well enough yet to let into my home—but I’d put out a decent spread.  There was even alcohol, and I didn’t drink.

 

After another half-hour, I gave up and turned the lights out in the living room, then cut a piece of cake for myself and stuck one candle in it.

 

“Happy friggin’ birthday to me.”

 

Making a half-hearted wish in my head for some improvement to the night, I blew the candle out.  My dress went back in the closet in favor of a long-sleeve tee and sweatpants, then I signed into my e-mail on the off-chance my co-workers made excuses.  Nothing but a couple ads and a request for a file from work even though everybody knew I had the day off.  Joy.

 

Then it hit me, the message that was missing today—Dad’s.  Tears blurred my vision.

 

Two months after his death, I’d been doing okay.  Not a hint of tears for two weeks.  We weren’t close and conversations were usually awkward at best, but he always remembered my birthday.  We saw each other two, maybe three times a year.  It shouldn’t be that big a deal, dangit.  We weren’t close.  I’d even spent adolescent years hating him, yet these stupid tears were smudging my mascara.

 

Funny how I’d come to rely on a short little e-mail every year.  I sniffed and reached for a tissue.

 

“So, Hannah…friendless, parentless…what are you gonna do now?”  I turned on the bathroom faucet.  “I’m going to wash my face and eat cake until I puke.”

 

Good plan, huh?

 

Skin squeaky clean, I blindly reached for a towel and dried my face, then felt along the counter for my glasses.  The girl in the mirror wore a frown.

 

I sighed.

 

The doorbell chimed, an hour after the party should have started.

 

Padding to the door in bare feet, I switched the porch light on and unlocked the deadbolt.

 

Buy Links —

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06Y2P9223

Apple https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/mike-hannah-my-once-future/id1148684847?mt=11

B&N http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mike-and-hannah-carla-krae/1124491338?ean=2940153704111

Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/661762

 

 

Author Biography —

Fiction writer. Sci-fi lover. Trained vocalist. Cat mom.

Debuting in 2011, Carla Krae lives in California with two crazy cats and a tech guy.

To stay up-to-date, sign up for the newsletter: http://eepurl.com/FHncP

My Once and Future Love Revisited :
Kissed
Betrayed
Forgiven
Loved
Completed (2016)
Dylan and Jen (stand alone)
Mike and Hannah (stand alone)

West Coast Soulmates:
Dylan and Jen (published)
Mike and Hannah (4/7/2017)
The Roommate (published)
Mr. Perfect (2017)
Untitled (2017)

 

Social Media Links —

Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/CarlaKraeAuthor

Twitter https://twitter.com/carlakrae

Follow on BookBub https://www.bookbub.com/authors/carla-krae

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/carla_krae

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/willowickcarla/

 

 

Nobody Ever Said Life Was Easy… Painting Sky by @rita_branches #romance


Painting Sky
Rita Branches
(Painting Sky #1)
Publication date: April 25th 2016
Genres: New Adult, Romance

 

Nobody ever said life was easy…

 

People pleaser, Jane Skylar wants nothing more than to earn her art degree, start her life, and bask in the bliss of living with her boyfriend.

 

But things don’t always go as planned…

 

Struggling with her creative side, Jane finds herself in turmoil, often confiding in her roommate – another, more talented art student, Keith Hale. Keith just so happens to be her boyfriend’s older, brooding brother. After a devastating breakup, Jane turns to Keith for comfort. But when the lines blur between roommate and lover, Jane’s life becomes more complicated than ever before.

 

When Keith’s past comes back to haunt him, their lives all get turned upside down, forcing the truth to surface. Now Jane must fight for what she wants–even if it hurts everyone she loves.

 

*It’s a Stand-alone*

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

The next towels were easier. I was getting colder and so tired that my eyes started to shut and I dozed off. When the towel on my stomach was removed, the breeze on my skin made me shiver and woke me up.

“Just one more time, and then we’ll check if the fever has lowered.” He changed the towels again. I had stopped feeling awkward about the lack of clothes a long time ago: maybe between the cold towel or the scared look on Keith’s face.

My shivering never stopped. After Keith took all the towels from my body, I just wanted to curl up and sleep. The sheets were wet, though, as well as my clothes. Keith left for a minute and I opened one eye to see him standing at the door, frowning.

“What is it now?”

“I can’t find any clean sheets,” he answered. I wasn’t feeling good enough today to do laundry, so the other set was dirty.

“Come on. Try sitting up.” Keith opened one of my drawers.

“What are you doing?” It was where I kept my underwear. He ignored my protests and took some black cotton panties and a matching tank top and placed them on the bed.

“I’ll be in the hallway. Call me when you’re done—unless you want my help.” His smirk was weak, but I knew he was trying to make me smile. I shooed him out of my room with a wave of my hand and took my time changing out of my clothes. My body hurt, especially my ribs.

“I’m coming in,” Keith warned, as soon as I pulled the tank top down. “Can you get up?” I obeyed him, unsure of why he wanted me to get up if I didn’t have any clean sheets to change the bed with. My bedroom swung around me and I had to sit back down again. I was too weak to stand. Keith sighed and put his arms under me. I stiffened instantly, not just at the gesture, but also at my lack of clothing. He picked me up and left my room.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think? I’m taking you to my room. The sheets are clean, I haven’t slept there this week, and they are dry, at least.” He winked while pushing open his bedroom door with his shoulder. I had been in his room once or twice to bring him his clean clothes, but I’d never taken the time to look around. I wouldn’t do so this time, either, as the only light on was from the lamp on his bedside table.

The space was clean and tidy. I imagined all his clutter was in the attic, where he spent most of his time.

I whimpered against his cold sheets. “Come on, scoot over,” he said, as soon as he laid me down. I did what he asked and the next thing I felt was his warm body against mine. I gasped at the contact, but scooted back against his chest. I tried to ignore the chuckle that came from him, which shook my body slightly.

His hand came to rest on my stomach for a second before he pulled my tank top up. I was prepared to turn and punch him in the face when I realized what he was trying to do. He lifted his own shirt and hugged my bare back. I sighed, trying not to moan. For the second time tonight, I wasn’t cold, as his body was warmer than mine.

“Just so we’re clear, in the morning, we go back to not caring much for the other, right?” I asked, more to try and clear the air. I felt him tense before answering me with a weird shrug.

“I guess,” he mumbled.

“Why do you hate me?” I whispered.

 

Author Bio:

 

Rita Branches is an independent YA (young adult) author who enjoys spending every free moment (when she´s not reading) writing emotional stories. Visit: http://ritabranches.wordpress.com/

 

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

 

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Missing: The Lady Said No (A Chandler County Novel) by @JacqBiggar #cozymystery #bookreview


Missing The Lady Said No eBook

 

Title: Missing: The Lady Said No (A Chandler County Novel)

Author: Jacquie Biggar

Genre: Cozy Mystery

 

Book Blurb:

The Race is on to find a Killer in the heart of Kentucky horse country.

 

Detective Augustus Grant is faced with his most baffling case to date. Well-respected race horse breeder, John Jorgenson, is murdered in his den days before the Kentucky Derby and the list of suspects is growing.

 

Complicating matters, Gus’ ex-girlfriend is the last person to have seen the victim alive.

Rebecca Hayes owes the Jorgenson family her loyalty. They gave her a new life after a disastrous affair leaves her alone and pregnant.

 

With all the evidence pointing in Becky’s direction, will Gus do his duty?

 

Or follow his heart?

 

This is part of a multi-author branded series titled Chandler County.

 

My Review:

A few days before the Kentucky Derby, esteemed breeder John Jorgenson is found murdered in his den. Detective Gus Grant is on the case and just when the list of suspects can’t get any bigger, ex-girlfriend Becky walks back into his life and is the last person to see the victim alive.

 

Becky’s known heartbreak and his name is Gus Grant. She’s built a nice life for herself and her young daughter since he abandoned her a few years ago. There’s no room for love, least of all from the one man who stole her heart. She puts on a brave face but her resolve crumbles when Gus discovers the truth. Is there any hope of them being a family or will Gus discover what really happened in Mr. Jorgenson’s den?

 

I love the Kentucky Derby and Biggar brings it to life in this delightful mystery. Gus reminds me of Columbo, from his crinkled attire to the way he fumbles around the crime scene. A mind of steel hidden behind a bumbling exterior, that’s the perfect description of Detective Gus. His past relationship with Becky collides with his duty as a detective and he must decide what really matters.

 

Missing: The Lady Said No is an addictive mystery filled with cagy characters with the backdrop of the greatest horse race known to man. There’s a lot to uncover yet Biggar only reveals what she wants the reader to know at the time. Gripping sub-plots will keep you turning the pages, all leading up to an explosive climax. I read it in one sitting … yes, it was that good. Can’t wait to read all the books in the Chandler County series!

 

My Rating: 5+ stars

 

Bonus Excerpt:

Gus followed the stiff-necked manservant to the door of the den, though his emotions were tugging him back to Rebecca like a starved man to a banquet.

 

He couldn’t believe how beautiful she’d become. She’d always been pretty, but now there was an added maturity to her features that suited her face. The tomboy figure he fondly remembered had become hills and valleys he ached to explore. They’d been best friends, then lovers, then enemies. It’d been his fault, that was the worst of it. He’d let his drive for a career ruin the only good thing in his life. He could tell himself he’d done his part. After getting his degree and returning to Bourbonville he had tried to find her. But she was right, he hadn’t tried hard enough.

 

Their relationship had already been floundering; it had seemed easier to let it die a natural death. He regretted that now. One glimpse of her had brought back all the old feelings. Memories of happier times.

 

Ernest reached for the door knob and was stopped by the officer on guard.

 

“Sorry, only trained personnel are allowed.”

 

Ernest glared at him. “I’ve worked in this household for years; I believe I am trained.”

 

The sergeant exchanged a helpless glance with Gus. “I’m sorry, sir. Those are the rules.”

 

Gus stepped between the two men before a full-scale war broke out. “It’s okay, sergeant.” He flipped open his badge. “I’m Detective Grant. The…” He waved a hand toward the butler.

 

Ernest lowered his brows. “Manservant.”

 

Gus nodded. “Manservant, was just showing me the way to the crime scene.”

 

The officer checked his badge, then reached back to open the door. The stench of death was immediate, a toxic mix of human waste impossible to forget. Gus turned his head to draw one last clean breath and met Rebecca’s anxious gaze.

 

That look gave him pause.

 

Why was she worried? Just how well did Rebecca know the owner of Balmoral?

 

“Coming, Detective?” The sergeant’s voice interrupted his musings. Gus shrugged off his misgivings and followed the man into the room, sliding past the grim-faced Ernest.

 

Nancy knelt by the victim, her hands covered with white gloves and booties on her feet. She glanced up when he walked in and pointed at his shoes. Gus dug through his coat pockets until he found his booties, put them on, nodded to the sergeant, and made his way over to her side.

 

“It’s a bad one,” she said, turning attention to her preliminary findings. “Single shot to the temple, through and through. Near as I can tell, time of death was sometime between midnight and three a.m., no sign of defensive wounds.” She stopped and gazed at him with world-weary eyes. “Who would do this, Augustus?”

 

Gus observed the brain matter splattered on the leather tufted chair and rich, red Aubusson carpet and his stomach churned. His first thought was crime of passion. There had been some effort made to set the scene up as a suicide. The gun rested in the victim’s open hand, finger wrapped around the trigger. A cut crystal tumbler lay on its side nearby, a stain wetting the carpet. Gus touched the wet spot and sniffed, rubbing the tips of his fingers—bourbon. The good kind. Not something a man bent on ending his own life would let go to waste.

 

“I’m not sure, Nancy, but I do know the brass will be all over this one, so take your time, okay? We don’t want to miss anything.”

 

She huffed out an indignant breath. “You telling me how to do my job, now?”

 

He held up a hand to halt her blistering tongue. “The Jorgensons are big news, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t they have a horse in the Derby this year?”

