Hot Pursuit by Jennifer Zane – Spotlight

9_18 hot_pursuit_tour_banner

This post is part of a virtual book tour.

9_18 hot_pursuit1_medA fun weekend at a friends wedding in Denver takes a bizarre twist for Anna Scott when her rental car is pulled over due to an “anonymous tip”. In her trunk…one dead body linked to warring crime families in Denver and New York. It should be easy for an innocent woman to be cleared for an innocent mix-up. But was it a mistake? The police aren’t so sure, and neither is the crime boss who wants vengeance for his son-in-law’s death. You see, Anna Scott didn’t exist a couple of years ago, she knows way too much about criminal procedures and about talking to cops. Anna Scott has a secret, and this twist of fate could not only expose her, but place her and anyone close to her in danger.

Jake Griffin is playing a dangerous game. He’s spent the last few months undercover in the Moretti crime family. Anna Scott is a big problem. Moretti assigns him to find out who she is, what she wants, and to kill her if she’s a threat. Jake needs to keep his nose clean and focus on taking down Moretti, not a sexy woman who is a complete mystery. He can’t stop thinking about her; her knowledge, her name, her dangerous associates, her fear, or the bone deep desire every time he sees her. Nick’s at war with the whole world over one alluring, yet vulnerable woman, and he can’t seem to stop taking dangerous chances where she’s concerned. The most dangerous of all might be trusting her with the truth.

Enjoy an excerpt:

She paused as if considering my words. “So, what? I’m the hit man Moretti hired to off his son-in-law? Is that how you say it? Yeah, I’m a real professional.” My brows went up at her sarcasm. “Caught with the body in the trunk. Really dumb of me.”

“Or smart enough to come up with a story about the whole car rental swap.” I spun my finger around in the air. “Word gets around. I have to admit, I fell for it.”

She took a deep breath, let it out. Dropped her hands to her sides. “Earlier tonight, at the reception, did you mean it when you offered to help me?”

“A friend of Moretti’s is a friend of mine.” I wasn’t playing nice. Why should I? No one in Moretti’s organization would be considered nice. I felt like a fucking fool once. What was it with women? First Nadine, now Anna. I thought I’d learned my lesson. A woman was never what she seemed. Never sweet and innocent and wanting the simplicity of a man loving and protecting her. The whole picket fence romance movie. Boy, had I been wrong. At least I hadn’t gotten in too deep by marrying this one. I hadn’t even kissed her. Then why the hell did her duplicity feel like a jagged sliver beneath my skin?

“You don’t believe me. Wow.” She shook her head. “You’re one to talk. What’s your real title, your real job? Thug? Murderer? Because you can’t just be a bar manager. I’ve heard the term wet work before. I guess in your case it doesn’t just refer to pouring drinks.”

She thought I was a hit man? She was a piece of work.

“You were a lot different a few hours ago at the reception when you made me promise to come to you if I had a problem.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not what we seem, are we?”

She looked at me for long seconds. Just staring. I figured I’d get tears or anger or even a slap across the face for my shitty attitude. What I didn’t expect was acceptance.

“Whatever. You’re going to believe what you want.” She gave a negligent shrug. “Nothing I say is going to sway you.”

I picked up a paperclip, unbent one of the wires. “It seems you’ve been in this situation before.”

“Yeah, you’d be surprised.”

Something flickered in her eyes, but I couldn’t read it. Even if I had, I wouldn’t believe what I saw. She was a damn fine actress. Should I be the one to tell Peters and the others they’d been duped or let them figure it out on their own?

“I didn’t come here to make you believe me,” she continued. “I came for your help. You offered earlier, so here I am. There’s a woman who needs rescuing from a bad man and I can’t do it by myself.”

“You’ve got the karate moves to rescue someone. You don’t need anyone else, let alone me.” I tossed the straightened clip back on the desk. Grabbed another. I saw her jaw clench. I wasn’t making it easy for her. Like I really cared.

“He’s a bad man. He’s done it before. I’ve got proof.”

“Moretti’s a bad man. He’s done it before. You’re the proof.” I let that sink in for a minute.
“Moretti’s not going to let me leave Scorch and go off to New York to save some damsel in distress, sweetheart. It’s not like we’re in the kind of business that has vacation time and a 401k. Besides, why should either of us help you?”

Her hands clenched at her sides and I saw anger flare in her dark eyes. “Because he owes me.”

I laughed. “Owes you?”

“Yes, owes me. The police are completely distracted by a dumb woman who got the wrong car at a valet stand and got stuck with a corpse. They’re not paying attention to who really killed Bobby Lane. They don’t really even care. I take it Bobby wasn’t a very nice guy. I wouldn’t know since I’ve only seen him dead.”

Anna had a dry sense of humor. She’d seemed so vulnerable and soft at the reception. The woman in front of me now was completely different, all fiery spunk and attitude. She was still soft in all the right places—my gaze roved over her body, completely hidden beneath my jacket. But I couldn’t help remembering her earlier, her curves hidden beneath, yet accentuated by the slim bodice of her blue dress. The way she’d looked, surprised by the connection between us. How her eyes had softened when I touched her waist. The way she’d been soothed by my words after her panic attack. So which was the real Anna? Was it even possible to figure out? Hell, was it worth the energy to do so?

“The person who did shoot him got someone to take the heat for him,” she continued. “Me. They couldn’t have asked for anyone better. I mean, look at me!”

She was the perfect dupe; a woman in from out of state for a wedding, pretty, educated, a spotless record not even tarnished by a parking ticket. Who’d have considered her for popping Bobby? The police didn’t. I hadn’t either.

“The murderer is completely off the hook and Moretti looks like the grieving father-in-law,” she added. “He owes me, and I want him to pay up. With you.” She pointed her finger at me.

“I’ve never been propositioned quite this way before,” I murmured, tossing the next unbent paper clip on the desk. “The door’s locked. You can have your way with me right here. An orgasm would do you good. You’re too tense.”

Buy the book at Amazon, Smashword, Kobo, or Barnes and Noble. Join Jennifer Zane’s mailing list to keep up to date on the Hot Pursuit series.

