King Peso
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PROLOGUE
The boys lined up in six squads of seven, dressed in the tomato-red shorts and bleached white shirts of their Hale Jr. High School gym uniforms. It was a bright southern California day, the sun blazing high above the field where the boys were in line. Each squad had a leader who answered to Coach Vince Nieman, who was nothing more than a grown-up boy himself: a has-been, first string high school football player who used to be good enough to land himself a spot on the bench in exchange for a college football scholarship. Now he wasn’t good enough for anything but teaching P.E. Brent’s squad leader was a C- student named Russ Carlton, a bulky, red-haired, freckle-faced bully whom, even in middle school, every one of his teachers would have voted as most likely to become a criminal - that is, except for Coach Nieman, who found his brawn useful for crowd control.Brent hung his head down and filed in. He hated P.E. and made no secret about it.
“You’re a fag, Marquez!” Russ Carlton spouted.
“A dickless fag!” chimed in another.
“You’re a dickless fag who sucks dick!” Now there was a chorus.
“Do it, Steinman!” Russ commanded.
That was the cue for Gary Steinman, a skinny, pathetic-looking kid with a generous brown bush of frizzy, crumpled hair, to fall in line behind Brent. With both hands he grabbed the waistband of Brent’s shorts and underwear and pulled down with all his strength, until they were dangling around Brent’s ankles. Gary’s efforts were rewarded by a cacophony of belly laughter from everyone.
As Brent pulled up his shorts and began to run away, Russ affirmed to the group: “See, I told you he was a fag!”
“Yeah, what a pussy!” exclaimed Gary.
Brent ran past Coach Nieman and into the locker room.
“Where do you think you’re going, Marquez?” asked the Coach. Brent ignored him. Then he turned to Russ. “Carlton, go get Marquez and bring him back out here."
“Come on, Steinman,” commanded Russ as he ran after Brent into the locker room. Steinman followed him like a trained dog.
Brent spun the lock on his gym locker and opened it. The locker room smelled: a combination of the stench of armpits, sweaty balls, and dirty stale socks. He was just putting a leg into his jeans when the two arrived.
“Suit up, Marquez. Coach wants you back out there.”
Brent pretended not to hear Russ and kept putting on his street clothes.
“What are you, deaf, faggot?” asked Steinman.
“I heard you. I’m not going.”
“Get him, Steinman," Russ said as he shoved Gary Steinman into Brent, slamming Brent’s back against the locker. Like a cobra, Brent came back at Steinman, grabbing his left arm, which he twisted behind his back, and applying pressure upward, causing Steinman to wince as he turned and smashed his nose against the locker door.
“Who’s the faggot now, Steinman?” Brent bellowed into his ear.
“Let him go, Marquez, or I’ll fuck you up,” threatened Russ Carlton. Brent ignored Carlton and kept up the pressure.
“What’s going on here?” Coach Nieman’s voice boomed through the locker room. Brent wouldn’t let go. He pushed harder on Steinman’s arm until he thought it would break and ground his face into the locker. Steinman’s wire-rimmed glasses bent at the nose, fell off, and hit the filthy locker room floor.
“No fighting, Marquez. Let him go, now!” barked Nieman. Brent let go of Steinman and gave him a push to the floor. “You two: back outside. Marquez: to the VP’s office, on the double!”
“This isn’t over, faggot!” said Russ, walking backwards and pointing his finger at Brent threateningly.
***
Brent left the Vice Principal’s office with a two-day suspension from school, which was fine by him. It was nothing but a wasteland of adolescent scum, as far as he was concerned. The classes were a joke, and the so-called students seemed to be in a popularity contest over who could be the most ignorant.
As Brent closed the door of his locker and turned around, there stood Russ Carlton and about eight of his friends. What a surprise.
“You wanna fight, pussy?” said Carlton, shoving Brent against the locker, the combination dial digging into his spine. “I’ll kick your ass!” Brent dared not shove back. There were too many of them. He popped back on his feet and Steinman shoved him back into the locker, followed by a body slam from Nate, another push from Joe, and a sock in the stomach from Briscoe.
“You call this a fair fight?” Brent said, gasping for air. “One against five?”
Russ cackled like a chicken. “The Mexican wants a fair fight!”
“I’m not Mexican.”
“Sorry, I forgot. I guess that’s not your brown skin, is it? You must have just rubbed shit all over it.” Russ laughed again, accompanied by his band of delinquents. He leaned into Brent so closely that Brent could smell his dead-fish breath, and he sniffed at Brent’s neck and grimaced.
“Smells like beans to me. How ‘bout you Briscoe?”
Briscoe stuck his big, long nose right under Brent’s earlobe and sniffed.
“Yup, beans and tortillas.”
“It’s official, Marquez: you’re a beaner!” said Russ, and roared with laughter, to the chorus of guffaws and chortles of his entourage.
“Tell you what. Steinman, here, has to earn his wings. Plus, that wasn’t a fair fight in the locker room today.”
“Yeah, he ain’t been initiated yet,” said Briscoe.
“Did I ask you, dog breath? Like I was saying, Steinman needs his first fight. Saturday, 12 noon, Knapp Park. Be there or we’ll come and get you, and I don’t have to tell you what that’ll be like.”
Russ slammed Brent back into the locker and walked away, followed by Steinman and each of the boys, until Brent fell on his butt on the concrete. He picked himself up, dusted off the knees of his filthy blue jeans, and decided right then and there that he would never back down from any bully.
PROLOGUE
He sat at the table, patiently. At first glance, he appeared like any other ordinary person, unless you looked a little bit further. Then you could see that he was different than most people. Oh, he could put on the charm and act like everyone else. But this time, he was staring – an intense, unwavering fixation that made you want to look away, run away.
“You’re pretty brave, you know?”
“Either way, this has to be settled.”
There was a darkness in his eyes – an emptiness so deep that if you were unfortunate enough to catch his gaze, you also caught a chill. Those eyes kept staring ahead – two ebony pools with no reflection; an endless void, a black hole.
“This isn’t a game, you know.”
“I know that better than anybody. You need to call this off, immediately.”
His lips curved upward, as if to form a smile which turned into a sneer. He clenched his fists tightly until his knuckles began to turn red. He was a professional. Being a professional meant not only being skillful at what he did, but also being careful about whom he did it for. And who he did it to. He didn’t like to make mistakes of judgment.
“You’ve really got guts, I’ll give you that.”
“When the stakes are as high as this, you have to. So, do we have a deal?”
“There’re no refunds. That’s a rule.”
“You can keep the money. I consider it well spent.”
He leaned forward across the table, his reptilian eyes still staring forward, expressionless and empty.
“Did you bring the termination fee?”
“Yes. It’s all there.”
A black bag was placed on the table. He opened it and thumbed through it, his eyes all the while fixed. Then a malicious, sardonic grin spread across his lips.
“Then I suppose the contract is terminated.”
“You get numb to it. Numb to death, killing. That’s all I can say. You get numb to the things that happen in war, but you never can forget them. They come back in your dreams after you finally come home and they never leave.”
Slap!
Pull!
Observe!
Release!
Tap!
Squeeze!
Pull!
Observe!
Release!
Tap!
Squeeze!
“SPORT – called the immediate action drill. Helps remind you what to do if your rifle malfunctions. It’s drilled into your head in training. You’re breaking that rifle down and putting it together two hundred times a day and by the time you get over there, you’re doing it like a machine on autopilot. But all that training goes out the window when the first shot’s fired in combat. That adrenalin kicks in, lights you up like a firebomb. But you remember SPORT because that rifle’s the most important possession you’ve got. You’re only alive as long as its in your hands.”
Never surrender as long as there’s a means to resist. And never leave any man behind.
“General Smedley Butler said: ‘War is a racket. It is possibly the oldest, easily the most profitable, surely the most vicious. It’s the only one in which the profits are reckoned in dollars and the losses in lives.’ Well, I know war. Probably better than I know anything. You see in the movies all their charts and maps and plans. But when you hit the ground its pure fucking chaos. The loud thumping of mortar rounds, helicopters buzzing around, rockets exploding, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. Guys getting hit. People screaming, calling out, ‘Medic! Medic!’. Pieces of flaming hot metal flying. Sweating like shit under all that gear, guys screaming, the fucking smoke. The blood, the heat, the flies, the bodies swelling up, the smell.”
“Get small in your foxholes! Air support on the way!”
“They tell us we don’t have to obey any order that’s illegal. Then they tell us if we don’t obey it, we’ll go to jail. Orders come down from the Colonel and I’ve got to give them to my company. Two hundred lives under my charge.”
You have to distinguish between the civilians and parties to the conflict at all times. But, make a mistake and you’ve either killed innocents or you get a whole patrol barraged by rocket propelled grenades and machine gun fire.
“Rules of engagement say you can use deadly force to protect your life. I’ve had to make split-second decisions on who to shoot and who not to shoot. We all have. Some guys have shot people carrying bags of groceries heading toward them because they thought they were insurgents coming to kill them.”
Better to be judged by 12 than carried by six.
“I enlisted on a scholarship – a higher education. I got it, but my real education started after the first deployment. It was then I realized that they we weren’t playing by the rules. We weren’t fighting for honor, for freedom. That was all a lie. But we fought. We fought for our own survival. We fought for each other. For the guy to our left and the guy to our right. I fought for the survival of the entire company. Our goal? To go home.
“I’ve given orders to guys older than me, who’ve seen more action than I have. To sergeants who know more about what goes on outside the wire than I do. I’ve sent the guys out on casualty collection – you’d be talking to your buddy one day, and the next day, you’re picking up pieces of him after he’s been blown to bits by and IED. Some guys have had to shoot dogs who picked up an arm or a leg and wouldn’t let go of it. You do what you’ve got to do because everybody comes home. Dead or alive. We don’t leave anyone behind.”
Captain Ryan Bennington suppressed the tears as the unwanted souvenirs that had been muffled and restrained ascended out of the depth of his memory and flooded his brain as he faced his accusers. Memories that had begun when he was at the top of his graduating class at West Point. Twenty-six years old and with nothing ahead of him but a great future. Two years later, he was carrying the bloody body of an 8-year-old girl as she died in his arms.
Said Eade of the comparisons, "Readers compare me in style to John Grisham and, there are some similarities, because John also likes to craft a story around real topics and we are both lawyers. However, all of my novels are rooted in reality, not fantasy. I use fictional characters and situations to express factual and conceptual issues. Some use the term 'faction' to describe this style, and it is present in all my fictional works."
Eade has written twelve novels, which are now in the process of being translated into six languages. He is known to keep in touch with his readers, and offers a free Kindle book to all those who sign up at his website.
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Meet Darcy:
Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestselling Author of hot, action-packed historical and sexy, emotional contemporary romance. A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-strumming husband, their two hilarious kids who seem to have inherited the writing gene, and three Bengal cats. Visit Darcy online at www.darcyburke.com and sign up for her newsletter, follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/darcyburke, or like her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/DarcyBurkeFans.
About the Book:
Giveaway:
- Duke of Deception Prize Pack filled with the following:
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- Signed copy of The Forbidden Duke and The Duke of Daring
- Jane Austen jigsaw puzzle
- Jane Austen inspired candle
- Pride & Prejudice board book
- Bath salts from author Wendy LaCapra
- Darcy Burke trading cards, bookmark, and cleaning cloth
**International shipping Available**
Justine Montgomery, daughter of a divorced beauty queen and TV magnate, is a tabloid disaster after her infamous sex tape. She’s so desperate to help save her family’s home she turns to her deal-making dad. Can she prove to him she’s cut out for a career in television or will she lose it all?
Sawyer has his own past and a successful career is his only goal. Seeing Justine fail would mean the promotion of a lifetime, but things get complicated when he develops feelings for her. Suddenly, the lines between work, life, sex, and love are blurry.
They will have to overcome the bitterness of a rejected ex, the controlling actions of her father, and the half-truths they’re telling one another to forge a lasting partnership both on the job and off the clock.
He considered her for a moment, searching her face. “I want to get you out of those expensive clothes.”
She froze and took a jagged breath.
Sawyer slid a hand behind her to pull her ponytail over her shoulder and run the curls through his fingers. “I want to mess up your hair, fist it in my hands while I kiss you until you can’t think.”
As he toyed with her curls, Justine blanked. At that second, she’d have said yes to anything he asked of her. She stood to open her door then turned back, unsure what would come out. “I can’t think right now.”
With a tilt of the head, he leaned in. “I’m going to kiss you anyway.”
A voice in the back of her mind told her she was going to have to practice telling this man no. He pressed her to the wall, sucked at her bottom lip, ran his tongue across it. Heat blasted through her.
Sawyer tugged her through the open doorway. He kicked the door shut and backed her against it slowly. Pale streetlight from outside the window cast them in shadows. The weight of how much she wanted him almost crushed her. They kissed and, despite them both being fully clothed, she felt vulnerable. Naked.
His hands pressed flat against the wall beside her, his breathing as uneven as her own. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“Tell me you want me. That you think about me touching you, that it keeps you up at night. Tell me it’s not just me.”
“I do.” Her voice came out fluttery.
He ran a hand through her hair, toying with the ends. “I wonder things, like how you sound when you’re excited and…”
She put a finger to his lips, still moist from their kisses. “Stop saying things like that. I don’t want to know because then I won’t be able to stop thinking about you thinking those things.” She tilted her head back against the wall and steadied a hand on his chest. His muscles bunched beneath her fingers. She needed to think. She needed to process all of this and…
He lifted her hand, nuzzling the sensitive skin on her wrist, which sent a quiver down her spine. When she couldn’t take any more, she withdrew it from his grasp. And Sawyer was there, picking up where he left off, with a leisurely, complete, thorough kiss. And, oh, she kissed him back. How could she not? His kiss, it was everything. Like something in her, that had been off her whole life, snapped into place.
Her heart jittered in her chest and propelled her past the desire, past the panic gnawing inside because she wanted more of him. She wanted to touch him and taste him and be filled by him, but even more beyond that.
Lori Sizemore grew up in the mountains of West Virginia and never quite managed to escape them. Lori lives at home with her husband of twenty-plus years and two of her three daughters. She also lives with two dogs, a cat, and five hermit crabs. Yes, five of them. This menagerie and her family keep her busy. She worked in mental health as a social worker for ten years before making the choice to write full-time.
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Meadows Shore Series
by Eva Charles
GENRE: Contemporary Romance
Prepare to fall in love with the Claytons and Harringtons and their rich Portuguese heritage. A Wedding at Meadows Shore is the first book in the series. In it, you’ll meet the family and visit their beloved Meadows Shore nestled along the moody Atlantic in the charming seaside town of Fair Harbor.
It all begins with Sophie’s story, where she discards the past and learns to trust herself and others. The series follows the lives of her sisters and cousins while they, too, sort through their baggage and fall in love. Travel with them on their romantic journeys, stopping in rural Minnesota, New Orleans, and other enchanted places along the way.
They are wealthy and powerful, but suffer pain and loss much like the rest of us. Even great privilege can't shield them from those experiences. But despite their wealth and power, I think you'll find them approachable and down-to-earth—or as Cole Harrington would say: “We put our pants on one leg at a time, same as everybody else.”
There's an old Portuguese adage, "the rooster crows loudly, but it’s the hen who’s in charge.” And so it is with the Claytons and Harringtons: strong women, alpha males, and of course, Avó Angelina, the family matriarch who keeps them all on their best behavior.
Bem vindo à família, Welcome to the family!
It all begins with Sophie’s story, where she discards the past and learns to trust herself and others. The series follows the lives of her sisters and cousins while they, too, sort through their baggage and fall in love. Travel with them on their romantic journeys, stopping in rural Minnesota, New Orleans, and other enchanted places along the way.
They are wealthy and powerful, but suffer pain and loss much like the rest of us. Even great privilege can't shield them from those experiences. But despite their wealth and power, I think you'll find them approachable and down-to-earth—or as Cole Harrington would say: “We put our pants on one leg at a time, same as everybody else.”
There's an old Portuguese adage, "the rooster crows loudly, but it’s the hen who’s in charge.” And so it is with the Claytons and Harringtons: strong women, alpha males, and of course, Avó Angelina, the family matriarch who keeps them all on their best behavior.
Bem vindo à família, Welcome to the family!
From A Wedding at Meadows Shore:
His voice took on a husky, seductive quality. “The women I date aren’t interested in my body, Sophie. What interests them is how I pleasure their bodies.”
She stared deep into his icy blue eyes and snickered.
Max never missed even the smallest of details. They were often the difference between success and getting your hat handed to you. Tonight, he noticed Sophie’s eyes betray her, even as she mocked him. Her pupils were dilated, the rich, whiskey-colored irises nearly overtaken by black. I have her attention.
Embolden by her body’s reaction, he took a step closer. He was so close that if she’d been breathing, her breath would’ve warmed his skin. “I can bring much more to your bed than my father does. So…much…more…” He drew out the words, emphasizing each in a voice that oozed sex. “And though I’m not an easy man to impress, I’m sure you’d have no trouble persuading me to finance your agency. None at all,” he drawled.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment, maybe two. The air was charged. The silence dangled between them like a ripe peach, fragrant and swollen, tempting the weakest among them to reach for it first.
“What do you think?” he asked softly, ending the silence.
While waiting for her response, a calculated kind of wait, he resisted the urge to lift his hand and run his fingers through the strands of hair that’d come loose, softly framing her face.
“I think you really are an ass.”
With that, she turned and walked away. Leaving him to gape at her magnificent back.
From A Wedding at Meadows Shore:
His voice took on a husky, seductive quality. “The women I date aren’t interested in my body, Sophie. What interests them is how I pleasure their bodies.”
She stared deep into his icy blue eyes and snickered.
Max never missed even the smallest of details. They were often the difference between success and getting your hat handed to you. Tonight, he noticed Sophie’s eyes betray her, even as she mocked him. Her pupils were dilated, the rich, whiskey-colored irises nearly overtaken by black. I have her attention.
Embolden by her body’s reaction, he took a step closer. He was so close that if she’d been breathing, her breath would’ve warmed his skin. “I can bring much more to your bed than my father does. So…much…more…” He drew out the words, emphasizing each in a voice that oozed sex. “And though I’m not an easy man to impress, I’m sure you’d have no trouble persuading me to finance your agency. None at all,” he drawled.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment, maybe two. The air was charged. The silence dangled between them like a ripe peach, fragrant and swollen, tempting the weakest among them to reach for it first.
“What do you think?” he asked softly, ending the silence.
While waiting for her response, a calculated kind of wait, he resisted the urge to lift his hand and run his fingers through the strands of hair that’d come loose, softly framing her face.
“I think you really are an ass.”
With that, she turned and walked away. Leaving him to gape at her magnificent back.
Eva Charles is the author of the multi-titled Meadows Shore Series chronicling the lives and loves of the Clayton-Harrington family. She invites you to visit their beloved Meadows Shore, nestled in the charming seaside town of Fair Harbor, where you’ll enjoy love, laughter, loyalty, and an abundance of mouth-watering food, Portuguese style.
After being a confirmed city-girl for more than thirty-five years, Eva moved to beautiful western Massachusetts in 2014. There, she found herself living in the woods with no job, no friends (unless you count the turkeys, deer, and coyotes roaming the backyard), and no children underfoot, wondering what on earth she’d been thinking. But as it turned out, it was the perfect setting to take all those yarns spinning in her head and weave them into a romantic tale.
