Renegade’s Lady by Bobbi Smith – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Bobbi Smith will be awarding a $10 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.

Hi! I had soooo much fun researching Renegade’s Lady. The heroine is a dime novel writer who goes West to research her new book. If you’re not familiar with dime novels, they were the original paperback books from the 1800s. I even managed to find a few at antique stores. One I bought is titled The Golden Belt, and it was published by Beadle and Company in 1866. What a treasure! I can’t believe it’s held up this long. So I hope you enjoy Sheri and Brand, the half-breed scout, in Renegade’s Lady!

Looking For a Hero

Sheridan St. John was a successful writer who had no need for a man in her life…as long as she had one between the pages of her dime novels. But when her editor told her sales were off, Sheri set out for the Wild West in search of the perfect hero for her new book.

Brand, The Half-Breed Scout

The man Sheri found fulfilled her every requirement for a fantasy lover—half Apache, a tall, dark, and dangerous male—but he was completely wrong for a real-life mate. On the run from the law, Brand guarded his heart as the attraction between them destroyed her reservations, leaving Sheri with one burning need—to become the renegade’s lady.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Arizona Territory, 1878

“Hello,” Sherri said as a shiver of anticipation went up her spine. Brand was a magnificent specimen of manhood. Dressed in a loose-fitting shirt, buckskin breeches and moccasins, he was everything she’d imagined an untamed scout to be. She knew instantly he was going to be the man who saved her career.

Brand had thought it was going to be difficult dealing with a writer when he’d believed Sheridan St. John was a man, but now…a woman. His gaze raked over her insolently, missing nothing. She was beautiful and he felt a stirring of pure animal attraction for her, but he quickly dismissed it. She was an Eastern lady who didn’t know one end of a horse from another. She had no business being there. His job was to track renegades. He was going to look forward to putting her on a stage heading back East.

The look in his eyes was cold as he addressed her. “Miss St. John.”

Sherri saw the iciness in his regard and knew Brand wasn’t pleased to see her. Still, she wasn’t about to give up. Her career depended on it.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. It isn’t often I get to meet a real live hero.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked, ignoring her remark. He’d been ordered to cooperate, but he didn’t have to like doing it.

“Well, first, I have to interview you. I need to learn everything there is to know about you and scouting.” Sheri’s mind was racing as she imagined Brand as the hero in her book. He was going to be magnificent – fighting, winning and rescuing damsels in distress.

About the Author:After working as a department manager for Famous-Barr, and briefly as a clerk at a bookstore, Bobbi Smith gave up on career security and began writing. She sold her first book to Zebra in 1982. Since then, Bobbi has written over 40 books and several short stories. To date, there are more than five million of her novels in print. She has been awarded the prestigious Romantic Times Storyteller of the Year Award and two Career Achievement Awards. Her books have appeared on numerous bestseller lists. When she’s not working on her novels, she is frequently a guest speaker for writer’s groups. Bobbi is mother of two sons and resides in St. Charles, Missouri with her husband and three dogs.

Website | Goodreads

Buy the book at Amazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Jane Austen Lied to Me by Jeanette Watts – Exclusive Excerpt and Giveaway

 

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jeanette Watts will award a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Dear Diary,

In three years of college, there are seven times my life seemed to suddenly turn into a Jane Austen novel; seven times my life, instead of becoming a romance, turned into a made-for-TV drama.

What am I doing wrong?

Enjoy an Exclusive Excerpt

Boys are just plain confusing.

I walked into Spanish class today, and there was Ken!

He grinned at me when I walked in. “Hola, stranger!”

“Hola!” I tried to look glad to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“I transferred sections. How did you expect me to get through Spanish without my practice buddy? It’s more fun being in class with you. I didn’t have class during this time, so I switched.”

Why, oh why did he have to be spoken for? The gesture was so sweet and… dare I say it? Romantic. What guy changes his class schedule for a girl? Talk about giving me mixed messages.

So, once again, I’m the ‘buddy.’ Just like with Eddie. Oh, goody. Well, a girl needs friends, right? I should just enjoy the fact that I have some smart, cute guy friends. Maybe they’ll eventually hook me up with some smart cute friend of theirs.

I smiled at Ken and tried to put a good face on it. “That’s great! I’ve been missing you, too.” As soon as I said it, I had to wonder if that’s a lie or the truth. I’m not sure.

“To be honest, my grades have been suffering without you to coach me. It’s only six weeks into the semester, and I’m already worrying about my grade,” he grinned at me. “I’m here so that you can whip me back into shape.”

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I didn’t know you were into whips.”

He gave me this look back that couldn’t get much more flirtatious. “I’m into all kinds of things.”

“Including girls that are good at Spanish?” If he’s going to flirt, I’m going to flirt back.

About the Author: Jeanette Watts has written three Jane Austen-inpsired novels, two other works of historical fiction, stage melodramas, television commercials, and humorous essays for Kindle Vella.

When she is not writing, she is either dancing, sewing, or walking around in costume at a Renaissance festival talking in a funny accent and offering to find new ladies’ maids for everyone she finds in fashionably-ripped jeans.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest | Instagram | TikTok

Buy the book for only $0.99 at Amazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Love is for the Dogs by Annee Jones – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Annee Jones 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.

A coveted award…a missing Maltese…and a cheating ex… Can Trisha Campbell survive this year’s dog show competition in Last Chance Beach, much less walk away without a broken heart?

If there’s one thing vet tech Trisha Campbell knows, it’s dogs. Men, however, not so much. Especially ever since catching her ex-boyfriend, Miami P.D. Landon Prescott, kissing her arch-nemesis, Blythe Baker, at last year’s dog show after Blythe’s pup Princess took home the grand prize. Needless to say, Trisha’s not looking forward to seeing either of them again at this year’s competition in Last Chance Beach, even if her beloved Maltese, Chloe, is a front-runner for the coveted trophy.

Soon after arriving on the island for the week-long event, Princess goes missing and everyone fingers Trisha as the dog-napper since her pooch is Princess’ main opponent. With not only the prize money but also her reputation at stake, Trisha’s willing to join forces with none other than her cheating ex. Can she and Landon figure out a way to work together to catch the culprit and find the missing Maltese before the whole competition goes straight to the dogs? And what happens when they find themselves alone together at last?

