Friday, July 21, 2017

When she turned, he stood there behind her. His silent approach unnerved her. #FlashbackFriday #beachread #romance @HotInkBooks


#FlashbackFriday Teaser is from erotic romance Love at First Sigh

Two sizzling contemporary romance stories

Handy Hubby Hire
Tired of the maintenance jobs mounting up in her house, Sara hires a handyman. She never dreams someone like Griffen Fox will show up to fix the faucets and back yard gate. Sparks fly, but will they lose their heart to each other?

Pina Colada
When Emma takes a long weekend vacation in a warm beach resort, she meets the very handsome Matt Tyler. They spend an idyllic few days together. Will this only be a holiday romance?

Read the teaser 


 Chapter Three


Sara got through the front door before she lost her composure. Smiles wreathed her face. She grasped the business card and looked at the words embossed there. She read it aloud focusing on the name. Griffen Fox, and what a fox he is. He is gorgeous. What will happen tomorrow? I know what I’d like to happen. Will that be it, he’ll rock up, do the jobs and disappear as if we didn’t have sex, as if we didn’t gaze at each other and want more, want to fuck each other all night? She sighed. She sat at her desk and relived his kisses. Her nipples hardened. She pictured his huge, hard cock. Her pussy clenched and drenched her fresh panties. She licked her lips. I wish I was with him now. I want his lips on mine, his hands on my ass. This is probably not good for me. I’ll crave sex again now. Damn it.

Sara remembered the months after Jem left. She missed him, their conversations, their walks, but she missed sex more. She missed the hard shape of a man’s body, the taste of his cum. She missed it badly and she’d craved it until she despaired. There’d been no one else. She didn’t meet men in everyday life.

She went to make more coffee. I’m addicted to this stuff.

That night Sara tossed and turned. She considered masturbating because she needed release, but she knew she longed for a man’s fingers, a man’s mouth on her breasts, preferably Griffen’s. Her own fingers wouldn’t do, not after sex with Griffen. Sometime just before dawn she fell asleep.

She sat bolt upright as the sun streamed in through her bedroom window. The angle of the rays told her it was quite late. She leapt out of bed and checked the time on her cell phone.

Half an hour to shower before Griffen Fox arrived. Her heart started beating faster as she daydreamed about his kiss and his mouth on her skin. She raced to shower and dress.

Her hands shook as she made a cup of coffee. She went to look out of her front windows and watch for his arrival. “Calm the fuck down,” she told herself aloud, but when his truck pulled into her driveway her heart thumped.

Sara went to the front door as he walked up the path. She opened it hardly able to breathe with the sheer joy and attraction to him that swirled in her heart.

Griffen smiled at her, his expression friendly, but not that of a lover.

Sara squashed down her happiness at seeing him. She opened the door wider.

“Hi, you know where everything is.”

He walked in carrying a cardboard box and a tool bag. He nodded cordially at her and turned into the kitchen.

Sara left him and went to her office. Dispirited, she booted her computers. Her shoulders slumped as she sat staring at the screen. Well, that’s it then, hot sex with a gorgeous stranger, and the next day not a glimmer of interest. It was worth it though. I needed it. It was great, she reasoned, as she keyed in her computer password with a sigh. She started her design. Nothing came out right. She deleted a graphic. She tried others. Time passed and she kept casting glances at the hall, knowing the delectable Griffen worked in her kitchen.

She couldn’t concentrate anymore. The hot summer day called to her and she left her office to walk in the garden. She reached the gate that Griffen had fixed the previous day. When she turned, he stood there behind her. His silent approach unnerved her. The desire on his face set her trembling.

His blue eyes darkened at her in the shade of the tree. He was a breath away from her when he picked her up. He jammed her against the woven plank fence panel and kissed her.

A wave of desire flowed through her. His mouth on hers made her pussy throb and drench her panties. She traced her tongue against his lips, and he opened his mouth to slide his tongue against hers, soft and teasing, the tip touching hers gave her tingles.

One of his hands traveled over her body, as he held her up with the other.

Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist clinging to him. His kiss so addictive, she couldn’t leave his mouth.

He pushed his hand down between their bodies. He dragged up the hem of her dress.
©Elodie Parkes Hot ink Press

Thursday, July 20, 2017

Can Olivia spend nights in a tent with Rashid without succumbing? #spicy #romance @judymeadows44

ESCAPE FROM BEHRUZ
by Judy Meadows

Genre: Spicy Contemporary Romance

A trek through the mountains to Iran--with her baby, her puppy, her secrets, and the man she must never love.


Two years ago, abandoned, despondent, and pregnant, Olivia was pressured into letting her sister and her sister’s husband, the sultan of Behruz, adopt her baby and pretend he’s their natural child. Her sister died soon after the baby was born, so Olivia has been able to raise her son after all. The sultan lets her stay in the palace, but if she ever reveals the baby’s true parentage, he’ll make sure she never sees the child again.

Now rebellion threatens the country. And the baby’s real father, Rashid, has returned. He arranges for Olivia and the baby he doesn’t know is his to escape with him to Iran, traveling under cover of the nomad migration.