When she’s not writing, trying to squeeze information out of her tight-lipped sons or playing with the two cutest dogs you’ve ever seen, Eva’s creating chapters in her own love story.
Website: evacharles.com
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Eva-Charles/e/B0140FZ442
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/evacharlesauthor/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14223913.Eva_Charles
After being a confirmed city-girl for more than thirty-five years, Eva moved to beautiful western Massachusetts in 2014. There, she found herself living in the woods with no job, no friends (unless you count the turkeys, deer, and coyotes roaming the backyard), and no children underfoot, wondering what on earth she’d been thinking. But as it turned out, it was the perfect setting to take all those yarns spinning in her head and weave them into a romantic tale.
When she’s not writing, trying to squeeze information out of her tight-lipped sons or playing with the two cutest dogs you’ve ever seen, Eva’s creating chapters in her own love story.
Website: evacharles.com
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Eva-Charles/e/B0140FZ442
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/evacharlesauthor/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14223913.Eva_Charles
Character Interview of Sophie Clayton, the heroine in A Wedding at Meadows Shore
Please tell us your name and a little bit about yourself.
My name is Maria Sophia Clayton, but almost everyone calls me Sophie. I am the executive director of New Day, an agency that works with victims of domestic violence. I have four younger sisters, Natalia, Isabella, Helena, and Juliana, and grew up next door to my six male cousins, the Harringtons, who think it’s their mission to meddle in my life, especially where men are concerned. I spoke Portuguese as a first language, and I continue to speak it regularly when I’m with my grandmother, Avó Angelina and my great-aunts, Tia Mariana and Tia Teresa. I’m married to Max Parker, the love of my life, and we have a daughter, Lily.
What is your greatest accomplishment?
Many people would say my greatest accomplishment was keeping my family together after my parents and aunt and uncle were killed. But it wasn’t all me, everyone rose to the occasion and helped as much as they could to keep the family from crumbling. Personally, I believe my greatest accomplishment was taking over as the executive director of New Day, a failing domestic violence agency, and making the necessary changes to put the agency back on track. I didn’t do that alone either, I had lots of help, especially from Daniel Parker, Max’s dad.
Do you believe in love at first sight?
No! I believe in wow he’s hot, at first sight. Love is something that develops after you get to know someone—it grows from trust and friendship. My parents loved each other very much, and taught us that love is as much about giving as it is about taking. My father was a wonderful man and husband, but despite this, I married a complete cad before I’d even graduated from college. The second time around, I chose so much better, but it took me a while to realize I loved Max, and to trust that he loved me.
If you could travel back in time and change one thing about your life, what would it be?
I wouldn’t have married my first husband, Eric Stevens. Although little kids didn’t run away from me screaming, and I had close friends, I was never a beautiful and popular girl. Eric was a few years older and showered me with attention. He knew just how to play me, and for a long time, he made me feel that I was the most important thing that had ever come into his life. But I wasn’t special; it was my family’s money and connections that interested him. Everyone around me could see it, and eventually I saw it to, but I had already given up too many good years of my life. What I am most sorry about, is that my parents died knowing I was in a loveless marriage with a despicable man.
What is your greatest strength?
My greatest strength is also my greatest weakness: I am incredibly stubborn, and when I set my mind to something, it’s awfully hard to get me to change it. I also have great DNA. I come from a long line of strong, fearless women, who keep their chins up and their shoulders back, especially in tough times. My grandmother, Vovó, buried her parents, her husband at the age of twenty-four, and both her children, but she never sat around and wallowed in self-pity. There was simply too much to do every day. My cousin, Cole Harrington, believes my sisters and I inherited her grit.
Please tell us your name and a little bit about yourself.
My name is Maria Sophia Clayton, but almost everyone calls me Sophie. I am the executive director of New Day, an agency that works with victims of domestic violence. I have four younger sisters, Natalia, Isabella, Helena, and Juliana, and grew up next door to my six male cousins, the Harringtons, who think it’s their mission to meddle in my life, especially where men are concerned. I spoke Portuguese as a first language, and I continue to speak it regularly when I’m with my grandmother, Avó Angelina and my great-aunts, Tia Mariana and Tia Teresa. I’m married to Max Parker, the love of my life, and we have a daughter, Lily.
What is your greatest accomplishment?
Many people would say my greatest accomplishment was keeping my family together after my parents and aunt and uncle were killed. But it wasn’t all me, everyone rose to the occasion and helped as much as they could to keep the family from crumbling. Personally, I believe my greatest accomplishment was taking over as the executive director of New Day, a failing domestic violence agency, and making the necessary changes to put the agency back on track. I didn’t do that alone either, I had lots of help, especially from Daniel Parker, Max’s dad.
Do you believe in love at first sight?
No! I believe in wow he’s hot, at first sight. Love is something that develops after you get to know someone—it grows from trust and friendship. My parents loved each other very much, and taught us that love is as much about giving as it is about taking. My father was a wonderful man and husband, but despite this, I married a complete cad before I’d even graduated from college. The second time around, I chose so much better, but it took me a while to realize I loved Max, and to trust that he loved me.
If you could travel back in time and change one thing about your life, what would it be?
I wouldn’t have married my first husband, Eric Stevens. Although little kids didn’t run away from me screaming, and I had close friends, I was never a beautiful and popular girl. Eric was a few years older and showered me with attention. He knew just how to play me, and for a long time, he made me feel that I was the most important thing that had ever come into his life. But I wasn’t special; it was my family’s money and connections that interested him. Everyone around me could see it, and eventually I saw it to, but I had already given up too many good years of my life. What I am most sorry about, is that my parents died knowing I was in a loveless marriage with a despicable man.
What is your greatest strength?
My greatest strength is also my greatest weakness: I am incredibly stubborn, and when I set my mind to something, it’s awfully hard to get me to change it. I also have great DNA. I come from a long line of strong, fearless women, who keep their chins up and their shoulders back, especially in tough times. My grandmother, Vovó, buried her parents, her husband at the age of twenty-four, and both her children, but she never sat around and wallowed in self-pity. There was simply too much to do every day. My cousin, Cole Harrington, believes my sisters and I inherited her grit.
Naughty List
Edited by Cori Vidae
GENRE: Romance anthology (sweet to erotic)
Six holiday romances, from sexy to sweet, prove that love is better on the Naughty List.
A Christmas Maggie by Tiffany Reisz
All Daniel wanted for Christmas was to spoil his new girlfriend, Anya, make love under the tree, and ignore all his old heartaches. But the ghosts of Christmas past aren’t so easily forgotten especially when Maggie, his late wife, shows up to remind him why the past should stay in the past and why his Christmases-future could be the best of his life if he can finally let himself live and love in this Christmas present. (A Christmas Maggie is the final story in the Daniel trio [from the Original Sinners series] beginning with The Gift and followed by Daniel Part Two.)
Christmassy by Alexa Piper
When taotien Valerion and witchling Cora get together sparks fly. But on the way to visit Cora’s family for Christmas, they encounter a supernatural predator that will not only test their individual powers and abilities, but also their connection to one another.
My Midnight Cowboy by Pumpkin Spice
If chocolate is the way to a man’s heart, then pastry chef Lucy Baker has the recipe for success. But will her culinary skills melt the most hard-hearted bachelor in Wyoming? A chance encounter on a New Year’s Eve flight leaves two strangers to discover unbound pleasure and a hunger for sexual discovery.
In the Doghouse by Elizabeth Black
Nicky and Angela had just begun to add a little kink to their lives when, caught up in the influence of his dudebros he forgot their anniversary and broke Angela’s heart. Angela wants Nicky’s strong arms around her again, but first she wants him to fight for her. Can one night, a paddle and some restraints bridge the gap between them?
Winter’s Daughter by Doug Blakeslee
A child of the Fae—bound to winter and a promise given to her chosen mate. She must claim him before time runs out and all she loves in the world falls to ruin. A child of mortals—forgotten and discarded by the world, then torn from the most amazing woman he’s ever met. Trapped in the sort of fae-tale that rarely ends in happily ever after, are they strong enough to defy the odds and find love?
Stealing Time by Wendy Sparrow
As Father Time’s son, Zeit must sacrifice a mortal’s lifetime to the Fates each New Year’s Eve. Last year—inexplicably, really—he made an 11:59 substitution. The Fates are pissed and they’re after his mortal Hannah. With the year ending, he ought to figure out why he’d saved her—and and why he keeps doing it. Following an unlucky year, Hannah needs a week’s holiday in a lodge to unwind. What she gets is near-death experiences and a sexy immortal who can’t avoid kissing her, but might have to kill her. After all, even Zeit can’t hold back time indefinitely.
A Christmas Maggie by Tiffany Reisz
All Daniel wanted for Christmas was to spoil his new girlfriend, Anya, make love under the tree, and ignore all his old heartaches. But the ghosts of Christmas past aren’t so easily forgotten especially when Maggie, his late wife, shows up to remind him why the past should stay in the past and why his Christmases-future could be the best of his life if he can finally let himself live and love in this Christmas present. (A Christmas Maggie is the final story in the Daniel trio [from the Original Sinners series] beginning with The Gift and followed by Daniel Part Two.)
Christmassy by Alexa Piper
When taotien Valerion and witchling Cora get together sparks fly. But on the way to visit Cora’s family for Christmas, they encounter a supernatural predator that will not only test their individual powers and abilities, but also their connection to one another.
My Midnight Cowboy by Pumpkin Spice
If chocolate is the way to a man’s heart, then pastry chef Lucy Baker has the recipe for success. But will her culinary skills melt the most hard-hearted bachelor in Wyoming? A chance encounter on a New Year’s Eve flight leaves two strangers to discover unbound pleasure and a hunger for sexual discovery.
In the Doghouse by Elizabeth Black
Nicky and Angela had just begun to add a little kink to their lives when, caught up in the influence of his dudebros he forgot their anniversary and broke Angela’s heart. Angela wants Nicky’s strong arms around her again, but first she wants him to fight for her. Can one night, a paddle and some restraints bridge the gap between them?
Winter’s Daughter by Doug Blakeslee
A child of the Fae—bound to winter and a promise given to her chosen mate. She must claim him before time runs out and all she loves in the world falls to ruin. A child of mortals—forgotten and discarded by the world, then torn from the most amazing woman he’s ever met. Trapped in the sort of fae-tale that rarely ends in happily ever after, are they strong enough to defy the odds and find love?
Stealing Time by Wendy Sparrow
As Father Time’s son, Zeit must sacrifice a mortal’s lifetime to the Fates each New Year’s Eve. Last year—inexplicably, really—he made an 11:59 substitution. The Fates are pissed and they’re after his mortal Hannah. With the year ending, he ought to figure out why he’d saved her—and and why he keeps doing it. Following an unlucky year, Hannah needs a week’s holiday in a lodge to unwind. What she gets is near-death experiences and a sexy immortal who can’t avoid kissing her, but might have to kill her. After all, even Zeit can’t hold back time indefinitely.
From Stealing Time by Wendy Sparrow
Zeit snapped his fingers as he approached the sweet brunette stumbling through the snow. All around him, shoppers froze, and the air went still. Snow hung in place like a fog. Hannah shouldn’t be out on the streets on the day before Christmas. It was too busy. Too crowded. Hell, it was too easy—she made it easier to kill her than to keep her alive on days like this.
He could feel the pull of the Fates as they attempted, once again, to steal her from him. His beautiful conundrum was standing too close to the curb again and about to hit a patch of ice. In another fifteen seconds of mortal’s time, she’d have slipped on the ice, as that woman carrying the terrier brushed by, knocking Hannah out in front of the snow plow.
Messy.
“You’re getting gruesome,” Zeit called to the Fates.
He stopped in front of the pink-cheeked mortal.
“Thirty-eight times now, Hannah.” Thirty-eight times he’d stopped the clock for her.
Snow clung to her eyelashes, and her red lips were parted, probably in shock that she’d, once again, dropped her favorite scarf. Her hand was poised at her neck, feeling for the crimson scarf he held in his hand.
In addition to being an Assistant Editor for World Weaver Press, Cori Vidae likes to write steamy stories and collect shiny things. And when she’s not on Twitter at @CoriVidae you can find her at her website at www.corividae.com
Buy Links:
NOTE: THE BOOK IS ON SALE FOR $0.99
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Cori Vidae Links:
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Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CoriVidae/
Buy Links:
NOTE: THE BOOK IS ON SALE FOR $0.99
Official page:
http://www.worldweaverpress.com/naughty-list
All Romance eBooks:
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thenaughtylist-1937563-166.html?referrer=50ccb934e8fd0
Amazon:
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Cori Vidae Links:
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Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CoriVidae/
The Stalker
Author: Marina Martindale
Book Type: Fiction
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Good Oak Press, LLC
Publication Date: August 31, 2016
Rachel Bennett attended her ten-year high school reunion on a whim, but fate intervened once she saw Shane MacLeod. No longer the shy, gawky teenager she remembered, Shane has matured into a handsome and successful man, but her perfect evening ends when another man from her past suddenly reappears.
Craig Walker had been her mentor until he became jealous of her talent and success. Now he intends to either have her, or destroy her at all costs.
As Rachel’s family pressures her to take Craig to court, she can no longer ignore her nagging feeling that a tragedy is about to strike.
Goodreadshttps://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32204811-the-stalker
Buy Links
Amazon Kindle http://a.co/dGLZoer
Amazon Print http://amzn.to/2ewVREz
Craig Walker had been her mentor until he became jealous of her talent and success. Now he intends to either have her, or destroy her at all costs.
As Rachel’s family pressures her to take Craig to court, she can no longer ignore her nagging feeling that a tragedy is about to strike.
Goodreadshttps://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32204811-the-stalker
Buy Links
Amazon Kindle http://a.co/dGLZoer
Amazon Print http://amzn.to/2ewVREz
It took some time for Craig to find his way around Reid Park, but he eventually found the Desert Sunrise alumni picnic. He casually strolled around, pretending to be just another park visitor on a balmy Saturday morning. Before long, a bench near the playground opened up. He took a seat and watched the people go by. The picnic had a good turnout, but so far he hadn’t spotted Rachel among the crowd. He checked his watch. It was half past eleven. The picnic was supposed to last until two, so perhaps she hadn’t arrived yet. He reached for his phone and checked his messages as he watched the caterers set up.
The scent of grilling hamburgers and hot dogs soon filled the air. His mouth watered and he made a mental note to grab a burger on his way back to the hotel. He leaned back on the bench and kept a close watch on the crowd, but still no sign of Rachel or Bill, her companion from the night before. People soon lined up for lunch, and he waited patiently as the crowd worked its way through. He checked his watch once the last person was served. It was nearly one o’clock and the games were starting, although a few late arrivals were still showing up. He remained on the bench until the caterers started breaking down, then he slowly rose to his feet and brushed himself off. Part of him was disappointed she hadn’t shown up, but the rest of him felt elated. He had succeeded in scaring her off. He smiled to himself as he strolled back to his car.
The scent of grilling hamburgers and hot dogs soon filled the air. His mouth watered and he made a mental note to grab a burger on his way back to the hotel. He leaned back on the bench and kept a close watch on the crowd, but still no sign of Rachel or Bill, her companion from the night before. People soon lined up for lunch, and he waited patiently as the crowd worked its way through. He checked his watch once the last person was served. It was nearly one o’clock and the games were starting, although a few late arrivals were still showing up. He remained on the bench until the caterers started breaking down, then he slowly rose to his feet and brushed himself off. Part of him was disappointed she hadn’t shown up, but the rest of him felt elated. He had succeeded in scaring her off. He smiled to himself as he strolled back to his car.
Just like Gillian Matthews, the heroine in her debut romance novel, The Reunion, Marina Martindale began her career as a graphic designer and artist, and several of her paintings have been featured in juried art shows. Over time, however, she discovered writing was her true life’s passion.
“I love creating conflicted characters,” says Martindale. “I think they’re more like the people we meet in real life. I also like the complexity of romance. It’s an opportunity to delve deep into the human condition and try to understand what it is that motivates us to make the choices in life that we make.”
Martindale draws her inspiration from her own real life experiences, as well as those of the people around her. The stories, however, are fiction.
“The path to true love is never an easy one,” adds Martindale. “Some are haunted by people from their past. Others have been deceived or betrayed by the people they trusted the most. We all make bad choices, even though we usually don’t realize it at the time. My stories are about the unintended consequences of those bad choices, how the characters resolve them, and how they grow and become better people as a result.”
Marina Martindale resides in Tucson, Arizona. In her spare time she enjoys music, traveling, photography, and cooking.
Social Media Links
Website: http://www.marinamartindale.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormarinamartindale/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarinaMartindal
“I love creating conflicted characters,” says Martindale. “I think they’re more like the people we meet in real life. I also like the complexity of romance. It’s an opportunity to delve deep into the human condition and try to understand what it is that motivates us to make the choices in life that we make.”
Martindale draws her inspiration from her own real life experiences, as well as those of the people around her. The stories, however, are fiction.
“The path to true love is never an easy one,” adds Martindale. “Some are haunted by people from their past. Others have been deceived or betrayed by the people they trusted the most. We all make bad choices, even though we usually don’t realize it at the time. My stories are about the unintended consequences of those bad choices, how the characters resolve them, and how they grow and become better people as a result.”
Marina Martindale resides in Tucson, Arizona. In her spare time she enjoys music, traveling, photography, and cooking.
Social Media Links
Website: http://www.marinamartindale.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormarinamartindale/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarinaMartindal
Baron
by Joanna Shupe
GENRE: Historical Romance
New York City’s Gilded Age shines as bright as the power-wielding men of the Knickerbocker Club. And one pragmatic industrialist is about to learn that a man may make his own destiny, but love is a matter of fortune . . .
Born into one of New York’s most respected families, William Sloane is a railroad baron who has all the right friends in all the right places. But no matter how much success he achieves, he always wants more. Having secured his place atop the city’s highest echelons of society, he’s now setting his sights on a political run. Nothing can distract him from his next pursuit—except, perhaps, the enchanting con artist he never saw coming . . .
Ava Jones has eked out a living the only way she knows how. As “Madame Zolikoff,” she hoodwinks gullible audiences into believing she can communicate with the spirit world. But her carefully crafted persona is nearly destroyed when Will Sloane walks into her life—and lays bare her latest scheme. The charlatan is certain she can seduce the handsome millionaire into keeping her secret and using her skills for his campaign—unless he’s the one who’s already put a spell on her . . .
Born into one of New York’s most respected families, William Sloane is a railroad baron who has all the right friends in all the right places. But no matter how much success he achieves, he always wants more. Having secured his place atop the city’s highest echelons of society, he’s now setting his sights on a political run. Nothing can distract him from his next pursuit—except, perhaps, the enchanting con artist he never saw coming . . .
Ava Jones has eked out a living the only way she knows how. As “Madame Zolikoff,” she hoodwinks gullible audiences into believing she can communicate with the spirit world. But her carefully crafted persona is nearly destroyed when Will Sloane walks into her life—and lays bare her latest scheme. The charlatan is certain she can seduce the handsome millionaire into keeping her secret and using her skills for his campaign—unless he’s the one who’s already put a spell on her . . .
He shifted toward her, his gray eyes shining. Strong jaw and sensual mouth, he was a striking man. Even when she was annoyed with him, which was often, she could not help but notice him. “What would you like to know, Ava? Merely ask it already.”
Why was my brother smiling? What did the two of you talk about? Was he mistreated in there? Why do I want to both kiss and strangle you at the same time?