Enjoy an Excerpt

No longer having an appetite herself, she grabbed the cup with her now-melted mint chocolate chip and leftover cone and threw it into a nearby pail. Grabbing her canvas tote, she looped it over her shoulder. Turning, she was startled to see Landon’s disappointed expression. Did he really expect her to stay and talk to him like they were old friends? After what he’d done? No way. So what if she’d changed her phone number and blocked his email address? He was in the wrong, not her. And she didn’t owe him the time of day after he cheated on her.

Reluctantly, the twins picked up their ice cream bowls and plastic spoons and followed her as she began to grimly march past Landon to the front door. When she was close enough so that she could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave, their elbows accidentally brushed together. All the memories of how much in love they’d been – they’d even talked about getting engaged – came flooding over her like a tidal wave, and she tried not to cry as she exited the parlor and walked out onto the scorching sidewalk.

About the Author: Author Annee Jones loves to write all things romance, fantasy, cozy mystery, & more. She is passionate about writing stories where dreams come true, and love wins in the end!

Professionally, Annee works as a disability counselor where she helps her clients navigate through complex medical and legal systems while rediscovering their wholeness in Spirit.

Newsletter signup | Website | Goodreads | BookBub | Annee’s Angels | Facebook | Amazon Author Page

Buy the book at Amazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Pride of Lyon’s by Jenna Jaxon – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jenna Jaxon will be awarding a $20 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.

Enter the world of the most notorious gambling den in London, where matches are made… unusually. Welcome to the world of THE LYON’S DEN: The Black Widow of Whitehall Connected World, where the underground of Regency London thrives… and loves.

What’s a young lady to do when a powerful lord tries to abscond with her and make her his mistress?

When you’re Miss Honoria Quinn, you leap from his carriage and run like the wind to find some place to hide. Trouble is, Honoria mistakenly chooses The Lyon’s Den, a disreputable gambling house as her sanctuary, a move that ends up with her having to make another choice at the hands of the Den’s match-making proprietor Mrs. Dove-Lyons: wed a complete stranger or become the lord’s mistress.

No good deed goes unpunished…

Thomas, Lord Braeton agrees to attend a wager at The Lyon’s Den only to keep his brother-in-law out of trouble. What he doesn’t count on is becoming embroiled in one of Mrs. Dove-Lyons’s schemes to marry him off. But when he tries to come to the aid of another peer, Thomas finds the only honorable thing he can do to save Miss Quinn’s reputation is put aside his hopes for a love match for himself and instead offer to marry her.

As Thomas and Honoria set out on a wary journey to matrimony, can they learn to live together and hope love will grow between them? Or are they doomed to a loveless marriage of convenience from which one or both will want to escape?

Enjoy an Excerpt

“I can be very generous with you if you are equally generous with me.”

Then, quicker than a striking snake, he sank his mouth onto hers.

Completely shocked, Honoria couldn’t think what to do, leaving Lord Danford to take full advantage of her paralyzed body. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth, he plundered here and there, then pushed incredibly deeply into her throat until she almost gagged. Meanwhile, he slid his hands up onto her breasts, squeezing them until they ached, even through her clothing. At last, he released her right breast and that hand suddenly tried to worm its way underneath her skirts, his fingers brushing her knee, her thigh…

That touch, on her most intimate flesh, acted as a bucket of cold water thrown in Honoria’s face. She gasped as though coming up for air and was suddenly free of the deadly paralysis. Rearing back, she brought her arms up between them, planted her hands squarely on his chest, and heaved him across the carriage into the opposite corner. His head hit the windowpane with a crack, eliciting a groan from the man.

Lord Danford slowly sat up rubbing the back of his head. He cocked his head and frowned, like a puzzled hound. Without hesitation, Honoria grabbed the door handle, wrenched it downward, and threw it open.

The cobbled pavement flew by with dizzying speed, but she had no other choice. Taking a deep breath, and sending up a fervent prayer, she jumped.

About the Author:

Jenna Jaxon is a best-selling author of historical romance, writing in a variety of time periods because she believes that passion is timeless. She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, Jenna has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these elements into her own stories.

She lives in Virginia with her family and a small menagerie of pets–including two vocal cats, one almost silent cat, two curious bunnies, and a Shar-pei mix named Frenchie.

Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | TikTok

Buy the book at Amazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Fix Up by Raven McAllan – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Raven McAllan who is celebrating today’s release of The Fix Up, the first book in her Happy Ever After at Romansa Castle series . Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Romansa Castle, where love is all around—if you dare to take a chance on it.

Arietta writes romance, she doesn’t participate in it.

A posh wedding? No thank you, not when it’s the wedding of an ex-but-not-for-long-boyfriend. And an ex-but-never-really-a-friend-flatmate.

Her brother has other ideas. He answers ‘yes’ for her and sends his friend to be her partner.

Moss Kirby, heartthrob film star.

Arietta reckons no one would believe he was interested in her…would they?

Is he?

She’s about to find out.

Enjoy an Excerpt

To add to the gloom of a storm where the end of the garden was hidden by mist, raindrops bounced off the terrace like golf balls. The pond overflow spout was akin to Niagara Falls in full spate and the postman brought bad news.

Two lots of bad news.

The first was a scribbled note, in a handwriting Arietta didn’t recognise. That got her wondering even before she opened the envelope. Who sent notes like that these days? When she checked the signature she understood. It was from a so-called friend who did not and now never would have Arietta’s phone number, saying she’d met Arietta’s ex a few days before in Mauritius. Wasn’t it fab, she gushed—if gushing in bright green ballpoint was possible—that he was loved-up and his partner expecting a baby in the very near future? As it hadn’t been that long since he and Arietta had split, and he’d always been adamant he hated flying and asserted even from Glasgow to London brought him out in hives, Arietta decided she was entitled to be upset. Especially as it now appeared that the bloke who’d professed she was the love of his life and had been pressuring her to move in with him—or was it him with her?—had been bonking someone else at the same time.

Thank God for condoms. Okay, it was time to forget him, but that was easier said than done. Not that she ever wanted to see or speak to him again, but the bugger had hurt her big-time.

Bye-bye, Stu.

If that wasn’t enough, she’d also received an invitation. A very unwelcome one.

What next? The roof to cave in? The electricity to be cut off? An alien invasion?

Dramatic or what? Enough already.

Arietta opened the other envelope, took out the contents, stared at the piece of very elegant, heavy and expensive card in her hands and grimaced.

“Mr and Mrs Arthur Berkley-Tong request the pleasure of Harriet Clare and partner to the wedding of their beloved daughter, Kristin Therese Maude, to The Honourable Tarquin Algernon Carstairs Kinsley Smith on November 13th at Pannerburn Castle…”

If she hadn’t realised whom the invitation was from, the way her name was incorrect would have told her. She’d never bothered to correct them that Arietta wasn’t and never had been a version of Harriet.