Balancing Life and Writing by Susan Soares – Guest Blog and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Susan will be awarding a Life is all Good LOVE Tote to a randomly drawn winner (http://www.zappos.com/life-is-good-all-good-tote-soft-purple), a multi-heart turquoise charm bracelet (http://www.zappos.com/m-f-western-multi-heart-charm-turquoise-bracelet-silver) to another randomly drawn winner, a signed copy of Heart on a String to one more randomly drawn winner and finally, a signed bookmark of Heart on a String to three randomly drawn winners. All prizes will be awarded via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Balancing life and writing

This is a tough question, but one I think every writer faces especially if you’re not at the point where you can up and quit your paying job for a life of writing. For me it’s all about schedules and blocks of time. By nature I’m an all or nothing personality. I don’t like the feeling of a large task looming above my head. It makes me feel stressed. Yes, writing can make you stress! So I love the idea of block writing. Or even frenzy writing if you will. I learned about Nanowrimo a few years back and felt that it was the perfect vessel for me. You write a rough draft of a novel in a month. Minimum 50k words. This was what I was looking for. In addition to my all or nothingness I’m also very goal oriented. My quirks and Nanowrimo just seemed to fit hand in hand. Nano is held each November, but I create my own Nanos when I want to work on a rough draft. I set a goal and do my best to adhere to it. For a 50K draft to be done in a month this requires me to write about an hour to two hours a day. Balancing a family, work, and writing can be mind boggling. But once I found setting myself up for the 50K challenge I was able to better work it into place. I knew how much time I needed and I knew that the time set aside to write needed to be just for that- WRITING. Now that’s not say that maybe twenty to thirty minutes of that time is me procrastinating, but once I start banging those words out I don’t stop until the time’s done. My kids know that I’m working and unless someone is sick or bleeding they tend to leave me alone. It’s all about choices. Making the commitment and if you do that you’ll succeed.

The only thing harder than lying about your life? Facing it.

Marissa tells lies.

To herself, about the fact that her brother abandoned her.

To her grandmother, when she says “everything’s fine.”

To the world when she pretends her mother is at home or working late. When she doesn’t tell them her mother is dead.

She doesn’t even question the wisdom of living in a world built on lies anymore—until she meets Brandon. Unlike Marissa, Brandon faces his grief head-on. As their relationship sweetens, Marissa realizes the value of letting someone in and not letting her grief destroy her. But when her past filled with denial catches up with her, Marissa is forced to tell Brandon her darkest secrets, or risk losing him.

The only thing harder than lying about her life? Facing it.

Enjoy an excerpt:

I held my breath as I ran past the cemetery. Stupid, I know. Regardless, it’s one of those idiotic things that stick with you from your childhood. Like fragments of your being that imprint themselves on your chemical makeup. It was my older brother, Marc, who had told me that once when we were in the backseat of Mom’s old hatchback and were driving past the Sacred Path Cemetery.

Marc poked me in my side. “Quick, hold your breath,” he said before taking in a puff of air and holding it in.

“What? Why?” I looked around from side to side.

He didn’t answer me. Instead he just kept motioning with his hands, pointing out the window, putting his hands around his neck like he was choking or something. Finally, when we turned left onto Harper Street he let out a big exhale.

“Oh man, now you’re toast.” He pointed at me and laughed. That maniacal laugh only older brothers know how to do. I was seven at the time, and Marc was ten. “You probably have a ghost inside you now.” He grinned like a devious villain.

“A ghost?” I said.

“You didn’t hold your breath while we drove past the cemetery. Again I state — you’re toast.” He began drumming on his lap with his hands.

I didn’t comprehend what he was telling me, but I knew I didn’t like it. Tears started forming in my eyes, and I knew I had to rely on my failsafe. “Mooommm,” I cried out, and immediately I felt Marc’s sweaty hand over my mouth.

“Yes, Marissa?” Mom’s sweet voice carried from the front of the car to the backseat.

“She’s fine, Mom. I got it.” Marc’s tone was of the dutiful son. He unclamped his hand from my face. “Listen,” he began, talking kind of slow. “You’ve got to remember this. I’m going to give you a life lesson here. Are you ready?”

His green eyes were sparkling, and I nodded my head in agreement.

“Okay.” He crouched down a bit so he was eye-level with me. “You must always, and I mean always, hold your breath when you drive past a cemetery. And if you’re walking past one, you must run — run and hold your breath until you’re clear. Otherwise, the spirits of the undead could invade your body. And you don’t want that to happen. Do you?” I almost couldn’t tell if the last part was a question or a statement.

“But I didn’t hold my breath back there, and all the times before. What if one’s in me right now?” I began pawing at my body.

Marc threw his head back and laughed. “Nah, you’re fine. Just be careful. Now that you know you have to do it, always do it. Understand?”

Again I shook my head. Marc gave me a thumbs-up, and I begged Mom to take Chester Street instead of Maple because I knew there was a big cemetery on Maple. Luckily she agreed.

So now, here I was ten years later, holding my breath as I ran past Sacred Path Cemetery. While I ran, my new sneakers — the ones I had to work double shifts on Saturdays for three weeks to get — started rubbing the back of my left heel, and I knew I’d have a blister the size of a quarter later on. It’s hard to keep your pace when you’re holding your breath. Luckily Sacred Path Cemetery isn’t that big. Just big enough. It’s just big enough. That’s what my grandmother said anyway. I was almost halfway through when I heard the clicking of the tips of my shoelace on the ground. My thoughts concentrated on what those tip things were called, anything to get my mind off the cemetery. Aglets, I remembered! My aglets were hitting the pavement, and I knew if I didn’t stop and retie that lace, then I would land flat on my face. Grace has never been a character trait of mine. My mother, yes, but not me. Marissa No-Grace McDonald should have been my legal name. How my mother came up with Scranton for my middle name I’ll never know.

The last thing I wanted to happen was to fall face first in front of the cemetery. Complete body invasion for sure then. I couldn’t hold my breath that long. So I did what I had to do. I stopped, turned my face the opposite direction of the cemetery, and took one big breath in and held it. Next, I bent down and furiously retied that lace. Why is it that whenever you try doing something in a rush it never comes out right? Somehow I tied my finger into the knot. Then, I couldn’t get the loops to line up right. Just as I was finally conquering the over-under shoelace tying technique that Marc had taught me when I was five, I heard muffled sounds coming from inside the cemetery. I searched for the source of the sounds. As I looked near the line of big oak trees that lined the right-hand side of the cemetery, I saw the profiles of a family. What I assumed was a family, anyway. There was a woman, about my mom’s age, a guy about my age, and a younger boy, maybe six or seven. The little boy was holding a metallic balloon, which was red and in the shape of a heart. Bright sun caught the corner of it, creating a glare that momentarily impaired my vision. When my eyes refocused, I was suddenly aware of my body and extremely aware of the fact that I was watching this family’s private moment, in the cemetery, in this cemetery. My heart beat frantically, and I became aware that my forehead was covered in perspiration. I stood up, held my breath again, and ran the next half a block without stopping, my aglets clicking against the pavement all the way.

When I crossed over onto Brenton Street, I finally slowed down. I felt like I could breathe again. My pace was back to a more conservative speed, and after one more break to retie that shoelace-triple-knot, I was able to refocus. The spring air felt good on my skin. As the sun poured down on me, my face embraced its warmth. Lilacs were in full bloom everywhere, and I made a special detour down Hazel Street to run past the six lilac bushes Mr. Brockwell planted a few years ago. He said it was just because he wanted to add some color to his front yard, but I knew better. I knew they were for my mom.

Turning down Hazel Street, I inhaled the heavy floral scent of the freshly-bloomed lilac bushes, and I could picture my mom smiling. As I ran past the last bush, the little blue house finally came into view. I saw Mr. Brockwell picking up his newspaper from his front step. In that moment I wished I had magical powers to turn myself invisible.

“Marissa? Hey Marissa!” he shouted while making his way over to the fence.

Oh great. “Oh, hey, Mr. Brockwell.” I slowed down and began jogging in place, hoping the gesture would let him know I couldn’t stay to chat.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve run this route, hasn’t it?” He cinched his blue terrycloth robe a little tighter.

Trying to remain active, I kept jogging in place. “Yeah, I guess. I wanted to run past the lilacs.” I wasn’t sure if it was the sun or my nerves, but I felt like my body was going into heat shock or something.

Mr. Brockwell stared at me, and then I saw his eyes get glassy. He began to speak but then ran his hand over his mouth like he was muffling down what he wanted to say. His hands fumbled with his paper, and he cleared his throat.

“It’s good to see—” he paused; it was like the words were getting caught in his throat like tuna inside a fisherman’s net.

I realized I was standing still. My legs began to spasm. He caught my eye one more time, but just for a moment before he had to look away. I knew why. It was the reason I never ran past his house anymore. The reason why we couldn’t have a conversation anymore. Everyone used to tell me I was so lucky to look so much like my mom. She was gorgeous. High cheekbones, perfect heart-shaped mouth, sparkling blue eyes that sat perfectly on her oval face. Besides her hair being a stunning ash blond and mine being mouse brown, we did look quite similar. Except that while her features seemed to make her look like Grace Kelly, mine seemed to make me look like, well, not Grace Kelly.

But it was moments like this — Mr. Brockwell unable to look at me for more than a minute without having to look away — that I wished I looked less like her. I felt like my face was betraying him. Like my cheekbones and lips were baiting him with memories of him and my mom together. Although now, each memory was served with a side of sorrow instead of a side of joy.

I’ll never forget when I saw him two days after the funeral. We bumped into each other at Have Another Cup Coffee Shop on Main Street. First he hugged me and asked how I was doing; then he had to look away, and he told me why.

“It hurts to look at you, Marissa. You look so much like her.” I knew how much he loved my mom, and Marc and I enjoyed having him around, but after that moment I made sure to keep my distance. So he went from being Hank to back to being Mr. Brockwell.

Now, I stood there — uncomfortable from sweat that covered me head to toe — wondering how much longer I needed to stand there while he avoided my face. “So, I gotta go or my pace is gonna be all messed up.”

Hank, I mean, Mr. Brockwell took one final look at me. “Sure, sure.” He started to walk backward then stopped. “Marissa, just so you know. Any time you want to see the lilacs you can.”

The lump in my throat held back any words I could have gotten out, so I just waved and made a beeline for the next street so I could start my way back home. Seeing Mr. Brockwell had put me into a fog. My brain wasn’t able to concentrate on my pace or on my footing, and I began to get a shin splint pain on my left-hand side. Unfortunately, this was the same side as the blister. My run was only six miles, but my body was starting to feel like I was at mile thirteen. I couldn’t relax my breathing, and the back of my throat felt like it was on fire every time I inhaled. In my fog, I didn’t realize I forgot to cross Parker Street, and now the only way to get back was to take Fletcher Street again. And run past Sacred Path Cemetery, again. Now, I ran past that cemetery every day on my jog, but only once. Once was all I needed to let me get it out of my system. And it’s not like my mom’s grave is right where I run past. She’s way on the other side, the Cranville Street side. I never run that side. But now, in all the confusion, I have to go past it again. My hand scratched an itch at the back of my neck as the street sign came into view. Like always, I stopped for a moment, took a few deep breaths in and out, then grabbed one big breath of air and held it as I started my way past the cemetery.

My focus was way up ahead to the stop sign at the other end. I kept my eyes on that sign and kept my feet stepping under me, quick and steady. I wasn’t even halfway across when I caught sight of some sort of string frantically whipping in the wind, and I was running straight toward it. My gaze moved to follow the line of the string, trying to see what it was attached to, and that’s when I saw it, caught in the big tree right by the fence. The red, heart-shaped metallic balloon, and my heart hit the ground.

About the Author:

Susan Soares grew up in a small town in Massachusetts, always dreaming of one day being an author. After numerous short stories, poems and plays, those dreams finally became a reality when her first book, My Zombie Ex-Boyfriends was published. (Featherweight Press, 2013) Her second book Heart on a String was just released in June 2014 by Astraea Press.

Susan received her MA in Creative Writing and English from Southern New Hampshire University, and will be pursuing teaching soon. When she isn’t writing Susan spends her time reading, experimenting with photography, planning her next Disney World vacation and chasing after her kids.

Susan loves to read YA fiction. Maybe it’s because her inner sixteen-year-old still wants to be prom queen.

Twitter ~ YouTube ~ Website ~ Blog ~ Goodreads ~ Wattpad

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

 a Rafflecopter giveaway

The background behind Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper by Zangba Thomson – Guest Blog and Giveway

NBTM Three Black Boys Tour Banner copy

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Zangba will be awarding a print copy of Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper or a Bong Mines Clothing T-shirt (winner’s choice) to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. (US ONLY) Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The background behind Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper

 Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper is about three teenagers that spring into dangerous action to obtain financial aid for an uninsured Indian immigrant—who desperately needs a liver transplant to stay alive. The boys go on a dangerous mission to obtain the quarter of a million dollars needed for the woman’s surgery, but subsequently, little do they know that they will encounter huge obstacles and experience more than they have ever experienced before.

Three Black Boys originally started as a Hip-Hop song, and people wanted to know—what was the story behind the boys’ robbery attempt? At the time—I didn’t have an answer, but an idea sprung into my mind and months later I began adapting the three-minute-song into the short story—Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version. It’s not easy adapting songs into books, so I didn’t know what to expect, and after getting a good book review from Kirkus, I knew I had to get Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version in stores. That’s when I began to do a market analysis on the book industry, and it wasn’t until I read The Ten Awful & The Ten Wonderful Truths about Book Publishing that things began to make sense.

You see—independent authors have to go out there and make it happen because no one will make it happen for us. So, with my Industry Analysis’ knowledge taken into consideration, Craig Green (Captain of BME LLC Street Team) and I decided to test the street market first. So, we took a trip to Harlem, U.S.A., the Mecca or Capital of Black America, with 200 copies of Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version in the trunk of our vehicle. Questions were asked, and after hours of networking, Hue-Man Bookstore paid us in advance for several copies, and Black Star Music & Video Store and a prominent Harlem street distributor took many copies of Three Black Boys on consignment.

A week later, Black Star and the street distributor were sold out. The distributor asked me to do an outdoor book signing at one of his bookstands, which is currently located on the corner of 125th street and Frederick Douglass Boulevard, across the street from the legendary Apollo Theater. Many books were sold that day on the street corner, and a new relationship between Harlem and Three Black Boys was established. And not too long afterwards, Hue-Man Bookstore set up an official in-store book signing for me, introducing me as a new voice in Literary Fiction. A month later, Molloy College in Long Island, New York, hosted my first successful college “Meet & Greet the Author,” in which I got the chance to perform the original Three Black Boys song in front of an intrigued English class.

Within a month’s time, we sold approximately 1,500 copies of Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version in the streets of Harlem—for $10 a copy. Three Black Boys was on every street vendor’s table in Harlem. Consumers, mostly women who had purchased the book, said they cried after reading Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version. That’s when I knew we were on to something big. But a week later, the street distributor told me that Three Black Boys: The Authorized Version was too small in page count to compete in the long run with The Coldest Winter Ever, Push, True to the Game and other full-length Urban Fiction novels. He said, “My customers want more for their buck!”

So, I went back into my creative shell and began writing my debut novel—Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper. The result was great! What started out, as a song—that was adapted into a Street Lit short story—was now an action-packed and multi-cultural novel—filled with drama, surrealism, and dark fantasy/thriller; and at that time—I didn’t know I was mixing genres together and establishing my own lane.

So, in conclusion, I want to end this guest blog with Mel Blanc’s famous catchphrase, “That’s All Folks!” And I want to thank Long and Short Reviews—for hosting this wonderful blogging event, and also I want to thank Goddess Fish Promotions—for organizing this magnificent “Virtual Name Before the Masses Tour” for Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper. (PEACE) and always remember that (P) Positive, (E) Energy, (A) Always, (C) Creates, (E) Elevation.

MEDIA KIT 3_Black_Boys_COVERTeenagers spring into dangerous action to obtain financial aid for a woman who has only a month to live. The setting is Queens, N.Y., home to Babita Harris, an Indian immigrant plagued with the deadly black fever disease. With a couple of months to live, Babita only hope of survival is a costly liver transplant. But with no health insurance, the chance of a surgery is slim. What she needs is a quarter of a million dollars in cash. Barnes, her only son, along with his two friends, Demus and Baker, spring into dangerous action to get the money. Although their road is paved with good intentions, the brothers in arms will experience more than they have ever experienced before.

Enjoy an excerpt:

“Our front door is always open if you change your mind,” says Ojal.

“I know, Mama,” replies Babita, before laying the bluebird chime down on the table. “I think I will take this last opportunity to go outside and revisit the new addition to the back yard.”

The blue bird chime shakes without any assistance and Babita is startled.

“Better hurry up before the clouds begin to cry,” says Ojal with a smile.

Babita nods her head in agreement and makes her way into the back yard. There she sees a beautiful garden with assorted color roses. Out the corner of her eye, she spots a red rose positioned behind several thorny bushes. With caution, she reaches for the delicate flower, not knowing a parasitic sandfly is traveling unnoticed in her direction. The sandfly bites Babita’s outstretched arm. “Ouch!” she grimaces softly, and quickly retracts her hand back to her bosom. Immediately, she notices a small swelling forming on her arm, and in no time, blood oozes from her tiny wound. A strong wind blows and many dandelions fly in her direction. Lightning strikes, thunder roars its ugly voice, and light rain begins to fall. Babita, afraid of her hair getting wet, quickly retreats into her parents’ home.

About the Author:MEDIA KIT ZangbaThomsonZangba Thomson is the Creative Director at BME LLC, the author of Three Black Boys: Tomorrow After Supper, co-author of Do Right Do Good (a self-help guide book towards vision fulfillment and entrepreneurship), a recording artist, and New York Life Coach Examiner. Zangba balances his career and family time on the scale of hard work and dedication, and his main areas of focus include his real life experiences, metaphysics, and spirituality. Zangba’s work reinforces the basic idea that goals are fulfilled when right decisions are made. Please visit his website at www.zangbathomson.com.

Blog ~ Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Goodreads

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Balancing Life and Writing by Moriah Gemel – Guest Blog and Giveaway

9_18 VBT_LoadTheDice_Banner

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Moriah will be awarding a free download of an Interlude Press eBook title or an author/book swag pack (US ONLY) to TEN randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour as well as a Grand Prize of a $25 B&N gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

Balancing life and writing

I’m a mother. That’s the first obstacle for my writing, because my son is two and a half, as well as autistic, and he’s a demanding kid. As I write this answer, he’s currently piling couch cushions on my legs, babbling away in his own made-up language. Woe to any who move these cushions from my lap—tears and tantrums will ensue, so I’m putting up with it and writing at a strange angle. Any second, I’m sure he’ll run off to go play with Legos or chase down one of the cats, because that’s what he does.

That’s my real full-time job—motherhood. I stay at home, and a lot of my time is spent with my child; we play, we draw, we cuddle and watch TV. There’s not a lot of room to write, and I often end up letting him have his own quiet playtime in order to get a couple hundred words written. Naptime and bedtime are my favorite—I end up with hours to write, though I’m usually fighting the urge to just go to sleep myself. Thank goodness he’s starting daycare soon. I need the extra hours to relax and take care of the house so I can write when inspiration hits, or at least when I’ve scheduled time for myself. It’s not always easy, though—when I was writing Load the Dice, I oftentimes had to write while my kid was running around talking at me, and so I’d be writing an intense BDSM scene between my two main characters and the next second I’d be changing a diaper.

I’ve also got a husband, though, and he’s demanding as well. He likes to spend time with me (thankfully; if he didn’t our marriage would suck) and I like to spend time with him, but between work and continuing his schooling, we don’t have much time together. That means when we get a spare minute, we have to take it. It’s hard to prioritize—on one hand, time with my family, which is lovely, but on the other, when the energy to write happens, it happens, and I have to take advantage of it, because sometimes I don’t have the energy and it just doesn’t. It’s definitely a shift of priorities from day to day.

9_18 Cover_LoadTheDiceEric left the BDSM scene years ago because he couldn’t find the right partner, opting instead to meet men in quiet coffee shops and piano bars. But when his friend invites him to a posh hook-up party, he meets first time sub Jamie, who he convinces to detail his sexual fantasies during a passionate night together.

The pair soon embark on a relationship that introduces Jamie to the BDSM scene, and plays out his fantasies one by one. But as they approach the final fantasy, will Eric be able to walk away?

Enjoy an excerpt:

He crawls onto the bed and straddles Jamie’s thighs, his clothed body barely touching Jamie’s, and Jamie whimpers. “Are you still wearing all your clothes?” he asks breathlessly, and Eric leans down and kisses the top of his spine, letting him feel the fabric of his clothes over his bare body.

“Yes, I am,” Eric says, and Jamie rocks down into the bed.

“Oh god, that’s so hot.”

Eric chuckles, and then sits back up, making sure to keep as little contact as he can.

“I want you to tell me about your fantasies,” Eric says. “For every fantasy you tell me, I will explore one part of your body with my mouth and hands. The more details you give, the more I will pay attention to the spot I’m on.” This gives Jamie just a little bit of control, and lets Eric know the kinds of touches he likes best. Jamie can decide if he wants to keep Eric somewhere or move on—it’ll keep him on his toes, and Eric has one more trick up his sleeve to ensure it.

“But if you stop talking,” he adds, “and you don’t move on to the next fantasy, or tell me more about the one you’re on, you will be punished. Is that understood?”

Jamie whimpers again, nodding.

“I need an answer, Jamie.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eric kisses the top of his spine again. “Good boy. Number the fantasies as you go. You may begin.”

About the Author: 9_18 load the dice AuthorPicMoriah Gemel has developed a dedicated following for her realistic, sexually-charged stories over twelve years in online fan communities. Passionate about a realistic depiction of BDSM, her goal is to both entertain and educate readers about the BDSM community.

Load the Dice originated as a short work of fan fiction, written in three parts. For her first work of professional fiction, she has turned it into a serialized novel in ten parts.

She is married and has a young son.

Connect with the author at MoriahGemel.com, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Google+.

Buy the book at Interlude Press.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

And Justice For Some by Joanne Sydney Lessner – spotlight and giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Joanne will be awarding a $30 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn winner via the rafflecopter at the end of this post. Please click the banner to see a list of other stops on the tour.

Dinner theater can be a death sentence—literally.

Actress Isobel Spice and her best friend Delphi Kramer are thrilled to finally have an opportunity to perform together, even if it’s just a cheesy interactive murder mystery at a judge’s lifetime achievement dinner. But when Isobel’s dramatic death scene is upstaged by a real murder and Delphi is left holding the still-smoking gun, Isobel drops the role of victim and assumes the role of detective. With the help of her precocious brother Percival and her reluctant temp agent James Cooke, Isobel peels back layers of deception to reveal a shocking abuse of power—and no shortage of suspects eager to deliver justice to a man who denied it to so many.

Excerpt One:

Practically before the last word was out of Delphi’s mouth, the crack of the gunshot ricocheted off the walls. Isobel smacked her hand to her chest and felt the blood packet burst against her blouse. Someone shrieked behind her as she staggered forward onto the dance floor. The Brioschi burbled up from her throat, foaming out the corners of her mouth and down her face. She spun around, arms flailing, eyes closed. More shrieks erupted around her.

Yup, she thought with satisfaction, definitely memorable.

She finally collapsed on the floor, limbs splayed, and after a few full-body spasms, settled into a position she could hold until Peter lifted her into the fireman’s carry.

She strained to hear Andrew’s line, “You just shot my wife,” but she was distracted by the sound of a glass shattering somewhere to her left. Somebody kicked her arm, but she held still, determined to be a convincing corpse. A pungent tang of gunpowder tickled her nose. Funny, she hadn’t noticed that when they were practicing. And…was that someone crying?

Suddenly, she felt Peter’s stubble scrape her cheek as he hissed in her ear, “Get up. Get up!”

He tried to yank her into a sitting position, but the sharp movement made her choke on the still-fizzing Brioschi. She knelt on all fours, hacking and heaving until her eyes finally stopped tearing.

“You see?” she heaved. “That’s why I wanted to practice…”

Her words died in her throat as she got to her feet. Two Hostelry security guards gripped Delphi’s shoulders, pinning her arms behind her back. Delphi’s mouth was frozen open in horror. Slowly, Isobel turned and looked behind her.

Joanne Sydney Lessner is the author of BloodWrites Award-Winner The Temporary Detective (Dulcet Press, 2012), which introduces Isobel Spice, aspiring actress and resourceful office temp turned amateur sleuth. Isobel’s adventures continue in the novels Bad Publicity (Dulcet Press, 2013) and And Justice for Some (Dulcet Press, 2014). The Ghosts’ High Noon (Dulcet Press, 2014), an Isobel Spice short story, is available on http://joannesydneylessner.com as a free download. Inspired by the true story of the world’s most expensive bottle of wine, Joanne’s debut novel Pandora’s Bottle (Flint Mine Press, 2010) was named one of the top five books of 2010 by Paperback Dolls. Her play, Critical Mass, winner of the 2009 Heiress Productions Playwriting Competition, received its New York premiere at the Lion Theatre on Theatre Row in October 2010. She has written the book and lyrics to several musicals with her husband, composer/conductor Joshua Rosenblum, including the cult hit Fermat’s Last Tango, which received its Off-Broadway premiere at the York Theatre Company in November 2000, and Einstein’s Dreams, based on the celebrated novel by Alan Lightman. They are currently developing a musical based on Wilkie Collins’s The Haunted Hotel for the Signature Theatre Company in Arlington, Virginia. Joanne is also a regular contributing writer to Opera News.

http://joannesydneylessner.com/

https://www.facebook.com/JoanneSydneyLessner

https://twitter.com/joannelessner

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Justice-Some-Isobel-Spice-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00MT6H8EY/ref=la_B003UH5IBQ_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1409506048&sr=1-4

BN: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/joanne-sydney-lessner

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/and-justice-for-some

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Ten Things Most People Don’t Know About Rin Chupeco – Guest Blog and Giveaway

Welcome to Rin Chupeco as she visits with us as part of her virtual book tour organized by the publisher promoting her debut novel The Girl from the Well, a retelling of the legend that inspired The Ring, told from the point of view of the murdered spirit. Leave a comment for a chance to win a print copy of the book (US/Canada only)

9_17-GirlFromTheWell-BlogBadge3
10 things most people don’t know about you
1. I have the weirdest fandoms. I’m a huge Phil Harris / Cornelia Marie fangirl, for instance. (bonus points if you know which fandom this is). I have an odd fascination with Louis XV of France, and I’m not sure why. And despite the popularity of the books, I’m having trouble finding a fellow Discworld fan (short anecdote: one of my friends from the UK wanted to meet up for teatime, and I said “It’s pronounced ‘teah-ti-meh’.” and giggled for a solid five minutes while everyone stared). Even harder to find: Dirk Gently fans. Mike Wolf and Frank Fritz fans. (I watch The Pickers all the time.) James Spader fans. Night Vale podcast fans. And is there an Anthony Bourdain or Gordon Ramsay fanclub that I can join? I like my fandoms eclectic, it seems.