The questions raced through her mind, the last one in particular causing her to jerk slightly. Where had that come from? She didn’t want to kiss Will Sloane. Everything about him was too controlled, too proper. He’d probably never experienced true passion of any kind. She couldn’t picture his hair messed up from a woman’s fingers, or his clothes rumpled from a partner’s impatience.
Dirty and sweaty were two words she’d never associate with Will Sloane, even in the bedroom.
“Why are you staring at my mouth?”
He’d whispered the question in a deep rasp that suggested he knew the answer. Embarrassed, Ava tore her gaze away—only to discover him watching her own mouth with the rapt attention of a predator waiting to pounce. Her heart pounded furiously in her corset, the steady beat far too loud in her ears. Unconsciously she licked her lips to moisten them. “Why are you staring at my mouth?”
“Because it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.”
She focused on breathing, desperate to ignore whatever regrettable feelings she’d developed for this man. No good could come of the sudden fullness of her breasts or the rhythmic pulse between her thighs. But there was no escape from it, not respite from the charge building between them. Even if she dashed from the carriage, this thing, this dratted attraction, would follow her.
Why was my brother smiling? What did the two of you talk about? Was he mistreated in there? Why do I want to both kiss and strangle you at the same time?
The questions raced through her mind, the last one in particular causing her to jerk slightly. Where had that come from? She didn’t want to kiss Will Sloane. Everything about him was too controlled, too proper. He’d probably never experienced true passion of any kind. She couldn’t picture his hair messed up from a woman’s fingers, or his clothes rumpled from a partner’s impatience.
Dirty and sweaty were two words she’d never associate with Will Sloane, even in the bedroom.
“Why are you staring at my mouth?”
He’d whispered the question in a deep rasp that suggested he knew the answer. Embarrassed, Ava tore her gaze away—only to discover him watching her own mouth with the rapt attention of a predator waiting to pounce. Her heart pounded furiously in her corset, the steady beat far too loud in her ears. Unconsciously she licked her lips to moisten them. “Why are you staring at my mouth?”
“Because it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.”
She focused on breathing, desperate to ignore whatever regrettable feelings she’d developed for this man. No good could come of the sudden fullness of her breasts or the rhythmic pulse between her thighs. But there was no escape from it, not respite from the charge building between them. Even if she dashed from the carriage, this thing, this dratted attraction, would follow her.
Award-winning author Joanna Shupe has always loved history, ever since she saw her first Schoolhouse Rock cartoon. While in college, Joanna read every romance she could get her hands on and soon started crafting her own racy historical novels. She now lives in New Jersey with her two spirited daughters and dashing husband.
Author Website: http://www.joannashupe.com/
Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/joannashupeauthor
Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/JoannaShupe
Buy Link: http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/33913
Author Website: http://www.joannashupe.com/
Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/joannashupeauthor
Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/JoannaShupe
Buy Link: http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/33913
Wed by a Seal in Laguna by Zoe York
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Julie Collins fell hard and fast for Lt. Jason Steyner, but actually marrying the guy is proving easier said than done. First the winery they’d picked in Napa burned down, then his next tour of duty got moved up. Now they have four weeks to find a new venue, tell everyone about the change of plans—and oh yeah, get married.
A whirlwind trip to Laguna Beach gets the wedding plans back on track, and gives the Navy SEAL and his flight attendant fiancé a much-needed weekend away from the chaos of work and planning. The countdown is on. One month to go until Julie is wed by the SEAL…
The countdown is on to the first day of the rest of their lives! A SEALs Undone reunion story.
Purchase from Amazon
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Follow Zoe York on Facebook
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Julie Collins fell hard and fast for Lt. Jason Steyner, but actually marrying the guy is proving easier said than done. First the winery they’d picked in Napa burned down, then his next tour of duty got moved up. Now they have four weeks to find a new venue, tell everyone about the change of plans—and oh yeah, get married.
A whirlwind trip to Laguna Beach gets the wedding plans back on track, and gives the Navy SEAL and his flight attendant fiancé a much-needed weekend away from the chaos of work and planning. The countdown is on. One month to go until Julie is wed by the SEAL…
The countdown is on to the first day of the rest of their lives! A SEALs Undone reunion story.
Julie paced back and forth, staring at the binder open on the coffee table. In her shaking hands, she had a notepad and a pen, ready—sort of—to make a new to-do list.
They needed a new venue, obviously.
And everyone would need to be notified…she’d need to order new invitations. And what if the new location wasn’t a winery? Would the corkscrew favors still make sense? Maybe they should have gone with the breath mint tins after all.
They still could.
Then she’d have a hundred corkscrews, though. Maybe she could find a place to donate them…
Jason’s key turned in the lock, and she ran to the door to let him in.
“Hey,” he said as he leaned over an overflowing paper bag to give her a quick kiss. “You still freaking out?”
She nodded quickly. “So much.”
“Shitty news, I’m sorry. I read the news report while I was waiting in line to buy the groceries.” He shifted the bag so he had an arm free and he used it to herd her toward the kitchen.
Taking over and being in charge, just like she needed. “Thank you,” she whispered as she leaned into his side.
“We’ll figure this out. Drink first or plan first?”
“Drink. No, plan. We need to—”
He dumped the bag on the counter and cut her off with a kiss, his lips soft but demanding. We need this and nothing else. She melted into him and let his mouth play with hers, at first a gentle caress meant to distract. Then as his tongue slicked against hers, the familiar but still exciting rush of heat.
“Don’t distract me with sex,” she whispered as he kissed down her neck.
“I wouldn’t dare.” He scraped his teeth against the fluttering pulse point right above her collarbone. “I’m making you a margarita and we’re talking about where else we can get married.”
She laughed. Sure, it was still tinged with an edge of nervous panic, but he was funny, and this felt good, and it was going to be okay.
Between them, his phone vibrated. He straightened up and put his finger to her lips again. “Stay in this position. I’m not done with you.”
She rolled her eyes and moved away, pulling out the margarita makings as he answered the call.
“Yes, sir. It’s fine. I just got home.”
She watched as he rolled his shoulders back, squaring off in that unconscious way of his, pushing his six-foot-plus frame to its full extent. Ready for action. And as the conversation played out in front of her, she had a weird sense of deja vu.
“How badly injured is he?”
“I see.”
His gaze flicked to her on the next silent pause and her stomach clenched. “I…I’m getting married shortly, sir. Yes, I understand.” His jaw clenched. “Of course. Oh-five-hundred tomorrow. Thank you.”
They needed a new venue, obviously.
And everyone would need to be notified…she’d need to order new invitations. And what if the new location wasn’t a winery? Would the corkscrew favors still make sense? Maybe they should have gone with the breath mint tins after all.
They still could.
Then she’d have a hundred corkscrews, though. Maybe she could find a place to donate them…
Jason’s key turned in the lock, and she ran to the door to let him in.
“Hey,” he said as he leaned over an overflowing paper bag to give her a quick kiss. “You still freaking out?”
She nodded quickly. “So much.”
“Shitty news, I’m sorry. I read the news report while I was waiting in line to buy the groceries.” He shifted the bag so he had an arm free and he used it to herd her toward the kitchen.
Taking over and being in charge, just like she needed. “Thank you,” she whispered as she leaned into his side.
“We’ll figure this out. Drink first or plan first?”
“Drink. No, plan. We need to—”
He dumped the bag on the counter and cut her off with a kiss, his lips soft but demanding. We need this and nothing else. She melted into him and let his mouth play with hers, at first a gentle caress meant to distract. Then as his tongue slicked against hers, the familiar but still exciting rush of heat.
“Don’t distract me with sex,” she whispered as he kissed down her neck.
“I wouldn’t dare.” He scraped his teeth against the fluttering pulse point right above her collarbone. “I’m making you a margarita and we’re talking about where else we can get married.”
She laughed. Sure, it was still tinged with an edge of nervous panic, but he was funny, and this felt good, and it was going to be okay.
Between them, his phone vibrated. He straightened up and put his finger to her lips again. “Stay in this position. I’m not done with you.”
She rolled her eyes and moved away, pulling out the margarita makings as he answered the call.
“Yes, sir. It’s fine. I just got home.”
She watched as he rolled his shoulders back, squaring off in that unconscious way of his, pushing his six-foot-plus frame to its full extent. Ready for action. And as the conversation played out in front of her, she had a weird sense of deja vu.
“How badly injured is he?”
“I see.”
His gaze flicked to her on the next silent pause and her stomach clenched. “I…I’m getting married shortly, sir. Yes, I understand.” His jaw clenched. “Of course. Oh-five-hundred tomorrow. Thank you.”
THIS KINDLE WORLD IS TAKEN FROM THE LAGUNA BEACH SERIES BY KAIRA ROUDA.
Laguna Nights (Laguna Beach, Book 1)
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/LNAMZ
B&N: http://smarturl.it/LNBN
Google Play: http://smarturl.it/LagNigGP
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/LNKB
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/LNiB
Laguna Heights (Laguna Beach, Book 2)
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/LHAMZ
B&N: http://smarturl.it/LHBN
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/LHiB
Google Play: http://smarturl.it/LHGP
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/LHKB
Laguna Lights (Laguna Beach, Book 3)
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1MThVnm
B&N: http://bit.ly/1Qf0aPM
Google Play: http://bit.ly/1O0MdSj
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1Pm3PuR
iBooks: http://apple.co/1O0M6pL
Laguna SIghts (Laguna Beach, Book 4)
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/LagSightsAMZ
B&N: http://smarturl.it/LagSightsBN
Google Play: http://smarturl.it/LagSightsGP
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/LagSightsKb
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/LagSightsiB
Laguna Dreams (Laguna Beach, Book #5)
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/LagDreams_AMZ
B&N: http://smarturl.it/LagDreams_BN
GooglePlay: http://smarturl.it/LagDreams_GP
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/LagDreams_Kb
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/LagDreams_iB
AUTHOR BIO:
Kaira Rouda is a USA Today bestselling, multiple award-winning author of contemporary women's fiction and sexy modern romance novels that sparkle with humor and heart. Her women's fiction titles include HERE, HOME, HOPE, ALL THE DIFFERENCE and IN THE MIRROR. Her bestselling short story is titled, A MOTHER'S DAY. Kaira's work has won the Indie Excellence Award, USA Book Awards, the Reader's Choice Awards and honorable mention in the Writer's Digest International Book Awards. Her books have been widely reviewed and featured in leading magazines.
Her sexy contemporary romance series set on INDIGO ISLAND includes: WEEKEND WITH THE TYCOON, Book 1; HER FORBIDDEN LOVE, Book 2; THE TROUBLE WITH CHRISTMAS, Book 3; and THE BILLIONAIRE'S BID, Book 4. Each of these novellas can be read as a stand alone, or enjoyed as a series. Her new series is set in LAGUNA BEACH and includes: LAGUNA NIGHTS, Book 1; LAGUNA HEIGHTS, Book 2; and LAGUNA LIGHTS, Book 3 coming winter 2015. She also helped launch Melissa Foster's The Remington's Kindle World with her bestselling novella, SPOTLIGHT ON LOVE, and is part of Carly Phillips Dare to Love Kindle World with THE CELEBRITY DARE.
Her nonfiction titles, REAL YOU INCORPORATED: 8 Essentials for Women Entrepreneurs, and REAL YOU FOR AUTHORS: 8 Essentials for Women Writers (available for free download on her website) continue to inspire.
She lives in Southern California with her husband and four almost-grown kids, and is at work on her next novel. Connect with her on Twitter, Facebook at Kaira Rouda Books and on her website, KairaRouda.com.
AUTHOR LINKS:
Website: http://www.kairarouda.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KairaRoudaBooks
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/KairaRouda
Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/KairaRouda
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/KairaReal
Laguna Nights (Laguna Beach, Book 1)
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/LNAMZ
B&N: http://smarturl.it/LNBN
Google Play: http://smarturl.it/LagNigGP
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/LNKB
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/LNiB
Laguna Heights (Laguna Beach, Book 2)
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/LHAMZ
B&N: http://smarturl.it/LHBN
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/LHiB
Google Play: http://smarturl.it/LHGP
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/LHKB
Laguna Lights (Laguna Beach, Book 3)
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1MThVnm
B&N: http://bit.ly/1Qf0aPM
Google Play: http://bit.ly/1O0MdSj
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1Pm3PuR
iBooks: http://apple.co/1O0M6pL
Laguna SIghts (Laguna Beach, Book 4)
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/LagSightsAMZ
B&N: http://smarturl.it/LagSightsBN
Google Play: http://smarturl.it/LagSightsGP
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/LagSightsKb
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/LagSightsiB
Laguna Dreams (Laguna Beach, Book #5)
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/LagDreams_AMZ
B&N: http://smarturl.it/LagDreams_BN
GooglePlay: http://smarturl.it/LagDreams_GP
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/LagDreams_Kb
iBooks: http://smarturl.it/LagDreams_iB
AUTHOR BIO:
Kaira Rouda is a USA Today bestselling, multiple award-winning author of contemporary women's fiction and sexy modern romance novels that sparkle with humor and heart. Her women's fiction titles include HERE, HOME, HOPE, ALL THE DIFFERENCE and IN THE MIRROR. Her bestselling short story is titled, A MOTHER'S DAY. Kaira's work has won the Indie Excellence Award, USA Book Awards, the Reader's Choice Awards and honorable mention in the Writer's Digest International Book Awards. Her books have been widely reviewed and featured in leading magazines.
Her sexy contemporary romance series set on INDIGO ISLAND includes: WEEKEND WITH THE TYCOON, Book 1; HER FORBIDDEN LOVE, Book 2; THE TROUBLE WITH CHRISTMAS, Book 3; and THE BILLIONAIRE'S BID, Book 4. Each of these novellas can be read as a stand alone, or enjoyed as a series. Her new series is set in LAGUNA BEACH and includes: LAGUNA NIGHTS, Book 1; LAGUNA HEIGHTS, Book 2; and LAGUNA LIGHTS, Book 3 coming winter 2015. She also helped launch Melissa Foster's The Remington's Kindle World with her bestselling novella, SPOTLIGHT ON LOVE, and is part of Carly Phillips Dare to Love Kindle World with THE CELEBRITY DARE.
Her nonfiction titles, REAL YOU INCORPORATED: 8 Essentials for Women Entrepreneurs, and REAL YOU FOR AUTHORS: 8 Essentials for Women Writers (available for free download on her website) continue to inspire.
She lives in Southern California with her husband and four almost-grown kids, and is at work on her next novel. Connect with her on Twitter, Facebook at Kaira Rouda Books and on her website, KairaRouda.com.
AUTHOR LINKS:
Website: http://www.kairarouda.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KairaRoudaBooks
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/KairaRouda
Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/KairaRouda
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/KairaReal
Twelve Spirits of Christmas
Tessa Lamar Novels Book Two
Kathryn M. Hearst
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Two amazing men. A serial killer. A Christmas to remember.
Tessa Lamar is dreading her first Christmas without her beloved grandfather. They say the holiday season brings out the best and the worst in people. This year, it’s brought out a serial killer, who chooses his victims based on the carol, “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
As Tessa comes to terms with her life as a Nunnehi, the Cherokee equivalent to fairy, she finds herself in cahoots with a ghost to stop the Christmas Killer before he strikes again. She must wrangle her magic, manage family responsibilities, juggle the men in her life, and discover the person she was meant to be, in order to save…
Seven Swans a Swimming
Eight Maids a Milking
Nine Ladies Dancing
Ten Lords a Leaping
Eleven Pipers Piping
Twelve Drummers Drumming
Twelve Spirits of Christmas is the second of the Tessa Lamar Novels, Paranormal Romances with a Southern twist. If you like Southern humor, supernatural creatures, and a healthy dose of romance, then you'll love this series. Be sure to check out Kindle Scout winner, The Spirit Tree, to read the beginning of Tessa’s journey.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/Y-hRMPwCTzM
Amazon
Tessa Lamar is dreading her first Christmas without her beloved grandfather. They say the holiday season brings out the best and the worst in people. This year, it’s brought out a serial killer, who chooses his victims based on the carol, “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
As Tessa comes to terms with her life as a Nunnehi, the Cherokee equivalent to fairy, she finds herself in cahoots with a ghost to stop the Christmas Killer before he strikes again. She must wrangle her magic, manage family responsibilities, juggle the men in her life, and discover the person she was meant to be, in order to save…
Seven Swans a Swimming
Eight Maids a Milking
Nine Ladies Dancing
Ten Lords a Leaping
Eleven Pipers Piping
Twelve Drummers Drumming
Twelve Spirits of Christmas is the second of the Tessa Lamar Novels, Paranormal Romances with a Southern twist. If you like Southern humor, supernatural creatures, and a healthy dose of romance, then you'll love this series. Be sure to check out Kindle Scout winner, The Spirit Tree, to read the beginning of Tessa’s journey.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/Y-hRMPwCTzM
Amazon
I rounded the corner to the health and beauty department when the phone rang again. “Hi, Aaron.”
“Tessa, we have a case. Can you meet me in Winter Park in an hour?”
I stopped in the middle of the aisle and hung my head. “I’m at the store. What kind of case?”
“Suicide from the sound of it. The deceased’s partner found him hanging from a tree in the backyard.” Aaron’s voice lacked its usual humor. He’d either had a late night or rough day, maybe both.
“Sure. Text me the address. What’s the victim’s name?” I had no idea what I would do with the room full of people waiting for me at the house, but skipping out on dinner with Darlene made me happy.
“Thanks, Tessa. You’re a doll. Partridge. The deceased’s name is Partridge.”
I glanced around to make sure no one was watching before I loaded two containers of Mae’s fiber mix into the cart. “What kind of tree was it?”
“Orange tree, why?”
It was probably a sin to laugh at the dead, but I couldn’t help it. “We have a Partridge in an orange tree.”
Aaron groaned. “I’ll send the address. Try to hurry.”
“Tessa, we have a case. Can you meet me in Winter Park in an hour?”
I stopped in the middle of the aisle and hung my head. “I’m at the store. What kind of case?”
“Suicide from the sound of it. The deceased’s partner found him hanging from a tree in the backyard.” Aaron’s voice lacked its usual humor. He’d either had a late night or rough day, maybe both.
“Sure. Text me the address. What’s the victim’s name?” I had no idea what I would do with the room full of people waiting for me at the house, but skipping out on dinner with Darlene made me happy.
“Thanks, Tessa. You’re a doll. Partridge. The deceased’s name is Partridge.”
I glanced around to make sure no one was watching before I loaded two containers of Mae’s fiber mix into the cart. “What kind of tree was it?”
“Orange tree, why?”
It was probably a sin to laugh at the dead, but I couldn’t help it. “We have a Partridge in an orange tree.”
Aaron groaned. “I’ll send the address. Try to hurry.”
Kathryn M. Hearst is a southern girl with a love of the dark and strange. She has been a storyteller her entire life, as a child, she took people watching to new heights by creating back stories of complete strangers. Besides writing, she has a passion for shoes, vintage clothing, antique British cars, music, musicians and all things musical (including theater). Kate lives in central Florida with her chocolate lab, Jolene; and two rescue pups, Jagger and Roxanne. She is a self-proclaimed nerd, raising a nerdling.