Honourable? Ha, not when I knew him. Tar…Tack for initials? Oh my, hahaha, that fits… Very tacky. Maude? She never mentioned that. Go to their wedding? Not in a million years. November? In Scotland? No chance, I might be stranded there in a snowstorm. Any Scottish snowstorm I’m stranded in is going to be here. The thirteenth, no way. That would be an unlucky thirteen and was a scary thought. Enough to make her shiver. Stuck with a load of people she didn’t know for however long, in a hotel, however sumptuous, wasn’t a scenario Arietta favoured. She’d have to look tidy, not wear jeans without non-designer rips in them, and remember to put on a bra.

Yuck, not to be considered.

Nor was the idea of seeing two people loved-up when her loved-up-ness was zilch. A big fat do-not-go-there zero. She’d sworn off men for the duration. Being dropped with no warning had hurt too much. Even if she’d found out afterwards he was a two-timing, two-faced rat fink.

The idea of a wedding was anathema to her. Especially that one.

She stared at the card again.

It had to be a joke. Was a bloke in tighty-whities going to jump out from behind the front door, take her photo and shout gotcha? She hoped not. Her current attire of a pair of leggings that had seen better days with a large bleach mark down one leg like an exclamation mark and a scarlet uni sweatshirt that had once read ‘writers do it the right way’, and since faded to a dark pink—with splotches of something unmentionable—wasn’t the sort of look she wanted captured for posterity.

Arietta dropped the card onto her desk, just missed her cold cup of coffee—she had been carried away with her writing and forgotten all about it—and caused three pencils and a toffee to rattle off the surface and onto the floor.

Request the pleasure indeed. Pull the other one. That was called rubbing her nose in it, big-time—or it would have been if she’d been bothered. Which, she ruminated, she wasn’t. Ten years was a long time to get over the non-event of a short and not-so-sweet romance, and a barely begun friendship. Strange how it mattered to other people, though.

Nevertheless, why the invite? Just to show what they’d got up to? Perhaps, but seriously, she was not bothered. Life was too short, and she had a book to write.

“Hey, what’s this?” Thomas, her twin and, as she often said, the annoying ten-minute-older half of their twinship, came into her study unnoticed. He picked up the discarded card and whistled. “Whew… Posh place. Who do you know who can afford to get hitched there?”

“I don’t, not really.” Arietta plucked the card out of his fingers and dropped it back on her desk. This time the corner dipped into her coffee mug. “Someone’s being funny—not. It’s a snarky attempt to rub my nose in something. It won’t work.” She might have been upset—for all of half an hour—at the time, but she could honestly say she had not given the two people concerned a thought in the past years. In fact, she could probably pass them by in the street and not recognise either of them. “I don’t give a monkey’s these days. Over, done with, and the proverbial T-shirt burnt almost immediately.” She flicked her finger at the now getting-soggier-by-the second card. “Overkill.”

Thomas tutted at her handling of the card. “You can’t treat it like that. I bet you need to take it with you to get into the place. Think how downmarket you’ll look with it covered in coffee stains.” He took it out and wiped it on his T-shirt. “Mind you, November… Maybe it’s winter rates and cheaper?”

Arietta shrugged. “No idea. Knowing the bloke, it could well have a lot to do with it, but then I’d bet he’s not dipping his hands in his pockets anyway. Not big on sharing his coffers. Or he wasn’t. It’s a long time since I knew ’em.” She pointed to Thomas’ T-shirt. “You’ll need to rinse that or it’ll stain.” Gah, she was conscious she sounded like their gran. She’d be suggesting a blue bag—whatever that was—next.

“The card?” Thomas, an up-and-coming actor and well on the way to becoming the teenagers’ latest, or next, heartthrob, perched on the edge of her desk and swung his legs. As ever, his jeans were ripped in places no jeans should be and still be worn, and his T-shirt with a hole under one armpit was a hand-me-down from when their dad had gone to concerts and had been three stones lighter. In faded black it proclaimed ‘Iron Maiden’.

“No, twerp, your shirt.”

He winked and she growled. He held his hand up in the universal peace gesture.

“Just makes it look distinguished.” He plucked at the faded material. “Actually, could you tell it was stained? It looks part of the pattern to me. I guess if it was still proper black you’d not see it at all.”

Arietta shrugged. “If that’s what you think.” The T-shirt was ready for the ragbag anyway. “Who am I to argue.”

She saved her work on her laptop and pushed her chair back from her desk. From past experience, she accepted she would get no more written until Thomas had gone home, and as he announced he was stopping for lunch, that wouldn’t be any time soon. “What would your fans think if they saw you now?”

“I’m retro cool?” Thomas hooted with laughter. “The shirt’s not a problem, it’s my car mending one.” He housed his elderly MG in Arietta’s garage and tinkered with it whenever he visited. “I do have another one with me. And it’s not even one of Dad’s, just plain boring blue.” He picked up the card again. “You’ve got to go, you know. Apart from seeing how the other half live, or whatever, it will do you good to get out and about again. I worry.”

“Nope, and what do you worry about? I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” Thomas tapped the card on the corner of the desk. “If you call sitting here writing for ninety percent of your time, not socialising, and ignoring your friends fine, I don’t.”

“Honestly what a load of cobblers,” Arietta said defensively. “I do get out, and I do mix. I’ve got lots of friends and I do see them.”

“Nope,” Thomas corrected her. “Who you rarely see. Not since… Okay.” He held his hands up in a ‘peace’ gesture. “I won’t mention it again, but that arsehole isn’t worth your thoughts.”

“And I don’t give him any,” Arietta assured him. But it stung to be so gullible. Stu with his, ‘Oh I’m away for work’. “I don’t know about him being a good screw salesman, but it seems he was a great one for screwing. Ach.” She dusted her hands together. “I’m just a bit wary now. Okay?”

Thomas nodded. “If you say so, no problem. But I can sense a mystery. C’mon, spill. What’s with the Harriet bit?”

Brothers. How on earth had she thought she could put him off? He was like a truffle hound on the scent of truffles. Arietta pushed him off her desk as she walked to the door then turned to look at him with exasperation and affection.

“The people concerned never ever bothered to get my name right. It annoyed me then, it doesn’t now. It’s not a problem, for either of us. Any of it. What do you want for lunch, or are you off before then?”