 

The sergeant, who had remained by the door, and watched their exchange with interest, piped up. “Forever Humble. Lots of money riding on that colt.” His face became animated. “You ever see him race, Detective? He’s some kind of fast. Likes to run the outside track. Gives me a heart attack every time.”

 

Gus smiled. “You a betting man…?”

 

“Fish, sir. Everyone calls me Fish.”

 

Nancy chuckled and the young man’s neck turned brick red.

 

“I’m not a gambler, no sir, but I admit I like to spend a Saturday now and then down at the track. It’s some exciting. You ever been, Mr. Grant?”

 

Gus shook his head. “No, can’t say as I have. Not that fond of horses, though I guess that’s the wrong thing to say in this house.” He admired the landscape watercolor on the wall, rolling hills with a herd of wild horses barreling straight at him, eyes crazy and manes flying as though they were about to burst the confines of paint and canvas.

 

“Augustus, there’s something you need to see.” Nancy’s voice was muffled as she stretched, shapely butt in the air, to reach something under the leather chair. She grunted and tugged until a bronze sculpture came into view. When she stood it on the carpet, he saw it was about twelve inches in height, a warrior on a horse, raised arm carrying a spear.

 

“There’s blood and hair fragments,” she said, turning it carefully to inspect the evidence. “I can’t be sure until I get it to the lab, but this looks like a match to our vic.”

 

Well, that explained why there were no defensive wounds. The poor sop probably didn’t know what hit him. Gus looked around until he found the suspiciously empty spot on the desk. He gave a wide berth to the corpse, conscious of Nancy’s critical gaze. The desk was one of those massive claw-foot affairs, mahogany maybe, rich and elegant instead of simply functional. He pulled a linen handkerchief out of his pocket and checked the drawers. An assortment of papers greeted him, some on household expenses, most on Jorgenson’s passion—thoroughbreds. Nothing that looked like a cause for murder.

 

Gus was about to replace the documents when a slip of yellowed paper lodged in the back of the drawer caught his eye. He reached in, using the hankie, and retrieved the handwritten note.

 

Do what I told you to do, or the truth will destroy you

 

The threat inherent on the scrap of paper chilled his blood. There was trouble brewing in the Jorgenson household, and Gus was afraid Rebecca was somehow involved.

 

Buy Links:

http://books2read.com/u/3Lrqre

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34033805-missing

 

Jacquie Biggar

 

Author Biography:

JACQUIE BIGGAR  is a USA Today bestselling author of Romantic Suspense who loves to write about tough, alpha males who know what they want, that is until they’re gob-smacked by heroines who are strong, contemporary women willing to show them what they really need is love. She is the author of the popular Wounded Hearts series and has just started a new series in paranormal suspense, Mended Souls.

 

She has been blessed with a long, happy marriage and enjoys writing romance novels that end with happily-ever-afters.

 

Jacquie lives in paradise along the west coast of Canada with her family and loves reading, writing, and flower gardening. She swears she can’t function without coffee, preferably at the beach with her sweetheart. 🙂

 

Free reads, excerpts, author news, and contests can be found on her web site:

http://jacqbiggar.com

 

You can follow her on at http://Facebook.com/jacqbiggar , http://Twitter.com/jacqbiggar

 

Or email her via her web site. Jacquie lives on Vancouver Island with her husband and loves to hear from readers all over the world!

 

You can also join her street team on Facebook: Biggar’s Book Buddies

 

Or her exclusive Review Crew: https://jacqbiggar.com/join-my-review-crew/

 

And sign up for her newsletter-

https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h6c2n8

 

 

Love Gritty, #DarkRomance? 1-Click WetWork Episode 3 by @CadenceDenton #amreading #ASMSG


WetWork Ep3 WEB 06152015

 

Title: WetWork, Dark Man Case Files, Episode 3

This is the third installment in my gritty, sexy, hitman serial. David Morace aka Dark Man is the main character.

Author: Cadence Denton

Genre: Contemporary Romance Suspense/Thriller

 

Book Blurb:

WetWork, Dark Man Case Files, Episode 3 is a gritty, action-packed romantic serial (30k). Filled with pulsing passion and heart pounding intrigue, it is the third episode in this hot, new series by author, Cadence Denton. Each installment ends in a cliffhanger.

Things have gone from bad to worse for Dark Man. First, he was set up to be the fall guy for the Guild, the family who’d named him pariah and turned their backs on him. Next, his current employers decided to terminate him with extreme prejudice. And then there’s Angel—the fact she’d called him by his brother’s name when they made love was the cherry on top of this crap cake. It almost made being the Medic’s new lab rat a relief. Almost.

He’d like to bury his feelings for Angel, but he hadn’t signed on for what the Medic planned: to turn him into a robot with a pulse.

Add another covert group with its own agenda to the already crowded field of adversaries and the conspiracy web grows wider. With his list of enemies multiplying by the minute, Dark Man’s chances of surviving are slim to none.

He needs a miracle. He needs his Angel.

 

Exclusive Extended 18+ Excerpt:

Angel sat at a small table inside the Sixty-First Street Starbucks on Galveston Island studiously avoiding eye contact with the elderly couple on her right while her stomach growled at the fragrant scent of cinnamon rolls and fresh scones.

The old woman’s face had drawn up in a mask of disapproval, her nose crinkled like she smelled an open landfill instead of the heady aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and pastries. She shot a barrage of narrow-eyed glares Angel’s way while her husband’s gaze was altogether different. The old man looked at Angel like she was a three-inch thick New York strip steak. She’d watched him swipe a strand of drool from quivering lips before his gnarled hand retreated beneath the table to do God knew what.

Once more she fought the urge to tug at her skirt. What was the point? It wasn’t like pulling on it was going to make it one millimeter longer.

The old lady sniffed then turned her attention back to her ensainada. She took a bite and Angel’s stomach growled so loudly the table of teenage surfers on the other side of the old farts heard it and snickered. Angel sighed. She’d wanted to order the yummy coiled sweet bread topped with powdered sugar with her coffee, but sadly could only scratch up enough coins to pay for the iced caffe Americano.

She didn’t dare use her credit cards. The last thing she needed was a Chernyy headhunter showing up which would be the first thing to happen if she used her plastic. Anyway, she needed the caffeine more than the Danish so her empty stomach would just have to suck it up. Unhappy with the arrangement, her stomach complained again. Geez, where was her coffee? Angel glanced back at the barista, saw her cup was now third in line and sighed again. Who would have thought Starbucks would be this busy on a Sunday morning?

She crossed her legs and mentally rolled her eyes when she heard the old man slurp in a breath while the sour old lady hissed, “Shameless hussy.”

Yeah. Well, she’d just have to suck it up, too. Angel peered out the wall of glass. The surf was as gray as the morning sky. It reflected her mood.

She was a legend in the assassins’ community. Her reputation as lethal and invincible was almost universal. Why did she feel so helpless? Worse than that, she felt fragile, like she’d shatter into a zillion pieces at the slightest touch.

“Ahren?”

Starting, she looked around to see the young man at the counter. Her order was ready. She’d forgotten that she’d given him her true name. Tugging again at the disobedient skirt, she rose to her feet.

“Sweet Jesus on a donkey.” The old man’s voice was hoarse. With her peripheral vision, Angel watched his wife lean over and give his arm a smack.

“Oww… whaddidya do that for?”

“C’mon you old coot. We’re leaving.”

“Why? I haven’t finished my breakfast.”

“Oh, yes you have,” she snapped. Draping her purse over her shoulder, she marched him to the door, her gnarled hand gripping his wrist while he cast longing looks back at Angel.

After adding sweetener to the coffee, Angel returned to her seat, sipping contentedly as the strong brew hit her stomach and silenced its demands at least for a while. With the dual distractions of hunger and lecherous old men taken out of the equation, her thoughts returned like homing pigeons to what was really bothering her. DM.

Angel picked at the neon pink fingernail polish on her thumb, her coffee forgotten. Why… why had she left DM that way?

They’d made love—sex on the beach had been everything she dreamed it would be. So, why had she ditched him?

Come now, Ahren. Who do you think you’re fooling?

Damien—God! She’d actually called DM Damien when her orgasm flooded her. Damien was DM’s identical twin. His brother. His enemy. Had he noticed? Of course he’d noticed. She grimaced at the memory. DM had stiffened for that instant before he’d lost himself inside her. She scratched off another line of polish, refusing to think about the sensuous dream that had taken her afterwards. Damien and her. Together in a shower. Their lovemaking had seemed so real.

“No. I won’t think about that. It didn’t happen. It will never happen. It was a dream… just a dream,” she whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

“They say if you talk to yourself you converse with a fool.”

Angel’s head snapped up, her breath catching in her chest. She knew that voice. “Gregor?” Unable to do anything but croak.

Gregor Utegaliyev, the Director of Chernyy, was a man in his middle years. His dark hair was close cropped and threaded with silver. Standing just at average height, his looks were misleading. His cheeks were ruddy and his lips had a natural tendency to curve up. He looked harmless. That was until you met his eyes. His eyes, shrouded by heavy, black brows, were coldly intelligent and dangerous.

Her eighteen months with Chernyy had shown her what Gregor was capable of. She’d watched him cut a man to pieces in front of the man’s family then turn and give the victim’s children a pat on the head and a couple rubles each before burning down their squalid home. The smell of burnt cabbage and sausage had stayed with her for days. “Life is hard,” he’d explained after they’d returned to base and were enjoying a glass of vodka. “Better for them to learn that early.” Cold, Russian pragmatism at its finest, that was Gregor.

Angel glanced wildly from him to where her handbag, with hand gun inside, rested just out of reach on a chair and cursed silently. It sat in easy reach to Gregor. As if driving that home, he unbuttoned his sport coat to reveal his rig.

With little to lose, she made a grab for the purse, but he easily stopped her clumsy attempts, his gun clenched in his fist. The barrel looked as big as a cannon and it was pointed at her head. Slowly, she shrugged and put her hands back on the table.  With a quick glance around, Gregor sat down.

“You’re… here,” she said, stupidly stating the obvious. She’d expected a Chernyy hit team, but not the Director of Chernyy.

He dipped his chin once, a wry twist to his lips. “You could say I was in the neighborhood.”

Angel sat back in her chair. “You won’t shoot me in Starbucks. Not in front of all these witnesses.”

“Won’t I? I’ve made countless hits in places more crowded than this.”

She’d give him that. “But not here in the United States. There are cameras everywhere and people with cell phones to record your actions. It would cause an international incident.”

Gregor’s eyes narrowed for a moment then he sighed. With a shrug, he slipped his gun back into his rig and smiled broadly. His teeth, she noticed, were stained. As if in answer to that observation, he pulled a pack of Marlboro cigarettes from his jacket, stuck one in his mouth and lit it, ignoring the hostile glares from neighboring diners. He inhaled deeply then blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Marlboro,” he said turning the cigarette sideways so she could see it.

She shrugged. What the hell did she care?

“It is the brand of cigarettes American cowboys smoke.”

“Great,” she said faintly. Okay, now that was weird.

Seeming satisfied with her response, Gregor again inhaled deeply, savoring the taste of the tobacco. Exhaling another plume of smoke, he focused on Angel. “Did you truly think I would not learn you’re a Guild plant?” He smiled when she stiffened.

She’d known he’d found her out. Hadn’t she survived the kill team at the Four Seasons Hotel? But the truth of the matter was she’d thought it was DM they’d been after. She was convinced that she was still flying under the radar—which just showed the depth of her own self-deception. Damn, she hated when she did that.

Taking a sip of tepid coffee, she said, “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you’d joined with the Chinese to take me out?” She watched him dip his chin as though conceding a point in their verbal chess match.

“You survived the operation, so naturally I knew you and Morace would figure out the alliances.” The thick cloud of smoke he exhaled veiled his eyes.

Glancing about, Angel noted the blond giant, Nikita, who was always a jolly flirt, sitting next to the restrooms’ doors while surly Dimitri, never her friend, sat at the table beside the exit and sent dark glances around the room.  Looking through the window, she noted a charcoal gray SUV, Chernyy’s vehicle of choice, across the street. A trill of fear danced up her spine. She was alone. Alone as in singular. There was no backup. There would be no backup. She had only herself, the gun she couldn’t reach, and a couple clips she wouldn’t be using.  Trapped. Good and well trapped.

