Crazy for You Risking It All #2 By: Rachel Lacey Releasing: March 28, 2017 Forever 
SHE'S TAKING A WALK ON HIS WILD SIDE
Emma Rush can't remember a time when she didn't have a thing for Ryan Blake. Haven's resident bad boy is just so freakin' hot-with tattoos, a motorcycle, and enough rough-around-the-edges sexiness to melt all her self-control. Now that Emma's over being a "good girl," she needs a little help being naughty . . . and she knows just where to start. Before Emma's brother enlisted in the military, he made Ryan promise that he would protect her from everything--including himself. When her brother doesn't come home, Ryan needs to turn his screwed-up life around to honor his pledge. But he knows he's still not the right kind of guy for someone as sweet as Emma. Only he can't stop wanting to be with her. Wanting her. Falling in love with a good girl may be the craziest risk this bad boy can take . . . 
Every moment as I read this story I fell a little bit more for Emma and Ryan. They were so easy to like, love, and relate to. The warm, fuzzy, cozy feelings the book gave from the passionate yet adorable romance, with the angst and uncertainty from the past, promises made, and the questions about the future, the story just wrapped around me like the favorite blanket, and I enjoyed it immensely.
The small North Carolina mountain town charmed me. The images of Haven were easy to create in my mind and the group of friends, who's lives and loves we get to observe captivated my heart and mind. This best friend's sister in a small town romance surely got the heat up and me sighing and swooning and smiling while being entertained. Emma and Ryan both had lost their family at a young age and had to learn early on to fend for themselves. They were both tough, capable, and not afraid to take risks, very similar in nature even though Ryan had always been labeled as a bad boy while Emma carried the good girl reputation. Under the tough exterior, Ryan was a kind, considerate, generous, and sweet person, just don't tell him, I said that. His love for his friends and long lost brother was palpable, I loved his loyalty, honesty, and sense of honor. Emma had finally found her footing in her hometown. The loneliness she had always felt starting to fade, she had the courage and curiosity to take life by the horns and to live fully, make changes, and experience new things. Together Emma and Ryan had an amazing chemistry. The sexy scenes are sizzling hot and often detailed, but they get to spend time off the sheets as well, getting to know each other in a new and exciting way, sharing life and challenging themselves as Ryan is guiding Emma to 'be bad'. The angst of promises made and the concerns for the future were played well in the story. Just long and deep enough to be believable, but not to the extend to irk and exhaust the reader. And you definitely get all the feels from the delightful and delectable epilogue. This is a story that left me smiling, and that smile still hasn't faded. The author surely knows how to create a story, with a wide variety of emotions, that is seamlessly flowing from the pages and enchanting the reader's mind. I'm looking forward to the next installment of the series! ~ Four Spoons with a teaspoon on the side 
Whoa. Emma closed her eyes and let out a shriek as Ryan guided the motorcycle onto Main Street and picked up speed. The cold wind whipped her face, taking her breath away. Beneath her, the engine rumbled and roared like a wild thing. Holy sh*t. She was on the back of Ryan Blake’s bike, and it was amazing.
The wind bit through her thin, knit gloves, hitting her fingers with an icy blast. Actually, every part of her was freezing, but she didn’t care. She wrapped her arms more firmly around Ryan’s waist, anchoring herself to him so she didn’t tumble off the back of the bike, and somehow her hands slipped beneath his jacket. Ahh. That was better. Toasty warm, and also…her hands were on his T-shirt. Even through her gloves, she felt the hard contour of his abs, and nope, she wasn’t cold now. And this was absolutely freaking amazing. She hung on tight as he guided them over Haven’s twisting mountain roads, deserted at this hour. Overhead the moon shone like a beacon, illuminating the night in its soft, silvery glow. The roar of the engine and the slap of the wind against her face shocked her senses. It was thrilling, invigorating, so completely different from riding inside a car. She’d never have done this if Mandy hadn’t dared her, and now she felt like her eyes were open for the first time in years. This was what she needed. Somewhere along the way, as she sat at the bar talking to Ryan, she’d realized she was having fun, really having fun. And she wanted more. She wanted it all, every last wild and crazy fantasy. All too soon, her building came into view. Ryan cut the engine and guided them quietly into the driveway, coming to a stop behind her silver Toyota RAV4. He turned his head to look at her, so sexy in his helmet and riding glasses. “So how was it?” “Even better than I thought it would be.” She gulped for air. His lips were way too close to hers, and she was still a little bit drunk on beer and a whole lot drunk on her first motorcycle ride. Mandy’s words echoed in her ears. Bonus points if you kiss him. Just stand up a bit, lean over his shoulder, and… Emma leaned forward, her chest sliding up his back as she tipped her face to his. Holy hell, she had completely lost her mind, but she was going for it. Every nerve in her body went haywire. Clunk. Her helmet smacked into his, drawing her up an inch short of his lips. 
What did you enjoy most about writing this book? I loved writing all the fun, adventurous things Ryan and Emma did together in CRAZY FOR YOU – rock climbing, cliff jumping, motorcycle rides, etc. They were so much fun to write, and it was the perfect balance to some of the heavier themes in the book. These two characters really bring out the best in each other, constantly pushing each other out of their comfort zones. If you had a theme song, what would it be? Dream On by Aerosmith – “Dream until your dreams come true!” Name one thing you won’t leave home without. Chapstick! I have a weird obsession with it. A la Twitter style, please describe your book in 140 characters or less. Contemporary Romance Author. Wife. Mother. Animal Lover & Rescue Advocate. Hufflepuff. Powered by wine, chocolate, and books! If you could have dinner with any three authors (alive or dead), who would you choose and why? First, JK Rowling because she is a literary genius and a fierce feminist, and I’d love to chat with her about anything and everything. Next, Mary Higgins Clark because she was my very first “favorite author,” and I’d love to thank her for that. And of course Nora Roberts because she is my hero and gives great advice. All three of these ladies have inspired me so much, and I would love to just soak up all the knowledge they could impart. What are your favorite types of stories to read? My favorite books make me laugh *and* cry. I want ALL THE FEELS while I’m reading! 
Rachel Lacey is a contemporary romance author and semi-reformed travel junkie. She's been climbed by a monkey on a mountain in Japan, gone scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef, and camped out overnight in New York City for a chance to be an extra in a movie. These days, the majority of her adventures take place on the pages of the books she writes. She lives in warm and sunny North Carolina with her husband, son, and a variety of rescue pets.
Author Links: WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS 
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Loved By A Killer Loved By A Killer Series Book 1 by C.F. Rabbiosi Genre: A Sexy Paranormal Thriller 
Raina loved performing upon the London stage, but one night she found herself dancing for only HIM. She froze, and looked to the balcony where the gaslights flickered dimly over his shadowy form. If only she had known that this beautiful monster would soon rip her away from everything in the world SHE EVER LOVED, perhaps she wouldn’t have lingered so long.
Marcus loved being a blood thirsty predator, but one night his gallivanting brought him to his knees in front of HER. If only he’d known what would happen when she danced, that she would remind him of someone who was everything in the world HE EVER LOVED, perhaps he would’ve turned away. As he drags her deeper and deeper into his depraved world of torture and violence, she begins fighting with her own darkness that threatens to consume her every day. And oh, how it begs to be released. And though she knows it’s wrong, she desires her captor anyway. Until she begins falling for someone else… Meanwhile, prostitutes are being butchered in the streets and she begins to wonder: Is her dark lover, the one she is bound to, The Ripper? With an accurate account of the creepy gaslit times of London and real Jack the Ripper crime scenes, Loved By A Killer is an exciting read from start to finish. 
I RACE UPSTAIRS AND TURN THE GASLIGHT ON to its brightest setting and listen to every sound in the house, for anything unusual and for Marcus’ return. My mind spins over this turn of events. The mutilated girl in the picture. The monster that takes pleasure in her horrific murder. The kind of monster that stole my mother away in the darkness leaving our lives wrecked. But now I have power: speed, strength, senses that are out of this world, and an affinity for the night. And somewhere, this monster lurks in the night- that I NOW OWN.
I’m going to destroy him. Jack the Ripper, Marcus, whoever he is- he’s dead. I don’t believe it will cost me what’s left of my humanity, but even if my soul disintegrates to pieces, he must be stopped. “Fascinated…captivated… Throw me to the devil for I am painfully in love with you.” Marcus appears in the doorway. His face gleams happily and he throws his hat onto the dresser. I force a smile. “What have you been up to?” “Oh, baby, I have my own vampire things to tend to.” He extends his hand toward my face and I flinch. “Have you eaten?” My muscles feel weak and my chest burns a little. “No? Let me fix that. Tom!” “Please don’t let me hurt him,” I say. He nods. I drink from the young servant’s wrist as my mind swims with horrid thoughts. After ten gulps, I force my mouth away and it doesn’t hurt as much, being far more interested in Marcus’ bloody affairs. I pull up a sleeve to wipe the blood away and Tom lies back on the bed. “Guess what happened tonight?” Marcus flings messy hair out of his face and plops down on the bed beside me. “What happened?” “There was another murder on the East side.” My breath catches. “And?” I flutter my eyelids up at my beaming vampire. “How do you know that?” “While I was… out, the town was a-buzz with the sad murmurings of a new victim.” “You seem so torn up.” “Of course not. But she was.” Tom’s hand lands on my leg. “Can I be yours? Like, your personal blood boy?” Marcus scoffs. “She’s likely to kill you, chap.” “Go ahead Marcus, tell me what happened,” I say, unable to keep my voice steady. “They say it was a bangtail called Dark Annie. The doctor had to scoop her intestines and organs out of the dirt and put them back into her stomach.” “I see.” My mind unveils all the mutilated women in the artwork I just discovered in Marcus’ study. What a painting this new murder would make. “He’s not going to stop, is he?” I stare pointedly into those dark pools of hypnotizing evil. “Doubtful.” He cocks his head to the side and grins. Well, hell. 
Charity lives in the University town of Columbia, MO with her husband and three girls. She holds degrees in Science and Registered Nursing, but found her true passion in writing.