“Here’s your hat?” Thomas said wryly as he followed her into the kitchen. “It’s not eleven o’clock yet. I can smell a good story when I see it.”

Of course he could.

“Mixed metaphors, love.”

“So?” He put every ounce of incredulity possible into that one word. “Stop trying to change the subject. Come on, tell your lovely brother all about it. I’m a good listener, and I promise not to share it…unless it’s juicy and I can get one of the ghastly rags that dog me for an interview to print it for mega millions. Then all deals are off. I can retire on the money, and lotus eat.” He opened his eyes wide and blinked theatrically. “Er, what does that mean? It sounds uncomfortable.”

“Idiot.” It was just as well she loved him.

“That’s me. Look, on a serious note, this is one fancy deal,” he said earnestly. “I’ve heard it’s at least two to three tho’ a guest, and that’s without a meal, bed or booze.”

“Two or three thousand pounds?” Arietta said, aghast. “What for?”

“A seat in the chapel, exclusive use of the place—the chapel, not the whole kit and caboodle. There’s cottages to rent in the grounds, and if someone’s got in first, tough luck—and a bun fight I guess.” Thomas stared at her. “Without the buns. At the venue of the decade, and I mean the. Where the oh-so-beautiful go to be seen and talked about and are prepared to pay the big bucks. No press, or at least not without prior notice and invitation. The rooms start at five k a night, and that’s for a shoebox. You can however add many noughts on for a suite or a cottage.”

“Sounds pretentious.” Arietta observed. “And you know all this how?”

“Because Rob Toleman, a fellow actor, enquired about renting one for his parents’ golden wedding and his mum told him if he wanted to waste his money, would he waste it on flying lessons for her instead.”

“What about his dad?” Arietta asked, fascinated by the insight into the life of someone Thomas associated with. As an up-and-coming actor he was, as he said, “happy rubbing shoulders with the good and great, but not quite on a par yet”. “What did he do?”

“Bought his mum the lessons and gave his dad his dream.”

“Which was?”

“An allotment.” He paused for effect. “With a shed, a bench, a coffee maker, comfy chair, radio, iPad and a generator. And Netflix.”

“Oh I love it.” That sounded amazing. Sometimes Arietta wished she had somewhere like that—well, she wasn’t bothered about Netflix or any streaming gubbins. As long as no one except her knew where the allotment was. Why did people assume because you were at home you weren’t doing anything important? She’d lost count of the number of times someone assumed she’d do whatever, because “you’ve nothing on”. However, as she rarely told people what she did, she guessed she only had herself to blame. Goodness knew what they thought she lived on. A private income? A sugar daddy? One day she’d have to try to find out. “Were they pleased?”

“Oh yes, and back to the subject in question.” Thomas waggled his finger at her. “There has got to be a good reason why you don’t want to go. Apart from being anti-social and anti-weddings, and not over that arsehole Stu, I sense a mystery.”

He was like a truffle hound on the scent.

“I am so over him,” Arietta said indignantly. The note she’d got that morning had been for her information only. Thank goodness she’d thrown it in the shredder. Why did some people enjoy being bitchy?

There was no answer to that.

“Earth to Arietta.”

She jumped. She’d forgotten she was having a conversation with Thomas

“This is me, you’re talking to, love,” Thomas said. “He who knows you as well as he knows himself. Well, almost. The sod hurt you, and you wouldn’t let me hurt him back.”

“Yes, okay, he did, but that was then, now I’m just wary and off men. Present company apart…as long as you stop this interfering.”

“Stopped,” Thomas said hastily. “But spill the deets over why the invitation and why the antipathy.”

“No mystery,” Arietta said, resigned to telling him everything—almost everything—as she spooned coffee into her stovetop coffee maker and slid it onto the hot plate of her Aga. “Just someone trying to be superior, and I’d guess they think they’re rubbing my nose in it. Which they aren’t, but I bet my next royalty cheque they wouldn’t believe that even if I swore it on oath.”

“I need more.” Thomas sat on top of the work surface, as close to the Aga as he could without burning. “Lots more. What’s better than coffee and gossip?”

Arietta rolled her eyes. It didn’t matter how many times she complained about his preferred seat, he just grinned and carried on doing it. One day he’d burn his bum and it would be his own fault.

“Bride or groom?” he asked as he began to juggle the salt and pepper pots. “As I have no idea what it’s all about it is still a mystery to me”—he began to sing It’s a Mystery in a very tuneful voice—“spill the beans. Who?”

“Both, sort of, but I suspect it’s the bride.” Arietta grabbed the condiment set before all the contents ended up on the floor and put them down out of his reach. Then she handed him a cup of coffee and sighed. “She was a bit of a bitch, and that’s doing bitches a disservice. Ditto if I said a cow, to cows.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. “Ooh…you’re not usually spiteful. Tell me more, sister mine.”

It was Arietta’s turn to roll her eyes. “Oh all right, Mr Nosy. Let’s sit in the conservatory and I’ll give you chapter and verse.”

“Done.” He jumped down and tweaked Arietta’s nose. “Let’s go.”

“Anyone would think it’s the story of the century and it’s really not,” Arietta said as they settled in the sun-warmed room. She watched two robins eyeing each other up with suspicion and smiled. Her garden wasn’t large but she loved it. This room and her study both overlooked the lawn, pond and bird table. Contrary to popular belief, she was never distracted from work by the view. It gave her inspiration. Many a hero in the historical romantic crime stories she wrote had had his complicated love life resolved as she’d stared out of the window.

Thomas coughed ostentatiously. “Earth to Ari.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said automatically. He always made it sound as if he’d deliberately dropped the “H”. “Okay, well, you remember when I first went to St Andrews, to uni? I shared a flat with four other people?”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, you, Jan, Daisy, Helen and someone I don’t remember. Long hair she tossed around at every opportunity and over-plump lips. Do you think she’d had them done? She definitely needed her roots done.”

“Miaow.”

Thomas laughed. “Got the claws out,” he agreed. “She had to be a cat to upset you. What was her name again? I can’t keep calling her trout lips.”

“Kristin, who called herself Krystal, and regarding her lips, who knows? Her roots, yup, always two-tone but not by style. Several years older and evidently she’d swanned around, ‘trying to find herself’—that’s a direct quote by the way—before she chose to go to uni. She wasn’t with us for many weeks. She got a feller, got fed up of actually having to work and got a better offer from Daddy. Went to live the life of a…well, a well-heeled lady in London, I guess.”

“It’s her wedding?”

Arietta nodded. Thomas whistled. “And you’ve kept in touch?”