The Order of the Sinistra Dei is her first series and includes titles, Feast of the Epiphany and Feast of Mercy. Kate's novel, The Spirit Tree, won a publishing contract with Kindle Press through the Kindle Scout contest. Her short stories have been published in various anthologies.
http://facebook.com/kathrynmhearst
http://twitter.com/kathrynmhearst
https://www.amazon.com/Kathryn-M.-Hearst/e/B017S8Z088
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13847103
http://www.kathrynmhearst.com/
Newsletter sign up http://eepurl.com/cmk6dv
The Order of the Sinistra Dei is her first series and includes titles, Feast of the Epiphany and Feast of Mercy. Kate's novel, The Spirit Tree, won a publishing contract with Kindle Press through the Kindle Scout contest. Her short stories have been published in various anthologies.
http://facebook.com/kathrynmhearst
http://twitter.com/kathrynmhearst
https://www.amazon.com/Kathryn-M.-Hearst/e/B017S8Z088
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13847103
http://www.kathrynmhearst.com/
Newsletter sign up http://eepurl.com/cmk6dv
The Mists of Time
Di Vinci Time Travel Series Book Four
Susan Squires
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Divided by Centuries
Diana Dearborn knows all about romance, at least in the books she writes. But passion eludes her in real life—until she’s offered the chance to travel back in time to Camelot. The world of King Arthur and Guinevere is nothing like she pictured, and neither is the knight she encounters upon her return to San Francisco: Gawain, the hero of her current project. He’s complicated, mysterious, and sexier than anything her imagination could conjure. And he’s been waiting for her…
Entwined by Desire
Now, joined together in a desperate race, Diana and Gawain must prevent an ancient, evil force from wreaking mayhem in the all-too-real present. Diana must learn to trust Gawain, even while she encounters secrets about her own past. But even if their mission succeeds, does Diana’s destiny lie with this man from another time—and will their love alter history forever?
Amazon iBooks Smashwords
Diana Dearborn knows all about romance, at least in the books she writes. But passion eludes her in real life—until she’s offered the chance to travel back in time to Camelot. The world of King Arthur and Guinevere is nothing like she pictured, and neither is the knight she encounters upon her return to San Francisco: Gawain, the hero of her current project. He’s complicated, mysterious, and sexier than anything her imagination could conjure. And he’s been waiting for her…
Entwined by Desire
Now, joined together in a desperate race, Diana and Gawain must prevent an ancient, evil force from wreaking mayhem in the all-too-real present. Diana must learn to trust Gawain, even while she encounters secrets about her own past. But even if their mission succeeds, does Diana’s destiny lie with this man from another time—and will their love alter history forever?
Amazon iBooks Smashwords
Making love to her had been a miracle. Gawain couldn’t regret it. The way she opened to him, the way she trusted him. He’d worried when she was so hesitant. He’d wondered if she was too damaged by her previous experience.
Had he been gentle enough with her? It had cost him every ounce of his control to go as slowly has he had, when he wanted to claim her as his own, fast and fierce, with the right to protect and defend her, the right to make love to her, for them to bear children together and stand together against all comers.
Gawain felt her stir in his arms. She still had her sleep shirt on, though it was entirely unbuttoned, leaving her soft breasts pressed against his chest. He had captured her thigh between his own as she dozed after sex. This was how they should sleep together, always.
She wiggled the leg between his. He opened his thigh immediately. “Did your leg go to sleep?”
“No. I just liked the feel of it against your, uh, you know.’
He raised his brows. “Against my ‘you know’? Those are my bollocks and my cock you’re speaking of.”
Her eyes went dark. “Yes.”
“I know you know those words. You use them in your books.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s a little different saying them to someone in real life.” She cleared her throat again. “I, uh, I hope it was okay for you.”
“Yelling is a clue. You don’t often get yelling.”
She tried to suppress a smile and looked down.
He felt his cock springing to new life. Would he ever get enough of her? “I’m not sure your research is yet complete if you have to resort to ‘you know’ to describe things.” He rolled over on his back and scooted her over next to him. “Don’t you think you should explore a little yourself? Just in the name of research.”
She grinned but looked away.
“You can’t possibly be shy after opening to my mouth the way you did.”
“Was…was I too brazen?” She looked stricken.
“A man likes his woman to be lady in public and brazen in bed. You were perfect.”
“So, uh, I should be brazen now.” She slid a glance down to his groin.
“Yes.”
She took her lip between her teeth as though she were girding her own loins. “I suppose you know that all those things I wrote in my books—they were pretty much just words to me. I know the words well enough but…”
“But you should explore the reality,” he said.
She smiled shyly. “If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind.”
“I’ll bear up.” At least this time he could wait. He’d had one hell of an orgasm less than an hour ago.
“Well, I think I’ll start with your nipples. I was very curious earlier, but I didn’t like to, uh, just.... Well, you know.”
“You think you’re conveying something with this phrase ‘you know.’ But you’re not. Could you mean ‘lick them’?”
She sighed as if relieved. “Yes. Lick them.”
She bent over him and touched her tongue to his right nipple. Sensation shot to his groin. He hadn’t expected that. Not from just a nipple. Not after having spent himself so forcefully less than an hour before. She ran her tongue over it and then sucked gently. He cleared his throat. Now she raked her teeth across it, not biting, but the mere possibility of biting made him feel open and vulnerable to her. She continued working at it, alternating techniques while her other small hand gravitated toward his other nipple and began to tweak it.
She pulled up. “Now, describe how that feels please.”
“Good.”
She frowned at him. “I can’t just say it feels ‘good’ in my books.”
“Well, I’m a man. Men don’t wax flowery over…over things like that.” He took a breath. “That doesn’t mean you have to stop.”
She slipped down and slid her tongue into his navel. “I have other fish to fry right now. I’ll try to get back to them later.” She pulled his thighs apart and he obliged her. “I’ve read,” she said meditatively, “that the area just behind the testicles is very sensitive.” She took two fingers and rubbed the spot in question slowly, deeply. Lord, he was hard as a rock already. Could things get any more intense? “Is that true?” she asked.
“Uh, yes.” Where did she read these kinds of things? In books like hers?
“Pleasurable?”
“That would be yes.”
“And balls, do you like them caressed if I promise to be very gentle?”
“I, uh, I don’t know. No one’s ever done, uh, that exactly to me.”
“You surprise me.” She gave a knowing smile. “A man with your experience?”
The last woman he’d had was the Green Knight’s wife, and that was many years ago. At the thought of the Green Knight and his failure of honor, his heart contracted. He had to put that failure away. This was for Diana. He would perform the act of loving with her, for her, as a healing rite. That was the height of honor. And if it wasn’t, then honor be damned.
Had he been gentle enough with her? It had cost him every ounce of his control to go as slowly has he had, when he wanted to claim her as his own, fast and fierce, with the right to protect and defend her, the right to make love to her, for them to bear children together and stand together against all comers.
Gawain felt her stir in his arms. She still had her sleep shirt on, though it was entirely unbuttoned, leaving her soft breasts pressed against his chest. He had captured her thigh between his own as she dozed after sex. This was how they should sleep together, always.
She wiggled the leg between his. He opened his thigh immediately. “Did your leg go to sleep?”
“No. I just liked the feel of it against your, uh, you know.’
He raised his brows. “Against my ‘you know’? Those are my bollocks and my cock you’re speaking of.”
Her eyes went dark. “Yes.”
“I know you know those words. You use them in your books.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s a little different saying them to someone in real life.” She cleared her throat again. “I, uh, I hope it was okay for you.”
“Yelling is a clue. You don’t often get yelling.”
She tried to suppress a smile and looked down.
He felt his cock springing to new life. Would he ever get enough of her? “I’m not sure your research is yet complete if you have to resort to ‘you know’ to describe things.” He rolled over on his back and scooted her over next to him. “Don’t you think you should explore a little yourself? Just in the name of research.”
She grinned but looked away.
“You can’t possibly be shy after opening to my mouth the way you did.”
“Was…was I too brazen?” She looked stricken.
“A man likes his woman to be lady in public and brazen in bed. You were perfect.”
“So, uh, I should be brazen now.” She slid a glance down to his groin.
“Yes.”
She took her lip between her teeth as though she were girding her own loins. “I suppose you know that all those things I wrote in my books—they were pretty much just words to me. I know the words well enough but…”
“But you should explore the reality,” he said.
She smiled shyly. “If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind.”
“I’ll bear up.” At least this time he could wait. He’d had one hell of an orgasm less than an hour ago.
“Well, I think I’ll start with your nipples. I was very curious earlier, but I didn’t like to, uh, just.... Well, you know.”
“You think you’re conveying something with this phrase ‘you know.’ But you’re not. Could you mean ‘lick them’?”
She sighed as if relieved. “Yes. Lick them.”
She bent over him and touched her tongue to his right nipple. Sensation shot to his groin. He hadn’t expected that. Not from just a nipple. Not after having spent himself so forcefully less than an hour before. She ran her tongue over it and then sucked gently. He cleared his throat. Now she raked her teeth across it, not biting, but the mere possibility of biting made him feel open and vulnerable to her. She continued working at it, alternating techniques while her other small hand gravitated toward his other nipple and began to tweak it.
She pulled up. “Now, describe how that feels please.”
“Good.”
She frowned at him. “I can’t just say it feels ‘good’ in my books.”
“Well, I’m a man. Men don’t wax flowery over…over things like that.” He took a breath. “That doesn’t mean you have to stop.”
She slipped down and slid her tongue into his navel. “I have other fish to fry right now. I’ll try to get back to them later.” She pulled his thighs apart and he obliged her. “I’ve read,” she said meditatively, “that the area just behind the testicles is very sensitive.” She took two fingers and rubbed the spot in question slowly, deeply. Lord, he was hard as a rock already. Could things get any more intense? “Is that true?” she asked.
“Uh, yes.” Where did she read these kinds of things? In books like hers?
“Pleasurable?”
“That would be yes.”
“And balls, do you like them caressed if I promise to be very gentle?”
“I, uh, I don’t know. No one’s ever done, uh, that exactly to me.”
“You surprise me.” She gave a knowing smile. “A man with your experience?”
The last woman he’d had was the Green Knight’s wife, and that was many years ago. At the thought of the Green Knight and his failure of honor, his heart contracted. He had to put that failure away. This was for Diana. He would perform the act of loving with her, for her, as a healing rite. That was the height of honor. And if it wasn’t, then honor be damned.
Susan Squires grew up among the giant redwoods of California. She thought she was being practical by changing her major in college from theater to English literature. Immersed in a PhD. Program, she slowly realized that none of her graduating friends had work. So she dropped out after receiving a Master’s degree to take an paying job in the business world.
As an executive in a Fortune 500 company, she returned to her love of writing while continuing to hold her day-job, much to the amusement of her fellow executives. Her novel Danegeld, had already been purchased by Dorchester by the time she accepted a Golden Heart for Best Unpublished Paranormal Manuscript from Romance Writers of America. It was the first of an eclectic group of historical and contemporary paranormal stories known for their intensity. Body Electric was named by Publishers Weekly one of the ten most influential paperbacks of 2002, for blending romance and science-fiction. Book List compared No More Lies to the works of Robin Cook and Michael Crichton, but it was also a Rita finalist for Best Published Paranormal Romance by Romance Writers of America.
Susan’s Companion Series for St. Martin’s Press, continued to garner attention with admiring reviews and several visits to the New York Times Bestseller List. Publishers Weekly named One with the Shadows a Best Book of the Year, and several of the series received starred reviews. Her books have won the many regional contests for published works of paranormal romantic fiction.
Susan no longer has to use tales of romance and adventure to escape budgets and projects. She finally left her day job, and researches and writes her books at the beach in Southern California, supported by three Belgian Sheepdogs and a wonderful husband named Harry who writes occult mysteries as H.R. Knight.
http://www.susansquires.com/
https://twitter.com/susansquires
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSusanSquires/
http://susansquires.com/blog/
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/164485.Susan_Squires
As an executive in a Fortune 500 company, she returned to her love of writing while continuing to hold her day-job, much to the amusement of her fellow executives. Her novel Danegeld, had already been purchased by Dorchester by the time she accepted a Golden Heart for Best Unpublished Paranormal Manuscript from Romance Writers of America. It was the first of an eclectic group of historical and contemporary paranormal stories known for their intensity. Body Electric was named by Publishers Weekly one of the ten most influential paperbacks of 2002, for blending romance and science-fiction. Book List compared No More Lies to the works of Robin Cook and Michael Crichton, but it was also a Rita finalist for Best Published Paranormal Romance by Romance Writers of America.
Susan’s Companion Series for St. Martin’s Press, continued to garner attention with admiring reviews and several visits to the New York Times Bestseller List. Publishers Weekly named One with the Shadows a Best Book of the Year, and several of the series received starred reviews. Her books have won the many regional contests for published works of paranormal romantic fiction.
Susan no longer has to use tales of romance and adventure to escape budgets and projects. She finally left her day job, and researches and writes her books at the beach in Southern California, supported by three Belgian Sheepdogs and a wonderful husband named Harry who writes occult mysteries as H.R. Knight.
http://www.susansquires.com/
https://twitter.com/susansquires
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSusanSquires/
http://susansquires.com/blog/
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/164485.Susan_Squires
51 Love
by Jeremy T. Ringfield
GENRE: New Adult Contemporary Romantic Suspense
This story is about Abram, a hopeless romantic who enrolls into college and begins leaving love notes for the girl, Jec, who works at the front desk of his student apartments. About why they know each other when neither have even met. That's right, she had seen his face only two weeks earlier, when he tossed his book bag in the middle of the street, holding up traffic like a mad homeless man. But what she doesn't know is that just before he came to grab his keys to move in, the handsome albeit strange eyes and the person they belong to had just been released from the county jail.
The jail cell talk without any cameras around to record make his last 51 minutes in the pen with a sketchy bunkmate a do or die conversation that may explain why he became homeless, why he wrote the love letters in the first place, and if both were random at all.
The jail cell talk without any cameras around to record make his last 51 minutes in the pen with a sketchy bunkmate a do or die conversation that may explain why he became homeless, why he wrote the love letters in the first place, and if both were random at all.
As I go to hand him his key and re-washable cup, I remind him that “the lobby coffee is free”, and he glances at my name tag.
I lazily connect my last sentence with the next, saying “Jec, for short”.
He pauses, then shakes his head and asks “What if I want to call you something different?”
I meet his eyes with a stare of my own, slow to respond, blink, and say “It will be okay Abram.” His face scrunches for a moment and his eyes look as though he is wondering straight through me. My glance falls deeper into the hole of an eye, and I see a marble in the night, the dark side of a full moon, which can be plucked right out of the sky to place a piece of the void heaven filled should I grab it and tuck it into my pocket.
The ascension falling as the walls collapse to drop a cloud in his ear, a long fiber weaves my wonder, wherefore out there did he discover?
And I conceived a thought of a single droplet, enough months from now, falling into a gravitationally absent drip time has lost, and him not.
Before I can tell if he eased his facial expression, he walks off keys in hand without another word.
“See, I told you. Killer” Bobby says flatly, and I just return to checking my emails.
I lazily connect my last sentence with the next, saying “Jec, for short”.
He pauses, then shakes his head and asks “What if I want to call you something different?”
I meet his eyes with a stare of my own, slow to respond, blink, and say “It will be okay Abram.” His face scrunches for a moment and his eyes look as though he is wondering straight through me. My glance falls deeper into the hole of an eye, and I see a marble in the night, the dark side of a full moon, which can be plucked right out of the sky to place a piece of the void heaven filled should I grab it and tuck it into my pocket.
The ascension falling as the walls collapse to drop a cloud in his ear, a long fiber weaves my wonder, wherefore out there did he discover?
And I conceived a thought of a single droplet, enough months from now, falling into a gravitationally absent drip time has lost, and him not.
Before I can tell if he eased his facial expression, he walks off keys in hand without another word.
“See, I told you. Killer” Bobby says flatly, and I just return to checking my emails.
Jeremy lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He grew up in the south Atlanta area, where he eventually earned a football scholarship to Duke University. After experiencing enough life to form his own opinions, he enjoys sharing some with friends, reading, watching fantasy thriller and romance films, listening to music, and jogging when he is not writing. He writes new adult fiction.
Jeremy would love to hear from you. Follow him on Twitter @JTRingfield, friend him on Facebook, or visit his webpage at www.jeremytringfield.com
Additional Links:
Author Website
www.jeremytringfield.com
Author Facebook Page
https://www.facebook.com/jeremytringfield/
Author Twitter Page
https://twitter.com/JTRingfield
Kindle Purchasing Page
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01KH99OJG
51 Love is on sale for 0.99 cents, starting on Monday, November 21st, 2016, through Friday, November 25th, 2016, via Kindle only.
Jeremy would love to hear from you. Follow him on Twitter @JTRingfield, friend him on Facebook, or visit his webpage at www.jeremytringfield.com
Additional Links:
Author Website
www.jeremytringfield.com
Author Facebook Page
https://www.facebook.com/jeremytringfield/
Author Twitter Page
https://twitter.com/JTRingfield
Kindle Purchasing Page
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01KH99OJG
51 Love is on sale for 0.99 cents, starting on Monday, November 21st, 2016, through Friday, November 25th, 2016, via Kindle only.
Hard Compromise
Compromise Me #2
By: Samanthe Beck
Releasing November 21, 2016
Entangled
A Compromise Me novel by USA Today bestselling author Samanthe Beck
Laurie Peterson assumes her impulsive one-night stand with sinfully sexy Sheriff Ethan Booker is the biggest surprise of the year…until her bakery burns down while she’s basking in the afterglow. It looks like her dreams are up in smoke, but then Ethan proposes a deal too tempting to resist.
Ethan has no intention of settling for a one-night stand with Laurie. Nor does he want anything to do with the women his wealthy family wants him to meet. Not when he’s waited ten years for his chance to make his move. His deal might have strings—and Laurie may not know the stakes—but nothing will stop this sexy cop from staking a real claim on her body and her heart.
Link to Follow Tour:
http://tastybooktours.com/tours-master/2016/11/5/hard-compromise-compromise-me-2-by-samanthe-beck
Goodreads Link:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32671868-hard-compromise
Goodreads Series Link
https://www.goodreads.com/series/190303-compromise-me
Buy Links:
AMAZON | B & N | ITUNES | KOBO
Laurie Peterson assumes her impulsive one-night stand with sinfully sexy Sheriff Ethan Booker is the biggest surprise of the year…until her bakery burns down while she’s basking in the afterglow. It looks like her dreams are up in smoke, but then Ethan proposes a deal too tempting to resist.
Ethan has no intention of settling for a one-night stand with Laurie. Nor does he want anything to do with the women his wealthy family wants him to meet. Not when he’s waited ten years for his chance to make his move. His deal might have strings—and Laurie may not know the stakes—but nothing will stop this sexy cop from staking a real claim on her body and her heart.
Link to Follow Tour:
http://tastybooktours.com/tours-master/2016/11/5/hard-compromise-compromise-me-2-by-samanthe-beck
Goodreads Link:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32671868-hard-compromise
Goodreads Series Link
https://www.goodreads.com/series/190303-compromise-me
Buy Links:
AMAZON | B & N | ITUNES | KOBO
She turned on less than steady legs and walked to the other side of the room, feeling the weight of his stare on her the entire time. Once there, she planted her feet hip’s distance apart, bent from the waist, and rested her forearms on the bed. “I trust this is interesting enough for you?”
His footsteps fueled her adrenalin. She lowered her head to the mattress, and lifted onto her toes.
“It’s definitely a start. Hand me my belt.”
She raised her head as a hundred imaginary feathers fluttered down her spine. “Your...what?”
“My belt,” he repeated. “It’s right beside you.”
“Why?”
“Give it to me, and you’ll find out.”