Her stories are inspired by Interview with the Vampire, The Last Vampire, Buffy and True Blood and finds herself on most days living and writing in her own fantasy world- when she’s not chasing after her kids. Member of Writers Digest, Writers Café, and Word Press. Website - Facebook - Goodreads 
☆.•°☆.•°*°•.☆ ANNA BLOOM COVER REVEAL ☆.•°☆.•°*°•.☆
Read The Truth About Love Vol 1 while it's at the SPECIAL REDUCED PRICE OF .99!!- myBook.to/truthaboutlovevol1 Synopsis Cherry Donaldson goes through dates like some women go through coffee. So when she find herself in need of a temporary roommate, saying yes to the gorgeous guy—even if he’s not her usual type—is a bad idea. A very bad idea. The last thing she expects is to fall into a friendship with Jared. But he makes it so easy. And before she knows it, the lines blur and his annoying habits become just a little bit charming. Will Cherry break her own rules to take a chance on the guy she now calls a friend, or is The Truth About Love too much to bear? Released 20th April Pre-order now - myBook.to/TruthAboutLovevol2 
As the only female initiate of the elite undercover society, the Dark Alliance, former FBI agent Madeleine Blake has a lot to prove—especially to her former lover, Alliance operative Jack Grayson. Ever since joining Jack’s team, Maddie’s been keeping her distance, trying not to relive every moment they shared during their brief but passionate affair. Yet when a mission ends in tragedy, Maddie’s ready to walk away from the Alliance—and Jack—forever. That is, until Jack’s cover is blown, putting his life in danger and making it impossible for Maddie to deny her true feelings…
Before he met Maddie, Jack Grayson thought happiness was impossible for a man like him. After all, he has a price on his head that requires him to live in the shadows, concealed from everyone and everything he cares about. But now that they’re on the run for their lives and Jack has Maddie in his arms again, he realizes their love is the only thing in his life that’s real. And this time, there’s no way in hell he’s letting it slip away… 
An explosive continues to the Dark Alliance series with constant action, breathtaking moments of fatal danger, and two lovers getting yet another chance to find a way to each other's lives and hearts.
The suspense and action of the story are based on the war between Alliance and Illuminati, and the old enemies hunting down Jack Grayson with revenge in mind, and death the ultimate goal. Collateral damage is not an issue to the ruthless killers, only achieving to dispose of their target in mind. As many of the players from both sides in the tale get their chance to tell their point of view, the big picture of the war with its risks, manipulations, and lies even amongst their own troops comes to clear to the reader. I have read the book one of the series, yet it still took me some time to remember all the details and players in the dangerous games Alliance and Illuminati plays. Jack Grayson and Madeleine Blake have been in love with each other since they first met. Yet the lives they have lived, the choices they have made has made them walk away from each other twice before and kept them apart until they are teamed to solve the latest crisis. Madeleine Blake is making history, she is the first female accepted to the order of the Alliance. She is a truly kick-ass heroine, she is equal to the male counterparts, there's no fear, no hesitance as she faces the dangers and fights for what is right, and to keep the Alliance a secret society it needs to be to be able to accomplish their goals. Jack Grayson was born to the order of Alliance. He is a young man, yet he sounds battle weary and drained. He believes the choices he has made during his service to Alliance has made him a person undeserving of love and happiness. His desire and adoration towards Madeleine are palpable, he barely manages to keep the distance between them, yet he has no intentions to put her in danger by claiming their feelings towards each other. The fragile relationship between them is tested in the most horrendous way. If they survive the torture and agony they might have a chance of a future happiness. It is obvious as I read the story that the author has done her research. The story, with its details of Alliance and Illuminati, the nonstop power battle against each other and within the troops was fascinating, energetic, and brutal. Even with constantly changing points of view and scenes, the story had a seamless flow from one savage action scene and crisis to another. An entertaining and enchanting story with merciless action, relentless danger, a brotherhood that leaves no man behind, and tender loving and adoration that made me sigh. ~ Four Spoons
My Darling, My Disaster Lords of Essex #2 By: Amalie Howard and Angie Morgan Releasing March 27, 2017 Entangled Select Historical 
"A hearty dose of secrets and burning passion. A page-turning escape!" – Eliza Knight, USA Today bestselling author
A princess who had it all. A lord with everything to lose. Lord Graham Findlay, the shamelessly virile Viscount Northridge, has a disgraceful secret, one he’ll do anything to hide. Holding his passions at bay, Gray has sworn off the fairer sex. But when temptation comes in the form of an intriguing woman he cannot easily avoid, Gray’s integrity—and his most depraved desires—are put to the ultimate test. Self-assured and carefree Princess Svetlanka Volkonsky never dreamed she would one day become a lady’s maid to avoid a dangerous traitor. But danger also comes in many guises, especially in the sinful and devastatingly attractive lord of the manor who introduces her to a world of singular pleasure. When Lana’s past emerges to threaten the life and the false identity she’s built in England, she and Gray find themselves falling into a tangled web of lies and intrigue...and the last place either of them expected to fall...in love. 
The interior of the coach felt hot, and she could swear that Lord Northridge’s body was closer than it had been moments before. Lana’s pulse spiked, every inch of her skin prickling with bright awareness. She had been courted by suitors before and had been the recipient of hastily stolen embraces in the arbor at Volkonsky Palace. But no man had ever made her feel the way she did now—like a fox in a hunt with nowhere to run. Her short nails dug into her palms even as she feigned continued indifference. It was a talent she’d inherited from her mother: the ability to remain tranquil and unruffled in any situation.
But, lord, the man pushed her to the limits of her skill. Despite her composed exterior, Lana was acutely conscious of him. With each inhale and exhale, she could scent the spice of his cologne and the bite of whiskey and cigar smoke, see the rise and fall of the pulse in his neck, hear the rustle of his clothing against the plush velvet seat. She could feel his hooded eyes settling upon her as if they were hands pressing against her flesh, boldly pushing past the confines of her cloak. Undressing her. Refusing to succumb to his debauchery, she met his eyes with cool hauteur, and they dropped provokingly to her lips. He was trying to shock her, she knew. But Lana held his stare, refusing to be cowed by whatever new perverse game he was playing. She swallowed a biting response that would remind him of his place, and hers—Lord Northridge at the best of times was unpredictable, and after a night on the town with liquor in his blood, she would do well to curb her tongue. Lest he force himself upon her like some lovelorn swain. No, not lovelorn. Lord Northridge would not allow such a common emotion as love to rule him. The art of his seduction, if at all, would be calculated and ruthless…meant only to serve him and no other. Lovesick females fell at his feet, not the reverse. Lord Northridge’s eyes met hers as if her thoughts had grown transparent, and she flushed when another knowing smirk appeared. Lord have mercy, he made her want to kick him. Hard. Flustered, Lana couldn’t quite help herself as the coach finally rolled to a sharp stop in front of the manor. “Like what you see?” she asked in succinct tones. A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips at her veiled mockery. “Very much.” Lana went still at the candid admission. He looked as surprised as she did. An arctic flush suffused her chest and climbed her neck as James opened the coach door. She slid forward, taking the footman’s hand and making her escape with every ounce of grace she could manage. “Perhaps you should endeavor to foist your attentions where they will be better welcomed. Good day, Lord Northridge.” His husky chuckle at what would have been a crushing setdown in any other circumstance followed her all the way to the front door. Blast the arrogant clodpole to Hades.
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The Shield of Soren The Light and Shadow Chronicles Book 2 by D.M. Cain Genre: Epic Fantasy 
Ten-year-old Soren Nitaya's marked talent makes him the youngest soldier ever to become an apprentice to the legendary warrior, Raven Lennox. As a prince of Alcherys, he will be expected to fight in the eternal war against the Brotherhood of Shadow when he reaches sixteen.
But is the young prince up to the task when he's more interested in causing mischief than in mastering weapons? When one of Soren’s adventures goes off course, he unwittingly unleashes a deadly threat. It appears that an age-old prophecy is finally coming to pass, and Soren and his family must take a perilous journey deep into their enemy's land. Does Soren have what it takes to save his country before the Brotherhood destroys everyone and everything he loves? 
With a loud clang of metal slamming into metal, the final bolt was undone. Reign slowly pulled the door open, and Vincent found his breath catching in his throat. High-pitched whimpering came from the tiny bundle of rags cowering at the back of the cage. Her long silver hair parted for a moment and Vincent could see her wide, silver eyes, terrified and innocent. Vincent’s skin prickled with discomfort. He hoped that Reign had a damned good reason for capturing a small child like this. Beside the glass cage were two oil lamps, both resting unlit. Reign reached up and took one down. Then, in a single savage moment, he slammed the lamp onto the floor of her cage. The girl screamed in terror and covered her head with her hands, but he hadn’t been aiming for her. The shattered glass gave way to a stream of oil that spread out in a pool across the floor. This seemed to scare the girl even more, and she began to cry quietly, sobbing into her clenched hands. Reign looked back at Vincent. Excitement flashed in his eyes as he drew a match from a box in his pocket. A small flare of light, a flicker of sulphur and a small flame danced on top of the match. With another laugh, Reign tossed the match into the glass cage. Vincent gasped as the oil ignited in a rush of intense heat. The entire floor of the cage burst into flames. Vincent tried to rush forwards to save the girl from a fiery death, but the heat was too intense. A hand tapped incessantly at his shoulder, and he tried to brush it away, but Reign grabbed hold of his hand. “Look! Look!” Reign shouted excitedly, pointing at the cage. When his eyes fell upon the cage, Vincent froze to the spot, his eyes nearly popping from their sockets. “But…how?” The girl, who Vincent had assumed would be burning in agony, was somehow floating above the flames, hovering at the top of her cage. From her back sprouted two enormous wings of the purest white feathers Vincent had ever seen. The two beautiful white fans could only just fit within the confines of the cage, and as she beat them to stay afloat they fanned the flames beneath her. It wasn’t just her wings that dazzled Vincent with their purity. Her whole body had adopted an ethereal, almost ghostly, silver aura, her hair shimmering with radiance. She didn’t seem too frightened any more, but there was a definite hint of sadness in her gentle eyes. Vincent studied her carefully, struggling to catch his breath, which he hadn’t realised he had been holding. “What is she?” he managed to croak. Reign grinned and draped an arm across Vincent’s shoulder. “She, my friend, is an angel.” 
The Light and Shadow Chronicles Book 1
In a world ravaged by war, the paths of two warriors are about to cross with world-changing consequences. Chaos is a soldier of The Children of the Light, and fights in the name of destiny, honor and glory. Arrogant and headstrong, he believes he is the strongest warrior in the land, until a fateful coincidence puts him at the mercy of the demon Anathema. The two strike up an intense rivalry, but their obsession to destroy one another only leads them closer together. When the forces of Light and Dark collide, where will their loyalties lie? 
D.M. Cain is a dystopian and fantasy author working for Creativia Publishing. The Light and Shadow Chronicles series features a range of books which can be read in any order. The first of these to be written was A Chronicle of Chaos. The Shield of Soren will be released in March 2017. She is currently working on the next novel in the Light and Shadow Chronicles series, The Sins of Silas, as well as two complementary novellas entitled Genesis of Light and Origin of Shadow.
