The Detective by Adrienne Giordano – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by the author, Adrienne Giordano, to celebrate the release of her newest romantic suspense The Detective. Enter the tour-wide giveaway which includes a $25.00 gift card to Amazon or Barnes & Noble, a swag pack and a signed print book!

7_6 adrienne The Detective CoverShe’s captured his heart…and the attention of a murderer.

Injured homicide detective Brodey Hayward needs a distraction, and he finds it as a consultant on a cold case murder. When Brodey’s investigation delays plans to remodel the former crime scene, he uncovers another kind of distraction: spirited Lexi Vanderbilt. Despite her distrust of men, Brodey charms the alluring interior designer into helping him examine the case facts.

Working closely with the ultrasexy detective helps Lexi lower her guard, igniting a passion that even Chicago’s winter can’t cool. As they close in on the killer, Lexi becomes his new target. To save her, Brodey must either betray her trust—or risk losing Lexi forever.

Enjoy an excerpt:

Lexi Vanderbilt’s mother taught her two very important lessons. One, always wear coordinating lipstick, and two, recognize an opportunity when it presented itself.

Standing in the ballroom of the newly renovated Gold Coast Country Club, Lexi planned on employing those lessons.

All around her workers prepared for the throng of club members who would descend in—she checked her watch—ninety-three minutes. As the interior designer about to unveil her latest masterpiece, she would spend those ninety-three minutes tending to everything from flowers to linens to centerpieces. A waiter toting a tray of sparkling champagne glasses cruised by. She took in the not-so-perfect cut of his tux and groaned. The staff’s attire wasn’t her jurisdiction. Still, small details never escaped her. At times, like now, it was maddening.

Oh, and just wait one second. “Excuse me,” she said to a woman carrying a stack of tablecloths. “The sailboat ice sculpture belongs on the dessert table by the window. The Willis Tower goes by the champagne fountain.”

The woman hefted the pile of linens, a not-so-subtle hint that the sculptures weren’t her problem. “Does it matter?”

If it didn’t, I wouldn’t ask. Lexi sighed. “It matters. Unless you’d like to tell your boss, who specifically requested the placement of the sculptures, that it doesn’t.”

For added effect, Lexi grinned and the woman rolled her eyes. “I’ll get the busboys to move it.”

“Thank you.”

One minicrisis averted. And maybe she could have let that one slide given that the club’s manager had to be 110 years old and most likely wouldn’t remember which sculpture went where, but why take a chance on something easily fixed?

Besides, tonight everything had to be perfect.

Functions attended by the richest of the rich were a breeding ground for opportunities. Opportunities Lexi craved for her fledgling design company. At twenty-nine, she’d already been profiled by the Banner-Herald and all the major broadcast stations in the city. She was quickly gaining ground on becoming Chicago’s “it” designer, and that meant dethroning Jerome Laddis, the current “it” designer. He may have had more experience, but Lexi had youth, energy and fresh ideas on her side. A few more insanely wealthy clients touting Lexi’s work and look out, Jerome.

Then she’d hire an assistant, rehab her disaster of a garage into an office and get some sleep.

Lots of it.

Right now, as she glanced around, took in the exquisite silk drapes, the hundred-thousand-dollar chandelier and hand-scraped floor she’d had flown in from Brazil, no questions on the tiny details would haunt her. She’d make sure of it. Even if stress-induced hospitalization loomed in her near future.

The upshot? She’d lost five pounds in the past two weeks. Always a silver lining.

“Alexis?”

Lexi turned, her long gown swishing against the floor and snagging on her shoe. She smiled at Pamela Hennings while casually adjusting her dress. Darned floor-length gowns. “Mrs. Hennings, how nice to see you.”

Mrs. Hennings air-kissed and stepped back. On her petite frame she wore a fitted gown in her signature sky blue that matched her eyes. The gown draped softly at the neckline, displaying minimal cleavage. As usual, a perfect choice.

“I love what you’ve done in here,” Mrs. Hennings said. “Amazing job.”

Being a club board member, she had no doubt shown up early to make sure the unveiling of the new room would be nothing short of remarkable. “Thank you. I enjoyed it. Just a few last-minute details and we’ll be ready.”

“Everything is lovely. Even the damned ice sculptures Raymond couldn’t live without. Waste of money if you ask me, but some battles aren’t worth fighting.”

So true.

A loud bang from the corner of the room assaulted Lexi’s ears. Please let that be silverware. She shifted her gaze left and spotted the waiter who’d passed her earlier scooping utensils onto a tray. Thank you.

Mrs. Hennings touched Lexi’s arm. “By the bye, I think I have Gerald convinced his study needs an update. All that dark wood is depressing.”

Now, that would be a thrill. If Lexi landed the job and nailed it, the top 10 percent of Chicago’s executives would know it. And competition ran hot with this social set. Before long, they’d be lined up outside her office for a crack at outdoing Pamela and Gerald Hennings.

“I think,” Lexi said, “for him we could leave touches of the dark woods. Macassar ebony would be fabulous on the floor.”

“Ooh, yes. Do you have time this week? Maybe you could come by and work up some sketches?”

“Of course.” Lexi whipped her phone from her purse and scrolled to her calendar. “How about early next week? Tomorrow I’m starting a new project that might eat up the rest of my week.”

“I’ll make sure I’m available. What’s this new project? Can you share?”

Rich folks. Always wanting the inside scoop. “Actually, it’s quite fascinating. Remember the murdered broker?”

“The one from Cartright? How could I not? The entire neighborhood went into a panic.”

The residents of Cartright, the North Side’s closest thing to a gated community without the gates, employed private security to help patrol the six city blocks that made up their self-titled haven. That extra money spent on security kept the crime rate nearly nonexistent in those six city blocks.

Except for the offing of one crooked stockbroker.

“That’s the one,” Lexi said. “I’ve been hired to stage the house. The real estate agent suggested it to the broker’s widow and she hired me.”

“I heard they couldn’t sell. The market is destroying her. That poor woman. He left her with a mountain of trouble. He paid top dollar and if she lowers the price again, she won’t make enough to clear his debts. Add to that any retribution owed to the clients he borrowed funds from without their knowledge.”

As expected, Pamela Hennings was up to speed on the latest gossip. Gossip that Lexi would not share. Being told this information about a client was one thing. Sharing it? Not happening. “I’m looking forward to the project. It’s an incredible house.”