Can Olivia spend nights in a tent with Rashid without succumbing to the attraction that has always drawn her to him? Can she survive the trip without revealing her secret and without losing her heart to him once again?


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




AmazonB&NiTunesKoboBookStrandGPlayGoodreads


MIDWIFE IN BEHRUZ
End of 2017

Laila’s trip to Behruz, her father’s country and home of her early years, is meant to be one last adventure before she joins her dreamboat fiancé in Texas. But Behruz casts a spell on her. Her knowledge as a midwife is needed there. Serving women’s health in a country where no one talks about “such things” presents interesting challenges.

Majid, a doctor trained in the States, has returned to Behruz to serve his people. He’s ready to settle down, but because of old family wounds, American women are forbidden to him. That’s no problem until Laila walks into his clinic—with a sassy smile, a jar of semen, and a blond fiancé back home.



I grew up in Minnesota but now live in a small town in Oregon with my husband Jim. I’m a mom, grandma, wife, gardener, cat-lover, nerd, and traveler.

I’ve had a few different careers, starting with work as a systems engineer for IBM after college. Then there was my “earth-mother” stage. Jim and I had a farm in northern California where we raised kids (one of our own and several foster kids), apples, Asian pears, and raspberries. When we retired from farming and moved to Oregon (when we should have been done with the parenting thing), we added one more child, a 10-year-old girl adopted from a Russian orphanage.

Next, when our new daughter was settled into the family, I became a doula and childbirth educator. (See www.doulajudy.com and www.mexicanmidwives.com) During 20 years of working as a doula, I helped 460 women in labor.

During a sabbatical from career number one (computers), I spent a year in the Middle East, traveling and camping in a Landrover. Later, Jim and I spent a year and a half in Iran working as computer engineers on a project that was meant to modernize the Iranian phone system (but was interrupted by the revolution). I based the fictional country of Behruz on Iran and Afghanistan as I knew them back then, before war and political turmoil altered both countries.

Now, at last, I’m fulfilling a lifetime dream by writing. My second romance novel, Midwife in Behruz, which will come out at the end of 2017, draws on my experience with childbirth. I’ve just started plotting the final book in what will be a trilogy of stories set in Behruz.

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Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Kane Epps divides his life into two distinct parts—before the alien invasion and after. @AMGriffinBooks #SciFi #romance


Sci-Fi Romance
Date Published: June 6, 2017

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Kane Epps divides his life into two distinct parts—before the alien invasion and after. Before the invasion, he had a pregnant wife and a high-powered job. After the invasion, he’s left with only himself and his hatred for all things alien. He channels his bitterness by captaining a vessel of renegade humans—space pirates who don’t think twice about taking what they need. 
Princess Sa’Mya is on the run. She and a few trusted advisers fled her home planet only to be captured by the sexy, dangerous Captain Epps. He claims to hate aliens but can’t seem to resist touching her or kissing her…everywhere. As Kane introduces Sa’Mya to ever-increasing, unimaginable realms of pleasure, the princess becomes determined to earn his trust. She’s used to getting what she wants. And this time, what she wants is Kane Epps. 

Publisher’s Note: This story was previously published by Ellora’s Case under the title Dangerously Yours and has been revised for re-publish by the Author.

Reader Advisory: This space-opera romance contains some good old-fashioned voyeurism.