Cain has released one stand-alone novel: The Phoenix Project, a psychological thriller set in a dystopian future. The Phoenix Project was the winner of the 2016 Kindle Book Review Best Sci-Fi novel Award. D.M. Cain is also a member of the International Thriller Writers and one of the creators and administrators of the online author group #Awethors. Her short story The End was published in Awethology Dark: an anthology by the #Awethors. Cain lives in Leicestershire, UK with her husband and young son, and spends her time reading, writing and reviewing books, playing RPGs and listening to symphonic metal. Mailing List Website Google+ Facebook Profile Facebook page Twitter Amazon Goodreads 
We are absolutely OBSESSED with the cover of WITHOUT WORDS by Delancey Stewart! Check it out below and find out more about this incredible book releasing from Entangled in May! |
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Award-winning author Cynthia Eden writes dark tales of paranormal romance and romantic suspense. She is a New York Times, USA Today, Digital Book World and IndieReader bestseller. Cynthia is also a three-time finalist for the prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA® Award. Since she began writing full-time in 2005, Cynthia has written over fifty novels and novellas.
Cynthia lives along the Alabama Gulf Coast.
Website Facebook Twitter
Cynthia lives along the Alabama Gulf Coast.
Website Facebook Twitter
Romantic Suspense
Date Published: February 28, 2017
Publisher: Limitless Publishing
Laney Pearson was shot at point blank range…
With the help of his friend and colleague, Dr. Nathan George, Josh Stone managed to save her, giving them both a new start and a second chance at love. But when Laney’s parents try to take their recovering daughter back to Missouri, Josh fears he’ll lose her...possibly forever.
A mysterious stalker and Laney’s family aren’t the only ones who want Josh and Laney apart…
Jillian Stone has struggled with her own demons, always leaning on her brother Josh for support. When she sees him doting on Laney, spending days on end by her hospital bed, Jillian grows increasingly jealous. She pictures a life where Laney is gone and she and Josh can be closer...much closer.
A familiar shadow still threatens the light…
They thought Laney’s stalker was completely erased from their lives, arrested when he tried to kill her. But they find it wasn’t Laney’s ex-boyfriend who tormented her for weeks on end, even if he was the one who pulled the trigger. They are now on the lookout for the real stalker, who becomes braver with each passing day, always in shadows, never creeping into the light...
They fear he might be back to finish what he started...sending Laney to an early grave.
About the Author
JG Sumner is a Registered Nurse who went rogue. As good as she was at starting IV's, she enjoys writing the down the stories in her head even more. Most of the time the characters won't stop pestering her until she has them down on paper.
JG can often be found with a glass of red wine or prosecco in front of her computer. When she's not creating, she enjoys the outdoors hiking, bike riding, snowboarding, and camping.
JG has a very dry sense of humor, and should never be taken too seriously. She loves to hear from her fans, and even those who aren't and would love to hear your opinion on her books.
JG writes romantic suspense/thrillers including: A Shot in the Dark, Into the Light, The Surrender Trilogy including Surrender, Shattered, and Saved which will be available through Limitless Publishing soon.
Contact Links
Twitter: @jg_sumner
Purchase Links
Kiss, Marry, Kill
Iron Clad Security #1
By: Sidney Halston
Releasing March 28, 2017
Swerve
Iron Clad Security #1
By: Sidney Halston
Releasing March 28, 2017
Swerve
He's been chasing a memory . . .
It was just supposed to be a regular Thursday afternoon…and then he saw her. Sitting in seat L214, one seat over from his at the baseball game, right next to her douche of a soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. An impromptu kiss for the kiss cam, and Jax knew his life would never be the same. Five years and a tour in Afghanistan later, Jax is back stateside running his own private security firm, Iron-Clad, with his best friend. He isn't the man he used to be... but Megan isn't the sexy and sweet, though sheltered, twenty-two-year-old he left behind, either. And she's in trouble.
...but now they're on the run.
Megan Cruz has made something of herself. She’s turned her dreams of pop stardom into a reality. But when a deadly stalker breaks into her home claiming to be her number-one fan, the only person she can turn to is the boy who got away. But Jax isn’t the same carefree charmer who stole her heart, then broke it when he joined the military. This man is seductive, hard, guarded. And he'll do anything to protect what's his.
It was just supposed to be a regular Thursday afternoon…and then he saw her. Sitting in seat L214, one seat over from his at the baseball game, right next to her douche of a soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. An impromptu kiss for the kiss cam, and Jax knew his life would never be the same. Five years and a tour in Afghanistan later, Jax is back stateside running his own private security firm, Iron-Clad, with his best friend. He isn't the man he used to be... but Megan isn't the sexy and sweet, though sheltered, twenty-two-year-old he left behind, either. And she's in trouble.
...but now they're on the run.
Megan Cruz has made something of herself. She’s turned her dreams of pop stardom into a reality. But when a deadly stalker breaks into her home claiming to be her number-one fan, the only person she can turn to is the boy who got away. But Jax isn’t the same carefree charmer who stole her heart, then broke it when he joined the military. This man is seductive, hard, guarded. And he'll do anything to protect what's his.
“Promise me, you’ll be happy,” he sang from the other side of the door. “Promise me, you’ll always sing. Promise me you’ll never settle . . .” He jiggled the door handle. “Meggy? Where are you, my little mouse?” he said in a sing-song voice, sounding nice enough. Soft enough.
Safe enough. But Megan Cruz knew better. The man trying to lure her out of her enormous walk-in closet was deranged. Megan huddled in a corner behind all of her cocktail dresses, her knees pushed up and a butcher knife in one of her trembling hands. Just waiting. Waiting for the cops to show up, or for Ryan to finally find her. If she could stop breathing, she would. Trying to stay perfectly still and utterly quiet was an impossible feat with her hands shaking so violently. Surely he could hear her fear from where he stood on the other side of the door. If he walked deep enough into the closet, the dresses that served as a barrier between them would not be sufficient to shield her. And the fact that he’d broken into her house in the middle of the night was a good indication that he did want to hurt her.
Twenty minutes earlier she had been sitting on her bed, completely immersed in writing some lyrics in her notebook, when she heard the sound of a window shattering downstairs. Her house may have been huge, but it wouldn’t take long for whoever had broken in to find her, especially since her room was the first one up the grand staircase, even more obvious because of its huge double doors. Not about to sit and wait to find out if it was her stalker or a robber who had broken in, she immediately sent a text to her parents who lived close by, praying they’d understand the message: Break in. 911. Help! Then she silenced her phone and tucked it into her bra. She had also grabbed the enormous butcher knife she’d hid under mattress six months ago when Ryan had started sending her disturbing emails and letters.
At that time she’d thought he was just an overzealous fan and had worried she was being overly cautious, but now, as she cowered in fear, she realized how wrong she’d been. Megan actually held her breath when she heard the squeaky noise of the hinges of her closet door. He was inside now. Sweat dripped down her back and her heart pounded so loudly it seemed he had to have heard it. It felt as if it was going to physically come out of her chest, together with the sandwich she’d eaten a few hours ago. Peering under the hanging clothes she could see green
Converse sneakers moving closer to where she sat curled into a small ball, her arms around her knees.
“Oh Meggy, where are you? Sing for me, my naughty little mouse. Just one song. Just ‘Promise Me,’ that’s my favorite.”As he stepped closer, she tightened her grip on the knife.
“You’re supposed to make your fans happy.” His voice was louder and more agitated this time.
She could hear the fabric running through his fingers as he caressed her clothes, shifting the fragile curtain of dresses and shirts she was hiding behind.
“Oh, this is what you wore to the Grammys last month!” He pulled the dress out, and Megan tensed when a sliver of light cut through her hiding place. The small gap where the dress had hung made her more visible, and if he happened to look down he’d undoubtedly see her on the floor behind the rest of the clothes. She shut her eyes. “This is perfect. You can wear this when you sing for me at my house. Does anyone else know how much you love the chase, Meggy? Am I the only one that knows your secret? I have your new room all ready for you. We can play and sing all the time...It’ll be so fun, Meggy.”
His feet were moving slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. She could tell he was directly in front of her now by how close the sound of his heavy breathing was and by the way the rubber soles of his sneakers skidded against the wood floor. She shut her eyes harder and braced herself. She didn’t need her eyes open to see him—the memory was burned into her brain. His face was unassuming and his body unimposing. White skin, rounded cheeks, kind-looking face, maybe even cute, if he wasn’t a complete sociopath. He wasn’t too thin or too large, not too tall, not too short. Just an ordinary-looking guy. One you would smile at in line for coffee or at the grocery store. The non-threatening Good Samaritan who helped you with your flat tire. Completely harmless, completely average, except for his eyes, gray eyes that were a bit too large and had a slight tilt upward, reminding her of a cat. Gray eyes that could be considered attractive if it weren’t for the coldness behind them.
Megan didn’t want to die looking into that coldness. She didn’t want to die hiding in her closet, with the creepy man asking her to sing the song that was about the best four days of her entire life. The four days that also changed the course of her life. Ironic, she would potentially die thinking of those memories.
Safe enough. But Megan Cruz knew better. The man trying to lure her out of her enormous walk-in closet was deranged. Megan huddled in a corner behind all of her cocktail dresses, her knees pushed up and a butcher knife in one of her trembling hands. Just waiting. Waiting for the cops to show up, or for Ryan to finally find her. If she could stop breathing, she would. Trying to stay perfectly still and utterly quiet was an impossible feat with her hands shaking so violently. Surely he could hear her fear from where he stood on the other side of the door. If he walked deep enough into the closet, the dresses that served as a barrier between them would not be sufficient to shield her. And the fact that he’d broken into her house in the middle of the night was a good indication that he did want to hurt her.
Twenty minutes earlier she had been sitting on her bed, completely immersed in writing some lyrics in her notebook, when she heard the sound of a window shattering downstairs. Her house may have been huge, but it wouldn’t take long for whoever had broken in to find her, especially since her room was the first one up the grand staircase, even more obvious because of its huge double doors. Not about to sit and wait to find out if it was her stalker or a robber who had broken in, she immediately sent a text to her parents who lived close by, praying they’d understand the message: Break in. 911. Help! Then she silenced her phone and tucked it into her bra. She had also grabbed the enormous butcher knife she’d hid under mattress six months ago when Ryan had started sending her disturbing emails and letters.
At that time she’d thought he was just an overzealous fan and had worried she was being overly cautious, but now, as she cowered in fear, she realized how wrong she’d been. Megan actually held her breath when she heard the squeaky noise of the hinges of her closet door. He was inside now. Sweat dripped down her back and her heart pounded so loudly it seemed he had to have heard it. It felt as if it was going to physically come out of her chest, together with the sandwich she’d eaten a few hours ago. Peering under the hanging clothes she could see green
Converse sneakers moving closer to where she sat curled into a small ball, her arms around her knees.
“Oh Meggy, where are you? Sing for me, my naughty little mouse. Just one song. Just ‘Promise Me,’ that’s my favorite.”As he stepped closer, she tightened her grip on the knife.