“Oh no, never heard from her since she left.” Which Arietta decided was a plus. “Weird or what?”

“Then why now?” Thomas sounded as puzzled as she felt. “‘Weird or what’ is about right.”

“Ah, that’s the rest of the story.” Arietta sipped some coffee then put the cup down. It must had been her mood because the best Kenyan blend tasted like cardboard. Soggy, cheap cardboard. That was annoying. She was limiting the amount of full strength, full flavour, full-on caffeine coffee she drank every day, so for one not to be up to par didn’t seem fair.

“You remember for a few weeks back then, in the first few weeks of my first year, I said I was sort of seeing a bloke?” she asked. “He was a post grad. I wasn’t sure about him, but was prepared to give him a chance? He had… I dunno, something about him that was appealing. Up to a point, I guess. He had an appalling taste in socks. Anyway, we had a barney and I told him to sling his hook? You were in Spain filming that TV series where you played an alien, so all my angst was by phone and email?”

“Oh yeah,” Thomas said fervently. “When I got back all fired-up and ready to kick ass, you told me to calm down, it was well over and done with. I’ve never seen you so…so disgusted, I guess. You never did say why, though, and I was too much of a gentleman to pry.”

Arietta laughed. “Get it right, love. You were too much involved with that pretty blonde who called you Tommy. Or was it the one who lisped and called you Th…hom…uth and kept sending you pouty kisses?” She mimed blowing him a kiss with her bottom lip stuck out. “And cwoowtie pie.”

“Susie and Loretta,” Thomas commented with a reminiscent smirk. “I’d forgotten them. Ah, to be young and have stamina. Actually, it was neither then. They came, they went, I was gutted. Until it was Maybelle Fortune. Lovely Maybelle. She married a vicar and has six kids at the last count. Even one named Thomas. Lives in Cumbria. I get a Christmas card every year. And stop changing the subject.”

“I wasn’t,” Arietta said indignantly. “Well, not very much,” she added with honesty. “And it’s boring, the old, old, story. I met him in my first few days at uni. He tried to monopolise me and didn’t take kindly to me not letting him. Then, after only a couple of weeks, he wanted to have sex. I didn’t. Too much, too soon. I mean, you and the parents had drummed into me…be sure, and I wasn’t. We were having a heated discussion about it in the communal lounge when Kristin walked in and said, well, if I didn’t want sex with him, she did.” She smiled at the memory as Thomas let out a long whistle. “Not good.” With hindsight it was humorous, but it hadn’t been at the time. Kristin had sent her a malicious smirk as she had spoken. It had been obvious by her snarky comments she’d been smitten by the guy and most annoyed he’d chosen Arietta to ask out.

“Oh…my… And?”

“He said, ‘last chance, babe’, to me. I said not interested, too much too soon, and I didn’t realise he was that desperate, so he shrugged, said my loss.” She snorted. “I said not really, plenty more fish in the sea, less needy, not much of a loss.

“He said I was well named—he’d thought my initials were HRC and said it was short for hah-archaic. Then he said to Kristin, ‘yeah, why not’.

“She said to me, ‘All’s fair in sex and war’ and they walked out of the room together. I laughed loudly, well, it was laugh or throw things and I wasn’t stooping to that. Not wanting to be around to hear anything—the walls weren’t that thick and we already knew she was a screamer—I went down to the union.”

Thomas spluttered his coffee. “Oh my a…” He shook his head in mock sorrow. “Look what I missed. Luckily.”

“You better believe it. Anyway, I met up with the others, had a good slag-off fest and lots of dodgy cocktails. Eventually we meandered back, slightly mellow, shall we say, and her room was empty. Just a toothbrush and a packet of contraceptive pills on the bathroom floor. Mega oops there, we reckoned. Even so, that was the last we saw of her in the flat. We were told she’d changed halls. For a while after that you’d see the pair of them arm in arm, or tonsils against tonsils all over the place. The term ended, and then… No one saw her again. Nor him.”

“But it’s over, what, fourteen years since then,” Thomas pointed out. “Nothing since then?”

“Not a lot. I did hear third or twentieth hand about six or seven years ago that he was working for her father, who has a multi-million-pound company recycling rags, and that she was modelling.”

“The rags?” Thomas said and almost fell over as he snorted. “I’d love to see it.”

Arietta punched him. “Idiot. I never saw her name mentioned anywhere afterwards, so who knows. Anyway that’s it. A non-story. I don’t half know how to pick ’em.”

“I don’t get it.” Thomas ignored her woe is me remark, picked up two pencils and began to juggle with them. “Why has she suddenly decided to ask you to her wedding?”

“I’m guessing that’s got a lot to do with her groom,” Arietta said and sniggered. “All those years and…” She did the ‘da…da…dah daaah’ out loud.

“You mean?” Thomas smiled, very wickedly. “You mean…”

Arietta nodded. “Whatever the pair of them have been up to in the meantime, the bloke I ditched is the groom to be.”

Thomas howled. “Ohh, the cat she is. You have to go, you cannot miss it. Don’t you have a handsome, hot-as-hell bloke tucked away? Someone to make her drool? Someone you can ask to be your partner?”

Arietta rolled her eyes. “Nope.” Droolworthy men in her orbit were few and far between, as in zilch, none she wasn’t related to. “The only one of those is you. Stop grinning, you sod, I was going to add allegedly, though I can’t see it myself and frankly you’re too well-known for anyone not to know you’re my brother. Plus you’d be mobbed and I’d be stuck in the corner as Ari-no-mates.” She couldn’t stand the thought of Kristin’s smirk if she turned up alone. “I’ll send my apologies and say I’m at some writer’s convention in Ulan Bator or somewhere.” That sounded sort of plausible, and she had a mate who could mug up some tweets if need be.

“Tut, tut.” Thomas shook his head in mock sorrow. “What is that our dear mama always says about liar, liar, pants on fire?”

“She also says if you have to lie, do a big one,” Arietta pointed out. “And I’m doing that. Mega big. Though I might say Hong Kong and go visit Jan. She’s still out there.”

“Ah, the lovely Jan. Still refusing to admit I’m the love of her life?” Thomas patted his heart. “Gutted, I am.”

“’Fraid so.” Arietta looked at him curiously, struck by the wry note in his voice. “Would you like to be?”

“Gutted? Nah. The rest? Who knows,” Thomas said in what Arietta decided was a cryptic manner. “Dammit. I really wanted to find out what Pannerburn Castle was like, even if it’s second-hand. You’re cruel, love.”