If she wasn’t in the mood for this, all she had to do was say so. Booker would let it go, without question. Even knowing this, backing down felt too much like surrender. She handed the strap to him, but couldn’t help adding a caustic comment. “Who would have guessed there were fifty shades of Sheriff Booker?”
His soft laugh stirred invisible molecules in the air around her. “I would never do anything so conventional. Besides”—he folded the belt in half and ran the edge along the back of her thigh—“I think you secretly prefer gentle.”
“I told you before, you don’t have to be gentle with me.”
“You’re tough, huh?” The edge of the belt tickled her skin again.
She faced front and held her position. “That’s right.” Dammit, she was her own worst enemy.
“Okay, tough girl. Be still.”
His footsteps fueled her adrenalin. She lowered her head to the mattress, and lifted onto her toes.
“It’s definitely a start. Hand me my belt.”
She raised her head as a hundred imaginary feathers fluttered down her spine. “Your...what?”
“My belt,” he repeated. “It’s right beside you.”
“Why?”
“Give it to me, and you’ll find out.”
If she wasn’t in the mood for this, all she had to do was say so. Booker would let it go, without question. Even knowing this, backing down felt too much like surrender. She handed the strap to him, but couldn’t help adding a caustic comment. “Who would have guessed there were fifty shades of Sheriff Booker?”
His soft laugh stirred invisible molecules in the air around her. “I would never do anything so conventional. Besides”—he folded the belt in half and ran the edge along the back of her thigh—“I think you secretly prefer gentle.”
“I told you before, you don’t have to be gentle with me.”
“You’re tough, huh?” The edge of the belt tickled her skin again.
She faced front and held her position. “That’s right.” Dammit, she was her own worst enemy.
“Okay, tough girl. Be still.”
Wine lover, sleep fanatic, and USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy contemporary romance novels, Samanthe Beck lives in Malibu, California, with her long-suffering but extremely adorable husband and their turbo-son, Hud. Throw in a furry ninja named Kitty and Bebe the trash talking Chihuahua and you get the whole, chaotic picture.
When not clinging to sanity by her fingernails or dreaming up fun, fan-your-cheeks sexy ways to get her characters to happily-ever-afters, she searches for the perfect cabernet to pair with Ambien.
Author Links:
WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS
When not clinging to sanity by her fingernails or dreaming up fun, fan-your-cheeks sexy ways to get her characters to happily-ever-afters, she searches for the perfect cabernet to pair with Ambien.
Author Links:
WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS
The Year of Loving
By Traci L. Slatton
Genre: Commercial women’s fiction
Art gallerist Sarah Paige’s world is crumbling. One daughter barely speaks to her and the other is on the rails. Sarah is struggling to keep her gallery afloat in a tough market. Then she learns that her most beloved friend has cancer. In the midst of her second divorce, two men come into her life: an older man who offers companionship and stability, and an exciting younger man whose life is as chaotic as hers.
Sarah’s courage and spirit strengthen her, but how much can she bear, and what sustains her when all else falls away? Sarah finds herself on a journey that tests her more than she could ever have imagined.
Amazon
Sarah’s courage and spirit strengthen her, but how much can she bear, and what sustains her when all else falls away? Sarah finds herself on a journey that tests her more than she could ever have imagined.
Amazon
Traci L. Slatton is the international bestselling author of historical, paranormal, and romantic novels, including IMMORTAL (BantamDell) and BROKEN; the award-winning dystopian After Series which includes FALLEN, COLD LIGHT, FAR SHORE and BLOOD SKY; the bittersweet romantic comedy THE LOVE OF MY (OTHER) LIFE; and the vampire art history romp THE BOTTICELLI AFFAIR. She has also published the lyrical poetry collection DANCING IN THE TABERNACLE and THE ART OF LIFE, a photo-essay about figurative sculpture through the ages. Her book PIERCING TIME and SPACE explores the meeting ground of science and spirituality.
Web: www.tracilslatton.com
Blog: www.blogspot.tracilslatton.com
Twitter: @tracilslatton
FB: https://www.facebook.com/TraciLynnSlatton/
Web: www.tracilslatton.com
Blog: www.blogspot.tracilslatton.com
Twitter: @tracilslatton
FB: https://www.facebook.com/TraciLynnSlatton/
Real Earls Break the Rules
Infamous Somertons #2
By: Tina Gabrielle
Releasing November 21, 2016
Entangled Scandalous
Rules are made to be broken…
He’ll break every rule for her…
She’s forbidden in every way…
1816 England
Brandon St. Clair, the Earl of Vale, has never been one to follow the rules. Even though he must marry a wealthy heiress so that he can be rid of the pile of debt he inherited with his title, he can’t stop thinking of another. Amelia Somerton is the daughter of an art forger and is not a suitable wife. But that doesn’t stop Brandon from making Amelia a different offer, the kind that breaks every rule of etiquette…
Sin runs in Amelia’s family. And even though she now rubs elbows with the aristocracy, she knows the truth—she has the ability to forge priceless works of art. She’ll never be seen as an acceptable wife, not that she wants to marry, anyway. So when the earl scandalously offers her the one thing she’s always dreamed of, she can’t help but take it. But what begins as a simple arrangement, soon escalates into much more, and as the heat between them sizzles, each encounter becomes a lesson in seduction…
Link to Follow Tour:
http://tastybooktours.com/tours-master/2016/10/real-earls-break-rules-infamoushtml
Goodreads Link:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32795042-real-earls-break-the-rules
Goodreads Series Link:
https://www.goodreads.com/series/190446-the-infamous-somertons
Buy Links:
Amazon | B&N | iTunes | Kobo
He’ll break every rule for her…
She’s forbidden in every way…
1816 England
Brandon St. Clair, the Earl of Vale, has never been one to follow the rules. Even though he must marry a wealthy heiress so that he can be rid of the pile of debt he inherited with his title, he can’t stop thinking of another. Amelia Somerton is the daughter of an art forger and is not a suitable wife. But that doesn’t stop Brandon from making Amelia a different offer, the kind that breaks every rule of etiquette…
Sin runs in Amelia’s family. And even though she now rubs elbows with the aristocracy, she knows the truth—she has the ability to forge priceless works of art. She’ll never be seen as an acceptable wife, not that she wants to marry, anyway. So when the earl scandalously offers her the one thing she’s always dreamed of, she can’t help but take it. But what begins as a simple arrangement, soon escalates into much more, and as the heat between them sizzles, each encounter becomes a lesson in seduction…
Link to Follow Tour:
http://tastybooktours.com/tours-master/2016/10/real-earls-break-rules-infamoushtml
Goodreads Link:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32795042-real-earls-break-the-rules
Goodreads Series Link:
https://www.goodreads.com/series/190446-the-infamous-somertons
Buy Links:
Amazon | B&N | iTunes | Kobo
Amelia looked away. This wouldn’t do at all. She hadn’t drawn a single charcoal line and already she was craving the forbidden. She cleared her throat and stood. “I often work on more than one painting at a time and plan on painting the Cuyp landscape and your portrait simultaneously. I thought to start with your portrait tonight. Have you given any thought of how you would like to pose?”
Lord Vale rose to his feet. “What is your professional opinion as an artist?”
A reproduction of Michelangelo’s statue of David she had once seen in a museum rose in her mind. Magnificent in its naked splendor, the statue’s muscles and sinew had portrayed a beautiful male form. Her pulse beat in her throat, and she tried to assume an ease she didn’t feel as she faced him. She had been raised unconventionally in an artist’s household. Her father’s studio contained all types of art, including nude drawings and sketches, and she had studied them in order to sketch realistic people in her works. The print shop also had a vast variety of prints and paintings for sale, some of nudes or half-dressed subjects. But she shouldn’t be thinking of that artwork now. Not when the strikingly handsome Earl of Vale was staring at her and waiting for her response.
Her hands, hidden from sight, twisted nervously in her skirts. “Do you prefer any of the portraits of the prior Earls of Vale you had shown me?”
“I thought I discussed not wanting to look like them.”
Oh, you could never look like them. Not if she was the artist.
She was distracted when he reached up to unbutton and remove his jacket, then drape it across the armchair. Next, he shed his waistcoat and tossed it to join the jacket. Broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt. She could make out muscles and a narrow waist where his shirt tucked into his breeches.
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed.
“All my ancestors are dressed formally. I don’t want to be remembered as earlish, remember?”
Had she ever used that term to describe him?
He looked about the room “Hmm. Now how should I pose?”
Her gaze lifted to his, and she searched for some hint that he knew her reaction to his state of undress. All she found was a guiltless concentration, like he was struggling to decide how best to pose for her study.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She wracked her mind for something to say to distract her from his masculinity.
“You said you are in your study every evening. What do you spend most of your time doing here?” she asked.
“That’s easy.” He motioned to the large desk and the piles of paper upon its surface. “I work.”
“Every night?”
“Long into every night.”
She chewed her lip. She thought that most of the gentlemen of the beau monde spent their nights at their London clubs or, if in the country, drinking with their friends. A house party offered ample opportunity for him to be in the billiard room with Lord Huntingdon. Once the other gentlemen arrived, she imagined they would all drink and play billiards.
“What do you work on?” she asked.
“This and that. The old earl died a year ago. I’m sorting through his affairs.”
It was a vague answer to be sure. It was also none of her concern. He was hiring her to paint him, not delve into his affairs. He may not be paying her in banknotes, but the letter in her skirt pocket promising art lessons from a Royal Academy painter was as good as gold in Amelia’s opinion.
“I have an idea,” she blurted out. “Since you spend so much time at your desk, I’d like to paint you there.”
“Behind the desk?”
“No. In front of it.” She pointed where she wanted him to stand in front of the massive pearwood desk. “Lean back against the desk and place a hand on either side of you for support.” She took one of his hands and showed him. His hand was much larger than hers, the fingers long, tapered, and strong. He wore no gloves and she’d left hers in her room. No sense wearing them when she painted. The simple act of touching his hands was intimate and made her cheeks flush.
He leaned back, his hands on either side as she’d requested. She looked up and met his gaze. They were close…too close. For a heart-stopping moment she read longing in his eyes—pure and undisguised.
She froze. He wasn’t as guiltless or unaffected as she’d thought. Her heart pounded in her chest, beating so hard and loud that she feared he could hear. She took a quick step back.
“Anything else?” he asked.
Lord Vale rose to his feet. “What is your professional opinion as an artist?”
A reproduction of Michelangelo’s statue of David she had once seen in a museum rose in her mind. Magnificent in its naked splendor, the statue’s muscles and sinew had portrayed a beautiful male form. Her pulse beat in her throat, and she tried to assume an ease she didn’t feel as she faced him. She had been raised unconventionally in an artist’s household. Her father’s studio contained all types of art, including nude drawings and sketches, and she had studied them in order to sketch realistic people in her works. The print shop also had a vast variety of prints and paintings for sale, some of nudes or half-dressed subjects. But she shouldn’t be thinking of that artwork now. Not when the strikingly handsome Earl of Vale was staring at her and waiting for her response.
Her hands, hidden from sight, twisted nervously in her skirts. “Do you prefer any of the portraits of the prior Earls of Vale you had shown me?”
“I thought I discussed not wanting to look like them.”
Oh, you could never look like them. Not if she was the artist.
She was distracted when he reached up to unbutton and remove his jacket, then drape it across the armchair. Next, he shed his waistcoat and tossed it to join the jacket. Broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt. She could make out muscles and a narrow waist where his shirt tucked into his breeches.
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed.
“All my ancestors are dressed formally. I don’t want to be remembered as earlish, remember?”
Had she ever used that term to describe him?
He looked about the room “Hmm. Now how should I pose?”
Her gaze lifted to his, and she searched for some hint that he knew her reaction to his state of undress. All she found was a guiltless concentration, like he was struggling to decide how best to pose for her study.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She wracked her mind for something to say to distract her from his masculinity.
“You said you are in your study every evening. What do you spend most of your time doing here?” she asked.
“That’s easy.” He motioned to the large desk and the piles of paper upon its surface. “I work.”
“Every night?”
“Long into every night.”
She chewed her lip. She thought that most of the gentlemen of the beau monde spent their nights at their London clubs or, if in the country, drinking with their friends. A house party offered ample opportunity for him to be in the billiard room with Lord Huntingdon. Once the other gentlemen arrived, she imagined they would all drink and play billiards.
“What do you work on?” she asked.
“This and that. The old earl died a year ago. I’m sorting through his affairs.”
It was a vague answer to be sure. It was also none of her concern. He was hiring her to paint him, not delve into his affairs. He may not be paying her in banknotes, but the letter in her skirt pocket promising art lessons from a Royal Academy painter was as good as gold in Amelia’s opinion.
“I have an idea,” she blurted out. “Since you spend so much time at your desk, I’d like to paint you there.”
“Behind the desk?”
“No. In front of it.” She pointed where she wanted him to stand in front of the massive pearwood desk. “Lean back against the desk and place a hand on either side of you for support.” She took one of his hands and showed him. His hand was much larger than hers, the fingers long, tapered, and strong. He wore no gloves and she’d left hers in her room. No sense wearing them when she painted. The simple act of touching his hands was intimate and made her cheeks flush.
He leaned back, his hands on either side as she’d requested. She looked up and met his gaze. They were close…too close. For a heart-stopping moment she read longing in his eyes—pure and undisguised.
She froze. He wasn’t as guiltless or unaffected as she’d thought. Her heart pounded in her chest, beating so hard and loud that she feared he could hear. She took a quick step back.
“Anything else?” he asked.
Best-selling author Tina Gabrielle is an attorney and former mechanical engineer whose love of reading for pleasure helped her get through years of academia. She often picked up a romance and let her fantasies of knights in shining armor and lords and ladies carry her away. She is the author of adventurous Regency historical romances. Publisher’s Weekly calls her Regency Barrister’s series, “Well-matched lovers…witty comradely repartee.” Tina’s books have been Barnes & Noble top picks, and her first book, Lady Of Scandal, was nominated as best first historical by Romantic Times Book Reviews. Tina lives in New Jersey and is married to her own hero and is blessed with two daughters. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her website to learn about upcoming releases, join her newsletter, and enter free monthly contests at www.tinagabrielle.com
Author Links:
Website | Facebook | Twitter| Goodreads
Author Links:
Website | Facebook | Twitter| Goodreads
The Twilight Tsunami
Author: Shelby Londyn-Heath
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Grey is a hard-hitting foster care social worker who removes babies and children from dangerous drugged parents, violent homes, and families joined with criminal gangs. He is unstoppable until a new social worker enters his department. She is hungry for power and position, as she challenges Grey in malevolent and unexpected ways. As Grey yanks newborns from mothers, confronts irate parents, and lives through suicides of foster children aging out of the system, nothing stops him until he meets his nemesis, a truly power-hungry woman.
As Grey struggles to maintain his position at work, his ambitious co-worker strategizes to bring his career to an end. She plans her take-down in a stealthy, behind-the-back manner, as Grey wakes daily to the grind of child removals during his job as a Child Protective Services social worker. After he is attacked by an addicted, brutal father during a child removal, Grey becomes unruly to his supervisor, co-workers, and his clients while his enemy at work steps back and watches him unravel.
She delivers the final crush in an unexpected, malevolent manner. Grey teeters, no longer able to hold himself together, no longer able to perform on the job. He takes the next move, the last thing left for him to do to avoid a final melt-down, a final smear of his old self on a sheet of fly paper.
As Grey struggles to maintain his position at work, his ambitious co-worker strategizes to bring his career to an end. She plans her take-down in a stealthy, behind-the-back manner, as Grey wakes daily to the grind of child removals during his job as a Child Protective Services social worker. After he is attacked by an addicted, brutal father during a child removal, Grey becomes unruly to his supervisor, co-workers, and his clients while his enemy at work steps back and watches him unravel.
She delivers the final crush in an unexpected, malevolent manner. Grey teeters, no longer able to hold himself together, no longer able to perform on the job. He takes the next move, the last thing left for him to do to avoid a final melt-down, a final smear of his old self on a sheet of fly paper.
GREY STOOD QUIETLY next to the hospital bed. “Mrs. Jaspers, your baby has tested positive for cocaine.” Grey knew from experience that talking in a low voice helped hold back the negative emotions of a child’s removal, before anger and defiance from parents swept around him like a dangerous tempest. Mrs. Jaspers, a nineteen-year-old woman recently out of high school, glared at Grey. Her eyes grew larger in her upturned face, framed by tangled, matted purple hair. She wore an apologetic nose ring that swept to one side of her flared nostril and vibrated with each panicked inhalation she drew in.
“I repeat, Mrs. Jaspers, your baby has tested positive. I am from the Department of Social Services. I am here to take your baby to a safe environment.” Mrs. Jaspers bolted upright in her bed. She grabbed onto Grey with a gritty desperation to stop him from removing her baby.
“My baby ain’t on cocaine. How dare you say my baby is on drugs? I didn’t give no drugs to my baby. You cannot take my baby girl. We are waiting for her daddy to come see her. We are going to name her today. I need my baby to stay with me, because like I just told you, we’re waiting for her daddy to come see her.” The daddy, a twenty-one-year-old unemployed construction worker who married her when she tested positive for pregnancy, prowled the streets looking for cocaine after a three-day drinking binge.
Grey unclasped the mother’s hands and moved towards the door. Mrs. Jaspers jumped up, pulling out her intravenous tube, causing blood to spurt out of her arm. She howled loudly. Grey called in a police officer who waited tentatively in the corridor. The police officer’s presence did not deter the fiery mother from running around her hospital room in frantic leaps. The sickening odor of fresh blood permeated the room. Her hospital gown flew open, displaying the naked form of a young woman new to adulthood. Her tattoos, splayed across her torso, looked like colorful orbs of splattered paints, graffiti statements embroidered in flesh.
Grey felt his stomach grip in painful spasms. He thought of his daughter Olivia, also nineteen years-old, at an age of innocence, a time for dreaming, to be a youthful arrow pointed at the stars. As Grey watched Mrs. Jaspers lurch side-to- side in frenzied movements, he wondered how she came to this moment; losing her baby, being strung out on drugs, with a bleak future rising before her. Nurses ran in as the police officer restrained her, “Her stitches. Watch for her stitches,” one of them shouted.
“I don’t care about my stitches. I wish I could die. This man wants to take my baby away. I just had hours of pain to make my baby. You didn’t have that pain, you didn’t go through what I went through;
you didn’t make my baby. You have no right to take my baby. How dare you?” The young woman screamed between loud ricocheting sobs. Her hands shook and her face turned ashen.
One of the nurses yelled, “Mrs. Jaspers, get in bed right now. Nurse Anne, please help me lift her into bed and get her to stop moving around. She has stitches that will tear, if they haven’t already. There, there, Mrs. Jaspers, we’ll have something for you right away.” The nurse patted the sheets down with trembling hands.
Mrs. Jaspers kicked furiously, as the officer restrained her. Two nurses and an aide helped pull her onto the hospital bed. Mrs. Jaspers screamed when the officer gripped her arms and hands. Another nurse came in and gave her a shot. Mrs. Jaspers looked out at a haze of blue uniforms surrounding her, as she shook uncontrollably, emitting a strange growling sound, before her sedative took effect.
“I repeat, Mrs. Jaspers, your baby has tested positive. I am from the Department of Social Services. I am here to take your baby to a safe environment.” Mrs. Jaspers bolted upright in her bed. She grabbed onto Grey with a gritty desperation to stop him from removing her baby.
“My baby ain’t on cocaine. How dare you say my baby is on drugs? I didn’t give no drugs to my baby. You cannot take my baby girl. We are waiting for her daddy to come see her. We are going to name her today. I need my baby to stay with me, because like I just told you, we’re waiting for her daddy to come see her.” The daddy, a twenty-one-year-old unemployed construction worker who married her when she tested positive for pregnancy, prowled the streets looking for cocaine after a three-day drinking binge.
Grey unclasped the mother’s hands and moved towards the door. Mrs. Jaspers jumped up, pulling out her intravenous tube, causing blood to spurt out of her arm. She howled loudly. Grey called in a police officer who waited tentatively in the corridor. The police officer’s presence did not deter the fiery mother from running around her hospital room in frantic leaps. The sickening odor of fresh blood permeated the room. Her hospital gown flew open, displaying the naked form of a young woman new to adulthood. Her tattoos, splayed across her torso, looked like colorful orbs of splattered paints, graffiti statements embroidered in flesh.
Grey felt his stomach grip in painful spasms. He thought of his daughter Olivia, also nineteen years-old, at an age of innocence, a time for dreaming, to be a youthful arrow pointed at the stars. As Grey watched Mrs. Jaspers lurch side-to- side in frenzied movements, he wondered how she came to this moment; losing her baby, being strung out on drugs, with a bleak future rising before her. Nurses ran in as the police officer restrained her, “Her stitches. Watch for her stitches,” one of them shouted.
“I don’t care about my stitches. I wish I could die. This man wants to take my baby away. I just had hours of pain to make my baby. You didn’t have that pain, you didn’t go through what I went through;
you didn’t make my baby. You have no right to take my baby. How dare you?” The young woman screamed between loud ricocheting sobs. Her hands shook and her face turned ashen.
One of the nurses yelled, “Mrs. Jaspers, get in bed right now. Nurse Anne, please help me lift her into bed and get her to stop moving around. She has stitches that will tear, if they haven’t already. There, there, Mrs. Jaspers, we’ll have something for you right away.” The nurse patted the sheets down with trembling hands.
Mrs. Jaspers kicked furiously, as the officer restrained her. Two nurses and an aide helped pull her onto the hospital bed. Mrs. Jaspers screamed when the officer gripped her arms and hands. Another nurse came in and gave her a shot. Mrs. Jaspers looked out at a haze of blue uniforms surrounding her, as she shook uncontrollably, emitting a strange growling sound, before her sedative took effect.
Shelby Londyn-Heath, a transplant from New York, has been a world-traveler, crossing the Sahara Desert on the back of a salt truck, working on banana plantations in Spain, an oil company in New York, and on coffee farms in Hawaii. She has jumped freight trains across the United States, and she was the proud owner of a beachfront bamboo hut on the Canary Islands. She has worked as a counselor, social worker, and teacher.
Links
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30657831-the-twilight-tsunami
https://www.amazon.in/Twilight-Tsunami-Shelby-Londyn-Heath-ebook/
https://twitter.com/shelbyfiction
http://shelbyfiction.wix.com/literature-blog-2
Links
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30657831-the-twilight-tsunami
https://www.amazon.in/Twilight-Tsunami-Shelby-Londyn-Heath-ebook/
https://twitter.com/shelbyfiction
http://shelbyfiction.wix.com/literature-blog-2
Luke’s Redemption
by Anni Fife
GENRE: Contemporary Erotic Romantic Suspense
Chased by her criminal kingpin father, Katya Dalca runs to New Orleans and straight into the arms of Luke Hunter. Sucked into the carnal world of the French Quarter, she succumbs to Luke’s potent sexuality. He not only steals her breath, he steals her heart and the only leverage she has against her father. She is left with no choice except to pick up the pieces and rebuild her life alone.
Undercover DEA agent Luke Hunter thought his newest assignment—recover a stolen flash drive to gain the trust of the Russian mob—was like any other. But his target brings him to his knees, and after one taste of her intoxicating beauty, he's in too deep. Doing his job means walking away, leaving his heart behind with nothing but a promise to reunite. It's a promise he can't keep.
When Katya's past reaches out and her world unravels, her only hope is the one man she is most vulnerable to—Luke.
Undercover DEA agent Luke Hunter thought his newest assignment—recover a stolen flash drive to gain the trust of the Russian mob—was like any other. But his target brings him to his knees, and after one taste of her intoxicating beauty, he's in too deep. Doing his job means walking away, leaving his heart behind with nothing but a promise to reunite. It's a promise he can't keep.
When Katya's past reaches out and her world unravels, her only hope is the one man she is most vulnerable to—Luke.
I snuggled deeper into the cosy bedding, lazy and heavy-limbed. Shifting slightly, warmth spread through me as the slight stickiness between my legs brought with it delicious memories of the night before. I never dreamed that I could be so wanton, so wildly desperate for one man’s touch.
And boy, did he touch! His potency evident in every aching muscle in my body.
Mmmm. Heat flickered as his musky scent infused my senses.
“Katya.”
I loved his voice. Especially when he said my name, so deep, rich like dark molasses.
“Katya!”
I forced my lids open. And drowned in sensual, male beauty. “Hi,” I purred. And it was a purr. I sounded like a sated cat. Inching a hand out from under the covers, I reached up, hungry to stroke his rough morning stubble.
He reared back as if stung.
What?
My hand hovered midair as he lowered himself to a chair that was pulled up close to the bedside.
How did that chair get there? Was he watching me sleep?
Sluggish, I looked at the window. The curtains were drawn together but didn’t quite meet. Faint light trickled in. It was barely morning. I looked back at Michale and cold started to seep in. Shit. He was fully clothed, he was even wearing his jacket. Only his hair looked out of place. He obviously couldn’t find the cord that I’d enthusiastically pulled from it like a wild woman, and now it hung loose to his shoulders. Bed-hair. Do men get bed-hair?
And boy, did he touch! His potency evident in every aching muscle in my body.
Mmmm. Heat flickered as his musky scent infused my senses.
“Katya.”
I loved his voice. Especially when he said my name, so deep, rich like dark molasses.
“Katya!”
I forced my lids open. And drowned in sensual, male beauty. “Hi,” I purred. And it was a purr. I sounded like a sated cat. Inching a hand out from under the covers, I reached up, hungry to stroke his rough morning stubble.
He reared back as if stung.
What?
My hand hovered midair as he lowered himself to a chair that was pulled up close to the bedside.
How did that chair get there? Was he watching me sleep?
Sluggish, I looked at the window. The curtains were drawn together but didn’t quite meet. Faint light trickled in. It was barely morning. I looked back at Michale and cold started to seep in. Shit. He was fully clothed, he was even wearing his jacket. Only his hair looked out of place. He obviously couldn’t find the cord that I’d enthusiastically pulled from it like a wild woman, and now it hung loose to his shoulders. Bed-hair. Do men get bed-hair?
Last year, Anni Fife closed the door on a twenty-year successful career in television production, to fulfill her lifelong passion, writing. In the space of one month, she closed her business, packed up her city life and moved to a small seaside village. ‘My writing has always been constrained by client briefs,’ Anni says. ‘Now, I finally have the opportunity to write to the beat of my own heart.’ LUKE’s Redemption is Anni’s debut novel and she hopes you enjoy it as much as she loved writing it. Anni loves to spend hours walking on the beach searching for pansy shells, more hours drinking red wine with her gal posse, and the most hours writing romance novels filled with women you can relate to and men you love to dream about. She is currently working on her second novel, GRAY’s Promise.
Anni is published by The Wild Rose Press.
Special Promotion available on the author's website for new members who join her mail list, Anni's Posse.
www.annifife.com
Join Anni’s Posse and get regular updates and Bonus Treats
SPECIAL PROMOTION. Join by 17 Nov and you receive Chapters 1-3 of Luke’s Redemption and the chance to win a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble Gift Voucher.
Follow Anni’s Posse, LIKE her Facebook Page
https://www.facebook.com/AnniFifeAuthor/
Email Anni
info@annifife.com
Anni is published by The Wild Rose Press.
Special Promotion available on the author's website for new members who join her mail list, Anni's Posse.
www.annifife.com
Join Anni’s Posse and get regular updates and Bonus Treats
SPECIAL PROMOTION. Join by 17 Nov and you receive Chapters 1-3 of Luke’s Redemption and the chance to win a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble Gift Voucher.
Follow Anni’s Posse, LIKE her Facebook Page
https://www.facebook.com/AnniFifeAuthor/
Email Anni
info@annifife.com
Tails and Whiskers
Midnight Rodeo Book 6
B.A. Tortuga
Genre: Gay, Paranormal, Shifters
Love conquers injustice.
Tiger shifter Dmitri loves his new home at Darque and Knight Rodeo, and he adores all of his new friends. His past as a circus animal remains strong in his memory, though, particularly when he sees inequality, like the hot little fox shifter who isn’t allowed on rodeo grounds unless he’s working.
When fox Isaac meets the handsome, burly tiger, the attraction is instant. He’d love to spend more time in Dmitri’s den, but as a contracted performer his access to the rodeo is limited. It doesn’t help that his greedy goblin boss refuses to loosen his grip.
Can Dmitri and Isaac find a way to be together, and to make a change for the better of everyone at D and K?
ARe
Tiger shifter Dmitri loves his new home at Darque and Knight Rodeo, and he adores all of his new friends. His past as a circus animal remains strong in his memory, though, particularly when he sees inequality, like the hot little fox shifter who isn’t allowed on rodeo grounds unless he’s working.
When fox Isaac meets the handsome, burly tiger, the attraction is instant. He’d love to spend more time in Dmitri’s den, but as a contracted performer his access to the rodeo is limited. It doesn’t help that his greedy goblin boss refuses to loosen his grip.
Can Dmitri and Isaac find a way to be together, and to make a change for the better of everyone at D and K?
ARe
Dmitri wanted to go play. He started paddling toward the foxes, just easing over.
They were sharp-nosed and quick, almost a blur. Dmitri wanted to touch them, catch one in his hand and see if they felt as electric as they appeared.
He watched as they played together, the energy never faltering, never even hiccupping. He sank under the water a little more, floating close enough to see bright golden eyes and shocks of red hair. One wee fox man was braver than the others, floating closer, meeting his eyes.
What a warm, inviting man, all bright green eyes and twitching nose. Dmitri rose up to the surface, smiling. “Dobryy den, little one.”
“Mmm. Hello. You’re amazing.” The fox’s voice lilted, just like a song, dancing on his eardrums.
“Am I?” Dmitri peered down at his fuzzy chest, which was gray-and-black striped just like his tiger.
“Uh-huh. You’re a tiger, huh? Lots of stripes and teeth.”
“I am. And you are a fox?” He’d never met a fox shifter before.
“I am. I work the trick ponies. We’re acrobats.” The little fox glanced over at the kitties, who were beginning to gather behind Dmitri. “I should go. It was nice to meet you. You’re beautiful.”
“Come see me at the food tents.” Dmitri wanted to see this one again, hear his laugh. “I cook good.”
“Oh. I can’t. We’re not allowed in the gates without a ticket. Thank you, though!” The little one moved away, keeping a good distance between him and the pride, which moved in.
Dmitri frowned. That wasn’t fair. If they performed for the rodeo, the foxes should get to eat.
“Dmitri, come on. Come play.” Serena tugged at his hand, her lynx right at the surface. “Before everyone gets grumpy.”
“Why would they?” He let her pull him back to the other cats.
“They’re… they’re prey more than anything. They live on the outside. You can’t trust the skulks.”
“The skulks?” Dmitri frowned at Selena. “That is vermin, yes? That is not nice.”
“Sorry, but aren’t they? They’re not… they’re not ours, right?” The youngling looked unsure, worried.
Dmitri shook his head, smiling for her to ease her worry. “We are all in this together. We should have—how you say? Have each other.”
“Each other’s backs,” Denver corrected.
“Right. Each other’s backs.” He grinned at Denver. “You know this, yes?”
“Hey, man. I’m in the ‘be good to me, I’ll be good to you’ camp. Life’s too short for bullshit when there’s happy to be had.”
Yes. Yes, he did love how his friend Denny held himself open. They faced persecution and suspicion from the outside world. Why bring it inside, too?
Potts looked over, nose wrinkling. “So, why the rule about them not coming in then, eh? Why aren’t they welcome? Big boss bring it down?”
Denny shrugged. “I guess? Peter more than Cody, I would wager.”
“Denver isn’t the biggest rule guy ever.” Blaine peered over Denver’s shoulder, eyes twinkling.
Denver chuckled. “What can I say? You need tickets you just say.”
Dmitri’s eyes lit up. “Yes? I would like to see the little fox for a minute.”
Denver nodded and offered him a wild grin. Denver was happy, and he wished to make others that way, as well. It was one of Denver’s many good points.
Dmitri glanced at the foxes, cavorting on the other side of the water. He wanted to know their good points. Especially the brave one.
They were sharp-nosed and quick, almost a blur. Dmitri wanted to touch them, catch one in his hand and see if they felt as electric as they appeared.
He watched as they played together, the energy never faltering, never even hiccupping. He sank under the water a little more, floating close enough to see bright golden eyes and shocks of red hair. One wee fox man was braver than the others, floating closer, meeting his eyes.
What a warm, inviting man, all bright green eyes and twitching nose. Dmitri rose up to the surface, smiling. “Dobryy den, little one.”
“Mmm. Hello. You’re amazing.” The fox’s voice lilted, just like a song, dancing on his eardrums.
“Am I?” Dmitri peered down at his fuzzy chest, which was gray-and-black striped just like his tiger.
“Uh-huh. You’re a tiger, huh? Lots of stripes and teeth.”
“I am. And you are a fox?” He’d never met a fox shifter before.
“I am. I work the trick ponies. We’re acrobats.” The little fox glanced over at the kitties, who were beginning to gather behind Dmitri. “I should go. It was nice to meet you. You’re beautiful.”
“Come see me at the food tents.” Dmitri wanted to see this one again, hear his laugh. “I cook good.”
“Oh. I can’t. We’re not allowed in the gates without a ticket. Thank you, though!” The little one moved away, keeping a good distance between him and the pride, which moved in.
Dmitri frowned. That wasn’t fair. If they performed for the rodeo, the foxes should get to eat.
“Dmitri, come on. Come play.” Serena tugged at his hand, her lynx right at the surface. “Before everyone gets grumpy.”
“Why would they?” He let her pull him back to the other cats.
“They’re… they’re prey more than anything. They live on the outside. You can’t trust the skulks.”
“The skulks?” Dmitri frowned at Selena. “That is vermin, yes? That is not nice.”
“Sorry, but aren’t they? They’re not… they’re not ours, right?” The youngling looked unsure, worried.
Dmitri shook his head, smiling for her to ease her worry. “We are all in this together. We should have—how you say? Have each other.”
“Each other’s backs,” Denver corrected.
“Right. Each other’s backs.” He grinned at Denver. “You know this, yes?”
“Hey, man. I’m in the ‘be good to me, I’ll be good to you’ camp. Life’s too short for bullshit when there’s happy to be had.”
Yes. Yes, he did love how his friend Denny held himself open. They faced persecution and suspicion from the outside world. Why bring it inside, too?
Potts looked over, nose wrinkling. “So, why the rule about them not coming in then, eh? Why aren’t they welcome? Big boss bring it down?”
Denny shrugged. “I guess? Peter more than Cody, I would wager.”
“Denver isn’t the biggest rule guy ever.” Blaine peered over Denver’s shoulder, eyes twinkling.
Denver chuckled. “What can I say? You need tickets you just say.”
Dmitri’s eyes lit up. “Yes? I would like to see the little fox for a minute.”
Denver nodded and offered him a wild grin. Denver was happy, and he wished to make others that way, as well. It was one of Denver’s many good points.
Dmitri glanced at the foxes, cavorting on the other side of the water. He wanted to know their good points. Especially the brave one.
B.A. Tortuga Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy's Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds, getting tattooed, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she's not doing that, she's writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting, and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA's personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.
Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery menages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head.
For more information on other books by B.A., visit her official website:
http://www.batortuga.com/
http://batortuga.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/batortuga
https://twitter.com/batortuga
Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery menages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head.
For more information on other books by B.A., visit her official website:
http://www.batortuga.com/
http://batortuga.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/batortuga
https://twitter.com/batortuga
Boy Meets Witch
The White Cat Chronicles Book 1
G.A. Rael
Genre: Paranormal, Fantasy
“Are you an angel?" Harper asked, pleading internally for the answer to be no.
The tall, white-haired man gave a low chuckle. "Not quite. What I am isn't nearly as important as who you are--and what I can do for you."
Harper Adams is a witch on the run--from her past as a faith healer turned accidental arsonist, and from the power she's kept locked away her whole life. She thinks she's finally found a place she can settle down and call home in the picturesque town of Cold Creek, Vermont, but a mysterious white cat who may or may not be bent on taking the curvaceous witch's soul has other plans.
Harper's compassion soon gets the best of her and earns her an unwanted reputation as the town miracle worker as well as the ire of sexy veterinarian and militant atheist, Darren St. Clair. Cold Creek's residents have a few supernatural secrets of their own, and Harper will have to face the destiny that led her to the last place a witch in hiding needs to be--that is, if Darren doesn't have her chased out of town with a pitchfork-wielding mob before she gets the chance.
Free Nov 17-21 Amazon
The tall, white-haired man gave a low chuckle. "Not quite. What I am isn't nearly as important as who you are--and what I can do for you."
Harper Adams is a witch on the run--from her past as a faith healer turned accidental arsonist, and from the power she's kept locked away her whole life. She thinks she's finally found a place she can settle down and call home in the picturesque town of Cold Creek, Vermont, but a mysterious white cat who may or may not be bent on taking the curvaceous witch's soul has other plans.
Harper's compassion soon gets the best of her and earns her an unwanted reputation as the town miracle worker as well as the ire of sexy veterinarian and militant atheist, Darren St. Clair. Cold Creek's residents have a few supernatural secrets of their own, and Harper will have to face the destiny that led her to the last place a witch in hiding needs to be--that is, if Darren doesn't have her chased out of town with a pitchfork-wielding mob before she gets the chance.
Free Nov 17-21 Amazon
Without a word, the strange man stepped closer. His silken hair was too perfectly white to be a natural color, yet there wasn't a trace of darkness at his roots. On closer inspection, Harper was horrified to realize that his eyes weren't just the color of a cat's but the shape, too. She tried to tell herself they were just theatrical contacts, but they shrunk so realistically as he stepped underneath the light that she began to doubt the only reasonable explanation.
"S-stay back," she stammered, finding her voice once he was too close to dismiss as an illusion.
To her amazement, he halted in his steady approach.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice for someone so imposing. The contrast was so unsettling it made her shiver. His statuesque body and almost feminine facial features reminded her too much of the awful weeping angel statues in her church's graveyard. Harper had always feared them as a child and now it seemed that one had come to life. The intruder was even beautiful in the same ethereal, almost grotesque way the statues were. "After all," he continued in that melodic voice, "you did save my life."
Harper stared at him in bewilderment. The words of a madman rarely made sense, she supposed. "I don't even know you."
"Maybe not, but I know you, Harper--or should I say, Alyssa? I've been watching over you for some time."
She tried to swallow but the coffee had left her mouth dry. "How do you know that name?"