“You’re supposed to make your fans happy.” His voice was louder and more agitated this time.
She could hear the fabric running through his fingers as he caressed her clothes, shifting the fragile curtain of dresses and shirts she was hiding behind.
“Oh, this is what you wore to the Grammys last month!” He pulled the dress out, and Megan tensed when a sliver of light cut through her hiding place. The small gap where the dress had hung made her more visible, and if he happened to look down he’d undoubtedly see her on the floor behind the rest of the clothes. She shut her eyes. “This is perfect. You can wear this when you sing for me at my house. Does anyone else know how much you love the chase, Meggy? Am I the only one that knows your secret? I have your new room all ready for you. We can play and sing all the time...It’ll be so fun, Meggy.”
His feet were moving slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. She could tell he was directly in front of her now by how close the sound of his heavy breathing was and by the way the rubber soles of his sneakers skidded against the wood floor. She shut her eyes harder and braced herself. She didn’t need her eyes open to see him—the memory was burned into her brain. His face was unassuming and his body unimposing. White skin, rounded cheeks, kind-looking face, maybe even cute, if he wasn’t a complete sociopath. He wasn’t too thin or too large, not too tall, not too short. Just an ordinary-looking guy. One you would smile at in line for coffee or at the grocery store. The non-threatening Good Samaritan who helped you with your flat tire. Completely harmless, completely average, except for his eyes, gray eyes that were a bit too large and had a slight tilt upward, reminding her of a cat. Gray eyes that could be considered attractive if it weren’t for the coldness behind them.
Megan didn’t want to die looking into that coldness. She didn’t want to die hiding in her closet, with the creepy man asking her to sing the song that was about the best four days of her entire life. The four days that also changed the course of her life. Ironic, she would potentially die thinking of those memories.
KOBO
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USA Today bestselling author, Sidney Halston lives her life with one simple rule: "Just Do It"--Nike. And that's exactly what she did.
After working hard as an attorney, Sidney picked up a pen for the first time at thirty years old to begin her dream of writing. Having never written anything other than very exciting legal briefs, she found an outlet for her imaginative, romantic side and wrote Seeing Red. That first pen stroke sealed the deal, and she fell in love with writing. Sidney lives in South Florida with her husband and children. She loves her family above all else, and reading follows a close second. When she's not writing, you can find her reading and reading and reading. She's a reader first and a writer second. When she's not writing or reading, her life is complete and utter chaos, trying to balance family life with work and writing (and reading). But she wouldn't have it any other way.
Author Links: WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS
After working hard as an attorney, Sidney picked up a pen for the first time at thirty years old to begin her dream of writing. Having never written anything other than very exciting legal briefs, she found an outlet for her imaginative, romantic side and wrote Seeing Red. That first pen stroke sealed the deal, and she fell in love with writing. Sidney lives in South Florida with her husband and children. She loves her family above all else, and reading follows a close second. When she's not writing, you can find her reading and reading and reading. She's a reader first and a writer second. When she's not writing or reading, her life is complete and utter chaos, trying to balance family life with work and writing (and reading). But she wouldn't have it any other way.
Author Links: WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS
Image linked to Tasty Tours
The English Duke
Duke Trilogy #2
By: Karen Ranney
Releasing March 28, 2017
Avon
Duke Trilogy #2
By: Karen Ranney
Releasing March 28, 2017
Avon
In the second in New York Times Bestselling Author Karen Ranney’s scintillating series, society’s most coveted duke finds the one thing wealth and position cannot buy—the perfect partner…
For years, Martha York has been fascinated by a man she’s never met—Jordan Hamilton, the new Duke of Roth and protégé to her inventor father. Could the elusive gentleman possibly live up to his brilliant letters? When Martha travels to his estate to carry out her father’s last bequest, she discovers that the answer is a resounding yes, for the duke’s scientific mind belies a deep sensuality…
Jordan was determined to complete his prototype alone, but it’s impossible to resist the alluring young woman who shows up at his door. Working together, they grow ever closer, until a case of mistaken identity leaves him bound to another. A woman’s heart may be more complex than the most intricate invention, but Jordan must find a way to win Martha’s, or lose the only woman who can truly satisfy him…
For years, Martha York has been fascinated by a man she’s never met—Jordan Hamilton, the new Duke of Roth and protégé to her inventor father. Could the elusive gentleman possibly live up to his brilliant letters? When Martha travels to his estate to carry out her father’s last bequest, she discovers that the answer is a resounding yes, for the duke’s scientific mind belies a deep sensuality…
Jordan was determined to complete his prototype alone, but it’s impossible to resist the alluring young woman who shows up at his door. Working together, they grow ever closer, until a case of mistaken identity leaves him bound to another. A woman’s heart may be more complex than the most intricate invention, but Jordan must find a way to win Martha’s, or lose the only woman who can truly satisfy him…
CHAPTER 1
July, 1871 Griffin House, England
Martha York stared down at the letter her sister had just handed her.
For months she’d been trying to satisfy her father’s bequest. He’d asked her to see that his work was given to the Duke of Roth. That’s all. Except it hadn’t been easy, had it?
She’d been writing to the duke for nearly a year and never received an answer. Not a note. Nothing dictated to a secretary. Not one small sliver of information. She’d kept writing and he’d kept ignoring her.
“Aren’t you going to open it, Martha?” Josephine asked.
She nodded, staring at the distinctive emblem on the reverse before removing the seal.
Part of her never wanted him to write back. There, a bit of honesty. She hadn’t wanted to relinquish all her father’s precious diaries, all his prototypes, all his notes.
“What does he say, Martha?” Josephine asked. “Has he invited us to Sedgebrook? Has he?”
Martha frowned at her sister. “Of course he hasn’t.” “But what has he said? Are you going to read it to us?” Josephine asked, her glance encompassing their grandmother.
Gran didn’t say a word, but she was looking over at Martha. Normally, nothing could divert her attention from her crochet work.
“He says he doesn’t want Father’s bequest. He does send his condolences on Father’s death. A year late.”
“He has to take it,” Gran said calmly. “Shall we just send everything in a wagon? He’d have no choice but to accept everything.”
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to Bessie,” she said, referring to her father’s latest prototype. “Why he thought the duke would want it, I’ve no idea.”
“They were friends,” Gran said. “Matthew didn’t spare the time for many people.”
Martha only nodded. Gran’s son, their father, had been a hermit, but a happy one. He went to the cottage situated at the end of the lawn every day, content to tinker there surrounded by his inventions, and al- lowing his imagination to take him where it would.
The unlikely friendship between Jordan Hamilton and her father had begun before the man had become the Duke of Roth. He’d been a naval officer then, curious about her father’s work, and writing with his questions. That had sparked an intense correspondence, one that lasted until pneumonia had taken Matthew suddenly and unexpectedly.
“At least he finally deigned to answer my letter,” Martha said. “Which is the most he’s done all these months. He probably got tired of me writing.”
“What are you going to do?” Gran asked, her crochet work forgotten on her lap.
“I could simply keep writing him until he agrees to come here.”
“Or we could take Father’s bequest to him,” Josephine said.
She glanced up at her sister.
“That’s out of the question,” she said, staring down at the distinctive handwriting. She knew it well. She’d read every one of the duke’s letters to her father.
She hadn’t expected him to repudiate her father’s gift. Doing so was worse than a slap in the face. His ignoring her letters ridiculed the relationship that Matthew York had valued so much. She’d thought the Duke of Roth had felt the same, but evidently he didn’t.
“Why is it out of the question?” Josephine asked. “Josephine, please sit,” she said, looking up at her sister.
Each time Josephine passed in front of her, perfume wafted in her direction. Ever since her mother had departed Griffin House, Josephine had taken to wearing Marie’s favorite French perfume. It was, according to her sister, a sophisticated fragrance. Martha thought it was overbearing and too flowery.
Perhaps Josephine wore it to remind her of Marie. No doubt that was the same reason her sister gravitated to the Rose Parlor. Her mother often sat here, staring out at the lawn, her gaze impenetrable and almost troubling to witness.
The room was filled with all those things Marie loved, but evidently not enough to remain at Griffin House. Needlepoint sat in a frame, patiently waiting to be finished. Needlepoint pillows were arranged on the sofa. Footrests upholstered in needlepoint sat at their feet while needlepoint pictures of flowers framed in gold hung on one wall. Even the draperies had needlepoint tiebacks.
She couldn’t help but wonder if Marie truly had an affinity for needlepoint or if it was only an outlet for other feelings.
The Rose Parlor had been decorated by her step- mother. The sofa and love seat, as well as the curtains that framed the view of the back lawn and the lake were pink. The pillows that weren’t covered in needlepoint were pink as well. The round carpet beneath her feet consisted of overblown lush roses—in pink, of course—with a contrasting green border.
Josephine loved the room. Martha felt slightly bilious in it. Gran didn’t seem to mind, being as involved in her crocheting as Marie had been in her needlepoint.
As for herself, when she wasn’t in her own room, she was in her father’s cottage. Although not quite a laboratory, it truly wasn’t an office, either. Instead, it was a combination of the two with tall skinny windows looking out over the lake.
She was his assistant and one of her tasks was to record his thoughts and experiments for the ages as well as to serve as his sounding board.
He’d been a good man, a truly inventive one. If he was more involved in his pursuits and less his family, perhaps that was to be expected.
No one, least of all her, had been that surprised when Marie had hied off to France six months after his death. According to the letter she had written Josephine, she was madly in love with a French count.
Of course I will send for you, my love, she’d written.
As soon as Pierre and I are settled at his estate. You will love the château. It’s so much more to my taste than Griffin House ever was.
Marie was French, a fact that Josephine seemed to recite more and more often of late. As if being half- French was something preferable to being completely English.
“Well?” Josephine asked. “What are you going to do?”
Martha looked out at the lake, placid in the July morning, remembering her father’s words. “Wherever there’s a mystery, you can’t help but feel excitement. Always seek to find a mystery. The sheer act of solving it will keep you happy.”
The mystery that had occupied her mind ever since his death was finding how that final experiment had been successful. He’d been so happy when he’d come in from the storm. He’d been drenched but ecstatic, telling her that his vessel had leveled off, heading directly for the target.
But he hadn’t told her how.
In this instance there were no notes. No thoughts or idle speculation. Nothing to give her any clue.
She was determined that his life’s work would be finished, even if she had to turn over all his notes and work to the duke.
“We have to go,” Josephine said, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s what Father would have wanted. Besides, it’s the Duke of Roth! Can you imagine, Martha? We could see Sedgebrook!”
July, 1871 Griffin House, England
Martha York stared down at the letter her sister had just handed her.
For months she’d been trying to satisfy her father’s bequest. He’d asked her to see that his work was given to the Duke of Roth. That’s all. Except it hadn’t been easy, had it?