2. I never had a Barbie doll. I had Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, G.I. Joe, and Ghostbusters action figures instead. My love was so great that I had the Ectomobile, my very own lifesize photon pack, and a huge turtle lair. I was naturally upset when my parents bought me a dollhouse for staying on the honor roll back in elementary. (My sister, on the other hand, was thrilled – until I started moving my G. I. Joe dolls into the house and informed her that Flint and Shipwreck had declared martial law).

3. I can fold my hands length-wise, and it has grossed out a lot of people in the past, husband included. (Let’s just say that diving into the shallow end of community swimming pools is a Very Bad Idea.)

4. Recently, whenever I feel the need for inspiration, I take a break and play Cards Against Humanity for an hour or so.

5. I am an avid gamer. How avid? My three-month-old son is named after a fictional assassin from a ridiculously popular game. (It’s worth mentioning that hubby is also a gamer.) We go on gaming dates, because that is how we roll.

6. My first childhood memory was watching Remington Steele at two years old. My dad says I used to point at the TV screen whenever Pierce Brosnan was in a scene and screech, “THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND!” Even as a kid, I had pretty good taste.

7. In a lot of ways, TV was my babysitter growing up. I was fortunate to have a television set in my room, and I would wait until the house was quiet before sneakily turning it on and watching my favorite shows, which were for some reason always shown past my bedtime. I remember watching David Letterman and Conan O’Brien and not always getting their jokes given my age then, but those two eventually helped develop my sense of humor. And then there was the MTV Oddities series, back when MTV actually thought about the kind of programs they had instead of the crappy reality shows they’ve got on now. My love for the very weird started with Oddities, particularly Aeon Flux, The Head and The Maxx.

8. Several people have asked if I’d had any experience with the supernatural, given the subject matter I write. I can honestly say that despite my fascination with ghosts I’ve never actually believed in them, or seen any evidence for them – it’s just something I love to read about. That said, I’ve had a workmate who claimed that she’d seen a woman dressed in black looking over my shoulder once (it was early morning and I was the only one in the office when she’d arrived). She assumed it was another co-worker, until she saw said co-worker only just entering the premises. She was a bit more freaked out about this than I was, especially since I didn’t feel anything strange at that time. I’m happy to report though, that the alleged ghost never bothered me at that job aside from that incident.

9. I am also an avid crime junkie. I love Forensic Detectives and the Crime Investigation channel. I have a million books about serial killers, notable crimes, Mafia books, and the like. I have a large collection of detective fiction, from Doyle to Chandler to Akunin to Christie to Rankin. It’s a weird interest for a kid, but I think my main enjoyment was reading about how these criminals and get caught
– if I didn’t want to be a writer I would probably have seriously considered being a cop / homicide detective.

10. There are three kinds of food that I can’t turn down: crab, fresh raw salmon, and truffles. I once ate three plates of truffle-oil pasta once because I couldn’t bear to see it going to waste. My mother also claims my love for crab stems from her own craving for it when she was pregnant with me – it was about the only thing she ate.

Watch the book video:

About the Author:9_17 rin Despite uncanny resemblances to Japanese revenants, Rin Chupeco has always maintained her sense of humor. Raised in Manila, Philippines, she keeps four pets: a dog, two birds, and a husband. She’s been a technical writer and travel blogger, but now makes things up for a living. The Girl from the Well is her debut novel. Connect with Rin at http://www.rinchupeco.com.

9_12 book coverThe Ring meets The Exorcist in this haunting and lyrical reimagining of the Japanese fable.

Okiku has wandered the world for hundreds of years, setting free the spirits of murdered children. Wherever there’s a monster hurting a child, her spirit is there to deliver punishment. Such is her existence, until the day she discovers a troubled American teenager named Tark and the dangerous demon that writhes beneath his skin, trapped by a series of intricate tattoos. Tark needs to be freed, but there is one problem—if the demon dies, so does its host.

With the vigilante spirit Okiku as his guide, Tark is drawn deep into a dark world of sinister doll rituals and Shinto exorcisms that will take him far from American suburbia to the remote valleys and shrines of Japan. Can Okiku protect him from the demon within or will her presence bring more harm? The answer lies in the depths of a long-forgotten well.

Legal Action by Kimball Lee – Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Kimball will be awarding a $50 Visa Gift card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Bright, beautiful attorney, Charlotte Christiansen has never lost a court case. She’s built a reputation as a cool, on the rise lawyer while trying to escape the ‘naughty cheerleader’ pictorial in American Jock magazine that she posed for to pay her way through law school. She shares the top floor of a historic San Diego building with her best friends from college who happen to be two very male, very sexy Special Forces operatives. Her ex is a celebrity NFL quarterback who could pass for a Viking God. She’s surrounded by hot men but her life revolves around work and she doesn’t have time for love or sex. Until Alexander Bly, the stop-the-clock gorgeous, billionaire publishing magnate becomes her newest client at the law firm. He’s the man responsible for the magazine cover that turned Charlotte into every man’s sex fantasy. Bly has had women and the world at his beck and call, but no woman has ever rocked his world. Charlotte is about to. When they come together the desire and sex are white-hot and all-consuming, but falling in love takes them completely by surprise.

Enjoy an excerpt:

“Listen, Charlotte, I just wanted to say hello. It’s been a long time. I should let you get home to your husband, boyfriends, whatever. You look great, by the way.” He hesitated for a minute, running his hand through his dark, wavy hair. He looked at her with those wide, sea-glass colored eyes, then he smiled a small smile and walked away.

She knew she should stop him. He was not only dangerously sexy; he was one of the most powerful men in the world, not to mention one of the richest. She’d met him, worked for him in a sense, six years before.

He’d been an arrogant twenty-eight year old with the world at his feet, and women at his beck and call. He was breathtakingly handsome then, and it was hard to believe he was even more so now.

Oh well, she thought, he’s either still racking up conquests or he’s married and ready to cheat on his wife.

She drove to her loft, parked on the street, and stepped in to the freight elevator. She lived on the top floor of a vintage warehouse in downtown San Diego with two other residents who happened to be men.

They were also her closest friends and had become her only family. The three of them bought the building two years before, converted the top floor into three apartments, and rented out the retail spaces below. One loft for each of them, although JP and Finn felt free to lounge in her living room or use her rooftop deck; and each had a key to her apartment.

About the Author:

Kimball Lee writes funny, interesting, happy, sad, romantic, often titillating, and always thought provoking books that pack a lot good reading into just the right number of pages. Lee’s first novella, Legal Action, changed her life over night with more than 250,000 downloads in the first few months. Kimball writes twelve to fifteen hours a day and she loves ALMOST every minute of it! Ms. Lee states that her social life has completely disappeared, but interaction with her readers through email, Facebook, and Twitter makes her very happy… (As well as the occasional Diet Coke and chocolate cupcake!) Kimball Lee is represented by Joyce Holland at D4EO Literary Agency.

Personal Website: www.KimballLee.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/KimballLeeAuthor

Twitter: www.twitter.com/KimballLee1

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Kimball-Lee/e/B00ECONMB4

Buy the book at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, or Smashwords.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Face Transplant by R. Arundel – Q&A and Giveaway

VBT The Face Transplant Tour Banner copy

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. A $50 Amazon/Barnes and Noble gift card will be awarded at the conclusion of the tour–enter via the Rafflecopter at the end of the post. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Welcome to Long and Short Reviews for a short Q&A session. What are 5 things within touching distance?

A bed. A phone. A yellow writing pad. The New York Times Magazine. A bowl of fruit.

What part of the writing process do you dread?

The end of the story. At that point I think the novel is as good as I can make it. If people don’t respond at that point there is nothing I can do.

What is your favorite Joke?

My kids are at a stage where they tell jokes that make no sense but they laugh. For example, “Knock. Knock.” “Who’s there.” “The chicken.” “The chicken?” “Yes.” Then the kids laugh like there is a joke in there somewhere.

Where do you get your best ideas?

Just sitting around thinking.

What do you do to relax?

Read or watch shows on home renovation or house hunting.

MEDIA KIT Book CoverDr. Matthew MacAulay is a Facial Transplant Surgeon at a prestigious New York hospital. His friend and mentor, Tom Grabowski, dies under mysterious circumstances. Matthew is forced to investigate. He uncovers his friend’s secret. A new technique that allows perfect facial transplants. No incisions, no scars. The surgeon is able to transplant one person’s face to another with the perfect result. Tom was able to accomplish this monumental feat with the help of Alice, a supercomputer robot with almost human abilities. While trying to find the people responsible for murdering his friend Tom, Matthew realizes he is the prime suspect. Matthew must flee for his life with the help of Dr. Sarah Larsson, a colleague and reluctant helper who has a secret of her own. Alice helps them make sense of a baffling series of seemingly unrelated events. Matthew is forced to undergo a facial transplant to hide his identity and help to uncover the truth. The clues carry Matthew and Sarah around the world. Matthew stumbles onto a sinister plot of monumental proportions, the real reason Tom was murdered. This discovery leads Matthew all the way to The White House with a dramatic conclusion. Matthew never wavers in his quest for the truth and perseveres against all the odds. He must race to stop a major catastrophe, ratcheting up the excitement until the thrilling conclusion. The Face Transplant is a powerful medical suspense thriller of the first order. The novel was written by a surgeon. The novel has a realism that only a surgeon can bring. The plot weaves politics, medicine and espionage into a tightly paced, intelligent thriller. The novel crescendos page by page to a totally unexpected conclusion.

Enjoy an excerpt:

Guaarrr. It sounded like water draining from a very large bath tub, through a very large hole. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a MEDIA KIT rarundel avatarwarm relaxing bath? Sit. Soak. However, in the fraction of a second that it took that thought to go through Matthew’s head, a more powerful thought pierced his mind. I just killed myself. I just killed the patient. Most likely a criminal anyways. He looked down on the operating room table at the very gaunt, greying man. Dr. Matthew MacAulay quickly scanned the operating theater. In his peripheral vision he could clearly see the short, wide man in the observation area. I just killed myself, Lars, and Marcia. Matthew looked across the operating room table at Marcia Lopez, forty two, an American of Spanish ancestry. She had been his scrub nurse, assisting him in the operating room for the last 3 years. Divorced, one child.

It would take a few more seconds for the monitors to tell everybody what Matthew already knew. Soon the monitors would alarm and all would know. But Marcia already knew. She was right across the table. She saw him use the robotic arm to dissect the vessel and mistakenly cut the large artery in the neck. An operating room nurse of Marcia’s experience has seen it all. When Matthew looked into Marcia’s eyes they flashed ever so quickly an acknowledgement that it was all over. Instead of any words she quietly unclamped the suction. Now a dull hiss filled the air. To the casual observer, or the short wide man holding a 9 mm Glock pistol in his fat stubby hands, nothing really had changed.

About the Author:MEDIA KIT rarundel avatarRobert was born in London, United Kingdom. His early formative years were spent in Toronto Canada. Robert attended the University of Toronto Medical School. After obtaining his Doctor of Medicine degree he completed surgical training in Otolaryngology-Head and Neck Surgery at the University of Toronto and obtained certification from the American Board of Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery. Robert Mounsey practices surgery in private practice in Toronto.

R. Arundel studied Film Studies at Ryerson University, after this he began writing screenplays and novels. The Face Transplant is his debut novel.

R. Arundel is married and lives in Toronto, Canada. When not writing or practicing surgery Robert can be found cycling.

Buy the book at Amazon

Website ~ Twitter

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Forsaken by Sarah Ballance – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Sarah will be awarding a $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Please click the banner to see a list of other stops on the tour.

Her past is back to haunt her—and this time, it’s got a gun.

When Gage Lawton finds his brother shot to death on his back porch, every shred of evidence points to one person: Gage’s ex-lover, Riley Beckett. The only gun in town that fires a bullet of that caliber belongs to her.

Certain the shooting is payback for his part in the loss of her parents, he abandons his promise to stay out of her life and confronts her, his rage backed up with a revolver. Yet when she steps through the door, all thoughts of revenge burn to ashes.

A year after Riley unwillingly walked away from Gage, she enters her home to find him sitting in the dark, gun pointed at her head. One look into those achingly familiar blue eyes reminds her how wrong she was to let him go. But now there’s more standing between them than their heated past.

A twist of fate—and a hail of sniper bullets—puts them in the cross hairs of a killer, leaving Riley with just two slim options: trust her greatest betrayer, or face a murderer alone.

This book has been previously published.

Warning: Prepare to get caught in a crossfire of profanity, danger, and desire. Intense violence may trigger the desire to wear body armor…and take it off. Very, very slowly.

Now enjoy an excerpt:

“Gage?” Her voice broke on the single syllable. Riley’s grip on the keys tightened, her blood raging hot and cold all at once.

A creak sounded from the corner chair. Her eyes refused to adjust in the darkness, but not even the faint light kept the blond streaks in his russet hair from giving him away. Like rays of sunshine, she used to tease, and her words never failed to draw a scowl across his rugged face.

“Riley.”

God help her, her name on his lips sounded as it always had. Coarse. Dangerous. Forbidden. Even before… The memory surged, hot and vivid, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. White heat assaulted her from every corner of the room.

The keys fell to the floor with a dull clink.




Sarah and her husband of what he calls “many long, long years” live on the mid-Atlantic coast with their six young children, all of whom are perfectly adorable when they’re asleep. She never dreamed of becoming an author, but as a homeschooling mom she often jokes she writes fiction because if she wants anyone to listen to her, she has to make them up. (As it turns out, her characters aren’t much better than the kids.) When not buried under piles of laundry, she may be found adrift in the Atlantic (preferably on a boat) or in search of that ever-elusive perfect writing spot where not even the kids can find her. To learn more about her work in contemporary, historical, and supernatural romance and romantic suspense, please stalk accordingly.

Website: http://www.sarahballance.com/

Blog: http://sarahballance.wordpress.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/sarah.ballance.author.news

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SarahBallance

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/SarahBallance34/

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4103362.Sarah_Ballance

Buy Links:

Samhain Publishing – http://store.samhainpublishing.com/forsaken-p-73612.html

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Forsaken-Sarah-Balance-ebook/dp/B00K7YXB4Q

Barnes & Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/forsaken-sarah-ballance/1119867315?ean=9781619222625

Kobo – http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/forsaken-25

iTunes/iBooks – https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/forsaken/id878566015?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google Books – http://books.google.com/books?id=F5OSAwAAQBAJ&dq

Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Forsaken-Sarah-Ballance-ebook/dp/B00K7YXB4Q/

Amazon CA – http://www.amazon.ca/Forsaken-Sarah-Ballance-ebook/dp/B00K7YXB4Q/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Orange Moon Affair by AFN Clarke – Spotlight and Giveaway

BBT The Orange Moon Affair Tour Banner copy

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author is giving away a $15 Amazon GC to one lucky reader via Rafflecopter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

MEDIA KIT THE ORANGE MOON AFFAIR BY AFN CLARKE 900x1350Thomas Gunn (ex-Special Forces) and his partner Julie are running for their lives. Who are they running from? And why? It all starts when Thomas decides to investigate the mysterious murder of his billionaire industrialist father. He’s shocked when his every move is blocked, especially by top levels of the UK government. But when his attempts to track down an elusive American business partner of his father’s turn lethal, he and Julie become moving targets, racing to outwit those who clearly want them dead. The danger rapidly escalates when Thomas is reluctantly compelled back into working for British Military Intelligence, exposing an international conspiracy that puts the freedom of the western world at grave risk.

But who are these ruthless conspirators that wield such unimaginable power? How are they connected to his father? And what dark secrets from the past will Thomas uncover in his relentless quest for the truth? This action-packed thriller spans the UK, USA and Europe and keeps you guessing to the very last page!

“The Orange Moon Affair” and “The Jonas Trust Deception”, the second in the series, have been hailed by the San Francisco Book Review as “fast-paced books you won’t want to put down and you won’t want them to finish.” Available from Amazon (ebook and paperback).

Enjoy an excerpt:

Nightmares crowded my sleep and I woke in a sweat, some twelve hours later, gasping for air and thought that Julie’s death was just a nightmare, a figment of my imagination. But I knew it wasn’t.

I needed air and crawled to the door leading out onto the patio that overlooked the beach and the Sea of Cortez. It felt similar to Gozo, but it was subtly different; the smell of dry sage tinged the slight breeze and somewhere close by, lingering smoke from a mesquite barbecue blew lazily across the beach. Bile rose in my mouth and I dry retched onto the sand as the image of Julie, bloodied and broken in the helicopter, blasted into my mind.

The moment passed and I sat at the water’s edge as small wavelets ran up the beach and sank into the sand.

Julie’s death killed something in me. Something I thought I had recovered from after my last tour in Afghanistan. She gave my life a soul that had been destroyed, and now with her death, my soul was as dark as it had ever been.

De Costas would pay for her death.

All that was left in me was the instinct for survival and revenge; the only emotion, pure hatred for the man that had caused all this. It was this that had kept me alive when I should have been dead. It was this that created the desire to fight back to full health.

An hour later I hobbled slowly back to the bedroom, lay down and fell into a dreamless sleep.

About the Author: MEDIA KIT AFN Clarke headshot (2)AFN Clarke is a full-time author, screenwriter, the son of a British MI6 operative, former officer in Britain’s elite Parachute Regiment, pilot, sailor, racecar driver and father of four who’s lived in Hong Kong, India, Libya, Iran, Europe, the UK, USA, and Australia. He’s written seven books of fiction and his bestselling memoir, CONTACT, was serialized in a British newspaper and made into an award-winning BBCTV film.

This rich background allows Clarke to bring his own unique and eye opening experiences to his latest Thomas Gunn thriller series that are fast-paced, thought provoking and frighteningly real and have captured the imagination of readers world-wide. As he says: “For me, good books are a great way to shut out every day life, suspend normal ways of thinking, and allow yourself to be captivated by another world. That’s what I continually strive to deliver to my readers.”

Books include: The Orange Moon Affair and The Jonas Trust Deception (Thomas Gunn thrillers), Contact, An Unquiet American, Dry Tortugas, Dreams from the Death Age and Armageddon (The Book of Baker Satire Series), Collisions, with more coming soon.

Subscribe to AFN Clarke’s Email List: http://www.afnclarke.com/Email_Us.php

Author Website: http://www.afnclarke.com/

Twitter: @AFNClarke

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/AFNClarkeInc?fref=ts

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

Purchase “The Orange Moon Affair”:

Buy from the Kindle Store at Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/ORANGE-MOON-AFFAIR-Thomas-Thriller-ebook/dp/B00CGL2Y6Y/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1403227219&sr=1-3&keywords=AFN+Clarke

Buy the Paperback from Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Orange-Moon-Affair-Thriller/dp/1938611195/ref=sr_1_1_bnp_1_pap?ie=UTF8&qid=1399340893&sr=8-1&keywords=AFN+Clarke

a Rafflecopter giveaway