Read an excerpt


Holding tight to his wife’s hand, Kane pulled her along. She stumbled behind him, tripping on rubble, debris and concrete. He cast his eyes toward the large metallic spacecraft sitting low in the sky above New York City, blocking out the sun and moon, bathing everyone in perpetual darkness. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was three twenty-one p.m.
Anna’s pace slowed before stopping altogether. Leaning over, she took gulping breaths.
“Come on, baby,” he coaxed gently. “I know you’re tired but we have to keep moving.”
“I’m trying to.” Anna’s chest heaved in and out.
Her dirty-blonde bangs clung to her flushed forehead. The maternity jeans she had thrown on when they were forced to leave their brownstone were now torn and covered in dirt. Her too-small maternity shirt stretched over her pregnant abdomen. And after all this time, his clothes weren’t any better.
His gaze lingered on her fragile form. His heart lurched in his chest. The dark freckles dotting her face leaped out in contrast to her pale skin. She needed food, water and rest. Now. He blew out a heavy sigh. That’s not going to happen anytime soon, he thought, taking in his surroundings.
Through the darkness, he caught a glimpse of his companions. The group of seventeen men, women and children continued forward on their pursuit across the city without even a backward glance to where he and Anna lagged behind, again. The group of survivors should’ve been able to cover more ground than they had. But their pace slowed considerably to account for Anna being eight-and-a-half-months pregnant. Thanks to the in vitro fertilization, she was pregnant with twins.
The delirious thought almost made him laugh out loud. They had spent nearly thirty thousand dollars to get pregnant and a few months later, hostile aliens had invaded Earth.
He tore his gaze away from the group and studied Anna. She propped herself against a broken street sign. She coughed as she breathed in the contaminants of the air.
A high pitched wheezing sound came from her lungs with every labored breath that she took. Sweat dripped from her forehead to her brow. One hand held the side of her head and the other rested on the side of her belly. Although she hadn't said anything, he could tell she was more swollen today than yesterday.
He placed a hand over her extended belly. “How are the babies?”
He didn’t know much but he did know the babies should have been moving under their touch. The lack of movement confirmed Anna couldn’t continue any longer. It was too risky.
“They’re fine,” she said between pants.
Not believing her, he shook his head. “We have to st—”
Anna cradled his chin, bringing his face to look at her. “Kane, I can do this.”
Although determination was written across her features, he didn’t think she could go on for a few more minutes let alone hours. Breaking eye contact, he worked the knapsack off her back. He slung it over his shoulder along with his and scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her protests. Her pregnant weight made his muscles flex tighter around her.
She stroked the side of his cheek. “Kane.”
He looked down into worried hazel eyes. “What?”
“You can't carry me forever.”
“Only for a little while. We need to keep moving, baby.”
She buried her head onto his chest. “I love you.”
“I love you too, always.”
She brought her head up to him again. A slight smile played on her lips. “Even though I’m chunky and fat?”
“You’re pregnant and healthy.” He followed the trail of the survivors. Their backs came in and out of view as the group traversed up and around large slabs of concrete that had once been paved city streets.
She gave his biceps a light pat. “Nice save, counselor,” she teased weakly.
“That’s me, Kane Epps, esquire. I can talk my way out of the hairiest of situations.”
Her playfulness slowly disappeared as she scanned the horizon. “I wish you could’ve negotiated us out of this one.”
Kane’s gaze followed hers, catching sight of the Statue of Liberty in the distant horizon, toppled on its side.
In less than a week of their arrival, the aliens had wreaked havoc on Earth. Crumbled buildings lay in heaps all around them. Alien weapons uprooted city streets. Alien bombs leveled countries. Alien technology disrupted communication, television, phones and radios. U.S. military forces were swatted down as though they were flies.
Now, three months later, humans scavenged for basic necessities.
“We’re going to be fine.” His voice came out tight and hard.
Anna rubbed his chest. “I know.” Her reassurance and faith in him sent waves of tenderness through his heart. “You’ll take care of me.”
Right. He would take care of her.
Two hours later, he began to stumble. When his knee dropped to the ground, he got up and gathered a protesting Anna back into his arms. His jeans no longer offered a buffer between his knees and the concrete, as evidenced by a bloody smear left as he’d stumbled to his feet. Each time he fell he had a harder time getting up and continuing.
His knee hit the ground again, landing on broken concrete. He let his head fall forward as he bit back a gasp of pain. A bead of sweat ran from his short, white-blond hair down the bridge of his nose, where it lingered before finally dripping to the ground. Closing his eyes, he willed the pain away, clasping Anna tight to him. With renewed energy, Anna worked to pry his hands from her arms and legs in an effort to free herself.
When he wouldn’t release her, she pleaded, “Honey. Let me go. I can walk now.”
“No. I can do this.” He fought the urge to look at her, fearing if he did she would see the pain that shone in in his eyes.
“Kane. Look at me,” Anna pleaded softly. Reluctantly, he obeyed. “You need to let me walk.”
“You can't.”
“I have to.” She shook her head in determination. “I can't let you kill yourself. Let me go.”
“Never. I love you.”
Anna let out an irritated sigh. “I love you too, but so help me God, if you break a leg trying to carry me, I will kill you.”
His feisty pixie was back. Kane let her slide from his weary arms to her steady feet. He wanted to stay with the group. Safety in numbers sat better with him. But he also needed to rest and couldn’t risk losing his wife or babies. The pace the group had set was grueling.
It’s not as if the group would miss them or anything. The survivors would probably welcome losing the dead weight. It was Anna he feared wouldn’t take the news too lightly.
Prepared for a fight, he fixed his stare on her. “Baby, I think we need to find a place to hide for the night.”
Her gaze went from him to the retreating group. “But…but what about them?”
“We’re going to go on our own.”
“Oh Kane.” Her lips began to tremble. Tears fell as he squeezed her hand in his. “We can’t get separated from another group. Let me at least try to walk.”
He kissed her dirty, pale cheeks. “No, baby. I won't risk it. You and the babies mean more to me than they do. We can hide in one of the abandoned houses.”
He pulled her in a tight embrace. He would do anything for her. Keeping her safe had become his number-one priority.
She shook her head almost hysterically. “That group we saw a week ago said the aliens are hunting humans and taking them away. I don’t want to get caught. What’ll happen to us? What if the aliens are using humans as sex slaves?” She inhaled sharply. “Or worse… What if they’re going to eat us? What if—”
“Don’t start that. Those people don’t know what’s going on any more than we do. We’ll stay hidden. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.” He ran his hand across her brow, wiping the long bangs away from her red-rimmed eyes.
“What about the others?” she asked, wide-eyed. “Do you think we’ll be able to catch up with them tomorrow?” She grimaced and rubbed her belly again.
“Yeah, we can do that.” He had to make her believe the lie. Whatever the case, they would never see them again.
It took more than an hour but they finally found a house safe enough to enter without the fear it would crumble around them. Although the modest brownstone leaned precariously on its side, it would do for the night.
Kane entered, kicking the debris out of his way, Anna’s limp hand planted firmly in his. The smell of mildew and decay overrode his senses. The dirt that caked the furniture told of its abandonment. Dust wafted through the air, stirring with each step they took. Her dainty hand that covered her nose and mouth did nothing to keep it from settling in her lungs. Anna coughed as he led her through to the living room.
“Here, sit down. I’m going to check the kitchen for food and bottled water.” He let her go, settling her in front of a loveseat, the only piece of furniture in the room that didn’t look as if it would break apart under her pregnant weight. “Don’t go anywhere.” He didn’t want her exploring before he could make sure the structure was safe.
He propped the two knapsacks next to her. His jangled and clanked as he set it down. Hers made a soft rustling noise. As alien bombs had rained from the sky and life as they knew was no more, he had grabbed supplies and tools needed for survival, while she had wasted precious time taking pictures out of frames and photo albums.
Anna’s warm smile was meant only for him as she eased onto the dirty loveseat, pulling the knapsacks closer to her. “You can't get rid of me that easily.”
He couldn’t help but return her smile. This was why he loved her. Even in this, she still had her sense of humor.
He strode purposely through the double swinging kitchen doors and headed straight to the cabinets. He wanted to let out a frustrated scream as he flung open each one. Empty. Every cabinet he opened, empty. He frantically scanned the room, locking on what he sought.
The pantry.
He made it to the door and swung it open. Empty.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
His knees buckled underneath his weight. He grabbed the doorframe with a shaky grip. Anna needed to eat. She was already too weak to go on.
His mind raced as perspiration formed across his brow.
Calm the fuck down.
He needed to stay in control or they were sure to die.
How long since she last ate? Last night? What about water? This morning? Or was it yesterday morning? Shit.
He gripped the doorframe harder. There was something about the rule of three. What was it? Humans can live for three weeks without food, three days without water and three minutes without air. Past three and you’re dead. What about pregnant women?
Whiz, boom! A high-pitched screeching cut through the air outside.
The house shook and rumbled as it was hit. Kane watched in slow motion as the appliances on the countertop jostled and fell over. Seconds slowly ticked by as a glass coffeepot hit the floor, shattering into a million pieces on impact. A large mixer bowl fell to its side and rolled across the countertop. Kane’s heart stopped.
They’re here.
“Kane! What’s happening?” Anna shrieked from the other room.
Snapping back to reality, he jerked upright. “Anna! We have to get out of here now! The house is falling apart.” He bolted into the kitchen, pushing a dinette table out of the way and jumping over the chairs.
“I’m afraid.”
He found Anna curled against the cushions, as if sinking into them would save her from the attack.
Whiz, boom! A loud noise slammed across his brain. His hands flew to his ears and his jaw tensed shut. The house splintered and creaked around them. It could fall at any moment.
A cloud of dust crept ominously through the air, emerging from the back rooms, heading straight to them. Anna’s coughing racked her body as the heavy cloud billowed through the hall to the living room.
“Come on, baby. We have to get moving. Now!” Dust mixed with something acidic burned his throat with each breath he took.
He tried pulling her from the couch. She stayed planted in her seat. Her dazed eyes darted from side to side. She wouldn’t budge.
“We have to hurry before the house collapses!” He tried to get through to her.
After one blink, then two, she finally focused on him, put her feet on the floor and leaned forward. He pulled both of her hands, lifting her off the couch. Anna stumbled to stand.
“Our bags.” Tugging away from his grasp, she reached for them.
“Leave them!”
With a shake of her head, she scrambled to retrieve the bags. Kane snatched them out of her grasp and pulled her behind him. No more wasting time, they needed to get out of this death trap.
He stopped short at the door. His hand froze on the doorknob.
This is exactly what these bastards want.
Ignoring the heavy beating of his heart, the heavy pants from his lungs…he listened. Anna’s breaths were harder and heavier than his. Beside that…silence. He strained his ears to listen for any whizzing sounds, the telltale sign of a spacecraft above.
“Did they leave?” Anna asked in a hope-filled whisper from behind his shoulder.
“I’m not certain.”
He dared not move. They could still be out there, waiting.
“I think they’re gone. I don’t hear anything.” Relief was apparent in her voice as she stepped away from him. He watched her ease onto one of the broken stairs. “My stomach is hurting.” She lay back on her elbows, rubbing her oversized belly.
“Stay put. Try to stay calm. Once I know for sure that they’re gone, I’ll go out and find you some food and water.” He peered through the peephole of the door.
Where are those bastards?
“I don’t want you to leave me here alone. What if they come back?”
“You need water.” He gave her a reassuring half-smile before turning to the peephole. “Plus, you’re not getting rid of me that ea—”
A roar deafened his ears. Wood, metal and plaster erupted through the air. Direct hit.
Pain shot through him as debris rained down. His hands flew up to protect his face. He dropped to the floor, rolling to a fetal position. The house creaked and rocked around him.
He strained to open his eyes. Dust settled in them and burned. He snapped them shut.
“Anna!”
No answer. A dull ache thrummed in his ears.
Inhaling a lung full of dust, Kane coughed. “Anna! Come to me.” He threw out his hand, grasping at air. “We have to get out of here!”
Nothing.
He forced his eyes open. A cloud of dust obstructed his vision. The outline of the caved-in roof was the first thing he saw. He willed himself to a standing position and stumbled forward with outstretched arms. If he found the stairs he would find Anna.
“Anna! Anna! Answer me!”
His shoe brushed against something soft. Anna? His heart dropped to his stomach. Where would he find a doctor? What if she needed medical help? He grabbed at it.
An arm.
Anna.
Dropping to his knees, he frantically pushed the wood planks and shingles from her body, throwing debris in every direction.
Anna, please baby, be okay.
He pushed a piece of drywall off of her. His gaze settled on the broken body lying sprawled at an odd angle.
“Nooooo!” He gathered the remains of his wife’s charred, limp body. “Please God! No!”