She’d been writing to the duke for nearly a year and never received an answer. Not a note. Nothing dictated to a secretary. Not one small sliver of information. She’d kept writing and he’d kept ignoring her.
“Aren’t you going to open it, Martha?” Josephine asked.
She nodded, staring at the distinctive emblem on the reverse before removing the seal.
Part of her never wanted him to write back. There, a bit of honesty. She hadn’t wanted to relinquish all her father’s precious diaries, all his prototypes, all his notes.
“What does he say, Martha?” Josephine asked. “Has he invited us to Sedgebrook? Has he?”
Martha frowned at her sister. “Of course he hasn’t.” “But what has he said? Are you going to read it to us?” Josephine asked, her glance encompassing their grandmother.
Gran didn’t say a word, but she was looking over at Martha. Normally, nothing could divert her attention from her crochet work.
“He says he doesn’t want Father’s bequest. He does send his condolences on Father’s death. A year late.”
“He has to take it,” Gran said calmly. “Shall we just send everything in a wagon? He’d have no choice but to accept everything.”
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to Bessie,” she said, referring to her father’s latest prototype. “Why he thought the duke would want it, I’ve no idea.”
“They were friends,” Gran said. “Matthew didn’t spare the time for many people.”
Martha only nodded. Gran’s son, their father, had been a hermit, but a happy one. He went to the cottage situated at the end of the lawn every day, content to tinker there surrounded by his inventions, and al- lowing his imagination to take him where it would.
The unlikely friendship between Jordan Hamilton and her father had begun before the man had become the Duke of Roth. He’d been a naval officer then, curious about her father’s work, and writing with his questions. That had sparked an intense correspondence, one that lasted until pneumonia had taken Matthew suddenly and unexpectedly.
“At least he finally deigned to answer my letter,” Martha said. “Which is the most he’s done all these months. He probably got tired of me writing.”
“What are you going to do?” Gran asked, her crochet work forgotten on her lap.
“I could simply keep writing him until he agrees to come here.”
“Or we could take Father’s bequest to him,” Josephine said.
She glanced up at her sister.
“That’s out of the question,” she said, staring down at the distinctive handwriting. She knew it well. She’d read every one of the duke’s letters to her father.
She hadn’t expected him to repudiate her father’s gift. Doing so was worse than a slap in the face. His ignoring her letters ridiculed the relationship that Matthew York had valued so much. She’d thought the Duke of Roth had felt the same, but evidently he didn’t.
“Why is it out of the question?” Josephine asked. “Josephine, please sit,” she said, looking up at her sister.
Each time Josephine passed in front of her, perfume wafted in her direction. Ever since her mother had departed Griffin House, Josephine had taken to wearing Marie’s favorite French perfume. It was, according to her sister, a sophisticated fragrance. Martha thought it was overbearing and too flowery.
Perhaps Josephine wore it to remind her of Marie. No doubt that was the same reason her sister gravitated to the Rose Parlor. Her mother often sat here, staring out at the lawn, her gaze impenetrable and almost troubling to witness.
The room was filled with all those things Marie loved, but evidently not enough to remain at Griffin House. Needlepoint sat in a frame, patiently waiting to be finished. Needlepoint pillows were arranged on the sofa. Footrests upholstered in needlepoint sat at their feet while needlepoint pictures of flowers framed in gold hung on one wall. Even the draperies had needlepoint tiebacks.
She couldn’t help but wonder if Marie truly had an affinity for needlepoint or if it was only an outlet for other feelings.
The Rose Parlor had been decorated by her step- mother. The sofa and love seat, as well as the curtains that framed the view of the back lawn and the lake were pink. The pillows that weren’t covered in needlepoint were pink as well. The round carpet beneath her feet consisted of overblown lush roses—in pink, of course—with a contrasting green border.
Josephine loved the room. Martha felt slightly bilious in it. Gran didn’t seem to mind, being as involved in her crocheting as Marie had been in her needlepoint.
As for herself, when she wasn’t in her own room, she was in her father’s cottage. Although not quite a laboratory, it truly wasn’t an office, either. Instead, it was a combination of the two with tall skinny windows looking out over the lake.
She was his assistant and one of her tasks was to record his thoughts and experiments for the ages as well as to serve as his sounding board.
He’d been a good man, a truly inventive one. If he was more involved in his pursuits and less his family, perhaps that was to be expected.
No one, least of all her, had been that surprised when Marie had hied off to France six months after his death. According to the letter she had written Josephine, she was madly in love with a French count.
Of course I will send for you, my love, she’d written.
As soon as Pierre and I are settled at his estate. You will love the château. It’s so much more to my taste than Griffin House ever was.
Marie was French, a fact that Josephine seemed to recite more and more often of late. As if being half- French was something preferable to being completely English.
“Well?” Josephine asked. “What are you going to do?”
Martha looked out at the lake, placid in the July morning, remembering her father’s words. “Wherever there’s a mystery, you can’t help but feel excitement. Always seek to find a mystery. The sheer act of solving it will keep you happy.”
The mystery that had occupied her mind ever since his death was finding how that final experiment had been successful. He’d been so happy when he’d come in from the storm. He’d been drenched but ecstatic, telling her that his vessel had leveled off, heading directly for the target.
But he hadn’t told her how.
In this instance there were no notes. No thoughts or idle speculation. Nothing to give her any clue.
She was determined that his life’s work would be finished, even if she had to turn over all his notes and work to the duke.
“We have to go,” Josephine said, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s what Father would have wanted. Besides, it’s the Duke of Roth! Can you imagine, Martha? We could see Sedgebrook!”
Karen Ranney wanted to be a writer from the time she was five years old and filled her Big Chief tablet with stories. People in stories did amazing things and she was too shy to do anything amazing. Years spent in Japan, Paris, and Italy, however, not only fueled her imagination but proved she wasn't that shy after all.
Now a New York Times and USA Today bestseller, she prefers to keep her adventures between the covers of her books. Karen lives in San Antonio, Texas.
Author Links: WEBSITE | TWITTER | GOODREADS
Now a New York Times and USA Today bestseller, she prefers to keep her adventures between the covers of her books. Karen lives in San Antonio, Texas.
Author Links: WEBSITE | TWITTER | GOODREADS
Image linked to Tasty Tours
Hard to Protect
Black Ops Heroes #1
By: Incy Black
Releasing March 20, 2017
Entangled Ignite
Black Ops Heroes #1
By: Incy Black
Releasing March 20, 2017
Entangled Ignite
Some Black Op missions are too dark—even for him.
Volcanic hot and ambitious Special Agent Will Berwick doesn’t give a damn what his orders are, he’s not taking the enemy—the lovely, but arctic Dr. Angel Treherne—to bed. Nor will she die on his watch, most certainly not by his hand. Oh, he’ll root out her secrets. But his own way—teaching her a much-deserved lesson while he’s at it: that no one messes with his career plan just because they’re a little peeved with him.
Caught up in a tangled web of deceit and betrayal, psychotherapist Angel trusts no one—certainly not alpha-cocky, cunning Will Berwick. First he’s hostile, then he’s charming, now he wants to protect her? Why? What’s he hiding? With her life—and heart—on the line, she needs to know.
With the risks high and personal, can Will and Angel agree the dangerous choices they must make?
Volcanic hot and ambitious Special Agent Will Berwick doesn’t give a damn what his orders are, he’s not taking the enemy—the lovely, but arctic Dr. Angel Treherne—to bed. Nor will she die on his watch, most certainly not by his hand. Oh, he’ll root out her secrets. But his own way—teaching her a much-deserved lesson while he’s at it: that no one messes with his career plan just because they’re a little peeved with him.
Caught up in a tangled web of deceit and betrayal, psychotherapist Angel trusts no one—certainly not alpha-cocky, cunning Will Berwick. First he’s hostile, then he’s charming, now he wants to protect her? Why? What’s he hiding? With her life—and heart—on the line, she needs to know.
With the risks high and personal, can Will and Angel agree the dangerous choices they must make?
A dark, danger filler, gritty tale filled with unexpected plot twists and intriguing characters in the darkest shadows of the British intelligence. With the authors unique and original voice the story takes noir tendencies while telling the tale of the ultimate betrayal in the world filled with deceit and lies, where finding love and living fulfilling life meant finding another profession and learning to live with the number of kills on your name.
This story took me for an unforgettable ride, with the darkness of the souls of the characters as well as the streets and underground tunnels, it pulled me in and mesmerized my mind. It is very different from the romantic suspense that I normally read, yet it was vastly entertaining, and the author's creative mind while building the plot and the characters is admirable.
Are characters likable and relatable - no, can't say that. They are crude, grim and sinister. Tender feelings don't come easily to them. They have faults, weaknesses, and roughness around the edges that is needed in their jobs, but that made them even more entertaining, enthralling, and hard to let go.
It seemed everyone had issues that were earth shattering. The things they had seen, things they had experienced, the things they had done themselves just to survive in the ominous world they lived in were unimaginable. Blood ties, soulmates, and best friends had a little meaning and weighing to them. The tension is high or escalating through the story, no moment of a lull from the fatal action or the constant threats.
If you love the deep, dark noir suspense stories filled with uncontrollable passion and very little sweetness, that will entice your mind and might seep into your dreams, you are going to love this author's voice and Hard To Protect.
~ Four Spoons
This story took me for an unforgettable ride, with the darkness of the souls of the characters as well as the streets and underground tunnels, it pulled me in and mesmerized my mind. It is very different from the romantic suspense that I normally read, yet it was vastly entertaining, and the author's creative mind while building the plot and the characters is admirable.
Are characters likable and relatable - no, can't say that. They are crude, grim and sinister. Tender feelings don't come easily to them. They have faults, weaknesses, and roughness around the edges that is needed in their jobs, but that made them even more entertaining, enthralling, and hard to let go.
It seemed everyone had issues that were earth shattering. The things they had seen, things they had experienced, the things they had done themselves just to survive in the ominous world they lived in were unimaginable. Blood ties, soulmates, and best friends had a little meaning and weighing to them. The tension is high or escalating through the story, no moment of a lull from the fatal action or the constant threats.
If you love the deep, dark noir suspense stories filled with uncontrollable passion and very little sweetness, that will entice your mind and might seep into your dreams, you are going to love this author's voice and Hard To Protect.
~ Four Spoons
What he wanted was an explanation as to why she’d nixed his return to active duty. He grinned, instead. “You seem more piqued than usual by my silence, Doc. Pre-menstrual tension?”
No flinch. No sharp intake of breath. She didn’t even blink. But the sudden chill she threw damn near caused his balls to retract.
Then, like an assassin’s blade in the dark, she sliced. “Suffered any symptoms of impotency since your injury, Berwick?”