His stone lips curved into a slight smile. "I know everything about you. For instance, I know your father's name is Byron Hurlow and he's the preacher at the Rockport Trinity Tabernacle in Little Rock, Arkansas. I know you've been running for a little over two years now, and I know that you fear angels more than anything except maybe hurting the ones you love." His cat eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to a knowing tone as he said, "I also know about the fire."
Harper took a step back only to trip into a stack of boxes behind her. Before she could save herself, the man caught her and rested his hands on her shoulders, keeping a slight distance between them. She marveled at the bizarre display of propriety in the midst of such threatening behavior, but she didn't complain. His skin was surprisingly warm.
"Be careful," he murmured. "You always were a klutz."
He said it so casually, as if they were old friends. "Who are you?" she asked shakily. "How could you possibly know about the --"
"The fire?" he offered. "Like I said, I've been watching you for a very long time."
"Are you an angel?" Harper asked, pleading internally for the answer to be no.
The tall, white-haired man gave a low chuckle. "Not quite. What I am isn't nearly as important as who you are--and what I can do for you."
"You could start by putting on some clothes."
"S-stay back," she stammered, finding her voice once he was too close to dismiss as an illusion.
To her amazement, he halted in his steady approach.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice for someone so imposing. The contrast was so unsettling it made her shiver. His statuesque body and almost feminine facial features reminded her too much of the awful weeping angel statues in her church's graveyard. Harper had always feared them as a child and now it seemed that one had come to life. The intruder was even beautiful in the same ethereal, almost grotesque way the statues were. "After all," he continued in that melodic voice, "you did save my life."
Harper stared at him in bewilderment. The words of a madman rarely made sense, she supposed. "I don't even know you."
"Maybe not, but I know you, Harper--or should I say, Alyssa? I've been watching over you for some time."
She tried to swallow but the coffee had left her mouth dry. "How do you know that name?"
His stone lips curved into a slight smile. "I know everything about you. For instance, I know your father's name is Byron Hurlow and he's the preacher at the Rockport Trinity Tabernacle in Little Rock, Arkansas. I know you've been running for a little over two years now, and I know that you fear angels more than anything except maybe hurting the ones you love." His cat eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to a knowing tone as he said, "I also know about the fire."
Harper took a step back only to trip into a stack of boxes behind her. Before she could save herself, the man caught her and rested his hands on her shoulders, keeping a slight distance between them. She marveled at the bizarre display of propriety in the midst of such threatening behavior, but she didn't complain. His skin was surprisingly warm.
"Be careful," he murmured. "You always were a klutz."
He said it so casually, as if they were old friends. "Who are you?" she asked shakily. "How could you possibly know about the --"
"The fire?" he offered. "Like I said, I've been watching you for a very long time."
"Are you an angel?" Harper asked, pleading internally for the answer to be no.
The tall, white-haired man gave a low chuckle. "Not quite. What I am isn't nearly as important as who you are--and what I can do for you."
"You could start by putting on some clothes."
G.A. Rael is a practicing witch and author of paranormal romance and mysteries. She's had a lifelong love affair with all things that go bump in the night, and it's her firm belief that monsters deserve their happily-ever-afters, too. When she isn't writing, you can find G.A. watching campy horror films with her husband and two cats in beautiful seaside New England.
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15809167.G_A_Rael
http://garael.com/
https://twitter.com/Ga_rael
https://www.facebook.com/garaelauthor/
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15809167.G_A_Rael
http://garael.com/
https://twitter.com/Ga_rael
https://www.facebook.com/garaelauthor/
Asmodeus: The Legend of Margrét and the Dragon
by Brooks Hansen
GENRE: Romantic Historical Fiction
…Here again, his natural figure crouched beside her in the dank darkness of the cave, watching her in silence as she slept, struggling with cravings which were new to him, both tender and violent, and which he could only really compare to hunger… (from ASMODEUS)
On the cusp of the Great War, an even more pitched battle is waged in the furthest corner of the Nordic highlands, the final chapter of a centuries-old rivalry, pitting a troubled bloodline of thieves, journeyman, and politicians against the last and greatest dragon of the hemisphere, Asmodeus.
Until now, the source of this antagonism has been a single gemstone, the fabled shamir, whose history traces to the coffers of King Solomon. The present clash, however, has been sparked by the emergence of an even more desirable, more defiant, and more powerful force than that.
Inspired by the golden legend of St. Margaret, Brooks Hansen’s Asmodeus is a masterfully woven tapestry of history, myth, and fantasy, in the tradition of J.R.R.Tolkien, Bram Stoker, and C.S. Lewis. By turns a romance, an adventure, and the darkest imaginable Gothic, his tale is also, as seen through the eyes of the maiden Margrét, an unflinching exploration of our divided nature — what makes us beasts, what makes us human, and what makes us divine.
On the cusp of the Great War, an even more pitched battle is waged in the furthest corner of the Nordic highlands, the final chapter of a centuries-old rivalry, pitting a troubled bloodline of thieves, journeyman, and politicians against the last and greatest dragon of the hemisphere, Asmodeus.
Until now, the source of this antagonism has been a single gemstone, the fabled shamir, whose history traces to the coffers of King Solomon. The present clash, however, has been sparked by the emergence of an even more desirable, more defiant, and more powerful force than that.
Inspired by the golden legend of St. Margaret, Brooks Hansen’s Asmodeus is a masterfully woven tapestry of history, myth, and fantasy, in the tradition of J.R.R.Tolkien, Bram Stoker, and C.S. Lewis. By turns a romance, an adventure, and the darkest imaginable Gothic, his tale is also, as seen through the eyes of the maiden Margrét, an unflinching exploration of our divided nature — what makes us beasts, what makes us human, and what makes us divine.
His golden eyes flicked open, blinked, and narrowed to a squint as he finally lifted up his great, horned head. He shrugged the veil of wings. He uncoiled from his most precious gem and lumbered upward, following the airborne trail up through the high tunnel to the opening just beside the cataract.
Only his muzzle appeared at first, shining like tar in the slanting sunlight, but even that merest of appearances stirred notice among the hovering hawks and vultures: Look. Be warned and wary. The master had awakened.
His head slid further out, taking in the day. The clouds had lifted. The sky was polished glass, but the familiar whisper was still there, coming from below. Down on the near shore of the inlet was a scuttled boat. Again his eyes narrowed, trying to figure from the tides just how long ago the wreck had occurred, and whether its victims were still on premise. He hoped not. Men had their place, but it wasn’t here.
…He crawled further out onto the ledge and extended his neck toward the curtain of water, which was fuller today than usual, gushing down from the mountains after all that rain. He helped himself to several gulps. He let the bracing cold beat on his head a while, then shook free with a glistening, majestic explosion, lifted his wings and leapt. He glided most of the way down, turning three wide circles in the crux of the fjord, his great spanned shadow dashing along the cliff-side, flicking across the cataract, then across the blue surface below, around and up and around again three times before finally re-meeting him, claw to claw, on the strand beside the boat...
Only his muzzle appeared at first, shining like tar in the slanting sunlight, but even that merest of appearances stirred notice among the hovering hawks and vultures: Look. Be warned and wary. The master had awakened.
His head slid further out, taking in the day. The clouds had lifted. The sky was polished glass, but the familiar whisper was still there, coming from below. Down on the near shore of the inlet was a scuttled boat. Again his eyes narrowed, trying to figure from the tides just how long ago the wreck had occurred, and whether its victims were still on premise. He hoped not. Men had their place, but it wasn’t here.
…He crawled further out onto the ledge and extended his neck toward the curtain of water, which was fuller today than usual, gushing down from the mountains after all that rain. He helped himself to several gulps. He let the bracing cold beat on his head a while, then shook free with a glistening, majestic explosion, lifted his wings and leapt. He glided most of the way down, turning three wide circles in the crux of the fjord, his great spanned shadow dashing along the cliff-side, flicking across the cataract, then across the blue surface below, around and up and around again three times before finally re-meeting him, claw to claw, on the strand beside the boat...
BROOKS HANSEN is an author, screenwriter, essayist, and teacher. His novels – THE MONSTERS OF ST. HELENA, PERLMAN’S ORDEAL, THE CHESS GARDEN, and BOONE (co-authored with Nick Davis) were all New York Times Notable Books. THE CHESS GARDEN was also selected as a PW Best Book of the Year in 1995. He has written one book for Young Readers, CAESAR’S ANTLERS, which he also illustrated. In 2009 he released his first memoir, THE BROTHERHOOD OF JOSEPH, and in 2005 he received a John Simon Guggenheim Fellowship for his most recent book, JOHN THE BAPTIZER, which was published in 2009 by W.W. Norton. More recently, his fiction appeared in CENTRAL PARK: AN ANTHOLOGY (Bloomsbury USA, 2012), and he has an essay slated to appear in another upcoming anthology THE GOOD BOOK (Simon & Schuster, 2015).
Brooks Hansen is the critically acclaimed author of The Chess Garden and 7 other books, most recently Asmodeus: The Legend of Margret and the Dragon. He has recently launched his own imprint, Star Pine Books. He lives in Carpinteria, California with his wife and children.
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Brooks-Hansen/e/B000APA6TA
Website link is brookshansen.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Brooks-Hansen-13148273481/?hc_ref=SEARCH&fref=nf
Buy Link:
https://www.amazon.com/Asmodeus-Legend-Margret-Brooks-Hansen/dp/099739790X/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
Brooks Hansen is the critically acclaimed author of The Chess Garden and 7 other books, most recently Asmodeus: The Legend of Margret and the Dragon. He has recently launched his own imprint, Star Pine Books. He lives in Carpinteria, California with his wife and children.
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Brooks-Hansen/e/B000APA6TA
Website link is brookshansen.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Brooks-Hansen-13148273481/?hc_ref=SEARCH&fref=nf
Buy Link:
https://www.amazon.com/Asmodeus-Legend-Margret-Brooks-Hansen/dp/099739790X/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
To the Edge
A Heroes at the Brink Novel
Anna del Mar
Genre: Erotic Romance
To learn about kink, she had to learn the ropes. Yet she never expected to be so compromised she'd need rescuing. And by him. The first man she'd ever loved. The former navy SEAL who'd broken her heart.
Clara's gone wild.
Naked. Cuffed. Caged. Is this the sweet senator’s daughter I left behind?
I didn't know it was her when I rushed into that room filled with flames, but I'll never let her go again.
She’s proposed a unique way to thank me. It could bring us both to the edge of ecstasy—or to the point of no return.
Clara wants to submit. To me. Totally. Damn any limits. The very thought of it has brought me back from the dead.
But a stranger is watching from the shadows. He’s made us his fantasy. And he plays rougher than I do. Where he’s taking us now is somewhere so dark, and so dangerous, that this time it could be inescapable.
Amazon BN Kobo Google Play Carina Press
Clara's gone wild.
Naked. Cuffed. Caged. Is this the sweet senator’s daughter I left behind?
I didn't know it was her when I rushed into that room filled with flames, but I'll never let her go again.
She’s proposed a unique way to thank me. It could bring us both to the edge of ecstasy—or to the point of no return.
Clara wants to submit. To me. Totally. Damn any limits. The very thought of it has brought me back from the dead.
But a stranger is watching from the shadows. He’s made us his fantasy. And he plays rougher than I do. Where he’s taking us now is somewhere so dark, and so dangerous, that this time it could be inescapable.
Amazon BN Kobo Google Play Carina Press
The cloud blackening the sky above my kitchen window alerted me to the sort of trouble I didn’t need. My senses ratcheted to high alert. I downed the last of my protein shake, plunked the glass on the counter and raced upstairs. It was a fluke that I’d left my office in the middle of the day and spotted the smoke at all, but after stalking my prey for forty-two hours straight, my eyes needed a break.
For several days now, my team and I had been trailing one of the world’s most wanted, a terrorist with many aliases, code named Josephus. He was the mastermind of a series of lethal attacks on Americans abroad. His deadliest role included recruiting disaffected children of the West to kill their own kind, something he did over the Internet and the Dark Net with infuriating regularity.
My team and I had already identified and helped capture most of Josephus’s recent contacts, but I was determined to get the fucker. I’d traced the asshole all the way to Spain. The takedown operators had reported they’d missed him by less than five minutes. The snake had slithered away at the last minute, but the raid had netted the rest of his cell, including his cousin Rashid, who was now in paradise fucking a bunch of ex-virgins. Son of a bitch. I was going to get Josephus.
I reached the top of the spiral steps, barged into the octagonal room at the top of my newly restored widow’s walk and grabbed the binoculars. From my perch high above the ground, the profile of a single roof pierced the tree line west of me. Sure enough, a column of smoke rose from the clearing, billowing from the only other house remotely close to mine, a place I knew well.
Dammit. We didn’t have a fire station on Avalon Island. We did have a loosely organized volunteer fire crew, mostly composed of local fishermen who weren’t sitting around waiting to fight a fire at the moment. Even if I gave the alert, it’d be at least thirty minutes before anyone showed up. Hell, if anyone was trapped in the house, they’d be toast by the time the fire crew got there.
I ran down two flights of stairs. What the hell was going on? In the past two years, no one had visited the Luz compound, not even summer renters. In any case, the island’s brief summer season was over. Leaden clouds darkened the afternoon and the Chesapeake Bay roiled in advance of an October gale.
I jammed my arms in my jacket and rushed out the back door, coming to a screeching halt at the end of the deck. My body refused to move forward. An invisible barrier held me back, jolting me like an electrified fence. My heart boomed. Slowly, I put a tentative foot on the ground. The lawn bulged and pulsed under my shoe. I gritted my teeth. Tick-tock, a countdown began in my mind. Shit. I jerked my foot back.
“There are no improvised explosive devices buried in the yard,” I muttered, pacing the deck, trying to impose logic over irrational emotion. “Stick to reality, Noah.”
None of my frozen muscles reacted to my brain’s logical appeal.
“Fuck this.” I stalked back into the house and kicked the door shut. “You fucking coward.”
I plopped down at the base of the stairs, raked my fingers through my hair and sank my face into my hands. How the hell had I turned into such a useless pile of crap? I wasn’t some ignorant grunt. I was an ex-Navy SEAL and a high-level intelligence operative. I’d fought wars, infiltrated hostile countries and hunted the world’s most dangerous terrorists, yet here I was, trapped in my own house. What a joke. I pressed at my temples. Someone could be in danger and all I could do was watch from afar.
I clenched my jaw so hard that my teeth ached. Even a piece of shit like me had to admit that the house currently on fire was the number one reason why I’d chosen this place for my self-inflicted exile. The Luz compound was one of the few places on earth I associated with happiness. Those memories were the only thing I had left. Would they evaporate like so many other things in my life if the house burned?
Hell, no. I couldn’t let the memories go. Not yet, anyway.
My gaze fell on the little green bottle on the kitchen counter. The last time I’d had some of that, I’d been sick for days. But it had allowed me to make it through the funeral. I’d even gone to the grocery store for a few minutes. LCOS, the guys from the support group liked to call it, liquid courage on steroids.
I got to my feet and made my way to the counter. I picked up the bottle and rolled it between my fingers. No label, no warnings, nothing. Home brewed by some biochemically savvy veteran in his basement and most definitively not FDA approved. If it were any other uninhabited house on the island, I might have called it in and been done with it. But this was the Luz house. I couldn’t let go. What the hell. I unscrewed the top of the bottle and, after suctioning half a measure into the glass dropper, squeezed it underneath my tongue.
Bitter. Sharp. Sour. My taste buds screeched. The poison set my throat ablaze. I shut my eyes, gritted my teeth, and clutched the counter until the world stopped whirling. Toxic. That’s how the stuff felt as it burned through my body. As if it was killing me, right before it freed me.
Thirty seconds later, I could think again. That’s when the vascular spasm hit me. My toes and fingers went numb and my fingertips turned white, all side effects from the liquid courage. It would take a few minutes to work, but the Luz house was burning right now.
I forced myself out the door, onto the deck and down the steps. I closed my eyes and, heart pummeling my ribs, settled a boot on the lawn. Nothing exploded. I let out a rattling breath and took another step. I edged my way across the trees, fighting an irrational impulse to run back to my cottage and the false assumption that I’d be safe in there. Safe from this moment, maybe, but not safe from myself.
“Mind over matter,” I muttered to myself. “Baby steps. Fear is the mind killer.” Whatever cliché worked, it didn’t matter. I forced myself forward, hoping that the stuff I’d taken would kick in soon.
I made it to the woods and onto the deer track then ran through the scrub. No IEDs here. No booby traps or shooters. Move, move, move. My mouth and nose sucked in the humid air, and my feet hammered the earth in an all-out race toward the fire. My ears and eyes worked the terrain, anticipating the snipers hiding behind the trees, the enemy waiting in ambush. The fear pounding in my temples was as vivid as the flashbacks.
I broke through a line of overgrown sedges and into the backyard of the main house, heart pumping to the point of pain. I bent over my knees, assessing the Victorian mansion between gasps. Most of the grand old house was intact, but a small window on the far side of the house puffed with a stream of smoke. The liquid courage must have kicked in then, because my entire body flushed. A roar ignited my blood and bellowed through my veins. For an instant, I felt superhuman. Best part? The earth stopped shifting beneath my feet. My nerves settled and my mind cleared. I focused on the present.
I cupped my hands at either side of my mouth and shouted at the top of my lungs. “Hello? Anybody in there?”
A muffled scream broke through the fire’s rumble, shrill, sustained and desperate. Was it real? I called out once more. The sound came again, undefined but urgent, echoing from the first floor, where, if memory served me right, the main living room of the house was located.
Someone was in there.
I reverted to my old self. I considered the house with the eyes of an experienced SEAL evaluating the mission. It helped that I remembered the interior layout so well. So far, the smoke came only from the south corner of the house. I had a few minutes yet.
I mounted the wraparound porch and tested the French doors. They were locked. I stepped back to gain some momentum. That’s when it hit me, a sense of impending catastrophe, the knowledge that I was at a crossroads, and choosing this path would result in the destruction of my life as I knew it.
Fellow veterans and survivors often spoke of experiencing this powerful sense of doom, right before their arms and legs got blown off, an instant before getting hit. I’d felt the odd emotion before, advanced notice that the world was about to tilt on its axis, an inexplicable sense of fate, danger’s clear and imminent warning. Standing on the porch of the Luz house, I felt the shift coming my way. My hackles went up. The world contracted as an invisible pulse thumped through me, heralding a cataclysmic detonation like the one that had rendered me captive in my own house.
And yet I made the same choice I’d made before. I had to go in, because dread was not an excuse for cowardice and bravery was the act of punching through one’s fears.
I kicked open the doors and rushed into the living room. It was like time travel, like stepping into the past, where an old black-and-white reel whirled before my eyes. The stately old home showed none of the luster I remembered. The furnishings were covered with sheets. The place felt drab, forlorn and forgotten. Smoke puffed from the hallway and drifted into the living room in an ethereal, foul-smelling haze.
An odd sound caught my attention, a primal mewling. My head swiveled toward the fireplace. An antique Victorian aviary stood in the corner, the same tall, elegant wrought-iron cage that I remembered admiring fifteen years ago. A pop of color caught my attention.
What the hell?
Time slowed down as I took in the odd sight. For an instant, I forgot about the fire, because the cage—which had once housed a pair of expressive, impressive macaws—now held another species, an erotic mirage. No, not a mirage. A real woman, and not just any woman, but one plucked right out of my head, true to my personal definition of beauty down to the smallest physical details. My oldest, wildest and most treasured fantasy come true.