About the Author



A. M. Griffin is a wife who rarely cooks, mother of three, dog owner (and sometimes dog owned), a daughter, sister, aunt and friend. She’s a hard worker whose two favorite outlets are reading and writing. She enjoys reading everything from mystery novels to historical romances and of course fantasy romance. She is a believer in the unbelievable, open to all possibilities from mermaids in our oceans and seas, angels in the skies and intelligent life forms in distant galaxies.

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Tuesday, July 18, 2017

When Creed discovered Civil War reenacting, he knew it held everything he loved #romance from @PatCharlesBooks #giveaway tour stop

PROMO TOUR FOR PATRICIA CHARLES
Unconditional Surrender & Crescent Moon
UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

Genre: Contemporary Romance with Military Elements

Nothing could drag Kristen McConnell back to re-enacting. Nothing, except the wedding of her best friend. Maybe Creed Graham wouldn’t attend the 150th Battle of the Wilderness. Maybe she wouldn’t see him even if he was.

When Creed discovered Civil War reenacting, he knew it held everything he loved: history, horses, sleeping under the stars, guys drinking beer by the campfire. There was nothing better. Then he met Kirsten McConnell. And she ruined everything for him.

The Wilderness held his salvation. He knew she would return after three long years. This time he would erase her from his heart for good.

While the Battle of the Wilderness rages in explosions of cannon fire, Kirsten can no longer avoid Creed. Will they continue their war or will there be an Unconditional Surrender?


Where else in the entire world but at a reenactment could one cross the lines of history, camp near a forest and go shopping at the same time? She marveled at the people in period clothing as they browsed through the shops—a 19th century shopping mall made of canvas tents. Thousands of men, women and children wandered through the tents for items made especially for reenactors.

The sounds of approaching horses jarred her attention from the earrings. Her hands trembled so much she dropped the jewelry back into the case.

Just because there were cavalry, didn’t mean Creed would be riding with them. Maybe he hadn’t even come, Kirsten rationalized. Perhaps he gave up reenacting long ago.

But as the pounding hooves on the dirt road grew closer, her heart mimicked their thunder. She wiped the perspiration from her quivering hands onto her skirt.

Get it over with. You’ll be anticipating him to be on every horse you hear or see. On the other hand, if she could avoid him for the weekend, she wouldn’t have to address the problems that plagued her so long.

Yet, if she came face-to-face with him again, she might be disappointed. Could it be that only his memory caused her heart to flutter? Impulse drove her to the edge of the sutler’s tent. Hiding behind the rows of Confederate butternut jackets hanging at the edge of the tent so he wouldn’t see her, she peeked over the clothes as the tide of Yankee blue surged upon her. She glanced from face to face, searching for the one who made her anticipating heart threaten to burst from her body.

The snake-like column drew to an end. No Creed. Relief overcame curiosity, and she glided from her hiding place.

Then, as if the devil played with her heart, he appeared at the tail of the procession. Their eyes met. He squinted through the dust at her. Beneath his slouch hat, a frown creased his forehead, and his teeth clenched.

Recognition. Yes, he recognized her, and she recognized something also. If she ever doubted, she appreciated that he was still the most handsome man in the world, at least to her. Steeling herself, Kirsten faced the man she would love forever.

As he neared, she recalled his tousled hair when he woke at her side and how his original declaration of love caused her to sob so hard she couldn’t answer. Most of all, she remembered the look in his eyes as they glowed with desire.

Yet today was different, not just because they already had loved each other or because he proposed and she accepted. Her heart still trembled as it had every time she looked at him, but today was different mainly because a young boy, perhaps two years old, sat before him on the saddle. The child was a close duplicate of Creed from his black hair covered with a Yankee kepi to the boots on his tiny feet. He looked up at Creed with a smile and adoration.





CRESCENT MOON

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Sinner or saint?

When Celine St. Pierre is murdered under the canopy of oaks on St. Charles Avenue, questions arise about this New Orleans sainted woman, and Assistant District Attorney Claressa Dupré vows to find the answers. Top of her list of suspects is the sexy Texan, West Morgan, IV.

Wealthy oil baron Weston Morgan, IV, arrived in New Orleans on a mission to return to Texas what Celine St. Pierre stole from him and his family. But the woman’s death throws a monkey wrench in the works and pins him as the top suspect in the murder investigation. Further complicating his life is the beautiful but determined Clarissa Dupré, whom he can’t seem to get close enough to or far enough from.

As the investigation spirals out of control, Clarissa and Morgan find that nothing is simple in The Big Easy.


The evidence against West Morgan in Celine St. Pierre’s death practically stuffed the valise she carried. Yet she lacked the most important: motive. Why had Morgan come to New Orleans? Why had he killed Celine? What circumstances had driven him to murder? Not that she needed a motive, but she’d learned juries preferred it.

Astonishingly, his attorneys had asked to meet with her.

“Mr. Morgan.” She glanced up from her notes. Eyes cold, calculating, and conceited gazed back at her through hooded lids. Celine St. Pierre hadn’t stood a chance.

“I only have a few questions.”

“Take all the time you need,” he answered. “I’ve nothing else on my agenda today.”

“Why did you kill Celine St. Pierre?”

“I didn’t.”

“Didn’t you?” She glanced at the three attorneys, and suddenly she envisioned the three monkeys: see, hear, and speak no evil. “Then prove it to me.”

Removing the Stetson, he threaded his fingers through his hair. “Hell, Honey, I don’t have to. Remember? I’m innocent until you prove otherwise.”

Honey? She’d worked long and hard to get where she was. No one called her, “Honey.”

His hand was on the doorknob.

“Mr. Morgan, you agreed to answer some questions.”

After several anxious moments, Morgan shrugged off his attorney’s instructions not to answer. “Ask away.”

Glancing back at the note pad where she had listed the questions, she proceeded. “Why did you sell more than half of your assets before you came to New Orleans?”

He sat in the hard wooden chair at the end of the table, like a corporate giant ruling his boardroom. Crossing one leg over the other, he rested his ankle on his knee and his Stetson on the table. His long legs appeared to go on forever.

She asked again, “Why did you sell off your assets?”

“Ask my accountant.”

“I have.” She waited, hoping he would reply. Nothing.

“Why did you put all of it into checking accounts?”

“I’ve been to New Orleans before,” he said, and Claressa inched forward, anticipating his answer, the last puzzle piece. “Knowing your city’s reputation, I didn’t want to carry that much cash on me.”

Smart aleck. “And why would you need that much money during your visit?” At least this cowboy didn’t spurt four-letter words at her. Or lunge for her throat. Not yet, anyway.

Thankful for the civil atmosphere, she took a deep breath and a different route. “How long have you known Celine St. Pierre?”

No response.

“Mr. Morgan . . . “

“West.”

“Mr. Morgan, why did you kill Mrs. St. Pierre?”

He shot forward so quickly that Claressa jerked back. West leaned as far as possible over the wide table and demanded, “Look at me.”

She tilted her chin defiantly, met his gaze, and tried to seem undisturbed.

“I’m successful. I’m rich. Why would I have to kill someone?”

“Rich people kill all the time. Don’t you read the news? Why would you kill Mrs. St. Pierre? What’s the connection?”





Patricia Charles remembers going to the public library when she was a small child. The library was only a block away. Because she was too young to cross the street alone, her older brother reluctantly volunteered to take her. Of course, she wouldn’t let him carry her books. She was a big girl. She had so many books she had to balance them with her chin, and she cried when she had to return them. Books have been in her life as long as she can remember.

Her love of books eventually lead her to the theatre. She has a Master’s of Arts in Drama and Communication and a Master’s of Library and Information Sciences. Naturally, she is a librarian, a medical librarian.

She is a member of the Romance Writers of American, Southern Louisiana Chapter of RWA and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. In 2013, she won Best Historical and Highest Overall Score in the Dixie Kane Contest.

Patricia lives on the Gulf Coast, having moved there from New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. Frodo, her large 16-pound Pomeranian, likes to lick her feet while she writes.

Friday, July 14, 2017

With blood-stained hands and a guilty conscience, Raylyn Beechum sets off for parts unknown #newadult #suspense #romance @Writer_Charity @evernightpub

On-the-run-evernightpublishing2017-eReader
With blood-stained hands and a guilty conscience, Raylyn Beechum sets off for parts unknown, on the run from a crime she had to commit in order to save herself. When her car breaks down in the parking lot of a fire station in a small town, her plan is simple: get the car fixed and hit the road as fast as possible. Then Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Yummy saunters over with his bare chest and uniform pants, water dripping off his pecs, and all Raylyn can think is hot damn!
Oliver Gonzalez has always had a hero complex, and a damsel in distress is right up his alley. All of his protective instincts come out when he sees the blood on Raylyn’s hands and the scared look in her eyes. He might not know her story, but he knows he wants to take care of her. Getting her to trust him is easier than he’d thought possible, but he wants more than trust for him to keep her safe. He wants her to trust him with her heart.


The hands gripping the steering wheel didn’t look like mine. The skin on the knuckles was bruised and broken. Dried blood was embedded in my cuticles. I’d washed my hands, but apparently not well enough. I’d burned the clothes I’d been wearing, along with the knife I’d used. Some might say that made me guilty, and maybe it did, but I’d learned long ago that the police were of no help. Not where I came from. No matter how many times the scene replayed in my mind, I couldn’t stifle the sobs welling in my throat. I’d taken a life, killed a man. No, not a man. A monster.
My heart crashed against my ribs, and my fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel. For years I’d suffered, but I’d had no idea just how far the madness went. If I’d had a clue as to what the man was capable of, I’d have acted sooner. Maybe so many lives wouldn’t have been lost, if I’d found my courage before now. The world should thank me, but I was certain if anyone knew what I’d done, the police would arrest me, and I’d spend the rest of my life in jail. Life wasn’t fair sometimes.
I blew out a breath and tried to redirect my thoughts. Puppies. Bunnies. Fields of flowers. Anything pleasant that could wash away the bad memories. I was starting over, creating a new life. Thanks to Miguel back home, I had everything I needed. I’d planned my escape weeks ago, but it just hadn’t happened quite the way I’d pictured. My new life was going to be fantastic and full of all the things I never had before. I was going to get a job, have a nice place to live, and I was going to get a boyfriend. Not necessarily in that order. I’d covered my tracks pretty well and felt I was safe, as long as I didn’t use my real name.
My car was almost out of gas as I entered a small North Carolina town a little after six in the morning. I’d been on the road for a few hours, and my best bet would be to keep driving until I couldn’t stay awake anymore. I crept through the quiet streets of a town that reminded me of Mayberry, and as I neared a fire station on the corner, my car began to shimmy and sputter. I’d barely pulled into the parking lot before my car coasted to a stop, the engine completely silent. I banged my hands on the steering wheel and uttered a slew of curses. The gas gage mocked me as the needle rested on E.
My gaze lifted and my jaw dropped a little. The fire truck was pulled part of the way out of the bay, and shirtless, sexy hunks were washing it. That was one sure way to make me forget my problems for a little while. One of them stopped to stare, removing his sunglasses and propping them on top of his head. His dusky skin glistened with sweat in the summer heat and I felt my cheeks flush.
Mr. Sexy made his way over to me and my heart raced for a new reason. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been around hot guys before. Just not this hot. He tapped on my window and I rolled it down. He bent and placed his folded arms on the windowsill. His blue gaze was warm as it scanned me. It was several minutes before he said anything.
“Want to pop your hood?” he asked.
“I ran out of gas. If you can tell me where the closest gas station is, I can go fill up a can and I’ll get out of your way.”
His lips twitched with amusement. “Sweetheart, this car isn’t going anywhere, even if you put gas in it. That wasn’t just an ‘I’m out of gas’ rattle. It was a death rattle.”
“Death rattle?”
His gaze focused on my hands and I wanted to hide them. I swallowed hard, wondering what kind of questions he would ask, or if he’d only call the police. My hands tightened on the wheel again and I wished I could throw the car into reverse and get the hell out of town. I didn’t need trouble, and this guy could turn my world upside down, and not in a good way.
“Why don’t you come inside and we’ll get those hands cleaned up a bit?”
“I don’t want any trouble.” I couldn’t hide the tremor in my voice. Had I made my escape only to be turned in by a good Samaritan now?
He stood and opened the car door, reaching in to gently take my hand. I slid out of the car and tipped my head back to look up at him. He towered over me, making me feel small and helpless, which I hated. I was anything but helpless. He studied my hands before leading me into the fire station. One of the guys looked our way and Mr. Sexy motioned for him to follow us. Inside, I shivered at the air conditioning as he led me down a long hall to a large, open room with sofas and a kitchen area.
“Have a seat,” he said, pulling out a barstool.
I eased onto the stool, my feet dangling above the floor.
“My name’s Oliver Gonzalez, and this,” he said, motioning to the other guy, “is Jared Waylon. I’m a fireman and he’s a paramedic. Will you let him check out your hands?”
I nodded hesitantly.
Jared grasped my hands and studied them a moment before looking into my eyes. I could see the questions there, but I wasn’t saying a damn word. After a moment, he began cleaning my hands, which stung like a bitch. He even scrubbed around my nails until my hands were blood-free. He doctored my knuckles and bandaged the worst of it.
“I’m not going to ask how you got these, but if you’re in trouble, I wish you’d tell one of us.”
I trembled.
Mr. Sexy—no, Oliver—placed his hand on my shoulder. “Easy. No one here is going to hurt you. We want to help.”
“We’re going to call a tow for your car,” Jared said. “One of the firemen here has family who own a garage. They’ll give you a good deal. Then we can discuss your options for a place to stay.”
“I don’t have much money.” I hated admitting my lack of funds. “Maybe they’d let me do some work for the repairs and a place to stay?”
Oliver squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s get your car taken care of first. Anything you need out of it?”
“My purse and the bag in the backseat.”
“I’ll get them,” Jared offered. “I’ll have Kaycee call the garage and get a tow truck sent.”
“Kaycee?” I asked.
“Our admin,” Oliver said. “She’s also married to one of the guys on my team.”
“Why are you helping me?”
Kindness shone in Oliver’s eyes as he gazed into mine. “Because I think you need a friend right now. Maybe, when you feel like you can trust me, you’ll tell me about the blood on your hands and what the hell happened to you. Until then, just tell me one thing. Do we need to hide you from the police?”

Charity West is a young adult/new adult romance author who has always had her head in the clouds. She had her first crush when she was four, and it lasted for six years. Then she quickly fell head over heels for another boy, until she had to move away and leave him behind. Jumping from one boy to another, she finally found a keeper when she was twenty, and she’s been married to him ever since.
By the time Charity was twelve, she was sneaking her mother’s Harlequin romances and reading them in secret when she was supposed to be asleep. Teased throughout middle school and high school for the bodice ripper covers on the books she openly read in class, she knew that one day she wanted to write her own happily-ever-afters.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

His deeds are legendary. #PNR #fantasy new release excerpt as @m_morganauthor makes a #giveaway tour stop

QUEST OF A WARRIOR
Legends of the Fenian Warriors, Book 1
spinoff from the Order of the Dragon Knights series
by Mary Morgan

Genre: Fantasy Magical Mythology Paranormal Romance


You met them in the Order of the Dragon Knights. Now, journey to the realm of the Fae and witness their legends!

Fenian Warrior, Conn MacRoich has traveled the earth for thousands of years, guarding the realm between mortal and Fae. His deeds are legendary. Yet, one mistake will force him on a journey to fix a broken time-line. However, on Conn’s quest, he must face a human female who will eventually bring this ancient warrior to his knees.

When Ivy O’Callaghan inherits her uncle’s estate, she never imagines there will be more secrets to unravel, including the one she hides from the world. With the help of a mysterious stranger, she learns to trust and step out of the shadows. However, nothing prepares Ivy when she learns Conn's true identity.

As the loom of fate weaves a thread around the lovers from two different worlds, will the sacrifices they make lead them to love? Or will their secrets destroy and separate them forever?



Putting a fist to her mouth to stifle the laughter, Ivy turned when the front door to the pub blew open. The cold blast of air lashed across her face, but she gave no care. Her mouth became dry as the man stood there blocking what little light remained in the sky. His silver-blond wavy hair whipped around his chiseled face shaded by a light beard. Yet, it was those eyes that bore into hers—holding her captive. Were they silver or ice blue? She blinked several times, and swallowed.

The giant stepped into the pub and closed the door. Ivy’s gaze traveled the length of him as he made his way past her to the bar. She couldn’t help but follow him with her eyes. He was sinfully dressed in all black—jeans, boots, leather jacket opened to reveal a black tee. He was magnificent.

“Sweet Brigid,” whispered Erin. “Have the Vikings invaded Glennamore again?”

The woman’s words snapped Ivy out of her lustful trance. She looked at her friend. “Vikings in Glennamore?”

Mac placed her coat over her shoulders and chuckled. “Do not fear they were banished many centuries ago. I’ll go see what the Viking wants. I’m sure he’s only passing through and needs a pint and some food. There’s nothing in Glennamore to raid.”

The room blurred, and Ivy brushed a hand over her brow. “Not a Viking,” she uttered softly.

Erin placed a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”

Ivy lifted her head. The gorgeous man leaned against the bar as Mac made his way to him. “I said he’s not a Viking.”

Erin smirked. “You could have fooled me.”

The man straightened as Mac pointed a finger directly in Ivy’s direction.

Ivy was unable to move, the words tumbled free as if spoken by someone else. “He’s an ancient Celt.”

The stranger immediately glanced her way, shock registering across his face as if he had heard her spoken words.

“Good Lord, you’re as white as a sheet, Ivy Kathleen.”

She barely heard Erin’s words. The Celt moved toward her, a frown marring his handsome features. A tremor slithered down her spine as she lifted her head up to meet his gaze.

“Ivy O’Callaghan?” The soft burr of his voice brushed over her face, and she couldn’t determine if it was Irish or Scottish.

Her mouth stayed dry, making her unable to acknowledge the man’s question. Nodding slowly, she took a step back. Then the Celt smiled, and Ivy thought she would melt right there on the floor. How could anyone look that gorgeous?

Erin nudged her. “Forgive my friend, Ivy Kathleen, she seems to have lost her voice.”

Recovering her wits, Ivy replied, “Sorry. I’m done telling stories about my life in the States.”

The Celt arched a brow. “Not interested in your stories. Sean Casey sent me to inspect your repairs.”

“You know Sean?” interrupted Erin.

Smiling, the man nodded. “Most of his life. I’m Conn MacRoich.”





THE ORDER OF THE DRAGON KNIGHTS


Scottish paranormal romance author, Mary Morgan resides in Northern California, with her own knight in shining armor. However, during her travels to Scotland, England, and Ireland, she left a part of her soul in one of these countries and vows to return.

Mary's passion for books started at an early age along with an overactive imagination. She spent far too much time daydreaming and was told quite often to remove her head from the clouds. It wasn't until the closure of Borders Books where Mary worked that she found her true calling--writing romance. Now, the worlds she created in her mind are coming to life within her stories.

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