Perversely, his groin heated. Well, apparently, if he wasn’t going to dignify her surprising and utterly unprofessional counter-challenge with a response, his dick would. Odd, when to-date, this woman hadn’t stirred so much as an extra pulse-throb from him.
Not that she was unattractive. On the contrary, her classical beauty could launch ships. Flawless bone-structure. Complexion creamy, lustrous as a pearl. Fathomless grey eyes intent enough to make a man’s soul hum. Wide mouth. Generous lips, blush-pink and ripe. Hinting at dirty.
Her demeanor though—do-not-touch frigid.
Jesus, if someone had told him a Nordic God had carved her out of ice and then had second thoughts about getting close enough to breathe some warmth into her for fear of forevermore ejaculating snowflakes, he wouldn’t have argued.
Without breaking eye contact, he vaguely imagined what she might look like with that tight French braid of hers loosened, the tips of her breasts peeking through the untidy fall of blond tresses, as she lay naked, writhing beneath his hands.
And gave himself a mental slap.
Never going to happen. No way would he take this female to bed. Even if he survived the encounter, he doubted she would. Someone, or something, had damaged her. No woman wrapped herself in that many layers of frost without good reason. She may have crossed him, and for that she would pay, but he didn’t want to break her, for Christ’s sake.
He’d shattered Diana, and in return her death—suicide—had shattered him. A joyride through hell he preferred not to repeat.
No, he’d cajole the whereabouts of Treherne’s brother from her in a way that didn’t require physical contact or, at least, not deep physical contact. The odd affectionate caress he’d allow, purely as a sign of friendship. He had a feeling she could do with an ally. “What would have to happen for you to agree to have dinner with me?”
“Both ice caps would have to melt.”
He choked back, Well, you would know, and widened his grin. To hell with his reservations. This wintery beauty shared none of Diana’s frailty. The Doc could take care of herself.
Game on.
No flinch. No sharp intake of breath. She didn’t even blink. But the sudden chill she threw damn near caused his balls to retract.
Then, like an assassin’s blade in the dark, she sliced. “Suffered any symptoms of impotency since your injury, Berwick?”
Perversely, his groin heated. Well, apparently, if he wasn’t going to dignify her surprising and utterly unprofessional counter-challenge with a response, his dick would. Odd, when to-date, this woman hadn’t stirred so much as an extra pulse-throb from him.
Not that she was unattractive. On the contrary, her classical beauty could launch ships. Flawless bone-structure. Complexion creamy, lustrous as a pearl. Fathomless grey eyes intent enough to make a man’s soul hum. Wide mouth. Generous lips, blush-pink and ripe. Hinting at dirty.
Her demeanor though—do-not-touch frigid.
Jesus, if someone had told him a Nordic God had carved her out of ice and then had second thoughts about getting close enough to breathe some warmth into her for fear of forevermore ejaculating snowflakes, he wouldn’t have argued.
Without breaking eye contact, he vaguely imagined what she might look like with that tight French braid of hers loosened, the tips of her breasts peeking through the untidy fall of blond tresses, as she lay naked, writhing beneath his hands.
And gave himself a mental slap.
Never going to happen. No way would he take this female to bed. Even if he survived the encounter, he doubted she would. Someone, or something, had damaged her. No woman wrapped herself in that many layers of frost without good reason. She may have crossed him, and for that she would pay, but he didn’t want to break her, for Christ’s sake.
He’d shattered Diana, and in return her death—suicide—had shattered him. A joyride through hell he preferred not to repeat.
No, he’d cajole the whereabouts of Treherne’s brother from her in a way that didn’t require physical contact or, at least, not deep physical contact. The odd affectionate caress he’d allow, purely as a sign of friendship. He had a feeling she could do with an ally. “What would have to happen for you to agree to have dinner with me?”
“Both ice caps would have to melt.”
He choked back, Well, you would know, and widened his grin. To hell with his reservations. This wintery beauty shared none of Diana’s frailty. The Doc could take care of herself.
Game on.
KOBO
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B&N
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To escape the frenzy of three children aged under 4 years, two mad dogs and four very odd cats, Incy Black committed to a law degree (University College, London), first to piss off those who said she didn’t stand a chance, and second, because she’s never learned to walk a hill when there are mountains to be climbed.
When not fighting injustice and righting wrongs on ‘Planet Incy’ via her love of writing romantic action adventures, she works as a Marketing Director…also cook, cleaner and homemaker.
Living in the UK’s West Country, her (now five) children are well versed in what scares her (most things) and delight in pushing her neurotic buttons—at their peril.
Author Links: WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS
When not fighting injustice and righting wrongs on ‘Planet Incy’ via her love of writing romantic action adventures, she works as a Marketing Director…also cook, cleaner and homemaker.
Living in the UK’s West Country, her (now five) children are well versed in what scares her (most things) and delight in pushing her neurotic buttons—at their peril.
Author Links: WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS
Image linked to Tasty Tours
Hot for the Fireman
Boston Heat #1
By: Gina L. Maxwell
Releasing March 27, 2017
Entangled Select
Boston Heat #1
By: Gina L. Maxwell
Releasing March 27, 2017
Entangled Select
Ex-Army Ranger Erik Grady lives for the job. So when his chief at the Boston Fire Department offers him two choices—mandated therapy for supposed PTSD or a permanent desk job at the station, he reluctantly agrees to see a shrink. Only this doctor is unlike anything he expected. Female and curved in all the right places? Check. Hotter than a four-alarm fire? Check. The kind of woman that can heat his blood in and out of bed? Check, check. And oh, yeah, he just happens to have firsthand experience...
Of all the men to walk into psychologist Olivia Jones' office, why did it have to be him? Her one-night stand isn't playing by the rules of just. One. Night. She’s had her heart broken in the past, and no way is she going there again. And now he's blackmailing her into three dates? Well, if that's what it takes to make him see a different therapist, fine. She can handle it. So what if the chemistry between them is combustible? She's a professional, damn it. She'll date Mr. I'm Too Sexy For My Bunker Pants. But it won’t end in the fun he expects.
It’s time to see how much heat this fireman can take...
Of all the men to walk into psychologist Olivia Jones' office, why did it have to be him? Her one-night stand isn't playing by the rules of just. One. Night. She’s had her heart broken in the past, and no way is she going there again. And now he's blackmailing her into three dates? Well, if that's what it takes to make him see a different therapist, fine. She can handle it. So what if the chemistry between them is combustible? She's a professional, damn it. She'll date Mr. I'm Too Sexy For My Bunker Pants. But it won’t end in the fun he expects.
It’s time to see how much heat this fireman can take...
“Sounds like a plan. Actually, it sounds like a date. Our second official one, to be exact.”
Olivia chuckled. “What are you talking about? We’ve had dozens of dates.”
“On the contrary, Dr. Jones, watching movies and hooking up at our respective apartments is not a proper date.
Attending a party at your parents’ house, however, is definitely a date-type thing.”
“But my parents won’t even be there.”
“What about your godfather?”
A slow smile curved her lips. “Yes, I suppose Uncle Eddie and Aunt Tish will be in attendance.”
“There, you see? Anything that includes your family and my therapist is definitely an official date.” Erik gave her a sly grin and crowded her into the corner where the equipment lockers met the wall. “Come on, humor me.
Calling it a date makes me feel like I’m not only a piece of meat being used for my body.”
“Fine,” she said with an exaggerated sigh and roll of those sexy hazel eyes. “It’ll officially be our second date.
But just so we’re clear, I am only using you for your body.”
Peering up at him coyly through the dark fringe of her lashes, Olivia placed a single manicured nail at the hollow of his throat and dragged it down the center of his body. The muscles of his torso flexed and shuddered in its wake, shooting signals to his cock and balls that it was time to play. Thankfully, he still had a small supply of blood in his brain that prevented him from hauling her into his office and fucking her over his desk. Christ, that’s getting added to the fantasy bucket list. For now, though, he had to postpone the fun until later.
“Oddly enough, I’m very okay with being your boy toy, and I encourage you to get as much use out of me as you can. Now, I don’t know if you know this, but I also happen to be a firefighter. So if you’ve got any hot spots you need checked, I’d be more than happy to bring my hose by later and check them out thoroughly.”
“Mmm, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. You’re such a do-gooder, Lieutenant Grady.”
“Just doing my civic duty, ma’am. But you better get out of here before I decide you need to take the afternoon off so I can do some initial inspections.”
Laughing, she bussed him on the lips quickly and ducked under his arm, giving him a sexy wink before leaving him with the biggest hard-on that’d ever graced the firehouse gym. Fuck me. Time for a cold shower.
Olivia chuckled. “What are you talking about? We’ve had dozens of dates.”
“On the contrary, Dr. Jones, watching movies and hooking up at our respective apartments is not a proper date.
Attending a party at your parents’ house, however, is definitely a date-type thing.”
“But my parents won’t even be there.”
“What about your godfather?”
A slow smile curved her lips. “Yes, I suppose Uncle Eddie and Aunt Tish will be in attendance.”
“There, you see? Anything that includes your family and my therapist is definitely an official date.” Erik gave her a sly grin and crowded her into the corner where the equipment lockers met the wall. “Come on, humor me.
Calling it a date makes me feel like I’m not only a piece of meat being used for my body.”
“Fine,” she said with an exaggerated sigh and roll of those sexy hazel eyes. “It’ll officially be our second date.
But just so we’re clear, I am only using you for your body.”
Peering up at him coyly through the dark fringe of her lashes, Olivia placed a single manicured nail at the hollow of his throat and dragged it down the center of his body. The muscles of his torso flexed and shuddered in its wake, shooting signals to his cock and balls that it was time to play. Thankfully, he still had a small supply of blood in his brain that prevented him from hauling her into his office and fucking her over his desk. Christ, that’s getting added to the fantasy bucket list. For now, though, he had to postpone the fun until later.
“Oddly enough, I’m very okay with being your boy toy, and I encourage you to get as much use out of me as you can. Now, I don’t know if you know this, but I also happen to be a firefighter. So if you’ve got any hot spots you need checked, I’d be more than happy to bring my hose by later and check them out thoroughly.”
“Mmm, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. You’re such a do-gooder, Lieutenant Grady.”
“Just doing my civic duty, ma’am. But you better get out of here before I decide you need to take the afternoon off so I can do some initial inspections.”
Laughing, she bussed him on the lips quickly and ducked under his arm, giving him a sexy wink before leaving him with the biggest hard-on that’d ever graced the firehouse gym. Fuck me. Time for a cold shower.
Gina L. Maxwell is a full-time writer, wife, and mother living in the upper Midwest, despite her scathing hatred of snow and cold weather. An avid romance novel addict, she began writing as an alternate way of enjoying the romance stories she loves to read. Her debut novel, Seducing Cinderella, hit both the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists in less than four weeks, and she’s been living her newfound dream ever since.
When she’s not reading or writing steamy romance novels, she spends her time losing at Scrabble (and every other game) to her high school sweetheart, doing her best to hang out with their teenagers before they fly the coop, and dreaming about her move to sunny Florida once they do.
Author Links: WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS
When she’s not reading or writing steamy romance novels, she spends her time losing at Scrabble (and every other game) to her high school sweetheart, doing her best to hang out with their teenagers before they fly the coop, and dreaming about her move to sunny Florida once they do.
Author Links: WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS
Image linked to Tasty Tours
You May Kiss the Bride
The Penhallow Dynasty #1
By: Lisa Berne
Releasing March 28, 2017
Avon
The Penhallow Dynasty #1
By: Lisa Berne
Releasing March 28, 2017
Avon
In an unforgettable debut, Lisa Berne introduces you to the Penhallow Dynasty—men destined to marry, but hesitant to love.
Wealthy and arrogant, Gabriel Penhallow knows it’s time to fulfill his dynastic duty. All he must do is follow “The Penhallow way”—find a biddable bride, produce an heir and a spare, and then live separate lives. It’s worked so well for generations, certainly one kiss with the delectable Livia Stuart isn’t going to change things. Society dictates he marry her, and one chit is as good as another as long as she’s from a decent family.
But Livia’s transformation from an original to a mundane diamond of the first water makes Gabriel realize he desperately wants the woman who somehow provoked him into that kiss. And for all the ladies who’ve thrown themselves at him, it’s the one who wants to flee whom he now wants. But how will he keep this independent miss from flying away?
Wealthy and arrogant, Gabriel Penhallow knows it’s time to fulfill his dynastic duty. All he must do is follow “The Penhallow way”—find a biddable bride, produce an heir and a spare, and then live separate lives. It’s worked so well for generations, certainly one kiss with the delectable Livia Stuart isn’t going to change things. Society dictates he marry her, and one chit is as good as another as long as she’s from a decent family.
But Livia’s transformation from an original to a mundane diamond of the first water makes Gabriel realize he desperately wants the woman who somehow provoked him into that kiss. And for all the ladies who’ve thrown themselves at him, it’s the one who wants to flee whom he now wants. But how will he keep this independent miss from flying away?
This was dangerous. If she bit her lip any harder, thought Livia Stuart, it would probably begin to bleed, sending a bright red rivulet dripping down her chin, and end up staining—in a spectacularly uncouth way—the bodice of her gown.
The bodice of the gown which, Cecily had casually mentioned, was hers from two years ago.
“And you’ve altered it so cleverly, I scarcely recognized it.” Cecily’s voice was soft and friendly, but in her pretty blue eyes there was, unmistakably, the gleam of cruel mischief. “I knew, of course, from the color, which is no longer quite in fashion.”
Short of telling Cecily to stuff it, there didn’t really seem anything Livia could say, but she was spared the necessity of trying to think up something polite when Lady Glanville, Cecily’s mother, turned her gaze to Livia and subjected her person to a comprehensive scrutiny.
“Indeed,” her ladyship finally said, with the gravity of one considering a matter of deep existential import. “That particular shade of rose was very popular. Princess Charlotte, I believe, favored it highly. I’m not at all certain, however, that it’s suitable for one of your coloring, Livia dear. It complements fair hair, such as Cecily’s, as well as a pale complexion, like hers. I’m sorry to say that you are rather brown.”
“She would be out of doors so much,” Aunt Bella interpolated in her vague, melancholy way. “I’ve told her repeatedly how injurious it is to both health and appearance, but I do not think Livia attends to me.” She sighed gustily, sending the faded ribbons of her cap afluttering. “I do not think anyone attends to me. I do not think I am listened to by—”
“Far be it from me to pontificate,” said Lady Glanville, “but one ought not to dwell on oneself, you know. We must always think of others. As Cecily does, for example. She could give her castoff gowns to her maids, as most other young ladies do, but instead she insists that dear little Livia have them. It’s quite touching, really.”
“Your Uncle Charles doesn’t give you a dress allowance, does he, Livia?” Cecily’s tone was sympathetic. Too sympathetic. “But then, you don’t go anywhere, so perhaps it doesn’t matter a great deal.”
“No,” Livia answered flatly. “No, it doesn’t matter at all.”
Now it was Lady Glanville who audibly sighed as she glanced around the large drawingroom with its dated, shabby furniture, the wallpaper from a generation ago pockmarked with ghostly rectangles where valuable paintings had once hung but had since been sold. “It’s dreadfully lowering,” she said, “to see a gentleman’s family so reduced. Why, it was only ten years ago that we met nearly as equals.”
Livia felt her teeth grit. She’d been forced to participate in these occasional morning visits from Cecily— the Honorable Miss Orr—and her mother—the Right Honorable Viscountess Glanville—for years. Because they were wealthy and highborn, apparently their arrogance and rudeness were to be endured. Livia clenched her hands tightly in the folds of her gown.
Cecily’s gown.
“Well, there’s no use in dwelling on what can’t be changed,” went on Lady Glanville. “I am afraid that life simply isn’t fair. A disagreeable fact, but what can one do? Now, do stop frowning, Livia dear, for I’m delighted to tell you we’ve come for the express purpose of offering a little treat.”
“I’m all ears, ma’am,” replied Livia with what had to be obvious sarcasm, but Lady Glanville only said, with her arctic smile:
“We are hosting a ball next week. It shall be a kind of début for Cecily. In addition—”
“Mr. Gabriel Penhallow and his grandmother, Mrs. Penhallow, come to visit us!” Cecily said breathlessly. “The Penhallows! Of Surmont Hall! We met Mrs. Penhallow in Bath a few months ago. She wrote us a letter. He’s going to—”
“My dear Cecily, pray refrain from interrupting. It is most unbecoming,” said her ladyship. “As you know, Bella, earlier in the summer I insisted that Lord Glanville go to Bath in order to drink from the waters. His gout, unfortunately, had been paining him a great deal. The nobleman’s affliction! And I thought Cecily might benefit from mixing in a wider society, for it is sadly limited in this neighborhood. There are, alas, so few families of our caliber. As both the daughter of an earl and as a viscountess, I fear I cannot but be aware of how limited our acquaintance must necessarily be. Yet one must, in these rackety modern times, sometimes unbend, and here we are.”
“Too, too kind,” Aunt Bella murmured, evidently with real, if muzzy, gratitude. She took a sip from the delicate crystal glass on the little table at her elbow. In it was her cordial which, Livia knew, was heavily laced with laudanum.
Lady Glanville nodded serenely, and the peacock feathers in her elaborate silk turban waved gently, as if in agreement. “While in Bath, we had occasion to observe Mrs. Penhallow in the Pump Room. I distinctly noticed her looking at Cecily but, naturally, would not have dreamed of encroaching upon her. An earl’s daughter is as nothing compared to her. The Penhallows came to England with the Conqueror, you know, and it’s said that the Conqueror bowed to them. Thus, imagine our gratification when she sent the Master of Ceremonies to us, so that he could escort us to her and perform the introduction.”
“My knees were positively shaking!” Cecily put in. “But I curtsied quite well, didn’t I, Mama?”
“Creditably so. I had no occasion to blush. I must plume myself on my foresight in having you practice curtsying before we left for Bath. An hour a day works wonders. But I digress. Mrs. Penhallow and I spoke for some fifteen minutes, and at the risk of seeming boastful I must say that she was condescension itself! We dis cussed the weather and the dreadful state of the roads. I happened to mention Lord Glanville’s gout, and she recommended a treatment which—”
Her ladyship went on to recount further details of her conversation with the redoubtable Mrs. Penhallow, a personage of whom Livia knew nothing and cared less. Bored, she stopped listening and instead she looked at the rapt, lovely face of Cecily as she hung on her mother’s every word.
The bodice of the gown which, Cecily had casually mentioned, was hers from two years ago.
“And you’ve altered it so cleverly, I scarcely recognized it.” Cecily’s voice was soft and friendly, but in her pretty blue eyes there was, unmistakably, the gleam of cruel mischief. “I knew, of course, from the color, which is no longer quite in fashion.”
Short of telling Cecily to stuff it, there didn’t really seem anything Livia could say, but she was spared the necessity of trying to think up something polite when Lady Glanville, Cecily’s mother, turned her gaze to Livia and subjected her person to a comprehensive scrutiny.
“Indeed,” her ladyship finally said, with the gravity of one considering a matter of deep existential import. “That particular shade of rose was very popular. Princess Charlotte, I believe, favored it highly. I’m not at all certain, however, that it’s suitable for one of your coloring, Livia dear. It complements fair hair, such as Cecily’s, as well as a pale complexion, like hers. I’m sorry to say that you are rather brown.”
“She would be out of doors so much,” Aunt Bella interpolated in her vague, melancholy way. “I’ve told her repeatedly how injurious it is to both health and appearance, but I do not think Livia attends to me.” She sighed gustily, sending the faded ribbons of her cap afluttering. “I do not think anyone attends to me. I do not think I am listened to by—”
“Far be it from me to pontificate,” said Lady Glanville, “but one ought not to dwell on oneself, you know. We must always think of others. As Cecily does, for example. She could give her castoff gowns to her maids, as most other young ladies do, but instead she insists that dear little Livia have them. It’s quite touching, really.”
“Your Uncle Charles doesn’t give you a dress allowance, does he, Livia?” Cecily’s tone was sympathetic. Too sympathetic. “But then, you don’t go anywhere, so perhaps it doesn’t matter a great deal.”
“No,” Livia answered flatly. “No, it doesn’t matter at all.”
Now it was Lady Glanville who audibly sighed as she glanced around the large drawingroom with its dated, shabby furniture, the wallpaper from a generation ago pockmarked with ghostly rectangles where valuable paintings had once hung but had since been sold. “It’s dreadfully lowering,” she said, “to see a gentleman’s family so reduced. Why, it was only ten years ago that we met nearly as equals.”
Livia felt her teeth grit. She’d been forced to participate in these occasional morning visits from Cecily— the Honorable Miss Orr—and her mother—the Right Honorable Viscountess Glanville—for years. Because they were wealthy and highborn, apparently their arrogance and rudeness were to be endured. Livia clenched her hands tightly in the folds of her gown.
Cecily’s gown.
“Well, there’s no use in dwelling on what can’t be changed,” went on Lady Glanville. “I am afraid that life simply isn’t fair. A disagreeable fact, but what can one do? Now, do stop frowning, Livia dear, for I’m delighted to tell you we’ve come for the express purpose of offering a little treat.”