“That’s me.” She didn’t mention his change of subject. On the odd occasion that Jan and Thomas were in the same vicinity, sparks flew, and Arietta had long wondered why, made her own conclusions and decided never to interfere. “When you get your Oscar, you’ll just have to treat yourself,” Arietta said, unmoved by his ‘woe is me, poor deprived male’ expression. He was a bloody good actor and used that at his convenience. “Or just be brass-necked and go and have a look around. It’s only on the other side of the loch. Not far as the crow flies.” Although a lot longer by road. “Now make yourself comfy with the paper or something while I write my sorry, but thank you note and sort out something to eat for lunch.”

“I’ll need to slip into the village and buy a paper.” Thomas patted his pocket. “Wallet in place. You write your scaredy-cat note and I’ll pop it into the post box for you. Anything else you need?”

“Nope.” Arietta nipped back into the study, found an appropriate card and scribed her apologies. She handed it to Thomas with a flourish. “Are you happy with my pâté and stuff for lunch?”

“Well, duh. Look, my last attempt. Are you sure you’re not letting what happened with them and that bloody Stu cloud your judgement? I mean, you should go and say sod ’em all.”

“I shouldn’t go and be miserable. Which I would be. To say nothing of bankrupt and not able to feed you when you visit. Now are you going to give it a miss and give over, shut up and let it be and stop for lunch, or have me throw a hissy fit and chuck you out?

“Shutting up. Lunch, please.”

“Great. It’ll be ready when you get back. Here you go.” She handed him an envelope. “I’ve even found a stamp for it.”

About the Author: After 30 plus years in Scotland, Raven now lives near the east Yorkshire coast, with her long-suffering husband, who is used to rescuing the dinner, when she gets immersed in her writing, keeping her coffee pot warm and making sure the wine is chilled.

With a new home to decorate and a garden to plan, she’s never short of things to do, but writing is always at the top of her list.

Her other hobbies include walking along the coast and spotting the wildlife, reading, researching, cros stitch and trying not to drop stitches as she endeavours to knit.

Being left-handed, and knitting right-handed, that’s not always easy.

She loves hearing from her readers, either via her website or by email or social media.

Website | Goodreads | First for Romance Author Page

Buy the book at your favorite online bookstore or First for Romance.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

For Better & For Worse by Quint Emm Ellis – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Quint Emm Ellis will be awarding a $10 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.

These ex-lovebirds are busy building a nest for one. But can she be convinced to make room for him, too?

Despite attending the same congregation and university, Ashe and Stephen’s circles had never seemed to cross.

One class project changed everything…for the better; until secrecy and youthful indiscretion pulled them apart.

Will an unexpectant reunion in their adult years allow Ashe and Stephen to rewrite a history riddled with regret and heartbreaking choices?

Enjoy an Excerpt

“It’s open, Dear. Come on in. We’re all in the backyard,” she heard an unfamiliar woman’s voice say over the doorbell’s integrated camera and intercom system.

“Oh,” she responded, bending down a bit to look into the camera as she resettled the pan in both hands. Unsure if the ghost that’d just occupied the device was still there, she decided to err on the side of caution and manners. “Thank you.”

Rebalancing her offering on one hand, she wrapped her free hand around the cool, metal door knob. The scent of bar-b-que, the sound of laughter and an overwhelming sense of home and comfort greeted her as she took her first steps inside the cozy home. Her shoulders relaxed as she continued to follow the sounds of something sizzling on the grill and of voices that felt both familiar and foreign.

“Ashe?”

Though Ashe paused, the hairs on her skin slowly stood on end.

That didn’t sound like Josiah or Liam. And yet, she recognized that man’s voice from somewhere. She tilted her head to one side, blinking through a fog of memory.

“Ashe,” the voice insisted.

Recognition rippled down Ashe’s spine; she knew who was standing just a few feet behind her.

And if she could have just kept walking, she would have; but her body betrayed her— turning of its own volition to meet the source.

The world became dull except for the man who carefully stood from his chair, tossing his book upon the seat’s cushion before striding toward Ashe. He stood in sharp contrast against the scenery that seemed to have become a blur. When he stopped, he was so close she could catch a faint whiff of soap intertwined with a husky, sweet aroma.

He changed colognes, came the wayward thought in Ashe’s mind.

About the Author:

“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”
– Toni Morrison

Quint Emm Ellis enjoys penning plots centering around unabashedly nerdy, introverted, cinnamon-roll mantic, passionate, fallible women who happen to be black, who happen to be Christian, and who happen to love an uplifting and, possibly, inspirational story.

She enjoys listening to audio books, watching movies, finding great deals and spoiling her cat and dog rotten. Her dream is to be able to walk around in loose pajama pants all day and geek out while mastering niche crafts like music production, film editing and electro etching.

Website | BookBub | Author Amazon Page | Facebook

Buy the book at Amazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

They Had Eyes of Silver by SE Davis – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. S E Davis will be awarding a $30 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.

A secret lineage. A family cursed. A forbidden love that can’t be denied.

Veterinarian Reina Kirke is exhausted. So, when her best friend suggests a European vacation, she doesn’t hesitate. A much-needed break and a chance to investigate her mysterious family tree sound perfect. Too bad she’s in no way prepared for what she finds. The fairytale town in Belgium hides family secrets grounded in the supernatural. Legends of werewolves and witches surround her, and a taboo love affair threatens to pull her into a danger she might not be able to handle.

What seems like a chance encounter with Blaise Woodward, a brooding hunk with his own secrets, sets up a sequence of events that could unravel both of their families as they realize their deep connection to each other is generations old. But only one thing is certain.

Their lives will never be the same…

Enjoy an Excerpt

Night belongs to nocturnal creatures. And sneaks.

Later that night, a large brawny wolf, black as midnight with eyes glinting with starlight, prowled within the shadows of the sleepy town. Darkness kissed the beast’s thick coat. His ears picked up soft laughter and conversations that drifted around him in the cool night from the nearby pub.

Her laughter.

Reina.

The wolf, Blaise, licked his lips, tasting the faint, achingly familiar scent of her on the night breeze.

A heavy weight crashed into him, and he rolled across the alley. Blaise found his feet and lunged at the shadowed figure that sat on his haunches, mere steps away, pink tongue lolling. The other wolf’s eyes glinted silver in the sliver of light slicing down from the streetlight.

Alek, Blaise thought, and snapped viciously at his cousin. He missed connecting with flesh on the other wolf on purpose.