She heard wind chimes and frowned. Where was it coming from? The soft tinkling erupted again and she peered down at her cell phone, confounded. That was not her usual text tone. Tilting the phone up, Angel ran a thumb across the screen.

Chernyy is here

No shit, she thought, stealthily turning the phone to silent mode.

Come outside. We r w8ting

Using extreme care, she was just able to press ? and send. In an instant the reply came back and she nearly fainted in relief when she read the single word: Natalya

She blinked, realizing that Gregor was still speaking in a low, urgent tone. “… Damien must be sent a clear message.”

Oh, that was rich. She burbled a laugh. Truth was she couldn’t hold it back. The thought of sending the Crown Prince of the Guild a clear message was laughable. It was Damien who had put her in this untenable position with no explanations and certainly no apologies. Did these fools really think they could lesson Damien? The term damned if you do and damned if you don’t sprang to mind.

“Funny, Damien said the same about you.”

Gregor’s lips tightened for a tense moment. Finally, he leaned back and shrugged. “Ah, but I am here and where is Damien?” He made a show of looking about expectantly before turning back to her, his dark eyes alight with triumph. “No doubt he is sitting safe and snug in his ivory tower, yes?”

He was right, damn him. She knew that was exactly where Damien was. And double damn Damien for putting her here with no backup, no real resources and only one ally who she herself had abandoned. Glancing out the window again, she prayed DM would show up, that she hadn’t made a clean getaway, and that somehow he’d followed her. After all, if Natalya was here it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility he’d be with her. But she could find no sign of him—or Natalya; just a young mother pushing a baby stroller, and an older couple sitting at the bus stand watching a teen sail past on a skateboard.  There would be no rescue today.

Meeting Gregor’s gaze, she thought she saw sympathy in his brown eyes but that was impossible, right? It had to be a glint of triumph. “Shall we?” he asked, nodding at the door.

Sighing, she reached for her handbag. Exhaustion kicked her hard between the eyes as she rose to her feet and left her feeling as colorless and worn as a faded pair of blue jeans. Angel trudged past tables where diners sipped their coffee and took bites out of pastries while staring like zombies at their tablets and smartphones.

She walked to the door held open by Nikita, a disapproving purse to his lips, and passed through ignoring Dimitri’s muttered threats. The gray SUV pulled across the street to a chorus of angry horns making the elderly couple look up and the young mother standing at the corner waiting for the light, turn and gawk. Gregor led the way, head down, moving with purpose toward the vehicle’s open door.

She gave her head a shake, unable to believe this was happening. Not once did she envision her death would be so boringly ridiculous.

Nikita stepped closer to her, his gun flashing in her face, and she set her jaw, determined to take this opening. She made a grab for his weapon, but felt her arm go numb from a blow to her elbow. Angel threw a kick that sent Nikita stumbling into the SUV’s open door and she slammed the door onto his legs and heard his muffled grunt.  She heard the click of a round being chambered and ducked. A melee of rounds tore across the side of the SUV and caught Nikita, his legs jerking as the bullets ripped through him.

Not sure where the attack had come from, Angel swung around to see the young mother holding an assault rifle. Maybe it was her frown or perhaps her flashing sapphire eyes, but suddenly she looked familiar.

“Move!” Natalya shouted, jerking the barrel to the left. Angel’s head twisted in that direction and she watched the elderly couple take pot shots at the Chernyy driver and associate.

She flung her head around, searching wildly for Gregor, but he was nowhere to be found. He had ducked back inside the coffee shop. There were muffled screams and shouts coming from inside. They mingled with the distant sound of sirens and became too much.

“Come on, Ahren

She moved, stumbling, her legs numb. Another burst of bullets passed so close she could have touched them had she but lifted her hand. Unconsciously, she grabbed for her sword then remembered she’d left it in DM’s room above the Stone Toad.

“Ahren! Catch!”

Suddenly her blade sailed through the air. Reaching up, she snagged it and unsnapped the leather thong, sliding the blade from its sheath and into Dimitri’s gut, opening him from groin to sternum. The big man slowly crumpled to the sidewalk like fall leaves, silent and soft, his arms thrown wide. She frowned, her gaze focusing on the strange circle tattoo on Dimitri’s wrist. It looked familiar.

Squealing tires made her look up. A glossy black tricked-out, restored Camaro pulled up beside Natalya, its big V-8 engine growling.

“Come on!” the driver shouted, a handsome man with a sun streaked mane of hair floating over his wide shoulders.

Angel stood motionless, unable to believe what she was seeing. She blinked, but nothing changed. She squinted looking at the man. Was he? Yes, he was. The driver was the lead singer from the Stone Toad. What was his name? Ethan? Yeah, that was it. Ethan… Dusk or something there abouts. The thought fled her mind when he lifted a gun and rested the barrel on the glass of the half lowered window. Pointed at her?

“Move, Ahren!” Natalya shouted.

 

Buy Links:

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0153NQXQS

Other Retailers: http://www.cadencedenton.com/product/wetwork-dark-man-case-files-episode-3/

 

cadence-denton

 

Author Biography:

My love of books began in elementary school with Nancy Drew mysteries. By high school, I was immersed in Jane Austin and Georgette Heyer. So, naturally I write dark (and light) paranormal romance, gritty hitmen contemporaries, and time travel. A daughter of the South, I live on the banks of the Mississippi opposite the oldest settlement on the river where I share my writer’s cave with four dachshunds and a slightly ditzy cocker spaniel.

 

Visit my website for more information on all my series and upcoming projects. You may not find everything to your liking but you won’t be bored.
You can reach me at cadencedenton@cadencedenton.com

 

Sign up for Cadence’s newsletter at cadencedenton.com for the latest news, great giveaways, and sneak peeks at new projects.

 

Social Media Links:

Sign up for my newsletter at http://cadencedenton.com

Email: cadencedentonauthor@gmail.com

Website: http://www.cadencedenton.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/cadencedentonauthor

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/CadenceDenton

Instagram: https://instagram.com/cadence.denton/

Independent Author Network: http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/cadence-denton.html

 

 

The Viking’s Witch by @KWilkinsauthor is a #HistoricalRomance Gem! #books #amreading


VikingsWitch-cover

 

Title: The Viking’s Witch

Author: Kelli A. Wilkins

Genre: Historical Romance with Paranormal Elements

Publisher: Medallion Press

 

Blurb:

The Viking’s Witch

 

About to be burned at the stake by her fellow villagers, Odaria does what any betrayed witch facing certain death would do. She calls down a curse. Within seconds, rampaging Norsemen raid the village, capturing everyone except her.

 

But her reprieve is short-lived, and Odaria lands in the clutches of the Norse leader Rothgar. Can she remain true to herself and fight her growing attraction to this domineering man, or will she fall under his influence and be used for his ambitions?

 

After Rothgar witnesses Odaria’s powers firsthand, he strikes a bargain with her. The raven-haired beauty will use her magical abilities to help him with his quest in exchange for safe passage off the isle. But can this cunning woman be trusted, or is she using him to exact vengeance on her village?

 

Together they must fight bloodthirsty villagers, battle a mutinous band of Norsemen, find a missing Norse ship, and learn to trust each other . . . before time is up.

 

 

 

Excerpt:

Odaria scanned the cookroom and spotted a large table piled high with food. Brennan must have been planning a feast to celebrate her death. There would be plenty of meat and beer in the underground storage area. Men liked to eat. The Norsemen must be hungry from their long journey. Mayhap she could offer Rothgar a meal and strike a bargain with him.

 

“Are you hungry?” she asked, cocking her head. “I know where to find food and drink, wood for the fire, clean water, and—”

 

“Hvat ist das plass?”

 

She scowled at him, trying to decipher his words. A few seconds later, she understood. “This is a cookroom. Women in the village prepare meals here. See?” She waved at the iron pots, wooden pitchers, and other cookery items stacked on the shelves around the room. “They make food.”

 

Rothgar rolled his eyes. “Ja. Vat ist dat?” He pointed to the door behind her.

 

“The gathering hall. The men conduct business here. There is a room upstairs for sleeping. The larder, the food and drink, is below,” she said slowly, hoping he’d understand.

 

He nodded and inched closer to her. She tried to move away, but she had nowhere to go. Her back was pressed against the door.

 

Rothgar grinned and cupped her chin in his wide hand. Her heart fluttered. What was he doing? She stared into his eyes as he bowed his head. His rough beard grazed her cheek as his lips lightly brushed against hers.

 

Her entire body tingled, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. The room spun and seemed to grow dim. As everything faded, she had a clear vision of wrapping her arms around Rothgar’s neck and eagerly pulling him close for a kiss. Dizzy, she pitched forward.

 

Rothgar caught her and clutched her to his chest. “Shh,” he soothed, running his hand through her loose hair. “I will not harm you, Odaria.”

 

She relaxed against his broad chest, letting him support her weight. His touch was calming, and she felt safe here, leaning against Rothgar as she would rest against a thick tree. She inhaled deep. Rothgar didn’t stink of rancid sweat like the other men. He smelled clean and salty, like the sea. The scent comforted her. She could almost fall asleep where she stood.

 

Rothgar curled his arms around her ribs. She didn’t protest. In spite of everything, he hadn’t harmed her and he had saved her from that horrible Norseman in the red tunic.

 

After a few moments, her dizzy spell passed, and she gazed at him. “You are not like the others. You are different, Rothgar.”

 

He smiled. “Ja, in some ways. But fear not, Odaria. I will not share you with the others. I wish to have you all to myself.” Rothgar chuckled and winked at her. “Now, show me this food.”

 

“Aye.” She had no choice but to obey Rothgar’s wishes—for now.

 

 

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/The-Vikings-Witch-ebook/dp/B008R5185G/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1375813873&sr=1-1&keywords=Kelli+A.+Wilkins

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-vikings-witch-kelli-wilkins/1112359676?ean=9781605421698&itm=1&usri=kelli+wilkins

 

Other Platforms: http://medallionpress.com/books/the-vikings-witch/

 

Kelli Cliffs

 

Author Bio:

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kelli A. Wilkins is an award-winning author who has published more than 100 short stories, 19 romance novels, and 5 non-fiction books. Her romances span many genres and heat levels.

 

Her trilogy of erotic romance novellas, Midsummer Night’s Delights, Midwinter Night’s Delights, and Ultimate Night’s Delights was released in spring 2017.

 

Loving a Wild Stranger was published in January 2017. This historical/pioneer romance is set in the wilds of the Michigan Territory and blends tender romance with adventure.

 

Kelli’s third Medallion Press romance, Lies, Love & Redemption was released in September 2016. This spicy historical western is set on the Nebraska prairie in 1877.

 

Her writing book, You Can Write—Really! A Beginner’s Guide to Writing Fiction is a fun and informative guide filled with writing exercises and helpful tips all authors can use.

 

Kelli posts on her Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKelliWilkins and Twitter: www.Twitter.com/KWilkinsauthor.

 

She also writes a weekly blog: http://kelliwilkinsauthor.blogspot.com/.

 

Visit her website, www.KelliWilkins.com to learn more about all of her writings, read book excerpts, reviews, and more. Readers can sign up for her newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/HVQqb.

 

Social Media:

Here are a few links to find Kelli & her writings on the web

Amazon Author Page: www.amazon.com/author/kelliwilkins

Website: http://www.KelliWilkins.com

Blog: http://kelliwilkinsauthor.blogspot.com/

Newsletter sign-up: http://eepurl.com/HVQqb

Medallion Press Author Page: http://medallionpress.com/author/kelli-wilkins/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKelliWilkins

Twitter: www.Twitter.com/KWilkinsauthor

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1123678.Kelli_A_Wilkins

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/KWilkinsAuthor/

 

“Just Don’t Tell the Humans…” Destiny Box Set by @LiviaQuinn #paranormal #TuesdayBookBlog


Storm Lake Box Set

 

Title Storm Lake Box Set 1: Destiny

Author Livia Quinn

Genre Paranormal Romance, Paranormal

 

Book Blurb

Welcome to Destiny, or should I say Middle Earth…

 

Ages ago a pact was made between all the supernatural species – shifters, djinn, dragons, vampires and fae – to protect humans. Just don’t tell the humans…

 

Enter Middle Earth. You won’t want to leave.

 

The best buy – three books in one, a great introduction to the Paramortals world of tempestaeries (storm witches), dragons, shifters vampires and fae.

 

Excerpt

Storm Crazy:

I heard a quiet click of metal behind me, spun around and swallowed a startled gasp. I was staring into the barrel of a mean looking gun, and at the other end of that rigid grip was an even meaner looking Jack Lang, the one I hadn’t met until now, a cold-as-ice predator. His knuckles were white but his arm was steady as a granite mountain.
“Where’s…my…daughter?” he growled. One eye actually twitched as silver eyes whitened into pure frost. If he was trying to scare me, he’d succeeded.
A sound rumbled up from his chest like that of an animal. “What have you done with Jordie?”
Recognition came in a flash. I smacked my hand against my forehead. “I knew I recognized her.”
His eyes seemed to take on an angular appearance, brows winging up, but the gun never wavered.

“Woman, you’d better start talking or you’re not going to like my next move.”
Not an animal—a papa-bear.
I’m sorry.”
He gave a snarl of pain and grabbed me. “What do you mean you’re sorry?”
“I mean…” I squirmed in his bruising grip… “I’m sorry I didn’t put it together.”
He roared, “What the hell are you talking about? Where is Jor—”
“She’s at your parents’.” It finally dawned on me; he thought I’d kidnapped his daughter. Zeus’ newborn godling!

 

Cry Me A River:

“What’s a Tempest fairy?” I asked her finally.

“Tempestaerie,” she corrected. “A major Tempestaerie can control the elements, air and water, though they will have some influence over fire and earth. Thus—my rain and lightning bolts, such as they were. Minor Tempestaeries like Paige have no significant talent.”

“Is that an honest assessment or just two kittens fighting over the milk?” I asked.

“Tempe’s understating her potential, Jack.” Dylan said, “In the past they’ve been known to call down asteroids.”

That got my attention.

Tempe shrugged. “It’s not all catastrophic drama though. A storm faerie, as we’ve been called, can turn into anything associated with weather.” She was quiet for a minute then her gaze met mine, her voice turned soft, sad. “I just remembered—when I was in my first week at school I think, it had been raining for days—the principal’s assistant came to my teacher and handed her a pair of black boots. There was a note in them from my mother. It said, “So your little feet will be dry and I can keep my girl close.” Her eyebrows dipped as tears flooded her eyes. “She’d turned into a pair of boots, and I walked around with her on my feet all day… long.”

Aurora said, “It was all Phoebe could get away with—”

A few splats of water were the only warning we had before a gentle rain began to fall on every surface of Aurora’s workroom. “Oh, dear. It’s getting quite unpredictable,” Aurora said as she wiped the rain from her eyes.

 

Eve of Chaos:

For the rest of the evening, no matter where she was, if she turned her head, and looked across the expanse of revelers she’d find his eyes locked on hers, as if he’d been waiting for her to turn. Once, she turned back toward the bar but it was oddly clear, only Flambe´ standing there, framed by the oak counter, one of his swords standing in front of him on its hilt, the tip nearly reaching the Knight’s chest. He’d been cleaning it, shining and stroking the deadly edges with a cloth, so intimately acquainted with them that he wasn’t even watching.

 

His attention was all on her, the rims of his eyes lined like a predator’s, causing her to shiver briefly, but if that look was for her, he should know she was not prey. By her very nature, predators were her enemy. And still she felt the pull of pure heat as if they were connected in some way.

 

Sometime after Tempe and Jack left, the orchestra had suddenly stopped playing the zydeco music and the unlikely strains of a minuet had filled the room. Everyone looked up in surprise. Then as it had when he entered, the crowd split, giving the swordsman a wide berth as he strode purposefully across the ballroom floor toward Montana’s side of the room, his gaze locked on hers the whole way. Surely… she broke the contact to search the area around her, but there was no one nearby. He was coming for her. Her Dinnshencha reared up, readying for this formal meeting. It seemed impossible that she hadn’t actually met him yet.

 

Buy Links

https://liviaquinn.com/product/box-set1-destiny/

 

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25376702-destiny-storm-lake-box-set-1?

 

Livia Quinn Head Shot_M9A0603 square sml copy

 

Author Biography

Livia Quinn is a DC native who lives by the bayou in Louisiana. She believes in the power of love. To see excerpts from all her books visit https://liviaquinn.com

 

Social Media Links

Blog: https://liviaquinnwrites.com/livias-ramblings

Her new Website: http://liviaquinn.com

Facebook http://www.facebook.com/liviaquinnwrites

Twitter    http://twitter.com/liviaquinn

Pinterest http://pinterest.com/liviaquinn

Goodreads http://bit.ly/22VXuev

Livia’s Author Central page http://amzn.to/1T5qmhN

Google+ http://bit.ly/2guNZn9

Linkedin http://bit.ly/2dbYAP2

Instagram http://instagram.com/liviaquinnauthor

Independent Author Network http://bit.ly/2dlAr8L

Livia Quinn’s Facebook Reader Group http://bit.ly/2gBFQ12

 

Fox the Player by @NanaMalone Book Blitz 18+ #romance #hockey @XpressoTours


Fox
Nana Malone
(The Player, #4)
Publication date: April 11th 2017
Genres: New Adult, Romance, Sports

Money, power, prestige…washout. Fox Coulter is…the Player.

There is no Plan B for Fox. All he has is hockey. All he’s ever had is hockey. That and his best friend, Sasha. So when she’s up rent creek with no roommate, it’s Fox to the rescue. But, with the opportunity of a lifetime on the line will his hotter-than-sin-best friend be more of a distraction than his lucky charm?

Sasha Tenison believes everyone should have rules. Rules like:

· Don’t ogle your best friend while he works out shirtless. It doesn’t matter how many muscles or tattoos he has.

· Don’t fantasize about what he tastes like, even if it’s been years since anyone’s kissed you.

· Don’t sleep with your best friend just because he’s hot, sexy, and the only one to ever believe in you.

Breaking even one of these rules will ruin everything. But one toe curling kiss from Fox and she’s ready to change her name to Rule Breaker.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks

18+ EXCERPT:

This is just a kiss. Fox’s thoughts swirled in his head. Liar.

He gently brushed his lips to hers. There was an immediate spark.

What the hell?

Instead of pulling back, Fox chased that spark. Sasha parted her lips in a gasp, his tongue sliding into the warm depth of her mouth, asking hers to play. When she stroked her tongue against his, he moaned. He couldn’t help it. He deepened the kiss while his hand slid from her jaw into her hair.

Sasha reached up, her arms winding around his neck. Her fingers teased the hair at his nape.

Oh, hell, Fox thought. This was not supposed to—

Sasha arched her back into the kiss, pressing her breasts firmly against his body, and Fox lost total control as he continued to chase the spark as if it were pulling her further and further into him. He dove headfirst into the abyss.

The two of them had just entered completely uncharted territory. It started from something silly. Now it was all too serious. He leaned her backwards, both of them shifting and sliding until she lay along the length of the couch, Fox over her, his hips nestled between her thighs. His lips never leaving hers.

His dick rested against her burning heat as he pressed against her, begging her to let him in. His mind sought any remaining shred of control, but it was long gone. Sasha, his best friend, tasted fucking incredible. He couldn’t help but gently rock his hips against her, and what do you know, Sasha widened her legs to give him more room.

He held himself slightly above her, so as to not crush her with his full weight. All the while she rocked her hips up, seeking more of him, and he couldn’t help himself. In the matter of a minute they had gone from friendly kissing to desperately pawing at each other and he slipped his hand under her tank top.

She’s so damn soft. I just want a taste of her belly button, and up along the bottom of her ribcage.

Sasha arched up as if inviting him. God, yes. He wanted to slide his hand up farther still, cupping her fullness in his palm. He wanted to see how well they fit together. The thought had been clawing at him for so long. The alarm bells blared, but the devil on his shoulder just shouted over the din. Go on. Cup her. You know you want to. She wants it too. She wants your hands on her. Your thumbs on her nipple. But somehow rationality prevailed, and he just barely managed to keep from sliding his palm up over her full curves.

It took his lips longer to get the memo though. When they finally did, they staged a small mutiny before he dragged them away from hers as gently as he could. He kissed along her jaw-line and had to force himself to sit up and back away…all the way over to the far side of the couch. Whatever the hell had happened here was very dangerous. Destructive.

He couldn’t live without Sasha, he needed her like he needed to breathe. He knew what he was like, so he wasn’t going to ruin this by taking it to a point of no return. He took her hand and tugged her into a sitting position.

“Now that’s how that dipshit should have been kissing you.” he said before settling back against the couch like she hadn’t just rocked his whole world upside down.

Author Bio:

USA Today Best Seller, Nana Malone’s love of all things romance and adventure started with a tattered romantic suspense she “borrowed” from her cousin.

It was a sultry summer afternoon in Ghana, and Nana was a precocious thirteen. She’s been in love with kick butt heroines ever since. With her overactive imagination, and channeling her inner Buffy, it was only a matter a time before she started creating her own characters.

While she waits for her chance at a job as a ninja assassin, in the meantime Nana works out her drama, passion and sass with fictional characters every bit as sassy and kick butt as she thinks she is.

Want to know when the next book is coming? Hit up her Newsletter here. You’ll only get updated when there is a new release or a special promotion for her Sexy, Sassy Readers. http://eepurl.com/2PeXb

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

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Betting On Kincade by @devonmckay2014 #romance #westernromance #TWRP


BettingonKincade_w10191_750

 

Betting On Kincade by Devon McKay

Genre: Contemporary Western Romance

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

 

Blurb:

Everyone Cassie Wilcox loved is gone. And now, thanks to her drunken stepfather, her house and family business will be taken from her, too, unless she can find a way to buy back the ranch from the new owner. With less than two months to come up with money she doesn’t have, her options are running out, and apparently, her common sense as she rents out rooms to an eclectic group of strangers.

 

Returning home for Dalton Kincade is bittersweet. Not a damn thing has changed. Two years on the rodeo circuit weren’t able to shake free the memory of the feisty redhead who’d broken his heart into a thousand pieces. Nor the sting of her parting words…Never trust a Kincade.

 

Winning her beloved ranch in a drunken bet is the last thing he expected to happen, but at least he saved it for her. Now, he has to figure out how to break that news to a woman who never wants to see him again. Renting a room in the house he now owns might be a risk, but it’s nothing compared to betting his heart on winning back the love of his life.

 

Excerpt:

“Are you going to play or just sit there?” Gary Evans slurred in drunken angst as he kicked back his chair and leaned over the table. Not waiting for a reply, he picked up the crisp piece of paper lodged between them, waved it in the air, and then, slammed the deed to the Wilcox land back down on the hard pressed wood.

Cautiously, Dalton stationed a deadly stare on the intoxicated fool and noted the shimmering of glee highlighting the steel gray of the man’s eyes. Tapping the top card, he slowly trailed his finger along the swirled red print.

He was a loser no matter the outcome. Should’ve just walked away. Ignored Gary’s foolish bet and the taunts that followed once the hook had been set. It wasn’t as if Cassie would appreciate his effort anyway. Regardless, he couldn’t walk away and let her lose it all.

Clenching his jaw, he folded his fingers around the squared edges and paused before picking up the pile.

“Read ‘em and weep,” Gary squealed gleefully as he tossed his cards next to the deed. “Four deuces.” He stumbled from the end of the table, closing the gap between them in one stride, before managing to shove a quadruple of stubby digits in front of Dalton’s face. “Four.”

Dalton studied his hand with guarded fury, then stifled the drunkard’s premature victory with a flick of his wrist.

 

Buy Links:

Amazon US https://www.amazon.com/Betting-Kincade-Devon-McKay-ebook/dp/B01MQXJWK9

Amazon CA https://www.amazon.ca/Betting-Kincade-Devon-McKay-ebook/dp/B01MQXJWK9

Amazon UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/Betting-Kincade-Devon-McKay-ebook/dp/B01MQXJWK9

Publisher http://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/paperback-books/4921-betting-on-kincade-paperback.html

 

Inger

Devon McKay Bio:

Devon McKay writes contemporary romance with a western flair. If she’s not writing, she’s busy with chores on her small ranch, working on a stained glass project or walking one of her three dogs through the woods. Her greatest joy is putting a smile on a readers face and hearing from fans.

Please check out Devon’s website at: http://Authordevonmckay.com  or contact her by email at: dev.mckay@yahoo.com . You can also follow her on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/DevonMcKay2014

and on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/devonmckay2014

#CoverReveal — Fat Girl Begone! by @denaehaggerty #romance #romanticcomedy


FatGirlBegone_final

 

Title: Fat Girl Begone!

 

Author: D. E. Haggerty

 

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance

 

Book Blurb:

I’m a total mess. My boyfriend dumped me – get this – because I diet too much. Not because I’m fat, mind you. Of course, this spurs me into the diet-fitness-revenge-plan of the century, which leads me to the gym and a scorching hot personal trainer. I even manage to make some cool new friends, including a millionaire if you can believe it. Things are looking up! Naturally, that’s the moment my ex decides he wants me back, the personal trainer asks me out, and my millionaire male buddy decides to throw his hat in the ring. But that’s not enough drama. No, not for me. Because I’ve also lost my job and decided to start my own business. Just call me Ms. Drama.

 

Warning: Bad language, bumpy roads, and embarrassing moments ahead. But there’s also more than a bit of romance and even, if we’re lucky, love. Fingers crossed.

 

Not endorsed by or affiliated with any brand of tequila.

 

FGBteaser1

 

Excerpt:

Carter is changed into street clothes by the time I join him at the entrance to the gym. He’s wearing jeans with more holes than material and a Star Wars t-shirt with a picture of a storm trooper and the words ‘Chicks dig the uniform’ printed underneath.

 

“In case anyone was confused about whether you’re a geek or not?” I raise an eyebrow at him as I try not to laugh out loud. Or at least not too loud.

 

He shrugs. “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”

 

“Okay. A well-rounded geek who can quote Oscar Wilde.”

 

“That’s Oscar Wilde?” He winks. “Come on. There’s a little bar next door.”

 

We quickly walk to the bar where I am obviously not the only person enjoying the pleasure of athleisure apparel. “Someone took the whole location, location, location advice and ran with it.” The place is the standard model of a sports bar except it’s not full of men getting off work and catching a game on the big screen. Nope. The place is packed with people telling themselves that the calories in the beer don’t count if they worked out first. At least that’s what I plan on telling myself.

 

Carter puts his hand on the small of my back and gently leads me to a small high table to the side of the bar. “Tequila?”

 

I shake my head. “Not unless you want to find out if this high table can support my weight when I decide to dance on it.”

 

He looks under the table and studies the joints. “Looks like it can take it.”

 

“Are you an engineer as well as Star Wars aficionado?”

 

He shrugs. “Does software engineer count?” I ignore his question and ask for a beer.

 

“So,” Carter starts as he sets down two extra-large frosty mugs of beer. “What’s going on?”

 

I shrug and take a long pull on my beer. “It’s just been a really tough week.”

 

“You looked pretty happy when you finished with your personal trainer on Wednesday.” Is that a jealous tone I detect? I study Carter’s face, but he keeps his expression neutral as he takes a drink from his mug.

 

“Just some issues at work.”

 

“Anything I can help with?”

 

I bark out a laugh. “Not unless you have $150,000 you can part with.”

 

“I can loan you the money if you like.” He says the words as if it’s no big deal to have access to that kind of money. Who is this guy?

 

“Do you really have that kind of money?” I slap my hand over my mouth when I realize what I just asked. “Forget I said that. I’m sorry.”

 

Carter shrugs. “I’m not. It’s no secret that I have some money. If you need it, all you have to do is ask.”

 

I lean forward and study his face for signs he’s pulling my leg. “Oh my god, you’re not kidding. You do have the money.”

 

He raises an eyebrow at me. “You really don’t know who I am?”

 

Is that some kind of trick question? “You’re Carter.” I point to his t-shirt. “Lover of Star Wars. I’m still in suspense about whether you love Star Trek as well.”

 

“You’ll just have to wait to find out.” He winks before leaning back. He stares at me and remains quiet for longer than is comfortable. Finally, he shrugs. “You may have heard of my company. Carter Enterprises.”

 

“So, you do love Star Trek!”

 

FGBteaser2

 

Buy Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Fat-girl-Begone-D-E-Haggerty-ebook/dp/B06XTSHJHB/

 

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/714063

 

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fat-girl-begone-de-haggerty/1126081046?ean=2940154089385

 

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/nl/en/ebook/fat-girl-begone

 

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/fat-girl-begone/id1221566707?mt=11

 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34683994-fat-girl-begone

 

 dena-haggerty

 

Author Biography:

I grew-up reading everything I could get my grubby hands on from my mom’s Harlequin romances to Nancy Drew to Little Women. When I wasn’t flipping pages in a library book, I was penning horrendous poems, writing songs no one should ever sing, or drafting stories which have thankfully been destroyed. College and a stint in the U.S. Army came along, robbing me of free time to write and read, although on the odd occasion I did manage to sneak a book into my rucksack between rolled up socks, MRIs, t-shirts, and cold weather gear. After surviving the army experience, I went back to school and got my law degree. I jumped ship and joined the hubby in the Netherlands before the graduation ceremony could even begin. A few years into my legal career, I was exhausted, fed up, and just plain done. I quit my job and sat down to write a manuscript, which I promptly hid in the attic after returning to the law. But being a lawyer really wasn’t my thing, so I quit (again!) and went off to Germany to start a B&B. Turns out being a B&B owner wasn’t my thing either. I polished off that manuscript languishing in the attic before deciding to follow the husband to Istanbul where I decided to give the whole writer-thing a go. But ten years was too many to stay away from adopted home. I packed up again and moved to The Hague where I’m currently working on my next book. I hope I’ll always be working on my next book.

 

Fat Girl Begone! is my eleventh book.

 

 

Social Media Links:

Website: http://dehaggerty.wordpress.com

Blog: https://dehaggerty.wordpress.com/category/mymusings/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/dehaggerty

Twitter: https://twitter.com/denaehaggerty

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dehaggerty/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7210211.D_E_Haggerty

Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/D.E.-Haggerty/e/B00ECQBURU/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_5?qid=1438239628&sr=8-5

Newsletter signup: http://eepurl.com/bbmdj9

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+DEHaggerty/posts

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/denahaggerty/

Email: dena@dehaggerty.com

“Please don’t let me kill a tourist” Ukulele Murder by @LeslieLangtry #99cents #cozymystery


UkuleleMurder

 

Title:  UKULELE MURDER

Author: Leslie Langtry

Genre:  Cozy Mystery

Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing

 

Book Blurb: 

Nani Johnson thought she had it made when she moved from Kansas to the resort town of Aloha Lagoon, Kauai. In spite of her certifiably crazy mom, Nani is determined that nothing will stop her from becoming a ukulele virtuoso! Unfortunately her Julliard training doesn’t help her break into the local music scene due to some heavy competition from the Terrible Trio—three hostile, local musicians. The only work she finds is a few bar mitzvahs and gigs at the kitschy Blue Hawaii Wedding Chapel.

But when one of Nani’s competitors drops dead right after a public feud, Nani becomes the police’s main suspect. A missing murder weapon, mysterious threats, and a heck of a frame-up job all have Nani worrying she’ll be trading in her flowery muumuus for prison orange. Enter hunky local botanist Nick Woodfield, who just might be able to help her clear her name…that is if he doesn’t have secrets of his own. With the bodies stacking up, the danger closing in, and the authorities circling, Nani must track down a killer…before she ends up the latest victim of the Ukulele Murderer!

 

99 CentsSale

 

Excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

 

If anyone requests “Ukulele Lady,” I’m out of here. I’m not going to do it. Not again. Not for the millionth time. Is that the only song tourists know? Yeesh. Please, tiki god of the Ukulele, don’t let me kill a tourist today.

 

“‘Ukulele Lady!'” a dumpy, middle-aged man in a Frankie Goes to Hollywood T-shirt screams. He gives me a knowing nod with his balding head to indicate he’s the only one in the room who knows true Hawaiian culture.

 

I hate him. I imagine bludgeoning him with my koa wood uke.

 

But I don’t. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of koa wood? Well…I don’t know either, but I’d guess it isn’t easy.

 

Instead, I play the damn song—smiling as I imagine shoving his pineapple drink up his…

 

The crowd cheers as I perform. I know—it’s not so bad having an adoring audience. But this isn’t the audience I want. This is Judah Horowitz’s bar mitzvah. One of the few gigs I could get in Aloha Lagoon.

 

My name is Hoalohanani Johnson. My mother, Harriet Jones Johnson, is a bit of a Hawaiian-obsessed nut. It’s so bad that it’s to the point where she believes she is the reincarnation of a Hawaiian princess and says that my name came from a dream from an ancestor god. In reality, it probably came from the bottom of a rum bottle.

 

To her endless annoyance, my redheaded, green-eyed mom comes from a long line of English ancestors and grew up in Kansas. Dad was a third-generation blond, brown-eyed German whose name was shortened to Johnson due to the inability to pronounce whatever the name really was. Neither of my parents had ever been to Hawaii until Mom and I moved here after Dad died.

 

I go by Nani. And I now live in Aloha Lagoon on the Hawaiian island of Kauai, with my mother, who now calls herself Haliaka and dyes her hair and eyebrows a ridiculous shade of black that does not look natural. I’ve never understood where my dark-brown hair comes from, but I look more native than she does. Always dressed in a muumuu, Mom wears hibiscus flowers in her hair and hangs out on my lanai, singing island songs all day and night, much to my neighbors’ dismay. Sigh.

 

I finish my set, tell the crowd “aloha,” and am cut off by the DJ who decides suddenly to play a gangsta rap song.

 

“Thank you!” Gladys Horowitz of Trenton, New Jersey, and Judah’s mother, slips an envelope into my hands before running to the dance floor to shimmy disturbingly. Thirteen-year-old Judah hangs his head in shame.

 

I make my way through the crowd to the bar and order a decidedly un-Hawaiian vodka tonic.

 

“Here’s the ten bucks I owe you.” The bartender smiles, handing me money.

 

I gulp my drink, slapping an empty glass on the bar. “I told you, someone requests it every time.” I take his money and head to my car. My shift in hell is over.

 

 

BUY LINKS (99c Sale April 10 – 16, 2017):

Amazon: http://a.co/hGWKKn7

 

B&N:  http://bit.ly/1TlQ0MC

 

iBooks:  http://apple.co/1Vo1WRB

 

Google Play:  http://bit.ly/2lPwb4f

 

Kobo:  http://bit.ly/2n7E1qY

 

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/1Sx66mq

 

Print: http://bit.ly/2lxqZqd

 

Leslie Langtry

 

Author Biography:

Leslie Langtry is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Bombay Greatest Hits Series, Merry Wrath Mysteries & the Ukulele Mysteries. She lives in the Midwest with her family and an alarming menagerie of pets. She loves cake.

 

Social Media Links:

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/LeslieLangtry

Twitter https://twitter.com/LeslieLangtry

 

 

Queen of Emeralds by Kelsey McKnight @KelseyMMcK Book Blitz #historicalromance #giveaway #books


Queen of Emeralds
Kelsey McKnight
Published by: Limitless Publishing
Publication date: April 4th 2017
Genres: Adult, Historical

 

British heiress Charlotte Holloway never had any interest in marrying…

 

However, a woman in Victorian England spends her life in the control of men, making finding a husband necessary. Fearing his daughter losing everything when he dies, Charlotte’s father forces a match with an old friend, Richard Howard. But Richard is much more interested in an heir than a wife, and will do anything to continue his bloodline.

 

Beaten and battered, Charlotte sees no way out of the union…

 

Then the handsome Scottish laird Conner MacLeod crashes the social scene. He sets her body on fire with a mere touch, but he has a bad reputation of leaving a string of women in his wake. Nonetheless, when Conner offers his emerald queen sanctuary in his Highland castle, Charlotte flees with him into the night, escaping her marriage. But those who wish to trap her are never far behind.

 

The Highlands give her hope, but fill her life with new perils…

 

She and Conner begin growing closer, although the shadows of his former relationships haunt her. Still, the magnetic forces that pull them together are making it harder for her to stay away. And just as Charlotte is beginning to settle into her life, she learns someone wants her gone for good and will do so…by any means necessary.

 

When Charlotte escapes one marriage only to find herself on the cusp of another, will she ever be free?

 

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble

EXCERPT:

When Penelope was whirled away for a dance by some lord’s youngest son, Charlotte took the opportunity to slip away from the crush and make a hasty exit out to a balcony door. Her head had begun to spin and she feared she might be sick from the drink if she couldn’t get out of the stifling crowd. The balcony was large and its stone railing wrapped around most of the lavish building her father owned. The new electric streetlights illuminated the foggy London streets with a dim yellow glow. The large glass doors that led inside did surprisingly much to mute the loud music and Charlotte was grateful for the cold winter breeze and bit of privacy the balcony offered.

She pulled off the long white gloves she wore and leaned against the railing, inhaling large gulps of fresh air. “How I wish this was all over,” she whispered to the empty streets.

“How can ye wish your own party to be done?” A deep voice asked from the most shadowed of corners.

Charlotte turned around, her light purple skirts flying with the quick motion. “Who’s there?”

A tall man stepped from the darkened place where he had sat on a stone bench. His loose blond hair brushed his shoulders and his blue eyes seemed to flash brightly in the dark. He wore a black military jacket and a sharp yellow and black kilt that looped about his shoulder and was fastened with a silver and emerald pin. Traditional high socks covered his strong legs. A short sword was fastened to his hip by a rugged leather belt and his hand lay casually on its silver hilt. “Conner MacLeod. Chief o’ the MacLeod clan.”

“Charlotte Holloway, daughter of the Duke of Glenwood,” Charlotte answered, stunned by the strange dress and deep Scottish lilt. She wasn’t sure where he had come from, as he certainly would have stood out in the crowd of morning coats and ball gowns. She tried to advert her eyes from the bare swatch of leg that showed between his socks and kilt but could hardly bring herself to look away.

“I know who ye are, of course. This entire party is in your honor. But, I must ask…why do ye wish it over so soon?”

“I’m not much for balls.”

“A pretty lass like you? How can ye no’ be much for balls?” His lips curled in a mischievous smirk. “Do you not like the pomp and circumstance?”

Charlotte felt her cheeks grow warm and she wasn’t sure if it was from the drink or the way the Scotsman looked at her from under his dark lashes. All the same, she sensed in him a kindred spirits of sorts. “I’m not much for society at all. I’d rather be out riding or reading a good book than be stuffed in this dress meeting every eligible bachelor in the city.”

He laughed deeply. “I admire your honesty. Not many lasses are willin’ to admit when a party does no’ suit them.”

“I assume the party doesn’t suit you much either?”

“Not much. Us Scots have been tryin’ to be more respected in our own right. One o’ the ways to do that is to spend a bit o’ time with the English. Make them see we’re not all barbarians.”

“Ah, fraternizing with the enemy?” Charlotte could almost hear Penelope chastising her for speaking so familiarly to a man, and about politics at that!

“Ye could say that.” He brushed his hands through his hair and leaned against the railing beside her, looking over the side. “Ye aren’t cold out here in the night air?”

“No, I rather like being outside no matter what the weather is.” She took another deep breath. “Besides, I do think I drank a bit too much punch.”

“And danced with a few too many borin’ men, most like.”

She giggled, despite being told a hundred times by Abigail that it was very unladylike to do so without shielding your face with a fan. “I suppose that might have something to do with it. But, that’s the job of a duke’s daughter.”

Conner stepped toward her and extended his hand. “Well, since we are both trapped at this comin’ out party, we may as well have a bit o’ fun. Fancy a dance, Lady Glenwood?”

Charlotte took his rough, warm hand in her own. His palms were worn, much unlike those of English gentlemen with their silky smooth hands kept clean in powdered gloves. This man was obviously used to physical activity and hard work. She kept their hands together before remembering she had removed her gloves and left them on the railing. “Oh, I’m sorry!” She pulled away from his grasp before slipping her fingers inside her gloves once more.

“You ladies and your gloves. Scared o’ touchin’ anythin’ without a barrier o’ silk?” he teased.

“I hate them, personally. However, one must play the part at times.”

“And what part are ye playin’?”

“The part of a dutiful daughter.”

“Then it looks to me that you are doin’ a right fine job.” He offered his arm, which she gladly took. “Now, my lady, let’s go have us a dance.”

***

The room hushed slightly as Charlotte entered on Chief Conner MacLeod’s arm. Penelope watched, wide-eyed, as the couple began a lively waltz with the other colorful pairs of dancing guests. Conner was an animated dancer and whirled Charlotte around the floor with surprising ease for someone as rugged as he. She was enjoying herself so greatly that she hardly notice the strange looks some of the guests gave them, nor the look of disapproval on Abigail’s tightly pinched face.

His hands clutched her closely, perhaps closer than was really appropriate. He grinned with the self-confidence that only good-looking men rightly had and gazed at Charlotte with true merriment in his sapphire eyes. Conner didn’t attempt the usual small talk that most men would try during a dance, but just let their mutual joy at having a fine partner fill in the silence between them.

“What a crowd,” Conner whispered into her ear as the music winded down and the dancing couples slowed to a halt. “Ye would think they’d never seen a pair o’ dancers before.”

Charlotte felt a chill go up her spine that she tried to ignore. “I suppose your appearance has caused quite the titter. I must say, we do not see very many Scottish Lords and it always is the surprise.”

“I suppose the man approachin’ us would agree with ye.”

“I am here to collect my dance.” Richard Howard’s monotone voice greeted Charlotte’s back.

Conner dipped a short bow and lightly kissed Charlotte’s hand. Even through the silk of her glove, she felt the heat of his mouth on her skin. “A pleasure, my lady.”

Charlotte blushed again and felt bold enough to ask, “If you stay longer, perhaps we might dance again?”

“Perhaps,” he answered smoothly as he backed away into the crowd. “Perhaps.”

 

 

Author Bio:

 

Kelsey McKnight is a university-educated historian from southern New Jersey. She has married her great loves of romance, history, and literature to create her newly finished works. Her first books, “The Scottish Stone Series”, are coming in April of 2017 by Limitless Publishing. Book one is titled “Queen of Emeralds”, and is available now. “The Scottish Stone Series” take readers on a journey through the bustling streets of Victorian London and into the lush hills of the Scottish Highlands. Her second book, a contemporary romance titled “The Non-Disclosure Agreement”, will also be available in May of 2017 and feature a bad boy politician and the small town girl that could change his ways. When she’s not writing, Kelsey can be found reading, drinking too much coffee, spending time with her family, and working on two nonprofits.

 

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

 

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Meet @RobShackleford and his New Release, Traveller Inceptio #books #SFF #amreading


 Rob_Shackleford_1

 

As many of you know, I love reading historical fiction. The reason? I love learning about history through the eyes of people who experienced it.  History comes alive, if well-researched and well-written. I first met Rob Shackleford a few months ago and was instantly intrigued. I convinced him to sit down with me for an honest interview. I’d ask some pretty tough questions and he’d have to answer them. It’s my great pleasure to introduce Rob Shackleford to the POTL Blog. Please give him a warm welcome. Take it away, Rob:

 

What is your writing process?

Perhaps the most important part of my process is research. My story involves detailed descriptions of the English Saxon world of around 11th Century. It also involves the Special Forces troops who are sent there. This has meant intensive research into both areas, ie History and the military. When it came to the 11th Century Saxon community, I had to learn what they ate, what were their attitudes to religion, what their homes were like, how they dressed, even their attitudes towards sex. Everything had to be researched to make the story stand up to any sort of scrutiny, especially scholarly scrutiny. Only then can the story be told with any degree of reliability.

 

Once the research was completed in the areas I targeted, the story could unfold. Many times I discovered I was writing the narrative in a direction I didn’t realise it would take. That then required more research. In my attempt to make the story as realistic as possible, the story involved some surprising developments, that is, it was surprising to me.

 

Once the story was told, I went back to rewrite, to improve grammar, description, and then develop speaking parts, which allowed for more character development and fine tuning of the events in the story.

 

Just as your books inspire authors, what authors have inspired you?

I have always enjoyed the mind-broadening aspects of great science fiction works, so some of the classic authors such as H. G. Wells, Arthur Clarke, Robert Heinlein and Frank Herbert are just a few of the many who allowed me to submerge into bold new worlds and ideas. I have grown to better appreciate the difference between great storytelling from authors such as Stephen king, to true wordsmiths who paint a portrait with their breathtaking language, one who comes to mind is Yann Martel for the Life of Pi.

 

Other inspirations are found in islands of Robert Louis Stevenson, the humour of Mark Train, the insight of George Orwell, the razor-sharp social commentary of Jack Kerouac, to name but a few authors who changed the world.

 

I would be remiss not to mention J. K. Rolling and her epic Harry Potter tales, a legend in market adaptation and commercial success.

 

While I feebly aspire to develop my own creative writing skills, I opt to be a story teller, hopefully a great one. One day, I hope the two will merge.

 

What writing advice do you have for other aspiring authors?

Being an author is a tough gig. It takes time and lots of dedication. Most of all it takes belief in yourself, which can be the most challenging task of all. Think of it as a professional sportsperson. Sometimes one is discovered and shoots to the top of the charts, but most of the time any success is through the good, old fashioned hard slog. Even then, luck, or shall I say good fortune, is a part of being discovered.

 

Like most of the arts today, such as the music industry, or art, the process is so much tougher, so much longer. The days of million-dollar first book contracts are long gone.

 

With today’s technology we are so very fortunate to see the emergence of great authors, whether they are best sellers or not. The biggest challenge is to get your work out there, make it shine, and then do the marketing and get exposure. But don’t despair. Write your novel or your poetry. Give birth to your dream, and then learn and go through the process that the world requires of you. Even if you bring delight and inspiration to only one other, it will be worth it.

 

Are you a plotter or a pantster?

It seems I am a bit of both. I have the book’s broad structure in my head and then I develop the characters and chapters one step at a time. I need the broad structure so as to not ramble, but sometimes the story heads in a direction that surprises me. I don’t think it’s ghost writing. At least I hope it isn’t. It’s just describing the responses of humans placed in challenging situations.

 

What are you working on now? What is your next project?

Traveller Inceptio – which means “Beginning” in Latin, as spoken by the clergy in 11th Century England, lends itself to a sequel.

 

I have almost completed the first draft for Traveller Probo, which means ‘to inquire or prove’. All I can suggest is that the success of the English Traveller missions receives intense international attention and envy, causing nations to compete to engage in their own missions to send their own Travellers 1000 years into the past. It’s like a space-race, only a lot cheaper and easier.

 

But is this a wise course of action?  Who can say?

 

Traveller Probo examines the social and political consequences of the English Saxon mission, and how more missions are planned to send more Special Forces historical researchers to the world of 1000 years ago.

 

 

What is the biggest fib you’ve ever told?

Once when working for the media they wanted someone who had driven racing cars to participate in a media race event. Though I was never any kind of media star, I fibbed and said I had the experience and was given the gig. On race-day, I couldn’t even change the gears, but once I was shown I did quite well, as none of the other media participants dared drive fast. I did bounce off the walls a few times and won the race, though the car owner wasn’t pleased as there were bold, new scratches down the side of his nicely painted yellow race-car.

 

It was, I must say, a worthwhile fib.

 

Or

 

Didn’t hurt a bit – after having my teeth ground without anesthetic for caps by a dentist in India. I aged 5 years and dropped 2 kilos from sweat.

 

Do you drink? Smoke? What’s your vice?

Crystallized Ginger, and Licorice (the British type). If you bring that stuff around, don’t expect me to share.

 

What literary character is most like you?

As a kid I was a bit like Tom Sawyer in that I managed to get things … done. When I was about 8 years old I recall being picked on by a kid, so I enlisted the abilities of a big, not too bright kid I barely knew to go into battle for me. They both got into trouble for fighting on the parade ground just as school parade was about to start. I was never picked on again.
My Teacher saw what had happened and, without me knowing, had a chat to my parents. Years later they told me about it. My dad thought it was the funniest thing ever.

 

If you were an animal, what would you be and why?

A cat owned by my partner. She spoils that creature rotten. All I would have to do is avoid being gelded at the vet.

 

What’s on your bucket list (things to do before you die)?

Here’s a few: See a tornado, Scuba dive with sharks – me in a shark cage that is, climb a live volcano, hike a glacier.

 

 Traveller-Inceptio-5x8

 

Title: Traveller Inceptio

Author: Rob Shackleford

Genre: Science Fiction, Historical, Action

Publisher: Book Baby – E Publishing only.

 

Book Blurb:

If you were sent a thousand years into the past, would you survive?

 

With the accidental development of the Transporter, university researchers determine that the device sends any subject one thousand years into the past.

 

Or is it to a possible past?

 

The enigmatic Transporter soon becomes known as a Time Machine, but with limitations.

 

An audacious research project is devised to use the Transporter to investigate Medieval Saxon England, when a crack international team of Special Services soldiers undergo intensive training for their role as historical researchers.

 

The special researchers, called Travellers, are to be sent into what is a very dangerous period in England’s turbulent past.

 

From the beaches of Australia to the forests of Saxon England, Traveller – Inceptio reveals how Travellers soon learn that they need more than combat skills and modern technology to survive the trails of early 11th Century life.

 

 

Excerpt:

Michael makes a chance meeting upon a lonely monk in the depths of the English forest.

The monk stood before Michael and wept in an open-mouthed cry that looked unlike grief or fear but looked more like … joy? He didn’t appear to be as afraid for his life as one would have thought when confronted by an armed man in the depths of the forest.

 

To make matters even more disconcerting, he moved forward until his face was but a hand’s breadth away from Michael. There was an impression of rotten teeth and bad breath, an almost a physical assault from which he immediately recoiled. Many of the monk’s teeth were missing. Obviously, he rarely shaved as his face was covered with stubble that could have been blonde or grey, so the man’s age was almost impossible to determine. Thick, grey hairs and pocked blackheads decorated the end of his bulbous nose as pale grey eyes gazed adoringly up at the newcomer. As the monk wept, Michael froze uncomfortably.

 

Without warning, the monk moved as if to give Michael a hug and it was all he could do to fend the smaller man off with raised hands. Thankfully the small man stopped at the last moment. There was no desire for any close contact with the damp wool that stank heavily. Quickly Michael scanned his surrounds as he realised this monk would be a perfect distraction for brigands, for he was completely immobilised by the man’s emotional reaction. As he watched aghast, the sobbing monk sank slowly to his knees while his tearful eyes never left Michael’s face. Tears poured down his weathered, whiskered cheeks and soon the childlike weeping began to distress. Michael had seen weeping in many places; weeping of mothers for sons, of fathers for children, but nothing quite as mysterious as this. He crouched in front of the monk and reached to touch the man’s grubby hands, his other hand still on his short-sword, just in case.

 

As he reached out, his hand was grasped and held by the monk’s hard, heavily veined hands with swollen arthritic knuckles, hands obviously aggravated by a life of hard physical labour. Before he could react, the monk kissed his hand passionately. He felt the bristly face and a damp slobber of snot and his initial reaction to pull away. He uncomfortably patted the monk’s shoulder and made soothing noises before he retrieved his hand and stood as he encouraged the other to rise. More kisses were threatened, so he hurriedly addressed the monk in Latin, supposing he could speak the lingua franca of clergy throughout Christendom. “Peace be unto you brother,” he said as he gave his slobbered hand a tactful wipe on the seat of his breaches.

 

“And to you” was the automatic sobbed response. There was an accent and the words were understood though, at first, difficult to decipher.

 

“What is your name?” asked Michael.

 

“My name?” the monk asked in a daze as if stunned at such a question. “Oeric, Lord, Brother Oeric,” he replied quietly as he briefly averted his eyes.

 

“Oeric. Greetings Brother Oeric my name is ..” and he paused. He knew it was best to provide his name in a format best suited to the local language. “My name is Michael.” He pronounced it ‘Meekal’ to give the pronunciation that he assumed would suit.

 

At the name, Brother Oeric wailed loudly and again placed his trembling, worn hands over his face. Before Michael could react, the man again fell to his knees and bent to place his face on the leaf litter. Michael again scanned the surrounding forest uncomfortably.

 

Indeed, they were alone.

 

He knelt and awkwardly patted the prostrate Brother Oeric on the shoulder. “Oeric, Brother Oeric, is something wrong? Why do you weep? Come now, stand and tell me, what is the matter?”

 

After a titanic struggle, Brother Oeric managed to retain some control. Rising to his knees he wiped his freely running nose and eyes on the cloth that hung over his chest, a simple square of wool with a head hole that was his scapula, designed to protect his long brown tunic. Michael noted the silver line of snot and decided that if another hug was attempted, that was good enough reason to keep the monk at arm’s-length. Brother Oeric wore a simple, one-piece robe of rough, raw, dark-brown wool that enabled him to blend effectively with the forest. Attached to his scapula was a cowl or large hood to offer protection from snow or rain in a fashion similar to the hood Michael wore on his own cloak. Michael watched the small man clutch his shaking hands together in a moment of muttered prayer before he looked up again. “Lord I give thanks that you are here”, he said with eyes that were again downcast. He paused and gazed adoringly at Michael, a look that was supposed to be a quick glance but which ended in a stare akin to wonder.

 

 

 

Buy Links:

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=traveller+Inceptio

Book Baby Bookshop

https://store.bookbaby.com/book/Traveller—Inceptio

Kobo

https://www.kobo.com/au/en/ebook/traveller-inceptio

Ciando

http://www.ciando.com/ebook/bid-2275297-traveller-inceptio.html?CFID=79ddd9b3-b737-4881-bf49-ea01a6cc5540&CFTOKEN=0&jsessionid=BA4D06F95BB7D448581D807B0D38E62D

 

Author Biography:

An English-born Australian, Rob Shackleford has lived in New Zealand and Papua New Guinea, with a varied career that has included Customs Officer, Scuba Instructor, College Teacher and management roles in too many places.

With degrees in the Arts and Business, he is mad keen on travel, Scuba diving, Family History, martial arts, astronomy, and playing Djembe and Congas.

Rob is father of two and lives on the Gold Coast.

 

Social Media Links:

Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/Rob-Shackleford-631222523675665/

Twitter

https://twitter.com/robshackleford

Pinterest

https://au.pinterest.com/robshackl/

Linked In

https://www.linkedin.com/in/robshackleford/

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Edna and Luna by Gleah Powers @GPWriterArtist #fiction #womensfiction #giveaway


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Title—EDNA AND LUNA

Author —Gleah Powers

Genre—Fiction

Publisher—Vine Leaves Press

 

Book Blurb

Set in the American Southwest, Edna and Luna is the story of two women: a lonely, recently widowed eccentric and a much younger new age healer. Facing old age and a hysterectomy, Edna, at 70, reminisces and ruminates about her losses as she makes unsuccessful attempts to start a new life. She tries to befriend her hairdresser, her gardener and a man she meets at a senior dance who makes sexual advances in the swimming pool. Luna, at 35, ridiculed since childhood for her unorthodox gift of healing, has left a violent husband before moving to a local trailer park. Despite Edna’s initial suspicions that Luna is both out of her mind and after her money, their relationship becomes an odyssey filled with unpredictable depths and discoveries for both women.

 

 

Giveaway—

Enter to win one of two copies of EDNA AND LUNA

Open Internationally and runs April 5 through May 5

Click here to enter: http://gvwy.io/n8lctns

 

 

Excerpt—

Edna wheeled her cart over to the chicken cooler and after scrutinizing the size, weight, date and price, put a three pack of breasts in her cart. She made her way to lemons. She’d had a craving all week for the lemon cake she used to make for Hank on Sundays. As she sniffed one lemon after another testing for sweetness, an unkempt woman appeared beside her and began moving her hands through the air over the pink grapefruits. Her nails were dirty and the joints of her fingers were knobby. Edna had read that that came from too much knuckle cracking. The woman wore a big silver ring with a milky white stone held in place with star-shaped prongs. Edna had seen her in the market before but not this close. Suddenly she felt another twinge in her pelvis and dropped her bag of lemons. She tried the breathing exercise again, but this time it didn’t work. Edna put her hand over her belly and said to the cramp, “Knock it off.”

 

“Were you talking to me?” The tall wiry woman had stringy blonde hair that hung over the sides of her face and Edna could see her nipples through her flimsy top.

 

“No, I wasn’t.”

 

“Am I in your way? I was just checking to see which of these grapefruits wanted to go home with me.” The woman told Edna she’d just moved to town and was scouting the markets in Phoenix to see where she best resonated with the food.

“Are you okay? I noticed you were holding your stomach.”
“I’m fine.”  Edna snapped a plastic bag off the roll above her head.

 

“Are you sure you don’t need some help? I could at least pick out some lemons for you. I just need to touch your arm so I can feel your energy.”

 

“No, thank you.” Edna pulled her shoulders back.

 

“I love that you’re wearing a Christmas tree in the summertime. I do that. Leave my tree up all year long.”

 

“If you must know, it has nothing to do with Christmas. It just so happens December 25th is my birthday. This is a birthday pin.” Edna was tired of feeling obligated to speak and exchange smiles with strangers. Even when she was young, men she didn’t know would come right up to her on a street corner and say, “Smile, honey. It can’t be all that bad.” Now that she was older and a widow, she realized she could get away with things like bumping into people who were in her way or stepping on their feet and then pretending she’d lost her balance, which she decided to do with the barefooted woman now.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

 

“It’s okay.” The woman picked up her foot and began massaging her big toe. “I understand where you’re coming from.”

 

“What? It was an accident.” Edna spun her cart around and headed for the liquor aisle to get her usual half-gallon of Ancient Age. Before checking out, she picked up some frozen dinners and a Sara Lee Fudge cake.  Thank God two people came up behind her in line before the grapefruit woman got there.

 

 

Buy Links—

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Book Depository
Chapters Indigo

 

Kindle AUS
Kindle US
Kindle UK
Kindle CA
iBooks | Kobo | Nook

 

 

Gleah Powers

Author Biography—

Born in Chicago and raised and educated in the American Southwest, Gleah Powers has led a life by turns grounded and nomadic—a perfect preparation for discovering in herself the voices of Edna and Luna. In her early teens, she lived with her grandmother in Phoenix. At 18, she traveled with the production of Michelangelo Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point. (Antonioni, suffering from insomnia, liked that Gleah was a worthy opponent at cards. She even taught him to play gin rummy.) Thereafter she studied art in Mexico City and at Cal Arts in Los Angeles; moved to New York where she worked as an actor, model, bartender and administrative assistant to a wealthy philanthropist; and became an explorer and teacher of alternative therapies. These adventures will be detailed in the memoir she is currently writing. Edna and Luna is her first novel. Visit her website at: www.gleahpowers.com

 

Social Media Links—

https://www.facebook.com/gleahpowersauthor/

https://twitter.com/GPwriterartist

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15429014.Gleah_Powers

https://www.linkedin.com/in/gleahpowers

http://www.gleahpowers.com/media_kit.html

 

 

Curse of the Healer by @AshleyYork1066 #historicalromance #books #MFRWAuthor


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Title:   Curse of the Healer

Author:  Ashley York

Genre:  Historical Romance

 

Book Blurb:

After the death of Brian Boru in 1014, a legend arose of a healer so great she could raise a man from the dead, with a power so strong it could make any warrior the next high king of Éire…and to steal it away from her, he need only possess her. 

 

Fated to be a healer…

 

Aednat has spent her entire life training to be the great healer, knowing she must remain alone. When she meets Diarmuid, the intense attraction she feels toward him shakes her resolve to believe in such a legend. If she gives in to the passion he ignites in her, can she settle for being less?

 

Destined to be his…

 

Diarmuid of Clonascra is renowned for his bravery in battle. Only one thing daunts him: the prospect of taking a wife. The safest course would be to keep his distance from Aednat, the bold, headstrong healer who’s far too tempting for his peace of mind. But his overking orders him to protect her from a group of craven warriors intent on kidnapping her to steal her power.

 

What starts as duty for Diarmuid quickly transforms into something more. Aednat’s power might be at risk, but so is his closed-off heart.

 

Excerpt:

 Aednat scoffed. “I do not believe ye.”

 

He stopped close enough for her to see the tiny lines at the corners of his bright blue eyes and the quirk of his heavy brow before he asked, “And why would ye not believe what I say to ye?”

 

“I do not know ye.” Arrogant! “And who are ye to say what the lad’s punishment should be?”

 

He had long, dark hair. Taller than most, he was probably seldom overlooked, and she had a notion his will was rarely denied. His broad shoulders and warrior’s stance were, no doubt, quite frightening… to some. Then he crossed his arms about his broad chest, tucking a hand under the intricately carved silver band clasping his bare upper arm. A wealthy man, then. Perhaps he was a rí túaithe.

 

“Mayhap ye do not recognize me, but ye should heed my warning.”

 

Any king could order that a little boy be punished with a strip of leather, if he were cruel enough, but it was not an accepted practice. Her grandfather had been a cruel . She’d witnessed one lad, Will, barely older than Lorccán, having his fingers sliced right off his hand for stealing food. Aodh Meic Lochlainn had thought it better that the boy starve to death than steal. Will had become her friend—a fellow outcast in the woods.

 

The stranger’s eyes narrowed and she nibbled her lower lip. She couldn’t back down now. “Well, then, ’tis a good thing ye do not get to decide.”

 

He closed the remaining distance between them in three strides, his face etched in angry lines. She instinctively backed away, half expecting him to grab her arm.

 

“Ye’re a lousy mother… or nurse maid… or shepherdess… or whatever ye are, if ye think ’tis all well and good for a child to put himself in harm’s way as long as he lives to tell the tale.”

 

She recoiled at the insult. Although she was well past marrying age at two and twenty, she was no one’s mother and never would be. With her limp, there would never be a husband or family. Too many fears of children with the same malady. Shepherdess? Did she still bear a resemblance to the folk who lived apart from the villagers? But he hadn’t finished his tirade.

 

“He must be taught to heed the warnings he’s been given if he’s to survive and become a man.”

 

The words stung, thrown at her like a venomous curse. She cared for Lorccán as if he were her own and would never do anything to hurt him. Squaring her shoulders, she refused to show her inner turmoil.

 

“The lad learned his lesson.” She spat the words right back at him.

 

“Ye said yerself he’d be doing it again.” Despite the even keel of his voice, his increasing anger was unmistakable. “Or am I so old and feeble that my hearing is failing me?”

 

Staring in the face of his obvious vitality and strength, she hesitated. A finer specimen of a well-honed man she’d not seen. “I do not really believe—”

 

“NO?” A sheer wall of exasperation now, he waited. His square jaw tensed beneath the shadow of dark stubble. “Mayhap the next time ye’ll find his young body impaled on a rock at the bottom of the cliff.”

 

The menacing declaration, delivered in a low, controlled manner, made her gasp. The image flashing through her mind caused it to reel. She slapped the man’s face so hard, his beard burned the palm of her hand.

 

Aednat froze, horrified at her own reaction. Striking a man was no small offense, and if this man was a , the consequences would be serious. His eyes widened right before he caught her arm and yanked her close. Her breath caught, though his grip was not overly firm. They stood that way for a long moment—his head lowered to hers so they stood nose to nose, his broad chest brushing against her forearm in time with his heavy breathing.

 

His gaze dropped, to slowly follow up her length before settling again on her face.

 

That he continued to study her kept her fully watchful. His features relaxed, but she sensed mounting tension in him. The many possibilities of what he might be thinking flitted through her mind like little mice avoiding a hungry hawk. Outrage. Indignation. Superiority.

 

“I forego the fine I have every right to demand for yer action. Instead, I demand a kiss.”

 

He delivered the words as a man in authority. And he did not look away.

 

A kiss? Heat poured off him, but it was no longer anger riding him. She forced down the lump in her throat, holding his intense gaze as her thoughts raced. She had never been kissed by a man. Or kissed a man, but it was not a high price to pay to dismiss the entire incident.

 

Refusing would certainly result in a steeper demand, and the last thing she wanted to do was to cause any problems for her rí túath and cousin. Sean acted as her father, so any honor price demanded or paid could be half his worth. A king held no special power outside his own túath, but at a gathering this size, ruffling any fine feathers was to be avoided.

 

Aednat glanced at the warrior’s lips. His eyes brightened, and she struggled to breath evenly as she held his gaze, anticipation making a mockery of her show of bravery. She wetted her lips, and his long nose flared ever so slightly.

 

“Aednat!” The sound of Sean’s voice had her exhaling in relief. Her reprieve.

 

One dark brow quirked as if to question her thought.

 

“Here,” she answered, irritated that she sounded desperate.

 

“A timely interruption.” The warrior spoke in a quiet voice, his teeth white against the thick brown beard when he smiled. A satisfied smile. “But I’m a patient man.”

 

She should have slapped him harder.

 

Release Day Giveaway:

Enter to win an e-copy of Curse of the Healer. To enter, just leave a comment in the area below and you’ll get one entry. Ashley York will choose a winner over the weekend and we’ll announce it right here Monday, April 3, 2017.

 

 

BUY LINKSCurse of the Healer:

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Curse-Healer-Descendants-High-King-ebook/dp/B06XC1J99P

iTunes   https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1210186885

KOBO   https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/curse-of-the-healer

 

Ashley York

 

Author Biography:

Aside from two years spent in the wilds of the Colorado mountains, Ashley York is a proud life-long New Englander and a hardcore romantic. She has an MA in History which brings with it, through many years of research, a love for primary documents and the smell of musty old libraries. With her author’s imagination, she likes to write about people who could have lived alongside those well-known giants from the past.

 

Social Media Links:

Website: www.ashleyyorkauthor.com

Email: ashleyyork1066@gmail.com

Twitter: @ashleyyork1066

 

 

#ReleaseDay: Unholy Alliance by @RowlandKathleen #Romanticsuspense #ASMSG #MFRWAuthor


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Title: Unholy Alliance

Author: Kathleen Rowland

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing

 

Book Blurb:

A decade ago, Tori Rourke, and her cousin, Vivienne, ran from the Irish mob after witnessing a brutal murder. Tori was framed by the mob, and while she served time in prison, she worried that the killer, Seamus McGinn, had kidnapped her missing cousin.

Attorney Grady D. Fletcher, defender of the wrongly condemned, appeals Tori’s case and wins her release. Now, going by Victoria Morningstar, she runs a food truck from a seedy waterfront neighborhood, hoping to find her cousin’s kidnapper.

When Grady agrees to defend a new client, Samuel Peterson, who’s been accused of beating to death the wife of a noted professor, the evidence mounts. The professor is missing, as well as his laptop that contains data dangerous to national security.

And Seamus McGinn is back, and rumors of a massive annihilation is about to begin. As they race to assist the FBI, the bonds between Grady and Tori are about to be tested. It becomes clear Grady and Tori are falling fast for each other, but what to do about it is a different story. He’s a divorced dad who wants more time with his kid. She brings danger to his front door.

Grady has questions of his own; Is Vivienne at the center of the mob’s operation? How much will it cost Tori before she learns the truth? All Grady knows is the biggest danger is the one standing right behind you.

 

Excerpt:

“Don’t let the anxiety of freedom consume you.”  Attorney Grady Donahue Fletcher clenched his teeth and rehearsed what he’d say to his client, Victoria Morningstar. He’d won her appeal and drove to pick her up at Gladstone Penitentiary. “At least you won’t be placed in solitary.” That was worse.

 

Six months earlier Grady had phoned a reporter at the Los Angeles Globe. “Drew Barker. Grady Fletcher here.”

 

“Ah, the lawyer. Calling about a tip?”

 

“I am. Here’s something you can investigate. Tori Morningstar, did she murder Irene Brennan?”

 

“I wrote that story many years back,” the journalist had said. “I assume you have new discoveries.”

 

“Fraud, illegal testimony. Do you want the story first?” A second passed. “Otherwise, I’ll call the Orange County Guardian.”

 

“Okay, okay. We want it.”

 

Three days later Grady had a hand in writing the first article in Drew Barker’s column. “The public labeled Tori Morningstar as an undesirable. Not black and poor, but disfavored, accused, incarcerated, and wrongly condemned. Her cellphone has been recovered. Her call to 911 identified her voice and substantiated screams of the victim in the background. Could she have beaten someone while speaking to dispatch at the same time?”

 

The reporter had written the second article. “People who get their ideas about criminal lawyers from TV probably would be disappointed in Grady Fletcher. He lacks flash but stands up straight, his posture neither ramrod nor slouched. He doesn’t smoke, doesn’t wear thousand dollar suits. His voice is soft and low, one of his assets. He speaks truth with a voice inviting confidences.”

 

As nice as that was, Grady’s stomach cramped over pressure and strain from Drew Barker’s final article with the headline, Tori Morningstar, Released Today. Picked up by the online service, Newser, KTLA, and CBS Los Angeles, they planned to broadcast his arrival to escort his client from Gladstone.

 

Tori’s decade-long prison sentence ended today but with a sobering fear over tomorrow.

 

When was a July morning this hot? Grady balanced her release papers on his lap as he rolled up one sleeve then the other while gripping the damp steering wheel. Sweat blossomed on his throbbing forehead, wrapped like a python’s grip. He adjusted the dial for the AC and embraced the challenge of helping another client get back on track. Embrace and conquer. Or at least sound like it.

 

 

Buy Links:

http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Rowland_Kathleen/unholy-alliance.htm

 

Kathy_July

 

Author Biography:

Book Buyers Best finalist Kathleen Rowland is devoted to giving her readers fast-paced, high-stakes suspense with a sizzling love story sure to melt their hearts.  Writing a romantic suspense Irish American series for Tirgearr Publishing, Deadly Alliance is followed by Unholy Alliance with a release date of March 29, 2017.  Keep an icy drink handy while reading these hot stories.

 

Kathleen used to write computer programs but now writes novels.   She grew up in Iowa where she caught lightning bugs, ran barefoot, and raced her sailboat on Lake Okoboji.  Now she wears flip-flops and sails with her husband, Gerry, on Newport Harbor but wishes there were lightning bugs in California.

 

Kathleen exists happily with her witty CPA husband, Gerry, in their 70’s poolside retreat in Southern California where she adores time spent with visiting grandchildren, dogs, and neighbors.  While proud of their five children who’ve flown the coop, she appreciates the luxury of time to write.  If you’d enjoy news,  sign up for Kathleen’s newsletter at http://www.kathleenrowland.com/

 

Social Media Links:

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/786656.Kathleen_Rowland

Amazon Author Page http://www.amazon.com/Kathleen-Rowland/e/B007RYMF7S/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1450835163&sr=1-2-ent

Twitter https://twitter.com/rowlandkathleen

Website https://kathleenrowland.wordpress.com/

Blog http://www.kathleenrowland.blogspot.com

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/romanticsuspense.kathleenrowland/