“I’m all ears, ma’am,” replied Livia with what had to be obvious sarcasm, but Lady Glanville only said, with her arctic smile:
“We are hosting a ball next week. It shall be a kind of début for Cecily. In addition—”
“Mr. Gabriel Penhallow and his grandmother, Mrs. Penhallow, come to visit us!” Cecily said breathlessly. “The Penhallows! Of Surmont Hall! We met Mrs. Penhallow in Bath a few months ago. She wrote us a letter. He’s going to—”
“My dear Cecily, pray refrain from interrupting. It is most unbecoming,” said her ladyship. “As you know, Bella, earlier in the summer I insisted that Lord Glanville go to Bath in order to drink from the waters. His gout, unfortunately, had been paining him a great deal. The nobleman’s affliction! And I thought Cecily might benefit from mixing in a wider society, for it is sadly limited in this neighborhood. There are, alas, so few families of our caliber. As both the daughter of an earl and as a viscountess, I fear I cannot but be aware of how limited our acquaintance must necessarily be. Yet one must, in these rackety modern times, sometimes unbend, and here we are.”
“Too, too kind,” Aunt Bella murmured, evidently with real, if muzzy, gratitude. She took a sip from the delicate crystal glass on the little table at her elbow. In it was her cordial which, Livia knew, was heavily laced with laudanum.
Lady Glanville nodded serenely, and the peacock feathers in her elaborate silk turban waved gently, as if in agreement. “While in Bath, we had occasion to observe Mrs. Penhallow in the Pump Room. I distinctly noticed her looking at Cecily but, naturally, would not have dreamed of encroaching upon her. An earl’s daughter is as nothing compared to her. The Penhallows came to England with the Conqueror, you know, and it’s said that the Conqueror bowed to them. Thus, imagine our gratification when she sent the Master of Ceremonies to us, so that he could escort us to her and perform the introduction.”
“My knees were positively shaking!” Cecily put in. “But I curtsied quite well, didn’t I, Mama?”
“Creditably so. I had no occasion to blush. I must plume myself on my foresight in having you practice curtsying before we left for Bath. An hour a day works wonders. But I digress. Mrs. Penhallow and I spoke for some fifteen minutes, and at the risk of seeming boastful I must say that she was condescension itself! We dis cussed the weather and the dreadful state of the roads. I happened to mention Lord Glanville’s gout, and she recommended a treatment which—”
Her ladyship went on to recount further details of her conversation with the redoubtable Mrs. Penhallow, a personage of whom Livia knew nothing and cared less. Bored, she stopped listening and instead she looked at the rapt, lovely face of Cecily as she hung on her mother’s every word.
Describe yourself in five words or less.
Curious, creative; reader, writer, dreamer.
If you had a theme song, what would it be?
“Gonna Fly Now” from Rocky. Because perseverance is an important quality for a writer.
Name one thing you won’t leave home without.
Besides the necessary cellphone, wallet, and lip gloss? A little notebook and pen. (I know you said one thing, but this is plainly a writer’s indivisible unit of oneness.) Inspiration can strike at any time, and for me paper’s better than apps for jotting down notes about my writing.
Name three things on your desk right now.
A thesaurus. A couple of houseplants, which I’m sneakily categorizing as “greenery,” because I also want to mention my stack of Post-it Notes, without which I am considerably less productive.
What types of scenes are your most favorite to write?
I love writing scenes in which characters are talking and there are all kinds of things they can’t — or won’t — say embedded within their words, whether it’s because they’re wrestling with their emotions, unaware of their deep true feelings, constricted by the etiquette of the time, other people are around, and so on. Which means that in what seems like a simple conversation, the subtext can be deliciously complicated.
Do you have any advice to give to aspiring writers?
I’m not the first to suggest that reading — widely and voraciously across multiple genres, both for pleasure and with an analytic eye — is a necessary component for someone wanting to become a writer. There are also a lot of great, insightful books and blogs on the subject; I particularly like Stephen King’s On Writing, Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic, Gwen Hayes’ Romancing the Beat, and Chuck Wendig’s bracing, blisteringly unsentimental approach to the writing life.
Can you tell us about your upcoming book?
With pleasure! Coming this summer is the second book in the Penhallow Dynasty series: The Laird Takes a Bride, featuring Scotsman Alasdair Penhallow, who’s forced by an arcane decree to marry and ends up with spirited Fiona Douglass. They’re both very resentful of the situation, and don’t find each other particularly attractive or appealing . . . which is, of course, a highly inauspicious way to begin a marriage. But it’s a very fun way to set a love story in motion.
Curious, creative; reader, writer, dreamer.
If you had a theme song, what would it be?
“Gonna Fly Now” from Rocky. Because perseverance is an important quality for a writer.
Name one thing you won’t leave home without.
Besides the necessary cellphone, wallet, and lip gloss? A little notebook and pen. (I know you said one thing, but this is plainly a writer’s indivisible unit of oneness.) Inspiration can strike at any time, and for me paper’s better than apps for jotting down notes about my writing.
Name three things on your desk right now.
A thesaurus. A couple of houseplants, which I’m sneakily categorizing as “greenery,” because I also want to mention my stack of Post-it Notes, without which I am considerably less productive.
What types of scenes are your most favorite to write?
I love writing scenes in which characters are talking and there are all kinds of things they can’t — or won’t — say embedded within their words, whether it’s because they’re wrestling with their emotions, unaware of their deep true feelings, constricted by the etiquette of the time, other people are around, and so on. Which means that in what seems like a simple conversation, the subtext can be deliciously complicated.
Do you have any advice to give to aspiring writers?
I’m not the first to suggest that reading — widely and voraciously across multiple genres, both for pleasure and with an analytic eye — is a necessary component for someone wanting to become a writer. There are also a lot of great, insightful books and blogs on the subject; I particularly like Stephen King’s On Writing, Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic, Gwen Hayes’ Romancing the Beat, and Chuck Wendig’s bracing, blisteringly unsentimental approach to the writing life.
Can you tell us about your upcoming book?
With pleasure! Coming this summer is the second book in the Penhallow Dynasty series: The Laird Takes a Bride, featuring Scotsman Alasdair Penhallow, who’s forced by an arcane decree to marry and ends up with spirited Fiona Douglass. They’re both very resentful of the situation, and don’t find each other particularly attractive or appealing . . . which is, of course, a highly inauspicious way to begin a marriage. But it’s a very fun way to set a love story in motion.
Lisa Berne read her first Georgette Heyer book at fourteen, and was instantly captivated. Later, she was a graduate student, a grantwriter, and an investment banker, but is thrilled to be returning to her roots and writing her own historical-romance novels!
She lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest
Author Links: WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS
She lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest
Author Links: WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS
Image linked to Tasty Tours
His Unexpected Family
After a heartbreaking tragedy, youth pastor Jesse Parker stopped believing he had anything to offer kids. Working with the boys at Wranglers Ranch, he's slowly beginning to trust himself. And when he meets widow Maddie McGregor and her young autistic son, his connection with little Noah and his pretty mom is instant.
Maddie's heart is as guarded as his own, but as he spends time with the McGregors--helping Maddie in his gran's quilt shop, caring for rescued puppies, and bringing mother and son closer together--he rediscovers his purpose...including an Easter holiday surprise of renewed faith and love.
After a heartbreaking tragedy, youth pastor Jesse Parker stopped believing he had anything to offer kids. Working with the boys at Wranglers Ranch, he's slowly beginning to trust himself. And when he meets widow Maddie McGregor and her young autistic son, his connection with little Noah and his pretty mom is instant.
Maddie's heart is as guarded as his own, but as he spends time with the McGregors--helping Maddie in his gran's quilt shop, caring for rescued puppies, and bringing mother and son closer together--he rediscovers his purpose...including an Easter holiday surprise of renewed faith and love.
A touching tale of life, love, parenting, and growing in faith and learning to trust in God.
Mixed in the tender and sweet story of getting a second chance in love the author has skillfully, in a heartfelt way, inserted a poignant sermon of trusting in God with every aspect of our lives, and what that means in praxis. With an inspiring and uplifting manner, by using encouraging examples of the characters lives, the author manages to touch many questions most of the people might struggle with when it comes to their faith in God.
I liked the instant connection that was formed between Jesse Parker and Maddie McGregor and Noah. They were on the same wavelength, they shared the same concerns, they had the same goals, and they all loved Granny Emma, and were willing to do anything to help her out. The romance and attraction grew much slower and later and was set on a fitting timeframe considering rest of the plot.
Jesse, Maddie, and Noah were all broken souls and had issues of their own they were struggling with. Leaning on each other, sharing their wisdom, listening to each other, and helping with the everyday matters, they all experienced a remarkable character development through the story, as people and with their faith in God.
I don't know enough about autism to be able to say anything about Noah's condition and the changes with it. I found the events in a story a source of joy, and will not question if it would be medically possible to happen to an autistic child.
Love Inspired stories from Harlequin are Christian faith-based stories about life and love and families. Few times I have commented on the stories that I wished the opportunities for the characters to share their faith and struggles with it, would have been used more. But with this story that wasn't a case at all, as the author boldly and beautifully intertwined every aspect of the story back to the character's faith in God.
A story filled with life and faith lessons, many great points made, and several issues left on the back burner to simmer a bit more, as I digest the message of the tale. Truly an inspirational and thought-provoking story.
~ Four Spoons with a teaspoon on the side
Mixed in the tender and sweet story of getting a second chance in love the author has skillfully, in a heartfelt way, inserted a poignant sermon of trusting in God with every aspect of our lives, and what that means in praxis. With an inspiring and uplifting manner, by using encouraging examples of the characters lives, the author manages to touch many questions most of the people might struggle with when it comes to their faith in God.
I liked the instant connection that was formed between Jesse Parker and Maddie McGregor and Noah. They were on the same wavelength, they shared the same concerns, they had the same goals, and they all loved Granny Emma, and were willing to do anything to help her out. The romance and attraction grew much slower and later and was set on a fitting timeframe considering rest of the plot.
Jesse, Maddie, and Noah were all broken souls and had issues of their own they were struggling with. Leaning on each other, sharing their wisdom, listening to each other, and helping with the everyday matters, they all experienced a remarkable character development through the story, as people and with their faith in God.
I don't know enough about autism to be able to say anything about Noah's condition and the changes with it. I found the events in a story a source of joy, and will not question if it would be medically possible to happen to an autistic child.
Love Inspired stories from Harlequin are Christian faith-based stories about life and love and families. Few times I have commented on the stories that I wished the opportunities for the characters to share their faith and struggles with it, would have been used more. But with this story that wasn't a case at all, as the author boldly and beautifully intertwined every aspect of the story back to the character's faith in God.
A story filled with life and faith lessons, many great points made, and several issues left on the back burner to simmer a bit more, as I digest the message of the tale. Truly an inspirational and thought-provoking story.
~ Four Spoons with a teaspoon on the side
KOBO
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