In a fluid motion, fur and hide morphed into smooth skin, wolf into man. Alek shifted from the buttery tan wolf and into his human form, crouching naked against the brick building.

Following Alek’s lead, Blaise shifted quickly into his human shape and moved back into darkness’s cover, hunched over his knees, one hand reaching the ground. They could speak freely now. Their wolf forms possessed a limited form of mental communication. Intricate discussions were impossible without verbal speech, and so shifting into human form was necessary.

“Holt has fallen under the witch’s spell,” Alek said, his words jovial. He had never taken anything too serious.

Blaise growled, “She isn’t a witch, Alek.”

“I know. I know. No such thing as witches, ya right?” The blond man huffed, probably because a werewolf said witches didn’t exist.

About the Author: S E Davis is a veterinarian and advocate for werewolf health. She lives on the North Dakota prairie with her family and a Weimaraner who understands shifting into human form is not necessary for being part of the pack.

Website | Instagram | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | BookBub

Buy the book at Amazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Violins and Vampires by CEE BEE – Cover Reveal and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will be giving away a $20 Amazon/BN GC via Rafflecopter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Lexa Kozlov must pay off her family’s massive debt to the mob… all while raising even more money to save her little sister. The result? A never-ending (and incredibly illegal) stakeout for the Bratva. Lexa barely has time to sleep, let alone find love. 

Enter Caelin Vass, the handsome Scotsman who runs Empire Investments. Caelin offers Lexa a new job with dollars galore, as well as a hot bod (his own) to contemplate every workday. Even so, Lexa isn’t sure. Freaky things keep happening whenever Lexa and Caelin are alone. The energy between them is magical, sensual, and way overwhelming.

Is Lexa leaving her old prison just to enter a worse one… or is Caelin Vass all he seems and more?

***12,000 word novella, previously published on Kindle Vella as Blood Slave***

Enjoy an Excerpt

Another Saturday night, another stakeout.

This time, I’m watching the apartment of James Fisher, a major Wall Street tycoon and even larger dumbass.

Suddenly, my phone blares the Imperial March from Star Wars. I stifle the urge to groan. That’s the ring tone of my current boss, Otto. He’s a middle aged guy with a beer gut, receding hairline, and iron-fisted grip on my lady balls. Long story.

I pop in my ear buds and click accept. “It’s Lexa.”

“What the fuck?” Otto’s gravelly voice blares in my ears. “I can hardly hear you.”

“I’m in Big Apple Coffee.” The place looks like it fell out of the 1950’s… and didn’t land too nicely. In other words, Big Apple sports dingy walls, a grimy tile floor, and chipped Formica tables.

“Why can’t you run a stakeout from some place that’s quiet?” asks Otto. “You know, like a normal person?”

“I don’t know,” I counter. “Why can’t you text instead of call? You know, like someone from this century?”

A few seconds later, my phone dings with an alert. No question. That’s a text from Otto. I should know better than to look, but I’ve never been the type who knows better about anything.

I take a peep.

It’s a drawing of me as a pin-up girl from the 1940’s. Which isn’t too far off. I’m on the shorter side with lots of curves. I don’t dress in pin-up style–no push-up bras and bright colors for me, thank you very much. With my job, it’s best to blend in. Today, that means a pencil skirt and white top. Unlike this image on my phone which shows me bare-ass naked.

Ugh. What an Otto thing to do.

“The pic is good from the shoulders on up,” I say dryly. The artist captured my heart-shaped face, ice-blue eyes, and long black hair.

Otto snickers. “One of the club shlubs left this under my door.”

Club shlubs. That’s what we call the gents who visit Otto’s Lucky Ladies Lounge And Exotic Dancing Club. It’s a horrible name, but Otto is known for hiring great strippers, not having excellent writing and grammar. I live in the club’s back room and participate in the odd bikini contest for extra cash. Fan art is a sad side effect.

I really shouldn’t have looked.

About the Author:

CEE BEE writes stories that blend epic fantasy, steamy romance, and lots of sass. If you want immersive tales that transport you to fresh worlds (and new book boyfriends) then you’ve come to the right author. To learn more about CEE BEE, please visit www.ceebeeauthor.com. Her new book, VIOLINS AND VAMPIRES, is available on  Kindle Unlimited.

CEE BEE also writes young adult fare under the name Christina Bauer. Check out Christina’s books at her website. There’s a literal sh*t ton of them.

Stalk CEE BEE/Christina on Social Media

Website |  Blog |  FacebookInstagram | Twitter | Vlog

Vampires of the Daemonverse Series

 Violins and Vampires – now on Kindle Unlimited or purchase for ONLY $0.99
Veils and Vampires
Valor and Vampires

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Everything’s Coming Up Daisy by Nancy Fraser – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Nancy Fraser will be awarding a $20 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.

Kristen Matthews is a single mother of a very precocious five-year old named, Daisy. When Kristen and Daisy relocate to Last Chance Beach to live with Kristen’s eccentric aunt, Kristen has her reservations. The move brings them in close proximity to her ex-boyfriend’s rich family. Given Daisy’s father never wanted a permanent arrangement, neither he nor Kristen ever told his family about Daisy’s birth.

Ellis Tait has taken over the management of all of Tait Holding’s businesses since his father’s passing. His step-mother prefers her Summerville mansion. His playboy brother hasn’t been seen or heard from in nearly five years, preferring to travel around Europe squandering his inheritance. After a number of intense business negotiations, Ellis travels to the family’s vacation estate on Last Chance Beach for a few weeks of relaxation—not that he ever truly relaxes.

When Kristen and Ellis meet for the first time, Kristen’s determined to keep the secret of Daisy’s heritage to herself. However, the more she gets to know Ellis, the more she realizes he’s nothing at all like his younger brother.

A modern twist on the classic Sabrina. Can this single-mom avoid her ex’s family and hide the fact that her daughter is heiress to the family fortune? Or, will the island magic of Last Chance Beach unite an overworked mom and curmudgeon of a family patriarch in time for a happily-ever-after?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Crosswinds Bridge, Point of Entry for Last Chance Beach
Present Day

This was a mistake. A huge mistake.

Kristen Matthews pulled into line behind the cars waiting for access to the bridge leading to the island. She spared a quick glance in her rear view mirror and assured herself that her daughter was securely buckled, and her booster seat was in the upright position.

To Daisy, this was a big adventure, a chance to live in a place filled with sunlight, ocean breezes, and fun! To Kristen, it was a recipe for disaster.

“Are we almost there, mommy?” Daisy asked.