For several days now, my team and I had been trailing one of the world’s most wanted, a terrorist with many aliases, code named Josephus. He was the mastermind of a series of lethal attacks on Americans abroad. His deadliest role included recruiting disaffected children of the West to kill their own kind, something he did over the Internet and the Dark Net with infuriating regularity.
My team and I had already identified and helped capture most of Josephus’s recent contacts, but I was determined to get the fucker. I’d traced the asshole all the way to Spain. The takedown operators had reported they’d missed him by less than five minutes. The snake had slithered away at the last minute, but the raid had netted the rest of his cell, including his cousin Rashid, who was now in paradise fucking a bunch of ex-virgins. Son of a bitch. I was going to get Josephus.
I reached the top of the spiral steps, barged into the octagonal room at the top of my newly restored widow’s walk and grabbed the binoculars. From my perch high above the ground, the profile of a single roof pierced the tree line west of me. Sure enough, a column of smoke rose from the clearing, billowing from the only other house remotely close to mine, a place I knew well.
Dammit. We didn’t have a fire station on Avalon Island. We did have a loosely organized volunteer fire crew, mostly composed of local fishermen who weren’t sitting around waiting to fight a fire at the moment. Even if I gave the alert, it’d be at least thirty minutes before anyone showed up. Hell, if anyone was trapped in the house, they’d be toast by the time the fire crew got there.
I ran down two flights of stairs. What the hell was going on? In the past two years, no one had visited the Luz compound, not even summer renters. In any case, the island’s brief summer season was over. Leaden clouds darkened the afternoon and the Chesapeake Bay roiled in advance of an October gale.
I jammed my arms in my jacket and rushed out the back door, coming to a screeching halt at the end of the deck. My body refused to move forward. An invisible barrier held me back, jolting me like an electrified fence. My heart boomed. Slowly, I put a tentative foot on the ground. The lawn bulged and pulsed under my shoe. I gritted my teeth. Tick-tock, a countdown began in my mind. Shit. I jerked my foot back.
“There are no improvised explosive devices buried in the yard,” I muttered, pacing the deck, trying to impose logic over irrational emotion. “Stick to reality, Noah.”
None of my frozen muscles reacted to my brain’s logical appeal.
“Fuck this.” I stalked back into the house and kicked the door shut. “You fucking coward.”
I plopped down at the base of the stairs, raked my fingers through my hair and sank my face into my hands. How the hell had I turned into such a useless pile of crap? I wasn’t some ignorant grunt. I was an ex-Navy SEAL and a high-level intelligence operative. I’d fought wars, infiltrated hostile countries and hunted the world’s most dangerous terrorists, yet here I was, trapped in my own house. What a joke. I pressed at my temples. Someone could be in danger and all I could do was watch from afar.
I clenched my jaw so hard that my teeth ached. Even a piece of shit like me had to admit that the house currently on fire was the number one reason why I’d chosen this place for my self-inflicted exile. The Luz compound was one of the few places on earth I associated with happiness. Those memories were the only thing I had left. Would they evaporate like so many other things in my life if the house burned?
Hell, no. I couldn’t let the memories go. Not yet, anyway.
My gaze fell on the little green bottle on the kitchen counter. The last time I’d had some of that, I’d been sick for days. But it had allowed me to make it through the funeral. I’d even gone to the grocery store for a few minutes. LCOS, the guys from the support group liked to call it, liquid courage on steroids.
I got to my feet and made my way to the counter. I picked up the bottle and rolled it between my fingers. No label, no warnings, nothing. Home brewed by some biochemically savvy veteran in his basement and most definitively not FDA approved. If it were any other uninhabited house on the island, I might have called it in and been done with it. But this was the Luz house. I couldn’t let go. What the hell. I unscrewed the top of the bottle and, after suctioning half a measure into the glass dropper, squeezed it underneath my tongue.
Bitter. Sharp. Sour. My taste buds screeched. The poison set my throat ablaze. I shut my eyes, gritted my teeth, and clutched the counter until the world stopped whirling. Toxic. That’s how the stuff felt as it burned through my body. As if it was killing me, right before it freed me.
Thirty seconds later, I could think again. That’s when the vascular spasm hit me. My toes and fingers went numb and my fingertips turned white, all side effects from the liquid courage. It would take a few minutes to work, but the Luz house was burning right now.
I forced myself out the door, onto the deck and down the steps. I closed my eyes and, heart pummeling my ribs, settled a boot on the lawn. Nothing exploded. I let out a rattling breath and took another step. I edged my way across the trees, fighting an irrational impulse to run back to my cottage and the false assumption that I’d be safe in there. Safe from this moment, maybe, but not safe from myself.
“Mind over matter,” I muttered to myself. “Baby steps. Fear is the mind killer.” Whatever cliché worked, it didn’t matter. I forced myself forward, hoping that the stuff I’d taken would kick in soon.
I made it to the woods and onto the deer track then ran through the scrub. No IEDs here. No booby traps or shooters. Move, move, move. My mouth and nose sucked in the humid air, and my feet hammered the earth in an all-out race toward the fire. My ears and eyes worked the terrain, anticipating the snipers hiding behind the trees, the enemy waiting in ambush. The fear pounding in my temples was as vivid as the flashbacks.
I broke through a line of overgrown sedges and into the backyard of the main house, heart pumping to the point of pain. I bent over my knees, assessing the Victorian mansion between gasps. Most of the grand old house was intact, but a small window on the far side of the house puffed with a stream of smoke. The liquid courage must have kicked in then, because my entire body flushed. A roar ignited my blood and bellowed through my veins. For an instant, I felt superhuman. Best part? The earth stopped shifting beneath my feet. My nerves settled and my mind cleared. I focused on the present.
I cupped my hands at either side of my mouth and shouted at the top of my lungs. “Hello? Anybody in there?”
A muffled scream broke through the fire’s rumble, shrill, sustained and desperate. Was it real? I called out once more. The sound came again, undefined but urgent, echoing from the first floor, where, if memory served me right, the main living room of the house was located.
Someone was in there.
I reverted to my old self. I considered the house with the eyes of an experienced SEAL evaluating the mission. It helped that I remembered the interior layout so well. So far, the smoke came only from the south corner of the house. I had a few minutes yet.
I mounted the wraparound porch and tested the French doors. They were locked. I stepped back to gain some momentum. That’s when it hit me, a sense of impending catastrophe, the knowledge that I was at a crossroads, and choosing this path would result in the destruction of my life as I knew it.
Fellow veterans and survivors often spoke of experiencing this powerful sense of doom, right before their arms and legs got blown off, an instant before getting hit. I’d felt the odd emotion before, advanced notice that the world was about to tilt on its axis, an inexplicable sense of fate, danger’s clear and imminent warning. Standing on the porch of the Luz house, I felt the shift coming my way. My hackles went up. The world contracted as an invisible pulse thumped through me, heralding a cataclysmic detonation like the one that had rendered me captive in my own house.
And yet I made the same choice I’d made before. I had to go in, because dread was not an excuse for cowardice and bravery was the act of punching through one’s fears.
I kicked open the doors and rushed into the living room. It was like time travel, like stepping into the past, where an old black-and-white reel whirled before my eyes. The stately old home showed none of the luster I remembered. The furnishings were covered with sheets. The place felt drab, forlorn and forgotten. Smoke puffed from the hallway and drifted into the living room in an ethereal, foul-smelling haze.
An odd sound caught my attention, a primal mewling. My head swiveled toward the fireplace. An antique Victorian aviary stood in the corner, the same tall, elegant wrought-iron cage that I remembered admiring fifteen years ago. A pop of color caught my attention.
What the hell?
Time slowed down as I took in the odd sight. For an instant, I forgot about the fire, because the cage—which had once housed a pair of expressive, impressive macaws—now held another species, an erotic mirage. No, not a mirage. A real woman, and not just any woman, but one plucked right out of my head, true to my personal definition of beauty down to the smallest physical details. My oldest, wildest and most treasured fantasy come true.
Amazon bestselling author Anna del Mar writes hot, smart romances that soothe the soul, challenge the mind, and satisfy the heart. Her stories are about strong heroines struggling to find their place in the world and the brave, sexy, kickass, military heroes who defy their limits to protect the women they love. She’s the author of The Asset, The Stranger, At the Brink and her newest erotic romance, To the Edge. Anna enjoys traveling, hiking, skiing, and the sea. Writing is her addiction, her drug of choice, and what she wants to do all the time. The extraordinary men and women she met during her years as a Navy wife inspire the fabulous heroes and heroines at the center of her stories. When she stays put—which doesn’t happen very often—she lives in Florida with her indulgent husband and two very opinionated cats.
http://www.annadelmar.com
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAnnadelMar/
https://twitter.com/anna_del_mar
https://www.amazon.com/author/anna_del_mar
http://www.annadelmar.com
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https://twitter.com/anna_del_mar
https://www.amazon.com/author/anna_del_mar
Oppression
Jessica Therrien
(Children of the Gods #1)
Publication date: September 2nd 2015
Genres: Paranormal, Young Adult
Elyse knows what it means to keep a secret. She’s been keeping secrets her whole life. Two, actually. First, that she ages five times slower than average people, so that while she looks eighteen years old, she’s closer to eighty. Second, that her blood has a mysterious power to heal. For Elyse, these things don’t make her special. They make life dangerous. After the death of her parents, she’s been careful to keep her secret as closely guarded as possible. Now, only one other person in the world knows about her age and ability. Or so she thinks. Elyse is not the only one keeping secrets. There are others like her all over the world, descendants of the very people the Greeks considered gods. She is one of them, and they have been waiting for her for a long time. Some are waiting for her to put an end to centuries of traditions that have oppressed their people under the guise of safeguarding them. Others are determined to keep her from doing just that. But for Elyse, the game is just beginning – and she’s not entirely willing to play by their rules.
The complete series:
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Author Bio:
Jessica Therrien is the author of the young adult paranormal fiction series Children of the Gods. Book one in the series, Oppression, became a Barnes & Noble best-seller shortly after its release.
Aside from her Children of the Gods series, Jessica’s work can also be found in a published collection of flash fiction stories called Campaigner Challenges 2011. Out of over 350 submissions her story, The Soulless, won first place for people’s choice and fourth place in the judging round of Rachael Harrie’s Writing Campaign Challenge. Her story, Saved, is also available as part of the anthology.
Jessica spent most of her life in the small town of Chilcoot, California, high up in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. In this town of nearly 100 residents, with no street lights or grocery stores, there was little to do but find ways to be creative. Her mother, the local English teacher, inspired her to do all things artistic, and ultimately instilled in her a love for language.
In 2003, Jessica attended California State University Long Beach where her passion for language found her studying Chinese, and in 2005 she moved to Taiwan to study abroad. From 2005 to 2006 Jessica was fully immersed in the Chinese language as she attended National Taiwan University, and in 2008 she graduated from San Diego State University magna cum laude.
Jessica currently lives in Irvine with her husband and two sons. She is working on an adult novel and a children’s picture book.
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WORTH THE RISK
by
C.J. Lynne
Two men, a chance meeting, an unexpected fight for love...
Some risks are scarier than others
because they’re the most important ones we’ll ever undertake…
Purchase Link: Amazon.com
Series: Infinity Series, Book One
Genre: Gay/Lesbian, M/M Erotic Romance
Publication Date: November 7, 2016
Add to Goodreads
Love doesn’t exist…
Or so Tyler Johnson thinks. He’s never had much, if any, of it thrown his way. A chance meeting with the enigmatic Jaxon Markham causes Ty to—if still not believe in love—at least know without a doubt that lust is alive and well. Ty’s not looking for forever, but what’s the harm in spending a few days—and scorching nights—with Jax; as long as Jax plays by his rules and keeps things casual and uncomplicated?
Jax knows his luck has finally changed for the better when he lays eyes on Tyler. The man is gorgeous, and stirs feelings in Jax he’d thought he’d never experience. The more time Jax spends with Ty, the more certain he is that Ty’s his soulmate. Now all that remains is convincing the stubborn Tyler of that fact, but Jax is more than up for the task, because he’s nothing if not persistent—a fact the elusive Tyler will soon find out.
Jax quickly, and much too easily, demolishes all of Ty’s protective walls and Ty reluctantly begins to think that maybe that intangible emotion called love is alive and well after all, and perhaps finally within his grasp. However, when his ugly past returns to haunt him, making him doubt all the good he’s experienced with and because of Jax, Ty’s positive outlook crumbles, giving way to doubt and despair.
Can he be the man Jax needs and deserves? Or will past and present demons destroy Ty’s one chance at true happiness?
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About C.J. Lynne
C. J. is first and foremost an avid reader of romance. Nothing is better than watching two strong-willed people meet, connect and work through personal challenges and fight to overcome internal and outside obstacles to be together.
C. J. is a southerner who believes that love is love, and if you’re ever lucky to find it, you should hold onto it with both hands and feet. C.J. writes love stories filled with emotion and hopes you—the reader—will enjoy them as much as C.J. enjoys creating them.
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In partnership with
Prism
by Matthew D. Ryan
GENRE: Fantasy
In the mystical realm of the Cavern, Akarra is Shardshaper to the quartzian people who inhabit it. Fashioned from quartz and filled with enchanted light, the quartzians are a strong and hearty people. Akarra is no exception. But when destiny intervenes, she must choose between the he-quartz she loves and the life path she lives for. Which shall she choose?
Yridia produced another crystal: a clump of cracked, twisted quartz. She placed it in front of Akarra and said, “I want you to shape this crystal into an icosahedron. Work quickly. Now, go.”
Akarra blanched: An icosahedron was the most complicated perfect solid known. It was a quasi-spherical shape consisting of twenty identical triangular sides. A correctly formed icosahedron would fit in a perfect sphere in such a way that every vertex of every triangle would just touch the inner surface of the sphere. Actually, that was true of all perfect solids.
Akarra lifted the Shard and pointed the flat face of one of its triangular faces towards the clump of crystal. She bowed her head in concentration, summoning the power of her will. Her mind reached into the Shard; she could sense the Bond it had made with Yridia. The Bond inhibited Akarra’s control of the Heartshard, but not entirely: she could still harness the power of the Shard, just at a less effective level. She did so, and the Shard began to glow in her hands. First it glowed red, pulsing with energy, temperature rising. Next, orange, and the temperature began to drop. Next, yellow and a flash of cold. The other colors followed in turn: green, blue, indigo, violet, and then finally, it went clear. She sensed the presence of deathlight, and saw it in her mind’s eye although her normal vision failed her. She discharged a thick beam of deathlight focused on the lump of crystal. Immediately, the crystal began to morph and ripple.
Akarra blanched: An icosahedron was the most complicated perfect solid known. It was a quasi-spherical shape consisting of twenty identical triangular sides. A correctly formed icosahedron would fit in a perfect sphere in such a way that every vertex of every triangle would just touch the inner surface of the sphere. Actually, that was true of all perfect solids.
Akarra lifted the Shard and pointed the flat face of one of its triangular faces towards the clump of crystal. She bowed her head in concentration, summoning the power of her will. Her mind reached into the Shard; she could sense the Bond it had made with Yridia. The Bond inhibited Akarra’s control of the Heartshard, but not entirely: she could still harness the power of the Shard, just at a less effective level. She did so, and the Shard began to glow in her hands. First it glowed red, pulsing with energy, temperature rising. Next, orange, and the temperature began to drop. Next, yellow and a flash of cold. The other colors followed in turn: green, blue, indigo, violet, and then finally, it went clear. She sensed the presence of deathlight, and saw it in her mind’s eye although her normal vision failed her. She discharged a thick beam of deathlight focused on the lump of crystal. Immediately, the crystal began to morph and ripple.
Matthew D. Ryan is a published author living in upstate New York on the shores of Lake Champlain. His work has been featured on-line at Aphelion.com and YesteryearFiction.com. He has been deeply involved in the fantasy genre for most of his life as a reader, writer, and game designer. He is the operator of the web-site matthewdryan.com which features his blog, “A Toast to Dragons,” a blog dedicated to fantasy literature, and, to a lesser extent, sci-fi. Mr. Ryan says he receives his inspiration from his many years as an avid role-player and fantasy book reader. He has spent many long hours devising adventures and story-lines as well as gaming systems for role-playing games, playing a motley assortment of characters in RPG worlds, as well as digesting the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert Jordan, and others. As a result, he has great depth of experience in the fantasy genre and feels it was a natural shift for him to move into fantasy writing.
Mr. Ryan is the author of the exciting dark fantasy novel, Drasmyr, The Children of Lubrochius, and The Sceptre of Morgulan, as well as a growing number of short stories. His first novel, Drasmyr, won the book of the month award on Long and Short Reviews: Young Adult for the month of September 2012. The story features a traditional Dracula type vampire in a Middle-Earth type setting. It is a dark fantasy geared toward teens and adults that has consistently earned reviews in the four and five star range. Drasmyr serves as the prequel to his series: From the Ashes of Ruin. In addition to Drasmyr, The Children of Lubrochius, and The Sceptre of Morgulan, Mr. Ryan has published several short stories on-line, including: “Haladryn and the Minotaur”(published at the now defunct Pegasus On-line), “The River’s Eye”(published at YesteryearFiction.com) , “Escape”(published at Aphelion.com), and the three-story collection Of Dragons, Love, and Poison.. His latest work is the stand-alone novella “Prism,” a startling fantasy story of unique character. He has also spoken on the topic of “World-Building” utilizing his considerable experience as an author and game-designer. When not engrossed in his fantasy worlds, Mr. Ryan can be found volunteering at the local food shelf or playing with his cat, “Confucius,” who is as wise and wily as his name suggests.
Links of Interest:
Author’s Smashwords Page: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/matthewdryan
Author’s Blog: http://www.atoasttodragons.com
Author’s Home Page: http://www.matthewdryan.com
Author’s Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDRyanAuthor
Author’s Amazon Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/matthewdryan
Author’s Goodreads Page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/579148.Matthew_D_Ryan
Author’s Twitter Handle: @MatthewDRyan1
Mr. Ryan is the author of the exciting dark fantasy novel, Drasmyr, The Children of Lubrochius, and The Sceptre of Morgulan, as well as a growing number of short stories. His first novel, Drasmyr, won the book of the month award on Long and Short Reviews: Young Adult for the month of September 2012. The story features a traditional Dracula type vampire in a Middle-Earth type setting. It is a dark fantasy geared toward teens and adults that has consistently earned reviews in the four and five star range. Drasmyr serves as the prequel to his series: From the Ashes of Ruin. In addition to Drasmyr, The Children of Lubrochius, and The Sceptre of Morgulan, Mr. Ryan has published several short stories on-line, including: “Haladryn and the Minotaur”(published at the now defunct Pegasus On-line), “The River’s Eye”(published at YesteryearFiction.com) , “Escape”(published at Aphelion.com), and the three-story collection Of Dragons, Love, and Poison.. His latest work is the stand-alone novella “Prism,” a startling fantasy story of unique character. He has also spoken on the topic of “World-Building” utilizing his considerable experience as an author and game-designer. When not engrossed in his fantasy worlds, Mr. Ryan can be found volunteering at the local food shelf or playing with his cat, “Confucius,” who is as wise and wily as his name suggests.
Links of Interest:
Author’s Smashwords Page: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/matthewdryan
Author’s Blog: http://www.atoasttodragons.com
Author’s Home Page: http://www.matthewdryan.com
Author’s Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDRyanAuthor
Author’s Amazon Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/matthewdryan
Author’s Goodreads Page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/579148.Matthew_D_Ryan
Author’s Twitter Handle: @MatthewDRyan1
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