Being an interior designer didn’t always give Lexi the chance to change someone’s life. Her work allowed people to see the beauty in color and texture and shape and made their homes more than just a place to live, but she didn’t often get the opportunity to alter an emotionally devastating situation. Now she had the chance. Getting this house sold would free the broker’s widow from debt and give her children a comfortable life.

And Lexi wanted to see that happen.

Plus, if she got the thing sold in forty-five days, she’d make a whopping 20 percent bonus. The bonus alone would pay for an assistant and give her a life back.

Nap, here I come.

Mrs. Hennings made a tsk-tsk noise. “They never did find the murderer, did they?”

“No. Which I think is part of the problem. I may do a little of my feng shui magic in there. Clear all the negativity out. When I’m finished, that house will be beautiful and bright and homey.”

“The debt, the children and now the police can’t find the murderer. And it’s been what, two years? No woman deserves to be left with that.”

Again, Lexi remained quiet. Don’t get sucked in. But, yes, it had been two years, and from what Lexi knew, the police were no closer to finding the man’s killer. Such a tragedy. “The case has gone cold.”

Sucked in. She smacked her lips together.

“You know,” Mrs. Hennings said, “my husband’s firm recently did some work with a pro bono cold case. I wonder if the investigator who worked on that wouldn’t mind taking a look at this. I’d love to see the man’s family given some relief. And, let’s face it, it would certainly be good PR for the firm.”

It certainly would.

Investigative help wouldn’t hurt the real estate agent’s chances—or Lexi’s—of getting the house sold in forty-five days. “Do you think they’d be interested?”

“Oh, I’m sure it can be arranged.”

Gerald Hennings, a.k.a. the Dapper Defense Lawyer, pushed through the oversize ballroom doors, spotted the two women and unleashed a smile. Even in his sixties, he had charm to spare. Salt-and-pepper hair and the carved cheekbones of a man who’d once been devastatingly handsome—all combined with his intelligence—added up to someone who ruled a courtroom.

“Gerald,” Mrs. Hennings said, “perfect timing. The board meeting will be upstairs. Believe it or not, we’re the first ones here.”

The Dapper DL eyed his wife with a hint of mischief, smiling in a rueful way that probably slayed jurors. “Shocking.” Then he turned his charm loose on Lexi. “Alexis Vanderbilt, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Hennings. Thank you. And yourself?”

“I was quite well until fifteen seconds ago when my wife announced my timing was perfect. That means I’ll either be writing you a healthy check or she’s volunteered me for something. Either way, I’m sure it will be painful.”

About the Author:7_6 adrienne Giordano Author PhotoUSA Today bestselling author Adrienne Giordano writes romantic suspense and mystery. She is a Jersey girl at heart, but now lives in the Midwest with her workaholic husband, sports obsessed son and Buddy the Wheaten Terrorist (Terrier). She is a co-founder of Romance University blog and Lady Jane’s Salon-Naperville, a reading series dedicated to romantic fiction.

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The Violet Crow by Michael Sheldon – Spotlight and Giveaway

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Michael Sheldon will award a randomly drawn commenter via Rafflecopter a $10 Amazon/BN gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

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How do you solve the ultimate mystery, where the murder victim has no identity and there’s no physical evidence? You go psychic—deep psychic—and hire Bruno X. Sure, you’re going to have to put up with some Yiddish trash talk and recycled borsht belt shtick. But he’s the only one who can who can stop the crime spree in the ordinarily placid Quaker community of Gardenfield, New Jersey.

Follow Bruno X in Michael Sheldon’s fictional debut, THE VIOLET CROW as he fends off rabid journalists and feckless politicians; untangles webs of deceit in Professor Littlejohn’s Deviant Behavior 101 class; reveals why the Quakers are still fighting over decades-old military medical experiments; and finally, uncovers the secrets of the biotechnology firm whose symbol is The Violet Crow.

Enjoy an excerpt:

Introducing Gardenfield and Chief Buddy Black

The borough of Gardenfield is home to some 35,000 peaceful souls nestled in the friendly confines marked by Tiny’s Package Store to the north, the J. Kilmer Pub to the east, Lillian’s Tavern to the south, and the Tiki Lounge to the west. A Philadelphia suburb, it is a prosperous community with colonial roots and a variety of pretensions, including a prohibition on the sale of alcoholic beverages within Gardenfield proper. In fact, thirsty Gardenfielders simply have to drive past the town limits on any of the major roads, in order to enjoy a beer or a cocktail.

Buddy Black was not a drinking man by habit. Nor was he averse to dropping by a tavern from time to time, to see what the locals were up to and let off some steam after work. Tonight he made a beeline for Lillian’s. It had been a while. Lillian greeted him at the door. Rail thin and dyed blond, she appeared to be in her 60s and to subsist on nothing but whisky, cigarettes, and conversation. She welcomed Buddy with a hug. “Hi, hon. Nice to see you again. She’s expecting you.”

“How could she be expecting me? I only decided to come here 10 minutes ago.”

“We read the papers, too, y’know.”

“I’m that predictable…?” The Chief freed himself from Lil’s embrace and headed for the bar. “Daisy, did you really know I’d come here tonight?”

The woman behind the bar was dressed in tight jeans and a low-cut flower-print top. She was busy polishing a wine glass, and didn’t look up until she’d finished her task. Then she flashed a smile that was warmer than Lil’s rather spectral hug. “Buddy! I haven’t seen you since—what?—Bay of Pigs. It’s about time you came to see me.” Without asking she opened a bottle of Rolling Rock and set it down in front of the Chief.

About the Author: MediaKit_AuthorPhoto_TheVioletCrowMichael was born in Philadelphia and grew up in Haddonfield, New Jersey. His father was a dentist, which accounts for his sense of humor. His mother, a Jewish mother without peer, instilled in him the idea that the world doesn’t owe you a living—and a love of raw oysters and dry martinis. His training in the craft of storytelling came from reading the masters beginning with Chaucer and Rabelais, through Sterne, to MacDonald and Westlake.

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Dragon Knight’s Axe by Mary Morgan – Spotlight and Giveaway

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Mary Morgan will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

MediaKit_BookCover_DragonKnightsAxeBattled scarred, Dragon Knight, Alastair MacKay, has fled to the seas to separate himself from his powers that are connected to the land. Yet, when he rescues a woman from a slave trader in Ireland, he steps back inadvertently into a world filled with magic—taking on the role of protector and leading him on a journey to confront his greatest fears.

Research assistant, Fiona O’Quinlan loves translating ancient artifacts at Trinity College. When she falls asleep on an archeological dig, she awakens in another time. She soon discovers a Dragon Knight’s relic has been entrusted into her care. Determined to return the artifact to the Great Glen, Fiona is unprepared for the danger ahead—losing her heart and soul to Alastair “Beast” MacKay.

Will their love be strong enough to soothe the beast and heal the man? Or will Death swing its axe, leaving them lost for all eternity?

Enjoy an excerpt:

The closer he came, the more Fiona began to tremble. His face bore a deep crescent scar from his left eyebrow down below his cheek. This giant was a demon, and some actually crossed themselves as he passed them.

When he reached the platform, he narrowed his eyes and glared at the two men by her side. They instantly stepped away. As with everyone else, he was no different. He looked her up and down, though when he gazed into her eyes for a moment, Fiona saw confusion.

The demon spoke. “How much do ye want, Robert?”

“Ye cannot have her.” He spit onto the ground in front of the man.

The monster’s voice remained deadly calm. “And why would that be?”

“Ye have nothing to offer.”

Fiona saw the shift of color in the demon’s green eyes. It was enough for the man called Robert to back away.

“I dinnae want any trouble.”

The giant leaned his head down. “Would ye take these?” He pulled out a small pouch and opened it. Pulling out several stones, he held them aloft. “Amber from the Northmen’s homeland.”

Robert’s eyes went wide, but then he crossed his arms. “I will take the lot and a barrel of your whisky.”

The man arched a brow. “How do ye ken I have whisky?”

“Do ye take me for a fool, MacKay?”

“Nae, Robert, but only foolish if ye do not take my offer of ten stones and one barrel.”

The moments stretched out between the two men, and Fiona’s heart pounded in her chest. She was being traded for amber stones and a damn barrel of whisky.

About the Author: MediaKit_AuthorPhoto_DragonKnightsAxeI am a constant daydreamer and have been told quite often to remove my head from the clouds. Yet, this is where I find the magic to write my stories. Not only do I love to weave a good tale, but I have a voracious appetite for reading. I worked for Borders Books for almost fourteen years. Imagine my delight to be surrounded by so many books, talking to others about them, and getting paid.

Pure bliss!

I have traveled to England, Scotland, Ireland, and France. There are those who know me well when I say, “My heart is in the Highlands.” I believe I have left it there or maybe in Ireland.

When not writing, I enjoy playing in my garden—another place where magic grows. Of course, there is time spent with my family. They are the ones that keep me grounded.

I love to hear from my readers. You can contact me at:

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Advice to New Writers by Anne Holster – Guest Blog and Giveaway

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Anne will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Advice to New Writers

As a new writer, I understand better than anyone the emotional roller coaster of writing that first book. While writing Imaginary Grace, there were many wonderful moments when the story just seemed to flow out of me. The characters rose, fully formed, to the challenge and led me where they would. It was truly magical. Then there were those other, much less pleasant moments when the writing process was slow and torturous, when coming up with every word felt like trying to wring a drop of water from a dry rag. Through it all, I was plagued by the feeling that I had no idea what I was doing or where the story was going. It was walking through a long, dark tunnel with only a dim flashlight to guide me.

And that was just the actual writing! There were also the seemingly endless details that had to be managed before the book could make it to market. First, I had to decide whether to self-publish or seek representation from a literary agent. Exploring the pros and cons of each option only led to a litany of other issues – for example, if I self-published I would have to find a cover designer that understood the book; was reputable; and wouldn’t break the bank. If on the other hand a traditional publisher picked up my manuscript, these decisions would be taken out of my hands, along, of course, with the control over the book’s appearance. I also knew that if I self-published the marketing would fall completely on my shoulders.

By now you might be wondering whether I am offering encouragement to new writers or simply advising them to throw in the towel. I can assure you, it is the former. Why? Because of those magical moments I mentioned earlier – when it felt as though the story had already been written and I was just the medium it flowed through on its way to the page. This feeling was worth all the agonizing, all the indecision, and then some. There were many times when I assumed Imaginary Grace would never sell to anyone but my family and friends, and I believe this freed me and my characters to create and fully inhabit the world of the book. I urge you to do the same.

MediaKit_BookCover_ImaginaryGraceTanner has always gotten wants from girls-whether it’s the co-ed sitting next to him in class or the scantily dressed groupies that follow his band, Hudson Nash. There’s only one woman immune to his charms, and that’s his mother. Tired of Tanner’s hard partying, she’s waiting for him to grow up and settle down, preferably with a nice girl. When she refuses to finance his tour with the band, Tanner knows he’ll have to find a way to change her mind.

Grace Roberts is not like most college girls. Shy and bookish, she prefers sneakers to stilettos and never quite mastered the art of taming her mane of unmanageable hair. Guys are not exactly throwing themselves at her, so when Tanner Reed, the hottest guy in school (scratch that, the hottest guy anywhere!) takes an interest in her, it seems too good to be true.

Bound by his deception and her girlish hopes, Tanner and Grace will be forced to question everything they believe about each other, and themselves. When these two get together, anything can happen and anyone can get hurt. Anyone can fall in love.

Enjoy an excerpt:

I just stared as I watched him walk in what seemed like slow motion – no, walk is not the word to describe what he did – more like I watched as he swaggered into the room. He was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. His thick, shoulder-length brown hair was just a shade or two lighter than mine but fell perfectly around his equally perfect face. He was clean-shaven with a strong-looking, sculpted jaw and when he looked up, I saw that he had the most exquisite cornflower-blue eyes that I had ever seen. He wore a tight-fitting, gray vintage rock-n-roll t-shirt that stretched across a well-defined chest and revealed a set of equally well-defined biceps. My eyes traveled down to a pair of worn, faded blue jeans that hung low on his slim waist and I noticed that there was a slight tear just below his right knee that showed when he walked.

He took a desk a few seats up and to the right from mine. Then he turned and began a conversation with the girl next to him. I couldn’t see her face but I could tell from her body language that she found him as attractive as I did. At one point she put a hand on his arm and said, “Oh, Tanner!” in a half-scolding tone. Tanner? Hmmm. When the professor walked in he turned around and I dragged my attention to the front of the room, but every so often I glanced in his direction. When class was over, I quickly gathered my things, but by the time I got up to leave he was already gone.

About the Author: First time author Anne Holster resides in Northern New Jersey with her husband and two children. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, playing tennis and reading angsty romance novels. She is currently working on her second novel.

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Things I Like Doing When I’m Not Writing by Hope Ramsay – Guest Blog and Giveaway

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by the publisher. Enter the Rafflecopter below to win the entire print set of Hope Ramsay’s LAST CHANCE books.

Things I Like Doing When I’m Not Writing

I am a person with too many hobbies and not nearly enough time.

First of all I’m a knitter. I can’t sit in front of the television without something in my hands. I guess I’m just antsy or something. I have a ridiculous stash of yarn, a collection of knitting books that’s taking over my bookshelf, and more knitting needles than I’ll ever need in a lifetime.

I also love music and I play the guitar. I learned to play when I was thirteen and I’ve been pretty serious about playing guitar ever since. In my twenties I was in an all-girl folk-rock band that played gigs all over the Washington, DC area. At that point in my life I was writing music and seriously pursuing the dream of becoming a singer-songwriter. But, unfortunately, the band broke up, and believe me when a band disbands it’s as emotionally draining as a divorce. I needed a little alone time after that happened, so I decided to take a few months off from the music to write a novel.

Yeah, well, the rest is history.

7_3 ramsay BassI also garden, and sew, and play golf, and avidly root for the Washington Nationals baseball team. But my newest interest may be fly fishing. The Georgia Good Ol’ Boy (AKA the dear husband) is a fly fisherman, and he’s determined to teach me. Not too long ago he took me out to a lake in Pennsylvania where I managed to catch an itty-bitty large-mouth bass. The Good Ol’ Boy insisted that we capture the moment for posterity.

7_3 Ramsay_Last Chance Hero_MMRoss Gardiner has had his fill of difficult relationships. Returning to Last Chance after a rough divorce, the town’s handsome new fire chief just wants safety and stability-a tall order given his dangerous job and the way he has the attention of all the single women in town. All except Sabina Grey, the girl who stole his heart when they were teenagers. Sabina knows a lot about playing it safe. Always the good girl, she’s now responsible for her antiques store and caring for her sister. But having Ross in town brings back the memory of one carefree summer night when she threw caution to the wind-and almost destroyed her family. Now that they are both older and wiser, will the spark still be there, even though they’ve both been burned?

Enjoy an excerpt:

She wore a pair of faded blue jeans that clung to her hips and butt like they were part of her. Her green tank top looked like something she might have found at a tag sale. The slippery, clingy fabric was covered in Oriental flowers, and it was almost see-through.

Not to mention that it exposed her shoulders, which had freckles on them. As usual, Sabina had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. And as usual, wisps of hair had escaped around her face. He wanted to cross the room, pull that damn rubber band out of her hair, and bury his hands and his nose in all those amazing curls.

Oh yeah, and his hands itched to touch her breasts through that silky fabric. Which is why he balled them into fists and jammed them into his pockets. Then he pretended that his feet were set into concrete.

A man could get hurt by lust like this.

And that didn’t even count the damage his feelings for Sabina might do to Lucy or Henrietta or even the folks in Last Chance who were all invested in him marrying Lucy.

He didn’t want to feel this way.

About anyone.

Lust like this was just crazy. It made a man do stupid things, and he had been there and done that. He much preferred the cool, calm feeling he had for Lucy and her lists.

Sabina stood there staring at him for a moment, her lips soft and parted. The afternoon sun coming through the dusty window, lit up her hair. Her voice sounded squeaky when she started talking, and she stammered, which was not like her at all.

“Uh . . . I . . . Uh. I got a call from Bubba Lockheart. I gather y’all moved the trunk down from the attic?”

“Oh, yeah, you came for the trunk.” He had the twin sensations of being relieved and disappointed all at the same time.

She nodded.

“It’s in the living room. Let me get the hand truck.” He hurried out onto the back porch and snagged the dolly and wheeled it into the living room.

Sabina was waiting for him.

“So, did you search through it? What else is inside?” She tilted her head, and for an instant, she resembled a little kid on Christmas morning, so excited to be unwrapping a present.

“Uh, no. We were kind of busy today.” He kept his words sharp and short. He shoved the dolly under the trunk and tilted it back. Then he wheeled it all the way out to the porch and down a make-shift ramp that had been set up over the front steps. Sabina followed him and opened the tailgate of her van.

“Can you lift it yourself or do you need help?” she asked.

“I can do it.” He wanted her to leave. Fast. But the trunk was awkward and he almost tilted it sideways when he tried to lift it. Before he could stop her, Sabina bent down and grabbed one of the handles and helped.

Together they got it up into the van. But in the process they ended up side by side and their shoulders touched.

He’d never been burned by a fire. He was practically religious about keeping his gear in topnotch form. But that touch scalded him. It would have been normal to jump back from all that heat. After all, he’d been trained to know the danger of uncontrolled fires.

But his training went right out the window, along with his common sense. Instead of running like hell, he turned toward her. She looked up at him, the fire dancing in her eyes. Oh, man, this was so wrong.

And so right.

“Ross,” she whispered, her voice so damn sultry.

His mind told him to stop. But his heart had a completely different idea. His heart had been waiting decades to kiss Sabina Grey. And there she was, right in reach, and her mouth looked so ready to be kissed that he couldn’t help himself.

He leaned down and pressed his mouth to her lips, and even though this wasn’t exactly the hands-on, bodies-pressed-together, hot and heavy kiss he’d once fantasized about, the heat of the moment still swept through him.

He wanted to pull her close. He wanted to explore her mouth a little deeper. He wanted to do a lot more than dance with her.

But Sabina pushed back.

“We can’t do this.” Her look was stunningly sober.

“Right,” he said on a deep exhalation. “Right.” He repeated the word because his mind had sort of checked out for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t accept his apology. She just gave him one of those female looks that were so hard to decipher. This one was pretty bad ass.

And then she backed away, ran to the driver’s side of the van, and took off, sending the gravel on the driveway flying.

About the Author:7_3 RamsayHope

Hope Ramsay grew up on the North Shore of Long Island, but every summer Momma would pack her off under the care of Aunt Annie to go visiting with relatives in the midlands of South Carolina. Her extended family includes its share of colorful aunts and uncles, as well as cousins by the dozens, who provide the fodder for the characters you’ll find in Last Chance, South Carolina. She’s a two-time finalist in the Golden Heart and is married to a good ol’ Georgia boy who resembles every single one of her heroes. She lives in Fairfax, Virginia, where you can often find her on the back deck, picking on her thirty-five-year-old Martin guitar.

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Ride Steady by Kristen Ashley – Spotlight and Giveaway

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by the publisher as Ride Steady is released today. Enter to win one set of the Chaos series: FIRE INSIDE, OWN THE WIND, and RIDE STEADY via the Rafflecopter below.

6_30 Ashley_Ride Steady_MMThe ride of her life . . .
Once upon a time, Carissa Teodoro believed in happy endings. Money, marriage, motherhood: everything came easy—until she woke up to the ugly truth about her Prince Charming. Now a struggling, single mom and stranded by a flat tire, Carissa’s pondering her mistakes when a vaguely familiar knight rides to her rescue on a ton of horsepower.

Climb on and hold tight . . .
In high school, Carson Steele was a bad boy loner who put Carissa on a pedestal where she stayed far beyond his reach. Today, he’s the hard-bodied biker known only as Joker, and from the way Carissa’s acting, it’s clear she’s falling fast. While catching her is irresistible, knowing what to do with her is a different story. A good girl like Carissa is the least likely fit with the Chaos Motorcycle Club. Too bad holding back is so damned hard. Now, as Joker’s secrets are revealed and an outside threat endangers the club, Joker must decide whether to ride steady with Carissa—or ride away forever . . .

Enjoy an excerpt:

“Yo!” I heard Snapper call and I looked to him to see he was looking beyond me. I turned around and saw Tabby was heading toward me and Snapper. “I’m takin’ Carissa out on my bike. You wanna look after her purse or put it in Shy’s room or somethin’?”
At his request, Tabby’s gaze immediately cut to the pool tables. When she took them in, for some reason, her face got hard before she softened it and looked back toward us.
“Not a problem,” she said, stopping at us. “Go. Ride.”
“Never been on a bike,” I told her and her face split in a big smile.
“Then go. Ride.” She leaned in to me. “Beware, wind in your hair, moon on your skin, you’ll fall in love.”

I wasn’t sure that was a good thing. I’d fallen in love with something I couldn’t have, and if I fell in love with the wind in my hair and the moon on my skin, without someone to give that to me, I couldn’t have that either.

But to heck with it.

Maybe this would be the only bike ride I’d I’d have in my life.

And maybe the kiss Joker gave me was the only fabulous kiss I’d ever get.

And maybe my dream of having a family or the other dream of getting behind the steel guarding Joker’s eyes was lost to me.

But I was still breathing.

So I’d take what I could get.

Tabby put her hand on my purse, which was lying on the bar. “Got this. Have fun.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

She winked at me.

I looked to Snapper. “Let’s go.”

“Meet you at the end of the bar, babe.”

“Right!” I chirped, jumped off my stool, threw Tabby a smile, nabbed my jacket that I was sitting on and bounced to the end of the bar.

When I got there, Snapper had pulled on his leather jacket. He grabbed my hand and guided me out the door and to his bike. Then he got on his bike before instructing me on how to do the same.

The bike roared, he backed out on an angle, and we glided over the tarmac of Ride.

He pulled out onto Broadway and I got it.

The wind in my hair.

The moon on my skin.

The leather of his jacket in my nostrils.

The solidness of him under my hands at his waist.

We got close to the onramp of I‑25 and he shouted, “Hold on!”

“Sorry?” I shouted back.

“Hold on!” he yelled, taking one hand off the grip and using it to pull my hand from his waist and around to his stomach.

He put his hand back on the grip and we turned up the ramp, going faster, faster, faster, the wind whipping my hair and biting into my skin. I curved my other arm around him, put my chin to his shoulder, drew in air and leather, and I got it.

Instantly.

That it being why this was the life for a biker.

No encumbrances. You wanted to smoke pot, you smoked it. You wanted to wear a tube top, you wore it. You wanted to drink shots, you drank them. You wanted to make out hot and heavy on a couch in a room filled with people, you did it.

You wanted to live, you lived.

You wanted to be free, you got on your bike and rode in the moonlight.

You did not drink martinis you didn’t like. You did not take a job your mother‑in‑law thought you should have. You did not take guff from your ex, not ever.

You did what you wanted.

You were free.

In all that was happening to me, all that I was feeling, all the disappointment of that night and the bizarre devastation I felt that the first time this happened, me on the back of a bike, I would have preferred it be with Joker . . . right then, for that moment, I let it all go.

I let it go, held on to Snapper and I let myself feel it.

Feel something rare and beautiful and overwhelming.

Feel something I knew for certain I hadn’t felt in my whole life.

Free.

About the Author:6_30 AshleyKristen Ashley grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana, and has lived in Denver, Colorado, and the West Country of England. Thus she has been blessed to have friends and family around the globe. Her posse is loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write. Kristen was raised in a house with a large and multigenerational family. They lived on a very small farm in a small town in the heartland, and Kristen grew up listening to the strains of Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon, and Whitesnake. Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music and love was a good way to grow up. And as she keeps growing up, it keeps getting better.

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Side Swiped by Lia Riley – Spotlight and Giveaway

6_30 lia Sideswiped-Print-Release-Blitz

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by the publisher. Enter the Rafflecopter below to win a copy of Sideswiped by Lia Riley. She stopped by today to answer a few questions:

How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

At this point I’ve written ten, nine which you’ll be able to read by end of 2015. The first shall never leave my computer. Choosing a favorite is like picking a child–can’t do it. They each have a special place in my heart in their own way. Some were easier. Some hard. Some made me laugh. Some made me cry in bed out of frustration. But they each have been a part of my writing journey.

Do you hear from your readers much? What do they say?

I have two Facebook reader groups and interact a lot on social media. I love hearing from readers and we can talk about everything from Australia, to future releases, to how hot Michael Fassbender looks in the new Macbeth trailer.

What did you want to be when you grew up?

Truth? A writer. Or a professional book reader :-)

How do you do research for your books?

I buy research books on Amazon, visit places if it allows (I was lucky enough to be back in Australia while drafting Sideswiped and made the most of it), and my old friend…Google!

What is your most embarrassing moment?

You want me to pick one…because that would be impossible. How about the time in a state of newborn exhaustion I drove to the grocery store with my shirt open and nursing bra unclasped and didn’t realize until (wait for it) the dairy section. Oops.

Thanks so much for having me on your lovely blog!

6_30 lia Riley_Sideswiped_TPIt was only meant to last the summer . . .
Talia Stolfi has seen more than her share of loss in her twenty-one years. But then fate brought her Bran Lockhart, and her dark world was suddenly and spectacularly illuminated. So if being with Bran means leaving her colorless SoCal life for rugged and wild Australia, then that’s what she’ll do. But as much as Talia longs to give herself over completely to a new beginning, the fears of her past are still lurking in the shadows.

Bran Lockhart knows that living without the beautiful girl who stole his heart will be torment, so he’ll take whatever time with her he can. But even though she has packed up her life in California and is back in his arms for the time being, she can’t stay forever. And the remaining time they have together is ticking by way too fast. Though fate seems determined to tear them apart, they won’t give up without a fight-because while time may have limits, their love is infinite . . .

Enjoy an excerpt:

An hour later I’m zipping the back of Talia’s wet suit at the edge of the tide line. Moonlight glimmers on the black water. The waves line up perfectly, peeling clean. I breathe deep, savoring the air’s briny tang and the musty smell of decomposing kelp. My awareness is sharpened by anticipation, the five senses amplified by the dark.

Talia shuffles at my side, getting antsy.

“You sure about this?”

“Yes. Well, sure enough.”

Another set breaks. The conditions are choice. If she changes her mind, I might need to have a ride—a quick one.

Maybe two, tops.

“What’s that noise?” She stills. “There it is again. Can you hear it?”

I concentrate and smile when a sound like a wheezing donkey drifts from beyond the breakers. “Fairy penguin.”

“Shut up! There are penguins around here?”

“Sure. In the summer they build burrows in the scrub along the coast. If you stand outside a colony right after sunset, things get pretty noisy.”

“Penguins.” She almost whispers the word. “That’s so cool.”

The wash races over the sand and breaks across our toes. I figure out a plan of attack. “We’ll paddle to the left shoulder where the wave’s less steep. Stick with me, okay?” No one else is out and my voice feels extra loud even though I’m speaking quiet.

“Have you ever been to Rome?” She takes my hand.

“No, not yet.”

“Me neither. But I can’t imagine the Sistine Chapel being more amazing than this.”

Besides the moon, there’s zero light pollution. The Milky Way arches in a dazzling band across the sky’s apex. Individual stars are indistinguishable in the brilliant haze.

“You ready?”

She squeezes my hand in reply.

We paddle out.

“Whoa!” She pushes her chest up to better peer over her board’s tip. Around us the water casts a luminous green-blue light.

“Phosphorescence. Cool, eh? It’s blooming phytoplankton, caused by this marine species of dinoflagellates releasing enzymes that—”

“That’s enough, Sid the Science Kid. Let me retain this fairy kingdom illusion a little while longer.”

“Science is cool, Captain.”

“I never said— Oh, crap!”

Instead of duck-diving under the incoming wave, the water wall pounds her in the face. She breaks through the other side, coughing out a lung.

“We can head back to shore, don’t have to—”

“I’m fine. Please. There’s a wave coming. I can feel the pull. Can you?”

“You want it?”

“It’s all yours.”

I take off on a left break and fly down the smooth face. For a few perfect seconds, I’m right here in the moment. Rational thought is eclipsed and with it the aggravating confusion of having everything: Talia, Tasmania, honors, and still hungering for more like a greedy bastard. I paddle back to her.

“You looked great.”

“That was good.”

She sits, bobbing lightly. “It’s not as freaky out here as I imagined.”

“Fucking hell, Captain. You said you weren’t scared.”

“No, I never did. I’m scared by everything. But I want to do this.”

We’re quiet. A few more waves come but I let them go, happy to be with my girl, the stars, and the radiant water.

Hard not to believe in magic on such a night.

She clears her throat. “About what happened back at the house…if this is going to work, you can’t shut me out. You’re not just a you anymore; we’re an us. We have to be there for each other.”

I bob on my board and drag my fingers through the water. The phosphorescence lights from my touch. Finally I speak. “Karma’s got this mate; he’s on the crew of a Sea Alliance vessel. There’s an opening for a gig, with voyages to Japan and Antarctica.”

“You want to go for it?” I can’t decipher her expression.

I almost say no, but honesty’s easier in the anonymous dark. “Yeah, kinda. But I want to be with you more.”

“Oh, Bran, that’s way too much pressure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imagine coming home in a few months and I’m all vegged on the couch, watching awful reality television. Will you think to yourself, ‘I could be gallantly defending the high seas but instead I’m attached to this boring anchor’?”

“Life with you is bound to be a lot of things, but boring isn’t the first depiction that springs to mind.”

“But life isn’t always night surfing. I…I can’t compete against a fantasy.”

“I never said you had to.”

“Isn’t supporting the other’s goals a fundamental part of the good girlfriend/boyfriend job description? I mean, say I always wanted to volunteer in Africa? Join the Peace Corps.”

“Do you?”

“I used to toy around with the idea. Now? I’m not sure but I don’t want to close myself off to opportunities.”

“We can travel through Africa someday.”

“Peace Corps is one of my dreams, not yours. I want you to have the freedom to pursue your own happiness.”

“You make me happy.” I strike my words like flint before sucking in a rough breath. “Look, I’m not a guy cut out for the long-distance thing. I hated every second we were apart the last two months.”

“Bran…” She reaches out her hand and I take hold. “I won’t let go.”

“Me neither.” I scrutinize the sky, heart clanging. Everything appears so deceptively still. In reality, the Earth careens through space. Talia and I, we’re little specks of cosmic dust in the grand scheme. It wouldn’t take much to blow away from each other.

“But in the future—”

“I hear what you’re saying and I appreciate the support. But the only future I’m willing to discuss is the one where it’s me and you—together.”

Better to orbit far away from black holes.

About the Author:6_30 Lia Riley_Photo Credit Kitti Homme2After studying at the University of Montana-Missoula, Lia Riley scoured the world armed only with a backpack, overconfidence and a terrible sense of direction. When not torturing heroes (because c’mon, who doesn’t love a good tortured hero?), Lia herds unruly chickens, camps, beach combs, daydreams about as-of-yet unwritten books, wades through a mile-high TBR pile and schemes yet another trip. She and her family live mostly in Northern California.

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Ten Things You Don’t Know About Writers by Amy Impellizzeri – Guest Blog and Giveaway

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Amy Impellizzeri will be awarding a signed copy of the book (US Only) and a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

10 Things You Don’t Know About Writers

1) They read reviews.
Even if they say they don’t. They do.

2) They LOVE to read. The best writers read a lot. All genres. Every genre. In fact, they have to actually – and reluctantly! – take a hiatus from reading when they are in the throes of a writing project.

3) They need thesauruses.
In an early version of Lemongrass Hope, my editor found 147 instances of people
“whispering.” PLEASE NO MORE WHISPERING she wrote in exasperation. I’ve heard
similar stories from writers whose characters can’t stop sighing, glancing, gasping, and more!

4) They would still write whether or not anyone actually reads their work.
(But they like it better when you do!)

5) They don’t do it for the money.
Very few authors get crazy rich writing books. (This does not apply to E. L. James or J. K. Rowling.)

6) They do often work in their pajamas.
Or in my case, in my never-actually-been-to yoga pants.

7) They have day jobs.
Emerging and new authors often have to supplement income with freelance writing, copy-editing, or day jobs that have nothing to do with writing at all. The day I stepped down from my VP position at the start-up company I loved, to write full-time, was bittersweet, but also a HUGE gratitude moment for me.

8) They eavesdrop.
Fiction writers – especially when in the middle of a work-in-progress – are almost always living with characters in their head. When they overhear some funny or juicy piece of conversation in the coffee shop, you can be sure I (ahem, they!) are jotting down notes to incorporate into their work at some point.

9) They change (and sometimes forget!) character names.
In Lemongrass Hope, Celeste had about three different names in the initial manuscript before I settled on Celeste. I was constantly “finding and replacing.”

I’ve heard many stories of writers forgetting the names of the characters and switching them inadvertently halfway through the initial manuscript before the editors get hold of it.

10) They grow sour cherries, pears, and grapes on the side.
(Ok, that one might just be me.)

Layout 1 (Page 1)Set in the past, and present, LEMONGRASS HOPE is a captivating and unpredictable love story, with a dose of magical realism and time travel. LEMONGRASS HOPE weaves together ordinary lives and events to tell an extraordinary tale of connection, loss, renewal, and of course, hope. As Kate Sutton’s decade-long marriage to Rob erodes and unravels, Kate fears that the secrets she guards from the world, including Rob’s emergency room proposal, and a whirlwind love affair from her past, have always doomed her fate. When Kate unwittingly receives a glimpse at what her life could have been had she made different choices all those years ago, it is indeed all she could have ever wanted. A confirmation of her greatest hope … and her greatest fears. Read the book hailed by New York Times Best-selling authors and reviewers, including Jacquelyn Mitchard, Oprah’s very first book club selection author.

Enjoy an excerpt:

“It seems you did not actually read my amazing piece on all of this in Time Travel, Inc.”

Kate laughed. “Is that for real? The real name of your magazine?”

“Well, yes. Seems it caused a bit of confusion with my Botswanan guide, as well. He saw me faxing some notes back to my editor and asked if I was really writing about time travel.”

“So you told him yes, naturally.”

“I actually did.” Ian looked only mildly sheepish when he said this.

“Anyway, that Botswanan guide invited me to drinks the next day. They make a drink down there from the fruit of the marula tree. It’s known to cure disease and do all sorts of things. So, over this decadent marula tree booze, my guide told me a story of a mystic in the delta who swears that through some combination of the fermented marula tree fruit and Botswanan agate, he can make things happen.”

“What things?”

“Well, time travel, of course.”

For a moment, Kate thought Ian was mocking her, or perhaps was a complete lunatic, but then he burst out laughing. “I know, crazy right? That’s what marula drink will do to you. At any rate, I have spent the last six months trying to convince my editor that there is another story down there in the delta – something about the mystic and the agate and the marula. And I’ve finally succeeded. If nothing else, I’m going to treat myself to one helluva marula drunk.”

Kate stopped eating and blinked hard at her plate of curry. She could not help but wonder what it would be like to drink marula booze in the Botswanan delta with this handsome man who seemed like he just might believe in time travel.

And who was making her want to believe as well.

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About the Author: MediaKit_AuthorPhoto_LemongrassHopeAmy Impellizzeri is a reformed corporate litigator, former start-up executive, and best-selling author. In 2009, she left her 13-year litigation career to write and advocate for working women, later joining the executive team of the award-winning website, Hybrid Her (named by ForbesWoman as a “Top Website for Women” in 2010 and 2011). Through her work at Hybrid Her, and as Vice President, Community & Content, for its later re-brand, ShopFunder, Amy worked closely with hundreds of creative and inspiring entrepreneurs and fundraisers, writing and marketing their stories to new audiences.

In October 2014, Amy transitioned to full-time writer, with the publication of her first novel, Lemongrass Hope (Wyatt-MacKenzie 2014), which debuted as an Amazon best-seller (Romance/Fantasy and Romance/Time Travel). Oprah’s very first Book Club Selection author and New York Times #1 Best-Selling Author, Jacquelyn Mitchard, has called Lemongrass Hope a “fine and fresh thing – a truly new story.” Lemongrass Hope was featured by Library Journal and Foreword Reviews Magazine, and has been a favorite with Book Clubs and numerous Book Bloggers (including as the #1 favorite reviewed selection in 2014 by The Literary Connoisseur). Lemongrass Hope was recently selected as an INDIEFAB 2014 Book of the Year Finalist (Romance) by Foreword Reviews Magazine.

Amy’s first non-fiction book, Lawyer Interrupted (ABA Publishing 2015), is due out Summer 2015. Her essays and articles have appeared in The Huffington Post, ABA Law Practice Today, The Glass Hammer, Divine Caroline, Skirt! Magazine, among more.

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Killing Time by Ingrid Nickelsen – Spotlight and Giveaway

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Ingrid Nickelsen will be awarding a $15 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

MediaKit_BookCover_KillingTimeDeath is the ultimate heartbreak. Evangeline never expected it to break hers after she died. No one should have to choose between their husband and their first love, but it is that choice that shatters her spirit.

She makes her choice, choosing not to transition, and finds that death can be vengeful too.

The world of the dead is far more complex that she ever knew, and facing the consequences of her actions might be the hardest obstacle yet, Fighting to survive in a world she doesn’t understand, she seeks the help of the wanderers. Time is running out as winter grips the land and her companions help her search for Will. Perhaps, if she keeps her eyes open and believes in her love enough, she will make her way back to him before the Hunters find her first.

Unexpected reunions, impossible choices, and long-hidden secrets will fill her journey with joy and sadness. It is Hunting season and Evangeline will have to fight for those she loves while remembering that cheating death always has a price.

Told from a dual perspective, Killing Time brings the For Better or for Worse series to a heart-stopping continuation in every sense of the word

Enjoy an excerpt:

The snow is burning my skin. I know it. But I can’t feel it, not really. It doesn’t hurt that much, I guess.

I don’t know how to move anymore, lying here on the cold white ground like a dead body. I feel dead.

Guilt weighs on me, and now it’s simply too hard to fight it. I can’t fight it. I stare numbly at the empty sky above me, utterly disoriented. I hear his voice calling me over and over again, desperately willing it to stop. That’s what hurts most. The pain in his voice, piercing the darkness. Piercing me. I close my eyes to silence my tears.

Please, stop. I’m so sorry.

About the Author: Ingrid is a 23-year-old French girl, college student, and dreamer. She currently resides in Paris, where she spends most of her time going to museums and the movies. Despite the romantic atmosphere in Montmartre, or even the fancy cafés in the Champs Elysées, she would easily trade it all for a nice walk in the woods with her schnauzer, Golden. She is always craving adventures, and finds that books are the cheapest way to travel to far-away lands. She is inwardly convinced that words have the power to heal the worst blisters on our hearts, or at least can make us forget about them for a little while. And sometimes, it is just enough to face another crazy day.

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Why I Write Paranormal/Fantasy Romance by Debbie Peterson – Guest Blog and Giveaway

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Debbie will be awarding $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

*****

“So,” many people have asked, “why did you choose to write paranormal/fantasy romance? Why not just write mainstream contemporary or historical romance and leave the otherworldly out if?”

Since the question is asked so often, I have spent a lot of time thinking about that answer. First and foremost, I have to tell you that I love making an impossible love quite possible after all. However, some of my strangest experiences are very likely, a major factor as well. Whether consciously or sub-consciously, they’d have to be. Right?

I think at one time or another, we’ve all been creeped out. You know what I mean… that feeling that you’re being watched or something isn’t quite right about a specific place and you just want to leave. Most of us have experienced hair standing up on the back of our neck or arms…

I’ve had that…but I’ve also seen a few ghosts as well. Laugh if you will, but I have seen them. My first experience happened in the old house my grandparents bought and were moving into. My family drove down to help them move and as might be customary in a small town, several of the neighbors showed up to help as well. Keep in mind this happened in the middle of a pleasant, warm summer day. The sun was shining. The only thing on my mind as a young teenage girl was getting the trucks unloaded so I could go and do something fun.

About halfway through the load, I picked up a box labeled “upstairs.” Cool. I wanted to see what the second floor looked like anyway. So, up the stairs I went. When I arrived at the top, I could see three rooms. One to my left, one to my right and one straight in front of me. In that center room stood a man. He looked about fiftyish, and wore a plaid shirt underneath his denim overalls. He also wore an old hat and a pair of glasses. I thought he was one of the neighbors who had come to help and direct traffic, so I said, “Where do you want me to put this box?”

He said NOTHING in response. He simply stared at me for several very uncomfortable seconds. I didn’t quite know what to do. Should I put the box down where I stood? Ask again or… While I was trying to decide, the man simply disappeared. Yes he did… Right in front of my face. Without taking my eyes off of the spot he had occupied, I put the box down and kind of kicked it in the direction of the bedroom. I turned around and rushed down the stairs as fast as I could. From that point on, I avoided all boxes that were supposed to go upstairs.

I never saw him again, though we visited the house many times. Nevertheless, we could hear him. And when I say we I mean my entire family. During our visits we all slept downstairs in the living room, on floors, couches, chairs or wherever. The minute we were all settled, the ghost would begin to pace. He would begin at one end of the second floor, walk all the way to the opposite side and then retrace his steps–over and over again. Even my very skeptical father admitted that nothing but someone walking in a pair of heavy boots could make that sound.

He’s not the only ghost I’ve seen. I have seen others, but we’ll save those experiences for another way. I will tell you this: the ghosts I’ve seen were not in any way transparent. I couldn’t see through them and that’s why I assumed that each of them were real people until they disappeared before my very eyes. Very disturbing to say the least…

How about you? Have you ever seen a ghost?

MediaKit_BookCover_CourtoftheHawkEpigraphist Dr. Essie DeSpencer travels to an ancient Welsh castle in order to decipher an Ogham inscription discovered by the handsome and enigmatic, Garreth ap Daffyd. But the journey is not what she expects. She doesn’t plan to fall for the Lord of the castle, or to find herself deeply entrenched in legends, myths, and magic. Real legends, and real magic, that have devastating consequences.

Garreth didn’t plan for Essie to stay any longer than it took her to decipher the pictograph. Instead, he finds himself falling in love for the first time in his very long life. Now the Lord of
Llys y Gwalch must find a way to attain the heart of his soul mate and keep her safe from the dangers that threaten them both.

Enjoy an excerpt:

“How old are you?” She held her breath and waited. In fact, she waited so long she wondered if he’d answer the question at all.

Finally, he dropped his gaze and returned a slow nod. He made the gesture more in response to an inner resignation than directing it toward her. “First, if I might ask, what gave rise to your curiosity?”

She combed the windblown hair away from her face and shrugged. “Does it make any difference as to how you’ll respond?”

He considered that for a time before he spoke. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. Still, I’d like to know.”

“All right, I don’t have a problem giving you the answer.” She cleared her throat. “The quake disturbed several portraits hanging along the hallways. I found one of them on the floor after leaving my room. So, I picked the antiquated thing up with every intention of replacing it, but the subject stole my attention. You see, if asked under oath in a court of law, I would swear you posed for the portrait at least two, maybe even three centuries ago.”

“And you didn’t stop to consider whether or not the man in the painting might be a distant ancestor to whom I bear a great resemblance?” he asked.

She extended a finger to his face, gently traced the scar that did naught but enhance his looks, and shook her head. “Not when the artist painted him with this.”

About the Author Debbie is an author of paranormal and fantasy romance because she has a soft spot for fairy tales, the joy of falling in love, making an impossible love possible, and happily ever after endings. She loves music, art, beautiful sunrises, sunsets, and thunder storms.

When she is not busy conjuring her latest novel, Debbie spends time with the members of her very large family within the lovely, arid deserts of southern Nevada. She also pursues her interests in family history, which she also teaches, mythology, and history.

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