“Yes, Doodlebug. We’re about to get on the bridge. Then, once we drive across the water, we’ll be on the island.”

“I wanted to take the ferry, like we did last summer when we came to visit Auntie El.”

“We couldn’t this time because we’re pulling a trailer full of our things. There’s no room on the ferry for trailers, just cars.”

“Are we going to live in one of Auntie El’s cottages, or in the big house?”

“We’ll live in the big house with Aunt Eloise. From what she told me in her last email, she got rid of the cabins last fall.”

“She gave them away?”

“No, dear. She had them torn down and the land cleared. I’m pretty sure she also had the main house painted as well.”

A soft whimper sounded from the back seat. “But I liked the polka dots. I hope she kept them.”

“This is Aunt Eloise. Even if the dots are gone, I’m pretty sure there will be something just as fancy in their place.”

“Maybe it’ll be unicorns,” Daisy reasoned. “I love unicorns.”

“Yes, I know,” Kristen agreed, a chuckle smothered rather quickly behind a yawn. It had been a long day, with no measurable end in sight.

“I can’t wait to see Jerry, and Elvira, and Petunia, and even Juniper. Maybe this time, she won’t think my finger is a carrot stick.”

“In Juniper’s defense, you have to remember she is blind in one eye. You have to be careful when you offer her food and make sure you approach from her good side.”

“I wonder if Auntie El has adopted any more guinea pigs?”

Oh please, no. Kristen pulled in a breath and prayed there wouldn’t be more rescued animals added to the menagerie who lived in her aunt’s home. Between the four guineas, two barn cats, and her fourteen year old terrier, Jake, you couldn’t go ten feet without tripping over a water bowl or stray toy.

They reached the island less than twenty minutes later, and Kristen merged into traffic along Ocean Drive. Eloise’s home was on Windsurfer Drive, with a beautiful ocean view and within walking distance to one of the nicest public beaches on the island.

“Look, mama,” Daisy said suddenly. “You can see someone flying up in the sky.”

Kristen chuckled. “I’d better not take my eyes off the road. No doubt it’s a tourist taking advantage of Land or Leap’s parasailing adventures.”

“I think it’s a superhero flying around protecting people.”

She spared a quick thought for her good friends Chase and Jared, owners of Land or Leap. Both were certainly hunky enough to be considered superheroes. “Maybe,” she conceded. “Or, maybe, it’s a flying guinea pig.”

Daisy’s exaggerated sigh echoed through the car. “Don’t be silly, mommy. Piggies don’t fly. According to Auntie El, all they do is eat and poop.”

“Well you know what your grandpa always says. ‘If you’re going to do something, do it really well.’ I’d say the piggies have mastered both.”

They passed Barnacle Bill’s mini golf, the pier leading out to Rod’s bar, the parking lot at Cliff House, finally turning onto the side road leading to house. Pulling into her aunt’s long driveway, she drew to halt, raised her gaze, and let the latest changes to the century old home sink in.

For frick sakes! Like Daisy, Kristen found herself wishing for the return of the polka dots. “What do you think, Doodlebug? Has Auntie El outdone herself with the renovations?”

“Wowzers,” Daisy said, giggling. “One, two, three, four… um… five different colors. It looks like a box of crayons exploded all over the front of auntie’s house.”

“One thing’s for sure. We’ll never get lost. I’m pretty sure this place glows in the dark.”

About the Author: NANCY FRASER is a bestselling and award-winning author who can’t seem to decide which romance genre suits her best. So, she writes them all.

Her spicy romances have won top awards year after year and received cover quotes from some of the most recognized names in the romance industry. Her sweet romances have gained the attention of a number independent reviewers and she was named a “bright new voice in sweet/inspirational romance” by the Christian blog Independently Reviewed.

When not writing (which is almost never), Nancy dotes on her five wonderful grandchildren and looks forward to traveling and reading when time permits. Nancy lives in Atlantic Canada where she enjoys the relaxed pace and colorful people.

Website | Blog | Sweet Reads Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Amazon Author Page | BookBub | Goodreads | YouTube | Newsletter

Buy the book at Amazon for only $0.99!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Rock My Heart by Nadia Blair – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Nadia Blair will be awarding a $25 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.

She never meant to end up in a rock star’s bed …

By day, Madelynn Crenshaw is the perfect senator’s daughter. By night, she’s a struggling artist. She doesn’t do scandal or media scrutiny, but when wicked rock god Sloan Elliot asks her to paint him for a charity event, she can’t resist. It’s for a good cause, right? She promises herself she won’t become his latest conquest—or have her love life splashed all over page one. During their studio sessions, Madelynn can’t deny their sizzling attraction, but it’s the man behind the rock god persona she really can’t resist. Sloan tempts her, teases her, and makes her long for things she’s never allowed herself to want…

When their affair hits the tabloids, and all hell breaks loose, Madelynn and Sloan must decide if they can risk love—and heartbreak—with the whole world watching.

Read an Excerpt

Sloan let his gaze flick past her, to where her friend was having the guys sign her jean jacket.

“So, what can I do for you, darlin’?”

“Nothing, thank you,” she said coolly.

“What, no drink? No autograph? No licensed T-shirt?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I’d like my locket, please.”

“You know, this is the second time you forgot it. If I didn’t know better, I might think you’d done it on purpose, so you’d have an excuse to see me again.”

“Oh, no. You’ve figured out my ploy.” She rolled her eyes. “And for your information, I’m not a Park Avenue princess.”

He looked her up and down, from the long silver earrings and sleek ponytail to the tailored blazer. Prim from head to—well, not quite. She wore heels with her jeans.

“You sure look like one to me. Just can’t say no to fuck-me heels, can you, darlin’?”

“These aren’t—”

“Why don’t you have a seat?” He patted his lap. “There’s more ‘n room enough for two.” His lips curved into a mocking semblance of a smile.

“No, thank you. I prefer standing.” Her voice was cool, her face expressionless. But those cobalt eyes blazed. What would it take for him to get an honest response out of her? If he swept her off her feet and kissed her, would she swoon into his arms, or poke out his eyes?

About the Author:Nadia Blair writes steamy contemporary romance featuring outrageous bad boys and gutsy girls who give as good as they get. She has a thing for snappy dialog, humorous situations, and swoon-worthy happily-ever-afters.

When she’s not having conversations with fictional people, she enjoys summer thunderstorms, top-shelf whiskey, and rockin’ out to a classic guitar solo.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | BookBub | TikTok | Amazon Author Page

Buy the book for $0.99 during the tour atAmazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway